The End is Here

May 105It feels like only yesterday I waved goodbye to my kids as they got on the school bus. I blinked and what do you know, it is June already and school is over. What happened? It’s time to put away the backpacks and embrace summer vacation and all the fun (and fighting) that it will likely bring.

This is one of those points of the year that I like to sit down and think about goals, where I am, and where I want to be. I do the same January 1st and I will likely do it again when the first day of school begins. I like to reflect and ask myself since January, did I do everything that I’d set out to do?

Well, I’ve fallen short on posting on my blog, no secret there. Funny how even though I’m surrounded by a world of crazy little people and writing that I still fail to find anything worthy of sharing here. I really want to change that.

Summer Goal #1: Post on the blog more often!

I have been tossing around a couple of ideas to help on this one. For starters, I’m going to write about what we do over the summer and while we’re not the most exciting family in the world, this might prove entertaining, photos included. Secondly, I want to share some of the books that I enjoy to help spread the word for fellow authors. Every little bit helps, right? I’ve had others do this for me and I greatly appreciate it. I’m happy to return the favor. And third, I want to share more of what I write. I’m going to share a story as I write it and welcome feedback on how I can make it better. This will help me create a better story and hopefully entertain my readers in the process.

Since publishing GHOSTS in January, I’ve done very little in terms of getting the next book out into the world. I have several ideas floating around in my head but have spent little time focused on sitting down to put those stories to paper.

Summer Goal #2: Write that next book!

This will be a big challenge over the summer but even if I only manage to write 1,000 quick words in the morning, it still adds up. In the fall I will have more time to focus on rewrites and edits. Now I just have to decide which story gets my attention first – The young adult novel (potentially) about evil lurking in the hallways at Bridgetown High School or the paranormal novel about the ghost who helps a writer come up with her stories? Thoughts?

I have recently decided that my formerly published novels could benefit from a rewrite, especially THE BETWEEN WORLD, which still has so much potential. I feel as though I barely scratched the surface on that story and I’d do it justice if I spent just a little bit more time with it.

Summer Goal #3: Re-imagine THE BETWEEN WORLD!

Considering the fact that I’m already knee-deep in summer adventure with the family and busy with all this blogging that I plan to catch up on and new stories to write, goal #3 is going to a toughie. I might be biting off more than I can chew so I should probably stop myself here before I get too crazy. After all, I only have three months to fit all this in before school starts and I sit down to decide just how well I’ve managed to do what I set out to do.

As for the kids, well, wait until they find out that I have weekly trips to the library planned out for us and not only will we be reading a lot of books, but we’ll spend time creating our own stories as well. No doubt, whatever comes from the imagination of a 7, 6, and 4 year-old will be amusing and I look forward to it immensely. When we aren’t reading or writing, we will spend time doing pages from our new summer workbooks.

But don’t worry because it won’t all be work, work, work. Maybe we will take a trip to the beach via Washington DC. (Still working out that idea) and of course there will our annual trips to Kennywood and Idlewild in addition to outings to the local parks and lakes and maybe even a camping trip thrown in there for good measure. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

In the meantime, Happy Summer!

C is for Characters and Connections

masks

When I was young, I developed an infatuation with the theatre and I decided I wanted to be a scriptwriter and actress when I grew up.

As a matter of fact, you might remember an earlier post about my first venture into writing which happened in fourth grade when myself and a couple of girls from my class decided to create our own play one day on the playground. I’m not sure what prompted us to do this. If memory serves, it was Melissa’s idea so maybe her parents had taken her to see a play recently and this inspired her to create her own? Maybe it was something we had talked about in class? I don’t know. It seemed like fun so I went along with the idea. I was always big into make-believe.

Our fourth grade teacher was impressed enough with our efforts that he allotted class time for us to perform our play in front of everyone. I don’t remember what our play was about and I don’t remember how big of a part I had in it but I do remember quite clearly falling in love the day I stood in front of the class even if I wasn’t sure exactly why I felt this way.

