Maria Hammarblad's Blog, page 62
February 24, 2011
What do you do?
A thing that amuses and fascinates me is how some professions aren’t really legit, at least not until you’re famous. And no, I’m not thinking along the lines of theft and prostitution…
If, in my old life (before I moved to the US) someone asked me, “So, what do you do,” I usually answered with whatever daytime job I had at the time, and the response would be along the lines of, “Oh, that’s nice, how long have you been there?”
At times, I tried a different approach and answered, “I’m a bass player.” I’d inevitably get the reply, “Yeah, right, what do you really do?”
To me, being a bass player was my “real” life and a thing I put at least twice as much time and passion into as I did with the necessary evil that kept me occupied between eight and five on weekdays… It admittedly did not pay as well, but I made money on it, and I was so associated with my red Gibson bass that some people didn’t recognize me without it.
The same thing is true today, on another continent with completely different people. If I answer, “I’m in college,” no one lifts an eyebrow. Being a student also has the advantage of taking at least ten years off of my age, as efficiently and certainly as if I’d jumped into a fountain of youth. If I say, “I’m a writer,” I once again get the incredulous look of, “Yeah, right, what do you really do?”
It’s ironically funny; I am a writer. For a little over a year I wrote blurbs for company websites. It was both fun and challenging; I do not know how to cure common diseases on roses, or what the best cures are for itchy feet, and I had to learn a lot of things before I could start on my assignment for the week. This all ended abruptly with my editor yelling at me when I refused to use the word “cures” in a sentence containing the words homeopathic, medicine, and cancer.
Since then I’ve published four novels. My books might not be great contributions to literature, and they’re not making me rich, but they do pay a chunk of bills every month. It’s still easier to introduce myself as a student.
Now, I’m sure that each and every person who reads this has a passion of their own. Some secret dream of something they’d like to do if they could, or dared, or something they’re already doing. Some people paint, others make the most beautiful flower arrangements in their kitchens. Some people play the piano, sew dolls, work with wood, make papier maiche, or renovate cars. Whatever your passion is, bring it out and shake it off and give yourself some time for it. It’s okay to do something you enjoy.
I want to challenge you. The next time someone asks what you do, answer proudly, “I’m a poet,” or whatever it is you do. Trust me, it feels good, and seeing the look on people’s faces when they realize you’re serious is priceless!
If, in my old life (before I moved to the US) someone asked me, “So, what do you do,” I usually answered with whatever daytime job I had at the time, and the response would be along the lines of, “Oh, that’s nice, how long have you been there?”
At times, I tried a different approach and answered, “I’m a bass player.” I’d inevitably get the reply, “Yeah, right, what do you really do?”
To me, being a bass player was my “real” life and a thing I put at least twice as much time and passion into as I did with the necessary evil that kept me occupied between eight and five on weekdays… It admittedly did not pay as well, but I made money on it, and I was so associated with my red Gibson bass that some people didn’t recognize me without it.
The same thing is true today, on another continent with completely different people. If I answer, “I’m in college,” no one lifts an eyebrow. Being a student also has the advantage of taking at least ten years off of my age, as efficiently and certainly as if I’d jumped into a fountain of youth. If I say, “I’m a writer,” I once again get the incredulous look of, “Yeah, right, what do you really do?”
It’s ironically funny; I am a writer. For a little over a year I wrote blurbs for company websites. It was both fun and challenging; I do not know how to cure common diseases on roses, or what the best cures are for itchy feet, and I had to learn a lot of things before I could start on my assignment for the week. This all ended abruptly with my editor yelling at me when I refused to use the word “cures” in a sentence containing the words homeopathic, medicine, and cancer.
Since then I’ve published four novels. My books might not be great contributions to literature, and they’re not making me rich, but they do pay a chunk of bills every month. It’s still easier to introduce myself as a student.
Now, I’m sure that each and every person who reads this has a passion of their own. Some secret dream of something they’d like to do if they could, or dared, or something they’re already doing. Some people paint, others make the most beautiful flower arrangements in their kitchens. Some people play the piano, sew dolls, work with wood, make papier maiche, or renovate cars. Whatever your passion is, bring it out and shake it off and give yourself some time for it. It’s okay to do something you enjoy.
I want to challenge you. The next time someone asks what you do, answer proudly, “I’m a poet,” or whatever it is you do. Trust me, it feels good, and seeing the look on people’s faces when they realize you’re serious is priceless!
February 14, 2011
A dollar for a book
I have always loved Border Collies. I’ve known many, and this far I’ve had the pleasure of sharing my life with two. They’re smart – they top every list of intelligent dogs – they’re intense, and so sensitive to their human that it’s easy to think they’re mind readers. Bold statement: my Billy was telepathic. I can’t prove it, but it’s the only explanation.
There are many webpages comparing their mental age to that of a human seven year old. Think about it, a seven year old child knows a lot of stuff. Now, I won’t claim that Border Collies can write, but they can learn to understand several languages, and that’s pretty cool!
Back home, they’re also expensive, and even though some people do get them thinking that they’ll get a genius performer without work and end up selling them again, I had never heard about an abandoned BC until a few months ago. (They’re a lot of work; they’re smart enough to be able to get bored if they don’t have a job, and a bored Border Collie will find something to do. This “something” is usually something humans don’t like, such as redesigning the furniture...)
Imagine my shock when I realized that there are Border Collies in shelters in America. We put kind and wonderful beings with intelligence and awareness corresponding to a human child in small cages, and let them sit there and wait until they’re euthanized. It’s tragic for any animal, and Border Collies are definitely smart enough to know what’s happening to them. This initial shock was followed by relief when I discovered a local Border Collie rescue; someone is at least trying to save them.
I gave in to my curiosity and asked if I could come visit. I found Ewenity Farms to be an amazing place run by an equally amazing woman who dedicates her life to saving BCs and finding them new homes. The doggies live with her in her home where they get veterinary care, medicines, love, and training. This gets more and more amazing the more I think about it. I mean, I always have to run to the store for more dogfood, and I have one dog. I think that it’s always time to trim his nails, buy him more anti-flee stuff, vaccinations, treats, and chewies. It’s constantly time to brush him again, or give him a bath. Right now, Jill at Ewenity Farms has eleven, most of them waiting for new homes. Imagine bringing home food for eleven dogs. Just keeping their waterbowls filled would be a full time job!
The work that she and her friends put in moved me deeply, and made me wish that there was a way for me to help. So, until I think of something better, here’s the deal. If you’re at all interested in my books, or just want to help, I’ll send a pdf or e-pub copy of one of my books to everyone who donates more than one dollar. I’ll send a signed paperback to anyone who donates more than fifteen dollars.
Go to the www.ewenityfarmsbch.com webpage and donate, through PayPal or through a check. Take a screen cap of your PayPal screen, mail it to me at maria.hammarblad@yahoo.com, and tell me what book you want and in what format you want it. You can choose from "Kidnapped," "Undercover," "Touch of the Goddess," or "Embarkment 2577." If you want one of the Novellas in the Embarkment series and not the entire compilation, that's also fine. (Brand New World, High Gravity, or Adam and Eve.)
