Today's Posie & Mosey Monday has been preempted by my Spring *Bling-Bling* contest announcement.
Thanks everyone who entered last week!
Here are the winners, as chosen by Mr. Random.org:
1. Mary Frame--Alice in Wonderland Post Card package & bookplate
2. Ricki Marking--Adult Literary Novel package & bookplate
3. Gabi--YA Fantasy package & bookplate
Congrats! Please email me at: anita(at)aghoward(dot)com and give me your snail mail addy and who you would like the SPLINTERED bookplate made out to so I can get those goodies sent your way! Those who didn't win this time, don't worry. I'll be having lots more giveaways in the future!
Also, a quick announcement:
A while back, I entered a contest for a $500 virtual book tour from TLC. I found out yesterday that I'm one of the five finalists!
If any of you feel up for voting for me, here's the link (no rush, you have until April 14th). I would really appreciate the help! This package could get a great buzz going for Splintered.
Thanks for stopping in today, and have a great week!
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Posie & Mosey Mondays
On Mondays, I share word posies with my readers. Comments are disabled so you can enjoy this gift of poetry then mosey on along to your list of daily do's.*
*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar.
Men Call you Fair
~Edmund Spenser (1552 - 1599)
Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that your self ye daily such do see:
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit,
And vertuous mind, is much more prais'd of me.
For all the rest, how ever fair it be,
Shall turn to naught and lose that glorious hue:
But only that is permanent and free
From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue.
That is true beauty: that doth argue you
To be divine, and born of heavenly seed:
Deriv'd from that fair Spirit, from whom all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fair, and what he fair hath made,
All other fair, like flowers untimely fade.
*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar.
Men Call you Fair
~Edmund Spenser (1552 - 1599)
Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that your self ye daily such do see:
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit,
And vertuous mind, is much more prais'd of me.
For all the rest, how ever fair it be,
Shall turn to naught and lose that glorious hue:
But only that is permanent and free
From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue.
That is true beauty: that doth argue you
To be divine, and born of heavenly seed:
Deriv'd from that fair Spirit, from whom all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fair, and what he fair hath made,
All other fair, like flowers untimely fade.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
What the ER taught me about writing...
Almost two years ago, my son was diagnosed with epilepsy after my husband found him having a seizure on the living room floor. That in itself was scary enough; but ration in the possible side effects of the drugs available to treat this neurological condition and it goes a step beyond terrifying. We researched and researched, and resigned to try the most benign drug out there.
His pediatric neurologist started him off at the typical dosage for a child of his weight. His body reacted with jitters and what my son thought was the beginning of a seizure — a racing heartbeat and a “scary feeling” inside his head.
We spent several nights those first few weeks at the ER, trying to figure out what was going on. It wasn’t until I remembered my mom having a bout of panic attacks a year earlier with similar symptoms that I made the connection. My son was having drug-induced panic attacks caused by the dosage being too high for his system. After they adjusted the dose, his body slowly acclimated to the meds, and not only has it controlled his seizures, it’s now a rare thing for him to have any reactions.
So, what does this have to do with writing? Well, the last night we spent at the ER — before the panic attack revelation — I grabbed my laptop on my way out the door in hopes I could get some writing in. I was working on Splintered’s first draft, and had a self-appointed deadline.
I’d already dallied away enough nights (my most fruitful time for harvesting wordage) sitting in the ER waiting room and watching pointless TV shows. I was determined to finally get the scene done that I’d been toiling over for weeks. What happened surprised even me.
In the three hours we were there, I managed to tap out all that was left of that chapter, even while worrying and wondering if my son was ever going to have a normal life again. My insides wound in nervous knots, my fingers trembled with tension, a mixture of emotions bled into every sentence, yet still I finished.
And not only that, I rocked that scene. In fact, when I had multiple offers of representation for this book, each agent commented on that particular chapter (chapter 12, The Feast of Beasts) being the most “Lewis Carroll-ian” in the book. Why? Because I hadn’t held back. I put everything I was feeling into that scene, and it came across as wild and uncontrollable and absurd, which was exactly how life felt to me in that moment.
I always knew writing could be therapeutic to a writer, but I never thought about how good it can be for our stories if we write through the dramas in our life, choosing the scenes to match our situation. Had I tried to write something tender, maybe a romance scene, the outcome might not have been so good. But because I was feeling all of the confusion, angst, and bemused terror my MC was supposed to be feeling at that moment, it was golden, and the best thing that could’ve happened for my book, not to mention a great revelation for me.
So next time you’re having one of those days when everything seems to be going wrong, funnel that frustration into a scene where your MC is facing similar challenges in their life. Whether brought about by the same situations or not, the emotions will still ring true, and will add authenticity to your writing.
It's one of the perks of being writers. We actually get to broadcast our emotions while we’re working, as opposed to stifling them. (◕‿◕)
His pediatric neurologist started him off at the typical dosage for a child of his weight. His body reacted with jitters and what my son thought was the beginning of a seizure — a racing heartbeat and a “scary feeling” inside his head.
