Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 46

please read.

Not this post.
I mean, yeah, do that. But you've already clicked on it, so in that big game of I GOTS MORE CLICKS!, I guess I would be winning a little more, if I ever checked on that sort of thing.
Honestly, I don't care what you read.
I just wish people would read more.
Our entire family went to our favorite movie theater this morning, the one where you push a button, and people bring you food. FOOD WHILE WATCHING MOVIES. IT IS BRILLIANCE.
I ran out to the restroom, and when I came back, I was utterly arrested by one of the many previews playing in the lobby. It was the longest, prettiest trailer for The Hunger Games, and I've only ever seen it at about 4 inches wide, and my computer went possessed in the middle and started chanting backwards.
So on a big flatscreen, it was riveting.
"Can I help you?" a teen worker asked.
"Nope. Just mesmerized by the preview."
She glanced at it. She looked perplexed.
"What's it for?" she asked, and I ignored her grammar to stare at her.
"The Hunger Games."
Blank look.
"Based on the bestselling books by Suzanne Collins. They're phenomenal."
Shrug. "I don't read."
"But it stars Jennifer Lawrence, some cute teen boys, Woody Harrelson, Donald Sutherland, Elizabeth Banks, Stanley Tucci, Lenny freaking Kravitz, and the ever delightful Wes Bentley."
Blank look. "Is it a movie?"
And I swear to gosh, it took everything I had not to jump up and down and scream at her WHY DO YOU EVEN WORK AT A MOVIE THEATER? IS THERE EVEN ANYONE IN THERE? ARE YOU RUN BY MICE WITH LEVERS?
I mean, yeah, not all movies or all books apply to everyone. But how could you not know about The Hunger Games at this point? The book is an international bestseller that's crossed genre lines past teen girls to teen guys and adults of both genders. The movie has been splashed all over MTV, the Superbowl, Yahoo news, everywhere. You can't get on a subway or a bus or airplane without seeing someone reading it.
And, well... it's been playing right in front of you at your place of work ALL. DAMN. DAY.
So I guess this is my plea.
Read something.
I don't care what. I don't care if it's old or new. I don't care if it's on an e-reader, your smartphone, from the library, from the used bookstore, or fresh off the shelf at Barnes and Noble. I don't care if it's popular, little-known, or has the picture of a shirtless guy on the cover, because that's nothing to be ashamed of. Just read something that makes you feel more alive, that transports you to another world, that makes you remember that there's more to life than Angry Birds and the mall and watching football on TV.
It's almost impossible to read something and remain the same person. It's impossible to read and not think. Even if you hate the book or the character, you're thinking about it. And there's always another book out there, waiting for you.
You don't want to be that dead-eyed girl, sitting two feet from THE AWESOME and so dull that you're not even vaguely curious why there's a spaceship flying over a girl with a bow and arrow who's suddenly on fire.
Like The Hunger Games? Hate it? Think it's silly to read books written for teens? It doesn't matter.
Just read something.
But... I recommend The Hunger Games.
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the writer's toolbox: on having a compass

No, silly. Get your head out of the gutter!
I'm referring to the compass.
Criminy uses one in WICKED AS THEY COME, albeit a somewhat magical version. You need one, too.
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Have you ever tried walking in a straight line? Like in a big field, or a forest?
You think you're going in the right direction. But one of your legs is inevitably shorter than the other, or you have a hump, or you broke the heel on your fantastic shoe.
It is a simple fact that even if you start out walking straight, you end up walking in circles.
That's why we have maps. And compasses
Because wanting something isn't enough.
You have to have a plan. You have to keep checking back, looking at where you are and where you should be. You have to get back on track when you stray.
For this reason, I have a scale and an outline.
I don't live by either, though.
Sometimes, I do that mangy diet that no one likes. Sometimes, I skip dinner. Sometimes, I eat an entire pan of brownies or Rice Krispy Treats in one day.
Like today. Burp.
But every morning and every night, I step on the scale, and that number sits in my head, consciously and subconsciously. Sometimes, the scale makes me put down the cupcake and drink three cups of hot green tea. Sometimes, the scale makes me smugly pull a cupcake out of the freezer and jam it down my gullet at midnight while cackling madly. I don't hate myself or regret delicious meals or get on the treadmill, but I do make plans to do better.
And writing is like that, too.
Part of my process involves being open to possibility, dreams, half-asleep nudgings, scribbled notes, and bits of songs. But all the time, in the back of my head and the front of my manuscript, there's an outline.
Here are the characters. Here is where they'll go. Here are some scenes. Here is the ending.
Sure, there are surprises along the way. Sometimes, new characters pop up, and I'm completely delighted with my fickle muse. Sometimes, things go bad. Way bad. They get out of control, and people die, and I'm as surprised as I hope you'll be. But always, there's the outline, and when I come to a crossing point, I can figure out where things need to go next.
Without a compass, whether in writing or life, I get adrift. Without a goal, I don't know where I'm going, much less where I should be. With a GPS or Mapquest, someone is constantly telling you exactly what to do next, and while I need that sort of direction in driving, I don't want it anywhere else. Ever.
So that's my advice today: check your compass.
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(tumbleweeds) (space)

