Done, Done, DONE!

That's right. Book four of the current series is DONE!

*does happy dance*

I feel accomplished, but considering how long it took me to write this book, I'm not shooting off confetti cannons. It's more like, "Ah...finally..." I started this book back in November of 2012. At the time, I wrote somewhere around five thousand words. And then it sat there. Then I upped it to twelve thousand. And then it sat there. Then all the way up to nineteen thousand.
 
Three years later...

*throws confetti*

On one hand, I'm a little annoyed with myself. I wrote the first three books in as long as it took to finish this one. On the other hand, I only really wrote like three months out of those three years, so it's still an accomplishment. And 90k in three months is an accomplishment.

Alas, it's not over. And I'm not talking about editing. There's at least one more book in this series before I can get to the one that's been nibbling at my brain almost since I started. It will involve some of the same characters, but take place way in the future (that's where aging ridiculously slow comes in handy) and deal with a whole different side of the story. I'm excited about that. But now I have to get through another novel first. Silly characters. Don't you know when enough is enough?

There were some deaths in this book. One had to happen. Another was rather unexpected and when these get published, will probably piss off a lot of people. My favorite character was granted a reprieve, though, so there. Sometimes you have to make the author happy and give them a cookie before chaining them to their computer for another three years.

It's really good timing too, because I'm having surgery next week and I won't be able to sit at the computer for a while.

Yay me!


-Liz

Butter My Butt

...And call me a biscuit!

It would seem the book I thought (and have thought for several years) was going to be the last in this series is not the last in this series. Don't look at me, it wasn't my idea. I was all set to finish this chapter and put my characters to bed, but apparently they've had too much sugar and don't want to settle down. So, as I find myself just shy of the 70k mark, I am now at a loss for what happens next. I mean, I sort of know what happens. Or I knew what was going to happen. In a very basic sense. Now, I'm not so sure.

I'm sure all writers have had this happen. It's happened to me before, but not to this extent. I more or less knew there were going to be four books in this series when I started it back in 2009. But now it looks like there will be five, which means the spinoff series is going to have to wait.

Sorry, Mae. You won't be stuck as a toddler forever, I promise.

Unfortunately, that poses a problem in the Death category. I came to terms with the fact that I was going to lose one of my favorite characters in this book, but I might get a little more time with him. Someone has to die, though. And the person I wasn't planning on killing will probably be killed instead. One person is going down, but maybe not everyone. I'm so confused.

Silly characters...

 -Liz

Just Like Granola Bars

I've come to the conclusion that writing is much like a granola bar. Sometimes it's crunchy and dry and leaves you desperate for a drink. Sometimes it's sweet and chewy and just enough to satisfy your cravings. And sometimes, you're not paying attention and you eat the whole box and wonder what the hell happened.

What happened? Writing happened.

So, I've been spending a lot of time over at Alexandria, and, as a result, not much time here, but my sudden surge of manuscript-fueled creative energy left me a post short of my quota this month and I've been demoted. All in all, my time as a Resident Author was an enjoyable experience, but I guess when you're running an enterprise, you can't make too many allowances. Rules are rules.

The reason for my failure to comply is a good one. I've added upwards of thirty thousand words to my manuscript Changes in the last few weeks. I've also taken up guitar. Though, as things tend to happen in my life, as soon as I shelled out the money on an instrument of my own, the voices in my head got the better of me, and I haven't been practicing all that much. Still, I can't complain. This is the fourth novel in a series, and it's been sitting here for so long, I think it's turned into wine.

To celebrate my new-found determination, I wanted to share will you a scene I wrote today that made me smile. For those of you who have been in this situation, or know someone who has, it might make you smile too.

Jaden watched as Anika tore dresses from their hangers and added them to the growing pile at her feet. It looked like a cyclone had hit her bedroom. Both dressers had been gutted and their contents were strewn across the hardwood floor like bodies from a boutique massacre. She stood naked, blonde hair stuck to her face with sweat and bare feet trampling nightgowns and evening wear alike. Normally, the sight of his girlfriend naked would excite him. But he had a feeling if he got anywhere near her, he’d be missing a very important appendage.

