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Important Dates To Be VIP

2/21/2017

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I feel like I've been juggling a dozen different things, and in many ways that's exactly what's been going on. Prepping Parish for launch, revising Among Beasts, managing the Kickstarter, plugging Freakhouse advertising, taking on a few Beta projects, not to mention that I still have my day job and a one year old!

No, this isn't a rant post, this is a "Yay!" 

Trying to put all of the pieces together is worth it when you actually start to see things fall into place. Specifically in this case, the new Parish cover art. OMG! Even I'm fangirling over it, which I suppose is important, the author should be in love with their own book!

So when are you going to catch a glimpse of this beautiful new creation?

Well, that depends on you. To be fair to those who have been generously supporting the cause, I'm going to do the cover reveal in a bit of a pecking order.

Monday February 27th, I will send out a backers only message for those who have pledged to the project by then! They will get the first view of the new cover.

Thursday March 2nd, I will send out a sneak-peak email to my newsletter subscribers.

So make sure that you are part of one or both of these groups. Otherwise, you will be waiting until after the Kickstarter has ended to catch sight of the new cover!

And before ending this post, I do just want to say a big "THANK YOU" to everyone who has been helping me set this up. Even those of you who have just be patiently waiting for me to get organized. I don't think that I'd have made it this far without your encouragement pushing me each step of the way.

​I can't wait to show you what we've been able to create! I am so proud of this project!


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Clothes Curse

2/14/2017

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I can't believe I've never actually posted about this before. It happens all of the time! And I am the only person I have ever met who constantly has this problem! Thus, I am 100% certain that I carry with me an ancient curse.

What exactly is this horrible affliction? Clothing. Clothing and the fact that my body seems to naturally reject most forms of it. 

I kid you not, I swear that my body has a deep desire for me to be a nudist, however, I am probably the least comfortable in my own skin. And everyone I have made this complaint to is filled with advice about how I am doing clothes wrong!

"You're just not wearing the right size!" 
"The stretch is probably worn out."
"You need a pair with more stretch."
"You need a pair with less stretch."
"Wear a belt with it."

Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. And done. I have been through fat stages, skinny stages, I have bought clothes that fit just a little looser, just a little tighter, the kind that fit exactly perfect for the contours of my body. Something ALWAYS goes wrong. I don't know of anyone else who frequently has to find creative ways of trying to keep pants from sliding off of their bum, who have to find a pillar to hide behind as they fish their underwear back up their pantleg, who bursts out of sports bras/tops, who has swimsuits mysteriously dissolve in pool water as if it was never designed to withstand such a thing.

I have no explanation for why this is a thing. I don't get all of my clothes from the same place. Not the same style. Not even the same materials. From granny panties to thongs, something notoriously slides down. Belts split in two, or somehow get left behind in a seat I was just sitting in. It makes no logical sense why wearing clothes is such a hassle for me. I have to put a lot of thought into what exactly my activities will be for the day, and then choose every item very carefully. Even then, all it takes is for me to be in a compromising position such as, carrying a heavy box that requires two hands, needing to walk home, having to stand on the bus or the train. Whatever situation demands of me to be in the public eye with no safe place to adjust, even my most fool-proof ensemble will find some way to fall apart. Sometimes gradually, other times in a flash - literally!

Again, I don't know why this is a thing for me. It isn't like I'm constantly tripping on my own attire, but it definitely seems to happen to me more so than anyone else. And this isn't a recent thing. My earliest memory of it is around the age of 10. For all I know, toddler me was busting out of clothes left, right and centre. 

Maybe I made a birthday wish after struggling with tough buttons in kindergarten, or someone was jealous of my awesome Ewok t-shirt and hexed me. Whatever happened, someone direct me to the god(s) responsible for clothing. I will beg. I will plead. I will build them a shrine. Just please let the clothes stay on my curvy parts until I purposely decide to remove them; that's all I ask!

And, yes, I ask this today because it totally just happened to me again! Luckily no one got flashed!
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Fictional Couples

2/12/2017

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Recently I was challenged to answer the following question: "Who is your favourite fictional couple?"