Yep. I'm quiet again.
That's because I'm writing.
When I'm revising or editing (which are entirely different things, by the way), I can get pretty chatty. But when I'm hammering out a first draft, I'm a silent as space. I'm constantly thinking, rolling ideas around, chewing on 'em like a cow's cud. When I'm driving or sitting or eating, I'm dreaming, and that doesn't leave a lot of room for blogging.
Take last night, for example. I turned on Joss Whedon's Firefly and zoned out. Since my main character is partially inspired by Mal, watching one of my all-time favorite shows is actually considered RESEARCH, so I was WORKING, and it was also considered work when I stole downstairs and opened Dr. Krog's World's Biggest Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and ate half of one.
Um... Merry Christmas, buddy.
In any case, I tend to watch my favorite episodes of Firefly the most often. Shindig, Serenity 1 & 2, Jaynestown. This time, I watched one of my least favorites, War Stories. And that's when it hit me-- the ending of the book. The twist. The perfect fait accompli. There's a long way to go before then, but now I can't wait to see that scene come to life.
If you're not a Firefly fan, then I ask in all honesty, WHY THE HELL NOT? It's the best show ever, even if it was canceled after one season. A unique twist, amazingly complex characters, interesting story lines, and a hell of a lot more humor than you get with a laugh track. I mean, SPACE crossed with COWBOYS and a little sprinkling of CHINA? Not to mention it's almost-- ALMOST-- steampunk in the mixing of technology and simplicity. Spacepunk, maybe.
The story is great. The writing is phenomenal.
But it's the characters that really create the magic.
If you're a writer, and you're having trouble fashioning complex, well-rounded, true-to-life characters, I can't think of a better exercise than just settling back with the Firefly DVDs and enjoying the hell out of yourself. The good, the bad, the tics, the costumes, the voices. It's all there, just like it was in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
So, in conclusion, watch that one, too. In fact, just buy yourself the complete Joss Whedon collection and settle in for a long Winter's nap. Just as art students go to museums to sketch masterworks, a writer could do a lot worse than to find a show that really speaks to them and watch it religiously. Fall asleep to it. Let it sink into the ol' subconscious and thrash around a little.
And maybe one day, you'll realize that watching Firefly has become part of your career.
And that, my friends, is shiny.
Back to the trenches.
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on writing: focus on the positive

You know how sometimes, you decide to turn your negatives into positives?
Like when you're in a job interview, and they ask you your greatest weakness, and instead of saying SPIDERS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SPIDERS, you say, "I'm just too much of a perfectionist" or some other load of complete bullsh*t?

