Music Mondays: Springtime Edition

This past week saw the Vernal Equinox, the first day of spring.

I used to not give springtime much respect. It was just another season that stood between me and the freedom of summer.

That's changed.

I blame it on getting older. After high school, and again after college, the months began moving faster. Each year ended more quickly than the last. It didn't take a real epiphany for me to determine I needed to stop leaping ahead of myself. Time is short. That's how life goes. Best to enjoy it.

So here it is, a selection of songs that make me think of spring. Songs to honor everything from the smell of blooming things (and yes, even the curse of sinus inflammation), to the steadily warming days, to the sudden rain showers (and, okay, the tornadoes) to the symbolism of birth and renewal and the feeling of hope that I get as my little piece of earth turns toward the sun.


What songs make you think of spring?


1. This Tornado Loves You - Neko Case
2. Time of Your Life - Green Day
3. Glycerine - Bush
4. Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles
5. Drops of Jupiter - Train

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A Key to the TARDIS

A few weeks ago, I was browsing Etsy and stumbled across a very pretty TARDIS-key necklace. It went into my needful things pile. And very soon after into my purchase pile.

It arrived today.

And while it hasn't pulled me completely out of the strange funk I've managed to sink into (which is mostly due to overthinking and the Inner Critic), it's helping.


Time Lord Tech therapy?

Now, I don't have to worry about being locked out of the phone box.
Still have to watch out for Angels, though.

It also comes in a little origami TARDIS box.

An additional keepsake.

Check out the Artful Excursions shop for this and more Doctor Who goodies. They have great stuff and they ship quickly.

Red Writing Hood: The Fourth Floor

This week's prompt was cribbed from Dante:

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter

Quite fitting to my mood. I hit a funk yesterday afternoon and I'm not sure I've crawled out of it yet. (I may need to go write some purely-for-me brain candy and see if that helps.)

Here's what bubbled up after thinking about the prompt.

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Elevator Doors via Flickr

The Fourth Floor

Jack’s searching the faux flecked marble of the elevator floor. Looking for patterns. Or constellations.

He thinks he’s just found Orion when the lurch of his stomach alerts him to the elevator’s stop. The "4" above the doors flickers at him and blinks out.

Andrew, who’s been standing silent and stoic at his side up until now, shifts closer and takes his hand, grip cooler than usual, fingers damp.

The doors seem to take an abnormally long time to slide open. When they do finally split apart, Jack thinks the movement should really be accompanied by a long, low hiss. Or the serrated sing of metal. Maybe with a little somber music in the background.

But they move with the hush of well oiled mechanisms and open on a foyer that’s painted a pale cream and filled with the light of the midsummer sun.

Andrew tugs him from the elevator and Jack tilts his face toward the high ceiling and finds blue sky above him, divided by black metal beams arching like pieces of nouveau art from the top of each wall. The panes of glass set in the beams are so clear and clean, they may as well be an illusion.

There is part of him that had expected this floor to have no windows, to be full of dim light and dark wood paneling.

The darkest thing in the foyer is the directory sign on the wall in front of them.

Andrew’s staring at him, ghost of a smile on his mouth. “You were expecting something more funerary.”

Jack frowns but lets his protest die on his tongue. Instead, he raises their joined hands and places a kiss on Andrew’s knuckles.

Andrew smiles. It’s wide and bright and puts the sun to shame.  “I have a good feeling,” he says—same words he’d said to Jack 12 years ago, on the night they’d met—and he tugs Jack’s hand, “Let’s get me to my consult,” checks the directory on the wall and heads in the direction of surgical oncology. 

Movie Night: Fright Night (2011)

Welcome to Fright Night.

I’ve been fed a steady diet of scary movies since birth.

Okay, since the uterus. My mother went to see Halloween: Season of the Witch while she was pregnant. We think that’s how my fascination for terror and gore got started. Straight through the umbilical cord.

Some of my earliest memories involve curling up on the couch, next to mom, and snickering through the puns in the Nightmare on Elm Street series or making random observations during Friday the 13th.

In the last few years, Hollywood’s seen fit to run roughshod over much of my childhood by going back and remaking the horror movies I grew up with.

