Lex Chase's Blog, page 15

Outline The Shit Out Of This: Part III

My favorite line in “The Martian” trailer, uttered by Matt Damon, is “I’m going to have to science the shit out of this.”

— Neil deGrasse Tyson (@neiltyson) June 17, 2015

Hello and welcome back to my Do The Shit Out Of This Series. You know, I’m going to be majorly bummed when The Martian comes out and it’s actually a raging pile of dogshit. But this line is so good! I have hope!

Okay, writers. This is for you. Today, I’m talking about outlining. Planning. That magical voodoo that everyone seems to have but you. There are some people who completely make up novels as they go, and many of them are very successful. For me to do that?

It sets my hair on fire.

So, for those of you that feel up a creek? Gather round!

For those of you that keep post-its in every drawer (me), scraps of paper (me), stacks of journals (me), physical files and folders (me), whiteboards (me), and have a constantly mobile life (me). You need something that can be easily carried, and always accessible across all devices.

Welcome… To Microsoft OneNote.

If you have Microsoft Office from 2010 and onward, and have no fucking idea what that little weird purple icon is or what it’s for, oh do click on it. Cliiiick it. Explore. If you have no idea what this strange thing is, familiarize yourself with this easy three-minute video! It’s the very same one I used to teach myself back in 2010!

Now, this guy’s exact principles, this is how I organize my notebooks. Using a real example, behold my Fairy Tales of the Open Road notebook. Spoilers blocked out of course. *winkwink*

Mmm…Organization…

Here we have my character tabs.

Taylor’s Tab

Atticus’s Tab

On these tabs I basically keep a repository of character pictures and inspirations. I do keep random notes (which have been redacted For Reasons.) and if the random notes pertain to two or more characters, I paste the note on all three pages.

Here are my tabs close up.

Here we have other tabs that I can’t show you For Reasons. Two you should note, are World Building and Throw Ahead. World Building is where I jot random ideas about how the Fairy Tales series works, how the magic works, and how it all goes together. I don’t toss in every single idea all at once, just as they come to me.

Throw Ahead is an amazing tab where I toss all the ideas in for future books, stuff that happens in book one, may not appear until book three. Or a clue I planted in book two, will pan out in a spin-off series. Likewise, I don’t try to plan this all at once. I just toss it in as it comes.

And then we come to the Outlines tab. Aaaah. The land of milk and honey of all my tabs. Divided into all three books, each title has their working blurbs, and then I have sub tabs consisting of What I Know About [BLANK], Post-Its Outline, and Outline. Yes, I really do roughly outline my books on Post-Its.

The tab I always start with is What I Know About [BLANK], it’s here I start tossing out random ideas. Stuff I might think is kind of cool for instance.

One I had was it would be really cool for the guys to go to a Pumpkin Chunkin’ competition. Why? I’ll figure it out later. But I jot it down.

For Fairy Tales, I need locations. I jot random notes of what I want. One I want for sure is Fenway Park which was actually in my Throw Ahead. I recently put out the call to the New Yorkers on FB about tourist traps. Times Square seemed to be the winner.

I also thought a really nifty scene would be for Taylor and Corentin bonding under the Hollywood sign. Romantic right?

But I also remembered in my Throw Ahead file there’s Darlene from Americana Fairy Tale who worked at Randy’s Donuts in LA. She could be useful to do [REDACTED] and later to bond over [REDACTED] at the Hollywood sign!

So I write all of that down.

When I get enough of this random idea vomit, they begin to form a natural chronology. Part of your subconscious brain trying to associate your ideas together.

Then it’s time for the outline tab.

It’s a numbered list, like so. And I cut and paste all of my random scenes in order into the list. Not all of them follow neatly one after the other. They need a few bits to fill in the gaps. But with the major points down, the rest is cake.

Partial Outline of Americana Fairy Tale. Gorgeous madness.

The best part? You don’t have to do this all in one go or sitting at your laptop. Get the OneNote app for your phone and tablet and take it with you on the go! Got a long commute? You got the time. Doctor’s office? You sooooo got the time.

Save carrying around a billion things. Notebooks, pens, and other heavy things that slow you down. Got a phone? Snap. Go. Done. Got a stylus with that tablet? Scribble it down.

There is a method to my madness, a crazy and rigid person locked in the body of an ADD free spirit.

My way is simply a guide of how I go about it. In the end, only you need a way to find how it works or you. Did it work? Did you adapt an alternate to your writing life? Let me know!

 

On The Menu This Week

Hello Internet. I know what you’re saying. Where’s my Lex Chase Flash Fic? Where’s my snippet of Works in Progress?

I got nutin’ for you this week. I’m currently working on a book about this joker…

#Ain’tYouPrecious~So right now you guys get nothing. Because I have seeeeekrits. Sorry!

But fear not beloveds! Get ready, because this October, Bayou Fairy Tale will be in your hot little hands. Taylor! Corentin! Ringo! Epic snark and badassery! And some new faces to go along with the crew.

Now for this week? On Wednesday, I got the latest coming at you on the Do The Shit Out Of This series with tips for planning stories. If you’ve never planned a story, or the shit makes you turn tail and hide, you’ll want to check that out. Previous posts you can find here with learning how to prioritize, and then part two with time management.

On Thursday, check out my monthly Dreamer column over at the Dreamspinner Press Blog! Hijinks and silliness galore, and this one is pretty silly.

And Friday, I’ll have a brand-spankin-new edition of Flash Fiction Friday! Tali Spencer is dropping by, so you know it’s going to be a good one.