That moment sparked something inside me and ignited an obsession to write. I wrote pages and pages – all plays. In my mind, I fantasized about performing in front of my peers again although the other girls in my little group went back to jumping rope or playing tag on the playground, their careers on stage short-lived. There wouldn’t be any more plays performed in fourth grade.

It didn’t deter me. I kept writing. I kept imagining.

When the opportunity presented itself later in high school to study theatre with a small group locally, my parents agreed to let me go for it. I was always a quiet person so I’m not sure that many people believed I had much hope on the stage but I was determined enough to give it a try. As it turned out, I surprised us all, myself included.

I joined the group with big expectations … and a lot of fear. After all, the other kids in my group were far more outgoing, a little bit older, and certainly more experienced when it came to being on stage. Aside from my brief stardom in fourth grade, my stage credits went to torturing parents as my friends, cousins, brother, or anyone else I could coerce into engaging my obsession and I performed whatever I had come up with for the day.

I learned a lot about the theatre, not just acting but what goes on behind the scenes as well. And of course, the experience would not be complete without actually performing something. Our director chose a series of monologues written by students around our age called Sometimes I Wake Up in the Middle of the Night and assigned us each a character with our own history and experience which we as actors helped to create and develop. My character, Lisa, was the youngest of the bunch and the most naive.

Unlike most plays that tell a story and the characters interact with each other, our series of monologues meant that each actor had her own space on the stage and when it was our turn to speak, we took over the audience.

I suppose I could have been terrified and sure, on opening day, a part of me was. Family and friends would be attending. We’d made posters and shared them across the community. The newspaper wrote an article about us. When the curtain opened, there would be people occupying those seats, a lot more people than my fourth grade class. Those people had paid money to watch us perform so they’d have bigger expectations than a group of kids getting out of a math lesson. My director had her doubts that my quiet personality would fill the stage and so did I.

But you know what? Something magical happened what I stepped onto that stage. When the spotlight hit me, I came to life. I wasn’t nervous anymore. I wasn’t me anymore. I was Lisa and when I spoke about my loneliness and fears of the dark, the audience responded and I felt a strange connection that I’d only just hinted at before. By the time the spotlight went down after my first monologue and I sat in the darkness, I couldn’t wait until the spotlight returned to me so that I could continue to share my connection between Lisa and the audience. By the end of it, I’d impressed my director, my cast members, and the family and friends who’d come to see me and I’m pretty sure I’d done my part to satisfy the members of the audience that didn’t know the quiet Stephanie behind Lisa.

I’ve never stopped writing but every once in a while, I wonder to myself what keeps me going. After all, 90% of what I’ve written has never been shared and probably never will be. Being on the stage is very different from writing a novel but essentially storytelling is the same. The basic drive is bringing to life characters that will make the audience feel some sort of connection. On the stage, that connection is immediate. In a novel, I won’t know when you gasp or laugh or feel sad but I can hope that emotions still exist on the page. There is a dialogue that exists between the writer and the reader. In some way, our worlds come together and we share some common bond, even if it is only temporary.

Which books do you think have most successfully created connections with readers?

B is for Bacon, Boobs, and Beer – A Tragic Tale

Thank you Stephanie and Dave for supplying my B words of the day. You are both awarded honorary B’s! Yep, that’s the one … Best Buddies. 😉

friendsSo my little bacon bits… on with the post. Indeed, the late post.

This is a tale that begins with another B word, a British Boy who liked my boobs. His name is Stu.

DSC00277I met Stu once upon a beer in the beautiful city of London. Oh, the stories I could tell of London! Oh, the stories that I shouldn’t tell of London…

I liked this Stu guy so I stuffed him in my suitcase and dragged him back across the ocean with me to my home in the US. While we chose to settle here, all of his friends and family are still in England so that means that from time to time, visits are required.

