LET'S KING!

Guess I never thought I’d meet…

Stephen King…

At my beauty salon.

Well, I didn’t meet him literally…

I met him literarily…

In an issue of EW.

While waiting for my hairdresser…

I picked up the mag and skimmed…

And that’s when I saw an article…

Written…

Not about Mr. King…

But by Mr. King.

Where in the universe has my brain been?

He's been writing a monthly column in EW for seven years!

(will have to spend some time on-line checking them out)

I haven't read all of his books…

But his earlier ones used to creep me out. Loved that!

And today…

The hardcover of American Vampire comes out…

And all five of his contributions are in there.

(guess vampires stories aren't really dead after all)

But getting back to the article I read the other day…

In this issue of EW, he talks about how some music affects him…

So much so, that he jumps up in his office and dances around.

Go Stephen! Go Stephen! Go Stephen!

And music has the same effect on me too…

Literally.

Brazilian music makes me jump and dance.

When I'm writing though, I listen to New Age.

When I'm editing, I listen to smooth jazz.

What kind of music affects you?

And do you dance?


Always, Em-Musing

IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY BRAIN

First, thanks to all those who stopped by Elana Johnson's Great Blogging Experiment and read and commented on my entry. And a BIG special thanks to all my new followers.

One cottage…

On the lake…

Ten writers…

(more or less at times)

Brain storming…

Their genres…

Romantic suspense…

Historical…

Contemporary…

Urban fantasy…

Paranormal…

Erotica…

Inspirational and …

Women’s Lit.

Ten writers on the lake

Fleshing out…

Plots, scenarios, and character arcs…

Accentuated with spontaneous hilarity.

Ten writers on the lake…

Some up before the sun…

Writing by the light of their laptops…

While others chose the midnight oil.

Ten writers…

By noon, Sunday…

Ready to leave.

Though our bodies were exhausted…

Our creative energy revved

To my fellow MVRWA writers…  

Vroom, vroom!

Always, Em-Musing

IT'S WHAT'S INSIDE

It's The Great Blogging Experiment today…

Yeah!

Yikes!

STRESS!

I usually blog what I want to write about…

But being given a topic feels like a test.

Am I afraid of failing?

Of sounding stupid?

Yes!

After many drafts…

(too bad they weren't the beer type)

I realized I had to be true to my style of writing…

My own way of thinking…

So here goes…

Writing compelling characters is like…

Sausage.

At least to me. 
Ya see...

A good steak is succulent and delicious…

But it’s still just a hunk of beef.

Sausage, on the other hand is complex.

Sausage makes me think…

Hmm? What's really inside?

Only quality parts of the cow and pig?

Or lips and snouts and piggy wiggy tails?

And maybe even some mouse turds and floor sweepings!.

(thanks Upton Sinclair)

And yet…

When I smell it smoking on the grill…

Or sizzling in the pan…

The aroma makes me want to eat that sausage…

Even with all it’s flawed ingredients…

And the greasy texture…

And the strange colors that don’t always look natural…

And always…

There's a mysterious bit of “something” inside. 

And that’s what a compelling character should be…

Complex…

Make me think…

Make me feel…

Make me want to know what's cooking inside…

Even if it makes go, eeeuuww!

Always, Em-Musing

P.S. A big thanks to Elana Johnson and her crew. This was fun 

ONE BRAIN, ONE SPONGE

It’s the tonsils!

Yeah, that’s the reason I haven’t been working on my W.I.P.

It’s because of those tonsils…

That came out of my six-year-old’ granddaughter’s throat…

And that’s why I’m not home…

Because I’ve been at my daughter’s house doing grandma duty all week.

Yes, I did bring my laptop…

But no, I haven't been editing…

And it’s because of those tonsils!

Yeah, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Monday morning my daughter announced…

“Mom, make sure she does the homework the teacher sent home.”

“Oh, uh huumnn”

NOT! Grandmas don’t make recuperating little girls do homework.

She can do that with her mommy. Grandmas coddle and pamper…

And let their granddaughter watch TV.

Tuesday:

“And mom, she can’t eat pudding all day. OK?”

“Oh, uh huumnn.”

Are you kidding me? There’s no nutritious food that slides like pudding.”

I wont give a girl with a searing throat  veggies and meat! OK, I did think to make scrambled eggs, blueberry pancakes, and slippery pasta. "Wanna watch some TV sweetie?"

Wednesday:

“Oh, and mom, I don’t want her watching TV today. She’s says that’s all she’ does with you is watch TV. Play some games with her, OK?”