[Flash Fiction Friday] M.A. Church presents “Drawings and Designs”

Hello Internet! Please welcome M.A. Church for this edition of Flash Fiction Friday! In this edition we meet Jay, a man shopping for an anniversary gift for his mate. But he gets more than he expected when he checks out the merchandise.

Drawings and Designs
by M.A. Church

Jay strolled past glass display case after display case, his attention on the sparkly gems inside. Thankfully the place was empty. He hated shopping surrounded by people. It tended to make him uncomfortable.

Diamonds flashed in an array of colors and metals gleamed as he walked past them. The shimmery, icy glow of the stones captivated him. So dazzling and enchanting… just like the one who held his heart. His lips lifted, a small smile crossing his face at the thought of his mate. Now there was one who could out-dazzle the most expensive rock.

And speaking of rocks…. He glanced at the never-ending pieces of jewelry. It was almost too much—especially since he didn’t know he wanted, just that he’d know when he saw it. So far he hadn’t seen it.

But he had an idea. Oh yes, he did.

A flash caught his eye. He stopped and glanced down at the brown stones, his hand resting on the glass case. The delicate filigree that graced the rings in this section was pretty, but not what he needed.

He checked out the rest of that particular display case, and then stopped, stunned. There. God, that was it! He’d found what he’d been looking for, and it was indeed perfect. The color reminded him of his mate’s eyes—they were such an exquisite chocolate brown. Their two year anniversary was today, and Jay wanted something special. So what if he’d waited until the last minute.

“Good afternoon and welcome to Drawings and Designs. I’m Ashley. Can I help you with anything? Anything at all?”

Jay glanced at the sales clerk on the other side of the display case. He’d caught the light, playful tone. Was the clerk flirting with him? Sun-kissed brown hair, dark brown eyes… and a five o’clock shadow. Not exactly what most folks think of when they hear the name “Ashley’.

Jay tapped the case. “The stone in these rings. What are they called again? I can never remember.”

“Oh, those are chocolate diamonds, sir,” Ashley said. “The term “Chocolate Diamond” is simply a marketing phrase coined by the jewelry manufacturer Le Vian. Chocolate diamonds are a type of brown, or cognac-colored diamond. But it’s very romantic too, don’t you think? Makes me think of strawberries, melted chocolate, and… whipped cream. ”

“Yes, perfect.” Good God, he is flirting with me. No one ever flirts with me. Thanks to a car wreck when he was ten, he had a long scar on the left side of his face that ran from his temple to his chin. It tended to draw attention, to say the least, and not always the good kind. But… the EMT had worked tirelessly and he’d saved his life. Jay knew then what he wanted to do with his life. Thirty years later he was one of the best surgeons on the country.

“I think… I think I might have just found what I’ve been looking for.”

“Excellent!” The clerk gestured at the silver-tone and chocolate diamond ring on Jay’s left hand. His voice dropped to a purr. “Very pretty. I assume since you’re wearing a ring you have a perky wife at home, mmm?”

Jay hiked an eyebrow at the other man. Yup, definitely flirting. “Well, I have a perky husband at home.”

“Reeeealy? What a lucky guy he must be.” Ashley moved a bit closer and licked his lips.

“I’m the lucky one. Now, I’d like to see that bracelet over there.”

“Of course, sir.”

Jay walked the length of the case and stopped at what caught his eye earlier. It was a dark chocolate brown leather bracelet with antiqued silver-tone barrel-shaped spacer beads. The spacer beads had inlaid chocolate diamonds. The bracelet had a gunmetal curb link chain, spring rings, and lobster claw clasp. Very masculine. The chocolate diamonds against the brown leather would make his husband drool.

“A very lovely bracelet.” Ashley opened the case and lifted the bracelet out. “I’ve been eyeing it since it came in two days ago. It’s a, um…” Ashley hummed with pleasure as he held the piece of jewelry. “Yeah, it’s a smoking hawt design.”

Jay froze. Then his lips twitched. He struggled not to grin, but failed miserably when Ashley snorted.

“Good grief, babe, how long have you been practicing that?” Jay rolled his eyes and took the bracelet from Ashley. “Smoking hot design? Really?”

Ashley smirked as he handed the bracelet over. “Hey, what you do expect with a last name like Design, Dr. Jay Design?”

“I’d expect someone with the last name of Drawing to cut me a little slack.” Jay shook his head as Ashley just hooted. He pulled the price tag off the bracelet. “Okay, arm out, Ash. I want to see what this thing that you’ve been dropping hints over looks like on you.”

“Didn’t think you caught them.”

“I might be tired when I get home, but I notice everything about you. Even the not-so-subtle hints you dropped about a certain anniversary gift and our store.” Jay tested the bracelet to make sure it was closed, then kissed Ashley’s palm. “It’s beautiful, as are you. Happy Anniversary.”

Ashley leaned over the glass counter and kissed Jay back. “Happy Anniversary. And you’re the beautiful one. Oh yes you are. Don’t you shake your head at me. You are.” Ashley stole another light kiss then leaned back. “Let me close up, and I’ll be ready to go.”

“Sounds good. I have reservations for us at your favorite restaurant.”

“Can’t wait.” Ashley started to hurry off, and then stopped. “Oh. Also, I have your gift at home.”

Jay bounded on his toes, delighted. “Do tell. Is it bigger than a bread box?” Hey, he could drop hints with the best of them too. There was this antique doctor’s bag on Ebay he wanted…

“It might be.” Ashley threw a wink over his shoulder.

Welcome Erin McRae and Racheline Maltese!

