Sable Jordan's Blog, page 6

DIFFERENT SHADES OF GRAY: CHAPTER 1

DIFFERENT SHADES OF GRAY
READ ANOTHER EXCERPT HERE

EXCERPT: CHAPTER 1 Do me a favor. Four little innocent words are what got me here, stuck in a house with nineteen other gaggling girls, all of them presently screaming and fawning over the arrival of one Jacob Logan—sexy bachelor, multi-millionaire, and the media's favorite bad boy. Wait. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me slow down. Before you catch up with where I am now, you need to know the back-story. A month ago Charlene called, begging me to perform the aforementioned favor, and hold her place in line for the über-popular reality show Free Money. She was flying in from a photo shoot in Jamaica and didn't want to be last when she got to the audition. No problem.I'd only seen the show once during the previous season and decided it wouldn't make my list of allotted television viewing. I'm more of a History/Discovery/NatGeo kind of girl. Reality TV isn't really my thing. And that's probably because on the one episode I happened to have time to watch I saw things no human being should witness on television without a subscription to the Spice Channel. I mean, sure it's a God-given talent to slide from the top of a pole and drop into the splits on the floor and still manage to have all your lady bits in tact, but did I really need to see that? So anyhow, there I stood, awaiting the arrival of my jet-setting model sister so she could have her chance to be one of the twenty ladies chosen to fight, bitch, spit, scream, and scratch out their displays of affection for a total stranger—on national television. Love. Ain't it grand? I'd been there two hours already, flipping through Dr. Samuel Shem's uproariously funny and frighteningly realistic novel The House of God, as the hundreds of other girls preened for the outdoor cameras that were shooting footage for the behind-the-scenes portion of the show. One girl actually showed her bare breasts! What was Charlene getting herself into? I didn't have time to fully process that thought when my cell phone played out the familiar Danity Kane song Bad Girl that was my custom ringtone for Char. "Where are you?" I asked, noticing I had moved ominously close to the red doors that girls went into but didn't come out of. "You'll never believe this. The plane had to land in Phoenix first for a minor repair and then, when we finally got to LA, Tyler's Beemer had a flat. The tow truck driver is fixing it now so we should get to Hollywood in no time." Ahh yes. Tyler. Char's "agent" and on-again-off-again boyfriend. Six feet four inches of lean, hot, steamy man-cake, as Char would say. I on the other hand think he's a completely vile and insufferable jackass, and have utilized every opportunity to tell her so. Char may think he's dreamy, but I know him to be a disgusting, lying cheat, and the good Lord himself couldn't convince me otherwise. The knowledge that he was within a fifty-mile radius of my present location made my skin crawl. Then it dawned on me that he must have been the one who put this harebrained scheme into Char's beautiful, if currently empty, head. "Tow truck driver. Of course. I'd hate for le petit jackass to damage his manicure," I mocked, dropping in and out of a horrible French accent. "Come on, sweets. Don't give me grief. I've had a rough day as it is. I know if you were here we'd have been gone hours ago." Hours? I heard the jackass mumble something in the background I couldn't make out, but no doubt he'd just noticed her flub. "How long have you been in LA, Char?" I asked suspiciously, hearing the lie form in her head. "Umm…Less than an hour." "Chaaaar." She sighed. "Okay, we got in at six this morning." "What?" I screamed loud enough that everyone turned to look at me, but I didn't care one iota. I glanced at my watch. "You gotta be shittin' me! It's one in the afternoon and I've been standing in this freakin' line for two hours for you so you could get on this stupid show. I'm literally minutes from being in front of the casting director, and you tell me now that you've been here for the last seven hours?" "Well, me and Tyler had some making up to do. We got into this really huge fight in Jamaica because—" "Couldn't care less, Char. You knew I was coming here after a ten-hour shift and you pull this? I'm outta here." "Wait!" she screamed then went on in a rush, "please, please, please don't leave. I need you to appear before the casting director for me. Tyler says if I can get on this show it could really be the break my career needs." Hmm. So this is what the truth looks like. "Oh, then let me just drop everything and work on your problem. You should have been here, Charlene." I started inching from the line when she dropped the bomb– the one she knows I can never say "no" to. "But mom would want you to help me. Please," she whined. I waited for a full minute before I answered. I mean, sure our mom would want us to help each other no matter what, but honestly, how long could I let her get away with this excuse? "Number eighty-six fifty-three. That's eight. Six. Five. Three," the production assistant yelled out into the crowd before answering a question from one of the gophers who had returned with yet another round of Starbucks. I looked down at the numbered yellow page in my hand, which, to my horror, was the same number that had just been called. I stared at the gray Nikes on my feet, the horribly faded blue jeans on my legs, and the less-than-trendy tee shirt with the saying "1f u c4n r34d 7h1s u r34lly n33d 70 g37 l41d" emblazoned across my chest. It dawned on me that I could read the shirt upside down. "Eight, six, five, three," the assistant yelled again. "Please," Char whined. "Gotta go," I grumbled, disconnecting the call and turning off my phone. Let her suffer. Gathering all my courage, and the dingy green backpack I toted through life, I waltzed through the red doors, if for no other reason than to see where everyone came out on the other side.

