My Brush With An Urban Fantasy Guru
I recently had the good fortune to attend a book signing, at Foxwoods, by one of my favorite authors, Sherrilyn Kenyon. She is on a book tour, promoting the latest book in her Legion series, Born of Fury. For those of you who haven't heard of her, she writes mind-candy urban fantasy novels starring beautiful warrior men, and filled with smart wit, unforgettable characters, and save-the-world plots.
As an aspiring urban fantasy author, I am compelled to connect with others of my tribe, and it would not be an understatement to say that Kenyon is a tribal leader. With 65 books on the best seller list since 2004, and a writing speed that is unequaled (she writes 4-6 books a year!), she has the writing career most of us dare not even dream about. But that's not why she is one of my favorite gurus.
During the Q&A portion of the signing, Kenyon just talked to us. She didn't have a speech prepared, and no one collected questions that could be vetted before being presented to her. Interspersed with the questions from the audience, the narrator for the current book, Fred Berman engaged her in a casual conversation about her work and her life. She answered EVEYTHING. No cagey "I can't talk about that", or "Sorry, that's personal," or anything of the sort. Every person who stood and addressed her was given respect—even appreciation for taking the time to come out, or for reading her books, or even just for asking a question.
She talked about her struggles and her family, two topics she generously shares with her fans. Her life has had genuine stressors, from homelessness to parenting disabled children. Nobody handed her success. She didn't have a friend or relative in the business. She made it big because she worked hard, and she never gave up.
After Q&A, we made our way to the concourse, where the author signed books. Because my friend and I had to take a bathroom break (and because we meander, rather than walk, when there are pretty stores with shiny objects around), we were nearly dead last in line---a long, long, long line. No stranger to lengthy queues (I've been a fangirl of a variety of bands, authors, actors and at least one anime character since adulthood), I wasn't worried. That is, until I noticed dozens of people in front of me with bags and bags of books for her to sign. I swear, my feet almost packed up and left, and I would not have blamed them.
Miraculously, I noticed two things: After signing one or two books for them, Sherrilyn asked the people with troves of books and other swag (slang for, in this case, licensed memorabilia) to return to the back of the line. How awesome was that? I'll tell you: Monumentally awesome. In one move, she showed her appreciation for the plight of folks still standing in line, AND appreciation for the superfans who undoubtedly buy six of every book she puts out.
The second thing I noticed was that she stands at a pedestal for the entire book signing, so that fans did not have to bend over to greet her and take pictures with her.
A couple of hours later, when it was finally my turn, the book maven greeted me with a huge smile and an even huger hug. She took the time to listen to my gushing adulation, comment about our shared southern accents ("With our accents, people think we're so nice and sweet till we go southern on them."), and show genuine, yet brief, interest in my writing endeavors. That's why she is one of my favorite, famous authors: She is a real person who engages with her readers, and shows her fans she understands if not for "us", there would be no "her".
Rock on, Sherrilyn Kenyon.
As an aspiring urban fantasy author, I am compelled to connect with others of my tribe, and it would not be an understatement to say that Kenyon is a tribal leader. With 65 books on the best seller list since 2004, and a writing speed that is unequaled (she writes 4-6 books a year!), she has the writing career most of us dare not even dream about. But that's not why she is one of my favorite gurus.
During the Q&A portion of the signing, Kenyon just talked to us. She didn't have a speech prepared, and no one collected questions that could be vetted before being presented to her. Interspersed with the questions from the audience, the narrator for the current book, Fred Berman engaged her in a casual conversation about her work and her life. She answered EVEYTHING. No cagey "I can't talk about that", or "Sorry, that's personal," or anything of the sort. Every person who stood and addressed her was given respect—even appreciation for taking the time to come out, or for reading her books, or even just for asking a question.
She talked about her struggles and her family, two topics she generously shares with her fans. Her life has had genuine stressors, from homelessness to parenting disabled children. Nobody handed her success. She didn't have a friend or relative in the business. She made it big because she worked hard, and she never gave up.
