Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 44
January 3, 2012
would you guys please do me a favor?
So I have a book coming out this year...
Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are. Not only because I actually lived up to my potential for once, but because I somehow managed to write sex scenes even though people I actually know are going to read them.
Like maybe my kids' teachers. Or my aunt. Or kids I used to babysit.
And I might be slightly freaking out.
Anyway.
If you haven't, I would be overjoyed and obliged if you would "like" my author Facebook page since I'm trying to swallow my own terror and do the self-marketing thing.
As we count down to the release date, which is March 27, I'll have news to share about giveaways, possibly some freebies, and a book launch party we're planning in north Atlanta where I will blush a lot and snarf cupcakes and red wine and just thank everyone a thousand times.
And I'd love it if you (and you and you) would be there.
*
In the spirit of how this blog started out, here's a quote from my morning:
kids: I WANT THE BIG BOWL!
me: You know what? The big secret is that the oatmeal tastes the exact same no matter which bowl you eat out of.
biscuit: My secret is that I sleep in my underpants.
t.rex: MY SECRET IS DAT YOU CAN NEBBER PLAY WIT MY TOYS.
me: I think you guys are missing the point about the oatmeal.
t.rex: I TINK YOU ARE MISSING DA POINT ABOUT NOT PLAYING WIT MY TOYS.
*
Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are. Not only because I actually lived up to my potential for once, but because I somehow managed to write sex scenes even though people I actually know are going to read them.
Like maybe my kids' teachers. Or my aunt. Or kids I used to babysit.
And I might be slightly freaking out.
Anyway.
If you haven't, I would be overjoyed and obliged if you would "like" my author Facebook page since I'm trying to swallow my own terror and do the self-marketing thing.
As we count down to the release date, which is March 27, I'll have news to share about giveaways, possibly some freebies, and a book launch party we're planning in north Atlanta where I will blush a lot and snarf cupcakes and red wine and just thank everyone a thousand times.
And I'd love it if you (and you and you) would be there.
*
In the spirit of how this blog started out, here's a quote from my morning:
kids: I WANT THE BIG BOWL!
me: You know what? The big secret is that the oatmeal tastes the exact same no matter which bowl you eat out of.
biscuit: My secret is that I sleep in my underpants.
t.rex: MY SECRET IS DAT YOU CAN NEBBER PLAY WIT MY TOYS.
me: I think you guys are missing the point about the oatmeal.
t.rex: I TINK YOU ARE MISSING DA POINT ABOUT NOT PLAYING WIT MY TOYS.
*
January 2, 2012
so that explains a few things.
Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was born.
Technically, it was 1977 and Atlanta, but whatever.
Most little girls of my generation grew up wanting to be Barbie or Cinderella or Cheetara from the Thunder Cats. But my childhood idol was a purple cat who sang in a nightclub.
See, there was this movie called Banjo the Woodpile Cat. It was one of Don Bluth's many animated films in the late 70s and early 80s that made children cry by showing what happened if you disobeyed your parents or had the bad luck to be an orphan.
In this case, a small and naughty cat named Banjo runs away from his stern parents and ends up nearly dying 60 times before an older cat mentor named Crazy Legs (voiced by Scatman Crothers) tells him how to get home. The part I remember most is when Banjo and Crazy Legs went to a sort of speakeasy/cathouse where three fabulous and colorful cat sisters sang a song.
Now, to be quite honest, I haven't seen this movie since I was 6. I don't actually remember which cat in that picture above is Zazu. I just remember that she was glamorous, sparkly, oddly colored, oddly named, sang well, and seemed to have a hell of a lot of fun.
And that's who I wanted to be.
When other kids on the kindergarten playground would lay claim to being the mommy or the big sister or Jem or Princess Leia or the girlfriend from Thriller, I was always quick to yell that I was Zazu. And no one else had any earthly clue who Zazu was, so I would go play quietly in a corner, shaking my tail and pretending to be a rebellious purple cat and singing sleazy nightclub songs.
Personally, I think that explains an awful lot about my childhood. And my adulthood.
*
Anybody else have a weird childhood idol?
*
January 1, 2012
how to make a DISCO BEAR
1. Obtain a bear-shaped container of animal crackers.
2. Eat all the animal crackers. Not all at once, though.
3. Blow the dust out of the container, but do so in a way that makes animal cracker guts lodge painfully in your eyeballs. Or you can skip that step. I didn't.
