Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 31
July 5, 2012
I survived the zombiepocalypse!
Well, kinda.
See, were were having a great time on the way home from FandomFest in Louisville, Kentucky. Me, MG author Janice Hardy, urban fantasy author James R. Tuck, and book reviewer and bibliophile Carol Malcolm. We got into Tennessee, hit up an Olive Garden, shopped for fireworks, and molested a giant, patriotic gorilla.
Okay, so maybe that was just me.
Back in the car, we pulled onto the highway, and that's when it happened.
The speed dropped, and then the cars in front of us slowly rolled to a halt. They didn't budge. People began to get out and step onto the median.
And we realized the zombies were finally here.
We were hungry. We had to pee. And we decided then and there that if we had to eat someone, it was going to be Carol, mainly because she was outside talking to the dude in the black truck and couldn't hear us plotting.
So we smiled and took a picture.
I've always wanted to stand in the middle of a highway.
Four hours later, we began to creep forward. The highway ahead was empty in the darkness, and they shuttled us wordlessly off a ramp and forced us away from the glowing warmth of the gas station. The long line of lights strung out into the night, every car and semi-trailer crowding down a Tennessee back road. If I had been alone and without a GPS, I would have been terrified.
The first gas station we found-- it had been ravaged. The aisles empty, the pumps cut off, the bathrooms barely better than outhouses.
"Four dead," people whispered, waiting in line to buy the last of the food. "Been closed for seven hours."
"Guess it didn't matter that we got dessert," we said.
Back on the road, we watched the gas gauge. 51 miles left... 47 miles... 42 miles. We started staring at the farmhouses we passed, silently weighing the options. Luckily, Janice's GPS could win Jeopardy, and we were soon right back on track.
The rest of the night blurs together. We found gas. We found a truck stop Wendy's that was miraculously open at 1:19am because the manager was under the impression that they were in the next time zone and it was only 12:19. Silly fools! French fries have never tasted so good.
We drove through rain, through lightning, through weird, sideways hail. There were unexplained lights in the sky over the twisting mountains and one big explosion in the trees. We're pretty sure we saw aliens. Well, I was.
When we got home at 4:30am, though, I knew three things in my heart: It was a grand adventure, and I have amazing friends, and I'm really glad we didn't eat Carol.
*
Note: I did not drive, which is probably a big part of why we made it home safely. Janice got us through the traffic jam, and James got us through the mountains. They can WRITE, and they can also PERFORM MIRACLES.
See, were were having a great time on the way home from FandomFest in Louisville, Kentucky. Me, MG author Janice Hardy, urban fantasy author James R. Tuck, and book reviewer and bibliophile Carol Malcolm. We got into Tennessee, hit up an Olive Garden, shopped for fireworks, and molested a giant, patriotic gorilla.
Okay, so maybe that was just me.Back in the car, we pulled onto the highway, and that's when it happened.
The speed dropped, and then the cars in front of us slowly rolled to a halt. They didn't budge. People began to get out and step onto the median.
And we realized the zombies were finally here.
We were hungry. We had to pee. And we decided then and there that if we had to eat someone, it was going to be Carol, mainly because she was outside talking to the dude in the black truck and couldn't hear us plotting.
So we smiled and took a picture.
I've always wanted to stand in the middle of a highway.
Four hours later, we began to creep forward. The highway ahead was empty in the darkness, and they shuttled us wordlessly off a ramp and forced us away from the glowing warmth of the gas station. The long line of lights strung out into the night, every car and semi-trailer crowding down a Tennessee back road. If I had been alone and without a GPS, I would have been terrified.
The first gas station we found-- it had been ravaged. The aisles empty, the pumps cut off, the bathrooms barely better than outhouses.
"Four dead," people whispered, waiting in line to buy the last of the food. "Been closed for seven hours."
"Guess it didn't matter that we got dessert," we said.
Back on the road, we watched the gas gauge. 51 miles left... 47 miles... 42 miles. We started staring at the farmhouses we passed, silently weighing the options. Luckily, Janice's GPS could win Jeopardy, and we were soon right back on track.
The rest of the night blurs together. We found gas. We found a truck stop Wendy's that was miraculously open at 1:19am because the manager was under the impression that they were in the next time zone and it was only 12:19. Silly fools! French fries have never tasted so good.
We drove through rain, through lightning, through weird, sideways hail. There were unexplained lights in the sky over the twisting mountains and one big explosion in the trees. We're pretty sure we saw aliens. Well, I was.
When we got home at 4:30am, though, I knew three things in my heart: It was a grand adventure, and I have amazing friends, and I'm really glad we didn't eat Carol.
