- my first novel (it's actually my third, but the first I really have high hopes for)--currently 130,000 words, fully revised, but it's only one half of an epic fantasy, and I want to complete both parts before submitting to agents, so I can be sure I have the story exactly how I want it and nifty foreshadowing worked in, etc.
- a screenplay for a 20 min short, promised to an 'aspiring independent film-maker' friend--currently outlined and at 5 pages (~1/4 done)
08 December 2010
04 November 2010
I have always, always encouraged him to follow his dreams, to paint, to enjoy life because it's over too quickly, and I haven't minded being the chief bread winner since I graduated (I'm a patron of the arts after all!), but I never talk about it like that to others. Friends ask how my husband's degree is going, and I say great, and they ask what his plans are, and I say he hopes to teach...It's what they want to hear, but I feel dirty every time, knowing I'm lying. He's severely dyslexic, how is he going to get an education degree to go with his arts degree? He's only sold a couple of paintings to acquaintances, so we can't rely on the art either. I see other people buying houses because they have two incomes, but I can't. Deep down I'm fine with it. I know if things ever got really tough, my husband would get whatever job he could and work hard to help out. He supported me through ten years of college doing hard labor 12 hours a day, so I know he's no slacker. But I made a choice to support a dream, whether something comes of it or not, and I'm not about to tell him to give it up so I can have the same luxuries as my colleagues.
Thanks to Julie, I realized I'm letting others make me feel poor when really I am so very very rich:
- I have the best husband in the world, and we're still madly in love after 21 years
- I'm going to have a baby!
- I have a wonderful brother, several wonderful friends, and two beautiful cats
- I have a great job that allows me to support both me and my husband's dreams
- I'm healthy, well fed (unlike my childhood), with a spotless house, and I never want anything but chocolates for Christmas because I already have everything I truly need
- I'm a writer! To be published someday (fingers crossed)
- and all those terrible, strange, beautiful experiences of childhood are fodder for the imagination--it's all good in the end
01 November 2010
Now that I'm no longer freaking out about every cramp and strange new sensation, I'm rolling up my sleeves and getting back into that fantasy manuscript of mine. I've been reading George R. R. Martin, so I've stopped calling mine 'epic' fantasy (you could insulate the house for winter with his novels), and I've been devoting some of those sleepless hours in the night to thinking about improving my characters' voices and motivations, so hopefully I'll make some real progress before the little one comes.
Good luck to everyone doing NaNoWrMo! And I will be shambling about my favorite blogs soon to check on you all and say 'hi'. It's so good to be back.
20 July 2010
I finished a massive re-write of 80,000 words, and now I'm 15,000 words into the second half...or the second book. I really haven't figured out where to divide my epic fantasy yet. I want to get it all down and futz with that sort of thing later. For now, I'm all about characters, story, and craft. Everything I write is fantastic or horrible, depending on which day you ask. I have glimpsed brilliance, but it's not all there yet. I'm working on it. No time to talk. I must write! Going back to my cave now...
08 June 2010
As you might remember from my previous post, I've been busy helping with my husband's art exhibition. Opening night was last week. Since I'd organized this shindig, I couldn't hide in the corner and observe people as I normally would. This poor writer had to be in the thick of things and, you know, actually talk to people.
Some of my husband's friends from art school were the first to show up. The discussion was invigorating, covering everything from artistic technique to symbolism, culture, and even writing! I enjoyed myself and didn't want the artistic jam session to end. But some workmates arrived, and I felt obligated to give them the tour. I was talking and gesturing and trying to convey my enthusiasm for the paintings, and the whole time I felt my energy levels plummet. It wasn't late, so I couldn't blame sleep deprivation.
Finally, an old friend of mine showed up with her two children. It was great to see her, and I wanted to catch up, but her seven- and eight-year-olds weren't as interested in the paintings as she thought they'd be. I think they expected "finger painting". I volunteered to watch them while she fetched placating offerings of cocoa from the cafe downstairs. They headed straight for the stage, playing hide and seek in the curtains. Everything was under control, but then I spotted a gallery owner I'd invited. This was the important business end of things.