4. Put some glittery Christmas ornaments in there and shove a bunch of Christmas lights around them in a way that vaguely reminds you of intestines.
5. Realize that you have no idea what to do with the plug
6. Shove the top down anyway.
7. Plug in and cause a huge fight between your children over who gets THE DISCO BEAR.
All in all, I'd say it was a success.
*
Special thanks to Ericka for giving us a plastic bear full of snacks.
December 31, 2011
resolute.
2011 was incredible year for me, even if I don't know what a vuvuzela is and failed to occupy anything but my Ikea Poang chair.
Here, therefore, are my New Year's resolutions:
1. Be kinder.
2. Kick more ass.
3. Wear more things that are not jeans.
4. Sell another book.
5. Have as many adventures as possible/get out of the country at least once.
6. Obtain either a top hat or a bowler hat.
7. Get back on the slow carb train.
8. Sell as many copies of WICKED AS THEY COME as possible.
9. Make more of an effort to see friends instead of descending into a hermit cave of fleecy pants, laptops, and tumblr.
10. Read ALL THE BOOKS!
*
Anybody else making their resolutions tonight?
*
Here, therefore, are my New Year's resolutions:
1. Be kinder.
2. Kick more ass.
3. Wear more things that are not jeans.
4. Sell another book.
5. Have as many adventures as possible/get out of the country at least once.
6. Obtain either a top hat or a bowler hat.
7. Get back on the slow carb train.
8. Sell as many copies of WICKED AS THEY COME as possible.
9. Make more of an effort to see friends instead of descending into a hermit cave of fleecy pants, laptops, and tumblr.
10. Read ALL THE BOOKS!
*
Anybody else making their resolutions tonight?
*
December 29, 2011
on jeans
Sometimes, I think I would like to throw out my entire wardrobe and wear nothing but steampunkery and things that Penelope would wear in the movie Penelope that is about a pig-nosed girl who wears wonderful coats and loves James McAvoy.
And yet I never do.
I never even attempt either of these aesthetics.
And I finally figured out why.
JEANS.
I spend 99% of my out-of-the-house time in jeans. Comfortable, good-looking, go-with-everything, great-with-boots, do-not-require-ironing-or-dry-cleaning jeans.
So I just need to figure out a way to make jeans steampunk, and I'll be set.
(These are the things I think about in the night.)
*
And yet I never do.
I never even attempt either of these aesthetics.
And I finally figured out why.
JEANS.
I spend 99% of my out-of-the-house time in jeans. Comfortable, good-looking, go-with-everything, great-with-boots, do-not-require-ironing-or-dry-cleaning jeans.
So I just need to figure out a way to make jeans steampunk, and I'll be set.
(These are the things I think about in the night.)
*
December 27, 2011
on prying things apart
I read this article today, and it made me think. It's about an artist who composts dead horses and uses their skeletons to create beautiful sculptures. I understand that some people are squeamish, and as someone who once joined PETA and wrote a ten page paper instead of dissecting a frog, I suppose I can get that. But I embrace it, so long as no live creature is harmed in the process.
See, I wanted a horse all my life.
When I was little, I used to dream that on my birthday, I would wake up and find a black horse tied to a tree outside or snarfing oats in the unused half of our garage. That never happened.
When I was 17, I went to France with a student exchange program. One night, I told the waiter, "This is the best steak I've ever had!" In French, of course. He replied, again in French, and with a very French expression of disdain, "It's not steak. It's horse."
I kept chewing and said to myself, "I always wanted a horse."
I figured that, like that Monet I touched before they threw me out of the museum, at least the horse would be merging with my atoms, be part of me forever.
Years later, a friend invited me to her barn. Her husband taught vet science at a local college, and they ran an equine rescue organization, and they were going to euthanize a horse and dissect it for his vet students. The poor animal was toothless and blind and starving to death and could barely walk. I have never seen a more pathetic creature, and my heart just about broke, watching its legs wobble beneath it. They gave it a shot, and it went all dreamy and fell.
Part of me was scared and sad, thinking that something I had always wanted had just died at my feet. But as the process continued, I found myself transfixed. I had always liked animals so much that I would never do anything to hurt them. But with the cruelty removed from the process, I was free to see the beauty of what happens under the skin. I saw the inside of a cataract. I held a piece of trachea. I saw the inside of a stomach, the gleam of bone, how very tiny the parts of the ear are. I saw how very large a horse's heart is, what it takes to move blood through those giant, majestic bodies.