*
Note: I did not drive, which is probably a big part of why we made it home safely. Janice got us through the traffic jam, and James got us through the mountains. They can WRITE, and they can also PERFORM MIRACLES.
July 3, 2012
new friends, new heroes
The best part of FandomFest was meeting amazing people. From readers who were kind enough to pick up my book to the booksellers at Joseph-Beth who were kind enough to sell it to other authors who gave amazing panels to, yes, shaking the hand of Norman Reedus in a hotel bar, I was overwhelmed with awesomeness.
And since being home, I've been caught in a whirlwind of social media, connecting with those new friends in more permanent ways. I'm adding Tweeps, following people on Facebook and telling them how fantastic they are, and hunting out blogs that I'm glad to add to my radar. But something stood out today in the best possible way, and I have to share it.
I'll admit that I wasn't familiar with the work of author Jim C. Hines until FandomFest. I mostly read YA and paranormal romance, but whenever I meet someone warm and friendly and funny, I'm soon asking them which book of theirs I can't live without and then shoving it into their hands at the most awkward moment possible. And, for the record, I can't wait to read Jim's Princess Series, which finally answers my question regarding why princesses can't spend less time mooning about the forest and more time kicking ass.
But what really got to me was a tab across the top of his website.
RAPE.
I would never have expected to see that word prominently displayed on an author's website, and I had to click it. As it turns out, when teenage Jim learned that one of his friends had been raped, he dedicated years of training and education to helping other rape victims. And his website has a detailed list of resources for people dealing with rape, including the victims themselves and people, like Jim, who wish to make a difference.
I've mentioned it before on this blog, but I was raped when I was 17. My rapist was an A student, a community leader, and the son of two high school teachers. And when I told friends what he did, many of them didn't believe me, and it was heartbreaking, and for that reason I told no one else. The fact that when faced with the same confession, Jim went to such trouble to help his friend and others like her has me in tears over my breakfast.
That's not only an amazing friend, but an amazing person.
In getting into the YA genre, as mentioned before, I'm hoping for more chances to speak to teens about issues like rape, depression, and suicide, things that played a major part in my life at that age. I hope that one day, I can make a difference, too, just like Jim.
So I want to encourage anyone needing help with rape issues to go here, on Jim's page. And if you're a reader who enjoys fantasy and likes to put their money where their heart is, check out his books.
When I met Jim, I shook his hand. Next time I see him, I'll probably tear up and hugattack him. Even 17 years later, just knowing that someone cares means the world.
You never know when you're making a difference to someone.
*
July 2, 2012
silly goose
I am still recovering from FandomFest.
Which was amazing.
While I wait for my brain to grow back, I will leave you with this photo of me being goosed by a lawn jockey outside of a Kentucky bourbon bar.
Which was amazing.
While I wait for my brain to grow back, I will leave you with this photo of me being goosed by a lawn jockey outside of a Kentucky bourbon bar.
June 29, 2012
FandomFest, Day 1
Dear FandomFest:
Thank you for presenting the perfect pair of goggles, right when I needed to buy them.
Thank you for making that Denny's in Kentucky extra delicious.
Thank you for having so many marvelous authors and readers.
Thank you for giving me a fantastic excuse to dress up.
Thank you for introducing me to the tour-brained but brilliant John Scalzi, who dubbed me STEAMPUNK GIRL. I will struggle to live up to that epithet. At least until I can join Kalayna Price as USA TODAY BESTSELLING GIRL.
Thank you for slowing down. I woke up at 5:30, and I'm ready to snoozle.
<3, d.
Thank you for presenting the perfect pair of goggles, right when I needed to buy them.
Thank you for making that Denny's in Kentucky extra delicious.
Thank you for having so many marvelous authors and readers.
Thank you for giving me a fantastic excuse to dress up.
Thank you for introducing me to the tour-brained but brilliant John Scalzi, who dubbed me STEAMPUNK GIRL. I will struggle to live up to that epithet. At least until I can join Kalayna Price as USA TODAY BESTSELLING GIRL.
Thank you for slowing down. I woke up at 5:30, and I'm ready to snoozle.
<3, d.
NEWS!
I am OVER THE DAMN MOON to announce that my YA Savannah paranormal, SERVANTS OF THE STORM, just sold to Simon Pulse for publication in spring 2014.
Get ready, y'all-- I reckon I'm gonna corrupt your chirren. WITH HURRICANES.
*
Get ready, y'all-- I reckon I'm gonna corrupt your chirren. WITH HURRICANES.