“No, no, no!” she yelled, throwing a gauzy pink ball gown across the room. It fluttered to the floor in a pile of ruffles. “I can’t find anything!”

“Is there something I can help you look for, dear?” he asked, keeping a five-foot radius around her.

“Nothing fits. I can’t walk around in Orrick’s hillbilly shirt at the Senate.”

“Do you have to go to the Senate?”

She turned on him with fire in her brown eyes. “It’s the principle, Jaden. At some point I will have to leave this house and right now it’s either the plaid rag or nothing.”

His eyes trailed her beautifully pregnant body. “I don’t see a problem.”

“Do you want other people to see me naked?” She yanked another dress from the closet. “Because if I go out there looking like this they’re going to think it’s open season and shoot me.”

“Anika, you look fine.”

“I’m a planet! I don’t know how I fit through the doorway!”

“I know you’re not used to the belly, but I’m sure we can find something for you to wear.”

“What? One of those maternity sacks they’re always forcing on pregnant women? I will not be seen in one of those.”

“Then we’ll get your seamstress to make something.”

“She can’t make me a new wardrobe in one day, Jaden. I’m going to have to wear a bathrobe just to talk to the contractor.”

“You mean to tell me that not one of your thousands of outfits fit?”

She dropped a sweater to the floor. “I might as well find our best bed sheet and make a toga.”

He tried to suppress his laughter, but she was making it very difficult.

“What are you smiling about?” she barked. “Do you think being fat is funny?”

“Honey, you’re not fat.”

“Look at these!” She grabbed both of her breasts. “I could feed a small nation!”

“That doesn’t make you fat. That makes you delicious.”

She turned away with a look of disgust. “Men.”

“Do you want me to get Malia?”

“Like I’d fit into anything of hers. She’s a twig.”

“And so are you. You just happen to be a twig carrying a baby.”

“Well, he should have considered what growing so fast would do to his mother. I’m going to be the laughing stock of Terebinth Hall.”

“I think the Chancellor will understand.”

Anika waded through the sea of fabric toward the bed. “That I grew a baby on vacation? I doubt it.”

“I mean, look at all this.” He motioned to the mess. “Isn’t there something in here we can have altered?”

“I’m enormous. And normally I look skeletal on a good day. You can’t rip a few seams and transform a wardrobe, Jaden.” She took a seat on the bed, looking exhausted. “That’s it. I just can’t leave the house until this baby makes an appearance.”

“Anika, don’t be ridiculous.”

“This is ridiculous.” She pointed to her belly.

“He can hear you, you know.”

“Good. Then he can learn that being a selfish child upsets his mother,” she shouted at her belly.

He moved toward her. “Come on, Anika. It’s not the end of the world.”

“No. The end of the world is happening out there and I can’t do anything about it because society frowns on politicians speaking to the public naked.”

“Why don’t you just put on some underwear?”

“Because none of it fits!” She stood. “My boobs are the size of melons! I can’t squeeze them into any of my bras.”

“How about a t-shirt then? I can lend you some of mine.”

Anika’s expression darkened. “Jaden, I love you, but if you don’t get out of my sight, I’m going to murder you and hide your body in this sea of useless clothing.”

He backed toward the door, hands help high in surrender. “I’ll go get Malia.”

“Get Zan while you’re at it. Maybe she can do us all a favor and get the damn kid out now.”

Jaden bit his tongue and left the room. He knew when he was out of his depth. And pregnancy was proving to be rocky waters indeed.

-Liz

Go for Takeoff

Hello out there to all of my fellow bloggers!
 
I have been shamefully absent of late. One reason being, I'm currently holding a position as a resident author over at Alexandria, which has me posting a few times a month. Between that, work, and bitchy fibromyalgia, I haven't had much downtime. What little time I do wrestle away from the fatigue monster I've been using to work on various writing projects. I am happy to say I've edited all three novels in my current series and continued on with the fourth. I feel so accomplished! Well, you know, sorta.