Because the horse was dead, I wasn't blinded by my lifelong wish for a horse. It was no longer my dream; it was an object, albeit one we tried to honor and learn from. Instead, I saw how very pretty and magical and breathtaking it was on the inside.
I think art and writing can be a little like that, too.
Sometimes, people are in so much awe of the artist or the artwork, the book or the author, that they're afraid to get their hands messy. I remember, years ago, wanting to be an artist so very badly and just sitting for hours in front of a canvas, wishing for a lightning bolt of inspiration. I used to listen to the soundtrack from the 1998 Great Expectations, thinking about this scene and wishing to hell that I could feel that mad fury, that passion for art. Wishing that I had that kind of inborn style and obsession.
But I never did.
And I was too afraid to try it and mess up. Too afraid to do the wrong thing.
Writing is the same way. You can't be too much in awe of great books, of a huge sheaf of papers. you can't get ten pages into a first draft and decide that it sucks, that you'll never be GRR Martin or JK Rowling or Jane Austen or Haruki Murakami or insert your favorite author here. You have to want it so badly that you're willing to get your hands around what you want, even if it's broken, and rip it wide open and lay its flaws and beauties bare, and then you've got to keep going and reach in your hands and fix it all.
I'm not saying that you should go dissect a horse. I'm saying that sometimes you have to watch your dreams die before you can figure out how to make them come true.
The way I always wished to feel about art is now the way I feel about writing. I finally have that passion, that obsession, that drive. And you know what? Every single one of my books includes a horse.
Some dreams never die.
*
See, I wanted a horse all my life.
When I was little, I used to dream that on my birthday, I would wake up and find a black horse tied to a tree outside or snarfing oats in the unused half of our garage. That never happened.
When I was 17, I went to France with a student exchange program. One night, I told the waiter, "This is the best steak I've ever had!" In French, of course. He replied, again in French, and with a very French expression of disdain, "It's not steak. It's horse."
I kept chewing and said to myself, "I always wanted a horse."
I figured that, like that Monet I touched before they threw me out of the museum, at least the horse would be merging with my atoms, be part of me forever.
Years later, a friend invited me to her barn. Her husband taught vet science at a local college, and they ran an equine rescue organization, and they were going to euthanize a horse and dissect it for his vet students. The poor animal was toothless and blind and starving to death and could barely walk. I have never seen a more pathetic creature, and my heart just about broke, watching its legs wobble beneath it. They gave it a shot, and it went all dreamy and fell.
Part of me was scared and sad, thinking that something I had always wanted had just died at my feet. But as the process continued, I found myself transfixed. I had always liked animals so much that I would never do anything to hurt them. But with the cruelty removed from the process, I was free to see the beauty of what happens under the skin. I saw the inside of a cataract. I held a piece of trachea. I saw the inside of a stomach, the gleam of bone, how very tiny the parts of the ear are. I saw how very large a horse's heart is, what it takes to move blood through those giant, majestic bodies.
Because the horse was dead, I wasn't blinded by my lifelong wish for a horse. It was no longer my dream; it was an object, albeit one we tried to honor and learn from. Instead, I saw how very pretty and magical and breathtaking it was on the inside.
I think art and writing can be a little like that, too.
Sometimes, people are in so much awe of the artist or the artwork, the book or the author, that they're afraid to get their hands messy. I remember, years ago, wanting to be an artist so very badly and just sitting for hours in front of a canvas, wishing for a lightning bolt of inspiration. I used to listen to the soundtrack from the 1998 Great Expectations, thinking about this scene and wishing to hell that I could feel that mad fury, that passion for art. Wishing that I had that kind of inborn style and obsession.
But I never did.
And I was too afraid to try it and mess up. Too afraid to do the wrong thing.
Writing is the same way. You can't be too much in awe of great books, of a huge sheaf of papers. you can't get ten pages into a first draft and decide that it sucks, that you'll never be GRR Martin or JK Rowling or Jane Austen or Haruki Murakami or insert your favorite author here. You have to want it so badly that you're willing to get your hands around what you want, even if it's broken, and rip it wide open and lay its flaws and beauties bare, and then you've got to keep going and reach in your hands and fix it all.
I'm not saying that you should go dissect a horse. I'm saying that sometimes you have to watch your dreams die before you can figure out how to make them come true.
