"Share A Saturday" is a weekly chance for you, yes YOU, to come on
my blog and talk about whatever you want, so long as it's related to
writing/books. For more information, such as if you'd like to "share a
Saturday" with me, please see below!
Michael
Abayomi was born in Lagos, Nigeria. He fell in love with the art of
storytelling after reading J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the
Sorcerer’s Stone. He currently works as a freelance website developer
and shares a passion for books, computers, movies, music, video games
and women.
Are
you a fledging independent writer with a recently published book? Or maybe you’re
still sitting on the fence regarding self-publishing? Or perhaps you already
have a number of self-published books under your belt, but still feel like a
new kid on the block? If either of these cases happen to be true, chances are
you’ve been trying to learn as much as you can about self-publishing. Or at
least you’ve been trying to connect with fellow independent writers through the
various social media outlets (Facebook, Twitter, Blogger etc)
The
ebook market is constantly evolving, and there is a need to keep informed about
those changes. In the seven or so months since I first self-published, I’ve managed
to stay in the loop by frequenting the following three websites:
Truth
be told, I’d been following J. A. Konrath’s blog months before I took the
self-publishing route. Back then, I was still contemplating whether or not to
query agents about my book series, Guardians
& The Lost Paradise, which was only half-written at the time. I quickly
discovered the wealth of information amassed there, which covers everything
from how to go about promoting a book to his views on the ongoing ebook
revolution (and what it means for writers). Thankfully, most of this information
has also been collected into an ebook of the same name.
Let’s
Get Digital is a professional blog for independent writers. It was created by
Irish writer, David Gaughran, one of my many online friends. I met David in an
online forum (can’t remember which one) and I had subsequently found out about
his books and blog. Even though the blog is just one year old now, there is still
a wealth of information to be discovered there. He’s also collected most of
that information into an ebook of the same name.
Of
the
three websites I have chosen for this post, the Kindleboards Writers’
Café happens
to be the one I frequent the most. It is a forum where indies can talk
about
all things Amazon (and way more). The sense of community there is
overwhelming
sometimes, and it is quite common for the same newbie questions to get
answered
over and over again. I’m more of a lurker myself, preferring to learn by
reading through the ongoing discussions (rather than raise new
questions). Some
of the members are also quite eccentric. This is why just reading
through the replies on some of the more popular threads is enough to
brighten an otherwise sour day.
What
about you? What other forums, blogs or Facebook groups do you follow or frequent
as an independent writer?
----
If you'd like to participate in a Share a Saturday, feel free to
contact me at my email, hildred @ gmail.com (no spaces) or through any
of the other ways to get a hold of me through my Contact page.
This week's Friday Flash is brought to you by "DAISUKI.", the F/F romance novella I've been working on this month. This is one of the shorter scenes, so I'm able to post it in its entirety.
No real warnings this week, other than some thin allusions to sex. Otherwise, don't think there's anything.
----
Reina
received an incoming international call whilst on a smoke break.
“Un.”
She answered with the cigarette still in her mouth.
The line crackled, like bubble wrap
passed between two obnoxious kids. “Un?
Is that the greeting I get? What if I had been somebody in control of your
financial fate?”
Reina took out her cigarette and
blew smoke all over her cell phone. “I’ll greet you however I want!” She
smiled. “How are you? You in town yet?”
Michiko took her time responding, as
evident by the humming she did in the background of the crackling phone – 2012
and technology still hadn’t yet caught up with cell phones and international
calls. “I’m fine. And no, I’m just calling to warn you that I’ll be in town next week. I have a show and I want
to visit my grandmother.”
“Oh, okay.” Reina checked her watch
to make sure she didn’t get back to work late. “What day are you coming? When
can I see you?” She was aware she must have sounded like a child pining at
candy…Michiko had that effect on her, even after so many years. “And are you
coming alone or…?”
“Slow down!” Michiko laughed, her
voice as teasing and arousing as it had been twenty years before when they
first met; Reina felt her heart lunge into her stomach and then spring up again
into her throat. “I’ll be flying in the Sunday of Golden Week. Alone.”
Sometimes Michiko liked to bring her significant other with her, although Reina
could never remember her name or what she looked like, beyond knowing how she
had a good time. “Are you available? Or are you and Ai-chan going on a vacation?”