Unfortunately, when I got into working on the fourth book, I remembered why it's been sitting here for four years. That's right. Four. YEARS. I know that might not seem long to some of you, but considering I wrote the first three books in as many years while also working on other projects, the delay in completing this manuscript is shameful. This is the part where I make all kinds of excuses about life being difficult and (literally) crazy, but the truth still remains. This book needs an ending.

Okay, it needs more than an ending. It needs at least another 70k, which I don't think will be a problem if I can get over my issue. I have to kill a beloved character. And in true six-year-old temper tantrum style, I don't wanna!

It's his time to go, and he will go out in a blaze of glory, but it's still a sad thing. He's been fantastic comic relief throughout this series and has grown tremendously as a person. Alas, all good things must come to an end.

I am also dealing with the fact that one of my main characters is telling me her story is almost over. I hadn't anticipated that. I'm not one for outlines, but I usually have some idea of where it's all going. And this came as a complete surprise to me. I see how it happened though. It may be for the best. But, damnit, someone has to survive!

So, I will try to be a better host and keep things relatively up-to-date, but for those of you who know me, you know I'm fairly inconsistent with things like that.

If you need me, I'll be at my keyboard, thinking of inventive ways for my characters to kick the bucket.

Hugs!


-Liz

Sample Freely

I have a dilemma. What are you supposed to do when someone you don't know very well, a new friend or potential partner perhaps, wants to read some of your work?

It's unusual to find true support for the crazy authors of the universe. And while I share my work with old friends and complete strangers, it's different when you're trying to make a good impression. It's also a dangerous game. Because not everyone has to like what I write, but if you lie and say you like it and you don't, or tell me the truth and say it's not your cup of tea, you're going to lose points. It has nothing to do with my ego. You're going to lose points if you don't like cats either.

It's not that I'm not proud of my work. I'm just not sure which project to choose. They're all filled with characters somehow rooted in my life. That's not a shocker. But it suggests my life is more than a little screwed up. Most of them also make a reader question my sanity. And I suppose this person would figure these things out even if they didn't read my work, so I shouldn't be worried, right?

I don't know. Humans are weird.

I like imaginary people better.


-Liz

You...You...Writer!

I've been braving the online dating world for years, but the last year has been particularly difficult. After the way my last serious relationship ended, I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to truly trust anyone again. But, being the stubborn individual I am, I plowed on. I've gotten past the first few rocky months of being back at sea and I am now comfortable enough to laugh about it, if not enjoy the ride.

Unfortunately, when you're introducing yourself to someone new, the topic of What You Like to Do undoubtedly comes up. This is how the conversation usually goes...

Me: I'm a writer.
Them: A writer? Cool. What do you write?
Me: Sci-fi/Fantasy novels.
Them: Wow. Are any of them published?
Me: Not at the moment.
*pause*

This pause makes me cringe because they always ask why I haven't published. And there are a number of reasons for it. It's not that I can't get published. I haven't tried. But the fact that I identify myself as a writer automatically translates to publication in their mind. If I'm not published, there must be something wrong with me. Or something wrong with my writing.

It makes me want to scream. I have had this conversation countless times and it always ends in me trying to explain the process of publication and how time consuming subbing can be and how with everything going on in the past few years I haven't had time to breathe, let alone do serious writing, and their eyes glaze over and I know I've lost them. They nod and smile politely and tell me it will happen one day. If I were a dog, they would pat me on the head and say, "Good girl. Now go play."

It's my choice when and if I want to sub for publication. I am well aware of how much time and effort goes into these things and I feel if I'm not prepared to take it seriously and devote the necessary effort, I shouldn't bother. It's a waste of everyone's time.

Do I want to publish? Yes.

Do I need to do it now? No.

Do I care if that bothers you? Definitely not. So, shut up about it.

I think I need to have a t-shirt made.


-Liz

A for Alexandria

I have accepted an invitation to become a Resident Author in Alexandria. My posts will appear two or more times a month and I have no idea what I'll be writing about. Feel free to check it out! My first post was published this afternoon.

They also have an opportunity for guest authors to submit, so if you're interested, check out the Guest Post Policy tab and join me down the rabbit hole.

Hope to see you there!


-Liz


P.S. I finally bowed to social pressure and joined Twitter. I know, I know. Follow me anyway...