The kids looked fine where they were, so I darted over, grabbed my husband, and introduced him to the new arrival. My husband is a bit shy when talking about his work, so I had to get the conversation going, all the while watching the kids out of the corner of my eye. They'd discovered a keyboard I hadn't even noticed on the stage, one hooked up to the sound system with the volume on "high". I tried to ignore the first few notes, which were almost pretty, and I wondered if the boy had had piano lessons. Nope. A few raucous, jangling chords later, I had to excuse myself and charge the stage with a shushing finger to my lips. The boy paused at the intervention of adult authority, but then his sister joined in. I have younger siblings; I've babysat, but this was centre stage in the middle of an art exhibition. "Please don't do that. The sign says you're not supposed to touch..." Everything fell on deaf ears. Meanwhile, I'm watching the gallery owner and my husband and hoping their conversation isn't too impaired by the cacophony.
Their mother was back, except she was more interested in the keyboard than the noise issuing from it. I think she's grown filters over her ears. She could read the "do not touch" sign, though, and in her arcane mothering manner managed to get them off the stage...but not before the boy almost broke his neck climbing a rickety stool. I think I need to do some child rearing research before my IVF treatment kicks in. The cats are well trained, nothing the threat from a squirt bottle of water won't fix, but the eight-year-old-agents-of-chaos are a bit more tricky. The girl even managed to spill her cocoa all over her mom, so my friend had to head home before we had five seconds to chat.
At least the gallery owner was oblivious to the circus (she must have kids), and my husband managed to line up an exhibition with her at the end of July. Whew!
But, after the art friends were gone, the evening really began to wear. I was stuck with people who left me feeling as drained as a blood bag in a room full of vampires. I recalled something I'd read about psychological traits: Introverts (like me and the creative art friends) get their energy from quiet time alone and then give it away when they're in groups of people. Thus, the need for a solitary walk in the park later to recharge. Extroverts (like my co-workers), however, are energized by parties and interactions with others. I'd been vampirized!
I usually don't have to worry about energy-suckers when observing from the fringes, but being in the fray made me vulnerable. Still, despite the lack of observational/note-taking time, I did learn a lot about character types. In fiction, there should be introverts, extroverts, and, especially, agents of chaos around to make a scene more interesting!
29 May 2010
There's nothing like competition to bring out people's true character. When you're writing your next story and creating protagonists, ask yourself whether they're the Cranium or Scrabble type and how they react to winning or losing. You'll understand them a whole lot better.
22 May 2010
Go on over.
Uhm...that is all. See, this is why I only post once a week, I'm all out of ideas. Hats off to you who do it everyday!
21 May 2010
10 May 2010
I know I can accept pretty much anything if I'm introduced slowly. When I first started watching "Buffy", I had no idea that by season 7 I'd be saying "they've averted their fifth apocalypse, and she's died twice, but this time I'm really worried because they're descending into the mouth of Hell, and she's had tearful goodbyes with both her vampire boyfriends, including the one she killed and who came back and got his own show...". Pretty crazy stuff, but I accept it because I was there for the journey.
As long as a book lets me know early on that there are monsters or whatnot, I'm prepared to go further. I don't like being plunged into the deep end.
Whenever I deal with my family, it's like being air-dropped into the middle of the pacific. My childhood was such a drama that I stopped telling the stories to my friends because I think they were starting to believe I'm someone with too much imagination (like a writer). My brother is one of the few people who knows it all--he was right there with me from the start. We share everything. So it was a shock when I call home for Mother's Day and my mom answers using a different name (that wasn't the shocking part--I didn't even ask her what that was all about as I really don't want to know), and she's too busy to talk, so she puts my sister on the phone. My sister, relishing the chaos like some demonspawn, joyously tells me that she knows something bad about our brother but can't tell. "I want to know," I say. There is one more token protest before she spits out that he's having heart problems, a hole in his valve, and the doctor says he can't even climb ladders at work anymore (he does alot of that at work too).