There are many things that I love about England. Believe it or not, it’s not just a country of husband potential. There are slugs there too, really, really cool slimy slugs that crawl everywhere! Every evening I made Stu go for walks so that we could look at the slugs, get some fresh air, and explore. And yes, this also meant that we couldn’t walk past a graveyard without reading all the tombstones. (Why this guy married me is anyone’s guess.)

I love English cheeses to enjoy with a glass a wine. I love Hobnobs, especially the ones with chocolate.

I wish that I could say that I love the beer because there is definitely plenty to go around at the pub but I’ll stick with my rum and coke. I’ve never been much of a beer connoisseur.

And then … there is the Bacon. Oh yes.

Mind you, at home I’m not really much of a bacon-eater. I make it at most twice a year. Once on Christmas Eve when I put together our “crockpot breakfast casserole” that includes bits of fried bacon in addition to eggs, frozen hashbrowns, onion, and cheese. I throw it in the crockpot when we get back from Grandma’s house Christmas Eve night and by Christmas morning, it is a heavenly breakfast just waiting to be eaten. (Trust me!)

Beyond Christmas, well, every once in a blue moon I go insane and I decide it’s a good idea to pick up a package of bacon at the grocery store and randomly cook it for breakfast. Only problem is, I’m really the only one that cares to eat it and it’s more of a greasy headache than it’s worth.

American bacon is just messy.

But British Bacon. Oh my. Stu and his family introduced me to something they call a “bacon butty” and a mi me gusta mucho. As a matter of fact, whenever I visit, it’s a given that the in-laws will have bacon on hand to make me one for lunch.

I might love those people or something. They feed me.

So, how is this a tragic tale, you’re wondering?

Apparently, these delightful bacon sandwiches also come with another B word that I’m not so crazy about – Butter! As a matter of fact, it’s not so much that I don’t like butter, it’s more like I shudder at the thought of actually being in contact with the stuff. How can people put butter on their toast? On their potatoes? On their corn on the cob? Ick. Double ick. I’ve never liked butter and I never will. That goes for all the butter wannabes too like margarine and ‘I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter’ but why the hell is it even trying? I’ve never liked butter and that fact is never going to change.

The in-laws know this and they respect my wishes. A bacon butty without butter is amazing but …

Sometimes people forget.

As a good guest, I don’t want to disappoint the people who go out of their way to try to please me with the things that I like so during my last visit, mouth watering as I sat down at the table for a bacon butty and a cup of tea and bit into a sandwich that had both sides slathered with butter…

I still ate it.

I guess that says something for British Bacon.

baconbutty

 

A is for Alien Abduction

Bad blogger. Bad, bad blogger.

That’s me. I don’t know what it is about writing in a blog that makes me seize up in utter terror every time I open to my dashboard. I like to write. Really, truly, I do. So then, why is it so difficult to post something here every once in a blue moon (aside from that whole a million things to do and not enough time to do it idea, of course)? I can come up with little posts for twitter or facebook but give me free reign to write more than 160 characters and my brain goes blank. I forget how to write. I don’t know what’s going on but if you figure out, please feel free to share.

Rest assured, even though I’ve been out of touch, you haven’t been forgotten. I would also like to take a moment to say thank you for all the new followers I’ve had recently. I do appreciate your taking the time to follow and I am going to do my darndest to start posting once in a while. I mean that.

So, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to come up with ways to keep me writing. I’ve seen others use the alphabet effectively to come up with blog posts. I’m not sure exactly what the “rules” were in this approach but heck, who said I ever followed rules anyway, right? I’ll make it up as I go. Here is my own version of what I’ll call “alphabet blogging” and it will be my new Monday feature.

Today, A is for Alien Abduction! Why? you ask… Well, why not? I couldn’t actually come up with anything better on short notice. (Part of that whole blank brain syndrome.) I was watching a movie recently where one of the previews was for The Fourth Kind, a movie that I will not be watching anytime soon less I would like to have nightmares for the next several days. (weeks? months? years?) A quick scan of the movie premise assures that I will not be moving to Alaska either. But thinking about aliens always leads me to wonder why I’ve had this life long fear of aliens, or particularly alien abduction. I don’t know.