Reina took another drag of her
cigarette as she thought of her “plans” for Golden Week, the nationwide
vacation week of mid-Spring. Reina got nine blessed days off, and although she
and Aiko would take a vacation somewhere sometimes, neither of them liked the
crowds of everyone else on vacation too. “No real plans. Ai-chan wants to go to Nikko with her
brother one day but I’m not going.” That
guy hates me more than he hates sticking it in his wife. “I mostly plan on
just doing my thing.” Whatever that really meant.
Another chuckle. Michiko always
thought everything was so humorous. “So that means you have time for me on my
time off.”
“I always have time for my Mi-chan.” Reina could feel her everything
literally warming to the idea of having Michiko in her arms, even for a small
bit of time. “But I thought you were…unavailable.”
“We have an understanding.”
Reina nodded, and checked her voice
before she spoke again – she didn’t want to sound like a giddy schoolgirl
fraught at the thought of a date.
“Well, whatever. I’ll follow your lead.”
“Or create your own.”
“Hey now!” Reina finished her
cigarette and extinguished it in the designated place. “Well, just let me know
when you get in. I’ll keep a day open on Golden Week for my Mi-chan.”
They parted cordially, with unspoken
but subtle promises. When Reina disconnected and put her phone away she thought
of all the wonderful things she wanted to do with her best friend – at least
two of them could happen outside of a
bedroom. Reina didn’t care what kind of arrangement Michiko had with her
significant other so long as it meant being together. It couldn’t have been
different from Aiko having sex with the neighbor on rainy afternoons.
Reina must have had some sort of
stupidly smitten look on her face when her coworker, Nakamura, stumbled out of
the building to take his own smoke break. He took one peek at Reina’s face and
commented, “Wow! You have a nice smile!”
Said smile turned into a grimace as
Reina looked back into his wrinkling, pale face. Nakamura was older than even
her, a bachelor with a half-bald head and glasses twice as big as his eyes.
Reina had an inkling she knew why this man was still a bachelor:inside the office he was as polite as
expected, but outside he had a tendency to talk-down to and extrude general
creepiness to every woman he came across…including Reina. Even now she could
smell his breath mints permeating in his pocket near her face. “Um, thanks.”
She nodded in practiced politeness.
She stood and attempted to steal
back into the building to resume work before she got in trouble with her section
chief, but Nakamura was apparently not going to let her get away that easily. “You should smile more. It
makes you look like a woman for once.” His words were mangled on his cigarette
as his hands fished for his lighter.
“Uh…” Reina felt something –
disgust? – run down her spine in little pricks. Just like him. “Thanks…I have
to get going.”
“I bet the section chief would like
a smile or two sometimes.” Nakamura pulled out his cigarette from his mouth as
Reina opened the door. “Keep it up and you’ll be prettier than the errand
girls.”
Reina slammed the door against his
endless chattering. She thought she tasted bile in her throat.
I was first exposed to Amy Tan when I was a child and the movie "The Joy Luck Club" made its repeated runs on HBO. I found it fascinating from a cinematic point of view, and loved it so much to the point I asked for the DVD some Christmas. But even though I knew it was based off a book, I never got around to reading it until I needed to write a book report in high school and it was on the list of "acceptable materials". I've since bought my own copy and re-read it every couple of years.
"The Joy Luck Club" is both Amy Tan's debut work and her best. In it are seven narrators depicting the lives of eight people (one of the older women, Suyuan, is deceased at the time of the overarching story and her daughter June tells her story instead.) Four of them, Suyuan, An-Mei, Ying Ying, and Lindo, are immigrants from various parts of China, and the other four, June, Rose, Lena, and Waverly, (respectively) are their American born and raised daughters. Each tells their own story in first person (aside from Suyuan who is deceased) in a total of two chapters each across four parts.
While it's not the longest read, it's a heavy one. The "mothers" (collectively called so in this review) have each been through their own personal hells both in China and America, with varying triumphs mixed in (such as out-witting bad families, enduring abandonment and physical/emotional abuse, losing family members, for vague examples). Throughout their horrors, struggles, and eventual triumphs in a land not kind to the status of women and young girls, the mothers all agree that their daughters will have an easier life in America. But what they discover is that their daughters have become more American than Chinese, and they fear that they won't be able to convey their "hopes and dreams" to the daughters who have different ideas and sensibilities from their own.