If you’ve ever dated anyone, chances are you’ve had some version of the awkward, unpleasant, or just downright embarrassing version of the meet-the-parents experience. For me, it was the first time I met the woman who would become my mother-in-law: I had just slept over at her house, with my then-boyfriend, now-husband, Ben.

As far as I knew, his mother was fine with him having girl- and/or boyfriends sleep over. But I’d never slept with someone and then had to look their parents in the eye before. As far as my emotional state was concerned, embarrassment was an understatement. Like, what smalltalk was I supposed to make while standing in the kitchen of a woman I’d never met before, whose son I had just slept with. Also, I was in my pajamas. It is hard to feel like an adult in pajamas.

Like in Twelfth Night, when Michael has to admit to his parents that he’s dating someone seventeen years older than him, and John has to admit to his parents that his boyfriend is seventeen years younger than him…and a boy.

We love writing about people navigating romantic relationships and having awesome sexytimes (and Twelfth Night has plenty of both). But we also really like the fun, and farce, and yes, embarrassment, of people meeting their S.O.’s parents for the first time. Because no matter how embarrassing or awkward things get as our heroes try to introduce their boyfriends to their families, it makes a great story.

Like many New Yorkers, I’ve spent most of my summers visiting the Jersey Shore. For me, that’s been the stretch of beach that includes Ocean Grove and Asbury Park.

Both towns, which together encompass little more than two miles of beachfront, are peculiar relics of another age. Asbury was one an amusement park town; today, while the mini golf and pinball hall of fame remain, the rides are all gone. Ocean Grove, on the other hand, started and continues life as a Methodist Camp Meeting town.

Today both towns are also popular destinations for LGBTQ travelers and have significant LGBTQ populations. Sometimes, this makes things awkward, like that time someone hissed something about lesbian witches at my partner and I as we walked down the boardwalk. Mostly,though, no one cares.

We set the opening of Twelfth Night in Ocean Grove and Asbury because we wanted to capture our hero John, who is still in the process of coming out to himself and others, adjusting to being someplace that was strongly queer and would recognize him as one of their own. But we also wanted to capture the sense he has of embodying a lot of internal conflicts, much like these towns.

Both towns are easily accessible by public transit and are just a few hours from New York City, and our worth your visit in you’re in the area. Regrettably, the nightclub with the “Less Lights, More Fun” marquee mentioned in Twelfth Night is no more.

Blurb:

Michael and John, a May/December couple, navigated the repercussions of their gay-for-you love affair in the hothouse of a summerstock theater production.

Back in New York City at the conclusion of their show’s run, John is overwhelmed by his obsession with Michael and the difficulties of learning to date again after the death of his young son and his recent divorce. John gradually comes out to his colleagues, his football rec league friends, and even his ex-wife.

But when he invites his parents over for Christmas to meet the person he’s been seeing, the holiday—featuring Michael’s family’s amateur production of Twelfth Night—quickly turns into a French farce of potentially catastrophic proportions, forcing John finally to take the lead in claiming his evolving identity as he takes the next step in his relationship with Michael.

Excerpt:

John doesn’t expect Michael to be as weirdly taken with the ocean as he is with the wild woods. It doesn’t seem like his element the way the trees are. But he is mesmerized by the beach almost instantly upon their arrival, insisting they walk along the hard wet sand of the tide line. It doesn’t matter how many times John says their muscles will ache unhappily tomorrow from miles walked at the edge of the frigid fall water; Michael either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care enough to respond.

John is fascinated as Michael keeps a close eye on shells and rocks. One is shaped like a small egg, and he’s disappointed when it’s not. Still he makes John hold it for him, running ahead to a rock jetty to comb through the midden of mussel shells left by persistent and angry seagulls.

John tries not to be horrified, but the sight of Michael’s fingers picking through the dead bivalves and seaweed stinking in the sun is a bit much.

“What’s this?” Michael asks, eventually, holding out a shell, colored and swirled, to him.

It’s in perfect condition, and John is about to be impressed with the find until he realizes there’s still a creature using the shell as its home.

“That’s an animal in there.” He doesn’t actually know what kind. But it’s gelatinous and of the sea and not really a thing they should be messing with. They’ve seen dozens of jellyfish washed up on the beach already today.

“Does it go in the ocean or not in the ocean?”

“Ocean,” John says. He’s not 100 percent sure, but he suspects, like the jellyfish, the sun and the birds will eventually cook and peck it to nothing if it’s not saved by the sea.

Michael throws the shell back and returns to the tide line as they walk, gaze carefully on the ground and picking at every shell he sees that looks like whatever creature he just rescued. Most of them have their animals in them, and John suspects the coming hurricane that’s going to ruin their trip is churning them up.

As Michael throws each one back into the water, John is charmed that he’s trying to save creatures that have no spine, names he doesn’t know, and forms he’s never seen before.

Eventually Michael decides they can leave and reaches for John’s hand. John flinches away. It’s not the strangeness of the town this beach is attached to, half religious meeting town, half gay beach paradise. There’s even a club down the block from their inn that advertises “Less Lights, More Fun!” It’s that he can only think about whatever bacteria Michael is now coated in from all the dead mussels.

God, but he’s going to look like an idiot explaining that.

When he tries, stumbling through a mini monologue about seaweed and sea creatures and sand, Michael just listens with his head tipped to the side.

Finally John’s speech drags to a halt under Michael’s incredibly unimpressed gaze. He sighs and starts again.

“Okay. I swear the handholding thing has nothing to do with anything except your gross dead bivalve hands. But I think I may be freaking out.”