The truth is that this isn't as easy a question to answer. For starters, which fiction format are we talking about here? In the big wide world of fiction, that's a lot of couples to put into a hierarchy. I find it easier to break it down into categories.
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​On screen, my all-time favourite couple is Rick O'Connell and Evelyn from The Mummy. This is one of the rare cases where I love both characters individually as well as find them completely well-balanced (and super adorable) as a couple. It might have something to do with the fact that I believe I'm part Evie. My husband always laughs in The Mummy Returns where Evelyn bars the doors from killer mummies, to which Rick lovingly replies, "Uh, Honey, these guys don't use doors!" My husband laughs as he looks at me, knowing that while we've yet to be chased down by the undead, her determination to do things by the book when the book doesn't apply might just be something I could be accused of. Also, despite the fact that I don't drink, I also very much have "I know what you're thinking. What's a place like me doing in a girl like this!" moments. What can I say? She loves books, she loves fighting her way up among the scholarly ladders, and she has a reserved sense of adventure that gradually widens as her curiosity grows. "I may not be an adventurer, or a gun-fighter, Mr. O'Connell, but I am proud of what I am. I am a librarian!" Okay, so I'm not a librarian, but I did spend 7 years in university just to continue to stay in a school setting, so we have something in common. 
​
And Rick? He has a permanent seat in my Fictional Five. Why? Because I'm a sucker for a guy who can meet someone on their level. As rough and gruff as he is in his character intro, he's perfectly comfortable indulging his true love in even her silliest of impulses. Even in the Film-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named when everything I love about Evie is totally destroyed. Still love Rick, but I cannot acknowledge that monstrosity of a movie when they mangle a character so dear to my heart.

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For stage, Voldemort and Quirrell from A Very Potter Musical. You can hate me all you want for not picking a beloved Broadway classic, but true love always trumps what's popular! Sure they're both evil in their own way, and yes, their bond is pretty much literally parasitic, but they grow together, undeniably bound together by more than an evil plot. And even the dark heart of Voldemort softens for a love that he didn't even know was blossoming.
V:"We should make plans."
Q:"Evil plans?"
V:"Uh, no. Casual plans."

And of course, the tearful scene at the end... oh, heck, I might as well just add the video!
You will have to move it up to 3:29, but it's worth it!

V: "Maybe with Quirrell things will be alright."
Q: "Is alright...good?"
V: "Quirrell! Alright is wonderful!"
But my favourite fictional couple out of all of fictional literature? Well, that one's tricky. My first gut reaction was to declare triumphantly "RON & HERMIONE!", but I don't think that's true. I love them both as characters, but I'm not sure that they build something together that Rick and Evelyn do, or fill the voids like Quirrell and Voldemort. And as I reflect back through characters that I love, I often have a tough time with one side or the other. The reasons I love Rick O'Connell is pretty much the same reason I love Mr. Tilney from Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey, which is why I will never be a Darcy girl, but I also can't stand Catherine! 

The best that I can come up with is a couple from classic literature. Hector and Andromache. And if you don't know who they are or what work they're from, well, it might be difficult to understand why I would choose them. I think that they are both dignified, both loyal to fulfilling their duties, and yet, they share an intimacy that isn't often seen between man and wife in a Greek classic. Even Odysseus and Penelope don't hold for me the same bond, and maybe that has something to do with a certain lustful nymph, and hey, who am I really to know what Hector would have done shipwrecked for 10 years with a horny goddess. 

Are they my favourite characters, no, not really, though I love and respect them. But they suit each other, they feel right for each other. And I suppose that's Homer's point. Portraying the enemy as someone who has no fault other than belonging to the wrong family, the wrong people, in the wrong side of a needless war. There's something poetic in that, regardless of it manifesting inside of a poem, and maybe that's why my answer is swaying that way, because there is no reason to dislike either of them, no reason but to feel heartbreak for their brutal end. 

Still, I do not feel satisfied that I don't have a contemporary answer. Perhaps that will be one of my missions while I read, to find that couple that I love as much as the ones I mentioned above. 

And out of curiosity, how would you answer the question? Do you have a favourite fictional couple?
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Writing Advice For Everyone: Betas

2/8/2017

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No, I'm not re-launching this blog series, but something writing-related came up so I thought that I would add to my little advice column. 

Betas.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the term, or as I have recently learned, potentially offended by it, allow me to explain:

When a writer creates a piece and needs a test-audience, these are called Beta readers. In theory, they are the second set of eyes to see the manuscript. Thus, called Betas, as in 2's. 

I recently was witness to a verbal beat-down of someone insulted by being classified as a Beta reader, as if it directly implied that they were not important - a second class reader. While I can appreciate your right to your feelings, I do think that it's important to understand why it's called a Beta. Now, if you are being asked to help revise/create the manuscript, by all means, get mad about being called Beta, because any active type of co-authoring would then make you an Alpha. But a Beta reader should be your prototype audience. Yes, you can decide to use their feedback to make some changes, but a Beta really shouldn't be brought in if you need to make a lot of dramatic changes; exception being if you've finished your manuscript and aren't sure if it's worth pursuing any further or let it sit in the "completed" file never to be seen again. Some works aren't worth preparing for publication. I have several that were fine in the moment but not extraordinary in any way. So a Beta can tell you "Yes, it has potential!" or "Maybe next time." In either case, the expectation is not that they hunt down every little plot, development and grammar issue they encounter. 

