Saturday, 21 January 2012

The Difference Between Visola and Aazuria

When I'm sitting on my bed with my laptop on a blanket over my legs, innocently writing Aazuria's lines, and I hear a strange noise in my house, I panic and grab the medium-sized dagger beside me. Then I proceed to think about all the types of people who could be breaking into my house, and what their motivations could be, and where I should position myself strategically, and what I should do in the event that something goes wrong. I look at the shadows through the doorway and think about what exactly I will do if I see the slightest movement. I think about my aim in throwing my dagger so I don't have to get up and remove the laptop from my lap (because I'll really just throw my knife into the person and go right back to writing?) and I think about how the dagger isn't perfectly weighted for throwing and I really should get up and get closer to the entryway so that I surprise them instead of them surprising me. A million other thoughts assail me, so I end up sitting there and staring at the shadows, paralyzed in almost-fear, reluctant but ready to take action.

When I'm writing Visola's lines and I hear a strange noise in my house, I eagerly toss the laptop and blanket off my legs, and grab my medium-sized dagger with excitement while wishing it were bigger. Then I proceed to run downstairs, looking for the source of the noise and hoping some bad-guy is breaking in with bad intentions so that I can kick some ass! I am fired up and ready to fight with someone, but alas, I live in Canada. Bad things don't happen much, (relative to America and my stories) and the strange noises are probably just my furnace struggling to keep my house warm. I am disappointed.

Obviously, I'm still very new to owning a house which constantly makes strange noises.

Thursday, 19 January 2012

Gratitude Moment!

I spend a lot of time in a cynical mood, complaining about what I don't have, or at least focusing on it.
Let me turn that around and take a moment to appreciate... no, let me be dorky and capitalize that for emphasis like a religious person would: APPRECIATE what I do have.
I have dedicated, loving readers who trust me and take the time to read my writing, which is the greatest honor I could possibly have. I almost feel dirty selling my work, because these people are so kind and sweet and their feedback is so precious to me, and so uplifting to my soul that I couldn't do without it.
Money has always been a great motivator for me in my life, but writing is the one thing that has always been separate from money. I kept writing sacred.

I don't know how I'm going to do this... I don't know how I'm going to mix up love and money, and get married to my work with no prenuptial agreement!

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

The truth is... I'm a liar.

I say in my author biography that I write best with slight inebriation, but I only said that because it amuses me and fits the classic archetype of the substance-abusing artist. Sure, I sometimes sneak some rum into my Coke Zero or a few drops of cognac into my tea, but I find that on days I don't drink I can write for 15 hours a day or more. On days I DO drink I can barely put in more than a normal 8-10 hour workday. I get tired and have to sleep like a normal person. Thus, I will have the productivity of a normal person, and the long term projected income of a normal person.

Over several years, or over the course of a lifetime, regular, moderate (not even excessive) alcohol intake can seriously inhibit the quality of life, and how much one gets out of life. Even if it was one extra hour of work per day that I lost from drinking, it would be too many hours. And frankly, anything that I can do or produce under the influence I can also do without it.

(Except for maybe sex scenes and really emotional dramatic scenes that make me cry. But the alcohol makes that even WORSE sometimes!)

In my story, even though the mermaids live for hundreds of years, they still treasure every minute. They are mortal; that's what makes life special, being conscious of your own mortality and choosing to make the best of every minute. Having constant goals to work towards, and channeling one's energy towards the right outputs... unless one's goal is to meander aimlessly. Which can also be interesting, and kudos for you: but at least be aggressive about the aimless meandering! Like, be determined to meander over a certain square mileage per hour, yanno?

The crux of the matter is that we all choose what we want to do with our lives and get out of our existence. I know that what I want is crazy and amazing, and I'm not willing to sacrifice any more hours to tiredness induced by alcohol... :)


I honestly always feel a little bitter when I read successful writers talking about how their parents read their stories when they were younger, and actually give them feedback on their work. I showed some of these articles to my mom, just to prove to her that some parents actually do involve themselves in their kids' lives, and she started crying, obviously very insulted. 
Then, instead of offering to read and review my work she continued watching The Bachelor or Entertainment Tonight or some such crap..............

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

Sherlock thinks I'm pretty

I have issues. Today I got pissed off at someone because they called me pretty. I told them to stop talking to me and I was annoyed for hours. In my defense, it was said in a particularly bothersome way. (I think.)