After Q&A, we made our way to the concourse, where the author signed books. Because my friend and I had to take a bathroom break (and because we meander, rather than walk, when there are pretty stores with shiny objects around), we were nearly dead last in line---a long, long, long line. No stranger to lengthy queues (I've been a fangirl of a variety of bands, authors, actors and at least one anime character since adulthood), I wasn't worried. That is, until I noticed dozens of people in front of me with bags and bags of books for her to sign. I swear, my feet almost packed up and left, and I would not have blamed them.
Miraculously, I noticed two things: After signing one or two books for them, Sherrilyn asked the people with troves of books and other swag (slang for, in this case, licensed memorabilia) to return to the back of the line. How awesome was that? I'll tell you: Monumentally awesome. In one move, she showed her appreciation for the plight of folks still standing in line, AND appreciation for the superfans who undoubtedly buy six of every book she puts out.
The second thing I noticed was that she stands at a pedestal for the entire book signing, so that fans did not have to bend over to greet her and take pictures with her.
A couple of hours later, when it was finally my turn, the book maven greeted me with a huge smile and an even huger hug. She took the time to listen to my gushing adulation, comment about our shared southern accents ("With our accents, people think we're so nice and sweet till we go southern on them."), and show genuine, yet brief, interest in my writing endeavors. That's why she is one of my favorite, famous authors: She is a real person who engages with her readers, and shows her fans she understands if not for "us", there would be no "her".
Rock on, Sherrilyn Kenyon.
A Song for Zander
Apologetic Better Man
By Cheyenne
I'm not perfect, not any day.
I'm arrogant, sometimes vain,
I over think, and analyze
And need to have my way.
I'm not flawless, no, not by a stretch,
Emotions lead me far.
I want too much, need much more,
Beyond this old guitar.
But I know I can be a better man,
Because I am—when I'm with you.
In your heart I see who I can be,
And you make me want to, too.
So hold my hand as I ride
To vistas that I fear,
As I am a braver, better man
When you keep me, in your near.
Hold me and I'll be
A braver, better man.
Writing Children's Dialogue
Writing dialogue for children is very difficult. I have a clear opinion about it, but the problem is I am not sure how readers or other writers feel.
Visit my writer's circle blog and take my poll. Let me know what YOU think.
http://ctwriterscircle.wordpress.com/2014/04/18/writing-dialog-for-children/
Visit my writer's circle blog and take my poll. Let me know what YOU think.
http://ctwriterscircle.wordpress.com/2014/04/18/writing-dialog-for-children/
City Voice Interviews Cheyenne
Unakite City Voice
What's Hot and What's Not This Weekend
It's hard to believe there is anyone left in this town who hasn't heard of Cheyenne, but in case you've been living in your parent's basement, listen closely: Put on your favorite club rags, ask your mama for 20 bucks, and head over to the Southside for an evening of the best rock music (and most generously poured drinks) in the city. Guitarist, vocalist and crowd teaser extraordinaire, Cheyenne will have you on your feet dancing from the moment he hits the stage.
City Voice caught up with Cheyenne after a rehearsal. (Don't hate. Call it Entertainment Reporter Privilege.) When his band left, he sat on the edge of the stage, and agreed to answer a few questions.
CV: So, just Cheyenne? Like Liza? Pink? Beyonce?
Cheyenne: No, man. Cheyenne, like…Cheyenne. That all you got?
CV: Um, no. Let's see. It's pretty rare for a musician in this city to gain the following you have by playing original music. How do you do it?
Cheyenne: I'm good. I write songs that people can relate to. And I write music that makes them want to move.
CV: Seems to make the audience want to do more than move. A friend of mine said that after one of your shows, there isn't a dry seat in the house.
Cheyenne: (laughing) I didn't say HOW they wanted to move. But yeah, nothing wrong with a little musical foreplay.
CV: Amen.
Cheyenne: (laughing harder)
CV: Okay, okay, seriously. Making it in this industry means sacrificing—or so I'm told. Some of the most successful rock stars go at it like they have nothing left to lose. You seem to be pretty driven. What are you sacrificing?
Cheyenne: I don't…I'm driven because music is what I do. I hear songs all the time. I play my guitar in my sleep. I do this because I can't NOT do it. But I…I don't intend to sacrifice anything.