“Oh uh hummnn.”

What! No Penguins of Madagascar? No Julien, King of the Lemmings? I love his voice! His antics! And no learning Spanish with Dora? No learning Mandarin with, Kai-la? No Wizards of Waverly Place? No Hannah? No–

 HUH? 

No SpongeBob SquarePants?

I must see SpongeBob SquarePants! I must see SpongeBob SquarePants!

Patrick! Patrick!

[Breath, Breath, Breath]

OK, I see what's happening…

I've got the jones for TV…

Guess I can only deprive myself of grown-up TV for so long…

I need intervention…

I need to watch some grownup TV tonight…

[No, not the news]

I’m going to watch the new show Undercovers…

[My friend actually has her gourmet salt products in their kitchen]

And the 12^th season opener of Law and Order SUV.

Thursday morning:

4:30…

4:45…

5:00…

5:30…

ACH!

Bleary-eyed…

Can’t think straight…

Yet strangely…

I feel…

Happy.

Always, Em-Musing

A JARRING IDEA

Way back in the summer…

On a prominent agent’s blog…

The question was asked, “What have you given up for writing?”

I won’t mention what I answered…

Because while it was funny there…

It won't be so much here.

But the other night…

As I turned the TV off at 9:00 P.M.…

And headed for bed…

With the second half of Dancing with the Stars…

The season opener for Castle…

And other awesome shows coming up that I really wanted to see…

I realized…

TV is what I give up to write.

( I don’t have Tivo or other such service)

I love watching TV but…

My favorite time to write is early in the morning…

(early, like 4:30 early)

And in order to get up that early with a functioning brain…

I have go to bed early.

My body likes and needs at least seven hours of sleep.

Plus, sleep is the best way to stay looking young and fit.

And it's free!
Considering all the $$$$ I've spent on jars of anti-aging creams.
I need all the free help I can get.
But you know what?

If I could find an agent in a jar who loved my manuscripts…

I’d spend $$$$ on that too.

For now though…

I’ll have to settle for lots of free sleep, a well rested brain, re-runs, and…

Finding an agent the free old-fashioned way.

Always, Em-Musing

TOY STORIES

Feeling bad…

About yesterday’s blog post.

My daughter read it and when we talked last night…

She said,  “Mom, that wasn’t very nice.”

“You mean about the weird man and his truck?”

“Yeah.”

“But you saw him too. I think he’s some kind of per–“

“Mom? Did you ever think that maybe this man once had a little girl?

Maybe the little girl died. And he was so sad that he put all of her dolls

and stuffed animals on his truck as a memorial. Maybe he rides around

all day missing her.”

After we hung up…

I thought about my reaction to the weird man and his truck.

Could my daughter be right?

Why does my mind immediately go to the weird scenario?

Is it because I'm prejudice?
Because I've heard too many real news horror stories?
Or …

Is it because I'm a writer…
And writers are always looking for characters, plots, and scenarios?

If you saw this man and his truck…
Covered with hundreds of dirty dolls and stuffed animals…

What would crop up in your mind?

Always, Em-Musing

ONE MAN, ONE TRUCK, ONE . . .?

My brain just got a new wrinkle…

Trying to figure out

The man…

And the truck…

I saw yesterday.

I mentioned a few weeks ago in my blog…

That I’ve started noticing people more…

As research for great characters in novels…

Or just to be more aware.

Well, yesterday…

I saw a pickup truck go down the street…

The likes of which could only be from a freak show…

Or a Stephen King novel.

The truck was an old . . .

Well, I couldn’t tell…

Because of all the hundreds…

Of dirty dolls and stuffed animals…

Covering every inch of the truck…

Except the windows and tires.

There were lots of filthy Barbies…

Some torn, saggy Disney figures…

A large Alf doll…

Many sizes of grey, naked, weather-worn baby dolls…

And a grimy Kewpie doll as the hood ornament.

Who? What? WHY?

The man driving looked just as strange…

Thin face, long straggly beard.

But I won’t say anymore because…

He could be some kid’s grandpa.

(Dear Lord, I hope not)

I mentioned this weird man with his even weirder truck to my daughter…

Who used to live in the same neighborhood a year ago.

Yup, she had seen him but had no more information.

My mind doesn’t want to go to the place…

Where wild and freaky scenarios dwell…

At least not today while I baby-sit my two grandkids.

But…

I’m going to the yearly retreat of my writer group…

At a cottage on a lake north of Ann Arbor…

Where a bunch of us writers will brainstorm plots and characters and such.