Michael blinks at him. “Did this start when we checked in and you had to deal with people who know we’re here to fuck?”

It’s sharp, but John knows he probably deserves it.

“You know I don’t mind being out in public with you,” he says cautiously. He wants to be honest with Michael, but he also doesn’t want to provoke anger by being less willing to be out than Michael deems sufficient.

Thankfully Michael considers John for a moment and then grins. “Somewhere in the romantic beach getaway, I got that.”

John lets out a relieved sigh and wraps an arm around Michael’s waist. He wants to prove his willingness to be fully in this relationship without shame, but life is also just better when they’re touching. Michael leans into his side, and they start walking down the sand again.

“But it’s something I can’t help being aware of,” John says quietly as they walk. “What we are and what people see when they look at me. Which apparently means I’ve found my internalized homophobia, and I am completely aware of how gross that is. I’m going to work on that, but there it is.”

“You still want to, like, go out to dinner tonight and make out on the boardwalk, though, right?”

“Oh my God, you have no idea. I want to tell everybody about you.”

Michael smirks. “So why don’t you?”

“Coming out at my age is kind of more complicated than it is at twelve. Or however old you were when you did.”

“I was fourteen, thank you.”

“So how did you come out to your parents?” John asks after they walk for a few minutes in silence.

Michael cracks up.

“I’m serious!”

Michael buries his face in John’s arm and apparently can’t stop laughing. “You do understand how ridiculous this is, right?”

“I understand that I’m forty-two and have to come out to everyone in my entire life that I give a remote shit about, because you are addictive and fascinating and wonderful and also are sadly holding me to some pretty legitimate ethical standards. So help a guy out, okay?”

“I was making out with my first high school boyfriend in the living room, and my mom walked in.”

John is entirely not surprised. “So hey, when you meet my family, let’s not go with that plan, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, drawing the word out in a way that makes it clear it’s his turn to be defensive and weird.

John smirks, pleased to be off the hook for the moment. “You haven’t told them about us either,” he says smugly.

Michael mumbles something against John’s arm.

“What was that?”

“You’re really old,” Michael says. “And they’re going to freak.”

Bio:

Erin McRae is a queer writer and blogger based in Washington, D.C. She has a master’s degree in International Affairs from American University, and delights in applying her knowledge of international relations theory to her fiction and screen-based projects, because conflict drives narrative.

Racheline Maltese lives a big life from a small space. She flies planes, sails boats, and rides horses, but as a native New Yorker, has no idea how to drive a car. A long-time entertainment and media industry professional, she lives in Brooklyn with her partner and their two cats.

Together, they are co-authors of the gay romance series Love in Los Angeles, set in the film and television industry — Starling (September 10, 2014), Doves (January 21, 2015), and Phoenix (June 10, 2015) — from Torquere Press. Their gay romance novella series Love’s Labours, set in the theater world — Midsummer (May 2015), and Twelfth Night (Fall 2015), is from Dreamspinner Press. They also have a story in Best Gay Romance 2015 from Cleis Press and edited by Felice Picano. You can find them on the web at http://www.Avian30.com.

Social media links:

Joint Blog: http://Avian30.com

Joint Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Erin.and.Racheline

Erin’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/erincmcrae

Racheline’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/racheline_m

Erin’s Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8323893.Erin_McRae

Racheline’s Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1015335.Racheline_Maltese

Erin’s Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Erin-McRae/e/B00M7A0SVC

Racheline’s Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Racheline-Maltese/e/B001JRVS2C

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Twelfth-Night-Loves-Labours-Book-ebook/dp/B0139K6ZVA/

AllRomance: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-twelfthnight-1857858-149.html

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/twelfth-night-racheline-maltese/1122445722?ean=2940151204088

Dreamspinner: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=6728

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Racheline_Maltese_Twelfth_Night?id=20VKCgAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/twelfth-night-65

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25202261-twelfth-night

Time Manage The Shit Out Of This: Part II

My favorite line in “The Martian” trailer, uttered by Matt Damon, is “I’m going to have to science the shit out of this.”

— Neil deGrasse Tyson (@neiltyson) June 17, 2015

Hello Internet! And welcome back to The Martian inspired “Do The Shit Out Of This Series.” Here in this series, I’m going to share my tips and tricks of how I do it all, and still keep my sanity in check. Last week, I talked about setting priorities which you can see here.

I talked about how prioritizing is very much the anti-ADD. Make a list, check it twice, and feel the deep-rooted satisfaction of crossing it off. But how do you even make that list to start with? You think of all you have to do and you think you have to do it now, now, NOW!

You don’t.

Breathe with me.

You don’t.

My dear friend, and thorn in my side editor, Tricia Kristufek mentioned we live in an age of Instant-Everything. Social Media has radically altered the way we communicate. People worry about being disconnected but we’ve never been more plugged in. Information flies fast like a nailbat to the face. And you have to know when to duck, or you’re gunna end up with hamburger for a face.

So how about that time management?

I should add if you have more than three to five things on your list for the day, you’re doing it wrong.

Here’s today’s list for me:

Answer Email
Gym
Revise Chapters 2 and 3 of Urban Fairy Tale

That’s it. That’s all there is. Those are my three main goals today. Everything else is icing. Case in point, I’m actually sitting here in my gym clothes and as soon as I queue this post, I’m off to Planet Fitness. Yes. Really.