Land Ho!

With the ever present urging of Cyrus Keith and several long months spent cursing my past projects while slashing at them with a machete, I've started writing again. I don't consider editing to be writing unless it's more of a rewrite than a simple content edit or search for typos. I do consider it to be under the writing umbrella, but, you know, different. Like bacon is technically pork, which means it came from a pig, but I'm not going to call my breakfast Wilbur.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm back to creating. As in, blank Word document and no freaking idea where this story is going next.

I have never been one to outline. I know many people it works wonders for, but my brain works well enough when I think of my characters and just say, "Go." Unfortunately, it doesn't "go" very often, as is evident in my huge gaps between blog posts. You can bet if I can't make myself sit down long enough to write a post, I'm probably not doing anything more worthwhile in the writing arena.

But I'm back to writing, and hopefully back to blogging. I have an invitation to be a regular contributor to another blog, and I am seriously considering giving it a go. I'll let you know when I get the details ironed out, but that pretty much means I'm going to be running rampant on the internet.

Muahahaha.


-Liz

Almost Stranger Than Fiction

That's my life these days. 'If you wrote it as fiction, no one would believe it.' A therapist told me that, so you know there's some truth to it.

I'm hesitant to say I'm back on the horse, mainly because I fall off horses all too often. I am definitely petting the horse, though, and trying to win her good graces by bribing her with treats. If all goes well, the 1300 odd words I've written in the past week won't be the last of the year.

A lot can happen in a year. And when I look back at my last post, it seems unreal. I remember where I was when I wrote that. So much has happened since then. So much has happened since I had that conversation with a therapist. But I'm still around, lurking in the shadows.

There are days when I feel like some sixty-five year old man sitting at the bar at four in the afternoon saying, "I used to be a writer!" There is some truth in it. Not that I'm a lush, though there are days when I feel like that as well. It's hard to believe it's been years since I've done any serious writing. What the hell happened? Life happened. Death happened. Heartbreak happened. And a lot of bad decisions as well.

I can't promise I will be updating regularly. If you've followed this blog in the past, you know better than to ask for such a thing. I will promise to try. My best friend and award winning author, Cyrus Keith, is of the mind that if he bugs me enough, eventually I will start writing again. I think getting some of my followers on my case might help as well.

So, you know, feel free.


-Liz

NaNooo

It's October 28th. The countdown is on. NaNo is fast approaching and writers all over are preparing for the grueling race to the finish line. The prize? A novel built on blood, sweat, and tears, and a whole hell of a lot of determination. And typos.

I wish I had time to participate in NaNo. I love NaNo. Even if I don't reach my goal, I still love the support and the push to bring new ideas to life. The community is amazing. I'm sure that anyone who has participated in the past has spent a good deal of time updating their word count on the website. Those graphs are depressing though.

Sadly, I'm working two jobs at the moment and dealing with a family member in the hospital, so I don't see NaNo working out this year. But who knows? I might surprise myself.



-Liz

Let's Do the Time Warp Again

Is anyone else amazed it's nearly November? When the hell did that happen?

Not only did I not realize it was nearly November, I completely forgot November is NaNoWriMo. What is wrong with me? I'm and author for Christ's sake! It's shameful.

Bad Elizabeth...

That being said, I'm not sure I'm up to NaNo this year. I haven't been in a while. I try, but seldom succeed. Of course, last November I was working twelve hours a day at a horse ranch, so I kind of understand. I don't really have an excuse this year, unless you call a life of complete and utter chaos a reason.

I'm convinced that I should write a book about my life. It might be more interesting than some of my other novels, and I write Sci-fi/Fantasy.

That should say something about the state of my life these days.

Oh well. Life happens. There's not much any of us can do about it, save collect material to mold imaginary people who will do things that we'll never be able to do.

Sometimes that's good enough.


-Liz

Requesting Permission to Land

Why is it that you never realize how important something is to you until it's gone? You may have an idea, but the full force of it doesn't hit you until it's no longer within reach. And then it sucks. Like, really sucks.