CV: What about relationships? I am sure every woman reading this wants to know if there's a special person in your life.
Cheyenne: Yeah, two in fact. Most important people in my life.
CV: Two? So the rumors about you are true…
Cheyenne: Most of them are, bro. Most of them are.
CV: Speaking of rumors, there's one floating around that you are going to be the opening act on a certain someone's major international tour.
Cheyenne: Nah. That would be one of those absolutely not true rumors.
CV: Interesting. But you were approached, weren't you? Her people called your people….
Cheyenne: Let's just say I'm not going to be anyone's opening act, and leave it at that.
CV: Anyone ever tell you, you are a tough interview. How about this—Who are your musical influences? The questions don't get easier than that.
Cheyenne: Perry Como, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr.…
CV: Seriously?
Cheyenne: No, man. Anyone ever tell you, you ask lame questions?
CV: Standard question. Everyone answers that one.
Cheyenne: Okay, fine. My mom. My mother was my greatest musical influence. You got enough for your paper? 'Cause I gotta go. Later.
CV: But I have a few more questions!
Cheyenne: (waiving over his shoulder)
Cheyenne is performing at Eddie's Thursday through Sunday. Two shows every Friday and Saturday night. General admission, so get there early.
What's Hot and What's Not This Weekend
It's hard to believe there is anyone left in this town who hasn't heard of Cheyenne, but in case you've been living in your parent's basement, listen closely: Put on your favorite club rags, ask your mama for 20 bucks, and head over to the Southside for an evening of the best rock music (and most generously poured drinks) in the city. Guitarist, vocalist and crowd teaser extraordinaire, Cheyenne will have you on your feet dancing from the moment he hits the stage.
City Voice caught up with Cheyenne after a rehearsal. (Don't hate. Call it Entertainment Reporter Privilege.) When his band left, he sat on the edge of the stage, and agreed to answer a few questions.
CV: So, just Cheyenne? Like Liza? Pink? Beyonce?
Cheyenne: No, man. Cheyenne, like…Cheyenne. That all you got?
CV: Um, no. Let's see. It's pretty rare for a musician in this city to gain the following you have by playing original music. How do you do it?
Cheyenne: I'm good. I write songs that people can relate to. And I write music that makes them want to move.
CV: Seems to make the audience want to do more than move. A friend of mine said that after one of your shows, there isn't a dry seat in the house.
Cheyenne: (laughing) I didn't say HOW they wanted to move. But yeah, nothing wrong with a little musical foreplay.
CV: Amen.
Cheyenne: (laughing harder)
CV: Okay, okay, seriously. Making it in this industry means sacrificing—or so I'm told. Some of the most successful rock stars go at it like they have nothing left to lose. You seem to be pretty driven. What are you sacrificing?
Cheyenne: I don't…I'm driven because music is what I do. I hear songs all the time. I play my guitar in my sleep. I do this because I can't NOT do it. But I…I don't intend to sacrifice anything.
CV: What about relationships? I am sure every woman reading this wants to know if there's a special person in your life.
Cheyenne: Yeah, two in fact. Most important people in my life.
CV: Two? So the rumors about you are true…
Cheyenne: Most of them are, bro. Most of them are.
CV: Speaking of rumors, there's one floating around that you are going to be the opening act on a certain someone's major international tour.
Cheyenne: Nah. That would be one of those absolutely not true rumors.
CV: Interesting. But you were approached, weren't you? Her people called your people….
Cheyenne: Let's just say I'm not going to be anyone's opening act, and leave it at that.
CV: Anyone ever tell you, you are a tough interview. How about this—Who are your musical influences? The questions don't get easier than that.
Cheyenne: Perry Como, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr.…
CV: Seriously?
Cheyenne: No, man. Anyone ever tell you, you ask lame questions?
CV: Standard question. Everyone answers that one.
Cheyenne: Okay, fine. My mom. My mother was my greatest musical influence. You got enough for your paper? 'Cause I gotta go. Later.
CV: But I have a few more questions!
