Sirens, SceneCycle, and Superrandomness...

This post... and likely any others I write in the next few days will probably be scattered and rambling... but wait, my posts are usually scattered and rambling...

In three days I will be leaving for Sirens!!! *panics because she isn't packed, hates flying, and she's just not ready to leave* Around the panicking, I'm so excited it's ridiculous. There are going to be several awesome Guests of Honor, and several other absurdly cool authors (ahem, Sherwood Smith, and Tamora Pierce) are going to be on hand to participate in panels and other presentations. So fracking (new fav word, even though I'm not knowledgeable about Battlestar Galactica) awesome! I'm going to Colorado a day early to partake in the Sirens Supper along with anyone else who happens to get to Vail before the official start of the conference. So if any of you happen to be going to Sirens, keep an eye out for me in the Denver airport. I'll be the one with the braids. No, not that cute girl with the matching luggage.... the one in the Sirens t-shirt with the Swiss Army back pack and the Harley jacket... and the zombie rag doll.... pretty sure I'll be the only girl with one of those...

On to SceneCycle! A friend and former teacher of mine has been telling me about SceneCycle for some time now, but I only just experienced it first hand today and I'm astonished. SceneCycle is a card-based game wherein players take turns constructing a story together from introduction of the main character to the final resolution. My friend helped with tweaking the games final format and she's already getting it involved with local school systems. The game teaches kids (and adults) to utilize their own imaginations and construct stories instead of simply reading them. The creator is a writer who wanted to become a better writer. Just in the short introduction I had today, I was impressed and excited about the idea. Right now the game comes in three themes, with the terminology and characters detailed to each one: Sword and Shield, Steampunk, and Dystopian. I've sticky-fingered a deck for Sword and Shield and Steampunk to bring with me to Sirens. I implore you to check SceneCycle out! The website is a little primitive, but they're still just getting off the ground, so please don't hold that against them.

Aaaand tomorrow my family is going to congregate in a batshit banana free for all known as the annual family picnic. These events are usually defined by things like: my cousin (6'7) flipping out of the hammock, impromptu soccer games involving my aunt (played on an all-woman team for years... where they were known to break each others' shins in practice) and eating... anything not nailed down. Yes, my family does two things well without even trying. These things are talking and eating. No, usually not at once. Although since there is an abnormal amount of Italians in our ranks, the occasional chicken leg to your neighbor's temple has been known to happen. If you're Italian, you'll understand how talking can lead to whacking your neighbor with a chicken leg. For those of you who aren't Italian, us Italians talk with our hands. Really excitedly sometimes. Okay, all the time. The point is, we're fun to watch and great to talk to... as long as you're at a safe distance.

Since I'm still trying to get organized enough to avoid airport security filing for overtime, and tomorrow is likely to be taken up with family antics, and magic (did I mention I know a magician? Zephyr. Seriously. Amazing) I might not get to post again until I'm in CO. I'll probably get something up while I'm in the airport waiting for the Sirens shuttle, but no promises. Anyway, I'm off on an adventure... we'll see if it turns out like Indiana Jones... or National Lampoons...

The Dog Who Cried Break-In...

As promised, this post is the tale, not of a boy who cried wolf, but of a dog who cried break-in. I was at the farm the other day, minding my own business, dragging ill-sorted ponies through several inches of mud (YAY it finally rained!!!) when my cell phone rang. Considering I was in an area known as a vortex of inter-dimensional airways, and there was half a hurricane hovering overhead, it was a miracle that my phone even bothered to accept the call. Seeing that it was an unknown number, I was momentarily inebriated with the thought that this might be 'The Call'... you know 'That Call'... the one we all wait for and then usually go mute for the duration of? Yeah, no. Instead, someone identified themselves as an ADT service person calling to notify me that the alarm at my house was going off.

I asked him to repeat himself. He did. I ran into a wall, face-planted into a muddy horse butt, and stepped in... stuff that wasn't mud... The gentleman restated the reason for his call one more time. I immediately suggested that it was my ma, Snowbear, coming in from school, because I knew for a fact that she had gotten off early. Tote bag, groceries, you know, sometimes you hit the wrong buttons on the alarm pad. The gentleman informed me that the alarm was registering in the living room, specifically from broken glass. My first thought was the window, obviously. But my next thought was 'I've climbed in that window before, and your a$$ hangs out for everyone on the road to see'. The only other window has an air conditioner shoved into it. The ADT folks hadn't been able to reach my dad. I asked the gentleman on the phone - while scraping 'stuff' off of my boots - if he thought that I should leave work and go to the house to meet the authorities. He said it wasn't his place to offer suggestions. Men. Either they want to be in charge of everything or nothing. He asked how long it would take me to get home so he could inform the authorities. I looked out the front of the barn and saw grey sky... looked out the back and found solid white sheets of rain. I told him I didn't know, I was in monsoon season and said that I was going to try and get in touch with my dad.