The deep end alright. I hastily research the subject and learn there are medications to treat it and valve replacements with high success rates (although I'm worried about how good my brother's insurance is). Armed with this information, I call him and immediately jump down his throat for not telling me. We had talked for hours on the weekend (he's one of my best friends), and he hadn't mentioned a word! With no way to hide it from me anymore, he becomes doom and gloom. He doesn't want to change his career and lifestyle, yada yada, and I say he'd better because he has a daughter to raise and a family that cares for him.
The admonishments out of the way, I get all optimistic and supportive. There are tears and "I love you's" then I hang up the phone, talk things over with my husband, then call up the computer repair people and deal with that drama (they're going to replace it finally). Next day it's my friend's mammogram scare, my injured toe, antibiotics, an early meeting to decide the course of someone's professional life... Sometimes you just want to scream "stop!" and order the whole world to take a break.
I would never put so many disjointed dramas into one story and one character's life. It's too confusing. A series, where you've had several books or tv episodes to build up the web of interactions and problems, is another matter, but even then you want your various storylines to intersect and form a greater theme.
A character can have dozens of different failed relationships, for example, but it should accomplish something or give insight into the protagonist. Why is he driving these people away? Is there a part of his psyche and upbringing that's causing him to make bad choices? Is this his real problem? (aside from the bad guy and a nuclear bomb to diffuse or whatever)
It's hard to see themes in fiction or real life (and some argue there aren't any), but I believe it's a writer's job to find them, to choose the dramas that fit into a larger, cohesive story and make sense of it all.
As for my personal story, I'd like my main character to always be there for the people she cares about and never give up, overcoming all obstacles to be a published author and showing her beloved brother his name on the acknowledgments page. Love and dedication are the themes I want in my life.
What's the main point of your story--either fictional or real? Do you think story is meant to reveal underlying themes and make sense of it all? Or, do we merely sample the chaos for entertainment, as a means to distract us from our own unsolvable dramas?
04 May 2010
I've always been able to feel "the luck groove" as I call it. It's sensing the right time to leave the house for a walk so I avoid the rain and run into an interesting person in the park to chat to yet still make it to breakfast before they stop serving at 10:30. I thrive on that feeling. It's how I win pool games. But I also know there's a universal law that luck never holds. That's why I've lost as many pool games as I've won.
When I feel the needle bump out of the groove and hear that screech like fingernails on chalkboard (those of you old enough to have owned a turntable and seen chalkboards will know what I mean), I choose to lay low. I putter and carry on with activities set in motion when the luck was there. I've been wrestling with a new computer, setting up a home network, promoting my husband's art exhibition, researching IVF, learning to read guitar Tab, and troubleshooting my Western blots at work, but the hardest thing has been keeping my writing and revisions from grinding to a halt. I know its not working. Everything I write is crap.
My writing is too important to me to rely on luck, moods, or the weather. I want to perform whether I'm in a comfy chair with my favorite coffee mug and writing tiara or scribbling with a leaky pen on a bumpy bus ride. I've been good about pressing on through the ups and downs for the last two years (since I fully committed myself to this life), but the last month I've stumbled. I'm not feeling the luck or much of anything. The writing mood starts to build then drifts away. I keep going with the edits, but now everything I've done before looks like it needs to be redone. Have I accomplished anything? Am I the Sisyphus of writing?
I work on my manuscript for at least an hour everyday, aiming for 500 new or revised words. It's agony, but I do it (most of the time). I'm too stubborn to give up. And now, here I am posting again! I've redecorated the blog and put up a photo without a speck of cat hair in sight (it took a while to find one). I'm feeling the first trickles of returning luck, so I hope the writing fever comes back too. If not, I'll learn to do without, because, even when the writing aches, I'm happier with it than without it.
What about you? How do you live without the luck groove? What keeps you going when the writing doesn't work? Are you an optimist or just plain stubborn?
14 April 2010
I've been query letter writing (in an effort to delay revisions as long as possible), and I've stumbled across some helpful resources: Elana Johnson did a terrific and motivating blog series; Nathan Bransford has lots of useful tips; and Query Shark isn't afraid to tell you what agents really think.