* * * *{12:55pm}
Jacob Logan was running late. Which was entirely normal when it came to things he didn't want to do. And right now, he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less than this. Three months ago his parents managed to do what all parents did and meddled in his personal life. In response his rebellious side -which he tried really hard to suppress- had gotten the best of him and led him to accept his aunt Jorja's offer of doing a reality show. At the time the idea seemed heaven-sent. He had some free time from his demanding work life and being the only man in a house with twenty beautiful women would be a welcome change of pace. But things started moving very fast with production of this show, and to take his mind off of what he couldn't control he started working even harder than normal. Fourteen hours ago he was in Tokyo closing the deal on a new hotel, opening his new nightclub, Koodori Doragon – the Dancing Dragon – and letting the paparazzi snap the photos that would no doubt appear on all the blogs and in the glossies over the next few days. No such thing as bad publicity, right? He hopped a jet from Tokyo, drafting proposals during the eleven-hour flight so he could be in L.A. for the last casting for the show. He arrived only an hour ago, giving him very little time to shower and dress before rushing to the club where the casting was being held. He phoned Jorja -or "AJ" as he called her- who was also the producer, when his Range Rover pulled up to the club, and was told to come in once the next girl exited. And there she was, feet jammed into high-heels, breasts spilling out of the slit in her brand new "vintage" top, and super-tight jeans that made her mid section bulge out over the band. She had a shoulder bag that was too bright and too big, and her long hair was tangled in the mass of accessories that hung on her neck and wrists. He wasn't even about to comment about the face paint. "Oh, well isn't that sexy," he said caustically. "Why am I doing this again, Marcus?" "Because you're a masochist," his buddy laughed. "You could have just settled down with that nice girl your parents decided you should marry." Jake groaned thinking about the woman his parents told him would be "a perfect wife" for him. Simone was a beautiful woman, true enough, with a pleasant disposition. But she was dumb as a box of rocks. On the few dates they'd gone on Jake tried to get her opinion on current events –from the presidential election to stem cell research to the flavor of the Tandoori chicken they were eating– and he found that she took whatever position he had on an issue. He even started an argument just to see how she'd respond and got more of her smiling and nodding. "That's the problem. Simone was too nice. The kind of nice that never shows emotion, never let's you know when she's mad, never forms an opinion. Always smiling and giggling and agreeing with you. Then when you least expect it, bam! She's stabbing you in the neck with a fork while you're sleeping." He grimaced and rubbed his throat. "Besides, my parents have no right to try to arrange a marriage for me, and especially not with some Stepford wife. What century is this?" "So you do the polar opposite and go on a reality show to find true love? The fork may have been less painful than this, my man," Marcus chuckled. "You can't really blame them for wantin' to see you happy. You should've let AJ pick the girls for you, though. The guy from last season had a nice group." "To your first question who said I was looking for love, true or otherwise? But if I were I sincerely doubt I'd find it on this show. And to the second, I missed all the other castings and watching the tapes doesn't really give you a great feel of the person you're dealing with. You know I like to do all my business deals face-to-face. You comin' in?" Marcus shook his head. "Nope. Gotta meet the crew at Vic's Cameras to pick up our gear. Besides, I lack the social filter that stops most people from laughing at train wrecks like that last girl. And I want to be surprised when I come to visit you at the mansion." They both laughed before Marcus asked, "So since it's not for love, and we know it's not for publicity, why are you doing the show? " That was the very question Jake had been asking himself. Why was he doing the show? As Marcus pointed out, he didn't need the publicity. He had hotels and nightclubs worldwide, and the media loved to delve into his personal life, no matter how nonexistent it currently was. He certainly wasn't looking for a serious relationship; been there, done that, bought a shirt, and no plans to visit any time soon. Spite? Maybe. A way to prove to his parents they couldn't keep meddling in his personal affairs. But he knew deep down it wouldn't help a bit. They were parents. They'd jump in uninvited whenever they wanted. It was their job. Was it for fun? A diversion from the vigorous pace he'd set for his life? Maybe just to get over… The more he thought about it the more he didn't know. But he wouldn't find out sitting in the truck. He opened the door and got out, then turned back to his friend and shrugged, "Because I'm a masochist." Hurrying through the green doors, he found AJ sitting in the small dark room, smoking her usual cigarette, a tray overflowing with filters and ashes just within reach. Thankfully a window was open somewhere. "You're late," she said in a gravelly voice. "Thought you weren't comin' at all, nephew." "I can't say I wasn't having second thoughts," he admitted, giving her a quick hug before taking his seat and folding his long legs beneath the table. Sitting in the truck he had seriously considered backing out of the show entirely, but decided against mentioning it to AJ. If today didn't go well he'd cancel and help her find a replacement. "How's this been goin'? You look exhausted." "Six castings across the country and if you've seen one girl, you've seen 'em all. And they've all got the same story; model or actress, extravagant clothes they can't afford to make up for in style what they lack in personality; all singing 'Some day my prince will come' in their heads with dollar signs in their eyes. Half of them have been sent here by some scumbag agent who's telling them this will be their stepping-stone to stardom. The rest actually believe they can fall in love with you in a couple months." She took a drag of her cigarette and went into a coughing fit. "You're the poor bastard I feel sorry for. A few days in that house and you'll be slippin' arsenic into your Glenlivet." Jake chuckled, twisting the top off a bottle of water that was on the table. "You mean you don't believe in all that fairytale crap? I didn't think they'd let someone so cynical produce a show about love." "Fairytales are for little girls with pigtails and lollipops. My hair's too short and I prefer Marlboros." "You're really making me want to do this less and less, AJ," he smiled sardonically. Jorja laughed, coughed, and laughed again. "Hey, my job is to find you twenty girls who are attractive, borderline obnoxious, and willing to put on a good show. The fairytale has been conspicuously left out of the contract. Honey, if that's what you're looking for," she paused as she stubbed out her cigarette, pulled another from the pack, stuck it between her lips and lit it, taking a slow drag, "we might as well start casting for next season."
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HAND JOBS