We spent several nights those first few weeks at the ER, trying to figure out what was going on. It wasn’t until I remembered my mom having a bout of panic attacks a year earlier with similar symptoms that I made the connection. My son was having drug-induced panic attacks caused by the dosage being too high for his system. After they adjusted the dose, his body slowly acclimated to the meds, and not only has it controlled his seizures, it’s now a rare thing for him to have any reactions.
So, what does this have to do with writing? Well, the last night we spent at the ER — before the panic attack revelation — I grabbed my laptop on my way out the door in hopes I could get some writing in. I was working on Splintered’s first draft, and had a self-appointed deadline.
I’d already dallied away enough nights (my most fruitful time for harvesting wordage) sitting in the ER waiting room and watching pointless TV shows. I was determined to finally get the scene done that I’d been toiling over for weeks. What happened surprised even me.
In the three hours we were there, I managed to tap out all that was left of that chapter, even while worrying and wondering if my son was ever going to have a normal life again. My insides wound in nervous knots, my fingers trembled with tension, a mixture of emotions bled into every sentence, yet still I finished.
And not only that, I rocked that scene. In fact, when I had multiple offers of representation for this book, each agent commented on that particular chapter (chapter 12, The Feast of Beasts) being the most “Lewis Carroll-ian” in the book. Why? Because I hadn’t held back. I put everything I was feeling into that scene, and it came across as wild and uncontrollable and absurd, which was exactly how life felt to me in that moment.
I always knew writing could be therapeutic to a writer, but I never thought about how good it can be for our stories if we write through the dramas in our life, choosing the scenes to match our situation. Had I tried to write something tender, maybe a romance scene, the outcome might not have been so good. But because I was feeling all of the confusion, angst, and bemused terror my MC was supposed to be feeling at that moment, it was golden, and the best thing that could’ve happened for my book, not to mention a great revelation for me.
So next time you’re having one of those days when everything seems to be going wrong, funnel that frustration into a scene where your MC is facing similar challenges in their life. Whether brought about by the same situations or not, the emotions will still ring true, and will add authenticity to your writing.
It's one of the perks of being writers. We actually get to broadcast our emotions while we’re working, as opposed to stifling them. (◕‿◕)
Monday, March 19, 2012
Posie & Mosey Monday
On Mondays, I share word posies with my readers. Comments are disabled so you can enjoy this gift of poetry then mosey on along to your list of daily do's.*
*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar.
Roses Can Wound
~Lascelles Abercrombie (January 1881 – October 1938)
Roses can wound,
But not from having thorns they do most harm;
Often the night gives, starry-sheen or moon'd,
Deep in the soul alarm.
And it hath been deep within my heart like fear,
Girl, when you are near.
The mist of sense,
Wherein the soul goes shielded, can divide,
And she must cringe and be ashamed, and wince,
Not in appearance hide
Of rose or girl from the blazing mastery
Of bared Eternity.
*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar.
Roses Can Wound
~Lascelles Abercrombie (January 1881 – October 1938)
Roses can wound,
But not from having thorns they do most harm;
Often the night gives, starry-sheen or moon'd,
Deep in the soul alarm.
And it hath been deep within my heart like fear,
Girl, when you are near.
The mist of sense,
Wherein the soul goes shielded, can divide,
And she must cringe and be ashamed, and wince,
Not in appearance hide
Of rose or girl from the blazing mastery
Of bared Eternity.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Varik & Marisa Duke it Out in the Streamerazzi Interview
Today, I'm honored to be hosting the fabulous Catherine Stine and her YA futuristic thriller, Fireseed One, on their virtual tour around the web. In the link list at the bottom of this interview, there's a URL that will take you to a complete schedule of stops.
Here's a quick summary of the book:
What if only your very worst enemy could help you save the world?
Fireseed One, a YA thriller, is set on a near-future earth with soaring heat, toxic waters, tricked-out amphibious vehicles, ice-themed dance clubs and fish that grow up on vines. Varik Teitur inherits a vast sea farm after the mysterious drowning of his marine biologist father. When Marisa Baron, a beautiful and shrewd terrorist, who knows way too much about Varik's father's work, tries to steal seed disks from the world's food bank, Varik is forced to put his dreams of becoming a doctor on hold and venture with her, into a hot zone teeming with treacherous nomads and a Fireseed cult who worships his dead father, in order to search for Fireseed, a seemingly magical hybrid plant that may not even exist. Illustrated by the author. Fans of Divergent and Feed will likely enjoy this novel, as well as those who like a dash of romance with their page-turners.
One of the things that caught my attention in the synopsis is the hot and cold aspect of the setting. Catherine actually weaves the same aspects into her characterization, bringing to life a "fire and ice romance."
To give us a little teaser, Catherine brought along her two main characters, Marisa and Varik, who, in spite of falling for each other, don't exactly see eye to eye on much else (lucky for us, because that makes it so very fun ... heh).
So, without further adieu, I give you seventeen-year-old Marisa and eighteen-year-old Varick, duking it out.