Fright Night (2011) poster

Among them, Fright Night, a classic, campy 80s horror tale in which horror-buff teen (Charley Brewster) suspects his handsome new neighbor (Jerry Dandridge) is a vampire and enlists the help of washed up actor turned nighttime horror-show host (Peter Vincent) to help him put said neighbor in the ground.

Fright Night was one of the first vampire movies I ever saw. So I have a bit of a soft spot for teen slayer Charley and reluctant hero Peter. (And, of course, kooky sidekick Evil Ed.)

When I found out there was a remake forthcoming, I admit I had a bit of a “Grr” reaction.

Then I discovered Collin Farrell and Anton Yelchin were cast to play Jerry and Charley, thought “Well, maybe it won’t be too bad," and promptly forgot about the movie (due to running around like a headless chicken to prepare for a move).

Until recently.

While in the middle of a Doctor Who marathon, I hopped over to IMDB to check something and saw “Peter Vincent" listed as one of David Tennant's roles.

Now, what I pictured was a manic-and-cowardly-washed-up-actor turned-vampire hunter, in tan trench coat and tie. A sort of mishmash of the 10th Doctor and Roddy McDowell’s Vincent.

What I got, upon Googling, was this... 

Peter Vincent
Looks a bit like the impossible Love-Child of Jack Sparrow and Criss Angel, but I dig it.

Unexpected?

To say the least.

But okay, I thought, if they’re going to have David Tennant in eyeliner and leather pants, I definitely have to see this movie.

(Am I that easy to hook? In this case.... Yes. Yes I am.)

So, a few days ago, I snagged a streaming copy and the husband (who I'd made watch the original Fright Night years ago) and I sat down to see what damage had been done.

I was pleasantly surprised.

The remake pays homage to the original but doesn't try to be the original.

The biggest changes are in the characters of Jerry and Peter (and Evil Ed, who’s no longer the kooky sidekick but more of a plot catalyst who helps rush the movie through its opening, which is one of my few complaints).

Jerry Dandridge (2011)

Jerry (Chris Sarandon in the original) went from the proverbial world weary, smooth talking, politely suave vampire to Colin Farrell’s flirtatious, twitchy—and predatory from the get-go—alpha vamp.

And Peter shifted from a sweet and somewhat melancholic washed up actor to a sexy yet vaguely repulsive, and definitely drunken, foul mouthed Las Vegas Master of Illusion and authority on the occult, who’s carting around a lot of emotional baggage.

Both portrayals are on target for the way the remake progresses.

The original Fright Night was part parable (Boy Who Cried Wolf), part vampire seduction story, part response to the genre's turn to masked killer slasher flicks.

The remake is a sleeker, faster, and visually attractive straight-up monster story a la Stephen King: extraordinary and nasty things happening to ordinary people.

This take on the story provided a more animalistic and sadistic villain, got rid of the "vampire's reincarnated lost love" angle (that seemed to be tacked on, willy-nilly, in the original) and gave me some characters who I didn't want to stake for being completely stupid and ineffectual. (That last one doesn't seem to happen often in the horror genre. I always find myself yelling at the screen.)

Do I recommend seeing it? Yes. If you like non-sparkly vampires. If you enjoyed the camp of the original.  (If you're a Tennant fan, I doubt I even need to make a recommendation.)

Oh, and, admittedly, there was one other thing the remake had which the original didn’t.

David Tennant’s hips.

 

I bow to the saucy, drunken swagger.

Wednesday Writing Romp #6

Last week's Wednesday Writing Romp inspired Morgan, over at A Writer's Universe, to tangle with some shape shifters. Read her piece here.



This week, I've been thinking about stairs.

When I was a kid, stairs made me apprehensive. Especially long, winding staircases where the bottom was obscured from sight, either due to structure or lighting. And open-backed stairs made it just a little too convenient for someone or something to grab at your ankle. (Have you seen Wes Craven's The People Under the Stairs? I think that movie did me in on the creep factor of stairs. And cellars.)

On television and in movies, people are always getting trapped on the stairs, either due to natural disaster, preternatural beastie, or masked killer. Staircases make cramped and hazardous battle grounds. And they're common obstacles, whether you're running away from something or attempting to reach a destination before time runs out.