I feel like I'm living in a movie. A dramatic movie with grand speeches and drama and torrid love affairs. Someone is arrested right after being engaged. There is financial difficulty. There are tears. Family turns away. And all you're left with is a bittersweet ending and the desire to say, "Well, it could have been worse."

I'm not sure when I turned into a cliche. It seems to have crept up on me. Now I'm in the middle of act two, holding the smoking gun, and not knowing how I ended up in the neighbor's basement. Except it turns out not to be the neighbor's basement at all, but I'm having a vivid hallucination from the confines of my padded cell. And the padded cell is in a government research facility disguised as a mental hospital. Underground. In the year 2085.

I'm sure you get what I mean.

I suppose I could write a book about it. I've written books about stranger things.  But for some reason, reality doesn't seem nearly as interesting as people who throw energy balls. Maybe because I can't throw energy balls. I'll let you know when they let me out of my cell.


-Liz

A Dab Will Do You

I found this picture today, and I can't tell you how true it is. I spent many years looking for a place to belong. I bounced from social group to social group; made friends and outgrew them. I was a bookworm, a weird kid, the loud one. I was too quiet, then too opinionated, with bright red hair and funky glasses. People didn't know how to take me.

And then I started hanging out with other writers.

The thing that's beautiful about other writers is, we're all nuts. There isn't a "normal" writer out there. Sure, some people pretend to be by covering breaking news stories or writing hit screenplays, but the fact of the matter is, we're all a little weird. Some of us are a lot of weird. There's no way around it. I mean, you have to be different in order to live in a completely fictional world (or maybe a non-fiction world, but definitely when you weren't in it) and interact with imaginary people. We get so invested in our work, we feel emotionally connected to them, to the point that reading something terrible in their lives makes us cry. They are our friends, the world our creation, the story our baby. And when it's good, it's great. And when it's bad, well, let's just say there are still some novels I'm not on speaking terms with.

Other writers get it. You don't have to have that awkward introduction where you tell the person you're a writer, almost like it's an apology. "I'm sorry my behavior will make you consider having me committed. But it's okay. I'm a writer." When you're with other Children of the Corn, you just delve into it. And they reciprocate. And it's awesome.

I wish I had more writer friends. Admittedly, I haven't been writing much, but I believe support is invaluable whether you're working on a project or not. Bloggers are certainly writers as well, though a different flavor perhaps. I'd like to find some of those as well. So, if you know of anyone interesting, point them my way.

And make sure they bring their anti-psychotics. I'm running low.



-Liz

Being the Bad Guy

"You are never the villain of your own story."

This seems to be incredibly true of my life today. The Bad Guy doesn't realize that he's the bad guy. And when he refuses to acknowledge this, it makes it incredibly hard to get any sort of resolution. It's their word against yours. It's open for interpretation. There are two sides to every story.

But what if the story just plain sucks?

In stories, it's easy to pinpoint the antagonist. There's the hero and the villain. And you know who to support. How dare that person do this to your beloved main character? They're obviously evil. But every once in a while, you get a villain that's hard to hate. They have some redeeming qualities. You can understand how they got to this point in their life. But they're still the bad guy. They're still doing horrible things to good people. So, while you're understanding of their situation, you, as a reader, don't like them very much.

Unfortunately, there isn't a delete button in real life. You can't say something terrible and take it back. You can't rewrite a memory. It isn't black and white, because emotions cloud the situation. There are any number of influencing factors. Friends and family have their own opinions. You don't want to disappoint the people who believe in you. But you also don't want to burn your bridges.

I figured out who the Bad Guy is today. But even though I have this knowledge, I'm not sure what the outcome will be. I don't have the luxury of an outline of my life. Sometimes, I really wish I did. It might make it easier to avoid these situations.

Hating people is so much easier in fiction.


-Liz

Passing 'Go'

Do you ever feel like there's so much emotion inside of you that it's difficult to figure out what you're really feeling? In the past, writing has helped me. But lately, there's so much going on in my life that I haven't been able to write. I understand that a large part of being a successful writer is discipline, but there are times when the most determined of individuals are so overwhelmed by life that writing just isn't an option.