*
June 26, 2012
inside the locket
If you ever wonderedwhat Tish found in the locket...
*
I couldn't help commissioning a portrait by Fyodor Pavlov, an artist I found on tumblr.His work is occasionally NSFW,but that's *exactly* how I pictured the image in the locket.
DARE ME TO WHAT?*
June 23, 2012
why I want to write YA
Beware, friends! This post is SERIOUS. And DARK. And yet so very, very TRUE.
As you surely know by now, my first book is in print. It's basically a grab bag of all the things I like: romance, magic, horses, fuzzy woodland animals, pretty clothes from long ago, adventures, submarines, sea monsters, ghosts, fancy jewelry. Although there's an overall theme of easy things are worth nothing, it's not meant to be deep, and it's clearly an indulgent sort of a read. An escape. Fluff.
But I'm not all fluff, kids.
Sang is not the darkest world in my head. My life now appears easy, but it's been a long fight to get here. One of my goals as an author is to publish YA books for and about teens, not only because I enjoy reading them and writing them, but also because I hope to find ways to connect with kids who might be having some of the same struggles that I did in high school.
I was a geek back when being called a geek was considered shameful. I was smart and shy and socially awkward, and I was bullied horribly in middle school. To this day, the smell inside a bus makes me sick to my stomach. Although I hit my stride in high school and found strong friendships and mentors, there were dark patches that I mostly kept to myself. The only way I could cope was by writing poetry and painting, alone in my room. I still have all my poems in their original notebooks, along with song lyrics and quotes and things that made me feel connected to something, anything, when I was floundering. When I had no voice, I whispered to myself.
This blog? Isn't the kind of place I can share those experiences. The stories need to be told, but they're the sort of stories that can only be shared with real, live human beings, when you can look into their eyes and say, This happened to me. It might be happening to you. But it's going to be okay one day, if you just hang in there. Because just as I couldn't tell people about it then, I find it hard to speak about it now, to put things in print where someone could contest it or argue it or in any way lessen what occurred.
You seemed so normal.
You seemed happy.
You got good grades.
You never told anyone.
You were fine.
When someone tells you their secrets, those are the wrong things to say, folks.
All around us, strangers are silently carrying burdens that we can't begin to understand. We pass on the sidewalk, share elevators, hold the door to the bookstore with a smile, and we have no idea what dragons are curled around the hearts of people we've never met, quietly squeezing or fanning a flame or waiting for the right moment to strike. I learned long ago that surviving is sometimes the best way to fight back, that living is the best revenge. But that's not enough.
My goal is that my words will one day be in the hands of kids like I used to be-- kids who need first an escape and second, the knowledge that the person who wrote them was a victim, too. That no matter what people do to you, if you can live past it and get stronger, you can kick a bunch of ass. That the pain, as they say, will one day be useful. That dark places breed fabulous monsters, and you can bridle them and ride them down whichever paths you choose.
Sometimes, when the worst finally happens-- that's when you realize you're free.
It gets better, y'all. I promise. I hope one day we'll get to trade stories.
As you surely know by now, my first book is in print. It's basically a grab bag of all the things I like: romance, magic, horses, fuzzy woodland animals, pretty clothes from long ago, adventures, submarines, sea monsters, ghosts, fancy jewelry. Although there's an overall theme of easy things are worth nothing, it's not meant to be deep, and it's clearly an indulgent sort of a read. An escape. Fluff.
But I'm not all fluff, kids.
Sang is not the darkest world in my head. My life now appears easy, but it's been a long fight to get here. One of my goals as an author is to publish YA books for and about teens, not only because I enjoy reading them and writing them, but also because I hope to find ways to connect with kids who might be having some of the same struggles that I did in high school.
I was a geek back when being called a geek was considered shameful. I was smart and shy and socially awkward, and I was bullied horribly in middle school. To this day, the smell inside a bus makes me sick to my stomach. Although I hit my stride in high school and found strong friendships and mentors, there were dark patches that I mostly kept to myself. The only way I could cope was by writing poetry and painting, alone in my room. I still have all my poems in their original notebooks, along with song lyrics and quotes and things that made me feel connected to something, anything, when I was floundering. When I had no voice, I whispered to myself.
This blog? Isn't the kind of place I can share those experiences. The stories need to be told, but they're the sort of stories that can only be shared with real, live human beings, when you can look into their eyes and say, This happened to me. It might be happening to you. But it's going to be okay one day, if you just hang in there. Because just as I couldn't tell people about it then, I find it hard to speak about it now, to put things in print where someone could contest it or argue it or in any way lessen what occurred.