So, last month I finished co-writing a book, and I wrote a novella. And I edited two other books. Checkmate Ever After for DSP Publications and Bayou Fairy Tale for Dreamspinner Press. The edits varied in level of difficulty. We usually get a week to ten-day window. Use it. Don’t try to edit the book all in one go and hand it in the next day. Peck away at it, bit by bit. Set aside a time limit, or a page limit, when you get there and get to a stopping point, stop. And I do mean it.

For Bayou, I would do them in 100 page sessions. I didn’t have content edits on the story, thank god, but I still had bits I had to figure out. I also worked out if I took a stab at it every other day, I’d be done in time. And so I did. What else did I do? Checkmate Ever After edits in the meantime. Blogging. Planning new projects. Updating deadlines.

Stuff that had to get done that red-hot second, got done that red-hot second. And that was feed my cat. Nothing else.

Tyme 4 a N00B! How I Mine 4 Tyme?

Listen. Beyoncé has the same hours in every day like you do. And she be like…

#FLAWLESSI always say, if this shit is important to you, you’ll find a way. It may mean setting your alarm clock earlier. It may mean skipping your lunch break. It may mean staying up later.

My trick is if I have a task that requires me to leave the house (the gym) I take my notebook with me so when I get to my car, I can make notes on whatever project I’m doing. Or if I have to go further out, stop at a coffee shop to write. Or just pull up to Pensacola Pier and sit in my car to make words.

The Distractinator! Killer of Time!

It happens. We all suffer from being fucking distracted. That thing about prioritizing? Your list? If you do only the things on that list you’ll destroy those distractions. Trust me. You really don’t have to be on Facebook. Who gives a flying fuck about the latest rant of the day or which deadly virus are you? You can actually unplug. It’s cool people. No one’s going to call out the National Guard.

If you really seriously do not trust yourself and have absolutely no self-control, I recommend Stay Focused for Google Chrome. You can block out time of which sites you can get to for certain times of day. Set your work hours, and off you go. There’s also a Nuclear option where it will block you out of everything if you so desire and will not unlock until time’s up. I set it for four hours sometimes. It’s amazing. You will not believe the relaxing feeling you get when you’re shut off from the universe.

But what about your phone? Oh there’s an app for that. There’s the magnificent Offtime. You set your time limit and off you go. You can also set up apps you absolutely need to get to. But the bitch of it is if the app requires data usage, it’s still off limits. So if you have apps that need to sync, you are shit out of luck. And it’s glorious. You can also get out of it with simple baby ways, like a long press on your phone. Or more tricky of plugging it in to your charger. Or the most diabolical and my favorite is it will not unlock until time is up.

Now! Put it into practice!

First! Set your priorities. What are the three things you must do today? Here’s mine!

Queue DSP Blog Post
Outline Urban Fairy Tale
Write 2k on Urban Fairy Tale
(And feed the cats)

Second! Where are you going to find the time for all this business!

Join me next week as we continue our awesome series with “Outline The Shit Out Of This” featuring my favorite app OneNote!

[Monday Spark] Lex Chase presents “Hard Candy”

Hello Internet! Welcome back to Monday Spark! We’re back to me doing prompts because I have stuff in the works that if I posted snippets of now it would be Spoilery McSpoilerson. Let’s just say it involves a smart-mouthed dude princess and a jackass huntsman. And I’m not even talking about Bayou Fairy Tale that’s going to hit the digital shelves this October. Mwahaahahaaa.

But have a Fairy Tales of the Open Road inspired prompt. Meet Hans and his troubled sister Gertrude. Locked away for her own safety in an Enchant mental ward, is Gertrude really the only sane one in a world gone mad?

Hard Candy: A Fairy Tales of the Open Road Short
by Lex Chase

Genre: Fractured Fairy Tale

Prompt: The ninety-three year old woman…

Hans didn’t believe a word that left his sister’s lips.

“She put me here!” Gertrude cried and spun in a maddening circle. “She put me here!” The straps of her straight jacket trailed her like whipping tails.

Hans frowned and turned his attention towards the doctor. Doctor Aspic considered his notes on the clear plastic clipboard.

“Nothing seems to have had an effect on her dementia…” he said and scanned Gertrude’s chart. “We’ve tried every possible drug therapy. I’ve never seen dementia present itself in a twenty-two year old otherwise healthy girl. She just keeps babbling about her…”

“Her who?” Hans asked in a tone of scrutiny. “Not my wife…”

Doctor Aspic nodded and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Yes, Mister Andersen. She seems quite preoccupied with Miss Yaga…”

“The crone! The crone!” Gertrude shrieked and slapped her shoulder into the Plexiglas barrier between her and her brother. “She’s here! She can see me! She can see all of it!”

“Gertrude,” Hans growled into the intercom. “Babette is in France on business. How can she possibly be here? How can she possibly hurt you?”

“The candy! Did you eat the candy?” Gertrude squealed and spun on her socked toes.

Doctor Aspic met Hans’s gaze just as they turned towards one another.

“Candy?” Hans asked dubiously.

Doctor Aspic flipped through Gertrude’s chart again and frowned when he found the reference.

“She seems convinced she’s trapped in a gingerbread house…” he said.

“What?” Hans snapped. “What am I paying you people for?”

Doctor Aspic continued, “She seems to think Miss Babette Yaga is a ninety-three year old woman…”

“My wife is a crone?” Hans interjected then grinned. “That’s an awful lot of miraculous botox.”

Doctor Aspic chuckled. “Indeed, Mister Andersen.”

“Make her comfortable,” Hans said about his sister beyond the glass. “I’ll be back next month,” he said and popped a glossy red and white peppermint in his mouth.

