Leaving you hanging...bloghop part two.

Those of you who tuned in Monday for part one of the Hookers or Hangers Bloghop already know the deal, but those of you who missed it (and seriously how did that happen) here it is: Falling for Fiction AKA FFF is hosting a bloghop where you post the first line, and last line of three or more chapters from a current WIP. You post your hookers (opening line) on Monday, and your hangers (closing line) today. The first three will be judged, and the ten best will receive a ten page critique from the lovely ladies over at Falling for Fiction.

I decided to post from my new WIP which is about demon hunters, and the working title is called Demon Hunters, cause well, I've been too lazy to come up with a title for it. The basic premise is this:

Demons exist, and the Organization exists to stop them. But when a team is sent to destroy and close access to this world forever, will the secrets they uncover destroy everything?

Today we have the hangers from the same chapters as we had on monday:

Chapter 1:

"Fuck". (what can I say, my MC likes to swear, although trust me the situation warrants it)

Chapter 2:

I let the door close behind me, and tried to force a smile at the man who liked to call himself my father although it probably was more like bearing my teeth.

"Colle, you've been busy." he replied, handing me a file. (I know, more than one sentence but it's dialogue and you need context)

Chapter 3:

"Sure " I replied taking the sword, I'm sleep deprived and jet lagged, so now's as good of a time as any to prove my place.

Chapter 4:

Liam smilled "Let's go hunting."

Chapter 5:

"Stop." I shouted, surprised at myself. "It's actually telling the truth."

Random just for fun line (actually did two this time)

"Colle, I am your father."
I thought about screaming NOOOOO, but I decided it might ruin the moment, after all, there was no guarantee he'd get the reference. It's safe to say I was in shock, which is why my mind went to so many inappropriate places.

I think I'll try Scientology next, Hasidic Judaism requires too much prep work. 

(context here is that most members of the Organization are religious, and it's actually recommended that you choose and practice a religion, Colle likes to alternate)

So what do you think? Any favorites?

And don't forget, go check out the others. Here is the link again.

I'm a Hooker--a blog hop. (or not)

So, I'm participating in the Hooker vs Hanger blog hop this week. Hosted by Falling for Fiction. The basic premise of the blog hop is to post the opening lines of each chapter, your hooker, today (as many as you want but only three will be judged) from your current WIP and then on Wednesday post your hanger, or the last line of the chapter.

I went back and forth on which WIP to use, but I finally decided on the current Demon Hunter one (which will be renamed sometime in the future)  So here we go.


1) It’s commonly accepted that conversations which begin discussing secret societies always lead to trouble.

2) I quickly attempted to run through my options, I had no cash, I was in a city I didn't know, and Mor ordered a pizza before stranding me here; I glanced at the waiter, retired Luigi, and decided my best option was to cry.

3) I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this was not it.

4) Hollywood has ruined many things, but nothing compares to what they've done to sword fights, trying to find similarities between real life sword fights and Hollywood sword fights is practically impossible, so much so that I'd go as far as to say the only thing they have in common is the fact that both use a sword.

5) Most people think demons are slimy gross things, or fiery goat shaped things, that’s statistically untrue, I blame the bible for the misconception.

And just for fun, I decided to add a random line:
Sure, I thought, find and close the gate to hell; should be as easy.

I'd like it to be noted, these are very very rough, in fact I've not actually done much editing on this at all, so be nice? Please go here and check out the other Hookers and Hangers this week!

In other news: like majorly and completely unrelated (except in what it's called) I've learned hooking. You see, I've always been a knitter, and crocheting (also called hooking cause you know, crochet needles are shaped like hooks) crocheting has always confused me, but I really wanted to learn, so I set my mind to it, and got a friend to help and I managed to start crocheting. Here is my first ever project.

Help, my vocal cords are frozen.

online dating profile pic?

“I think his three foot double ended dildo is at his moms house”

I’ve not done a writing post in a long time, and originally I was planning on posting book reviews today (since I’m five books down from BEA, and about seven books down from the start of June), but I forgot to look at the books last night to find quotes. I got distracted by the gym, and knitting, and the marathon of Criminal Minds on Ion. Then my roommate came home with a PS3 and the night was over as far as productivity is concerned. Although I did stay up till 3am watching tv on my laptop.

I can’t help wonder if my procrastination is coming from a lingering sense of doubt. You see, I have been working on my new story, which is about hunting demons and other such nonsense, but the thing is, this piece is not only written in first person, but it’s an exercise in practicing “my voice”.

The main character is alot like me, in that she thinks the way I write (especially my blog), and since its first person, what I’ve written so far is a bit like a blog post, with lots more dialogue. Thus making it very very different from Sacrifice, and really, everything else that’s not a blog post that I’ve ever written. And different from most things I’ve read. Certainly different from the hopefully super popular novels that I was handed at BEA. And this reminds me a bit of the conversation I had with Bobby back when I was applying for jobs and working on cover letters. When Bobby told me “In order to get a job you need to sound the least like yourself as possible”, mostly as a joke.

And in a lot of ways I think he’s right, not just about jobs and cover letters, but other things too. I mean, how many people say they want someone/something innovative or creative or outside the box, when they really don’t. Probably one of the clearest examples is my online dating profile on howaboutwe.com (shut it, there was a groupon (true story)).

Where I answer questions like:

What’s your idea of a perfect Sunday?

With:

Saturday is very offended by this question. Why do you want to know what my perfect Sunday is but don't ask about the other six days a week?

To answer the question, my perfect Sunday is probably something similar to what I do every day, and thats try to take over the world.

Or: An Awesome Place I’ve visited.

With:

The internet. Oh, you mean in real life?