A dollar or two isn’t much for each and every one of us, but it adds up, and it's for a really good cause.
There are many webpages comparing their mental age to that of a human seven year old. Think about it, a seven year old child knows a lot of stuff. Now, I won’t claim that Border Collies can write, but they can learn to understand several languages, and that’s pretty cool!
Back home, they’re also expensive, and even though some people do get them thinking that they’ll get a genius performer without work and end up selling them again, I had never heard about an abandoned BC until a few months ago. (They’re a lot of work; they’re smart enough to be able to get bored if they don’t have a job, and a bored Border Collie will find something to do. This “something” is usually something humans don’t like, such as redesigning the furniture...)
Imagine my shock when I realized that there are Border Collies in shelters in America. We put kind and wonderful beings with intelligence and awareness corresponding to a human child in small cages, and let them sit there and wait until they’re euthanized. It’s tragic for any animal, and Border Collies are definitely smart enough to know what’s happening to them. This initial shock was followed by relief when I discovered a local Border Collie rescue; someone is at least trying to save them.
I gave in to my curiosity and asked if I could come visit. I found Ewenity Farms to be an amazing place run by an equally amazing woman who dedicates her life to saving BCs and finding them new homes. The doggies live with her in her home where they get veterinary care, medicines, love, and training. This gets more and more amazing the more I think about it. I mean, I always have to run to the store for more dogfood, and I have one dog. I think that it’s always time to trim his nails, buy him more anti-flee stuff, vaccinations, treats, and chewies. It’s constantly time to brush him again, or give him a bath. Right now, Jill at Ewenity Farms has eleven, most of them waiting for new homes. Imagine bringing home food for eleven dogs. Just keeping their waterbowls filled would be a full time job!
The work that she and her friends put in moved me deeply, and made me wish that there was a way for me to help. So, until I think of something better, here’s the deal. If you’re at all interested in my books, or just want to help, I’ll send a pdf or e-pub copy of one of my books to everyone who donates more than one dollar. I’ll send a signed paperback to anyone who donates more than fifteen dollars.
Go to the www.ewenityfarmsbch.com webpage and donate, through PayPal or through a check. Take a screen cap of your PayPal screen, mail it to me at maria.hammarblad@yahoo.com, and tell me what book you want and in what format you want it. You can choose from "Kidnapped," "Undercover," "Touch of the Goddess," or "Embarkment 2577." If you want one of the Novellas in the Embarkment series and not the entire compilation, that's also fine. (Brand New World, High Gravity, or Adam and Eve.)
A dollar or two isn’t much for each and every one of us, but it adds up, and it's for a really good cause.
January 16, 2011
Old cars
My mom worried a lot for me when I was little, and in retrospect, I probably would have too. Not only was I an introvert child who thought aliens would pick her up and take her home to space at any moment; I displayed other disturbing tendencies. Not disturbing to me, of course, but to the adults watching with no idea what went through my little head.
She would buy me beautiful dolls, and I’d see if I could take them apart. I always succeeded, and sorted all their limbs up in piles on the floor. I had piles for arms, legs, torsos, and heads, and they would stay like that until she put all the dolls together again, so I had to take them apart again. I did this with all dolls until I was old enough to get barbies. Once this was done, I was satisfied with my neat collection of parts, and I would go play with my big, red, plastic racecar. I had a long, yellow string attached to it, and I’d pull it with me wherever I went. (I also pulled out all her pots and pans on the floor every now and then and pretended to be a drummer, but that’s another story…)
The passion for cars stayed with me as I grew up, and within a couple of years, the red sports car was replaced by a Barbie bus. It was awesome; it even had a tent folding out from one side. It went on like this. In Sweden, the legal age to get a driver’s license is 18, and those were some long years in waiting. When it finally got time I hurried to make an appointment for the driver’s test, and I thought I did great. I was sitting in the driver’s seat, trying to peek at the protocol, and the man looked at me sternly. “You were driving too fast. Wait eight weeks and try again.”
I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut. “No I wasn’t; I was within the speed limit the whole time!”
He smirked. “Well, technically, yes. But in that area where we turned left, up amongst all those houses, you wouldn’t have been able to stop if someone had come out from one of the side streets.”
Today, I would have been boiling with anger and asked if he wanted to test my speed of reaction and the brakes of the car. 18 year old Maria was more compliant, so I went home and waited my eight weeks.
Since then, I’ve always had at least one car. There has been Volvos, older and newer, Chevys, VW Beetles, trucks, SUVs, buses, a SAAB, a Mercedes… It’s a long list. That is, until I moved to the US. It took about two days until restlessness started to itch. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone anywhere anyway, but now I didn’t have the means to, so I yearned to get on the road. Mikey wouldn’t let me drive his car; he loves it so much and he was certain I’d crash it. He’d say, “No, there’s so much traffic here and you’re not used to it, and what if you have an accident on my insurance…”
I wanted to say, “Dude, I’ve lived in Stockholm, which is much bigger than this town, and I’ve driven in New York City.” I didn’t; I kept my mouth shut and waited until he felt like taking me wherever I wanted to go. It took about two days until he got tired of me sulking and took me car shopping.
There are SO many car dealerships in the area, and finding me a wreck within my budget seemed easy. To him. My taste in cars might seem random, it doesn’t follow a pattern, and poor Mike soon discovered that it wouldn’t do with just any old wreck; it had to be the right one. It is, of course, impossible to explain what the right one is… One guy had a car that was almost right, but I couldn’t understand a word of his Florida dialect, so I was more than happy to leave.
After having gone through at least 20 car dealerships, he was giving up and stopped to get something to drink. Meanwhile, I trotted over a ditch and into the nearby lot of “Good to go Autosales.” I had seen my car. I can’t explain it; it is as if they have a giant neon sign hovering over them in the air saying, “I’m here, I’m waiting for you.” When Mikey and a car salesman eventually arrived, I was stroking its hood. They tried to talk me into alternatives, but I just shook my head, “Yes, that’s a nice car too, but I want this one.” “No, I don’t want a van, I want this one.”
The gigantic old Mercury with its torn seats and faded paint was mine, of this I was certain. It took a few days before I could pick it up, and I could hardly wait! He’s been with me since then, on all sorts of adventures. We’ve been sightseeing through Florida, I’ve stuffed him with furniture when I’ve moved, I’ve laughed in him and cried in him, written a book in him, done homework in him, and patted his dashboard when his engine wasn’t feeling well. Has he been cheap? Not really. Has he made me happy? Oh yes!
Last week Frank (the Mercury) started to not feel so good again. I think it’s the computer; he misfires, the check engine line blinks, and the engine goes from purring like a tiger through ticking to rattling and then back to purring. Not good. Now there was a decision to be made; should I take him back to my mechanic, or should I get another one?
As harsh as it seems, I didn’t really feel like putting any more money into Frank right now. He needs something done to the engine, he needs a new tire, and in order to look real good, he’d need a paintjob too. On the other hand, I’m nowhere near ready to part with him. He has a great personality, for a car, and I love him. I decided to try to find another wreck to get me from point A to point B while I work on Frank in stressless peace and quiet. I found a car I wanted on Craigslist and went to tap Mikey on the shoulder. “Look here, let’s go take a peek.”
