Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 51

this. this. this.

This makes me scream inside. So pretty.
Whatever makes you feel alive, always do that.
Always.
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less Jo, more Blair

As I get older, I find that I get more vain.
Wait, that's not right. I'm probably maintaining the same amount of vaining, but I put a lot more work into my appearance than I used to. You have to, when you're not 22 with knee-length hair, I guess.
I spent 10 minutes putting my wet hair into a French twist this morning. Ten bobby pins. And the whole thing fell out before I'd even turned off my road. But I tried, goddammit. I TRIED. I even took that picture, just so I could prove to the world that I had tried something beyond my basic wet-hair-day-dorky-librarian bun.
And recently, I started painting my fingernails for the first time.
In... pretty much my whole life.
And now I'm hooked.

So that's dark purple with an overlay of lime green glitter, then I painted the tips dark purple because they got so freakin' chipped.
At first, I was mystified as to the chippage.
"But I use an anti-chip top coat!" I wailed to myself, in private.
Then I remembered that I'm a WRITER. I spend 50% of my waking life typing on a laptop.
Chippity chip chip, baby.

That color was especially chosen because it matches my car.
I love matching my car.
And I'm contemplating a wrist tattoo, when I sell the next book. I'm trying it out, drawing it differently every day. The current one is horizontal, which works better.

And that's from tonight.
It's a deep, dark, twilight-ly purple called Chinatown.
I want to lick it.
But I tried that, and it tasted TERRIBLE.
Not like shnozberries at all.
So I was curious.
Why, after 33 years, would I suddenly start painting my nails?
And then it hit me.

Every single color in there contains the wordINSTAorFASTor60 SECOND.
Finally, nail polishes dry too fast for me to ruin them.
I'm the least patient person that has ever existed. I'm already bored with this blog post, and I haven't even finished writing it. I'M READY TO WRITE SOMETHING ELSE NOW, PLEASE.
But I can wait 60 seconds.
So I think that's the difference.
I finally have time to feel pretty.
AND IT IS AWESOME.
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GOBBLEZ!

Good news, everybody!
We bought a turkey hat.
Seriously. Best $2.50 I spent this week, aside from the $3.94 I paid for my new Sherlock Holmes hat. But that's beside the point.
I told the boy to say, "I'LL GOBBLE YOU UP!"
Instead, he said, "TURKEY GONNA EAT YOUR FACE!"and then attacked people.
So that was some excellent improvisation on his part.

If you're at Target, and you want to be hilarious, I highly recommend TURKEY HAT.
Or, if you're a bit more morbid, you can get the one that looks like a roast turkey.Then you could wear it to dinner on Thanksgiving, and pretend like nothing weird was going on.
"What are you looking at, Aunt Mabel?"you could ask innocently."Is there some cranberry sauce on my face?"
You should do that.
Or just get the one we have and act like a goof.


We also taught ours how to break dance.
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Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a date.
With a book.
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the magic word

The magic word?
It's not please.
Nope.
If you want me to buy something, just use one word.
TREAT.
I realized today that I'll buy almost anything if the product name includes the word TREAT. I absolutely love treating myself. I would buy a can of zombie-virus-infected human brains if they were labeled NUMMYLICIOUS CAN O' TREATS.
For example, there's a hair product by Revlon called SMOOTH DOWN BUTTER TREAT.
And I am SO ALL OVER THAT.
Smooth? I WANT SMOOTH HAIR.Butter? I ADORE BUTTER.Treat? YES, PLEASE TREAT ME.
I love the name so much that I've bought the stuff three times and never finished a bottle, mainly because it's not a very good product, or at the very least, it doesn't work for my hair, which is THE EASIEST HAIR ON EARTH.
I just love the idea of giving myself a smooth butter treat.
This marketing pitfall of mine came to mind today when someone I followed on Twitter immediately sent me a Direct Message asking me straight up to buy their book.
Not HI! or THANKS FOR FOLLOWING ME! or YOU SEEM COOL! Just BUY MY BOOK.
In my list of turn offs, I would put this sort of aggressive marketing right next to cigarette smoking and being a fan of Albert Brooks. Even if I was interested in the book, and even if they were a good writer, I wouldn't buy their book on principle alone. It's just a horrible way to treat people who follow you. Social media, Twitter especially, is about relationships, not PAY ME NOW, STRANGER.
And I thought to myself, "Is there anything someone could write in a Direct Message that would get me to buy whatever they were shilling?"
And my answer was, "YES, IT COULD BE CALLED NUMMY BOOK O' TREATS."
So, in conclusion, please don't send me DMs asking me to buy your crap, and if you do, make sure it involves the word TREAT.
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Anybody else have a magic word?
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it's almost BOOT DAY