Meanwhile, the daughters all tend to agree that their "overbearing" Chinese mothers have each made their lives/childhoods hell in some way shape or form, either from pushing them too hard, to seemingly not understanding what they want, to feeling that they constantly put them down. From the reader's perspective we're able to see things from both sides, but of course, the characters cannot.
Amy Tan paints a beautiful picture of the lives these women live, and the relationships between them. From the rivalry between Lindo and Suyuan that extends to their daughters Waverly and June, from the "ghosts" of Ying Ying and her daughter Lena, and to the leaps of faith between An-Mei and Rose, it's easy and clear to see why Amy Tan is lauded for her depictions of mother-daughter relationships. And as someone who has a loving and strong relationship with her own mother who has had her own hardships in the past, it's near impossible to read any of these relationships without self-reflection.
Of course, there are differences between the book and the movie, but they are mostly negligible. The movie largely cuts out Ying Ying's first chapter during her childhood and jumps right into the dirty business of young adulthood; the movie conveniently leaves out An-Mei's half-dozen other children and what happens with them. But for the most part it's true to the source and can be enjoyed on its own with a great cast backing great characters. (And the clothes are so hilariously 80s.)
I tend to use TJLC as a barometer for people I know - if you've read it and felt absolutely -nothing-, then odds are we are not going to get along. It's an amazing book that's going to be one of my personal classics probably for the rest of my life, and I can only aspire to write as honestly as Amy Tan does.
Not much time to write out a full post today, so here's just an easy question for all your writers out there: what are you average chapter lengths? Do you go by word count or by pages? Do you put more than one scene in a chapter or is every scene its own chapter? (Okay, so it's a few questions ;) )
As for me, my chapters are anywhere between 8k and even 20k. Completely depends on what's going on. My average is probably 10-12k. These usually are comprised of 3-5 scenes.
Hey everyone! Busy week here on my blog, eh. Well, busy week with writing in general. First is the little thing of me breaking past 50k last night in Camp Nanowrimo! Yay! I didn't even know it. I was taking words from different projects (more on that later) and apparently calculating wrong until I just sat down and did it last night and...surprise! 51k! (Plus whatever I wrote last night, lulz~) So yay.
What happened is that I was working on CROSS//Process until I pretty much...didn't want to anymore. It happens. The subject matter is super happy, with lots of violence and abuse and general "ugh" that it was starting to get ot me to constantly think about and consider. Meanwhile, I had this great short story/novella idea set in the same universe and just went with it. I'm over halfway through with it already, and, depending on how things go, I may end up publishing it first before CROSS//Rebirth, mostly because I need to start publishing things and getting this underway! (The story isn't a fantasy, however. Just a queer romance / deconstruction of a 20 year long relationship. You know. Basics~)
Also, as you probably noticed, I wrote that short story on Friday in a record two hours, which I feel pretty accomplished about. I also managed to write an epic length hub these past two days and feel pretty accomplished about that - I'm also to 50 total and trying to think about what to write for the 50th one.
So, overall, I'm feeling pretty good on the writing front this week. Getting stuff done and making some good progress towards my bigger goals. Now, somebody please explain this to my parents? Yay good.
"Share A Saturday" is a weekly chance for you, yes YOU, to come on my blog and talk about whatever you want, so long as it's related to writing/books. For more information, such as if you'd like to "share a Saturday" with me, please see below!
Morgan Bauman is a YA fantasy author currently in the process of publishing her series "UNTOLD MEMORIES". You can check out her blog here!
The letter A is a brilliant, apple red. The number 4 is a green so vivid
and fresh that grass dreams of it during long hot summers--summers that
scorch grass the dry, brittle yellow of the song Hotel
California. E is green, too; a frostier green, colder and deeper. My
main character’s personality is a dulled, reddish brown that matches the
R that begins her name.
Synesthesia is a relatively rare
condition in which the sensory wires in the brain overlap and
intermingle; one sense involuntarily sets off another sensation (in
addition to the sensation it would have triggered on its own in a
neurotypical brain). For some people, letters may have personalities;
scents may evoke specific textures pressed against one’s hands; tastes
may have shapes; the days of the week may each have a poignant flavor.