I told the person I was a bit antisocial and they responded:

Anonymous Annoying Person: lol oh come on a pretty face like that doesnt want to hang or doesnt hang with one
Anonymous Annoying Person: you most be joking

So then I thought I'd prove my distaste for social environments by telling this person to stop talking to me.

Synecdoche: My pretty face represents all of me. It is my pretty face that wants to be around people (not me, because I don't have anything beyond that) and the reason it wishes to do this is... presumably because it's pretty? Now how the hell does that make sense?

I really hate people judging me by my looks. They get this look on their faces that says: "You are pretty, therefore you must be shallow, trivial, frightened, ignorant, uneducated, fertile, fragrant, cheerful and optimistic, bitchy, you watch too much television, and you must have a limited vocabulary."

And I'm like, yeah, I'm one of those things: I'm a bitch, and I am staying indoors all the time to avoid confrontation with uninteresting and unoriginal people who have nothing more enlightening to say other than that I'm beautiful.

No shit, sherlock.

Now how about actually paying attention to a thing that comes out of my mouth or actually reading what I've written if you're so interested? Exactly. You're not.

If I manage to make any money from writing in the next three months before I turn 24 I'm going to buy myself a giant manly truck. A Hummer or a Ram 1500 perhaps. :) That way people will immediately think I'm a badass tough guy when they see my vehicle, and I like that kinda judgin'.

Monday, 16 January 2012

My Mermaids

My first novel has just become available!

I may change the cover eventually, since my best friend Christine hates it and like every woman I am not totally secure about looking at myself in a bikini. :) It would be awesome if I could get something with ice in it, but this isn't terrible for now.

Writing a book summary is tough because I'm not sure how much to give away. Here's what I came up with:

Deep under Arctic waters lies an ice kingdom carved into a glacier. Those who dwell within it possess magnificent biological secrets. Due to the dangers of impending war, the Princess of Adlivun is forced to flee her undersea utopia and regroup with her sisters in Alaska.

Captain Trevain Murphy is a successful king crab fisherman who has spent his life building his empire above the sea, and knows nothing of the empire beneath it. When he meets a mysterious woman in a strip club, he extends kindness towards her, unaware of her unique genetics and royal lineage. 

Trevain's attraction to the enigmatic Aazuria Vellamo will involve him in dangerous designs that will forever change his life, and his perspective on himself and his world. He embarks on a journey of self-discovery where he will need to release all of his insecurities and inhibitions in order to survive.

So! My book has what I hope is a totally unique take on mermaids. Throughout the world there are mythologies which posit the existence of humanoid creatures which live in the water. This book examines the possibility of such a being from a science-fiction perspective; mermaids do not have tails, for that is ridiculous. They are merely human beings with genetic mutations which allow them to breathe underwater and exist there comfortably. (They have  a tapetum lucidum in their eyes for advanced vision in dark waters, advanced thermoregulation, and some of them have a really funky melanin thing where their hair/eyes/skin change colors in the deep water compared to in the sunlight.)

And of course, all of the technical stuff aside, I have created awesome characters. Visola is my favorite (and I might say closest to being me, but that would probably make me seem terrifying) but Trevain is just so real and sympathetic. I hope my readers like him as much as I do...

Thursday, 12 January 2012

Yay, I have a blog.

I've had blogs before, but they're kind of dangerous in my hands because I tend to be very honest and open and share all kinds of horrible, extremely personal information about myself for the entertainment value. I used to keep a diary when I was very young and had no friends, and thought that paper could be my friend (I was wrong, by the way; Microsoft Word is a much better friend) but then once I did find a friend, I chose to write letters to her instead of to myself, because I thought it made me less abnormal. I have given up on trying to seem normal at this point. :( It always backfires.

A few boyfriends have also been used as blogs, but for the most part the guys I've dated have not really wanted to hear what was on my mind. They act interested for a time, of course. I guess sometimes when I glance in the mirror, I understand why. (If you discern arrogance or conceit, you are correct; but it's also a self-deprecating remark about how people value my looks more than my mind. I do this a lot.)

Hopefully as a wise, experienced 23-year-old (that was totally sarcastic) I can be a better, more appropriate blogger than I was at 15. That's doubtful though-- and for the record, I was pretty interesting at 15, and I had a few morals back then. Here goes nothing...