This week, your prompt is stairs. You have a picture and a rhyme, from Hughes Mearns, to get the juices flowing.

"Old Stairs" via Stock Xchng

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away...

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all! 

- Hughes Mearns, "Antigonish"

Remember the rules: You can choose to write 50, 250, or 500 words. Genre, style, etc. are up to you.  Deadline is Sunday at midnight. 

(Leave a comment to this post with a link to your response and I'll check out what you've done and link back to it on the next Romp post.)

Happy Writing.

Music Mondays: Gabriel's Playlist

For me, writing and music go hand in hand. I make soundtracks for NaNoWriMo and other novels. I make playlists for my characters, including songs that illustrate them as well as songs they would listen to. I write to music. (So long as it's music I've picked out and have control over. Plop me down in a cafe where the Muzak Masters are loudly butchering a Beatles' tune and we're going to have a problem.)

Determining a character's liked or loved songs is one of the first steps, for me, to developing some depth. Making them more human. More real.

Below are a few tunes from Gabriel's playlist.  Gabriel comes from my '09 NaNoWriMo novel (which I will get around to editing and rewriting one of these days, I swear). I think he's more anti-hero than hero. Which is fine with me, I've always preferred my heroes a bit dark. He grew up with an abusive father and a mother who'd learned to stay out of the fray. His closest friend and confidante was a strangely insightful girl, Elissa. They looked out for one another until life circumstances separated them. 

(Get a taste of Gabriel and Elissa's relationship by checking out Without Words and its follow up Settling Scores.)


Do you make playlists for your characters?



1. Animal I Have Become - Three Day's Grace
2. Until the End - Breaking Benjamin
3. Everything Goes to Hell - Tom Waits
4. Like A Killer - Scarling
5. Rangers - A Fine Frenzy

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Story Dam: "Sometimes You Wake Up"

I'm actually making a habit of this. (Albeit a late one.)

My response to the Story Dam Dam Burst Prompt that says: write a piece, fiction or non, in which your character suddenly finds themselves somewhere and have no clue how they got there.

I'm challenging myself to write these and post them uninterrupted, unpolished (save for cleaning up spelling and grammar errors). Maybe in hopes of getting over my perfectionist streak? Which, in turn, might help me stop agonizing over every word choice and sentence flow when I'm supposed to be writing a down draft.


So, here it is.

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via LazySunday - Stock Xchng

The Colorado has found its way into her head, rushing through the nooks and crags of her skull, wearing away the fine bone, pulsing in her temples, making her teeth ache.

It’s a struggle to open her eyes.

She hears the crackle of fire, the world flickers orange, and the light folds around red rock stalagmites (red rock…red rock means she’s still in the canyon), casting long shadows against the wall. Shadows not dark enough to obscure the writing of a language she doesn’t know: strange loops and symbols drawn in thick paint that’s drooling down the wall, pooling on the stone floor. 

As she struggles to her feet, the world goes fuzzy at the edges and she tilts, catches herself against the cave wall. Her hand comes away wet. She brings it to her face, nearly wretches as the smell of copper coats the back of her tongue.

The writing on the walls is not done in paint.

She turns to the fire. Scattered around it are bones, of all shapes and sizes. The skulls of small animals. Long slim bones that look like fingers. Something that might have, once upon a time, been and arm or a leg. And stretched out on the floor next to the fire—held down by rocks, drying like an animal pelt—is the skin from Meg’s back, the black sun tattoo that she’d gotten inked between her shoulder blades last June gleaming in the firelight.

Something has gotten inside her chest, is squeezing around her lungs, her heart. At the edge of her vision, the light is fading.  

But just before everything goes black for the second time that night, she sees movement at the mouth of the cave, just beyond the fire light.

Something tall and reed thin slinking forward, its eyes sulphur yellow and burning like the sun.

Today's Office Companion

Slinky

He's been keeping me company while I jump (because I can't just view tutorial after tutorial) between exploring a new software program for work and catching up on blog stuff.