He looked at the printout and said, “That actually doesn’t look too bad. Where is it?”
Now came the tricky part. I tried looking as if it wasn’t far at all. “Port Charlotte.”
He gave me a tired glance, “Yeah, that’s not happening, babe. Find another one closer, or ask if they deliver.”
Knowing me, that wasn’t a great idea. “Well, what if they deliver and I don’t like it? I want to go look at it.”
Satisfied with himself, he suggested, “Drive down there, take a look, and ask if they deliver. You’ll fix this so I won’t have to do anything, right?”
I pouted, “I don’t think my Merc will go that far.” He would, but not if I told him I was shopping for a replacement for him…
Yesterday, when I had the time to take a roadtrip, that car was already sold, and I drove around to several dealers. One was scary and made me think I should have stayed in the car with my doors locked. When I retreated, I patted Frank on the dashboard and said, “You’re gonna start now, right. Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Frank had stopped rattling and gone back to ticking, and I was starting to think that maybe we would be alright for a couple of months more. There was one more place I wanted to check out though; they had a number of cheap Ford Broncos on Craigslist. I drove along the road, saw a dealership with a large Bronco by the side of the road and turned in, happily unaware of being in the wrong place. I parked my cruise ship of a car and went out to look, realizing that all this shiny metal around me couldn’t possibly belong to a place selling $800 wrecks. Oh well, I thought. I was there, so why not look around.
Someone inside had spotted me, and a tall man came out, flashing me a bright smile. I explained that I needed something cheap that would run for a year or so and pointed hesitantly towards a rugged truck. He said, “Naah, that one isn’t for sale today. It needs some work. Shouldn’t you have something a little prettier and newer?”
Shaking my head, I explained that as a foreigner on student visa with just an ITIN and no social security number, getting any form of credit has proven impossible. He asked how long I’d been in the US, where I lived, and explained that they could finance me in-house. “Come on, you can always fill out an application, we can test drive a few cars and they’ll have an answer for you when we get back.”
I thought, “Yeah, this isn’t gonna work, but no harm in trying,” so we soon set out to find a car. He was a good salesman; after talking to me for two minutes he knew exactly what car my heart desired. He also realized what not to ask me; when he started to glance over at my car, wondering what I wanted for it as a trade in, I exclaimed, “NO! I’m keeping that!” without even thinking about it.
I spent a couple of hours there, being fed cookies and small talk from everyone from their vendors to their mechanic. The adventurous day ended with me buying a Dodge Durango. It's a little more expensive than I wanted it to be, but it'll be alright. I’m picking it up on Monday, and I’m hoping Frank won’t take it too badly.
She would buy me beautiful dolls, and I’d see if I could take them apart. I always succeeded, and sorted all their limbs up in piles on the floor. I had piles for arms, legs, torsos, and heads, and they would stay like that until she put all the dolls together again, so I had to take them apart again. I did this with all dolls until I was old enough to get barbies. Once this was done, I was satisfied with my neat collection of parts, and I would go play with my big, red, plastic racecar. I had a long, yellow string attached to it, and I’d pull it with me wherever I went. (I also pulled out all her pots and pans on the floor every now and then and pretended to be a drummer, but that’s another story…)
The passion for cars stayed with me as I grew up, and within a couple of years, the red sports car was replaced by a Barbie bus. It was awesome; it even had a tent folding out from one side. It went on like this. In Sweden, the legal age to get a driver’s license is 18, and those were some long years in waiting. When it finally got time I hurried to make an appointment for the driver’s test, and I thought I did great. I was sitting in the driver’s seat, trying to peek at the protocol, and the man looked at me sternly. “You were driving too fast. Wait eight weeks and try again.”
I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut. “No I wasn’t; I was within the speed limit the whole time!”
He smirked. “Well, technically, yes. But in that area where we turned left, up amongst all those houses, you wouldn’t have been able to stop if someone had come out from one of the side streets.”
Today, I would have been boiling with anger and asked if he wanted to test my speed of reaction and the brakes of the car. 18 year old Maria was more compliant, so I went home and waited my eight weeks.
Since then, I’ve always had at least one car. There has been Volvos, older and newer, Chevys, VW Beetles, trucks, SUVs, buses, a SAAB, a Mercedes… It’s a long list. That is, until I moved to the US. It took about two days until restlessness started to itch. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone anywhere anyway, but now I didn’t have the means to, so I yearned to get on the road. Mikey wouldn’t let me drive his car; he loves it so much and he was certain I’d crash it. He’d say, “No, there’s so much traffic here and you’re not used to it, and what if you have an accident on my insurance…”
I wanted to say, “Dude, I’ve lived in Stockholm, which is much bigger than this town, and I’ve driven in New York City.” I didn’t; I kept my mouth shut and waited until he felt like taking me wherever I wanted to go. It took about two days until he got tired of me sulking and took me car shopping.
There are SO many car dealerships in the area, and finding me a wreck within my budget seemed easy. To him. My taste in cars might seem random, it doesn’t follow a pattern, and poor Mike soon discovered that it wouldn’t do with just any old wreck; it had to be the right one. It is, of course, impossible to explain what the right one is… One guy had a car that was almost right, but I couldn’t understand a word of his Florida dialect, so I was more than happy to leave.
After having gone through at least 20 car dealerships, he was giving up and stopped to get something to drink. Meanwhile, I trotted over a ditch and into the nearby lot of “Good to go Autosales.” I had seen my car. I can’t explain it; it is as if they have a giant neon sign hovering over them in the air saying, “I’m here, I’m waiting for you.” When Mikey and a car salesman eventually arrived, I was stroking its hood. They tried to talk me into alternatives, but I just shook my head, “Yes, that’s a nice car too, but I want this one.” “No, I don’t want a van, I want this one.”
The gigantic old Mercury with its torn seats and faded paint was mine, of this I was certain. It took a few days before I could pick it up, and I could hardly wait! He’s been with me since then, on all sorts of adventures. We’ve been sightseeing through Florida, I’ve stuffed him with furniture when I’ve moved, I’ve laughed in him and cried in him, written a book in him, done homework in him, and patted his dashboard when his engine wasn’t feeling well. Has he been cheap? Not really. Has he made me happy? Oh yes!
Last week Frank (the Mercury) started to not feel so good again. I think it’s the computer; he misfires, the check engine line blinks, and the engine goes from purring like a tiger through ticking to rattling and then back to purring. Not good. Now there was a decision to be made; should I take him back to my mechanic, or should I get another one?
As harsh as it seems, I didn’t really feel like putting any more money into Frank right now. He needs something done to the engine, he needs a new tire, and in order to look real good, he’d need a paintjob too. On the other hand, I’m nowhere near ready to part with him. He has a great personality, for a car, and I love him. I decided to try to find another wreck to get me from point A to point B while I work on Frank in stressless peace and quiet. I found a car I wanted on Craigslist and went to tap Mikey on the shoulder. “Look here, let’s go take a peek.”
He looked at the printout and said, “That actually doesn’t look too bad. Where is it?”
Now came the tricky part. I tried looking as if it wasn’t far at all. “Port Charlotte.”