So for the past two years, I asked my husband for boots for my birthday.
That's right. My birthday became BOOT DAY.
This year I want black, tall, leather, with heels.
Here are the two major contenders:
1. Cedar Street by indigo by Clarks
2. Toughen up by Poetic Licence
I'd love to show pictures, but Amazon's so cagey about that.
Anybody care to weigh in?

the boogeyman

Guess what, guys? It's A SERIOUS POST.
Weird, I know. And it's about my greatest fear. And my greatest triumph.
I read this blog entry by my Twitter-friend and beta reader extraordinaire @quickmissive and couldn't stop thinking about the boogeyman.
I think I've mentioned the manuscript she references, INK & BONE. It's a creepy YA and a book very close to my heart. One of the central themes is that everyone has an encounter with a boogeyman, whether it's a real threat or an imagined one. I've had both.
I remember when I was in middle school, there was a big kerfuffle over a dude driving around our area, trying to lure girls into his car. It was a red Honda CRX hatchback. And for years, whenever I saw a red Honda CRX hatchback, I FREAKING RAN. They still give me the willies.
But that wasn't the real boogeyman, not for me. Mine was the boy who stalked me in high school, who lured me with a plea for help and understanding. I would have run from the red hatchback, but my boogeyman knew just how to lure me in. I wrote him into a book, too, but you'll probably never get to read that one. Let's just say the lead female turned into a zombie and bit off his... yeah. Maybe I'll self-publish that one, one day.
My point is this: The boogeyman wears a different face for everyone. And surviving him isn't about being smart or learning rules. I was smart, and I knew the rules, and I ran from red hatchbacks, and just like a monster in a Stephen King book, my boogeyman came from a different direction with a different weapon.
But I survived him. And now, when I think of my tiny daughter out in the world, I'm terrified. I want her to be better prepared to identify and fight the boogeyman. It's not always a dude in a mask in a conversion van. It might be a friend's father or older brother. It might be the dad she babysits for when she's 14. It might be a boy at high school who just wants to talk somewhere private. And I want to empower her to understand that whichever boogeyman she faces, she doesn't have to give in, she can fight. And thanks to her dad and Gracie jiu-jitsu, she can choke him unconscious.
And the other lesson that I want her to learn is the one that finally helped me heal:
Surviving is the best revenge.
The second best revenge is writing your boogeymen into books and having him emasculated by a zombie.
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twit beyond measure

Yes, I found the Golden Quill and got into Pottermore early.
Yes, I was very anxious about being sorted.
I know, in my heart, that I'm a Ravenclaw.
Luckily, the Sorting Hat agreed.
Which is good, because now I don't have to buy a new t-shirt.
Also, I named my tawny owl Grundy, and my wand is made of chestnut with a phoenix feather core.
What does this tell you?
1. I'm a total lit geek. But we knew that.2. I'm completely immature. But we knew that.3. I'm playing on Pottermore instead of writing the outline due to my editor on October 1.4. Play is an integral part of my work process.5. I'll still get the outline in ahead of time.
If you knew me in high school, you probably remember me wearing a ridiculous hat. I love ridiculous hats. I still wear them. You might also remember me chasing armadillos in Cloud Canyon or organizing the French club to roller skate in fake mustaches and berets while waving baguettes in the Homecoming parade or having my picture taken in front of deer antlers and shouting triumphantly, "I AM THE JACKALOPE!"
I was silly, back then.
I'm silly now.
I believe with all my heart that my silliness, my juvenile sense of humor, and my lack of shame regarding public ridiculousness are part of what make me a successful writer. I like telling stories, making bad puns, and dreaming up weird crap that makes no sense, like vampire bunnies. I like to have fun, but it's the kind of fun nine-year-olds like to have. I like climbing trees and playing on playgrounds and leaving silly notes for strangers.
And I hope I never, ever grow out of it.
My point here is that sometimes, being silly is the answer.
And yes, you might be laughed at.
I myself was laughed at when I preened, telling my husband I was SO RAVENCLAW and my wand was KICKASS and my owl was BETTER THAN THAT SPOTTY PRAT HEDWIG. I like that books can build a world so real, so deep, that something THIS STUPID matters to me.
I want to build worlds like that, too.
And that's why I'm off to continue the outline for book 2, which involves a floating brothel. I've been sorted, I'm chillin' in the Ravenclaw common room, and now I'm ready to get back to work.
If you're on Pottermore, let's be pals. I'm NightChaser 201, and I'm not ashamed to be playing a game meant for children.
After all, I AM THE JACKALOPE.
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i will never forget sarah marshall

10 things that happen in Forgetting Sarah Marshall that make it one of my top ten favorite movies:

1. It opens with my favorite Cake song, I Want to Love You Madly.
2. It then goes on to show the main character congratulating himself on making his pecs dance, then eating Froot Loops out of a dog bowl while wearing an Edward Gorey t-shirt.
3. Russell Brand asks if anyone has seen his lost shoe by assuring them that it's the opposite of his current shoe, but that that doesn't mean it's evil or anything.
4. Jason Segel does an entire being-dumped-by-your-movie-star-girlfriend scene completely naked. That takes guts. And balls.
5. It involves a Dracula Puppet Rock Opera.
6. Paul Rudd plays a character that isn't Paul Rudd, and it is fantastic.
7. Mila Kunis goes batsh*t on her ex-boyfriend. You just never see that in movies. Girls are usually either embarrassed or angry, but they very rarely run straight at a guy and start pummeling him on a beach.
8. Russell Brand, playing rock star Aldous Snow, shows an uber-Christian virgin how to please his wife by practice humping giant chess pieces on the beach. And it works!
9. The main character isn't buff. He isn't perfect. He writes songs of self-loathing when he's drunk. He's actually a kind of weird guy with a weird dream, but the girl he likes encourages him to pursue it, even though it's a Dracula Puppet Rock Opera. Even to me, that's pretty weird. And he succeeds! It's just so refreshing.
10. Because it's freaking hilarious and contains one of my all-time favorite quotes:
When life gives you lemons,f*ck the lemons and bail.
Seriously. Netflix it. Or pick it up for $5 at Target. I was watching it last night as I fell asleep, and all I could think was, "I MUST REMEMBER TO BLOG ABOUT HOW FANTASTIC THIS MOVIE IS."
So I did that.
Now, back to your regularly scheduled really nice afternoon working on the back porch.
And by "your", I mean "my."
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10,000 words

Normally, a picture is worth 1000 words.
But I have 40 more pages left on this revision.
40 x 250 is 10,000.
That's a lot of words.
So I've got my Benefactor Shiraz and my skull cup,and I'm not stopping until I'm done.
Or I fall asleep. That could happen, too.
Wish me luck, friends. Ink & Bones is one step closer to reality.
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writing: on plotting and pants

Back in 2003, I wanted to write a book.
I had an idea. I had a title.
A really, really clever title.
And I wrote exactly one paragraph and then froze up for six years.
SIX. YEARS.
Why?
Because I didn't know how to start.
And I was terrified that I would somehow do it wrong.
If 2011 me were to give one piece of writing advice to 2003 me, this would be it.
Before you write, figure out if you're a plotter or a pantser.
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So they say there are two ways of writing: goodly and badly.
Just kidding.
Really, it's PLOTTING vs. PANTSING.
That means that you either plot out your entire story first or just write by the seat of your pants.
So how do you know whether you're a plotter or a pantser?
Look at your grocery list.
Is it a fill-in-the-blank computer list of things you always buy? Is it in store-order, numbered, or based on a cleverly organized system of couponing and moon cycles?
In short, is it precise and well-planned?
If so, you are probably a plotter.
That means that before you start typing IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT, you should sit down and hammer out an outline. Knowing the direction of your story will help provide the structure you need to relax and let the words flow. Give it a skeleton, and then just fill in the blanks in the correct order. First this happens, then this, then this.
Maybe you like the whole I. A. i. a. 11th Grade English Paper Outline thing. Or perhaps you like regular old numbers. Or graphs. Or spreadsheets. Or a whiteboard. Or a series of index cards or Post-It notes all around the room. Choose your poison and start plotting. And if you still want to hammer out that first paragraph, go ahead and hammer it out. Save it. And forget it.
Then finish your outline, plotter.
On the other hand, maybe your grocery list started with HONEY, because you're out of honey. Then you added SOCKS and BATTERIES and RED MILK, which isn't communist, just whole fat. Maybe you have to cobble your grocery list together from two receipts and a bookmark in the bottom of your purse. Maybe you've written the pertinent items on your arm with a Sharpie.
Maybe it's not so much a grocery list as a compilation of crap held together by random threads of memory and hunger.
If so, you might be a pantser.
I'm a pantser myself. I start a document and write everything I can think of. Scenes I envision. The end of the book. Character points. Whatever. All in random order, in big chunks. I thunk in URLs and definitions and bits of dreams and songs.
And as other points come to me, I write them on receipts or in notebooks or on my arm. I add them into the info-chunk portion of the document, embellishing or deleting as needed. But the process isn't organized at all. It's organic and flowy, with plenty of room to move things around or have interesting sidebars.
And when I have enough chunks, I start writing.
Eventually, if history proves anything, I have a book.
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Is that all?
Of course not. Don't be silly.
But I think that discerning my method really helped the first book come out. Knowing how to work freed me up to actually work and not feel like the novel was a huge, amorphous, terrifying beast that I would never master. I looked at those chunks of story and finally realized that they all added up to a book that I very much wanted to write.
Plotting and pantsing are simply your way to a first draft.
And the first draft, as we all know, is just the beginning.
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