Megan Bostic's Blog, page 66

Tooting the Horn Tuesday: Kudos to the Class of 2k11

So much is happening in my literary circles it's sometimes hard to keep up.
My friend Gae's novel, The Pull of Gravity , received a great review from YA Love.  Click here to read it.  She also has a cover for her amazing book now.  Here it is:


Here's a great review of another 2k11-er, Bettina Restrepo's, Illegal .

And yet another 2k11-er doing amazing things.  Geoff Herbach's novel, Stupid Fast is a Junior Library Guild selection.  But that's not all.  His sequel to Stupid Fast, The Whole Warm World, has been picked up and is due out Spring 2012.  Congrats to Geoff!

Angie Smibert received yet another shiny review for her novel, Memento Nora .

And here is my review of Amy Holder's novel, The Lipstick Laws .

Click here to find out more about the Class of 2k11.

Monday Morning Blahg: Sundance

As many of you know, I went to the Sundance Film Festival last week, and if you're friends with me on Facebook or Youtube, you know I had a great time.  I saw some great films, my favorites being, Septien, Gun Hill Road, Son of No One, and Another Earth, all I'm sure were picked up.  Some had big stars, (Al Pacino, Tracy Morgan, Katie Holmes, etc), some had no one you've ever heard of.

I was a little (okay a lot) disappointed with a film called Here.  While the acting was really good (Ben Foster was in it and I <3 him) the movie was, well, boring.  And then I saw some shorts one of which was weird, three were good, and one had potential but drug on and on and on and on.

I saw no huge celebrities, they apparently come for the first few days and then hightail it out of there.  But I guess people like Kevin Spacey, and Mark Wahlberg were there.


My brother came Friday to Sunday.  He dressed in a banana suit and danced up and down Main Street to advertise his comedy troupe.  He got loads of attention from  tourists, film makers, the local news, and Sundance itself.  He was funny.  If you go to my Youtube or Facebook, you can see a video of him.

Park City is a beautiful place, and the people were really really nice.  We received some random acts of kindness a few times (including getting to Sundance in the first place of course).  Everyone from the hotel staff (Park City Peaks), to the Sundance volunteers, to the cab drivers were a pleasure to deal with.

So, all in all, a good time.  My goal: do it again with a broader pass.

That's it.  It's good to be home.



Megan

Writing Wednesday: Untitled

     This is from the untitled dystopic novel I'm writing, which is currently on the back burner, but soon to be picked up again.  Let me know your thoughts.     The door across the hall is closed and it's a room I've not entered.  For a split second I feared another body would be found, but remembered the man had already investigated the entire house before letting us enter.  I opened the door slowly still, not wanting any surprises.  I'm not sure what I expected, a sewing room, storage maybe, but not what I found.  Bookshelves, a desk, a window seat, this room seemed out of place in this big country house.  On the desk sat a laptop computer and scattered farming paperwork.       Seeing that computer made me think of my own and how I would spend time connecting on Facebook, downloading music on iTunes, or learning something new from Wikipedia.  Back in the day, I would have said I could probably not survive without the internet, my cell phone, but now, I hardly miss that technology.  We had to adapt, and it was easier than I would have ever thought it would be.     The window seat behind the desk was covered in a lush burgundy fabric, which went well with the mahogany furniture.  A mug with a picture of a kitten sat abandoned next to the window, half full of moldy coffee.  Next to it, open and face down lay a copy of Jane Eyre, a surprising choice for a farmer's wife.  Curious, I moved toward the bookshelf to see what else she might have read.  More classics than I would have guessed, some contemporary fiction, and tons of romances, which was more what I would have expected.  This room must have been an escape for her, a place where she could unwind and forget about the bills, her aching back, and the dirt beneath her fingernails, a place for dreaming up other places, other times, other lives.       Exiting, I strolled down the hall to another door and opened it, a linen closet.  The next door led to a bathroom.  It was filthy, caked thick with grime and mold.  Mystery fluids, more than likely blood and vomit were splashed across the walls, and the floor.  I opened the cabinet below the sink and found Lysol, disinfectant wipes, glass cleaner, tile cleaner, a sponge, and paper towels.  I wiped everything down, spotless, threw the garbage on the floor, and walked across to the last room.  The girl's room.     I approached the soiled bed and removed the rest of the bedding.  I went downstairs, through the mudroom, and the back door, I dropped the sheets to the ground.  Entering the barn, I looked around for something to put water in.  Most of the tools were old and peeling.  After scouring shelves, and bins, I found a bucket.  One of the old metal kind, with a rusted and squeaky handle.  It was quite a walk down to the pond, and having to navigate through the overgrown grass and brush made it no easier.  Once at the pond, I stopped and admired the scenery.  It was quite beautiful country.  Tall cedars surrounded the property, standing guard like wooden sentries, blue sky hanging over like a canopy.            I squatted beside the pond and I filled the bucket.  Staring into the murky brown mass, I wondered if we'd ever have running water again.  I missed running water, doing dishes in them, showering.  I was tired of pool water, and pond water, and rainwater.  Tired of boiling it until it was okay to wash in, to drink.  I rose and carried the bucket to the house, it sloshed and splashed all the way, splattering my legs, my shoes.      I put the bucket down outside the back door, went in and retrieved the propane stove, a stockpot, and boiled the water.  I had some cleaning to do.  Once the water boiled and cooled, I poured half of it back in the bucket followed by some laundry detergent.  Then I grabbed the sponge from the bathroom, and went into the little girl's room.  I poured a generous amount of water onto the mattress and began scrubbing.  I don't know how long I scrubbed, it could have been five minutes, an hour, but the stains persisted, lingering like a scar in the flesh.  A reminder of what once used to be, a family, a life, and now death.     I ended up using bleach, while most the stains receded, the outer edge remained, dark red, the only bloodline left of this family.  I took the mattress from the bed, stood it up against a wall, and sprayed it with Lysol.  I opened the windows in hopes that the breeze might dry it before night fell, else I'd be sleeping on the couch.