He gave me a tired glance, “Yeah, that’s not happening, babe. Find another one closer, or ask if they deliver.”
Knowing me, that wasn’t a great idea. “Well, what if they deliver and I don’t like it? I want to go look at it.”
Satisfied with himself, he suggested, “Drive down there, take a look, and ask if they deliver. You’ll fix this so I won’t have to do anything, right?”
I pouted, “I don’t think my Merc will go that far.” He would, but not if I told him I was shopping for a replacement for him…
Yesterday, when I had the time to take a roadtrip, that car was already sold, and I drove around to several dealers. One was scary and made me think I should have stayed in the car with my doors locked. When I retreated, I patted Frank on the dashboard and said, “You’re gonna start now, right. Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Frank had stopped rattling and gone back to ticking, and I was starting to think that maybe we would be alright for a couple of months more. There was one more place I wanted to check out though; they had a number of cheap Ford Broncos on Craigslist. I drove along the road, saw a dealership with a large Bronco by the side of the road and turned in, happily unaware of being in the wrong place. I parked my cruise ship of a car and went out to look, realizing that all this shiny metal around me couldn’t possibly belong to a place selling $800 wrecks. Oh well, I thought. I was there, so why not look around.
Someone inside had spotted me, and a tall man came out, flashing me a bright smile. I explained that I needed something cheap that would run for a year or so and pointed hesitantly towards a rugged truck. He said, “Naah, that one isn’t for sale today. It needs some work. Shouldn’t you have something a little prettier and newer?”
Shaking my head, I explained that as a foreigner on student visa with just an ITIN and no social security number, getting any form of credit has proven impossible. He asked how long I’d been in the US, where I lived, and explained that they could finance me in-house. “Come on, you can always fill out an application, we can test drive a few cars and they’ll have an answer for you when we get back.”
I thought, “Yeah, this isn’t gonna work, but no harm in trying,” so we soon set out to find a car. He was a good salesman; after talking to me for two minutes he knew exactly what car my heart desired. He also realized what not to ask me; when he started to glance over at my car, wondering what I wanted for it as a trade in, I exclaimed, “NO! I’m keeping that!” without even thinking about it.
I spent a couple of hours there, being fed cookies and small talk from everyone from their vendors to their mechanic. The adventurous day ended with me buying a Dodge Durango. It's a little more expensive than I wanted it to be, but it'll be alright. I’m picking it up on Monday, and I’m hoping Frank won’t take it too badly.
January 8, 2011
What's in a name...
I’m terrible with names. I mean, I can remember them, but I’m really bad at making them up. That’s why my pets usually get names after rock stars, like Billy and Jimi... Boo is the exception; he was originally named Foo, but it didn’t fit him, and when trying to think of something that would sound like Foo there weren’t many left to choose from.
When writing, this little handicap becomes a great obstacle to overcome; even the shortest of stories is filled with characters needing names. If you’re writing science fiction, there will be ships, planets, cities, gadgets, and languages also needing names. I once named a language after a brand of potato chips. I meant to go back and change it, but by the time the story was finished, it sort of worked, so I thought, “Well, why not,” and kept it.
I’m making a lot of fun of all this in the “Embarkment” series; the people of the future have decided to remind themselves of a civilization lost by reusing names and phrases well known in our time. Like Taco Bell, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and McDonald’s golden arches. They reuse people too, but to lesser extent. I know that some people will take this much too seriously and get upset, but these books aren’t meant to be serious.
There’s more to it than just thinking of a name though; sometimes a name helps define who we are, and I think this is as true for imaginary characters as for real people. I mean, I don’t think I would be the same person if my name had been, say, Anna, Lisbeth, or Petra. It might sound a little crazy, but think about it. Would you have turned out exactly the same with another name? Would you be able to change your name without a sensation of loss?
When I decided to write about Maria Callaway and Stephan Forks, I knew that I was in for trouble. I still couldn’t resist it; my fingers started to type on “Touch of the Goddess” almost by themselves. Both characters have existed for years, just not in the shape of a novel, and as hard as I tried to change her name to something, anything, besides Maria, it didn’t work. Every time I changed her name, it also changed her personality. Ms Callaway is not me, but she is a Maria. This far, my pessimistic outlook has been completely unjustified; only one reviewer has even mentioned it, and she seemed more amused by it than anything.
A while ago, “Touch of the Goddess” got a review on Night Owl Reviews. I braced myself for hearing, “Hahaha, you think you’re a four thousand year old Goddess,” but that didn’t happen. The reviewer said the dialogue is entertaining and funny, which is awesome; I love writing dialogue. She wasn’t entirely happy with the storyline. “The notion of a goddess who calculates her age in terms of thousands of years falling in love with a mere mortal was just a bit difficult to understand.”
I anticipated a lot of things, and that wasn’t one of them. I showed this to a friend, who giggled, “You didn’t think that through, did you?”
Normally, my answer would be, “Uuuh,” because normally that statement would be a perfect description of me. I plunge in head first in everything, reasoning, “How hard can it be?” and end up naming something after potato chips. This time, I was able to grin and say, “Actually, I did.”
I was fascinated with the Greek and Roman Gods when I grew up, and remember many stories of them entering more or less successful relationships with humans. This is how the demigods came to be, beings with one foot in each realm, who often had to fight with or for the Gods, dying for the bad luck of belonging to both species. I think that’s the charm of these stories, as powerful as the deities are, they’re still identifiable, with human weaknesses.
Oh, remember Medusa? The woman with snakes for hair who turns anyone looking into her eyes to stone? There are many versions of her story, but in one of them she wasn’t always a gorgon; she was a beautiful woman tending to Athena’s temple. Poseidon desired her, and when she kept turning him down, he eventually raped her, inside the temple. Athena was rampant and took it out on Medusa, turning her into a monster.
Anyway, the observant reader of the Goddess’s books will note that Ms Callaway isn’t really a God, no matter how much she wants to be or how successful she is; she has a human mother, so she’s really a demigod. In my imagination, this emphasizes her human instincts and weaknesses. Mr Forks, on his side, is genetically engineered and not really human.
Hmm, thinking about all this is igniting sparks of creativity; I should go write on the next book about them. Funny enough, the third one is almost ready, but the second one needs some serious work done.
:-) Maria
When writing, this little handicap becomes a great obstacle to overcome; even the shortest of stories is filled with characters needing names. If you’re writing science fiction, there will be ships, planets, cities, gadgets, and languages also needing names. I once named a language after a brand of potato chips. I meant to go back and change it, but by the time the story was finished, it sort of worked, so I thought, “Well, why not,” and kept it.
I’m making a lot of fun of all this in the “Embarkment” series; the people of the future have decided to remind themselves of a civilization lost by reusing names and phrases well known in our time. Like Taco Bell, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and McDonald’s golden arches. They reuse people too, but to lesser extent. I know that some people will take this much too seriously and get upset, but these books aren’t meant to be serious.
There’s more to it than just thinking of a name though; sometimes a name helps define who we are, and I think this is as true for imaginary characters as for real people. I mean, I don’t think I would be the same person if my name had been, say, Anna, Lisbeth, or Petra. It might sound a little crazy, but think about it. Would you have turned out exactly the same with another name? Would you be able to change your name without a sensation of loss?