Lately, I've been telling people about my novels. I find that explaining them gets me excited about the characters. It's a simple pleasure, but many good things stem from such a feeling. It motivates me to open those documents and skim through. In some cases, I'm given an opportunity to read a passage aloud to someone. I find this is particularly helpful, one, because I have an easier time correcting any awkward word combinations in my dialogue, and two, because it connects me with my characters. If I have to feel their emotion while I'm reading, it breathes life into them. It makes them seem more like real people. Old friends. And I find myself wanting to get to know them all over again.

I'm working with someone to set up an official website for all of my writing pleasures, and I will hopefully be starting a new blog over there. If all things go well, I'll take all of these memorable posts and move them to the new site. It's unclear at the moment if I will keep this blog active, but the new site will provide me with infinite new possibilities for marketing.

I'll keep you guys posted on the progress. I hope that you'll follow me when I make the transition.

Keep writing!

 
-Liz

Star Gazer

I believe in fairy tales. Not that life can be picture perfect, because that's just not realistic, but I honestly believe that everyone in life is granted one wish. It might be something small like a thousand nights curled up with your favorite pet, or something big like True Love. Your dream house. A wildly successful career. Fame and Fortune. A childhood dream realized and grabbed with both hands. I believe it's possible for humans to have this. And sometimes, when we're really lucky, we get more than one.

Life is very often the polar opposite of pretty; it's easy to only focus on the bad. The war, death, destruction, plague, economy. It's easy to be lost in the swirling vortex of depression. But I think it's important to hold onto those good things. And if you don't have them now, find one, and jump into it with arms outstretched.

I write stories about people. They have good days and bad. There is birth and death and tragedy and love. Nothing is simple. But nothing in life is simple either. It's complicated. No matter how hard we try to analyze and schedule and micromanage, there's always something that slips through our fingers. There is always something just out of our control. And that's okay. Sometimes you just have to take things on faith.

Even though I write fiction, my stories are about real life. They're about hundreds of life experiences broken down and fed into imaginary people. In this form, I think the truest life lessons can be put down on paper. There are a thousand tears in every gut-wrenching passage. A dozen smiles in every baby's laugh. It's the purest of emotions written in a way that people can relate to. We've all experienced these things in some ways.

That's something we all have in common.

That, and the desire for real life fairy tales.


-Liz

Musing

Hate is scary. Not the kind that you scream about during an argument. The kind that happens after the argument, when there are no more arguments. Hate that is so strong, you can't think about it, because you're afraid that it will consume you; turn you into someone who is no longer a person, but an emotion. It will turn you into some monstrous being that doesn't care about anything but hate. And that hate will lead to a thirst for revenge. And that thirst will be put into action, and actions into motion, until you are ruining lives, most of all your own. Hate is powerful. Hate is dangerous. And somehow, it still exists.

Hate is so close to passion. You can feel passion for a person so great you're afraid it will carry you away. But passion isn't considered a bad thing. People throw themselves into it, breathe it in, and beg for more. But what happens when that passion turns to hate? If you're so deep in your longing and suddenly, your world shifts. And you find yourself no longer loving, but hating. Is there a way back from that? Distance might lead to forgiveness, and forgiveness may lead to forgetting. But if you can't distance yourself, it turns you into this person you don't recognize. And you worry that if you can't get away from it, you'll never be yourself again.

Logic dictates that there is a way back from most anything. And I find that logic is once again engulfing my brain and bringing me back to a place of reason. A place where there are problems and there are solutions and no matter how difficult a situation seems, there is a way to conquer it. But every once in a while, emotion grabs hold and I spiral to a place where I wonder about hate and its consequence. And I wonder if there will come a time when logic is just out of reach and I won't be able to come back.

Writing about it helps. So, I write. And writing puts the emotions on a page where I can read it, analyze it, and come back to reality. As long as I can write, I'm less afraid.

Let's hope I can always write.


-Liz

Holey Shit

Do you ever feel like you're trying to dig yourself out of a hole with a spoon? You're six feet under and all you have is your determination and a crappy tool. You look up and see a mountain of dirt and a tiny pinprick of light. And you have to ask yourself, "How the HELL am I going to get out of here?"