I, however, am not an expert on query writing. I'm working on it. If I figure it out, I'll let you know. So why am I posting on this topic? While fiddling with my query, I got side-tracked again and had heaps of fun writing the opposite of a good query: The Anti-Query. Behold...
Dear Agent [I didn't bother to look up your name so imagine your name here]:
A Ninja with a dark past, a tortured soul who has tortured many souls but not soles, because Ninjas don't wear shoes, though sometimes they have those funny flats with the cloth bit that goes between the toes; I don't know what it's called, but you must know what I'm talking about, because everyone knows about Ninjas.
Then he goes riding real fast through the desert on a motorcycle (I don't know how he got there, but I'll work it out later) with zombies. Yeah, zombies! 'Cause it's cool. And he loves Megan Fox. He's dating her. Well, he has her poster, which is like dating her, 'cause she's there whenever he has sex. The book's not written yet, but I expect it will be about 10 pages, maybe 12. The ninja's name is Johnny or Bob or he might be a woman. Johnette? Bobette? I don't know. I'm only halfway through the book--that's SIX pages, which is lots of writing. There's no robots in it though. Robots are stupid...unless they're sexy robots. I haven't worked out the ending, but he either gets the girl or a bigger poster.
BIO: I am a 50 year old professor of socio-economic anthropology at Harvard, so I know nothing about Ninjas, and I have never written fiction before, because it's for stupid people, but I do have a poster of Megan Fox, and how hard can it be? I've attached all 6 pages to this email. I will stay online until you get back to me. Buy my book or burn in lakes of fire! I know where you live :[
So...I'm pretty sure I know what NOT to do. Just so everyone else can have a bit of query writing fun and to celebrate my having almost 50 followers (wow! thanks guys!), I'll make it a contest. Write the worst query you can and either leave a link to your blog post in comments or email me your entry to lorelclayton(at)hotmail(dot)com -- one winner will receive a fabulous prize! It will be good, I promise.
Now, just to prove that my query writing skills really aren't that awful, here's what I have so far for my last manuscript (not the one I'm working on now). I don't think it's publishable, but I thought I could use it for practice...
Dear [well researched agent's name here]:
Eva Thorne is a human refugee in a city of rude elves and matriarchal dwarfs. After the detective she tries to hire slams the door in her face, she is forced to investigate her brother’s murder on her own. She kicks off her high heels and delves into the muck of Highcrowne society in search of the killer. As a Thorne, she has a lot of muck to deal with. Her family has a sinister history and many enemies. What she discovers brings her up against a powerful slave-trading cartel, dark gods, and, worst of all, her twin sister.
Both her family and the elven authorities want her hushed. She has no money and no magic of her own with which to combat them, but she does have an illegally-freed slave, a senile nanny, and an ex-almost-boyfriend on her side. Even when she loses her job and almost loses her head in a sword fight on the same night, she isn’t deterred. It’s when the nanny goes missing that she really starts to worry.
“Tangle of Thornes” is an 80,000 word stand alone fantasy detective novel. The first five pages and a synopsis are included below this email. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Any suggestions for improving it will be welcomed with open arms and grateful cheek kisses (the sterile internet kind). And don't forget to enter the contest!
09 April 2010
I bet you weren't expecting to hear from me again so soon? I try to post about once a week, but I'm back with a bit of bloodshed for Anne Riley's Murder Scene Blogfest. Australia is a day ahead of most of the Western world, so I get to post now! Head on over to Anne's blog "tomorrow" and see everyone else's contributions. They'll be great.
Sorry to disappoint anyone looking for gore, but I'm a bit squeamish about that stuff and tend to show the aftermath in my writing rather than the murder itself. This is a scene from my very first manuscript (so be kind) and I'd love to hear your comments. Here goes:
Shawn felt a premonitory chill. He moved in front of Lori and turned the knob on the door. It wasn’t locked. He slowly pushed it open.
“Maggie?” Lori called.
He put a finger to his lips to silence her.
What was he doing? He had the urge to run away; instead he kept moving forward. He crept into the hall, wincing as floorboards creaked. He looked into the living room where Maggie’s easel sat. She spent most days working in front of it or tending her garden. She was in front of the easel now, sitting in her rocker. He didn’t relax. There was something wrong.