Cheyenne: (waiving over his shoulder)
Cheyenne is performing at Eddie's Thursday through Sunday. Two shows every Friday and Saturday night. General admission, so get there early.
How I Write
Today is snowy here in the Northeast. It’s a good day to sit in front of the bay window, watch the snow, and write. The girls sleep on a rug in front of the fireplace. I have my mug of hazelnut coffee and Pacific Rim on DVD. I’m all set.
But first, I need to throw in a load of laundry, make the bed, clean the bathroom, and empty the dishwasher. Whew. Now I can sit and write. Restart Pacific Rim.
The phone rings. First it is my vet, then my doctor, then I talk to a friend. An hour gone. Heat up the coffee. Restart Pacific Rim.
The girls want to go play in the snow and the laundry needs to be moved to the dryer. I think I’ll have a bite of lunch. Yum. A fresh cup of coffee. Restart Pacific Rim.
A few hours later I have a rough draft of a blog post and typed in the dialog of my next scene. I’ve scribbled notes about Act 3 and played with my plotting board. I’ve told myself I only have 20,000 more words to write. I am not amused.
I start the second round on the scene; I start to add details. Oh yeah, restart Pacific Rim.
But first, I need to throw in a load of laundry, make the bed, clean the bathroom, and empty the dishwasher. Whew. Now I can sit and write. Restart Pacific Rim.
The phone rings. First it is my vet, then my doctor, then I talk to a friend. An hour gone. Heat up the coffee. Restart Pacific Rim.
The girls want to go play in the snow and the laundry needs to be moved to the dryer. I think I’ll have a bite of lunch. Yum. A fresh cup of coffee. Restart Pacific Rim.
A few hours later I have a rough draft of a blog post and typed in the dialog of my next scene. I’ve scribbled notes about Act 3 and played with my plotting board. I’ve told myself I only have 20,000 more words to write. I am not amused.
I start the second round on the scene; I start to add details. Oh yeah, restart Pacific Rim.
My Supernatural, Supernatural Marathon
My partner and I had a Supernatural marathon this past weekend. We have box sets for every season, so we started at the beginning and watched hours upon hours of episodes.
I know that is not normal. One might even say it was Para-normal. But it sure was fun.
Dean Winchester, my TV boyfriend, is the perfect Alpha Male character. He's gorgeous and sexy. He can fight hand to hand or with a gun. He's even learned spells to take care of the particularly nefarious beasties. But more importantly, he has a heart. He is all about family, and loyalty and trust. He hurts when those he loves hurt, and he isn't ashamed to cry. Dean is brave. He is a hero in every sense of the word.
Cheyenne isn't Dean. He isn't a hero--at least not on purpose. But he is strong...and flawed. It is my job to make sure that you, dear friends and readers, can see through his bravado and those flaws into his heart. I think I've done that. I hope I have.
I know that is not normal. One might even say it was Para-normal. But it sure was fun.
Dean Winchester, my TV boyfriend, is the perfect Alpha Male character. He's gorgeous and sexy. He can fight hand to hand or with a gun. He's even learned spells to take care of the particularly nefarious beasties. But more importantly, he has a heart. He is all about family, and loyalty and trust. He hurts when those he loves hurt, and he isn't ashamed to cry. Dean is brave. He is a hero in every sense of the word.
Cheyenne isn't Dean. He isn't a hero--at least not on purpose. But he is strong...and flawed. It is my job to make sure that you, dear friends and readers, can see through his bravado and those flaws into his heart. I think I've done that. I hope I have.
I Am the Ticket Queen
It is no secret that rockstars are my favorite creatures of the night. So when my favorite rocker announced a limited tour I was at once exhilarated and sick to my stomach with anxiety.What if I can't get tickets?
On sale day, I logged onto the ticket purveyor's website thirty minutes before I could buy them and waited. And waited. And waited. When the digital clock on the computer rolled over to precisely 10 a.m. I was ready.
Two tickets, best available. The computer whirred, cautioning me to not "go back or resend the data", lest I lose my place in the queue. And then...2 seats, upppermost section, far left. What?? How was THAT possible? My finger pressed enter at the exact moment the tickets were available! Nosebleed seats were not good enough. I clicked the obsessed ticket buyer's best friend: Reject these tickets and Try Again.