I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet.

I'm sure there are better metaphors for what I'm currently experiencing, but that's what I've got at the moment. I'm not getting any points for creativity, but it's something people can relate to. Well, I hope it's something people can relate to. I'm having problems communicating at the moment.

I've become the villain in someone's story. I know that I can't really control that. People have their own opinions and their own views and their own way of dealing with things. But I'm having a hard time dealing with this fact because I am, at heart, a writer. I write people's endings. I shape worlds. And while things aren't always pretty and perfect, I know that it's all going to work out in the end, because I'm not mean enough to deny even the worst characters resolution. I wish it worked like that in real life.

I'm generally not a mean person. And I've never had a problem communicating. I can communicate until I'm blue in the face. In the past, this was enough. Making my point was enough. What the other person did with that information was up to them. But for some reason, I'm not finding it enough anymore.

I've never wanted so badly for someone to understand my side of things. For them to agree with me. I don't want to be the bad guy. I don't want for things to crumble over a difference in opinion. I want to come to some sort of understanding and to have things work themselves out. But no matter how much I bend my expectations or compromise, the other party doesn't seem willing to do the same. And what are you supposed to do when you're bending over backwards and the other person won't budge?

Let it go.

I know I should let it go. But I'm not a mean person. I don't want to be the villain in their story. I'm even willing to remove myself from their story if necessary, just so long as I'm not the reason it all went wrong.

But real life isn't as easy as writing. And writing is hard.

Who the hell came up with that story?



-Liz

Gobble, Gobble. Bang! Yum :-)

If you can't tell, I've got turkey on the brain. It IS almost Thanksgiving. I'll be working the holiday, but there will be food aplenty, so I'm still excited. And who doesn't love the opportunity to stuff themselves silly and be plagued with minor self-loathing the next morning?

I know it's been a while since I've posted anything, but there's been a lot going on. I'm officially a resident of Colorado! I was living here before, but I recently bought a house, so now the state is stuck with me. I think we're growing on each other.

I'm still a writer. I haven't written anything lately, but it still stands to reason that I can, therefore I am. Or something like that. I've had grand ideas and shitty ideas and everything in between, but I lack the time to put my butt in a chair (or the floor, or on a bed) and get to it. I know it sounds like an excuse, but twelve and thirteen hour days don't leave you a lot of time to argue. Sometimes sleep is more important. Especially when you're sick.

Yes, I'm diseased again. You know, for the fifty-seventh time. This time I have pertussis (whooping cough to the general public) and have since the middle of summer. The damn thing just doesn't want to go away. But we all know that my immune system is, for lack of a better word, "special" so it's not like this is a surprise. I've bounced from one antibiotic to another and back again, making things better, and then much worse. But I'm getting used to it. And there are worse things you can have, like tonsillitis, which I had a couple of weeks ago.

So, I'm still alive. I'm still plotting. I'm still terrorizing the nation, but in a non-illegal sort of way. And I will write again! In the meantime, I have horses.



-Liz

Don't Fence Me In

If any of you have ever dreamed of being a cowboy, I highly recommend trying it out as an adult. It's hard work, with long hours, and little pay. But it's awesome on a level that even your ten-year-old self would approve of.

I'm cooking more than wrangling these days, but I'm working and living on a ranch, so that makes me a cowgirl. I have the boots and everything. I'm also exhausted and I've had no time whatsoever to write. Okay, that's not entirely true. We do a campfire every Friday and read "original" (aka found on the internet) cowboy poetry. I did write a poem or two. I probably will write more. And if I ever have the time (or the energy) this is the type of place I could get a lot of work done.

I'm still not sure what will happen at the end of the summer, but it looks like I'll have a job if I'm interested in staying on. I guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I get there, seeing as how all of my family is on the other side of the country.

I'm getting an amazing amount of material. The scenery is beautiful and we have a steady stream of guests to keep us entertained. So, I think in the end, this change will benefit my writing. I'm certainly healthier, and that was one of the main reasons I stopped writing regularly in the first place.

This is me, in Colorado.

Breathing.

In cowboy boots.

Be jealous.



-Liz