Treats!

Look what I got yesterday!
I'm so in the mood for guns, fighting, monsters and all around craziness.
Yes, it's been a week.

Fun Size vs Bite Size

Until this evening I was unaware that there was a difference between the Fun Size of Snicker's bars and the Bite Size. I knew there were two different sizes, but I thought the little, little ones were Fun Size. Goes to show what I know. Well, I do know that I like Snicker's bars!

I guess you could eat the Fun Size all in one bite, but that would ruin the fun of enjoying the Snickers in two or three bites. You know, draw it out, savor the moment and all that. Whenever I try to take half of the Bite Size I either get the edge of the chocolate and nothing else, or I get everything but the edge of chocolate. Occasionally strings of caramel will connect the two, but not in a fun way, more like an annoying/get everywhere way. No fun in taking those little ones in more than one bite—thus the Bite Size designation.

This is a phenomenon that will need to be further investigated, and since I love to eat I think I could be the one to head up the committee. The Fun Size vs Bite Size committee. Who wants to be Vice President?

Curd's got Bounce

Food. Let's start there. I eat food (which should be amply apparent from simply looking at my picture). I like food. Food likes me, which must be why it sticks around for so long after I've eaten it. We're all one, big (butt) happy family.

However, there are times when food goes awry. I'm not talking cooking. No, no, that is a subject for an entirely different day. I'm talking about when food fights back.

Let's be honest (because really, what's more fun than that?). I've got a natural shelf that tends to catch food as it jumps from the fork in an attempt to run for freedom. The shelf comes in handy—except when there is a white shirt and spaghetti sauce involved. Then I curse the shelf and hope I have a jacket in the car.

Once in a while the food misses the shelf (not sure how mind you) and goes for the pants. This morning I was eating some cottage cheese with a cut up nectarine in it for breakfast. Yummy. I'm happy to be sitting here thinking about it . . . Oh! Sorry.

So a single curd (if that's what they're called) of cottage cheese jumped from the fork, somehow managed to miss the shelf, and landed on my pants. This little guy was spry. He didn't just hit my pants once, no, he bounced around and got his cottage cheese sauce in at least four different places.

I had no idea cottage cheese curds (yes, let your mind wander to squeaky cheese curds for a moment) were naturally bouncy. I guess I learned something today. I should have learned to keep one of those Shout wipes in my purse.

Dryer Sheets

In my YA novel, the magic is connected to people's senses. Because of this, since I started writing the novel in July, I've been more aware of what my senses take in. Right now I'm sitting in an old, beat-up recliner, feet up on another chair, laptop on my lap (fun how that works out) with the window behind me open.

All sorts of things come through the window. Light, heat, a nice breeze, the sound of crickets chirping (pretty sure there is a whole fleet of them out there tonight), the smell of the neighbor's barbecuing, the sound of the neighbor's kids and the other neighbor's motorcycle . . . Anything can come through.

Right now the smell of dryer sheets is wafting through the open window. The guy downstairs must be doing laundry. Just the scent of a dryer sheet brings back so many memories: clean towels, college, playing in my best friend's back yard as a kid, winter (not sure why), my parent's basement . . . the list goes on and on. Our senses are connected to so many other parts of our lives. It's amazing.

Ninja Wanna-be has a Scare

Tonight I strolled into the dojo, glanced into the office and almost dropped my stuff. Not only was my instructor in there (which is pretty normal) but so was his boss, a 5th degree black belt (I think he's got 5 stripes). Yikes! This is the guy who, at my first advanced belt test, made us to a total of 450 push ups because the little kids in the group could not figure out how to line up properly. It took us 45 minutes, all those push ups and by the time we got it right he was in a really, really bad mood. Lucky for me I was still a low rank an didn't have to go outside to the killing ground like the brown belts. Oh, and don't forget he ran the black belt test I took last year. Was he back for more? Decided I didn't make the cut the first time?