Or: What do you want to come home to?

four walls. No one wants to come home and find their home is now missing a wall, unless you live in a lean two, then having a three walled home would be about normal.

Interestingly enough, I don’t get that many hits to the profile, although THAT could be because I’m wearing an orange tutu in the profile pic, or it could be due to the fact that I live in DC which is, in my opinion, the most ridiculous superficial conservative city in the universe (and I’ve not even been to all the cities in the universe). 

The thing is, people never seem to want different, even if they say they do. Cause different is uncomfortable, and pushes limits and makes you think, even if its funny or good. Or maybe I'm completely wrong, its been known to happen.

Yet I can’t shake the feeling that I’m making a huge mistake with voice in this story. Is there such a thing as too much of it? In addition to the complex grammar problems of writing in first person (which are really the same as in third person, but there’s something about first person which makes me want to break/bend/ignore the rules). In short, it’s slow going.

But the thing is, once I get out of my head I really do have a fun time writing the way I write (I know. It makes a ton of sense). Do you guys have any tricks for getting out of your head?

p.s. Cause it’s not fair to talk about something like this and not at least post a little bit. Here is the first paragraph of the VERY rough first chapter.

It’s commonly accepted that conversations which begin discussing secret societies always lead to trouble. Okay, well maybe commonly accepted is a stretch; but I certainly believe it, and that’s exactly how this story starts. Kinda, it actually started a long time ago, but I’ll get to that long time ago business later. Right now, all you need to know is that this story started on a train, with a conversation about secret societies.

p.p.s. I'm probably back to one post a week, cause I'm lazy, or cause I need to ease back into blogging. Or something. 

Change, the only constant. An ISWG Post

I’m a fiercely independent person. And I mean that in the wild, ferocious, vicious manner, not the Project Runway or America’s Next Top model, or whatever reality tv show tells people to be fierce or make it fierce or something. I don’t like asking for help. I don’t rely on people. In fact, the me of two years ago would say, I don’t need people at all.

A lot of this comes from the fact that I’m a secret introvert, which will come as a shock to a lot of people who either casually know me, or think they know me (and probably to some people who know me pretty well). You see, I fake being extroverted to hide how painfully shy I am.

Although I wouldn’t say my independence comes entirely from my introverted nature. A good deal has to do with how I was raised. Not needing people. My parents believe in self reliance. When we would come to them with a problem, it would be have you tried fixing it yourself, to the point where, I’d stop going for help.

I was the kid who didn’t get letters at summer camp, while other kids got letters every day. I worked out my own carpool arrangements with other parents when I needed to get somewhere. I was dropped at doors, never walked inside.  

Then there’s also my fathers stoic nature. To this day, I can only count a handful of times when I’ve seen my father emotional, maybe less than a handful, but I’m not sure what less than a handful is. One of my clearest memories of my Grandfathers funeral (my fathers father) was my dad walking up to me and saying “you have to be strong for your’ sisters, your aunts and your grandmother, don’t get emotional”

Most of these things have lead to patterns of behavior. I don’t do public outward displays of emotion. I am horrible at keeping in touch with people (once went a year only talking to my parents on the phone once). I don’t connect easily with others. I very rarely ask for help. I certainly don’t nest, if a house never feels like a home then it won’t hurt when you have to leave.

I’m not a great friend (probably because I’m so bad at keeping in touch). Historically, when I’ve left an area I cut all ties. Friends from high school are replaced by friends in college, and friends in college are replaced by friends at work or in whatever city I’m in. Not that the people were replaceable, it’s more because I’ve never seen the point in keeping in touch. Change is the only constant in life.

The thing is, over the last year, or so, this has gradually changed. Maybe it’s cause I’ve stayed in one city for four (five in February) years, the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place since I was eighteen (although I’ve moved three times within the same city). It might also be because of the friends I’ve made here. Good people, good writers. People I don’t want to disappear into the history of my life.

I also blame this change on my last roommate. Someone who had me paint the walls (something I’ve not done in well over a decade) someone who had me hang art, and curtains, and buying throw pillows that matched rugs and pictures.  For the first time I lived with someone that I would do things with, rather than someone I could do things with if I wanted to.  For perhaps one of the first times in my life I felt like I lived somewhere that was a home.

Now I’m moving. And over time, I’ve forgotten where some of my, I don’t need people, strength came from. I don’t know how to get it back. But perhaps more importantly, I don’t know if I should.  After all, change is the only constant in life, and I can’t go back to yesterday, cause I was a different person then.  

So instead I have to keep moving forward, and figure out how to make my new apartment feel like a home, without a roommate to make me do those things.  How to keep in touch with my old roommate as he moves to Nicaragua (please go follow him at his blog WildlyUrban, if enough people follow him maybe he will actually blog so that I can keep in touch with him that way), and how to learn to be independent again. The one thing I have no doubt on, however, is that I will be fine, cause I always am.

Now you might be wondering what this has to do with writing, and the simple answer is that it doesn’t. However, maybe it has everything to do with me as a writer. And no distractions/people/whatever; means more time to write.  I would try to bend this to somehow fit the theme of the Insecure Writers Group Post which I was supposed to do yesterday, and I could, maybe, by talking about how all of this not knowing how to be who I am and not knowing what I am, is truly insecure. And since writers are human, and therefore I can be insecure and a writer and it all be related (this makes sense, just don’t think about it) So we’ll just go with that.

But the truth is, I don’t feel insecure. I probably feel more depressed than insecure, and I know from past experiences with who I used to be when I had them, that I just typically have to ride things out, and keep doing what I’ve been doing till it gets better. 

p.s. I'm back from the craziness that was June, and maybe on Sunday, if your good and do my bidding, I'll come back with another post about what I've learned. Or well. I'll probably do it anyway.