Music Mondays: Tax Time Edition

'Tis the season. Tax season, that is. Last week, in honor of this most annoying season, I watched one of my favorite Roseanne episodes: "April Fool's Day," in which she and husband Dan rush against the clock to get their taxes filed on time.

And I giggled myself silly as I spotted my own actions and reactions on screen. Granted, my taxes are  simple compared to their mountain of receipts and forms. Between my husband and I—we married last year, so this is the first year we get to do that tax combo break—we have two jobs between us and some interest incoming. And that's it. Easy. Just the way I like it. (Granted, this reminds me, I really need to start doing some more retirement planning.)


So, here are five songs in honor of this season of taxes and thinking about bureaucracy. 




1. Hard for the Money - Donna Summer
2. Badlands - Bruce Springsteen
3. Bad Romance: Women's Suffrage - Soomo Publishing
4. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue -  Bob Dylan
5. Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen

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Story Dam: "End of the Tether"

The Dam Burst/Wet Feet challenge is the first one I've taken on for the Story Dam community.

And let me say it was a little painful because I seem to have strained a writing muscle this last week, while working on some profiling/blog stuff for my day job. (It was one of those weeks where trying to get words down on screen is like pulling my fingernails out, one at a time. And the material I did produce just seemed like so much sludge.)

I wasn't even sure I'd manage to respond to any creative prompts this week, especially after my Friday brain revolt that ended in my re-watching episodes of Doctor Who (11th doctor) and meandering around Skyrim looking for things to send fire bolts through.

But I made myself sit back down at the computer and write. Because that's what needs to happen.

So here's what came of my reading the challenge and trying to write through my funk. (I've pretty much left it as it came out.)

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Via BostonBill, Flickr

The sputtering growl of the school bus fades away toward the end of the street.

She’d made sure to get a hug from the twins. Kevin is difficult; he has friends who'll tease him. Lynn is still at the stage where she gives hugs freely and without shame.

There’s a whimper from the nursery and she eyes the clock, sighs as the whimper fades away.

Sitting at the dining room table, she wraps her fingers around a cup of coffee gone cold and examines her hands. The white gold wedding band, the dry knuckles reddened from washing morning dishes, the flirty red polish—put on in such anticipation yesterday—now chipped and flaking.

It’s their 10^th anniversary. Three weeks ago, he’d promised to find a sitter so they could escape for an evening. Last night, he’d come home with a manila folder full of files and, after planting a quick kiss on her lips, locked himself in his office.

She’d fed the twins, fed the baby, put them to bed and sat down at the table. At 8:00, she heard his cell phone ring, counted two beats of her heart to the moment he unlocked the office door and came out in a rush, pulling his coat on. She could hear the words before they formed on his lips. Working-dinner. Big client. Don’t wait up.

She didn’t.

But she left his anniversary card on his pillow.

This morning, he was all contrite tones and apologies that she can recite by heart. He recycles them. They make appearances whenever he misses a parent-teacher meeting. When he doesn’t hear the baby crying at 3 a.m. When he doesn’t notice the dishes piling up in the sink, or the laundry in the basket.

She’s lost count of the number of nights she’s stayed up, putting the house to rights, getting the laundry done for the next day. She’s lost count of the amount of times she’s rearranged her work schedule—though she could probably find it by counting the frown lines developing around her boss’s mouth—to go for a conference at the twins' schools or pick the baby up from the sitter an hour early.

Today, he’s promised to come home with an anniversary lunch.

He does.

Two hours late.

By that time, she’s dropped the baby off at the sitter, picked up the groceries for the next week, and listed the kid’s after school activities and important phone numbers on the dry erase board that hangs in the kitchen.

Before she picks up her duffel bag, she slips off her wedding ring and sits it on the middle of his pillow, marvels at the feel of her hand without the added weight.

He’s in the dining room pulling cold sandwiches from a white paper sack bearing the logo Dana’s Deli. She identifies egg and tuna salad.

She doesn’t like either of them.

The weight of her duffel hitting the floor makes him turn and the confusion on his face is almost enough to make her go back to the bedroom, put her ring on, unpack her clothes.

Instead, she takes his face between her hands, takes his mouth with her own and kisses him like he did her the day they got married, all sweet, soft lips and tentative tongue.