The way I always wished to feel about art is now the way I feel about writing. I finally have that passion, that obsession, that drive. And you know what? Every single one of my books includes a horse.
Some dreams never die.
*
December 26, 2011
a year's worth of nookie
"If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that." ~Stephen King
Read this year on the Nook: (42)
MAKING WAVES by Tawna FenskeSHATTER ME by Tahereh MafiHEART OF STEEL by Meljean BrookTHE NIGHT CIRCUS by Erin MorgansternLOLA AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR by Stephanie PerkinsSUPERNATURALLY by Kiersten WhiteHOW TO BE BAD by E. Lockhart et alFOREVER by Maggie StiefvaterTHE DARK ENQUIRY by Deanna RaybournHEARTLESS by Gail CarrigerHOURGLASS by Myra McIntyreTHIRTEEN REASONS WHY by Jay AsherTHE GIRL IN THE STEEL CORSET by Kady CrossGLIMMERGLASS by Jenna BlackDIVERGENT by Veronica RothINVINCIBLE SUMMER by Hannah MoskowitzCITY OF FALLEN ANGELS by Cassandra ClareLAND OF THE PAINTED CAVES by Jean AuelCRYER'S CROSS by Lisa McAnnDEMONGLASS by Rachel HawkinsWICKED LOVELY by Melissa MarrDELIRIUM by Lauren OliverMATCHED by Ally CondieTHE IRON QUEEN by Julie KagawaTHE IRON DUKE by Meljean BrookSHADOWFEVER by Karen Marie MoningDREAMFEVER by Karen Marie MoningASCEND by Amanda HockingTORN by Amanda HockingSWITCHED by Amanda HockingANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS by Stephanie PerkinsDASH AND LILY'S BOOK OF DARES by Rachel Cohn and David LevithanWHITE CAT by Holly BlackDARK ROAD TO DARJEELING by Deanna RaybournSILENT IN THE SANCTUARY by Deanna RaybournSILENT ON THE MOORS by Deanna RaybournSILENT AS THE GRAVE by Deanna RaybournBRIGHT YOUNG THINGS by Anna GodbersonHUSH MONEY by Susan BischoffWISDOM by Amanda HockingTHE IRON DAUGHTER by Julie KagawaTHE IRON KING by Julie Kagawa
Conclusions:1. When I find an author I like, I'll devour everything in their series and all their future books.2. I favor paranormal YA and paranormal romance. Normal bores me; I want an escape!3. I buy a lot of books based on Twitter hype and liking the author on Twitter.4. I am rarely disappointed in books found via Twitter.
My favorite Nook books this year: ANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS and LOLA AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR by Stephanie Perkins, DASH AND LILY'S BOOK OF DARES, THE NIGHT CIRCUS, everything by Deanna Raybourn and Gail Carriger, everything by Meljean Brook.
My least favorite Nook books: LAND OF THE PAINTED CAVES. I've been a huge fan of Jean Auel since I first read CLAN OF THE CAVE BEAR in middle school, but this book was painful to finish. A fantastic reminder that no matter how big you get and how many books you sell, you still need a sharp editor to remind you that NO ONE CARES HOW TO HARVEST CAT TAILS.
Note: This list does not include the MANY, MANY books I bought and read via hard copy, because there's an 8-foot tall Christmas tree blocking my studio and bookshelves. It also doesn't include books I borrowed or bought and didn't finish, of which there were about 5. I'll do a round-up of hard copy books next week.
Further note: Erin Morgenstern, author of NYT bestseller THE NIGHT CIRCUS, will be at Fox Tale Book Shoppe in Woodstock, GA on January 27. If you haven't read it, YOU MUST. Magical, lyrical, evocative, sweet, and otherworldly. Highly recommended, by me and by people whose taste is actually lauded.