Now that I've got your attention, I want to talk about hands. Yes there's a job attached, but... just keep reading.
I read a lot of blogs about writing and there are a ton of writers offering information about technique, style, formatting, editing—all very useful in our profession.  But I haven't seen anything about writer health.
Now you may be wondering "Sable, you promised us hand jobs.  What's this health crap?" I'm getting to it, and there's even lotion and a "happy ending" of sorts.
Writing is every bit the job as any other.  We require the same degree of skill and steadiness of hand as a surgeon; the dexterity of an accomplished pianist or a trained mechanic.  So why don't we recognize that, like these other professions, our hands are our livelihoods?  Truly, they're second in importance only to our brains.
If you're like me you sit down to your computer (after you've managed to finally solve of the crises in your household) and start pecking out what you hope will be the next bestseller.  Or maybe your a purist and take up a pen and pad. To each his/her own. The common denominator is that we're all working our fingers to the bone, but have we done anything to take care of them?
I could go into a great deal of detail about the connection between the hands and the brain (and finally get some use out of that biology degree collecting dust on my mantle) but I'll keep it short.  Jacob Bronowski said "The hand is the cutting edge of the mind," and he's right!  About 25% of the motor cortex (the part of the brain that makes movement possible) is devoted to hand muscles.  25%!  And your hands have over 30 muscles apiece, each one working in concert to help your fingers dance across your keyboard while you kill off a character.  So keeping your hands healthy and happy is pivotal to the longevity of your career.
First thing you should do before you sit down to write is warm up you hands.  You wouldn't just jump onto a treadmill and start running, would you? No, you'd probably stretch a little first.  Same thing here.  Wrist extensions, rotations, and finger aerobics are helpful.  Livestrong has a great little warm up that you can check out.
Those squishy balls with the cutesy faces are also helpful in maintaining the muscle strength and tone in your hands, as well as helping to dissipate the stress that comes with trying to figure out a new and improved way to get Tab A into Slot B that doesn't defy the laws of Physics.  Unless you write paranormals in which case Physics is all relative.  Yes, that was a smart joke.  Moving on...
All right, so you've warmed up your hands and your squeezing balls, now comes the happy ending —the hand massage!  Yes, you should massage your hands and do it every other day if not daily.  It's easy, and only takes a few minutes.  Apply some lotion (see, lotion, as promised) and knead your precious assets.  Really work 'em, too.  Use the pad of your thumb of one hand to dig into the web of the other using a circular motion. Lace your fingers and squeeze using alternating movements.  With a corkscrew motion, use one hand to grip and twist around each finger working from the base to the tip (familiar?)  Bonus if your fingers crack, but that's not the main goal.  Then rub around your wrist, taking care to work around all the bones.
Okay, the hand and wrist are nice and lubed, but you should also massage all the way up to your elbow.  Why? 'Cause I said so! Kidding. Because that's where the muscles that control the wrist, hand, and fingers start.
Hold your left arm out palm up.  Now cup your right hand under the elbow.  The fingertips of your right hand should be pressing into the outside edge of your left elbow. Next step, turn your left hand palm down.  Feel that? That thick, ropey muscle under your right fingers?  Rub that and any area around it that's tender.  Then you can smooth the heel of your hand all over your forearm applying pressure and paying attention to areas that are particularly sore. Not only should this massage help keep your muscles limber, it also feels really good and has the added benefits of hand reflexology, which goes on to work other places in the body without moving away from your hands.  Don't forget to switch arms and repeat, 'cause no one likes to be on the "owe you one" side of a 68.  Best hand job EVER, right?  I'm sure there are guys that'll disagree, but this version of the hand job can have benefits outside of writing, too ;)
The bottom line is, as writers, we have to take care of our bodies just like in any other profession.  We're prone to the same repetitive use injuries, the same sedentary cramps and constrictions, so make sure you're doing something to keep your prized digits limber and feeling good.
If you want detailed info on hand and forearm massage, a quick Google or Youtube search will yield results.  But if you've got the change, a good massage therapist can whip your hands into shape in no time!
What are you doing to keep your hands from injury?  Tell me about it below!
-------*Yes, it's sad I need one, but this is an official disclaimer: The information on this site is not intended or implied to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. There, I said it.