When I decided to write about Maria Callaway and Stephan Forks, I knew that I was in for trouble. I still couldn’t resist it; my fingers started to type on “Touch of the Goddess” almost by themselves. Both characters have existed for years, just not in the shape of a novel, and as hard as I tried to change her name to something, anything, besides Maria, it didn’t work. Every time I changed her name, it also changed her personality. Ms Callaway is not me, but she is a Maria. This far, my pessimistic outlook has been completely unjustified; only one reviewer has even mentioned it, and she seemed more amused by it than anything.
A while ago, “Touch of the Goddess” got a review on Night Owl Reviews. I braced myself for hearing, “Hahaha, you think you’re a four thousand year old Goddess,” but that didn’t happen. The reviewer said the dialogue is entertaining and funny, which is awesome; I love writing dialogue. She wasn’t entirely happy with the storyline. “The notion of a goddess who calculates her age in terms of thousands of years falling in love with a mere mortal was just a bit difficult to understand.”
I anticipated a lot of things, and that wasn’t one of them. I showed this to a friend, who giggled, “You didn’t think that through, did you?”
Normally, my answer would be, “Uuuh,” because normally that statement would be a perfect description of me. I plunge in head first in everything, reasoning, “How hard can it be?” and end up naming something after potato chips. This time, I was able to grin and say, “Actually, I did.”
I was fascinated with the Greek and Roman Gods when I grew up, and remember many stories of them entering more or less successful relationships with humans. This is how the demigods came to be, beings with one foot in each realm, who often had to fight with or for the Gods, dying for the bad luck of belonging to both species. I think that’s the charm of these stories, as powerful as the deities are, they’re still identifiable, with human weaknesses.
Oh, remember Medusa? The woman with snakes for hair who turns anyone looking into her eyes to stone? There are many versions of her story, but in one of them she wasn’t always a gorgon; she was a beautiful woman tending to Athena’s temple. Poseidon desired her, and when she kept turning him down, he eventually raped her, inside the temple. Athena was rampant and took it out on Medusa, turning her into a monster.
Anyway, the observant reader of the Goddess’s books will note that Ms Callaway isn’t really a God, no matter how much she wants to be or how successful she is; she has a human mother, so she’s really a demigod. In my imagination, this emphasizes her human instincts and weaknesses. Mr Forks, on his side, is genetically engineered and not really human.
Hmm, thinking about all this is igniting sparks of creativity; I should go write on the next book about them. Funny enough, the third one is almost ready, but the second one needs some serious work done.
:-) Maria
January 4, 2011
Embarking on new adventures
The first two parts of "Embarkment 2577" are now available as e-book novellas for 99 cents each, and I'm hoping to get done with the third part during this week. I usually never write in first person, but when I started on this story, looking through the eyes of the main character went automatically. I debated for months whether to change it or not, but finally decided that it did lend an intimacy that third person could not. I’ll leave it up to you, the reader, to tell me if it was a good idea or not.
The story also turned out to be more bizarre than usual, and “Brand New World” is filled with things yours truly find funny. “High Gravity” is more serious, and once I got to “Adam and Eve” I had settled down. (Adam and Eve is, by the way, my favourite part of the story.) I’m sure it’ll be too much for some readers, and not enough for others, but I hope I can make someone at least smile.
As the script grew and Alex’s adventures took form, it became clear to me that I had three neat parts on my hands. Should I split it up or leave it together? To me, a novella is something disappointingly short; I have just gotten going with my reading when it ends. Still, in this day and age people are used to a convenient and easily digestible 20 minute sitcom format, and a chunk of novel can be too long to get through. The novella format is also very well suited for e-readers, and that is how the majority of my books sell. Seriously, if you're reading a book on your phone, a novella starts to seem more than long enough.
After debating with myself for a long time, suffering horrible indecision, I talked to my friend Jamie, and reached the conclusion that I could do both. Why not both split the material into three novellas and make a volume containing them all, like it was originally intended.
This left me with a new problem; tying the novellas together so a person could read number two or three without a clue to what happened in number one. I solved the problem through writing prologues, with Alex giving a brief recap to what has happened recently in her life. When I read them now, they do seem a little corny, but I can’t think of anything better. If a “eureka” moment strikes I might re-do it, but until then, you get to live with it the way it is. It’s not perfect, and I think that a reader jumping into it all in the middle might still have some problems, so if anyone has any ideas, please let me know!
:-)
You can read the first chapter of "Brand New World" on my website www.mariahammarblad.com.
"When Alexandra wakes up in an unknown environment, populated by a cat-like woman with a tail and a hologram of a rockstar, she knows that she has to be hallucinating. Maybe she has hit her head, or finally suffered that nervous breakdown. It doesn't get any better from finding out that she died and was taken into the future by the elusive Adam, whom she can't remember, or from people telling her that she's on a spaceship.
The last year or so is gone from her memory, and she has no choice but to try to adapt. As days go by, her new environment becomes more and more unnerving. She finds herself helpless, and completely dependent on a man who isn't even human."
The story also turned out to be more bizarre than usual, and “Brand New World” is filled with things yours truly find funny. “High Gravity” is more serious, and once I got to “Adam and Eve” I had settled down. (Adam and Eve is, by the way, my favourite part of the story.) I’m sure it’ll be too much for some readers, and not enough for others, but I hope I can make someone at least smile.
As the script grew and Alex’s adventures took form, it became clear to me that I had three neat parts on my hands. Should I split it up or leave it together? To me, a novella is something disappointingly short; I have just gotten going with my reading when it ends. Still, in this day and age people are used to a convenient and easily digestible 20 minute sitcom format, and a chunk of novel can be too long to get through. The novella format is also very well suited for e-readers, and that is how the majority of my books sell. Seriously, if you're reading a book on your phone, a novella starts to seem more than long enough.
After debating with myself for a long time, suffering horrible indecision, I talked to my friend Jamie, and reached the conclusion that I could do both. Why not both split the material into three novellas and make a volume containing them all, like it was originally intended.
This left me with a new problem; tying the novellas together so a person could read number two or three without a clue to what happened in number one. I solved the problem through writing prologues, with Alex giving a brief recap to what has happened recently in her life. When I read them now, they do seem a little corny, but I can’t think of anything better. If a “eureka” moment strikes I might re-do it, but until then, you get to live with it the way it is. It’s not perfect, and I think that a reader jumping into it all in the middle might still have some problems, so if anyone has any ideas, please let me know!
:-)
You can read the first chapter of "Brand New World" on my website www.mariahammarblad.com.
"When Alexandra wakes up in an unknown environment, populated by a cat-like woman with a tail and a hologram of a rockstar, she knows that she has to be hallucinating. Maybe she has hit her head, or finally suffered that nervous breakdown. It doesn't get any better from finding out that she died and was taken into the future by the elusive Adam, whom she can't remember, or from people telling her that she's on a spaceship.
The last year or so is gone from her memory, and she has no choice but to try to adapt. As days go by, her new environment becomes more and more unnerving. She finds herself helpless, and completely dependent on a man who isn't even human."
