Writing Wrongs

Writing update

Not that you’re interested. Feel free to skip this post.

Today, I finished the second draft, also known as the first person conversion of MacKenna’s story (The Fine Art of Holding Your Breath). Somewhere along the way, I added ~22,000 words and I’m now looking at 81,000 for the total word count. I’m really not sure how I did that.

Then, I revamped the synopsis to The Geek Girl’s Guide. I. Was. Dreading. This. Turns out, for no reason. I wrote a new lead into the synopsis, deleted the old, added a few lines here, delete a few there, and voilà: new synopsis.

So, I’m off the edit a partial. At some point, I’ll look at another synopsis (this will be, obviously, some point soon, I’m keeping it vague so I can fool myself into thinking it’s not that soon).

Then, I toss everything in the mail and forget about it. Which, after so much work, is a strange way for it all to end.

White Thanksgiving

Yes, that’s right. We have snow. Maybe just a quarter of an inch, but it’s cold and it stuck. Kyra was very excited about this development, wanted to go outside, but thanks to one of our Thanksgiving traditions, she couldn’t.

What’s that?

Someone getting sick. Poor Miss B woke up with a fever yesterday. This isn’t as bad as the year Andrew sprouted spots (chicken pox) on Thanksgiving Day.

Today, her fever was actually higher (pre-Motrin) and while she’s fairly perky, she hasn’t strayed from bed–that would be my bed, my side of it, which now has a lovely layer of cracker crumbs all over it. She’s been drawing pictures and making books all day long, and actually kicks me out of the room, because each picture and each book is a surprise.

In other Thanksgiving news, Anno has a thing against mashed potatoes. I’m still trying to work out how I feel about that. Marianne has a terrific cover for her latest story, Don’t Fence Me In. And stay tuned to the postings over at Jenn in MI–she grew up on the block where they inflated the balloons for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

Team Milk-bone

So the other day I did the unthinkable. I went to Target and bought pajamas … for myself. That’s right. Sure, I bought some long sleeved shirts for the kids, but I neglected to buy them pajamas. I know. What was I thinking? (For some reason, I can always be talked into buying pajamas, toothbrushes, and books–I’d probably buy a complete stranger a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a book if he/she asked.)

It didn’t help that these pajamas have dogs and milk-bones on them, like so:

I mean, who wouldn’t want a pair.

So, yesterday at Target, I found two more pairs, in the boys’ section (shh, don’t tell Kyra, but it’s the reason Andrew’s wearing them). Same exact pajamas, red, with dogs and milk-bones. I wondered if Andrew would want to wear the same pajamas as me. Kyra–she was all over that. Remember those mother-daughter Laura Ashley dresses? Well, let’s just say it’s probably a good thing there aren’t any of those stores around here.

But with Andrew, I wasn’t sure. I’ve crossed over that threshold and now have the power to embarrass. And like a small nuclear device, just the mention of using it gets a reaction.

But the pajamas? Just too cool. By the time we walked through the door last night, Andrew had dubbed us: Team Milk-bone. They changed into them before dinner.

I’m hoping they change out of them sometime today. Go Team Milk-bone.

Today I need to pick up my Thanksgiving-in-a-box. I know. The sacrilege. How my foodie friends even read this blog is beyond me. We informally priced it one year and figured Thanksgiving-in-a-box costs the same as buying all the ingredients and making it from scratch.

But here’s the beauty part: tomorrow, when everyone else is busy turning their kitchens into disaster areas, I’ll pop everything into the oven, go write for few hours, then take everything out of the oven.

Now that’s something to be thankful for.

About those line edits …

They are done–for now. In a marathon IM chat session (marathon = eight freaking hours), Darcy and I worked through all the line edits our agent sent us. And this with only a minimum amount of off-color humor and talk about elves (someday, we may be able to reveal all about the elves, but for now, strictly hush, hush).

I’m pretty sure about one in the afternoon, Darcy was wondering what she got herself into, having me as a writing partner. I was in serious complete the mission mode, even if we go down in flames and bring civilization-as-we-know-it along with us.

Sometimes I’m like that.

She also wondered how I managed an entire chat (and one so long) without a single:

Kids killing each other. brb

So, I thought I’d supply a visual:

The Marvelous Miss B spent most of the weekend next to me, working on her own projects and drawings. True, at one point, I was spelling words for her (she likes to write) and doing line edits. We refer to this as multi-tasking.

Those are star stickers on her face, by the way. At one point, I ended up with star stickers on my face. Andrew, who was on the phone, said to his friend, “I’m really glad you’re not at my house right now.”

And that was pretty much our weekend.

Suburban angst

So, I did a Target run last night. I do these at the last possible moment. When I start wondering whether they’re serious about the whole “do not reuse contact solution” or if that’s merely a suggestion, I know it’s time to go to Target.

And only today, in America, can you go somewhere that has so much stuff and not find what you actually need. Fortunately, the good people at Target realize that their “target” (oh, ho, ho, I slay me) demographic may want plain tuna fish, rather than tuna fish infused with lemon and pepper or sun-dried tomatoes.

Sometimes, there are simply too many choices. They recently remodeled our local Target, so I spend a lot of time wandering down aisles because I don’t know where anything is anymore. At one point, I got sucked into sparkly packaging clearly aimed at the teen girl demographic. I give you the new:

Secret deodorant — Scent Expressions.