He inched toward her, looking around the room for any sign of what had put him on edge. Then he noticed the plastic ties that bound her arms to the chair. There was no movement. He remembered what had happened to Barney, and he couldn’t go any closer.
Lori reached her grandmother’s side, and her eyes widened. Shawn waited for her scream but heard tape ripping, followed by Maggie’s pained gasp. She was alive. He hurried to them and saw the bruises on the old woman’s wrists and ankles where the ties dug in. Her head lolled weakly to the side, mouth red where Lori had torn off the gag.
“Dave.” Tears glistened in Maggie’s eyes.
He noticed the chair was angled away from the easel, facing the dining room. He looked through the doorway and saw horror laid out on the formal table. Bright red blood, lots of blood staining the white lace, and the remnants of a person. He looked away before it could sink in. Bile rose in his throat. He saw Maggie’s tormented stare and knew she had been forced to watch as her friend was tortured and killed. He turned her chair away.
“I can’t take them off!” Lori struggled with the plastic ties, growing more frustrated. She kept her back to the dining room; she must have caught a glimpse as well. “I need something sharp.”
“Just a second.” Shawn headed for the kitchen, glad to get some distance from that room.
He opened a drawer and searched for something to cut with. He found a paring knife. As his hand grasped the handle, he felt that chill again. He turned around.
A figure dressed in black jeans, windbreaker, gloves and ski mask stood there, calmly watching him. Shawn jumped and pressed his back against the cabinet. The killer was still here.
Thanks everyone who stopped by! Hope to see you later!
07 April 2010
In Nancy Kress's book "Characters, Emotion and Viewpoint", she says you have to decide who you're going to tell the story through. I dismissed her advice at first--I start with a great idea and a main character and I can't *gasp* change it!--but I've seen many instances where it would've been better to axe the main and use the sidekick or the opponent as the focus of the story.
The main protagonist should drive events, make the choices that affect how everything turns out, and preferably be strong. In Stephen King's "On Writing" he talks about how Carrie was never his favorite character because she was so meek and passive most of the time. It was a very successful book, but I don't think it would have been if she hadn't transformed into the evil, scary, exactor-of-vengeance she became at the end. Nowadays, most people's attention spans are shorter (as we are overwhelmed with books, TV and movie choices) and I doubt few people want to wait until the end before the character is interesting. I know I've decided to never buy another book by the author I'm reading now, no matter how it turns out. There's been too much agony along the way.
My feelings on this subject have affected my own writing lately. I've noted where a character behaves more passively than I'd like. I also found one instance where my main was saved by somebody else! That won't do. I'm now rewriting it so, even though people who care about him are trying to help, they can't, and he has to find a way to get himself out of hot water. I think it will make for a more engaging story, so it's worth the effort.
What about you? What really annoys you in books? Do you often find a secondary character more interesting than the main? If you're a writer, have you ever thought about making someone else the main protagonist?
30 March 2010
24 March 2010
21 March 2010
- I'm quick to anger and quick to forgive
- I know all of Darth Vader's lines in Episodes IV-VI
- Episodes I-III were SO disappointing
- I've become proficient at recognizing dialogue, even without quote marks, as my new Kindle often leaves them out for some reason
- Some colleagues were telling ghost stories about weird sounds in the building at night and one guy, in serious creepy storyteller mode, said, "...and then I heard Lorel's laugh, but she was no where to be seen..." And they all shuddered! So, apparently, I have a ghostly laugh.
- I wanted to be a veterinarian and did some work study at a clinic, but decided I liked animals too much to see them in pain every day
- same goes for why I decided not to become a medical doctor
I pass the award on to some seriously beautiful bloggers: Portio Sisco, whose posts often reflect just how I feel; Niki at Wool'n'Nuts who brightens my day with her beautiful animal photos; Jemi at Just Jemi who is so positive and seems like the sort of teacher I would have adored when I was a child; Heather at Heather's Odyssey, my long lost twin (the blonde version); and finally Crystal at Crystal Clear Proofing who is trying so hard to help all us writers with our poor grammar and spelling--a Herculean effort! I would pass this on to Michele too, who is also a beautiful blogger, but she gave it to me so that's against the rules!