January 3, 2011
Anecdotes from real life: the car wash
This is a silly little story, but quite true, and now when I remembered it I felt the need to share it with the world. LOL! Once upon a time, back in Sweden, I had a GMC Jimmy. It was a 1985, when they were the biggest, and it was raised to go well in the terrain. (This car ended up saving my life when I was rammed by a very large truck, but that’s another story.)
The car looked nice; it was silvery and shiny with a row of floodlights on the roof, and I thought it would look even nicer if it was clean. One day when my ex and I were going home from work, we decided to stop by our favourite gas station and check out the brand new car wash. We parked the car outside the office and went inside, and when asked if the car might fit in the new wash, the lady behind the counter squinted out the window and said, “Oh yeah, no problem. We have a brushless high pressure wash, and we do all the big postal cars and everything. You go ahead.”
What a relief! Washing it by hand was a pain in the behind, and there wasn’t even a waiting line to get in. Once we’d driven inside, I started to think that it looked a little tight. During the second or so that I considered the narrowness, the carwash started to spray out water and approach the car.
It was definitely too tight; by now anyone would be able to see it. Before the reverse gear was in, it had already reached the car, and started to get stuck on the tires, making a horrific noise. It only took a split second, but it felt as if I saw everything happening in slow motion; large sheets of plastic were raining down over the car. I said, “Ooops.”
Earlier, I had walked proudly into the building. Now I snuck, not wanting to be seen. Blushing. “We kinda… Ummm… Kinda destroyed the car wash. The car is kinda… stuck in there…” It's hard to be eloquent in a situation like this.
The lady behind the counter did not believe me, not until she, and all the other employees, saw it with their own eyes. Was I glad we’d asked before driving in!
Getting the car out wasn’t hard, or, well, it was hard on the car wash. It was the last straw making the enormous overhead plastic panel fall down. The place was closed for months, and I didn’t go back for over a year!
The car looked nice; it was silvery and shiny with a row of floodlights on the roof, and I thought it would look even nicer if it was clean. One day when my ex and I were going home from work, we decided to stop by our favourite gas station and check out the brand new car wash. We parked the car outside the office and went inside, and when asked if the car might fit in the new wash, the lady behind the counter squinted out the window and said, “Oh yeah, no problem. We have a brushless high pressure wash, and we do all the big postal cars and everything. You go ahead.”
What a relief! Washing it by hand was a pain in the behind, and there wasn’t even a waiting line to get in. Once we’d driven inside, I started to think that it looked a little tight. During the second or so that I considered the narrowness, the carwash started to spray out water and approach the car.
It was definitely too tight; by now anyone would be able to see it. Before the reverse gear was in, it had already reached the car, and started to get stuck on the tires, making a horrific noise. It only took a split second, but it felt as if I saw everything happening in slow motion; large sheets of plastic were raining down over the car. I said, “Ooops.”
Earlier, I had walked proudly into the building. Now I snuck, not wanting to be seen. Blushing. “We kinda… Ummm… Kinda destroyed the car wash. The car is kinda… stuck in there…” It's hard to be eloquent in a situation like this.
The lady behind the counter did not believe me, not until she, and all the other employees, saw it with their own eyes. Was I glad we’d asked before driving in!
Getting the car out wasn’t hard, or, well, it was hard on the car wash. It was the last straw making the enormous overhead plastic panel fall down. The place was closed for months, and I didn’t go back for over a year!
Funny numbers
I was reading this blog and found some pretty interesting numbers. Kyle McNeil says that,
"THE FACTS about books in 2009—
a) There were 760,000 books published.
b) On average, these books sold 300 copies per title.
c) Remove the hottest selling 20,000 books, and the remaining 740,000 titles, sold an average of 100 copies."
I've sold more than that. During 2010, but anyway... Does that mean that I can start calling myself a successful author? Mwuahahahaha! LOL!!!
"THE FACTS about books in 2009—
a) There were 760,000 books published.
b) On average, these books sold 300 copies per title.
c) Remove the hottest selling 20,000 books, and the remaining 740,000 titles, sold an average of 100 copies."
I've sold more than that. During 2010, but anyway... Does that mean that I can start calling myself a successful author? Mwuahahahaha! LOL!!!
December 31, 2010
Happy New Year!
Another New Year’s Eve has arrived, my third in America. I remember the first one here very well. Mikey and I sat on the floor in our first little apartment, watching Dick Clarke on a little TV that also stood on the floor. We had shrimps and argued whether they are an ingredient or a food in themselves. (I like to put shrimps in foods when I cook, and he thinks the very idea is repulsive, LOL!)
He found it funny that I had never heard of Dick Clarke, and I countered with him very never having heard of “Ring Klocka, Ring” – a Swedish poem read by a celebrity at midnight each new years eve for as long as I can remember. Might not be relevant, but it was the best I could think of... This year we’re in a house with plenty of space and no obnoxious neighbours, we have furniture and won’t have to sit on the floor, but the shrimps will very likely still be there.
During the years here, I have learned a lot, and very likely forgotten just as much. I’ve experienced much, laughed much, and cried too. When I think back to those first weeks and months here, it strikes me how much I’ve gotten used to, little things in everyday life that seemed very odd to me at first. I, for example, hate when people call me ma’am. To me, it paints out a picture of a rather mean matron sitting on a pre-civil war porch, making people bow to her and kiss her feet. It still bugs me, and hearing it still makes me feel very old, but smiling back when someone says it comes easier now. I know that people are trying to be polite, not offensive, but it’s an interesting cultural difference.
Shopping and stores are very different too. Back home, you get a cart in a special stall for carts, and you have to put a coin in to get it. (Just to make sure that you’ll return it.) People normally hurry through the store with some form of purpose, and in the more modern ones, you pack your bags as you go, exit through an automated check-out where you pay with your card, take your bags to the car, return the cart, and get your coin back. Plastic bags cost money, but they’re as thick and sturdy as about ten American bags.
Here, in summertime, shopping is an event with people moseying around. In winter, the snowbirds are here and anyone younger than 75 has to watch out; they will not hesitate to hit you with their carts. On purpose. The stores are filled to the brim with employees dying to chat with you, help you find things, pack your bags for you, and all but carry you to your car. It’s both good and bad, depending in how much of a rush you’re in.
Today, I went to the store to get some food for New Years Eve. The lady at the register was a trip; she had started telling a story to some customer far ahead of me in the line, and as people moved passed her, she just continued. I hadn’t heard the beginning at all, but when it was my turn, she started with, “So you really don’t want to run out of gas on that road.” I thought, “Eh, what?” but played along as well as I could. “No? Really?” She nodded. “Yeah, it’s much safer to take the turnpike.”
Completely clueless, I tried to look as if I knew what she was talking about. The story continued as she rang my groceries up, and when I left, it was at the point of, “And you’ll never guess what I saw outside the hotel.” I wonder where she had been, and how it all ended.
Back to the ma’am. As I was gathering my bags to go to the car, a young man approached; he looked about 17. He eyed me and asked politely, “Do you need someone to help you to the car, ma’am?”