When she pulls away, he’s staring at her like he’s never seen her before.

And maybe he hasn’t.

“There’s a letter on the counter,” she says.

And she picks up her bag, takes her keys from the wall hook, and walks out the door.

He’ll figure it out.

Or he won’t.

Easy Stuffed Bell Peppers

I love to cook and I like experimenting with new and in depth recipes. (I'll share some of those later on. I have a lemon meringue pie recipe that's worth killing for.)

But sometimes, some days—when I can't tear myself away from all those interesting things on the internet, or I'm actually making headway on a story—I want a healthy dish I can throw into the crock-pot and forget about.

While this recipe is a little more involved than your average toss-everything-into-the-pot slow cooker recipe, it's still simple and relatively quick. (And it's vegetarian friendly!)

Easy Stuffed Bell Peppers (Crock-Pot)

4-6 bell peppers (Any color)

2 14oz cans black beans (rinsed, drained)

1 cup brown rice (optional)

1 can Rotel Diced Tomatoes and Green Chilies (you can substitute homemade salsa)

1 bunch green onions, chopped

1 med white onion, chopped

2-4 chili peppers (optional; I've used serrano and jalapeno before)

2-4 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 cup shredded cheese, plus extra for topping (I use a Mexican style blend)

3 tsp chili powder

2 tsp ground cumin

1/4 cup hot sauce

Olive oil

First things first: drain and rinse the black beans. (I also drain the Rotel, but that's optional. You might prefer a soupier consistency for your stuffing mixture.)

Mince the garlic (or use the pre-minced variety from the jar) and chop the onions and chili peppers.

(Word of warning? Look out for chili pepper burns! Wear gloves. Or make sure you have some yogurt in your fridge for the hand slathering goodness you'll need to take part in later. I forgot about the pepper oils last time I made this and, yes, I did dip my hands in a tub of yogurt. It helped.)

Heat a skillet, spread a little olive oil in the bottom and saute the garlic for about 30 seconds, then add the onions. Once the onions are starting to turn translucent, throw in the chili peppers, black beans and Rotel and mix thoroughly.

And the chili powder and cumin (and the brown rice, if you're using it). Stir and let the mixture simmer on med-low heat for about five minutes. 

Once it's heated through, I transfer the mix to a bowl for easier stirring and add the 1/2 cup of cheese and the hot sauce.






 

To prepare the bell peppers, simply wash them, decapitate them, cut out the core/seeds, and remove the stems.

Gutted peppers

Fill each pepper to the brim, put its top on and cook in the crockpot on low 4-6 hours. (I do high heat for 2 hours and then drop to low for the remaining 4 to ensure the peppers get nice and soft.)

Aren't they pretty?

Top the peppers with sour cream, Pico de Gallo, extra cheese, a dash of fresh cilantro (or all of the above).

I always go for the extra cheese...

Bon Appétit.

If you try the recipe, give me a shout and let me know how you liked it.

Bibliophile Dreams: Bedroom Bookshelf

If I ever buy a house, my office-cum-bedroom has to have something like this.  Taking a nap, surrounded by books? Yes, please.

Imagine the dreams you could encounter if osmosis worked in this fashion....

Someone find me the creator this wonderful piece of architecture

Wednesday Writing Romp #5

Wednesday sneaked up on me as I was trying to recover from my trip and get my brain to wrap around some profile writing for work. So, I'm going to take a dive into my picture folder and see what I come up with.

I'm also changing the rules around for the writing romp.

You have a choice between writing 50, 250, or 500 words on the prompt I provide. The word counts must be exact. Genre and style are still up to you. "Deadline" remains the same: Sunday at midnight. If you want to share what you've written, leave a link in a comment to this post by that time.

This week's prompt:

Via Stock Xchng

Music Mondays: Recovery Edition

As mentioned, I traveled last week. The drive to my parents' house was rain and fog laden. Friday afternoon and evening saw tornadoes tearing across the Middle Tennessee area. Lucky for us, we were below the path of the storm and never had to take cover in the closet. (A good thing. Because three adults and two cats in a closet under the stairs? Cramped is an understatement.)