Until next time...Maybe I'll post something about memoirs after all?
08 March 2010
I feel energized today because my boss told me my grant proposal was the best written and best thought out series of experiments to ever come out of his lab! I suspect he's been taking management classes on how to motivate his employees, but it worked. The slog doesn't seem so bad today and the sun is shining a little brighter (it also took the sting out of him saying that I need to get more papers published).
Artists (be they writers or painters or whatever) thrive on compliments. Maybe it's because we're more in tune with our emotions. I have to critique my husband's paintings all the time, and when I tell him he's done something good--better yet if some random person on the street tells him the painting is good--then he's soaring and far more productive for months afterward. If, however, I have to admit that he didn't quite pull something off then he's in the doll drums for at least a week before he can get the motivation to go back and fix it.
Writers have to put up with a lot of criticism too (for our own good), and we wouldn't get any better without it, but there's nothing like a small compliment here and there. When one of my lovely followers says something nice in comments, I feel great and want to blog and write more. I think that's part of the reason my writing confidence has grown--this wonderful community of compassionate people. It's also why I try to compliment other people whenever I can, spread the love. We know we need criticism, and we expect it when we send something off to test readers or discuss our work in a critique group, but sometimes we just need someone to find one good thing in what we do and say "good job". With that, we can gather the energy to keep going and do better.
So, I wanted to say to all you struggling writers out there (published, unpublished, thinking about it...) good job! Keep trying, don't give up, and hold onto what you love, that's the most important thing.
Has anyone else received a compliment lately? Do you try to find something good to say to people even if you have to criticize some other part of their work? What keeps you going?
05 March 2010
For example, right now I'm at my workplace, on a Saturday, picking away at by grant in a dark little room when I just know the sun is shining outside. This (combined with the fact that I've been in caves before) makes it very easy for me to imagine an old time miner stuck underground all day, chipping away at hard stone, trying to find some valuable gem that will reverse his fortune and keep his family fed in the winter.
#6: I thought I could get by with ancient Greek when travelling in Greece...Lie. I listened to language tapes ahead of time and carried a modern Greek phrasebook. However, there was a girl in my ancient Greek class who thought she could get an easy 'A' because she spoke Greek. There was a lot she had to unlearn, so she had a harder time than the rest of us and dropped the class after a few weeks.
#1: I was Homecoming Queen...Lie. My dyslexic husband was a first string, inside linebacker when he was in High School (in America), but I never did his homework, and I didn't get to accompany him to Homecoming because I didn't go to high school.
02 March 2010
10 February 2010
When the last mark was scrubbed clean by sand, the stone cracked, cutting into the Earth, slicing her to bedrock. Darkness wedged its way out, night without stars--and the tides stopped.
I dive beneath the next wave and swim past muscled guys tossing a ball. It rolls my way, and I pause long enough to toss it back. They smile enticingly, but the ocean is more insistent, sending water up my nose for ignoring her.
I keep going, arms slicing a path through swells, until I’m as deep as the surfers who straddle their boards waiting for the right moment to catch a ride. I’m right where I want to be, where no one can see me. I always choose a beach without lifeguards. As soon as someone notices my head go under at the edge of dark blue water, they freak out, and would-be-heroes push their kayaks into the waves to search for me. They freak out even more when I don’t come up again.
I wish I was a mermaid. People would see a flash of rainbow scales, a flip of my tail then shake their heads, certain they had mistaken a dolphin for a girl. But dolphins don’t have scales. So, in their secret places they would thrill, believing for an instant that fairy tales are real, that Ariel can get her prince. They forget that in the real story her only choice was the agony of daggers in her legs or the agony of a dagger in the heart of her lover. My choice is worse than that.
My other item of business is a beautiful and very very appreciated award from Crystal at Crystal Clear Proofing. I've always wanted this one! Thank you! You must read her blog if you want to know more about grammar, punctuation and all that important stuff. And, if you're a writer, you had better want to know.