I thought, “How old do you think I am? Help me to the car, pffft!” I didn’t say any of those things; I just shook my head. He didn’t give up, so I eventually fled, as fast as my apparently ancient feet could carry me, and as I reached the safety of my old Mercury, I took an extra peek in the rear view mirror, checking if some new gray hairs or a gang of wrinkles were sneaking up. LOL!
Goodbye 2010, Welcome in, 2011. Happy New Year everyone! May it be a good one!
He found it funny that I had never heard of Dick Clarke, and I countered with him very never having heard of “Ring Klocka, Ring” – a Swedish poem read by a celebrity at midnight each new years eve for as long as I can remember. Might not be relevant, but it was the best I could think of... This year we’re in a house with plenty of space and no obnoxious neighbours, we have furniture and won’t have to sit on the floor, but the shrimps will very likely still be there.
During the years here, I have learned a lot, and very likely forgotten just as much. I’ve experienced much, laughed much, and cried too. When I think back to those first weeks and months here, it strikes me how much I’ve gotten used to, little things in everyday life that seemed very odd to me at first. I, for example, hate when people call me ma’am. To me, it paints out a picture of a rather mean matron sitting on a pre-civil war porch, making people bow to her and kiss her feet. It still bugs me, and hearing it still makes me feel very old, but smiling back when someone says it comes easier now. I know that people are trying to be polite, not offensive, but it’s an interesting cultural difference.
Shopping and stores are very different too. Back home, you get a cart in a special stall for carts, and you have to put a coin in to get it. (Just to make sure that you’ll return it.) People normally hurry through the store with some form of purpose, and in the more modern ones, you pack your bags as you go, exit through an automated check-out where you pay with your card, take your bags to the car, return the cart, and get your coin back. Plastic bags cost money, but they’re as thick and sturdy as about ten American bags.
Here, in summertime, shopping is an event with people moseying around. In winter, the snowbirds are here and anyone younger than 75 has to watch out; they will not hesitate to hit you with their carts. On purpose. The stores are filled to the brim with employees dying to chat with you, help you find things, pack your bags for you, and all but carry you to your car. It’s both good and bad, depending in how much of a rush you’re in.
Today, I went to the store to get some food for New Years Eve. The lady at the register was a trip; she had started telling a story to some customer far ahead of me in the line, and as people moved passed her, she just continued. I hadn’t heard the beginning at all, but when it was my turn, she started with, “So you really don’t want to run out of gas on that road.” I thought, “Eh, what?” but played along as well as I could. “No? Really?” She nodded. “Yeah, it’s much safer to take the turnpike.”
Completely clueless, I tried to look as if I knew what she was talking about. The story continued as she rang my groceries up, and when I left, it was at the point of, “And you’ll never guess what I saw outside the hotel.” I wonder where she had been, and how it all ended.
Back to the ma’am. As I was gathering my bags to go to the car, a young man approached; he looked about 17. He eyed me and asked politely, “Do you need someone to help you to the car, ma’am?”
I thought, “How old do you think I am? Help me to the car, pffft!” I didn’t say any of those things; I just shook my head. He didn’t give up, so I eventually fled, as fast as my apparently ancient feet could carry me, and as I reached the safety of my old Mercury, I took an extra peek in the rear view mirror, checking if some new gray hairs or a gang of wrinkles were sneaking up. LOL!
Goodbye 2010, Welcome in, 2011. Happy New Year everyone! May it be a good one!
December 12, 2010
Under the tree
Back home, I often heard people say that Christmas is a holiday for the merchants; retailers make us buy more stuff we don’t really need, and make all too much money on us. I can see that point of view, but to me, Christmas presents are something more than just a force driving the economy. I like to give people I care for gifts they might want to make them happy, and to show that I love them. It doesn’t have to be expensive, but something with a little thought behind it shows that we care.
I have something sitting on my desk that I will treasure always; a few days ago, Mikey built me a wooden box to keep my pens in. I know that his hands and arms and shoulders and, well, the entire him, always hurt a lot, and he still took the time to saw little pieces of wood, sand them down until they’re smooth as velvet, build a box with perfect cutouts for the hinges, and stain it. It makes me feel loved in a way no expensive car or toy ever could.
Okay, I should stop babbling randomly and get to the point… During the year, I’ve encountered a few really wonderful writers, and if you’re looking for something to put in the e-reader or under the tree, I’d warmly recommend one or more of the below. They’re not in any particular order.
Linda Ann Rentschler, “State of Disgrace.” This has to be the best book I’ve read all year. When I started, I didn’t think I would be able to identify with the main character at all; her world seemed very distant from my own. I was mistaken; the book is wonderful! It’s easy to get into and, at least if you’re a woman, very funny.
Chris J Randolph, “Vengar the Barbarian.” This is a hilarious short story with roots in fantasy. It has the same kind of humour as “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy,” and if you, like me, think that the meaning of life is 42, I’m sure that you’ll enjoy “Vengar.” Chris has also written “Stars Rain Down,” which is a quite satisfying science fiction novel.
Patrick O’Connor, “Good Vibrations.” This book came as a complete surprise to me. I expected an intricate science fiction world that might be just a tad too dry for me. A few pages in, I wasn’t literally rolling of the floor laughing, but very close to it! Besides being very funny, the characters came alive to the point where I sniffled at the sad parts, and were honestly relieved when things worked out for them.
Christy Elkins, “Lilac Hill.” I’m bad at categorizing books, but I think I’d call this a thriller, or maybe mystery. It all started so innocently with an art show, and before I knew what was happening, I sat perched on the edge of my seat, wondering what would happen next! Christy managed something few writers do: every time I thought I knew what would happen, the story made an unexpected turn, and I could never, ever, have guessed the ending! I tried. I made theories and thought about it, but it still came as a surprise.
D.A. Boulter, “Courtesan.” This is a science fiction story, and when I read the first few pages, I didn’t think I’d like it. Once the book got going and I understood the world the characters were in, I enjoyed it very much. It turned out to be both cute and exciting, and it’s a great book to curl up with in the sofa!
Melanie Nowak, “Fatal Infatuation.” During the last few years, I’ve been feeling that the world is drowning in vampire love stories, and I doubted that there would be something in the genre to catch my attention. Wrong again! Melanie’s characters have interesting personalities that made me want to know what happened to them. I’ve been lucky enough to win her first trilogy, and they’re well worth reading.
Rob Sadler, “Secrets of Blood and Bone.” If you think that all the above sound a little too cute for you, go with this one! “Secrets of Blood and Bone” is an urban fantasy that, taking the risk of being cliché, will blow your socks off!
=) Maria
I have something sitting on my desk that I will treasure always; a few days ago, Mikey built me a wooden box to keep my pens in. I know that his hands and arms and shoulders and, well, the entire him, always hurt a lot, and he still took the time to saw little pieces of wood, sand them down until they’re smooth as velvet, build a box with perfect cutouts for the hinges, and stain it. It makes me feel loved in a way no expensive car or toy ever could.
Okay, I should stop babbling randomly and get to the point… During the year, I’ve encountered a few really wonderful writers, and if you’re looking for something to put in the e-reader or under the tree, I’d warmly recommend one or more of the below. They’re not in any particular order.