The weather aside, the trip was a good break and reprieve from my day-in-day-out. (And I've decided I'm going to have to shake up my schedule a little more. Maybe spend one day out of the week working/writing in a different place. I'll have to scope out some cafes.)

Though I was happy to get home again. And very pleased with myself that I'd included today in my vacation time as it gives me a chance to recover from the drive and get myself sorted out and ready for the upcoming work week and...and those errands I've been putting off for months.

Here's some of today's "travel recovery" music. 

1. Doctor Who (theme) 2005-2007
2. Bad Romance - 30 Seconds to Mars (cover)
3. A Beautiful Lie - 30 Seconds to Mars
4. Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) - Florence and the Machine
5. Lucky - Bif Naked


Share your "sorting yourself out"/"getting back in the groove" music in the comments.

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Trifextra Challenge: Dark Hour

Via Stock Xchng

The phone rang at 4 a.m.

Her head rang with static silence.

The voice on the line was tinny, breakable, struggling to recite instruction over the ebb, flow, and crash of the ER.

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For the Week Six Trifexra Challenge.

Am I Your Cup of Tea?

Tracy over at Logy Express tagged all of us Not Mommy Bloggers in a meme. And, since I can never say no to a meme, here's my response.

Via Stock Xchng

1. Why do you blog?

To play with words. To play in worlds. To make room in my head. To communicate.  To avoid working on my stories. To get more in touch with my stories. To test drive my characters. To meet new people.




2. Do your friends/family/coworkers know about your blog?

I've given the address out to my coworkers and any family I communicate with regularly knows about my blog.


3. How long does it take you to write an average blog post?

A couple of hours. The writing itself may not take that long, but I always try to give myself a cushion between finishing a draft and tweaking/editing, so I'll be more likely to catch errors.


4. How do you keep up with the blogs you follow?

If they're blogger based, I'll keep up with them on my Dashboard Reading List.  Others, I'll try to remember to visit once or twice a week to catch up on what they've been posting. I know I've subscribed to some feeds, but honestly my e-mail inbox so badly needs to be organized, that doesn't do much good.


5. What is your bedtime?

Anytime between 9:00 p.m. and 3 a.m. Yeah... That would explain my energy fluctuations. I might get more done during the day if I'd settle on a sleep schedule.


6. Introvert or extrovert?

Definitely an introvert. I do like socializing and occasionally get the need to be around people. But I must have an escape route and I always need a chance to recharge, if I've been around a large group.


7. What is your biggest fear?

Abandonment. I grew up an only child and, being rather introverted and prone to having only a few really close friends, I've always been comfortable with my own company and doing things on my own.

But the idea of being completely alone in the world has dogged me since I was small.

There's always been someone I could reach out to when ready to cast off the solitude. The idea of not having that is disturbing.


8. What is the best job you ever had?

Probably the one I have now. Granted, times are lean and business is slow, but I enjoy the work (writing and getting to learn a bit about everything) and the people I work with. And then there's the whole working from home part...


9. Dog person/cat person/both/neither?

Taking over the bed.

A complete and total cat person. I have four. I've always had at least two. I can't see my home without cats in it.

I don't mind dogs. I've even had moments where I've thought a dog might be nice to have around. At the end of the day, cats are a lot more independent than dogs and don't require nearly the amount of care or attention.

I like that in a companion.




10. Want kids someday/on the fence/don’t want kids (since I’m tagging a group called “Not Mommy Bloggers,” I’m assuming “have kids” isn’t a response option–see I’ve been a survey developer)?

I don't have any interest in kids. (I also, emphatically, never want to be pregnant or give birth.)

It's never been something on my radar. I have no biological clock. (I do seem to have a biological kitten clock, however... That's how we ended up with four cats.)


11. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?

Out of all the questions, I find this the hardest. That has to say something about me...

At this point in my life, I think I have to say Vanilla Bean. It's versatile. Great by itself. Great on blackberry cobbler. Positively gorgeous with Amaretto or Chambord poured over it.

On Penalty of Extermination

I'm thinking this is something I should print out and put up over my desk. On the bathroom mirror. In my living room. Over the coffee pot...

But, honestly, some days I'm not sure even the threat of extermination by Daleks would be enough to motivate me.