This isn’t something imagined by the synesthete; if tested, the
sensations will remain constant over years and decades.
For me,
every musical note, letter, number, concept, voice, and character has a
color. The color of a word on the page doesn’t always match the color
of the word in the air. Just like the tightly packed dots of color in an
old-time comic book, the words’ colors change as I string them into
sentences and paragraphs, bleeding into each other, warping and fading.
Commonly used words tend to fade, color-wise; as a child, I thought this
was what people referred to when they said, “That’s my name; don’t wear
it out.” If I pack too many vibrant words together, paragraphs begin to
clash and look disjointed. My stories have to look good on paper as
well as aloud, so I read them to myself as I go.
So far, it
probably sounds like a boon, and it is; I wouldn’t trade my synesthesia
for a million dollar book deal. But the title of this piece mentions
peril. What perils could there be?
If I’m listening to a song
with dark brown guitar and yellow-brown vocals--while writing about a
character with a green personality interacting with one with a dull red
personality--but this particular chapter calls for muted blue in the
description, I sometimes stop ten or thirty times and just hold my head
in my hands while trying to sort through everything. I get distracted.
The words get jammed in my fingers, the tip of my tongue, impossible to
dislodge.
Color flow--whether in a mix CD or a chapter--is
extremely important to me. I intentionally use jarringly different
colors in language for a specific effect; I name characters and their
personality blossoms out of the colors of their name (or they get
renamed).
Which leads me to the final peril of being an author
with synesthesia: sometimes, you write something literal only to have
it be taken as metaphor; other times, you realize that your hidden
description--the colors coursing underneath the text--are invisible to
all of your readers. The hidden, watery themes; the dry touch of the
desert in your villains; the bursts of vivid color on the barren
landscape of the page--invisible.
Even so, I like to include them. After all, what’s better than secrets hidden in plain sight?
----
If you'd like to participate in a Share a Saturday, feel free to contact me at my email, hildred @ gmail.com (no spaces) or through any of the other ways to get a hold of me through my Contact page.
Today's the "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Blog Hop" hosted by Jaycee DeLorenzo and Victoria Smith! Let's just cut right into the meat of things:
Here are the details:
Interview a heroine of your manuscript, novel, or WIP by a fellow
female counterpart also from your written work. Your featured heroine
can be interviewed by her best friend, a heroine from another one of
your written works, a sister, the opportunities are endless!
Have your heroine answer at least 3 of the questions recommended below or make up your own!
Post a picture of your heroine, the interviewer, or both!
Post a song for the theme of the interview or a song that reflects your featured heroine's personality
Well, I ended up writing a 2k short story. Oops? Heh heh. It works though. I had a lot of fun writing it in about 2 hours about...an hour ago. I've only edited it once since then so sorry for any typos.
Of course, the usual warnings: Swearing, naughty talk, and the usual crap that falls out of their mouths. And alcohol, apparently.
And here's your obligatory picture. I went hunting through my Sims 3 screenshots folder and found this random one of them hanging out in a club at the bar. The clothes are wrong, the scenery is wrong, but hey, the intent is the same and I don't have to go taking new screenshots! Also, just like in the story, there's a Devon cameo.
"The bartender" may or may not have weaseled her way into the story. Also, I have no idea why Devon is fuming at Danielle.
You still with me? We still gonna do this? Great. Because here we go in all it's 2k short story glory.
------
The bar
door slammed open to admit Danielle in all her embittered glory while she whipped
off her jacket with a snarl. A few other bar patrons glanced up and noted her
furrowed brows and decided it best to ignore the stomping monster en route to
the bar.
“Bad
day?”
Danielle
slumped onto a stool and flung her jacket onto the bar. Beside her sat Miranda,
legs crossed and fingers flipping through a fashion magazine. Danielle wanted
to vomit at the stench of her musky perfume – her senses were heightened to the
point she thought she could also smell Miranda’s dark eye shadow. Crushed up
Crayons, maybe? Or maybe that’s just how it looked on her.
“Bad
day.”
“Aw,
what happened?” Miranda lowered her magazine and pursed her lips in Danielle’s
direction. “Childhood get ruined by the Internet?”
“No.”