*
Read this year on the Nook: (42)
MAKING WAVES by Tawna FenskeSHATTER ME by Tahereh MafiHEART OF STEEL by Meljean BrookTHE NIGHT CIRCUS by Erin MorgansternLOLA AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR by Stephanie PerkinsSUPERNATURALLY by Kiersten WhiteHOW TO BE BAD by E. Lockhart et alFOREVER by Maggie StiefvaterTHE DARK ENQUIRY by Deanna RaybournHEARTLESS by Gail CarrigerHOURGLASS by Myra McIntyreTHIRTEEN REASONS WHY by Jay AsherTHE GIRL IN THE STEEL CORSET by Kady CrossGLIMMERGLASS by Jenna BlackDIVERGENT by Veronica RothINVINCIBLE SUMMER by Hannah MoskowitzCITY OF FALLEN ANGELS by Cassandra ClareLAND OF THE PAINTED CAVES by Jean AuelCRYER'S CROSS by Lisa McAnnDEMONGLASS by Rachel HawkinsWICKED LOVELY by Melissa MarrDELIRIUM by Lauren OliverMATCHED by Ally CondieTHE IRON QUEEN by Julie KagawaTHE IRON DUKE by Meljean BrookSHADOWFEVER by Karen Marie MoningDREAMFEVER by Karen Marie MoningASCEND by Amanda HockingTORN by Amanda HockingSWITCHED by Amanda HockingANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS by Stephanie PerkinsDASH AND LILY'S BOOK OF DARES by Rachel Cohn and David LevithanWHITE CAT by Holly BlackDARK ROAD TO DARJEELING by Deanna RaybournSILENT IN THE SANCTUARY by Deanna RaybournSILENT ON THE MOORS by Deanna RaybournSILENT AS THE GRAVE by Deanna RaybournBRIGHT YOUNG THINGS by Anna GodbersonHUSH MONEY by Susan BischoffWISDOM by Amanda HockingTHE IRON DAUGHTER by Julie KagawaTHE IRON KING by Julie Kagawa
Conclusions:1. When I find an author I like, I'll devour everything in their series and all their future books.2. I favor paranormal YA and paranormal romance. Normal bores me; I want an escape!3. I buy a lot of books based on Twitter hype and liking the author on Twitter.4. I am rarely disappointed in books found via Twitter.
My favorite Nook books this year: ANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS and LOLA AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR by Stephanie Perkins, DASH AND LILY'S BOOK OF DARES, THE NIGHT CIRCUS, everything by Deanna Raybourn and Gail Carriger, everything by Meljean Brook.
My least favorite Nook books: LAND OF THE PAINTED CAVES. I've been a huge fan of Jean Auel since I first read CLAN OF THE CAVE BEAR in middle school, but this book was painful to finish. A fantastic reminder that no matter how big you get and how many books you sell, you still need a sharp editor to remind you that NO ONE CARES HOW TO HARVEST CAT TAILS.
Note: This list does not include the MANY, MANY books I bought and read via hard copy, because there's an 8-foot tall Christmas tree blocking my studio and bookshelves. It also doesn't include books I borrowed or bought and didn't finish, of which there were about 5. I'll do a round-up of hard copy books next week.
Further note: Erin Morgenstern, author of NYT bestseller THE NIGHT CIRCUS, will be at Fox Tale Book Shoppe in Woodstock, GA on January 27. If you haven't read it, YOU MUST. Magical, lyrical, evocative, sweet, and otherworldly. Highly recommended, by me and by people whose taste is actually lauded.
*
December 25, 2011
exploring gender differences through cultural celebrations involving trees
So there's girls.
Pink, zebra stripes, jewels, Rapunzel, a first dollhouse.
And then...
There are boys.
I foresee a lot of dead imaginary bad guys in our future.
*
Our Christmas morning was magical, and we hope yours was, too.
*
December 24, 2011
happy hooligans!
It's Christmas Eve. You know what that means.
I've eaten nothing but frosted sugar cookies and pigs in blankets for two days and am almost done writing The Big Racy Scene for the steampunk Robin Hood book. We went to our local indie bookstore to see Santa, and the boy picked his nose in Santa's lap while the girl wore a cat ear headband and hid behind another kid. There's a lightsaber fight happening in the kitchen, and I'm threatening to bring Twinkies to a potluck tonight.
And, oh, yeah. I have, like, fifty bajillion gifts to wrap and 10 bags of denim to fill with deer corn and sew shut.
It's beginning to look a lot like outright panic.
That's pretty much how I roll.
Happy Holidays, everybody!
*
December 22, 2011
regarding the blog redesign...
I've tried at least 10 banners today, and I'm pretty sure I'm going mad.I'm finding it impossible to communicate "I'm a serious writer" while simultaneously admitting to being quirky, unruly, and impish. There's not a font for that, really.
I hope the clockwork dodo will do for a while.
ACK. Work is hard.
*
