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Showing posts from October, 2015

7 Things Writers Should Do on Halloween

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Hand out Books instead of Candy – There are a lot of allergies out there anymore so navigating the peanut infested candy bowls of Halloween can be downright scary for some kids and their parents. Make it easy for everyone, hand out books instead!
Dress up like your favorite character – Emphasis on YOUR character. Make sure it’s someone you’ve created, that way, when anyone asks who you are, you get to tell them about your book. Bonus points if you dress up as your book. Put your crafting skills to use with cardboard, duct tape and high resolution print outs from your local office supply store!
Eat so much candy you get a massive sugar high (not so much you go into a coma) and write your magnum opus in one night – I can’t guarantee that you won’t wake up to a notebook full of indecipherable scribbles in the morning, but it’s worth a try!
Bathe in the blood of your enemies – or just add food coloring to your bath… I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being pink for the next few days or a wee…

7 Ways You'll Exercise As A Writer

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Typing marathons. Prep for these with word sprints and a healthy diet. You don’t want to get to mile 15 and be ready to fall out of your chair to writhe on the ground with finger cramps!
Coffee refill relay. Or tea, or whatever beverage keeps your creative juices flowing. That constant jog/shuffle back and forth from desk to kitchen is going to tick up the numbers onyour pedometer a lot more than that chase scene you just wrote!
Exploring other perspectives. Much like a butterfly press, this one requires some upper body strength. Mostly because the lazy alternative is going to seem like a good plan. DON’T GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS, GYMRAT!
With Run-on Sentences. You don’t even need a good pair of running shoes! Slippers or bare feet work just fine. And, since you don’t have to leave your house, you don’t even have to put on pants! And let’s face it, this is less annoying than the rhythmic jush of a treadmill.
Dodging the comments section. Like those red rubber balls in middleschool gym class…

Feminism Is Important To Me

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A while back another female author chose to use “Oh right, you’re one of those feminist types” as an insult/reasoning behind my opinion that a certain work had shallow exploration of a main character and that the story fell into the all too familiar habit of portraying women as cold, bitchy and means-to-an-end.

That and a few other things got me thinking:
Why do so many women seem to think feminism is a bad word? Why do so many people think feminism is a grab bag of castration (metaphorical or not) and a refusal to shave your legs?
How does equality for women equate to oppression for men?

Feminism is: The advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.
When did things get twisted to the point that some women would rather pretend to be “one of the guys” and accept that the patriarchy does not see them as equals as long as they can be “one of the good women”?

I am a feminist because I believe that my gender does not determine whether or not I’m …

7 Things You'll Eat As A Writer

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Your weight in comfort food. Seriously, pass me the doughnuts. Pick your poison and expect to pop open that box/bucket/wrapper/whatever because there will be days you hit an awful spot in a draft, a revision, or a review, and you’ll want to have your stash handy (or your delivery boy’s number on speed dial). Other days, you’ll crack open your go-to snack because you’re burning through a ms and you CANNOT STOP FOR ANYTHING! SOMEONE BRING THIS MAN A STADIUM PAL!
The ends of Pens. I don’t make the rules.
Tear soaked… anything. Don't worry if you're mid-draft brain has you sucking the moisture out of a tear stained sock to rehydrate yourself (unless it's a dirty sock, then be afraid; if it's not your sock at all… well, I guess it's good there's no one around to judge you.)
Your words. They won’t sustain you, but you can bet you’ll eat those black lines and curves you plop down on the page from time to time. You’re going to make commitments that are just out of your ab…

IWSG: Support

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This post is part of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group, the brainchild of Alex J Cavanaugh. Posts go out the first Wednesday of every month. Join up to post with almost 300 other blogs.



Writing can feel like a very solitary activity.

You sit at your computer/notebook and you create worlds. You tap out 100,000 words…. And no one’s there to help you or give you encouragement beyond the general “way to go.”

One thing that is important about writing is support. This isn’t a completion, it’s a community. I want you to succeed. Your success is not something that will hinder mine. I’m not sure if everyone realizes that.

I love other authors. And I love giving them help in any way I can. To me, support is a thousand different things.


Support is retweeting about a book release or a Kickstarter.
Support is reviewing a book good or bad (I still believe that bad reviews can be helpful for readers to find your book.)
Support is offering to be the one who reads three pages and tells them what’s…

Flash Fiction: First/Last Date

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Wandering the Phoenix Art Museum one evening, I saw a couple seated in front of an art installation. I didn’t know their names, I didn’t know what had brought them to the museum that night. But together with the fixture in front of them, an idea came to life.
It was a Schrodinger’s cat situation, the people in my head (who clearly don’t exist in real life) could have been on their first date, they could have been on their last. I didn’t know, and while they sat – completely oblivious to me – a story began to form in my mind.
Today, I’ve decided to share that story with you:


First/Last Date They were such good friends, she’d balked at the idea of change. Dinner had been fine. It had been normal -- like two old friends sharing a meal. But she’d seen that spark in his eye, the one that told her he felt something more. He wanted something more. As his friend, she wanted to give him that, even if she didn’t know what it was. He’d led her through the art museum, a place she thought of as his dom…