Linda Ann Rentschler, “State of Disgrace.” This has to be the best book I’ve read all year. When I started, I didn’t think I would be able to identify with the main character at all; her world seemed very distant from my own. I was mistaken; the book is wonderful! It’s easy to get into and, at least if you’re a woman, very funny.
Chris J Randolph, “Vengar the Barbarian.” This is a hilarious short story with roots in fantasy. It has the same kind of humour as “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy,” and if you, like me, think that the meaning of life is 42, I’m sure that you’ll enjoy “Vengar.” Chris has also written “Stars Rain Down,” which is a quite satisfying science fiction novel.
Patrick O’Connor, “Good Vibrations.” This book came as a complete surprise to me. I expected an intricate science fiction world that might be just a tad too dry for me. A few pages in, I wasn’t literally rolling of the floor laughing, but very close to it! Besides being very funny, the characters came alive to the point where I sniffled at the sad parts, and were honestly relieved when things worked out for them.
Christy Elkins, “Lilac Hill.” I’m bad at categorizing books, but I think I’d call this a thriller, or maybe mystery. It all started so innocently with an art show, and before I knew what was happening, I sat perched on the edge of my seat, wondering what would happen next! Christy managed something few writers do: every time I thought I knew what would happen, the story made an unexpected turn, and I could never, ever, have guessed the ending! I tried. I made theories and thought about it, but it still came as a surprise.
D.A. Boulter, “Courtesan.” This is a science fiction story, and when I read the first few pages, I didn’t think I’d like it. Once the book got going and I understood the world the characters were in, I enjoyed it very much. It turned out to be both cute and exciting, and it’s a great book to curl up with in the sofa!
Melanie Nowak, “Fatal Infatuation.” During the last few years, I’ve been feeling that the world is drowning in vampire love stories, and I doubted that there would be something in the genre to catch my attention. Wrong again! Melanie’s characters have interesting personalities that made me want to know what happened to them. I’ve been lucky enough to win her first trilogy, and they’re well worth reading.
Rob Sadler, “Secrets of Blood and Bone.” If you think that all the above sound a little too cute for you, go with this one! “Secrets of Blood and Bone” is an urban fantasy that, taking the risk of being cliché, will blow your socks off!
=) Maria
December 5, 2010
Orange Plastic Shotgun
I just told someone that I’ve been stuck in real life for the last couple of weeks, but when I started to think about it, things like “definite integrals” or “least square regression models” don’t really qualify for real life. Knowing myself, I’ll try to remember it all over finals week, just because I fear failure, and afterwards as quickly as possible put it in a shelf in my head marked, “To Forget,” where it will collect dust for a short time before disappearing from the world as I know it…
Math did have to give way to a day off last week; it was Mikey’s birthday. Amongst his presents was a game to be played on a regular TV with a plastic orange shotgun, no console required. He teased, “Are you gonna play with me? You won’t even be able to shoot them, will you?”
I have a thing for animals, I can’t even stand them suffering on TV as cartoons, and I suspected that he was right. Chances that I would want to shoot something seemed slim to none. (I kill people in computer games just fine, but they’re usually not cute, LOL!) It was, however, his birthday, they were animated (no feathers or fur were ruffled in the making of this...) and I needed to give it a try.
As it turned out, the game wasn’t just fun to play; it was tremendously fun! Hours went by, only accompanied by the sharp booms from the toy and occasional shouts like, “Damn, I forgot to reload,” or, “Aww, you should have had him, I’m sure you hit him!” We had a blast, pun intended.
Sadly, math hasn’t folded as easily to writing, and most projects are on hold for two more weeks. It’s frustrating; they’re there and they’re so tempting. Some of them even have covers growing in my computer, and the pretty colours are almost impossible to resist. But, at the end of the day, I’m just too tired to do anything about it. Soon, I tell them, soon my pretty children, we will play. (Sounds normal, right? Hahahaha!)
The ones already released into the world have reached varied levels of success. “Kidnapped,” has been selling pretty good during the last couple of months. I mean, it’s not bestseller quantities, but pretty good after my standards.
“Undercover” has gotten a few more reviews since last time I blogged, and the trend seems solid: people either love it, or hate it with a passion. Naturally, the good reviews make me happy. Still, I probably shouldn’t say this, but some of the reviews from people hating it really crack me up. One girl was complaining about Jenny’s workplace being too unreal, she said that I was a terrible writer for coming up with something like it. It’s a real company with real people, I just moved it a little… If anything, I tried to tone the craziness of her job down. Maybe that was a mistake, LOL!
Other than that, the Goodreads giveaway for “Touch of the Goddess” just ended, it did pretty good, and I will send out the copies of the book during the upcoming week. I can’t wait to see what people have to say about it! XD The two books following it are aaaaalmost ready, and with any luck at all, the holiday season will bring about enough peace and quiet to finish them.
Speaking of holiday season, make sure to stuff books of Chris J Randolph and Linda Ann Rentschler under the tree. I know I keep saying this, but they are both awesome! =)
Math did have to give way to a day off last week; it was Mikey’s birthday. Amongst his presents was a game to be played on a regular TV with a plastic orange shotgun, no console required. He teased, “Are you gonna play with me? You won’t even be able to shoot them, will you?”
I have a thing for animals, I can’t even stand them suffering on TV as cartoons, and I suspected that he was right. Chances that I would want to shoot something seemed slim to none. (I kill people in computer games just fine, but they’re usually not cute, LOL!) It was, however, his birthday, they were animated (no feathers or fur were ruffled in the making of this...) and I needed to give it a try.
As it turned out, the game wasn’t just fun to play; it was tremendously fun! Hours went by, only accompanied by the sharp booms from the toy and occasional shouts like, “Damn, I forgot to reload,” or, “Aww, you should have had him, I’m sure you hit him!” We had a blast, pun intended.
Sadly, math hasn’t folded as easily to writing, and most projects are on hold for two more weeks. It’s frustrating; they’re there and they’re so tempting. Some of them even have covers growing in my computer, and the pretty colours are almost impossible to resist. But, at the end of the day, I’m just too tired to do anything about it. Soon, I tell them, soon my pretty children, we will play. (Sounds normal, right? Hahahaha!)
The ones already released into the world have reached varied levels of success. “Kidnapped,” has been selling pretty good during the last couple of months. I mean, it’s not bestseller quantities, but pretty good after my standards.
“Undercover” has gotten a few more reviews since last time I blogged, and the trend seems solid: people either love it, or hate it with a passion. Naturally, the good reviews make me happy. Still, I probably shouldn’t say this, but some of the reviews from people hating it really crack me up. One girl was complaining about Jenny’s workplace being too unreal, she said that I was a terrible writer for coming up with something like it. It’s a real company with real people, I just moved it a little… If anything, I tried to tone the craziness of her job down. Maybe that was a mistake, LOL!
Other than that, the Goodreads giveaway for “Touch of the Goddess” just ended, it did pretty good, and I will send out the copies of the book during the upcoming week. I can’t wait to see what people have to say about it! XD The two books following it are aaaaalmost ready, and with any luck at all, the holiday season will bring about enough peace and quiet to finish them.
Speaking of holiday season, make sure to stuff books of Chris J Randolph and Linda Ann Rentschler under the tree. I know I keep saying this, but they are both awesome! =)