I reached him, discovered that he had gotten the message from ADT and was heading home. He promised to call me as soon as he knew anything. So I went back to work, actually got a few things done, and waited. And tried to call my ma, who's notorious for never turning on her cell phone. After cursing about yet another unanswered call, my sister Fenris helpfully admitted that she was worried because what if ma had interrupted a burglar? Seriously? Thank you dear sister.

Well, anyway, it turns out that my ancient dog had knocked over a kitchen chair in her Alzheimer-like trundling, thusly setting off the 'breaking glass' alarm. And even if she'd been able to push another chair over and climb up to reach the alarm pad, since she doesn't have opposable thumbs hitting the code might have been difficult. On top of that, in her old age, she doesn't enunciate like she used to, so talking to the ADT rep who undoubtedly called 'Hello?' through the automatic connection would have been almost impossible. So the end result was that my MIA mother, Snowbear, got to chew the fat with our local sheriff and the rest of us got to suck on oxygen tanks because for a few insane minutes, we feared that someone wanted to steal our 'stuff', in the immortal words of George Carlin...

Bla bla bla bla and OMG so Fracking Adorable...

I should probably have some sort of organized post (okay, stop snorting, I AM organized, on occasion... sometimes...) but I don't. I've got a manuscript flapping in the wind with an agent that I would just chew my arm off to land. It's been what seems like a lifetime since I sent the ms out (have you ever noticed how time slows down after you hit the send button?) and I'm wearing a rut in the carpet that could swallow an elephant. I know that the agent is an 'editorial' agent... so I'm hoping, and praying, and lighting little paper lanterns that he's making busy little notes and I'll eventually get an email with positive things in it. But statistically, I'm thinking things are going to end with a few wild moments of Sicilian hair rending and a few thousand calories worth of chocolate.

And since sending the ms out, I've gotten feedback from a beta reader that was, well, not awesome. I mean, she said it could be a good story BUT... and there was rather a laundry list of things she suggested that I change or research more. Things I didn't entirely understand her problems with, things that I'd thought weren't an issue at all, things that took me at the blindside. It made me question myself more deeply than I ever have. After a rough few days, I ventured to ask my bro-in-law, one of my other beta readers what he thought of the book. He didn't agree with the first beta reader at all. He 'got' all the things she didn't. He didn't have issue with a lot of the things she did (she's an anthropology major and this is the book about Ansel the albino Athabaskan) and he loved the characters that she felt were never really developed. Knowing his opinion, even if I haven't read his full critique, helped a lot. Sort of.

How do you know how seriously to take your beta reader's opinions? I mean, if someone tells me that the pacing drags logistically, I can fix that. If they tell me that it drags because there's too much mooning between two characters who are falling in love and have never been in love before, and the other betas don't think there's too much mooning, how do I take that? Respectfully I could have done with about a tenth of the mooning in the Twilight saga... but obviously I'd be outside the other 95% of the population... including agents and editors. So what defines the line between 'something doesn't work because you've mucked it up logistically' and 'something doesn't work because I don't like it'?

Whew... sorry about that blather but it's been a burr under my saddle. I'm not someone who dithers and question themselves. I can take rejection and critiquing, but this has been hard because I've found myself convincing myself that I've screwed up my chance with a great agent by blundering all of these things I thought I'd gotten right. And even having one beta (my bro-in-law is a great reader despite our connection. He has no trouble with detachedly telling me something stinks and why.) tell me my story is not trash, doesn't eradicate the fact that another beta didn't like the story at all. Even knowing that the book isn't her 'her cup of tea' from the get-go doesn't mean that there isn't some truth to her opinion of the book. I don't know. *obsessively starts dithering again*

And now for the OMG so Fracking Adorable part...

I recently (don't ask the exact date, I'm waaay to scattered to figure that out) found Rebekah Joy Plett. Can I just say that I LOVE going over to her blog? Not only do her posts make me smile, but all of her art? SERIOUSLY? SO FRACKING ADORABLE! I want to get half of them as tattoos so I can wake up and see them first thing every morning. Don't wince, I do love tattoos, but I'm not going to disappear under ink any time soon. Not that there's anything wrong with people covered in the stuff :) Anyway, you should absolutely scoot on over and check out Rebekah's blog. And if you do, give her a big high five because she just signed on with the super cool zombielicious Bree Ogden of Martin Literary Management. I admit that I stole the term 'frack' from one of her congratulatory commenters... what can I say? It's an awesome word... And I like me some learning of new awesome words... :)

Next post? A breakdown of the 'ancient dog home alone affect on breaking glass alarm systems' equation...