Okay guys. Let's make this a clean fight. No biting, head-butting, or hitting below the belt. That means you, Marisa. ;)
Nationality? Birthplace?
Varik: I live in Ocean Dominion, which used to be called the Arctic Circle, but is now a series of floating islands and farms. Our sea farm is Teitur Farm.
Marisa: I grew up in Land Dominion, which used to be Canada and Greenland way back in the dark ages. Now, Land Dominion and Ocean Dominion are rivals. (Sends Varik a wicked grin).
Fave food?
What are your occupations?
Marisa I was a member of the ZWC, an activist group, helping out the climate refugees in the Hotzone… or (looks over at Varik) a terrorist organization. Depends who you ask.
Varik: I was hoping to go to college to be a doctor. I wanted to specialize in making prosthetic limbs like the flippers I made for my dolphin after his got eaten by toxic waters. But now that my father (swallows hard) drowned, I manage our sea farm.
What makes life worthwhile?
Varik: Living on the ocean, sailing my old Sea Tern, playing ball with my dolphin, Juko; going to nightclubs on SnowAngel with my friend Audun, meeting girls (laughs when Marisa elbows him).
Marisa: Exposing hypocrisy, helping the refugees—
Varik interrupts: Though she goes about it in the worst way!
What are you each most fixated on?
Marisa: Feeding the Refs. Finding Fireseed.
Varik: Finding out if Fireseed exists, if what Marisa told me has any basis in fact.
Do you have a temper? How does it manifest?
(Both explode into uproarious laughter)
Marisa: Temper, me? Nooo! But Varik… he put a fish tracker in my neck for starters!
Varik: Um, because you broke into my father’s underwater vault, because you shot me with a stun gun. Because… (Exasperated sigh). Me? I’m pretty even-keeled.
Can you keep a secret?
Varik: (Reddening, dead silence. Thinking of all the secrets he’s kept from Marisa).
Marisa: (brushes her long, red hair back defiantly) Sometimes.
May we ask you each to describe how the other shows affection?
Varik: By breaking into my father’s secret underwater vault!
Marisa: By locking me up in his father’s airless meditation room.
Varik: It has one small porthole.
Marisa: Not even big enough for a water rat to squeeze through.
Varik: That was the point!
Who are your love interests?
Marisa: (Snorts) I have a fatal attraction to tall, blond guys, who own farms and have a horrid sense of politics!
Varik: I confess: I’ve developed a taste for stubborn, impulsive redheads, who join crazed cults simply to rebel against their megalomaniacal dads.
*ding-ding-ding*
Round's over. The opponents are being escorted out of the ring so they can kiss and makeup. If you want a peek at that ... well, you'll have to buy the book.
Here's what other authors are saying about Fireseed One:
“Fireseed One is so full of startling ideas that I couldn't stop reading! Recommended for fans of science fiction, thrillers, or for anyone looking for a story full of big surprises.” -- Amy Kathleen Ryan, author of Glow, the first novel in The Sky Chasers series
“Action, adventure, love, and loss, plus superb world building all adds up to an incredibly imaginative story – one that should not be missed.” --Carolyn MacCullough, author of Once a Witch and Always a Witch
Want to know more about Catherine and where to buy her book? Here's a treasure trove of linkage:
Fireseed One on Amazon
Fireseed One's Facebook page Goodreads author page
Catherine's Idea City blog
Also, be sure to visit the other tour stops for some fun interviews, contests, and swag:
Thank you Catherine, for letting me be a part of this. I loved meeting your wonderful characters! And thanks everyone else for stopping by. Have a fantastic weekend!
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Three isn't always a crowd.
Today, over at ADR3NALIN3, I'm talking about love triangles. Please hop over and let me know who your favorite starcrossed lovers are.
Also, I hope to see you next Tuesday when I welcome author Catherine Stine for an interview with a character from her Indie YA futuristic thriller:
Until then, have a great rest of the week, and happy blogging!
Also, I hope to see you next Tuesday when I welcome author Catherine Stine for an interview with a character from her Indie YA futuristic thriller:
Until then, have a great rest of the week, and happy blogging!
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Posie & Mosey Monday
On Mondays, I share word posies with my readers. Comments are disabled so you can enjoy this gift of poetry then mosey on along to your list of daily do's.*
*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar.
LIFE IS BUT A DREAM~Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
A BOAT, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July--
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear--
Long has paled that sunny sky;
Echoes fade and memories die;
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die;
Ever drifting down the stream--
Lingering in the golden gleam--
Life, what is it but a dream?
"Life is but a Dream" is reprinted from The Hunting of the Snark and Other Poems and Verses. Lewis Carroll. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1903.
*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar.
LIFE IS BUT A DREAM~Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
A BOAT, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July--
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear--
Long has paled that sunny sky;
Echoes fade and memories die;
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die;
Ever drifting down the stream--
Lingering in the golden gleam--
Life, what is it but a dream?
"Life is but a Dream" is reprinted from The Hunting of the Snark and Other Poems and Verses. Lewis Carroll. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1903.
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