I'm learning how to do that.
I have a short attention span, get bored easily, and chase shiny things like a cat with a penlight.
I'M BEING CREATIVE AND FOLLOWING MY MUSE.
I tend to get obsessed with things. And obsess over them. Obsessively.
I'M DRIVEN.
I really like to eat cupcakes and brownies.
I'M BEING KIND TO MYSELF WHILE I WRITE.
I hate cleaning. And laundry. And picking up after other people.
I'M FOCUSING ON MORE LUCRATIVE WORK. FOR THE GOOD OF THE FAMILY.
I love shopping online for boots and coats and hats.
I'M CULTIVATING MY BRAND.
I like talking to people on Twitter and Facebook.
I JUST TOLD YOU: I'M *CULTIVATING* MY *BRAND*.
I need excuses to take long, bubbly baths in the middle of the day.
I'M ENTERING A TRANCE STATE TO SOLVE PLOT PROBLEMS.
In short, pretty much everything I do that's horrid can be translated into a positive in my career as an author.
IT'S THE BEST THING EVER.
Only nine minutes until the brownies are ready.
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take me down to fangirl city

DIANA GABALDON TALKED TO ME.
She's the author of one of my all-time favorite books, OUTLANDER. The book that taught me that romance wasn't necessarily a bad word, when it came to literature. The book I recommend to *everyone*. The book I've read so many times the cover has fallen off. The book that, when I started writing, I thought, "I'll never be able to write anything that amazing, but I'm damned well going to try."
AND SHE TALKED TO ME ON TWITTER.
I'm just going to be over here, not blinking.
SQUEE.
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the big, bad, bloodthirsty Christmas tree

We may be unruly around here, but boy, do we love getting our Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. And we don't take it down until the day after New Year's. We want to squeeze every bit of holiday cheer out of the next month as we can.
And apparently, I want an excuse not to go in my studio/library during December. That's the yawning black door behind the gorgeous tree. My books are in there. And my wrapping paper. And the thermostat.
Brrrr!
But wait, you say. What's that on top of the tree?
It's a star, I answer, but my eyes have a crazy gleam. So you look more closely.
This tree, you say. It's emanating hotness.
Lights do that, I say with an impish wink.
You edge closer. Drag in one of the dining room chairs. Climb on up.
And this is what you see.

That's right.
It's my book cover.
On the Christmas tree star.
Because, like I said, we keep celebrating long before and long after the rest of the world.
Happy Holidays, hot steampunk vampire.
You're getting extra blood and a magical pocket watch in your stocking this year, not to mention a lump of coal. For being naughty.
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4-hour everything

(If you're one of the readers who complained about my proselytizing The 4-Hour Body, you'll want to skip this one. I recommend hanging out here, where things are guaranteed to be hilarious.)
I'm back on the slow carb train and already down 4 pounds in 4 days. Thanks to Tim Ferriss, I'm starting to like the number 4 even more. My synesthesia is okay with that, as it's 2+2, 2x2, and 2^2. But, more importantly, he has a new book coming out. It's all about cooking, learning, and kicking even more ass.
And we'll be buying it. You can pre-order it now for discounts wilder than wild horses.
(You can pre-order my book, too. It's currently 20% off at the Simon & Schuster website, but it probably won't help you lose any weight, unless you decide to go on an all-blood diet. Those Bludmen are rather svelte, I tell you.)
Ahem.
If you're into slow or no carb, here's one of my favorite recipes.
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UNICORN BLOOD
Heat 1 cup of unsweetened vanilla almond milk. Add 1 packet of 100% stevia. Steep a Celestial Seasonings decaf Sweet Coconut Chai teabag for five minutes and squeeze all the chai goodness out of the bag.
You'll almost believe it's a real chai latte.
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Back to your regularly scheduled unruliness.

the sleeper has awakened

A long, long time ago, I was immensely pregnant and preparing for motherhood.
But guess what? You can't prepare for that. For what it does to you. Huge, hormonal, sleepless, weepy, and, let's face it... kinda crazy. And not in a good way, at least for me.