Promises, Promises...

I'm back! Yes, I know you were wondering where the hell I've been, but suffice it to say I've been busy.  And yes the picture is right, blogging does require passion and authority, but I'm not one of those people it's going to leave out.

Here's the deal.  The last time I checked in, I was just finishing the first draft of Devil's Flame.  That was back in September, and that little gem topped out at close to 86k in the word department.  AND I LOVE IT!  But since then I've also penned a novella, a couple of shorts, and a lengthy prequel to one of my current WIPS. In addition to that one, there are 4 others in progress, one of which is my rewrite from NaNoWriMo.  And my other id is outlining her first book, which is taking up a lot of time in the research department.  I'm a  busy girl!

But now that I've cleared a corner of my plate, it's time to get back to blogging.  I promise by the time Different Shades of Gray comes out in March (which I know you'll all be buying thousands of copies of), you'll be begging me to shut up :)

Moving along, dig the new layout?  I love it! Maybe it's all the post-V-day ardor that's got me "loving" everything. It took some tinkering, but I think it's almost where I'd like it.  My website is being updated to match, so be on the lookout for a formal website release party in early March ('cause everything should get its own party, right?)

Okay, I have to get back to work now.  Hope you all had a fantabulous 14th!

T(O.o)dles
Sable J

WIN A KINDLE 3!!!

eXcessica is giving away TWO Kindle 3 eBook Readers with wi-fi AND they will be already pre-loaded with dozens (75+!) of eXcessica eBooks!

Our scavenger hunt runs from Sept 1 – Sept 30, 2010 and there are LOTS of way to win!

Besides the TWO KINDLE 3 READERS - the following prizes will also be given out:

* $20 Amazon Gift Card (5 giveaways) * The ENTIRE Excessica Anthology Collection to Date (2 giveaways)
* Excessica Anthologies, given individually (7 total giveaways)
* A"habu" collection, including Rough Rides, Across the Threshold, Deal Closer, Hard Knocks U and Creampuffs (3 giveaways)
* A Selena Kitt collection, including The Surrender of Persephone, Heidi and the Kaiser, Bluebeard's Wife, Taken, Falling Downand Quickies (3 giveaways)* And don't forget to come to the CHAT for even MORE chances to win prizes!
Go to SABLEJORDAN.COM to win!!! Go there now!!


CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT THE DETAILS

Where've I been???

So I know I'm late, sorry people, but my other id took over for a while and started writing her crime novel. She's even more demanding than I and, seeing as how she claims to know how to kill a man using nothing but an ordinary playing card, I'm not one to meddle with her. Anyhow, she's taken a short break and has allowed me to update you about my musings.
If you weren't aware, the good people over at eXessica publishing have decided to publish my first book, Different Shades of Gray. You can read an excerpt on my Books page here. The release date is scheduled for March 18th, 2011. I'm super excited! The marketing blitz will start soon, so I'll be going back under for a while ;o)
I've finished the first draft of my second novel, DEVIL'S FLAME and the editing begins in a week. Then it's on to the submission process, so look out for that one late 2011.
If you've been looking for your Sable fix, I wrote three shorts for the Ain't That Quaint? competition hosted by my friends at A Word With You Press. The competition focused on a list of 20 "truisms" from which we had to choose to write about three. You can click on the link to check out my three entries: Tie, A Word With Charlie Brown, and Tape 6. be sure to leave your comments, I love to hear from you guys. Also be sure to check out the other shorts and the wonderful insights on this site. They are truly "Publishers and Purveyors of Fine Stories". They're always up to something over there, so be sure to bookmark them and visit often.
Okay, my id Isadora Monday is taking over again. She's got a deadline to meet (one she didn't discuss with me, but she keeps shuffling playing cards so I'm not complaining). I promise to check in with you all shortly.
Toodles,Sable