Now, for my rant:

So, when you have decided to make the call for Beta readers, and you have decided that Betas should give you chapter by chapter feedback, please, please, PLEASE, don't revise the same chapter over and over again before posting the next one. As your Beta reader, having me reread 5 different versions of each chapter is going to result in one of two reactions.

#1) The angry little grudge. Now I'm usually pretty well-balanced when it comes to toning things down for very budding authors, focusing on big picture critiques before the nitty gritty. But if physically reading your story is now becoming a frustrating experience because there's no moving forward, I just might snap one day and take it out on your story. I don't want to. It's not my intention. But "GET TO THE FRIGGIN' POINT ALREADY!"

Or the more likely result, #2) The over-it. I've lost my momentum. I don't remember what actually happened any more because it keeps changing, and even with a fresh re-reading, I'm just getting done with reading the same lines over and over again. I'm going to glaze. I'm going to gloss right over those little changes you made, not even notice them, and just stop leaving commentary because I need this torture to end. 

I love helping with new stories. I really do. But if I sign up to be your Beta reader, especially FREE OF CHARGE! then for the love of all that's good in this world, do not force me to be your line editor. If I choose to make a comment about a word choice, that's up to me, but I did not sign up for line editing. If you really really want a line editor, we can discuss the terms. And I certainly won't be doing it chapter by chapter with your added changes. It's all or nothing. Give me the whole thing and then make your changes. We can repeat that process however many times it takes, but I cannot spend weeks on that same first few chapters. It worries me that maybe you don't even know where this is going.

There, there it is. I had to say something to stop this madness. 

I'm pricing out my costs now, because this experience will NOT happen again.
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Dreams Are Weird

2/1/2017

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I have seen many writers who claim that they get great story ideas from their dreams. I am not one of them. In fact, I have proven that my dreams really do not belong in any novel format. Why, you ask? Well, as epic, adventurous, or emotionally driven as some of my dreams may be, there is always one consistent problem... THEY MAKE NO FREAKIN' SENSE!

In the dream, of course, everything usually seems justifiable to dream-me. But then there are the dreams that are so out of sync with reality that even dream-me is thinking "none of this makes any sense!". The worst ones are the ones that latch onto to awake me. Something about the intensity of the dream makes me think, "OMG, that was so real!" and sometimes, yes, I think that it would make an awesome novel, or movie, or comic strip, or, etc, etc, etc. Until I try to piece it together that is. When I actually go to link one vivid element to the other, I begin to realize that none of these things actually fit together. So unless I'm just making a dream journal that reads like an acid trip, I'm pretty much just creating a whole lot of nothing - well, maybe evidence to be psych evaluated...

Example? Let's take last night's dream. It was vivid. Adventurous. Emotionally intense. And lacking in all plausible motivation.

Let's title it: The Killer Robot Who Wants Revenge For Reasons That Are Toblerone.

Yup, that seems like a good title to me!

So here we go:

The Killer Robot Who Wants Revenge For Reasons That Are Toblerone.

I am in a hotel. Or a large cruise ship. Or possibly a space ship that is vaguely based on the Enterprise or Voyageur. Whatever it is, I know that it is a return to childhood in some way. Parents, who aren't actually my parents, have brought me and a childhood friend I have never seen before in my life, back to this beloved vacation place that used to be frequented for what seems like every year, until, for reasons unknown, it wasn't. I don't know how long it's been. I don't even know how old I am. In fact, it seems like both my character and my character's age fluctuate from scene to scene. But that doesn't matter. The point is that I know returning to this place, to these rooms that we always ours and only ours, is a very big deal. 

Everything in this big elaborate room (and adjoining rooms) is tearfully nostalgic and a little bit tragic since it has been essentially abandoned since my parents were last here. Yes, my parents are dead now. I think. I'm not really sure. They were here a minute ago and now they've been dead for years. It makes me sad. 

But, Oh, What is this? A robot servant that looks like a 6 foot tall EVE, only with a triangular faceless face that pretty much feels evil to non-dream-me, has somehow survived all this time, lying dormant, and has awoken now, upon my return, ready to serve me and the random people I'm with (it keeps changing; I think I had a kid sister, and then it was real-life friends, and then it was some 8 year old kid that I'm supposedly friends with when I'm momentarily 8 years old as well). If the robot has a name, I don't remember it. But I feel comforted by. Until I go to have a bath...