Tooting the Horn Tuesday

The ABNA contest has started.  If you've completed a 50,000 + novel you should check it out.
My friend R.A. Nelson's vampire novel, Throat comes out today!!
My friend Tami is vlogging at Lyrical Lip Service.  She read my poem, Sand, in yesterday's video.
Caron Guillo, who I tooted about a couple weeks ago, celebrated with a book release party last weekend.
Amy Holder, Class of 2k11-er and author of The Lipstick Laws gets a 5 star review.
Bill Loehfelm, the winner of the first ABNA has his 3rd novel ready for pre-order.  He's a great writer with a knack for character development (among other things)
And Thing 2, my beautiful Rachel becomes a teenager today.  Happy birthday love. 

Oh yeah, and I mentioned I'm going to The Sundance film festival.  :P

Congrats to all. Lots of cool stuff happening.



Peace out.

~Megan

Monday Morning Blahg

Yes, it's Monday again.  And morning.  Strikes one and two on the day.  I've been sick for what seems like forever.  Just started feeling good Saturday, though I'm still a bit scratchy and a bit stuffy.
Saving grace, it's a short work week, as I leave for Sundance on Wednesday *squeeeee* (and don't try and break into my house, it's armed and dangerous)
I finished my edit job, and now I can focus on writing.  I have three projects my agent wants to see.  So I'm going to be working on all three of them until I have at least a couple chapters of each.
And I'm going to go back to my Superhero series and rewrite it.  I'm thinking about doing it in diary form and changing the name.  What do you think?

That's all I've got for this fine Monday morning. 

Peace out,
~Megan

F³A: blah

I've been fighting this cold for about two weeks now, and it's finally gotten the better of me this week.  I've missed 2 1/2 days of work because of it and it's screwing up my need to exercise and clean.
I have been editing though, which is good.
And that's pretty much it aside from laying in bed, sleeping, and watching movies.
I've really nothing more to say today.  Brain fry.

Book of the week: The Lipstick Laws by Amy Holder (Amy is a member of the Class of 2k11 and her ARC is on its way to me as we speak.  It's available for pre-order)


Random song from my iPod: Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros


Movie of the week: Prince of Persia (Jake Gyllenhall = Swoon)


Quote of the week: "Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it." ~ Martin Luther King Jr.