Bingo! Tickets right above the floor, center section. But I wasn't done yet. He was playing two shows and I needed to be at both of them. So I tried again. Two tickets, best available. Nosebleed section, worse seats in the house.Click! I tried again. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed.
By that point I was starting to panick. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed. My fingers never typed faster. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Forbidden to View This Webpage.
WHAT???? I tried again. Click.Forbidden to View this Webpage. I cleared the computer's cache. Click. Forbidden. I must have pressed the reset button too many times. I shut down the computer, sick to my stomach. What was I going to do? Where was the Staple's EASY button when I needed it? Suddenly I remembered. There wasn't a button, but there was certainly an app.
I opened the ticket buying app on my cell phone and in less time then it would take to say "obsessive compulsive" I had two more perfect tickets. YAY ME! I am the ticket queen.
On sale day, I logged onto the ticket purveyor's website thirty minutes before I could buy them and waited. And waited. And waited. When the digital clock on the computer rolled over to precisely 10 a.m. I was ready.
Two tickets, best available. The computer whirred, cautioning me to not "go back or resend the data", lest I lose my place in the queue. And then...2 seats, upppermost section, far left. What?? How was THAT possible? My finger pressed enter at the exact moment the tickets were available! Nosebleed seats were not good enough. I clicked the obsessed ticket buyer's best friend: Reject these tickets and Try Again.
Bingo! Tickets right above the floor, center section. But I wasn't done yet. He was playing two shows and I needed to be at both of them. So I tried again. Two tickets, best available. Nosebleed section, worse seats in the house.Click! I tried again. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed.
By that point I was starting to panick. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Nosebleed. My fingers never typed faster. Click. Nosebleed. Click. Forbidden to View This Webpage.
WHAT???? I tried again. Click.Forbidden to View this Webpage. I cleared the computer's cache. Click. Forbidden. I must have pressed the reset button too many times. I shut down the computer, sick to my stomach. What was I going to do? Where was the Staple's EASY button when I needed it? Suddenly I remembered. There wasn't a button, but there was certainly an app.
I opened the ticket buying app on my cell phone and in less time then it would take to say "obsessive compulsive" I had two more perfect tickets. YAY ME! I am the ticket queen.
Tarot As a Writing Tool
Have you ever known anyone who uses tarot in their writing process? Sounds
interesting, doesn’t it?
Recently I attended a workshop lead by Paula Chaffee Scardamalia on the use of tarot in writing. I went as a skeptic. I don’t know how to read tarot cards, and I’m not sure I believe in them, so how could I learn how to use them in just a few hours?
Paula brought 4 different decks to the workshop and each participant had the opportunity to use each deck. One I fell in love with immediately. The colors were vibrant, the drawings beautiful. I could see my story in the illustrations. Another one actually made me nauseated when I used it. I think it was too busy, each page swirling with more images than my mind could process.
Paula instructed us to think about our story as a whole, or about the next scene we would write. She asked us to think about a specific answer or solution we wanted the cards to reveal, and examine the card for its message. Some participants had trouble deciding what the card meant. One woman who is editing her book had a card showing someone cutting mistletoe. She wondered if this meant that she should cut more from her book. Another person suggested that it might mean the opposite--that she was cutting too much.But Paula said that when we interpret the cards we should go with our own interpretation since the cards are picked by us. The message my card had for me was very clear: Stop juggling all the bright and shiny ideas, pick one, and stop wasting
time.
Paula also gave the group handouts about different ways to lay out the cards, and a traditional explanation of the meaning of cards. But it seemed that everyone in the workshop thought the simple practice of examining the cards helped them focus and reach decisions about how they wanted to proceed.
The cards that I drew were fairly easy to relate to the scene I’ve been struggling to write. The insight the cards offered fit what I had already planned, but with a twist. With that twist, I went home and wrote the scene that had previously stopped me cold.
Do I need to admit that I bought a deck of tarot cards? Of course, mine are vampires, dragons, and shadow people.
If you want to know more, leave a comment or drop me an email.
interesting, doesn’t it?