Danielle saw the bartender, a young woman with her hair high in a ponytail and
a dress made for dancing in, come over and nod her head at her. “Highball. On
lots of rocks.”
The
bartender chuckled and wandered off to get Danielle her coveted whiskey. Miranda
averted her eyes from the bartender’s bouncing locks to Danielle’s limp blond
hair. “Going straight for the hard stuff, I see.”
“Yeah,
so? I ain’t driving tonight. What’s that there, a martini?”
Miranda
checked her empty martini glass, the green olive left for better individuals
who could enjoy them. “My, you’re astute today. What’s wrong with you?”
Danielle
laid her head on the counter and stared sideways at Miranda around the corner.
From that angle she could see Miranda’s manicured nails scratch against the
glossy magazine cover of a starlet promising to make men’s genitals harder. “You
ever just had a bad day? I am having a bad day. By the way, it’s a bad day.”
Danielle watched Miranda roll her eyes and then continue perusing her magazine.
“Why are you reading that trash? Since when do you care about getting dicks
off?”
Miranda
flipped the magazine closed over her thumb and peered at the cover – she chuckled
at the outlandish promises nobody in that bar probably cared about. “It amuses
me. The shit in here is so ridiculous. And the quizzes are fun, because I love
knowing how I really feel about my man.”
The
bartender returned, dropping a napkin before placing Danielle’s drink on top of
it. Danielle gave guttural thanks and hocked back a drink large enough to burn
both her trachea and stomach. She placed the glass onto the counter and considered
the bubbles in her drink. “And how do you really feel about your man?”
“Well
let’s see, there’s this quiz in here. Want to do it?” Miranda’s smile was
priceless in its goading.
Danielle
shrunk further into her seat. “Just a second.” She slammed back another drink
and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Okay, hit me.”
“Okay
then.” Giving an imbibing Danielle a sex quiz about men should be worth the
vomiting and hangovers Miranda would have to see later. “Question One:boxers or briefs?”
“Boxers.
Soooo much more comfortable. Especially flannel ones in the winter when I can’t
find my sweats and…”
“They
mean on men, Danielle.”
“Oh. Why
the hell do I care? I ain’t lookin’. Gross. Next.”
“Uh huh.
Are you sure you want to do this? Or should I just let you get drunk?”
“I ain’t
drunk. Yet.”
“That…that
was what I was getting at.” Miranda sighed and looked at the magazine again. “Alright,
well, next is…’How would you describe your hero?’ Oh, that’s fun.”
Danielle
reached out and took Miranda’s empty martini glass and brought it over to her
lolling head. She picked out the olive and stared through its eye as if it were
a kaleidoscope. “A hero? I need a hero? I could be your hero? It’s raining
heroes?”
The
bartender appeared again and bent down to see what Miranda read. “Oh my God, is
that the quiz about what you like about men or some shit? My girlfriend totally
made me do that one just to haze me the other day. I told her I like my heroes
to have long hair and wield golden lassos.” She took the martini glass and
slunk away again.
“Was she
talking about Wonder Woman?”
“Yes,
Danielle. Do you want your hero to be Wonder Woman?”
“Yessssss.
I want her to tie me up and make me tell the truth.”
“Fine.
Next question is, ‘What’s your biggest dating horror story?’ And it better not
include me.”
Danielle
stared at the spot where the martini glass once was and blinked water back into
her eyes. “Oh, that’s easy.” She sat up straight and looked at Miranda as if
she were as clear-headed as the day of a big test. “It was here in this bar,
actually. Yeah, some girl named Amy. We were gonna go back to my place to hump
like monkeys when I went into the bathroom and saw blood all over the place. It
was great. Guess what I didn’t get to do that night.”
“When
you say ‘blood all over the place’…”
“I mean
my period, genius.”
“Of
course you do. Have another drink, Danielle.”
Complying,
Danielle picked up her highball and slurped another drink down. “What’s next?
What’s my favorite penile position? Because…dicks…”
“You
have such an elegant way with words.” Miranda turned the page and giggled. “’What
turns you off from a guy the most?’” she asked with a smile.
“Penis.
Semen. Semen makes babies.” Danielle drank again, her limbs growing numb and
her brain far from lucid. “Babies bad. Babies tear your taint, and your wallet.”
“Lovely!”