Happy Friday,
~Megan

Writing Wednesday: Cheesy

 Yes, I'm aware it's not Wednesday, but I've been busy and I'm too sick to think, so Thought Provoking Thursday is out this week.
So, this is the beginning of my novel, Cheesy.  Let me know what you think.
There was a time I used to wear dresses. I wore pink, and patent leather shoes, and ribbons in my hair. I used to play with dolls. That was before my mom died of the cancer. I sat there and watched her disintegrate there in her own bed. I saw her hair fall out, watched her body get weaker and more frail by the day, watched her silently slip out of consciousness. Her already labored breath would catch, and her chest would heave when it became too painful even to breathe. I was glad I was asleep when she finally died. I wouldn't want to have watched her take her last breath.     Upon waking that morning, I went downstairs to find an odd pair of undertakers in my living room. The first undertaker was just like the ones you see in the movies. His name was George and he was very tall and pale with dark hair and a deep voice. The other's name was George too. I know, too weird. He was the comic relief. It was almost like watching a vaudeville act instead of the men who were going to take your dead mom's body out of your house forever.     Then there was my dad, looking dazed as the undertakers delivered their monologues and then went about their duties. He didn't speak, he didn't cry. The tears had run their course weeks before. He just sat, and I let him just sit, staying quiet, watching him.  I wasn't sure how he was going to take it all. Truth was, I didn't know him very well at all. At the time, I was thirteen, and my mother had been my sole caretaker while Dad coached college football and travelled. And when he was home he worked on game plays, and watched footage, and strategized.  I knew lots of his players. He'd invite them to dinner every so often and my mom would serve them meatloaf, or pasta, or pork chops while my dad told them they were playing well, or how to improve their game, or that they were being cut. That's how it went it our house.     The undertakers rolled my mom out on a stretcher in a big black plastic bag with a zipper down the front. They handed my dad some pamphlets; he still didn't speak, just nodded really. He didn't even get up. I closed the door behind them and went to my mom's room. She had her own in the last few weeks. The air was stifling and held a stale smell to it. A death smell.       Pictures still hung by thumbtacks to a corkboard, photos of us in happier times. There was one of her and me baking cookies, some from our many trips to the zoo, my parents wedding picture. I hardly remember her looking like she did that day with a head full of hair and rosy cheeks and a full body.    Her bed faced the window so she could look out over her garden, which my grandma would come and tend for her in the final days. Light was shining through the window and a stained glass ornament I made for her in third grade, the colors spreading across the gray carpet like it had spilled right out of a rainbow. Looking across the room, I could see every piece of dust filtering through the air. Swatting my hand through it to make a clear trail, I stepped toward the shelf full of books that stood right underneath the window. My mom, she loved to read. I remember her reading to me when I was little, Where the Wild Things Are, fairy tales, or poems from Shel Silverstein. I know some of those by heart. One of my favorites was called Whatif.   I often thought about the Whatifs in life, so I guess this made perfect sense.     When my mother read for herself, she read stories with strong female characters: To Kill a Mockingbird, The Color Purple, and the like.  She taught me to be strong myself, and to always go for what I want in life, big or small.     On the wall next to the window was an entertainment center with a television, a stereo, music, and movies. My mom's favorite movie was Fried Green Tomatoes. We watched it together a bunch of times. I admit I liked it too. It definitely wasn't my favorite, but I like how the women stand up for what's right, and stand by each other in the hardest of times.      My eyes took in the room one last time.  Everything was just the same as it was the day before, except for her bed of course. Hospice had brought in a hospital bed for her, one of those that you can lift up the head and feet, the kind with the bars on the sides so you don't fall out. It was stripped. No more purple sheets, no more quilt made by my grandmother's own hands, no pillowcase. No more mom. Stripped away just like the soiled bed sheets.

Tooting the Horn Tuesday: Random bits of awesomesauce

First off, we have this review of my friend Gae's novel, The Pull of Gravity by the Goddess of YA Literature.

Then there's 2k11-er Julia Karr.  Her dystopian novel XVI is getting amazing reviews.

Another 2k11 review.  This one of Angie Smibert's dystopian, Memento Nora.

So many good books coming out this year.  Make sure you pick them up.

Monday Morning Blahg

After much debate in my head over going back to sleep or getting up, I've finally made coffee.  Sleep loses out again as it normally goes with me although I was up entirely too early for a holiday/day off work.  So here I am blogging on this fine Monday morning.
Remember why you're home today.  A great man fought for and was killed for his belief that we should all be equal.  We have come a long way since then, but we still have a long road to go before the country is free from the confines of bigotry.  It's sad that as advanced a society as we are in so many ways, we still lack where our freedoms and rights are concerned and that the word prejudice has not yet disappeared from our vocabulary.
Hatred begets hatred.  Racism (or any other ism for that matter) is taught.  It's not innate.
Breed love, people.
I think that's all for today.
Peace out.
~Megan

F³A: A few thank yous.

Yes, I'm back with the Friday Free For All in which I get to do whatever the hell I want.
I have a few friends that have encouraged me to pick up an old (not real old, but still) piece of writing and work on it.  I just want to thank them for always supporting me in my writing and in life.  You know who you are.
That's all.
Random iPod song: Undone (The Sweater Song) by Weezer Movie of the week: The Social Network going to watch it this weekendBook of the week:  Julia Karr's XVI, a dystopian YA, it's getting rave reviews.  Check it out.