It’s not that I sit around thinking about aliens every day, mind you. Really, I don’t. But I suppose if I had to pick a ‘monster’ from stories or movies that I fear the most, it would have to be them and I feel a little guilty for automatically lumping them into that ‘monster’ category but that’s how I’ve seen them portrayed. (minus E.T., of course) I believe in ghosts but I don’t fear being haunted. I don’t know if I believe in aliens (the abducting, probing kind anyway) but I sure don’t want to have an encounter. I don’t want to even read about it in the newspaper, thank you very much. Although I am sure having that experience could lead to some interesting blog posts, I’m going to pass.

Every once in a while, I wonder if maybe I’ve been abducted multiple times over the course of my life and I just don’t remember it? (Cause you know, they do that whole brain wash thing afterward so I can’t run off and tell people about their shady night time experiments.) I laugh it off and tell myself it’s absurd. I’d have to remember something or at least have unexplained marks to show for it, right? Then I look at my children and I think … well, some days I’m not quite sure where exactly they did come from. WHAT IF?? I could be walking around with half human / half aliens! (Ha ha ha)

Maybe someday I’ll even write a story about it …

Next Monday I’ll be celebrating the lovely letter B. B is for ….?? Your choice. Pick a word and offer it up in the comments. If I actually get any suggestions (please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top?), I will choose one of those. If I don’t get any suggestions, well, who knows what sort of ramblings you’ll end up with…

I leave you with four past posts I’ve written concerning our lovely subject of aliens. 🙂

https://stephanieingram.com/2012/06/28/holy-caterpillar-batman/ (The alien caterpillar that invaded my backyard last summer.)
https://stephanieingram.com/2012/06/11/aliens-have-landed/ (Fun with aliens from my younger days.)
https://stephanieingram.com/2012/10/09/october-challenge-year-9-writing-writing-writing/ (My start in writing included a special story about UFO’s.)
https://stephanieingram.com/2013/01/03/is-there-life/ (More boring ramblings about the possibility of life on other planets.)

 

When All Else Fails… Just Dance

What are the words that every mother dreads to hear?

“Please, Mummy, can we listen to Lady Gaga?”

It’s my fault, I suppose. I can only blame myself. I may not be a huge fan but I do own two of her CD’s and often when it’s ‘dancing time’ in the living room, I will reach for The Fame. There are quite a few songs on that CD that I like.

Apparently, there are quite a few songs on that CD that my kids like as well and they have made it quite clear that while we’re in the car, the only music that we should be listening to is Lady Gaga.

There are only so many times that I can listen to Lady Gaga before I start engaging in road rage behavior. I know the words to every song.

So do my kids.

Let’s have some fun,

This beat is sick,

I want to take a ride on your disco stick

 “What’s a disco stick, Mummy?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps, we should listen to some REM this morning. We need a break from Lady Gaga, don’t we?”

Was I just exceeding the speed limit?

(roughly two minutes later…)

“I don’t want to listen to REM. This music is boring.”

“Mummy, can we listen to Lady Gaga?”

Just like a chick in the casino
Take your bank before I pay you out
I promise this, promise this
Check this hand cause I’m marvelous

 “She said ‘chicken’” (laughing hysterically) “She said, ‘chicken’, Mummy!”

“Right… ‘chicken’… of course, she did.”

I’ve given up on my chances for the Mother of the Year Award. Even still, Just Dance wins the prize as our all-time favorite dance-in-the-living-room-song so we shall heed the advice of Lady Gaga…

Just dance. Gonna be okay.
Da-doo-doo-doo
Just dance. Spin that record babe.
Da-doo-doo-doo
Just dance. Gonna be okay.
Duh-duh-duh-duh
Dance. Dance. Dance. Just dance.

And when things get a little too crazy in the car, I reach over and switch to the trusted radio because you can’t wrong with that, right?

“Mummy, why do you have to fight for your right to party?”

Any thoughts on this one, Beastie Boys fans? 😉