May 29, 2007
As I sit here on my bed, laptop open, busily inventing new and exciting adventures for Juliet, my heroine-of-the-moment, my daughters run past me, circling through my room, through the hall, through the bathroom, and back again, around and around in circles they go, clad only in their underpants, shouting at the top of their lungs, “I’m a MAN, Momma! I’m a MAAAAAAAAAN!”
I believe it was Mark Twain who said, “It’s no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.” Now let me guess what you’re thinking: Twain was a friggin’ genius.
Right?! Hey?! Am I RIGHT?!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sit back, figure out how best to embarrass my daughters with this story when they are teenagers, and wait for their over-tired, it’s-almost-bedtime hysteria to wear off.
Then it’s off to bed they go, and I’ll just be sittin’ over here, laptop open, writin’ the fiction, chillin’ like a villain.
And… here they come again. “I’m a MAN! I’M A MAAAAAAN!”
May 26, 2007
Don’t tell Blake and his pants (I refuse to acknowledge the argyle; I have issues with the argyle), but… Jordin Sparks was so frakking awesome (the first time she performed “This is My Now,” and when she won American Idol and performed “This is My Now”) that she actually brought me to tears. Twice. Because of her wicked awesomeness? Then I laughed, because when my Ry-Ry stood next to her and tried to comfort her? He looked like a wee leprechaun. Because of his adorable wee-ness? Hee. I just pictured the scene again. Good LORD! That man is WEE!
Okay, so Jordin rocks, that’s all I’m saying.
Uh-oh. TGIM just caught me posting about American Idol! Oh, TGIM, you know AI means nothing to me. I was weak! I WAS WEAK! I just wanted to see Blake and his pants–just one more time–and maybe catch a little La-la Percocet Paula Sunshine, and perhaps a bit of Simon’s snark, but it was all about Jordin! Because she was AWESOME! I’m not lying! Watch! You’ll see!
But I never meant to hurt you, baby. It will never happen again, I swear.
(Okay. Gotta go. See you next year. Rock on, Jordin!)
May 23, 2007
The strange thing about writing novels is that sometimes the story gets away from you. You know, takes on a life of its own? The characters run amok and wind up surprising you with things you just did NOT see coming. I mean, I always knew there was something not-quite-right about Jake. Something… different. But this?
(excerpt 1 from Juliet Moss novel)
“You’re a ghost?”
Jake cocked an eyebrow at me. “Is that a problem?”
“A ghost,” I repeated as I narrowed my eyes at him and folded my arms across my chest.
“That’s right,” he answered, folding his arms across his chest.
“As in ‘Casper the Friendly’.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. Well, except for the transparent, floating around in the rafters part.”
“A chain-rattling, house-haunting ghost,” I said, recklessly waving imaginary chains in his face.
He pushed my hands away. “Well, it’s not so much ‘house-haunting’ as it is ‘hanging around.’ Come on. ‘Skulking,’ maybe.”
I jabbed his chest with my finger. “Then why can I touch you?” I asked, willing my knees to stop shaking, the traitors. I mean, this—all of this—was ridiculous… right?
He paused, his eyes distant, thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he finally answered.
“Seriously,” I said, my voice rising to an embarrassingly high note of near-panic. “A ghost?!”
“Could you keep it down?” He nervously scanned the parking lot, then turned his gaze back to me, his dark eyes intense, serious. “And is it just me or is this conversation going nowhere?”
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just so—”
“Hard to believe,” Jake finished for me with a rueful grin. “Trust me, I’m right there with you.”
“I was going to say ‘freaky,’ but what you said works, too.”
(excerpt 2 from Juliet Moss novel)
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“God, Jake!” I yelled. “My heart!”
Jake chuckled. “Why so jumpy there, Blondie?”
“Would you please stop lurking and jumping out at me like that?” I demanded. “Myocardial infarctions are not my friend.”
Jake walked out of the shadows at the side of the school. “Sorry.”
I cast him a dirty look. “No you’re not,” I muttered.
“Well, in my defense, it is pretty funny. You get all twitchy,” he said, opening his eyes wide and twitching his shoulders a few times to drive home his point.
“I’m not joking. You’re wound tighter than a spring.” He stopped imitating me and let his eyes wander up and down my body. “You need to relax, Juliet Moss.”
The boy sure knew how to make a girl blush. Remember the mocking, I told myself sternly before saying, “Whatever, perv. And hello, yeah,” I gestured to draw his gaze back to my face, “up here, buddy. Eyes above the neck, if you don’t mind.”
Jake leered suggestively at me. “Oh, but I do mind.”
“Seriously?” I mean, the nerve of this dead guy. “Shut it or I will pop you in your mouth.”
He grinned so radiantly I had to turn away to hide my involuntary smile. “It was worth a shot,” he said simply.
I snorted. “Dude, you’re a ghost. There is no shot.”
“You wound me.”
“Well, sure, if you want to be Miss Technicality.”
Jake laughed as I threw my hands in the air and growled in frustration.
You see? I mean, a ghost?! WOW. Who knew?
May 16, 2007
I seem to have misplaced my mad blogging mojo.
May 14, 2007
I don’t know whether to be flattered or genuinely insulted by this dude’s blatant rip-off of my podcast name. Honestly. One quick Google search for “Veronica Mars Rewind” and anyone can see that someone is already using it.
For real. Show a little originality, people.