This bathtub is the size of a kiddie pool. Not the inflatable backyard kind, but the kind that the local rec centre holds swim lessons in. And there is some wide rectangular mechanical trapdoor thing right in the middle. Which is fine when it isn't being activated. But for some reason, every time me, or someone else (apparently my actual husband has now joined me on this creepy vacation), the mechanical door thing slowly descends, revealing sharp fast-turning cogs that may or may not be saw blades. I don't know why we keep moving around it, or why we dismiss it as "That's weird" when clearly creepy robot lady (yes, she's a lady), is controlling the bath for us. 

This is where I begin having my suspicions about her. I choose not to get too close, but I don't want to give any indication that I don't trust her either. I fear what she might do. Apparently deactivation isn't an option - or dream-me just doesn't think about the obvious, which is quite possible since we can't seem to not swim near the trap door thing...

I meet up with old friends elsewhere in this hotel/vessel place. And since I was nearly murdered in my own pool-size bath, why wouldn't we all choose to go swimming in a very small, dark room. Apparently this very private pool was important to me and a friend of mine's parents. Perhaps it was around here that my parents died. Regardless, it seems like a good time to swim, in this windowless room, with the creepy robot who seems very focused on the children (who I may or may not be one of - it's a bit confusing). But it seems that the robot is conflicted. It doesn't actually want the children. It wants the parents. But it wants the parents as they were as children, and since the parents are in fact not children, the robot spends some time hesitating. So she just watches the playful swimming. 8 year old kid who isn't me is splashing in the water. His father is on the pool edge, leaning over, laughing with his son. That is who the robot wants. And now, as she approaches the father, she has a plan to execute her revenge. A spiked metal arm folds out from her sleek white body, and pierces the back of the father's head like an ice pick. At first I think that she has pulled out a chunk of his brain, but then I see that she has somehow sliced him so finely that she has removed his face without any of us noticing that the top layer of his face has been removed. Of course, no one has time to question whether or not this man has a face left. Our attention is on the robot who flies from her first victim straight to the next one: the little boy. In milliseconds she has plopped the father's face over top of that of the son, thereby making the father a child again, and enabling her to drown the boy, content that she has fulfilled her need to drown the father.

I know that I am next. I don't know if I am to be drowned or to have my face torn off, but either way I have decided to run and hide from this psycho machine! I run through narrow corridors, trying to pick a place to hide. Someone my own age follows me, a girl, no idea how she fits into all of this but dream-me knows that she's been with me the whole time even though I've never seen her before now, running. She wasn't at the pool.

I see elevators! And then I see the elevator repair man! Surely someone qualified to repair elevators must know enough about robotics to change robot programming! This was probably my big mistake. I should have asked for his wrench to bash the robot, but no, I explain to the repairman that there is a robot chasing us, determined to drown us for revenge for something that happened years ago. The repairman listens. The robot conveniently is not longer so behind us so that all of this can take place before we see her again.

Little did I know that the elevator repairman does know a thing or two about robots, and he sympathizes with it. "It can't want to hurt you for no reason. And it won't. It's just misunderstood."

"Misunderstood? Are you crazy? It just ripped someone's face off and drowned a kid!"

"Well," says the repairman, "I have this motto... Toblerone. That is my motto. I live my life by it."

Unconvinced and irritated by the useless advice of the only person who could possibly stop this murderous machine, I keep running, with the random girl, until we come down an even narrower corridor which I somehow know is filled with college girls. There are many narrow doors here, dorm rooms and such. With so many doors I have the brilliant idea to duck into the bathroom. The two of us squish down in a stall, trying to figure out how we can both keep our feet from showing below the door and our heads from showing above it. 

We haven't time to perfect our hiding stance. While we were conversing with the repairman, apparently the robot has been kindly asking the college girls to keep an eye out for us. One of the college girls spots us as we are awkwardly arranging ourselves around the toilet, and without saying a word the robot knows what she's seen. She enters the bathroom, either tearing away the stall door or flying over top of it, I don't know which, I can't see, I just duck down and try to cover my face...
And then I'm woken up by my husband. I will never know if Toblerone really was the answer all along, or if I got my face ripped off, or was drowned in the toilet because she seemed really bent on the whole drowning thing.

Perhaps you can see why my dreams don't lend themselves to good novel writing. It would take a whole heck of a lot of alteration to make something like that not feel broken. Nonetheless, it is fun to share these bizarre dreams. And since I can't do anything else with it, I'll just leave it here, on the blog, for you poor souls to try to make sense of.

#sweetdreams 
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    Ashley Newell, stupendous noveling sensation whom you've probably never heard of...

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