Recently I attended a workshop lead by Paula Chaffee Scardamalia on the use of tarot in writing. I went as a skeptic. I don’t know how to read tarot cards, and I’m not sure I believe in them, so how could I learn how to use them in just a few hours?
Paula brought 4 different decks to the workshop and each participant had the opportunity to use each deck. One I fell in love with immediately. The colors were vibrant, the drawings beautiful. I could see my story in the illustrations. Another one actually made me nauseated when I used it. I think it was too busy, each page swirling with more images than my mind could process.
Paula instructed us to think about our story as a whole, or about the next scene we would write. She asked us to think about a specific answer or solution we wanted the cards to reveal, and examine the card for its message. Some participants had trouble deciding what the card meant. One woman who is editing her book had a card showing someone cutting mistletoe. She wondered if this meant that she should cut more from her book. Another person suggested that it might mean the opposite--that she was cutting too much.But Paula said that when we interpret the cards we should go with our own interpretation since the cards are picked by us. The message my card had for me was very clear: Stop juggling all the bright and shiny ideas, pick one, and stop wasting
time.
Paula also gave the group handouts about different ways to lay out the cards, and a traditional explanation of the meaning of cards. But it seemed that everyone in the workshop thought the simple practice of examining the cards helped them focus and reach decisions about how they wanted to proceed.
The cards that I drew were fairly easy to relate to the scene I’ve been struggling to write. The insight the cards offered fit what I had already planned, but with a twist. With that twist, I went home and wrote the scene that had previously stopped me cold.
Do I need to admit that I bought a deck of tarot cards? Of course, mine are vampires, dragons, and shadow people.
If you want to know more, leave a comment or drop me an email.
Mortal Instruments: City of Bones
Yes, except for me, the theater was empty when I saw City of Bones!
Let me start by saying I loved this movie and have recommended it to friends.
I have not read the book on which this movie is based. My original reason for avoiding the book is that the market is glutted with books featuring a teenage girl who reaches some special age and learns she
is a powerful witch/shaman/vampeen/mystic/fill in the blank. Although she has no knowledge of her heritage or training in how to use her power she must somehow save the world. I grew tired of the premise years ago. Apparently writers believe this is a universal desire for teenage girls. If these writers are correct, they also dream of having a geeky boy madly in love with them, following them everywhere.
Mortal Instruments-City of Bones follows this trend. I found it hard to believe that this long standing team of warriors would suddenly not only accept Clary but follow her lead, no matter how poorly thought out her
plan. At least the movie explained how she suddenly knew things by having characters tell each other that her
memory was slowly returning.
The long lingering looks between actors made me wonder what they were thinking or feeling because I certainly couldn’t read their emotion on their faces. Perhaps this was clearer in the book where there could be internal dialog.
The attempts at humor fell flat but were mercifully rare. “You can hang your head out the window”. Is this really something you would say to a werewolf old enough to be your father who had just saved your life and was on his way to help your friends?
This might be small but one of my big pet peeves--area made up words. Mundanes? Really?
So, you might ask, if I found the movie trite on so many levels, why would I love it and recommend it? I truly am a big special effects kind of girl and this movie was beautiful. The clothes were awesome, especially the shoes (that is a teenage fantasy I can understand). And let’s not forget all the hot guys. Valentine—the guy, played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers—is especially yummy.
On a scale of one to five, I'll give this one a score of 3.
I have not read the book on which this movie is based. My original reason for avoiding the book is that the market is glutted with books featuring a teenage girl who reaches some special age and learns she
is a powerful witch/shaman/vampeen/mystic/fill in the blank. Although she has no knowledge of her heritage or training in how to use her power she must somehow save the world. I grew tired of the premise years ago. Apparently writers believe this is a universal desire for teenage girls. If these writers are correct, they also dream of having a geeky boy madly in love with them, following them everywhere.
Mortal Instruments-City of Bones follows this trend. I found it hard to believe that this long standing team of warriors would suddenly not only accept Clary but follow her lead, no matter how poorly thought out her
plan. At least the movie explained how she suddenly knew things by having characters tell each other that her
memory was slowly returning.