I still remember buying two albums that summer: Stadium Arcadium by the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Plans by Deathcab for Cutie. I listened to Tell Me Baby so many times and so loudly that it was the only thing that would calm my daughter during her first, freaky weeks on earth.
Forget You Are My Sunshine, lady. Gimme Anthony Kiedis.
And then a magical thing happened.
After my daughter was born, I forgot about music.
Seriously. I listened to the radio in the car. I probably put in a CD here and there. But I didn't buy music until 2009, when my son was finally old enough to let me get more than five consecutive hours of sleep.
Until I woke back up.
I was in the car with both kids on a Sunday morning, and I heard this song.
This song.
It was unbelievable. Like nothing I've ever heard, except maybe Ravel's Bolero, but it was gritty and poetic and powerful and filled with longing and fury and things I hadn't felt in years. And I waited for the deejay to tell me who or what it was, but THEY DIDN'T, and so I was also infected with that same longing and fury. I went home and googled what little I could remember about the lyrics.
Midnight? Something about midnight? Standing near a streetlight?
CRAP.
I couldn't find it. I went crazy.
And then, oddly enough, Facebook crowdsourcing saved the day.
That song was Sometime Around Midnight by The Airborne Toxic Event.
I bought that album. And then I bought Mumford and Sons. And the Civil Wars. And Iron & Wine. And The Veils.
That first Airborne Toxic Event Album? That's also when I started writing.
When I woke back up.
Last night, I saw The Airborne Toxic Event at the Buckhead Theater in Atlanta. It was everything I hoped it would be. They were more than incredible. They rocked every bone I have, and I screamed the words and thumped my feet and had little goosebump tingles just rippling all over my skin.
I saw Morphine in Athens in 1999. And then I didn't see another live show until this year. Now I'm hungry for it, for the pounding drums and the lights and the fury and the energy and the excitement and the poetry. I'm hungry to be there, live, watching people create something so powerful and moving. I have no music skills, but when I'm at a show, screaming the words to my favorite songs, it's as close as I'll ever come to being part of the magic.
And so I say to you, in the words of Paul Atreides,
THE SLEEPER HAS AWAKENED.
*

the turkeys take on Savannah

I always wanted to take a carriage tour of Savannah.
Okay. To be more honest, I wanted to take a carriage tour and leap onto the back of the Percheron and cut the harness straps and take off at a gallop.
But I didn't want to get my amazing brother-in-law and fabulous niece in trouble, so I stayed in my seat.
Most of the time.
It was marvelous, you know. I highly recommend the fantastic tour guides, comfortable carriages, and gorgeous horses of Historic Savannah Carriage Tours, and especially with the Dread Pirate Robert or his daughter Becca as your guide.
He dresses in character, knows all the best stories, and even brings a sidekick.

That's Noah.
On Thanksgiving, I got to chew on the toes of his brother, Oliver.
Or at least that's what it looks like.

Um, why am I smoking that parrot?
Anyway, the entire family enjoyed our private tour with niece Becca at the reins, which included a trip to Starbucks, a stop at a gourmet cupcakery, a quick drive-by of Santa's carriage, a complete tour of the settings in the YA book I'm revising, and a meeting with a mummified squirrel named Isaiah.
Yes, that's right. I ate CUPCAKES on a CARRIAGE with a PIRATE and his PARROT.

Pistachio cupcake with almond buttercream icing. Not my best photo, but I had just spent two days in the car and a hotel room with my children, so you're lucky fire wasn't billowing out of my nostrils.
Also, the kids had a fabulous time.

The boy wore his pirate hat and proclaimed it the BEST DAY EVER.
Of course, the night before, he proclaimed the walk to the hotel carrying his backpack the BEST THING EVER, so I wouldn't really trust his taste.
The girl was also over the moon.

And the views were gorgeous.
It was the perfect day. Perfect weather, perfect temperature, perfect company.

Hello, Spanish moss. Hello, pretty buildings.
Hello, people who gawked at the carriage full of pirates and parrots and laughing girls.

I figure we were a pretty good advertisement. Anyone who saw us would think we were having THE TIME OF OUR LIVES.
Which we were.
I was an only child, unless you count the Boston Terrier we got when I was 11. But now, I have a brother and a niece, and it is FANTASTIC, because they are SO COOL.

Not only did I manage to marry my favorite person, but I also married into a family almost as strange as I am.
So that's a good Thanksgiving.
I have a lot to be thankful for. But especially pirates and fine adventures.
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best. day. ever!

See that?
That's the Dread Pirate Robert.
Why am I with a pirate on a carriage?
It's a good story. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.
Cupcakes, parrots, and zombie squirrels feature prominently. Promise.
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