Maybe a plot about this man and his truck will be fleshed out.

It’ll be interesting to see what my fellow writers come up with.

Always, Em-Musing

CAN'T DECIDFER

**((&%SK’Head%86-  $96@#44IOJH&%%COLD(*^* 

Runny*%^&$NoseI)(q3q3iWatery e9-_)*q EYESI

{aakh;SAD *7d83334__Dep*ress((edL09aI093@ ACHY

=oaior(&*bdij[a[sp0CAN'T *8878p 3’@# Think ))Wf SStraight

Mcm+@ Tired9&wldna’@#% Need ji#$% Sleep ‘(&^ **&H _8

Maybe!@$Need(*7#s  Shot @3( !2__of ‘)TEQUILA#4560*

& OR^%34NYQUIL&%4#485Was*h;Going ^% TO(_##%

SPIRITUALi*8834[ah1@@ GATHERING)*bCAN”T!((*&^

Feel ((E48””}too :<>’!# Yucky(87vhsGuess”]{.

I’M}=\|*%my answer:P{9& is*&^4 I’M

}=\|*%

Hmm?.

I'm? What? 

Something weird is happening...

I feel awful...

I normally don't blog on weekends...

But I have been contemplating going to that Spiritual Gathering...

I wrote about a few days ago...

And in all the gibberish above...

(Which was meant to convey just how awful I feel today)

I wrote that I guess my answer is...

I'm not meant to go...

Because of my cold.

But those words...

"not meant to go"

Just won"t print...

In the gibberish...

No matter how many times I try.

So?

Is that the sign that I should go?

Or a sign that I shouldn't go?

Oh, I don't know, I don't know!

Sorta freaked out about the words...

Not printing. 

So, I'll let my nose run...

And my eyes water a bit more...

And see if sit another sign comes out.

Always, Em-Musing

WRITER'S RESOURCE

I’m paralyzed…

Can only move my fingers and eyes…

As I watch the spider on the ceiling…

Do laps overhead.

WHAT does it WANT here in my office?

And why is it finding my office a place it wants to be?

Doesn’t know I’ll WHAP it if it comes any closer?

I can’t concentrate with my head constantly looking up.

“If you come any closer, I’ll KILL you!” I want scream. 

But it’s 4:46 in the morning…

I don’t want to terrorize the neighbors and have them call 911.

Dear God!

Now it’s  practicing dropping down on it’s web…

Up, down, up, down…

Nearer…

Closer…

AHHHH!

That’s it! I need a weapon!

Armed with a shoe…

Standing statue still…

Watching the damn thing crawl in a pattern…

Round and round…

I figure I’ll have to kill it sooner…

Rather than later if I’m going to get any work done.

But how?

I’m not willing to do a balancing act on a chair…

Not as clumsy as I am.

I don’t have any bug spray–

Ah HA!

Now, armed with my hairspray…

I aim it at the spider on the ceiling–

AAAHHHH!!!!

It’s on the floor, camouflaged by the hardwood…

If I don’t find it…

I’ll never work in here again!

There!

On the leg of my desk–

WHAP!

HA!

AH!

Sorry…

Spider.

And sorry…

For yet another spider story…

But THIS is what’s been on my mind…

And ceiling…

This morning.

Now…

Onward to sending out more queries.

Always, Em-Musing

COSPIRITUAL

Do you believe in coincidence?

I often wonder how coincidence works.

Yesterday, I wrote about Cassie the Flute Player.

Wasn’t sure why…

Other than I’m paying more attention to people around me…

Maybe because they’ll make great characters in my novels.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon…

I went to the nursing home again to visit the “near” person.

After visiting for only a short while I felt an urge to leave…

“Sorry, I have to go now.”

I then went to the grocery store just a block away.

I always park at one particular entrance…

Yesterday, I felt the need to park at the other entrance.

I actually wrestled in my mind about changing the parking space.

Just as I got out of the car…

There was Cassie the Flute Player walking behind her wheel chair.

“Cassie!” I called out.

She turned and looked at me, not really remembering who I was…

And I had to remind her.

(happens to me all the time)

Anyway…

We talked awhile and I told her I had blogged about her.

She then invited me to go to a spiritual gathering this Saturday…

Somewhere out in the country.

“There’ll be a large crystal to sit on and a pyramid.”

Of course I know that pyramids and crystals have some kind of power…

But I don’t know what would be expected of me if I went.

“The earth is moving spiritually in a new direction, “ Cassie said.