Miranda signaled the bartender for another martini. “I think they meant
personality wise. Or something physical, beyond the penis. They aren’t thinking
of child-hating dykes when they make these things.”
“Oh,
fine. I don’t like…” Danielle paused, distracted by her fascinating fingers. “Huh?
I don’t like…oh my God, did I ever tell you about Seth? The guy who I once
tried to do but bailed because we didn’t have condoms and he was too
chicken-shit to walk across the street with me to buy some? I hate that guy.
Yeah, I hate that.”
“Careful,
the other dykes might hear you talking about you and penis.”
“It was
a long time ago!” Danielle flung her arms up in the air and looked over her
shoulder at the other women in the bar. Most were either in couples or small
groups, chatting about their lives while pushing back tamer stuff than what
Danielle had. Yeah, they didn’t care. Danielle would bet half of them were bisexual
like her anyway. “Come on, give me another one. This is getting fun.” She saw
her half-drunk highball. “Or I’m getting drunker. Either way.”
Miranda
peered at her over the magazine just as the bartender brought her a new
margarita. She clamped her hand over the top before Danielle could dive in an
attempt to steal the olive. The previous one still rolled around on the counter
from where Danielle dropped it earlier. “Okay, ‘What is the best date you’ve ever had?’ Do tell me
more about your period, while you’re at it.”
“Any
date I get laid.” Danielle then remembered the last part. “Oh, and no blood.
Since you asked.”
“Wonderful.
Well, at least you seem easy enough to please.” Miranda sipped her margarita and
then read, “’Kiss on the first date?’”
“Sweetie,
I will fuck your brains out on the first date.”
“With men?”
“Oh.
Maybe. Does he have a condom? Am I on my period?” Danielle opened her arms and
looked towards the shadowy ceiling.
Miranda
gaped at her before saying, “I don’t think you need condoms for a kiss,
Danielle.”
“Then
you don’t know how I kiss!” Danielle slammed her fist onto the counter. “I kiss
good.”
“Do you
even know what you’re talking about anymore?”
“Not
really.” Danielle finished off her highball in one swallow. She burped, folded
her arms on the counter, and shoved her head into her own embrace. “Go on. Tell
me more about how much I love me some dick. While you’re at it turn to page
thirty-two and tell me how to give great head.” She poked an eye above her arm
and stared at Miranda. “You would
know about that, I hear.”
Miranda
did not entertain her beyond what the next question said. “’What gets you a
second date?’”
“Your
beautiful face.”
“Ah, how
sweet! Are you drunk?”
Danielle
admittedly could not see two inches past her own nose. How could she know if
Miranda’s face was beautiful? It could have changed in the past two minutes. “Yes.
It’s wonderful. Bad day is going away.”
“You’re
so sweet when you’re drunk. That tells me a lot about you, so you should tell
me ‘What one thing tells you a lot about a person’.”
“Their
reaction to me saying ‘Roe vs. Wade’.”
“I like
it. Political with sexual implications.”
“Nothing
we women do is not political.” Danielle coughed into her arm, unaware of the approaching
bartender.
“Do you
want another?”
When
Danielle didn’t answer, Miranda shook her head on her behalf. The bartender
took the highball glass before Danielle could try to eat it. “Okay, Danielle,
before you die there’s one more question. Do you want to hear it? Danielle?”
Danielle
banged her head against the counter; clearly, a nod.
“’What
do you find most attractive in a man?’”
“Vaginas!”
The
chatter around them grew quiet – Danielle’s vibrant shout continued to echo
within the bar wall. The bartender stifled a giggle and the nearest pair of
dating dykes pointed before busting out laughing. “Fuck yeah, vaginas!” a woman
called from the gallery.
“I love
vaginas!”
“Me too!”
“Baby, I
love your vagina.”
“Oh,
yay!”
While
the lesbian love fest got underway in the peanut gallery, Miranda nudged
Danielle’s arm and then pricked a finger through her unresponsive short hair.
When she didn’t respond, Miranda leaned back and, with a sigh the size of the
room, closed her fashion magazine and shrugged at the bartender. Danielle began
to snore.
A few
minutes later the bar door opened, and an awkward hush fell over the room.
Miranda craned her neck around to see a short dark figure wade its way through
the throng of women all looking at it suspiciously. She held up her hand so the
figure could see her.