The long lingering looks between actors made me wonder what they were thinking or feeling because I certainly couldn’t read their emotion on their faces. Perhaps this was clearer in the book where there could be internal dialog.
The attempts at humor fell flat but were mercifully rare. “You can hang your head out the window”. Is this really something you would say to a werewolf old enough to be your father who had just saved your life and was on his way to help your friends?
This might be small but one of my big pet peeves--area made up words. Mundanes? Really?
So, you might ask, if I found the movie trite on so many levels, why would I love it and recommend it? I truly am a big special effects kind of girl and this movie was beautiful. The clothes were awesome, especially the shoes (that is a teenage fantasy I can understand). And let’s not forget all the hot guys. Valentine—the guy, played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers—is especially yummy.
On a scale of one to five, I'll give this one a score of 3.
21st Century Canning
My best friend and I started purchasing CSA shares (community supported agriculture) last winter. We love it. It's an opportunity to eat a variety of fresh produce and support a local farm. There are only two downsides: Sometimes we get items we have no idea how to cook (Jerusalem artichokes? Black radishes?) and it's often more food than we can eat in a week. Wasting food is the worst problem. It's disrespectful to the earth and it is very expensive.
Last week, we picked up a huge amount of green peppers. This week, we received a bag of hot peppers. We decided to find a way to make them last until we could eat them. Canning seemed to be an easy option. We're 21st century women. How hard could it be? It was time to make Hot Pepper Jelly.
This morning we picked up all the supplies. Ball jars. Wide mouth funnel. Jar tongs. Pectin. Cider vinegar. A ton of sugar. From our return at 11:00am to 5:30pm we chopped, cooked, stirred, sterilized, poured and boiled. Starting at 5:30pm, i went to bed with a heating pad, a mega dose of ibuprofen, and on- demand episodes of Twisted. My. Back. Is. Killing. Me.
As I wince through the commercials in failed attempts to get comfortable, I remember being at my very southern grandmother's home, taking for granted the jars of green beans, peaches, jellies, jams, tomatoes, compotes, and relishes she used to make the most wonderful food. Those jars were made with hard work that could only be born of the tremendous love she had for her family.
To Grandma, Aunt Effie, Mrs.Carter, and Aunt Lucille, thank you for loving me and showing that love through painstakingly creating jars of yummy goodness. If my Hot Pepper Jelly doesn't make me deathly ill, it will be due to your watchful eyes from heaven's kitchen.
Last week, we picked up a huge amount of green peppers. This week, we received a bag of hot peppers. We decided to find a way to make them last until we could eat them. Canning seemed to be an easy option. We're 21st century women. How hard could it be? It was time to make Hot Pepper Jelly.
This morning we picked up all the supplies. Ball jars. Wide mouth funnel. Jar tongs. Pectin. Cider vinegar. A ton of sugar. From our return at 11:00am to 5:30pm we chopped, cooked, stirred, sterilized, poured and boiled. Starting at 5:30pm, i went to bed with a heating pad, a mega dose of ibuprofen, and on- demand episodes of Twisted. My. Back. Is. Killing. Me.
As I wince through the commercials in failed attempts to get comfortable, I remember being at my very southern grandmother's home, taking for granted the jars of green beans, peaches, jellies, jams, tomatoes, compotes, and relishes she used to make the most wonderful food. Those jars were made with hard work that could only be born of the tremendous love she had for her family.
To Grandma, Aunt Effie, Mrs.Carter, and Aunt Lucille, thank you for loving me and showing that love through painstakingly creating jars of yummy goodness. If my Hot Pepper Jelly doesn't make me deathly ill, it will be due to your watchful eyes from heaven's kitchen.
Pacific Rim—Not just for FanBOYS
My friend and I have looked forward to the movie Pacific Rim since we first saw it advertised. I don’t like 3D so we had to wait a day for the movie to be shown the old fashioned way. Even that setting, which everyone assumes to be less appealing, was packed with males and females of all ages.