(Click through at your own risk, graphic intensive, music, and purple prose.)

Because you’re no one if you don’t have your signature deodorant, no? So, I’m looking at the choices: kuku coco butter, arctic apple, brazilian cherry (I was going to make a waxing joke here, but I’ll refrain). But my favorite?

Vanilla chai.

I’m still trying to figure out why someone would want their underarms to smell like vanilla chai. Can’t you just see it? The back of mommy or daddy’s SUV, a passionate moment, the boy looks deeply into his girlfriend’s eyes and says:

“Wow. Your armpits are making me thirsty … wanna go to Starbucks?”*

I bought plain tuna fish (four pack), some contact solution, and the toilet paper with the puppy on it, because Kyra loves the puppy.

I passed on the vanilla chai deodorant.

*I’m calling dibs on the armpit line. I may want to use it someday. Just remember, you read it here first.

Tell me what you want, what you really, really want

I found this over at Jen’s, so if you saw it there, you don’t need to watch it here. I post it for two reasons:

It’s an easy way to get a blog post in.
We’re a full-service blog here at Writing Wrongs.

I’m so writing a book about these three. The blond kid slays me, every time. Oh, and the girl? She’s totally the boss of the other two.

The only downside is the ear-worm. (Tell me what you want, what you really, really want. I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want …)

Still, it’s a small price to pay for such genius.

All I Want Is You

I found this one over at Book-a-Rama.

Here’s what you do:

Set your Mp3 player on shuffle and write the title of the first song that comes up as an answer to each question no matter how stupid it sounds…(savvy? Here we go.)

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
Angel of Harlem, by U2 (that’s a weird answer)

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Temptation, by Tom Waits (honestly, I wouldn’t)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Extreme Ways, by Moby (ha, ha, this one actually makes sense)

HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW?
She’s So High, by Tal Bachman (no, I am not)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, by U2 (but apparently I’ve found every U2 song)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Take Me Out, by Franz Ferdinand (I have some demanding friends, no?)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
True, by Spandau Ballet (I think this is a good answer, it could be worse, no?)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT OFTEN?
Walking on the Moon, by The Police (I’m not sure I’ve ever thought of that)

WHAT IS 1+1?
Don’t Leave Home, by Dido (It must be that new math)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Rock ‘n’ Roll Lifestyle, by Cake (too funny)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Original of the Species, by U2 (When Charity isn’t being original, she’s clearly listening to U2)

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LOVE?
Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots of Money), by the Pet Shop Boys (Snort)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Longview, by Green Day (Whatever)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Black Coffee in Bed, by Squeeze (Caffeine is my life)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
The Other Side, by David Gray (Strangely appropriate, freakishly so, even)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Every Little Thing She Does is Magic, by The Police (Bet you didn’t know I was magic)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Tangled Up in Blue, by Bob Dylan (you guys are all tangled up)

WHAT IS THE THEME SONG TO YOUR LIFE?
Leaving New York, by R.E.M (I’ve only been there once)

WHAT DESCRIBES YOU?
Rio, by Duran Duran (I’ve got nothing for this)

WHAT WILL YOU NAME THIS POST?
All I Want is You, by U2 (I know. Again with the U2)

Oh, I have a blog …

Perhaps I should write in it once in a while.

Actually, I have been writing. How much, I’m not sure, because I kind of lost count, but I think I’m up 10,000 words for the week. And since I left MacKenna and Landon in serious pre-make out mode, I should get back to them.

Last night, we had Chinese take out for dinner. Favorite part is the fortune cookie. Kyra got something about her generosity, which Andrew snorted at, seeing as she took the last two pieces of lemon chicken and wouldn’t share. Andrew will bring sunshine into someone’s life. Mine said … wait for it:

You will become an accomplished writer.

I’m not making this up. I’ll scan it, too, if anyone would like proof. But first, I need to get back to MacKenna and Landon. First, there’s that whole pre-make out deal. And of course, before you can become an accomplished writer, you need to accomplish some writing.

Geektastic … meet world

The line edits … they are here.

Note to to Darcy: Don’t worry, she did NOT write on every page.

Last page = intact.

Master debater line (hee, hee) = intact.

The rest, I think, is negotiable.

Note to everyone else: At some point, I’m sure I’ll get a hold of myself and stop recording every tiny step in this process. I wouldn’t count on that being any time soon.

Pen name? Let me show you them

So, our agent (!!!) suggested Darcy and I should brainstorm a snappy name to write under, since most YA novels are published with a single author name on them. This, actually, was something we’d anticipated, so no surprises here.We didn’t anticipate that everyone would want to help.

Andrew came up with Morgan Meyers. He came up with other names, too, which I suspect are characters from the Transformers movie.

Bob thought up several he put in an email. Unfortunately, the email got caught in one of the many spam filters somewhere in the internets. Sadly, I never saw said email. Maybe this is just as well.

Kyra suggested: “Charity and Darcy likes each other.” This, while true, is difficult to file alphabetically.

We did think up a name, but we’ll keep it under wraps for now. (I know. The suspense.) We need to run it by our agent (!!!), plus, these things can and do change, so we don’t want to grow too attached, or be premature about it.

We do like it. I’m hoping it sticks.