When
Devon reached the counter he yanked Danielle’s head back and clicked his tongue
against the back of his throat. “Drunk? Or dead?”
“Drunk.
Highball in less than ten minutes. Do you expect less?” Miranda crossed her
arms and shook her head at the lingering bartender. “We were discussing the
finer points of boxers, periods, and vaginas.”
“Yeah,
well, she’s out. When she left us earlier she had already had like five beers
so I’m not surprised.” Devon tugged Danielle’s body out of the stool and lifted
her into his arms. “I’ll take her home.” He turned and saw the dozens of eyes
staring at him with contempt. “Um…”
“You’re
in a lesbian bar, by the way.”
“Of
course I am. Of. Course. I. Am.” Devon shifted Danielle’s weight until he knew
he could carry her out of the bar without hitting her head against a chair, a
table, or a lesbian. “Night.”
Miranda
leaned her head against her hand and watched him maneuver Danielle through the
crowd and out the door held by a woman looking at him as if he were a caveman.
It made Miranda smile.
“Who was
that?” the bartender asked.
“Some
guy she knows. He’s harmless.”
“You
just gonna let him make off with your drunk woman like that?”
Miranda
laughed. “My woman? What makes you
think that?”
“Well,
just the way you two were…I mean…” The bartender blushed. “Never mind. Vaginas.”
Miranda
lifted her martini glass up. “Vaginas!”
“Vaginas!”
came another chorus.
“Yeah,
sorry.” The bartender stepped away.
After
another second Miranda lowered her arm and asked, “Is it that obvious?”
“What?
That you’re in love with her? Just a little.”
Watching
the bartender walk away, Miranda fingered the glossy cover of the magazine and sniffed
at her margarita. She looked at the magazine and read the headline, “Let’s talk
about men!” through narrowed eyes. She finished off her margarita and tossed
the magazine into the nearest trashcan.
---
Yay! For your listening pleasure, here's the fierce and flawless Kumi Koda telling us about dem menz in the clubz. I think it's fairly obvious when you watch it while it's included here as the soundtrack piece.
I've noticed a pattern across the Authory Internetz (official term!) today, one that I think I should jump in on ANY TIME NOW. Anyway, on blogger, on twitter, on forums, probably on tumbllr too, the big thing the past couple of days is sharing our notebooks. (Is this an actual thing or just one big coincidence?) Either way, to the left is a picture of all my notebooks I use for writing. Now, I don't actually use notebooks that...much. I mostly just use notebooks to write down very brief outlines to get me through the Nano months. (Of which we are up to three a year now. Yay.) But eh, here's a quick and dirty breakdown:
Pink Notebook - Bought at Wal-Mart, it currently contains the ongoing outline of CROSS//Process. I don't know what the second part will hold, yet. But it's two subject so it's got room for additions.
Large Orange Notebook - Bought at Seria in Japan. It's the well-worn notebook containing the still ongoing outline for CROSS//Revenge. Well-worn because it's been toted around and handled by Japanese chilluns (including one who tried to nom on it) and so, so many stains from all my Sunday dinners at Coco's Family Restaurant (I miss that place!)
Tiny Orange Notebook - Bought at a bookstore in Japan. This is my "catch all" notebook that I carry in my purse at all times, mostly for jotting down Real Life notations and contacts. But the front part is the "idea bank" for ideas I have randomly that I'll probably never use. No seriously, their are some awful ideas in there. No. Seriously.
Fancy Looking Orange Notebook - Bought at Seria (DOLLAR STORE BTW) in Japan. The actual writing space on each page is tiiiiiny so I can see why it cost a dollar now. Anyway, this is my Hubpages / General article writing notebook. I put my article ideas down in here so I can whip it out and go "wait what should I write about now".
So that's my life with notebooks. Oh, and that orange pen came from Japan too. Everything orange in that pic came from Japan.
Looking for a blog post idea? Apparently we're supposed to post about our notebooks today.
OH AND OF COURSE can't forget my "other" notebook...
"Share A Saturday" is a weekly chance for you, yes YOU, to come on
my blog and talk about whatever you want, so long as it's related to
writing/books. For more information, such as if you'd like to "share a
Saturday" with me, please see below!