Copyright © 2015 Lex Chase. All rights reserved.

 

Kim Fielding Presents “Snow Day”

Hello Internet! Welcome back to Flash Fiction Friday. Kim Fielding joins me today with her piece Snow Day. After a snowstorm, Ethan, a single man, makes a curious discovery of footprints leading away from his house.

Snow Day
by Kim Fielding

Ethan missed snow days. He remembered sitting in the kitchen with his toast and glass of milk, still wearing his footed jammies, waiting eagerly for the radio announcer to say that school was cancelled that day. Snow days had been like wonderful, unexpected gifts.

But it had been years since he’d received an unexpected gift. Now he was in late middle age and even though nearly a foot of the white stuff had fallen overnight, he still had to go to work. Maybe a few business would be closed today, but the hospital sure as hell wouldn’t. In fact, the ER would probably be extra busy today, what with the idiots who got in their cars and forgot that snowy streets were slippery, the daredevils who busted themselves up attempting winter sports anywhere they could find a hill, and the decrepit who keeled over trying to shovel their sidewalks.

Which reminded him—his stretch of sidewalk needed to be cleared before he went anywhere. What he really wanted to do was curl up on the couch with hot chocolate, a good book, and maybe season four of The Walking Dead. Or even better, curl up with a lover. Spend the day snuggling and napping and making love, eating junk food. Laughing. It had been years since he’d done all of that too.

Ethan put down his coffee and bundled up warmly.

The midwinter sun had yet to rise. Before heading to the garage for his shovel, Ethan turned on the porch light. But when he glanced outside, what he saw made him freeze: a set of footprints leading away from his front door.

“What the hell?”

As he opened the door, a blast of frigid air swept inside, making him shiver despite his heavy clothing. He stood at the threshold, staring at the white blanket that lay over everything, as pure and clean as a fairytale scene. Except for the large, deep footprints, as if the overnight visitor had been very heavy.

There were no prints leading toward the door—just the ones going away. In the darkness, he couldn’t see where they went once they reached the street. But where they went didn’t seem as important as where they had come from. He’d been alone in the house all night. Hell, he’d been alone in the house for six years, ever since Tom died.

Telling himself it was too early for mysteries, he closed the door and went to fetch the shovel.

God, he’d forgotten how damned heavy snow could be. This was wet stuff, the kind that managed to soak through supposedly waterproof boots and work its way through his clothing, chilling his legs even as his upper body sweated from the labor.  As the shovel scraped loudly against the concrete, he huffed and puffed like an antique locomotive. Appropriate enough, seeing as he was getting somewhat antique himself.

Maybe he ought to pay some kid to shovel for him. Like that strapping college student who lived a few doors down. But no, that would be a blow to Ethan’s pride. And anyway, if Ethan was going to hire the kid, he ought to do it in the summer. Then Ethan could sit on the porch and ogle while the kid mowed his lawn. Shirtless. Yeah, that would be better.

But now, Ethan was clammy and sweaty and short of breath, and he wished he’d been better about getting regular exercise. Tom used to nag him about it, but Ethan never felt as if he had the time. And a fairly strict workout regimen hadn’t saved Tom, had it? Pancreatic cancer didn’t care if you ran half marathons.

An unexpected stab of nausea clenched Ethan’s stomach as he lifted another heavy load of snow. He should have eaten something with his coffee, and he should not have allowed himself to dwell on thoughts of Tom this morning. He wasn’t usually so maudlin. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. He’d try to get a later shift the following week; that might help his mood.

He dumped the shovelful to the side with a muted thud and leaned on the handle as he looked up at the sky. No signs of dawn yet. There was a terrible beauty in these dark hours, a sense that all the world had fallen away and left him with nothing but a frozen expanse. He couldn’t smell anything except wet wool, couldn’t hear anything but his ragged breathing. Couldn’t see anything but the bit of driveway where he was working and the snow-covered walkway leading to his door. And the footsteps, of course. The steps that led away.

Ethan stood up straight. He slid the shovel blade under the edge of the snow, kicked it to wedge it in firmly, and lifted. Was this shit really snow or powdered lead? He grunted with effort and tried not to puke up his coffee. He really didn’t feel very good. Maybe instead of getting a snow day he’d need a sick day.

As he stood alone in the darkness, shovel in hand, contemplating whether he felt bad enough to call in to work, the pain hit. It was so intense, so sudden, that his first thought was that he’d been shot. He looked down at his chest, expecting to see blood. But his coat was whole and unsullied, and besides, this wasn’t a piercing pain. It was an awful clench, as if he had a vice squeezing his chest, or a charley horse in his heart.

His heart.

The pain radiated across his shoulder and down his left arm, up his neck and into his jaw. He dropped the shovel but didn’t hear it hit the ground.

Maybe that was because he was falling too. Slowly, like a snowflake drifting earthward, his parka making little rustling sounds and his lungs too tight to work at all. He landed in a heap. Maybe the snow cushioned him, or perhaps the existing agony was already so great he couldn’t register anything else, but the fall didn’t hurt. He tried to call out, but he couldn’t get air into his lungs. The neighbors wouldn’t have heard anyway. They were tucked inside their cozy beds in their well-insulated houses.

The sun rose. Not slowly and begrudgingly, as the winter sun was prone to do, but all at once—as though someone had flipped a switch. The snow dazzled with its brightness and the air glowed, and if Ethan could have managed it, he might have wept at the beauty. He might have said something poetic or profound.

But all he did was gasp desperately and clutch at his chest.