To look at the guy you'd never think, “Hey, that guy can totally kill me.” Nope. He's not very tall, shaved head, strawberry blond goatee, average build, nice smile. . . but never, for one minute forget that he probably thinks of new things to do with the martial arts while he's eating his breakfast. And, he can kill you.

I'm still not sure why he was there, but he did run class, which was awesome! He's way cool, but much less terrifying when you're not on a test. We learned some very quick, very direct fighting stuff, which I loved. It was a good class . . .I'm glad I plucked up the courage to come inside instead of running back to my car and coming home to bed.

Aspiring Author Spits Something Out

Here is a little teaser from a joint story I'm involved in. The genre is Steampunk.

Before he could gather his wits two figures stepped out from behind the piles that lined the alley. Wreathe didn't have to turn to hear the pair behind him. Four against one? That hardly seemed like fair odds to him.

“Heard you had a bit of trouble with the investigators today,” one of the men in front said. Wreathe could see him clearly. He was short and stocky. Dressed in coveralls the man had a crowbar dangling from one hand. His partner was also short, but wiry. He wore the jumpsuit of an LTA repairman, but the watch gleaming on his wrist told Wreathe that neither of these men were common thugs.

Wreathe glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, there were two back there. “Just an accident on an LTA. Probably didn't even make the news.” His eyes came back to the men in front.

“Your pretty little face is all over the papers.” The man sneered.
“Is that so?”

The man nodded, slapping his hand with the crowbar.

Today had been a long day. Wreathe was in no mood for unpleasantries. “Do you want my autograph?”

“Hah!” The man laughed and turned to his companion. “He thinks we want his autograph!” The wiry man did not smile, but the two behind Wreathe laughed along.

“No, mate,” the man's voice went serious. “We're not here for your autograph.”

Wreathe heard the men behind him getting closer.

“We're here to check on something.”

“Check on what?” Wreathe shifted his eyes, trying to take in his surroundings.

“Take off your goggles so we can talk like civilized men, face to face.”

“My goggles?” Wreathe forgot he even had them on. He always wore them. Having eyes the color of steel could sometimes be a drawback when you were trying not to be noticed. Besides, enough people wore goggles all the time that hardly anyone asked Wreathe about it.

“Off,” the man said, punctuating the remark with another slap of his crowbar.

Wreathe felt unexpected anger rising inside of him. Whoever these guys were, they were up to no good. Wreathe was almost positive he could get away through the alleys, but something in him was tired of running. Some part of him wanted a fight.

“Why don’t you boys go find someone else to bother?”

Rookie Mistake-Ninja Pulls Ahead

I've been ignoring one of the first things I learned about writing. How I made it through an outline and a subsequent manuscript without this rule entering my mind is a mystery. Blond moment? Senior blond moment? Nope, not that old. Not yet anyway. So how did it happen? I have no idea, but I have to thank K for mentioning it the other night. She didn't even mean to, but she did, so I'm crowning her genius for the week. I might even make her a tiara.

Some of the most annoying stories that I've ever read ignore the rule that I almost did. They didn't stay within the laws of their own universe. To be specific, there were minimal consequences to using magic. If anyone can use magic, and they can do whatever they want, then it's not magic anymore. It's breathing. Or technology.

My YA novel is about kids addicted to magic. I worked out where the magic came from, what types there were, who had what and how to use it, but I never did figure out how it worked. What happened if they used too much? What do the users have to sacrifice? DUH! What was I not thinking?

So I spent most of my lunch and a chunk of time since I've been home from work trying to sort out the problem. As I've been jotting down ideas I've found that these rules are going to help me. Before I think I had too broad of a scope. Now that it's been narrowed down, I can find more specific problems that will build the conflict and hopefully make my story a better story.

Good thing I was reminded of this before the writing conference I'm going to in 5 weeks. That would have made me look very silly—and I really don't need any help in that department.