Only people “meant” to be there will show up. 

If you come…

It’s because you were meant to be part of this spiritual awakening.”

I have no idea what any of that means, other than I’m intrigued.

Last night I mentioned to my daughter that I was thinking of going.

After reading about Cassie in my blog yesterday, she wants to go too…

She wants to meet the woman who gave up all of her material possessions…

To go on a spiritual journey to find herself.

I also mentioned going to this spiritual gathering to a friend.

“Are you nuts? Do you even know these people? What if something bad happens?

What if you wind up missing like so many other women you read about?

And where in the country is it?”

I explained that it’s by the intersection of two county roads…

I’ll see a driveway, turn down it and see a pole barn–

“This sounds crazy, if you ask me,” my friend said. “Don’t go.”

Hmm?

I’m fascinated.

I’m leery.

I'm also not sure.

Am I meant to be there?

If I don’t go, what does it mean?

If I do go what does it mean?

I mean, the experience would be great research for a novel.

But…

What…

If?

Would you go?

Always, Em-Musing

CASSIE THE FLUTE PLAYER

I met a woman a few weeks ago…

At the nursing home…

Where the “near” person I know who has MRSA went.

Her name is Cassie.

I’d been hearing the haunting melodies of a Native American flute…

Coming from one of the hallways of the nursing home.

And so I followed the music.

After introducing myself and some conversation…

I queried why she was even at a nursing home…

Being that she looked younger than me.

“I’m recuperating from hip surgery,” she told me

“Oh?”

I wondered why she wasn’t home being taken care of by family.

“My family disowned me,” she said, reading my mind.

“That’s awful. Why?”

 “Several years ago I sold most of everything I had…

Bought a Honda motorcycle…

And went on a journey across the country.”

“By yourself?” I asked, shocked. That seemed so scary to me.

“Uh huh. Took me eight months. I’d never ridden a bike before.”

“And? Did you find what you’re looking for?”

“I was transformed…

I meditated in the desert…

I climbed mountains and got closer to God.”

I was in awe of Cassie. All alone? Doing all these things?

I almost kill my self daily tripping over my own feet…

Let alone taking the many paths she must have taken…

In the desert and climbing mountains…

ALONE!

“She then showed me her photographs.

“Is that you?” I asked. The woman looked different.

“Yeah, that was me the day I started my journey.

I was forty pounds heavier. And wearing make-up and jewelry.”

The woman I saw now was sans all that, but more beautiful…

I looked at her whole album…

There were many pictures of nature…

Mountains, rivers, prairies…

And Native Americans.

“I stayed at several Indian reservations.

They understood my need for a spiritual journey.

A shaman gave me this flute.”

“Really? Had you ever played the flute before?”

“No, but he said this is what I needed for my journey.”

“And so you taught yourself?”

“Yeah.”

I left Cassie and went home wondering about my journey in life.

I live with all the creature comforts I need.

I feel I sacrifice a lot for my writing.

But it’s nothing compared to what Cassie gave up.

I don’t know if I have the courage to do what Cassie did…

Nor do I think I need to do what Cassie for my journey.

But I still wonder…

What am I willing to do…

How much am I willing to sacrifice…

To walk this journey of mine…

And fulfill my dreams?

Below is the link to Cassie’s journey…

Take a look.

http://www.twothumbsblue.smugmug.com/

What journey are you on?

Always, Em-Musing

SOMETHING ROTTEN THIS WAY SMELLS

It was only a few days since I bought it…

The trout, that is.

I took it out of the frige for dinner…

But hmm?

Did it smell more than it should?

I’ve never bought trout before…

So I wasn’t sure if trout is fishier than other fish.

I’d paid a nice price for it…

So I’d hate to throw it out.

But if it was going rotten…

I’d hate to upchuck.

Oh, what to do? What to do?

Hmm?

Why did this choice feel familiar…

To one I had made earlier in the day?

That choice though wasn’t about smelly fish…

But rather it was about a chapter in my W.I.P…

That I’ve been editing.

I read it again for the umpteenth time when…

Eeuuww!

It reeked!

Of dull, lifeless copy.

It didn’t add anything to the story.

In fact, taking it out would make the pacing better.

But I’d spent so much time on it…

And didn't want to throw it out.

Oh, what to do? What to do?

By the end of the evening…

I made my choices…

I ate the fish…

And chucked the chapter.

And this morning?

My stomach is good…

And my W.I.P…

Better.

Ah!

Always, Em-Musing