Amid the exquisite pain, even as he writhed on his back like an overturned beetle, Ethan heard the tiny crunch-squeak of footsteps approaching through the snow. A man stood beside him, hand extended, familiar face beaming in a wide, beloved smile.

Tom. Ethan couldn’t say the name, but he didn’t have to. He just smiled back and reached up for the offered hand.

Prioritize The Shit Out Of This: A Series

My favorite line in “The Martian” trailer, uttered by Matt Damon, is “I’m going to have to science the shit out of this.”

— Neil deGrasse Tyson (@neiltyson) June 17, 2015

“I’m going to have to science the shit out of this.” has been on loop in my head since I first saw the Martian trailer at Jurassic World. Not only is it an amazing and catchy line. It also applies to many things in my writing life, and yours too!

Last March I attended the DSP Workshop, where we Dreamspinners gather to talk shop, catch up, and for some folks it’s cocktail time! Charlie Cochet, Bru Baker, and I were hotel roomies, and that turned out to be the best idea ever.

Because not only did Bru and I end up coming up with the idea for Some Assembly Required at the workshop, we wrote it, and we submitted it.

Charlie, which the entire planet can agree, is fucking superwoman, gave me some awesome Yes, You Can Do It All tips.

The top two: Prioritizing and Time Management.

If you suck at one, or the other, or both, it isn’t too late to learn how to unsuck.

For reference, my brain is a very scattered place. Talk to me in person and you will see very well how I go from Point A to Point Q in a blink. I’ll eventually get to Point B if you’re patient enough to hang on for the ride. You’d think I’d rebel at the idea of structure. Wrong. I fucking love structure. 

Prioritizing the Anti-ADD

When writing Some Assembly Required with Bru Baker served as an amazing proving ground to trying out a new structure. Our work on SAR fell into a natural rhythm, we alternated chapters which gave us roughly a week break of writing to deal with other things.

In that time, I had started updating my blog regularly, gotten the contract for Bayou Fairy Tale, did my rounds of edits for Checkmate Ever After, did my rounds of edits for Bayou Fairy Tale, finished Some Assembly Required, and wrote Loving and Loathing Vegas. I had a flipping busy last four months.

How I did it? I had to science the shit out of it. I mean prioritize.

Ever hear that thing of do the easy things first and save the hard for last? Wrong. Do the hard stuff first, while you have the energy and drive. The easy stuff is just the icing for the end of the day. If you do the hard stuff last, you’ll be clean out of steam.

I have a whiteboard. I actually have four in this house and one of them is dry erase paint in my old bedroom. That’s a thing.  You may have seen one of them on Instagram.

Six chapters to go! Chibi Lex is in awe! #BayouFairyTale A photo posted by Lex Chase (@lexachase) on Apr 5, 2015 at 10:57pm PDT

This was from back when I wrote Bayou Fairy Tale. I made a list of chapters I had left, and one by one, I crossed them off. And for the humor and variety of it, I drew a little chibi of me in various states of excitement, awe, and death. A very simple list, but there’s always something pleasing about crossing things off.

Now, my whiteboard I list my deadlines. Right now I have listed in order of due date:

Outline to Star Fall (Darkmore Saga #3) – August 8
Bayou Fairy Tale Copy Edits – August 10
DSP Blog Post – August 13

What’s due first gets done first. On a very basic level it’s as easy as that. But some of these things have many steps to them. And my DSP Blog post involves sorting through photos and editing some for the blog post.

So, with steps involved, it means not putting things off until the very last second. It means what is due sooner gets worked on the most. Guys. This is no different than homework in grade school, high school, and college.

Am I the only one that actually didn’t wait until the last minute?

Tune in next week as I continue with “Time Manage the shit out of this.”

Also do yourself a favor and watch The Martian trailer right here.

I know right?!

Extreme Makeover Weight–Wait What?

My dad loves reality TV. (Sad I know, but ours is not to judge!) One of them is Extreme Makeover: Weight Loss Edition on ABC. It’s really not a terrible show, maybe a little overly dramatic in some places, but it really can be very motivating to not so tiny people like myself.

I’ve written often on this blog, and have talked openly about my struggle with my weight.

I wouldn’t call it a struggle so much, because a struggle seems to indicate I am fighting with someone who is threatening me. I’m not being threatened by someone. And if you want to get all metaphorical about it “I’m battling the enemy within.” Blah, blah, woof, woof. Unless spoons are going to someday become sentient and stab gobs of cake into my mouth, I’m pretty sure I’m not in a struggle or being threatened.

Do I not like my weight? Yes, of course. But the number on the scale does not define me as a person. I am not trying to lose weight for some unattainable goal like a lover’s affection or a parent’s approval. (Protip: If they didn’t love you as you are before, sorry, they’re not going to care when you do.) I made the choice to just have less of myself on my body.

Also, as a writer, it’s almost a stereotype that we are big people. And somehow that’s okay.

My dearest partner in crime and co-writer Bru Baker is a boss monster of inspiration. She is a marathon-running, gym rat freak, and even did paddleboard yoga. And yet finds the time to write amazing, funny, angsty and sexysexy novels.

During our time of writing Some Assembly Required, I would get stressed out about some event in my week. And some of them were some pretty major and upsetting things. I would vent at her and tell her I was going straight for the cake. She’d send a kind word and a reminder food never solves anything.

My link with food is entirely emotional. Stressed. Eat. Bored. Eat. Happy. Eat. Angry. Eat. Sad. EAT ALL THE THINGS.