The movie was 2 hours and 15 minutes long. Most of that was action. I was spellbound. The day glow striping on the aliens made the action easy to follow in scenes that could have been so chaotic we could have been left confused. The Gundam Wing styled robots called Jaegers were captivating and easy to differentiate. Consequently, these were some of the best battle sequences I have seen in a while.
Unfortunately, there was a period during the movie in which we were sidetracked by a love story that made little sense to me. Never a believer in love at first sight, I have trouble understanding such deep and unshakable love developing the day two people meet. But I suppose the producers felt that they need to appeal to as many audiences as possible. For me, the love story was not only unnecessary but a distraction. The camaraderie of the characters, for me, made a love interest unnecessary. These were people who cared about each other and their world. I saw tears shed by audience members as Jaegers and their pilots prepared for their final battle. We were left saddened by the casualties but heartened by the bravery and heroics of the fighters.
Two hours and fifteen minutes of action. This fanGIRL can’t wait to see it again.
The movie was 2 hours and 15 minutes long. Most of that was action. I was spellbound. The day glow striping on the aliens made the action easy to follow in scenes that could have been so chaotic we could have been left confused. The Gundam Wing styled robots called Jaegers were captivating and easy to differentiate. Consequently, these were some of the best battle sequences I have seen in a while.
Unfortunately, there was a period during the movie in which we were sidetracked by a love story that made little sense to me. Never a believer in love at first sight, I have trouble understanding such deep and unshakable love developing the day two people meet. But I suppose the producers felt that they need to appeal to as many audiences as possible. For me, the love story was not only unnecessary but a distraction. The camaraderie of the characters, for me, made a love interest unnecessary. These were people who cared about each other and their world. I saw tears shed by audience members as Jaegers and their pilots prepared for their final battle. We were left saddened by the casualties but heartened by the bravery and heroics of the fighters.
Two hours and fifteen minutes of action. This fanGIRL can’t wait to see it again.
The 4th of July
When I was a younger, the 4th of July meant family. All the kids and grand kids would gather to talk, joke, and catch up.
In those days we all lived near each other so there wasn't really much to catch up on, since we already knew everything that was going on. Daddy would grill in the backyard--hamburgers and hot dogs for the kids, steaks for the adults. We would have the first watermelon of the season.
The afternoon wore on, everyone would go to the park where there was live music and plenty of room to picnic and visit with the same people we saw the day before. In our small town everyone seemed to know everyone.
As night fell the park would gradually empty, and people traveled to the high school. The perfect spot to watch the fireworks. I can't remember them ever being rained out.
I began to feel the change when we started watching the fireworks from my parents porch, because "there's no sense in walking all the way to the school when we can see them from here."
It wasn't the same at all.
Today the family is missing many of its members. The ones who are left are scattered from Florida to Connecticut. I will sit in the backyard with my loved ones and have hamburgers. If it is one of the few sunny 4ths, we may walk to the park for the fireworks...who knows if we will feel up to the walk to get there. If not, I will sit and listen for the occasional booms; we live too far from the park to see or hear the other fireworks. And I will think about home and how much I miss those 4th of Julys and the family the memories bring back.
In those days we all lived near each other so there wasn't really much to catch up on, since we already knew everything that was going on. Daddy would grill in the backyard--hamburgers and hot dogs for the kids, steaks for the adults. We would have the first watermelon of the season.
The afternoon wore on, everyone would go to the park where there was live music and plenty of room to picnic and visit with the same people we saw the day before. In our small town everyone seemed to know everyone.
As night fell the park would gradually empty, and people traveled to the high school. The perfect spot to watch the fireworks. I can't remember them ever being rained out.
I began to feel the change when we started watching the fireworks from my parents porch, because "there's no sense in walking all the way to the school when we can see them from here."
It wasn't the same at all.
Today the family is missing many of its members. The ones who are left are scattered from Florida to Connecticut. I will sit in the backyard with my loved ones and have hamburgers. If it is one of the few sunny 4ths, we may walk to the park for the fireworks...who knows if we will feel up to the walk to get there. If not, I will sit and listen for the occasional booms; we live too far from the park to see or hear the other fireworks. And I will think about home and how much I miss those 4th of Julys and the family the memories bring back.