For this award, I have to answer the following questions with one word. Here goes:
07 February 2010
The lovely Southern belle, Michele, over at Southern City Mysteries gave me the Sugar Doll award. Thank you! It requires me to say ten things about myself:
1. I love Southern accents and slip into one whenever I think about the good 'ol US of A. I have family in Georgia and Arkansas, and I copy my stepdad's accent whenever I'm on the phone to him. I can't help it, and I'm not trying to be rude. He never says anything, so maybe he doesn't notice. That leads me to...
2. I'm bad at accents. If anyone's ever seen "Don't Tell Her It's Me", I'm as awful as Steve Guttenberg was at the start of that movie.
3. I was raised by my great grandmother, so I say "hold your horses" and "are you some kinda wise guy?" like those phrases are still in style.
4. When I was three, I used an old baby carriage to build a house for my cats. When I ran to my grandma saying "Come see my cat house!", she was not amused. I never understood until years later when I learned a cathouse was a brothel .
5. Also because of my grandma, I love the Andrew Sisters and Patsy Cline.
6. I never liked the Lawrence Welk show.
7. I was forbidden to watch The Addams Family. Apparently, the way Gomez spoke French and kissed Mortisha's arm was "filthy".
8. I watched it anyway when Grandma was busy in the other room.
9. My Grandma, Ruth, was the greatest parent and role model anyone could ever have had. She wouldn't even kill a spider, and she nursed people as well as wild animals. I have a photo somewhere of her bottle-feeding a white-spotted fawn.
10. I still miss her.
All right, wiping my eyes now. Back to business. I'm passing the Sugar Doll award on to Elizabeth Spann Craig, Tabitha, Anne Riley, Chase, and Heather. Congrats!
I'd rather be here reading blogs and posting, but I must now drag my sorry, summer cold suffering self back to work (I know alliterations are bad, but I couldn't resist. All the S's go with my sniffles).
01 February 2010
28 January 2010
27 January 2010
26 January 2010
But I haven't done my homework. I haven't been visiting new blogs that I can link to and fulfill my award duties. I haven't even been writing for my own blog! Therefore, I will likely be passing these awards on to people who've already won them. I know there are plenty of other wonderful blogs out there that haven't received an award, but I haven't discovered you yet. I'm sorry.
For the Bliss (Happy 101) Award I must list ten things that make me happy:
- my husband
- dark chocolate
- the utter relaxation of snorkelling and exploring an underwater world
- take off in a plane, especially if I'm going someplace new
- getting lost in a good book, game or DVD boxed set marathon
- learning something new
- did I mention chocolate yet?
1. I know you just got this one Tabitha, but you deserve it for your beautiful posts
2. Anne, because I sense you are both a tough cookie and a sweetheart, and I like both!
3. I surmise from the manly blue colour scheme of Alan's blog that he won't be displaying this pink cupcake, but he's getting it anyway
4. Crystal gets this for making punctuation painless
5. I've recently discovered Lynnette's blog, but I'm enjoying her posts and this definitely will go with her colour scheme
6. Stephanie just finished her book. Congrats to her! She's probably feeling blissful right now
7. This one's for M.J. Here's hoping she'll come back soon and post some more
8. Emma for her infectious optimism and energy
9. I wanted Dezmond to get an award so he knows I really do read his posts every day, even though I don't comment (bad me)
10. Elizabeth really is the sweetest
Finally, the second, Silver Lining Award, which I have long coveted and am so grateful to get, goes to...
As I was writing this, I discovered Emma Michaels gave me an award (Thank you!!), and as promised I'm passing it along right this second.
1. Southern City Mysteries
2. Let's Try This Again
3. The Lipstick Chronicles
4. Terry's Place
5. Organized Chaos
My editing window freaked out on me a couple of times, and I lost my link to Blogger, but the lists are done and all has ended well. I have three new awards that I'm giddy over, and I hope I made some more blogger's just as pleased as me. Thanks again Michele, Anne and Emma, and congrats everyone!
Now, I really, really need to get back to work (bad me for blogging on a Thursday when I should be doing science)...