You seemed so normal.
You seemed happy.
You got good grades.
You never told anyone.
You were fine.
When someone tells you their secrets, those are the wrong things to say, folks.
All around us, strangers are silently carrying burdens that we can't begin to understand. We pass on the sidewalk, share elevators, hold the door to the bookstore with a smile, and we have no idea what dragons are curled around the hearts of people we've never met, quietly squeezing or fanning a flame or waiting for the right moment to strike. I learned long ago that surviving is sometimes the best way to fight back, that living is the best revenge. But that's not enough.
My goal is that my words will one day be in the hands of kids like I used to be-- kids who need first an escape and second, the knowledge that the person who wrote them was a victim, too. That no matter what people do to you, if you can live past it and get stronger, you can kick a bunch of ass. That the pain, as they say, will one day be useful. That dark places breed fabulous monsters, and you can bridle them and ride them down whichever paths you choose.
Sometimes, when the worst finally happens-- that's when you realize you're free.
It gets better, y'all. I promise. I hope one day we'll get to trade stories.
June 22, 2012
what a deal!
Does anyone feel like deal sites have jumped the shark?
June 20, 2012
James Bond of the attic
Yesterday, I did something that surprised me: I climbed up into the attic with a flashlight in my teeth, crawled into a dark, dusty hole, and fixed an electrical problem. Like James Bond.
Now, if you know me, you know that home repair comes as naturally to me as navigating highways, which is to say, not at all, and please bring a hot bath, glass of wine, and copy of Pride and Prejudice so I can recover afterward. Electricity, especially, is not in my comfort zone. I couldn't even make a light bulb glow in high school physics, and that was with a clear diagram and a teacher standing over my shoulder, directing me and informing me that I was wretched at physics and should probably just accept that and move on, preferably to someone else's classroom.
But I've started to realize that many of life's mysteries are really just puzzles, and with enough motivation and googling, one can solve them.
This year, with our beloved handyman moved away, I have:
* fixed a clogged sink by removing the S-bend
* fixed my own broken vacuum
* replaced two doorknobs and turned a third around
* managed to transform at least one modern Transformer (a blue one)
* and now, deactivated a bum attic fan while keeping the upstairs AC running
And the coolest part is that when I asked for help, it wasn't my guy friends who helped me. It was all women! On Facebook and then in person, my girlfriends gave me a quick primer on how to use wire caps, and then it was just a trip to the breaker box and a few quick twists. Boom! Fan disconnected, switch flicked, AC on, upstairs blessedly cool again.
Before now, I would have panicked and crowdsourced a new handyman and paid a few hundred dollars for five minutes of mysterious work done in the attic. But I'm beginning to understand that the secrets of the world, many of them, are open and waiting to be discovered. Problems can be broken down and solved. I can fix lots of things, sew lots of things, work patiently at most things until the solution is unlocked. In today's world especially, the internet holds all the answers. I even have a friend who taught herself how to knit in one night on YouTube. When we ask the right questions, we can empower ourselves by solving our problems on our time, in our own way.
Was I scared, when I held my wire nippers out to cut wires that I was... pretty sure were on the right breaker switch? Yeah, I actually was. At 95% sure, I knew that if I was wrong, I was going to get a serious electrical shock. And, yes, I pretended I was a spy deactivating a bomb and talked to myself in a James Bond voice. And yes, when I didn't blow myself up, I yelled WOOHOOO!, because with risk and research and work comes a moment of victory that shouldn't be ignored.
The older I get, the more I realize that solving my problems myself is empowering.
And yesh, Miss Money Penny, I like that verra much.
*
Now, if you know me, you know that home repair comes as naturally to me as navigating highways, which is to say, not at all, and please bring a hot bath, glass of wine, and copy of Pride and Prejudice so I can recover afterward. Electricity, especially, is not in my comfort zone. I couldn't even make a light bulb glow in high school physics, and that was with a clear diagram and a teacher standing over my shoulder, directing me and informing me that I was wretched at physics and should probably just accept that and move on, preferably to someone else's classroom.
But I've started to realize that many of life's mysteries are really just puzzles, and with enough motivation and googling, one can solve them.
This year, with our beloved handyman moved away, I have:
* fixed a clogged sink by removing the S-bend
* fixed my own broken vacuum
* replaced two doorknobs and turned a third around
* managed to transform at least one modern Transformer (a blue one)
* and now, deactivated a bum attic fan while keeping the upstairs AC running
And the coolest part is that when I asked for help, it wasn't my guy friends who helped me. It was all women! On Facebook and then in person, my girlfriends gave me a quick primer on how to use wire caps, and then it was just a trip to the breaker box and a few quick twists. Boom! Fan disconnected, switch flicked, AC on, upstairs blessedly cool again.