Under doctor’s orders, I’m now on a strict no-sodium diet. Which actually doesn’t suck as much as I thought it would! Weight had been coming off at a steady pace!

But then it stopped.

And #LexBeLike…

Bed at 2:30am woken up by a cat at 9:30am. My deadline beverage RN. #amwriting #coffee #ohgoddying

A photo posted by Lex Chase (@lexachase) on Jul 19, 2015 at 10:06am PDT

#ReallyMe #Legit

So quite understandable why the scale stopped. I don’t mean that in a “oh it’s okay! I understand!” way. I mean in a “you bet that ain’t sugar free and skim” way.

So, the scale is “stuck” (picture the finger quotes), and of course I know why. Because when I stop making progress on something, anything I get discouraged and I run into the arms of Mr. Cinnamon Dolce Fappuccino. He gets where I’m coming from.

But I decided he and I really need to see other people. Because five minutes in a car at a stoplight doesn’t do it for anyone. Amirite?

I decided to try a new trick, because I am an omg killer night snacker. No chip bag is safe in the darkness. I’m also super hungry during the day. So I decided to give it a go with eating a large breakfast, a smaller lunch, and a light dinner.

And boom the scale moved. It moved a lot.

I’m no longer hungry all day. As a matter of fact, if I see anything that resembles ice cream, cake, coffee, or even a doggie bag of a half of prime rib, I just want fall over from being so not hungry.

That prime rib thing really happened by the way. Sacrilege, I know.

Second Helping of Loving and Loathing Vegas!

Hello Internet!

Tonight I’m burning the midnight oil to finish up my Dreamspinner Press Advent Calendar submission “Loving and Loathing Vegas.” So close to the end! To sum it up, Jackson and Vegas are just a pair of regular incubi guys who run a diner with damned good coffee and sinful pies. As living embodiments of Viagra, the two make a bet to score a date for Christmas. But that goes out the window when they find a baby girl in the trash. And she has strong opinions of her own.

Please enjoy! Mmmm piiiieeee~

Loving and Loathing Vegas
by Lex Chase

The diner may have been a ghost town on Thanksgiving, but on the days following the place was booming with customers. Hungry tourists passing through for a much needed pit stop, or those finding them on Foodspotting.

In between bussing tables, Jackson took every minute he could scrounge into checking out his Grindr choices on his smartphone. It was an exercise in frustration with the 4G randomly dropping and the wifi conking out. He bussed six tables by the time his phone would cooperate.

Jeshebet, Jackson’s new attachment, seemed to do well in the bustle of the diner. He had set up a temporary crib behind the counter by arranging giant cans of pickles into a walled rectangle and nesting her grocery basket baby carrier inside his creation.

Vegas had been too cheap to hire extra staff, but Moonbeam Rainbow-whatsit was more than happy to drop by to keep an eye on the baby.

It’s not that Jackson didn’t like him. He did like him. Kind of. At arm’s length. In that exchanging as few words as possible before it got incredibly awkward. He wasn’t jealous of his friendship with Vegas, or so he insisted. The guy was just… weird.

Okay. Maybe a little jealous.

A lot jealous.

He had a name Vegas had reminded him. Cillian. But it didn’t make it any less weirdo alert in Jackson’s head.

Jeshebet seemed to approve of Cillian’s company, which made Jackson’s hackles rise. It was silly, it wasn’t like she was Jackson’s flesh and blood, but he had become might possessive of her. The whole situation was temporary, and if he was going to take care of her, he wanted to make sure she wasn’t scarred for life. Not that she’d remember anyhow.

Jackson nodded to Cillian as they both hung out behind the counter.

Cillian smiled in return. He had one of those smiles that rivaled the sun, and Jackson swore damned birds would tweet around his head if they could. Everything about him was nice. Impossibly nice. No wonder Vegas took a shine to him.

Jackson considered his phone, hunting through his Grindr choices. He was so out of his league when it came to the friendship Cillian and Vegas shared. He had declared Cillian off limits for the bet, but even as a creature only made for sex, Jackson understood the heart wants what it wants.

Jackson just had to try harder. Maybe Jeshebet would be his ace in the hole of getting a date. There must have been some guy in this one stoplight town that loved kids. But the list of available men that Jackson was reasonably attracted to in this town had one man on it.

Jackson looked over his shoulder into the kitchen as Vegas manned the grill. He felt a little lightheaded as Vegas worked. Vegas’s timing was near superhuman when it came to the kitchen. He may have insisted their powers were sealed, but Jackson suspected Vegas still used a measure of them to give him an edge.

Jackson swallowed and then ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Sweat soaked through Vegas’s thin tanktop, clinging to the small of his back. His broad shoulders glistened under the kitchen lighting. He kept his hair tied back in a blue bandanna, the cloth lay flat like a classic housewife headscarf. Jackson’s throat tightened at the intense concentration on Vegas’s face as he flipped a row of burgers.

Only Vegas could make cooking hamburgers look obscene.

Not happening. Jackson cursed himself as his blood pressure rose and his supercharged hormones encouraged his body into inappropriate displays. He took a breath. What would have humiliated a human in a public scenario, incubi had a way of turning their physical arousal on and off at will. As the start of his hard-on dissipated, he looked up just at the right—or wrong—moment as he caught Cillian glancing at Vegas too.

Fine, Jackson thought. This was how it was going to be. He could handle this. He’d just shake it off. It’s not like Vegas had a billion lovers before. And really he had a billion lovers. Surely, Cillian was well on his way to making Vegas break his vow of celibacy.

Copyright © 2015 Lex Chase. All rights reserved.