Before now, I would have panicked and crowdsourced a new handyman and paid a few hundred dollars for five minutes of mysterious work done in the attic. But I'm beginning to understand that the secrets of the world, many of them, are open and waiting to be discovered. Problems can be broken down and solved. I can fix lots of things, sew lots of things, work patiently at most things until the solution is unlocked. In today's world especially, the internet holds all the answers. I even have a friend who taught herself how to knit in one night on YouTube. When we ask the right questions, we can empower ourselves by solving our problems on our time, in our own way.
Was I scared, when I held my wire nippers out to cut wires that I was... pretty sure were on the right breaker switch? Yeah, I actually was. At 95% sure, I knew that if I was wrong, I was going to get a serious electrical shock. And, yes, I pretended I was a spy deactivating a bomb and talked to myself in a James Bond voice. And yes, when I didn't blow myself up, I yelled WOOHOOO!, because with risk and research and work comes a moment of victory that shouldn't be ignored.
The older I get, the more I realize that solving my problems myself is empowering.
And yesh, Miss Money Penny, I like that verra much.
*
June 18, 2012
my infernal internal soundtrack
Two songs are obsessing me right now, becoming the soundtrack for my writing.
This one, presented in acoustic version because I don't like the video for the studio version:
There's a fork in the road
I do as I am told
Till I don't don't don't don't don't don't....
I... sing along to that quite a bit.
And here's the second one, by The Veils. I was obsessed with their album Runaway Found for a while, writing an entire book to it. The music is like that-- it worms its way into my thoughts.
I don't watch a lot of videos these days, as I get obsessed with the songs, and they make me see scenes in my head, and those scenes have nothing to do with what was originally intended by the artists or directors, and then I have an emotional schizoid embolism like Quaid in Total Recall.
I need a soundtrack to write. Music is symbiotic with the words, and I develop a Pavlovian response to it. When I hear the soundtrack, I'm plunged into that world. The music makes me see things I wouldn't otherwise, and as I can't drink absinthe constantly, it's the closest I can safely get to that state where the membrane between imagination and reality is thin and glittery. When I get stuck while writing, I drive and blast music or, when very desperate, draw a hot bath in the dark and force myself into a trance-like state while listening to the music. Although the music doesn't start the story, it's the momentum that keeps it going.
Wicked as They Come was written to Like Vines by The Hush Sound. The Mysterious Madam Morpho was written to Gotye's Making Mirrors, minus the two weird hippie songs in the middle and Bronte, which is the saddest song I've ever heard. Wicked as She Wants started off with Divine Comedy by Milla Jovovich. And now, the second novella is dominated by these two songs.
If you ever hear a song that you think I'll dig, please let me know. I find most of my music by serendipity, and I'm always glad of a new little obsession.
This one, presented in acoustic version because I don't like the video for the studio version:
There's a fork in the road
I do as I am told
Till I don't don't don't don't don't don't....
I... sing along to that quite a bit.
And here's the second one, by The Veils. I was obsessed with their album Runaway Found for a while, writing an entire book to it. The music is like that-- it worms its way into my thoughts.
I don't watch a lot of videos these days, as I get obsessed with the songs, and they make me see scenes in my head, and those scenes have nothing to do with what was originally intended by the artists or directors, and then I have an emotional schizoid embolism like Quaid in Total Recall.
I need a soundtrack to write. Music is symbiotic with the words, and I develop a Pavlovian response to it. When I hear the soundtrack, I'm plunged into that world. The music makes me see things I wouldn't otherwise, and as I can't drink absinthe constantly, it's the closest I can safely get to that state where the membrane between imagination and reality is thin and glittery. When I get stuck while writing, I drive and blast music or, when very desperate, draw a hot bath in the dark and force myself into a trance-like state while listening to the music. Although the music doesn't start the story, it's the momentum that keeps it going.
Wicked as They Come was written to Like Vines by The Hush Sound. The Mysterious Madam Morpho was written to Gotye's Making Mirrors, minus the two weird hippie songs in the middle and Bronte, which is the saddest song I've ever heard. Wicked as She Wants started off with Divine Comedy by Milla Jovovich. And now, the second novella is dominated by these two songs.
If you ever hear a song that you think I'll dig, please let me know. I find most of my music by serendipity, and I'm always glad of a new little obsession.
