Yes. It is that bad. It makes the Twilight Saga look like fine literature. I’m afraid that if I keep reading it my brain cells are going to start committing suicide.
Let my suffering be a lesson to all of you. Whatever you do, don’t read Eragon!! I’m trying valiantly to get through the book, but I haven’t made it much past the first chapter and I already want to claw my eyes out.
Stay away! Run for your lives!
Just for a point of reference, this is coming from someone who enjoyed Twilight (although I can admit it’s not that well written), reads and enjoys YA Literature and has been known to peruse fanfiction.net. So I am by no means a literarly snob. So please, save yourselves!!! It’s too late for me!
True to my word, since I am not pregnant, I have created a group on Facebook for the eBook Club. If you have not received an invitation and would like to join, please let me know and we’ll send you an invitation.
Right now, we have to decide on the mechanics of the whole thing, like what books to read and how often to read, etc, etc. But I’m hoping this will take off and be super-fantastic.
And since 2009 kind of got away from me, I’m determined to make 2010 enjoyable, productive and super-fun. I don’t really make resolutions (except the usual eat better/exercise more/drink less that lasts about 1 1/2 months) but I have goals. And my three goals for this year are:
*drumroll*
- Edit my NaNoNovel into a presentable enough story to be able to take advantage of the free self-publishing copy I get for winning.
- Learn how to drive stick
- Eliminate the remaining credit card balances we have
Ta Da.
It’s posted! It’s posted! My story is posted!!! Woo hoo!!!!!
Abbey Hill Literary Fourth Quarter Winners
And since it will eventually disappear, and I don’t want to lose the judge’s comments, here they are (there are spoilers in the comments about the story, so don’t click unless you 1) don’t want to read the story or 2) already read the story or 3) don’t care about spoilers):
My son is so freaking cute I can’t take it.
Dylan shoveling
I came in 3rd place in a writing contest!!!
I’m going to get money for my writing!!!! Ok, technically I’m not getting paid, since it’s a prize, but still!!!! Woo hoo!!!! This is the first contest I’ve placed in for my original stuff, where I can actually get recognition and prize money. Well, actually it’s the first contest I’ve placed in period since the others were entered by my alter-ego, but I just can’t even come up with words to describe how I feel right now.
It was a total surprise, and I had forgotten I had entered because I didn’t think I’d place or anything. But then in comes an email from “Editor” – which I almost deleted as spam until I saw the subject line – with the subject “Abbey Hill Literary 3rd Place Winner!”
The email follows:
Congratulations! I’m very pleased to inform you that our judge, Ms. [name], has selected your short story, “Closure,” as the Third Place winner of the Abbey Hill Literary 4th Quarter short fiction contest!
Your story will be posted on the Abbey Hill Literary site (www.ahliterary.com), along with your biographical information and the judge’s comments, no later than January 1st. A money order in the amount of fifty dollars ($50.00) will be mailed to you on or prior to January 20th, however, please confirm the address to which the prize money should be mailed.
Thank you for submitting such an interesting and well-crafted short story, which I’m sure Abbey Hill Literary fans, visitors and other authors will very much enjoy. If you have interest, please review the new 1st Quarter 2010 challenges that are currently posted, including our new, separate Flash Fiction contest that requires no opening line or scenario.
Again, please accept our sincere congratulations!
Woo hoo!!!!
I will post a link to the story on the site once it is up. That should be in the next week.
I am so excited. Seriously.
Rode to school today with Dylan in the backseat singing, “I love my mom. I love my mom.” Thank you, Imagination Movers, for writing such a freaking awesome song. That made my whole day.
Dear Santa,
I’m going to skip the pleasantries because I know you’re busy. I don’t mind picking up your slack every year, but this year I need your help. I am really stressing about these stupid Scribble Sticks and picking the right ones, because there are two options and I don’t think either are the ones Dylan actually wants. I think he wants a combination of the two, and I’m not sure how to achieve that. Add that to the fact that he needs a 14″ bike and they really only make 12 and 16, and you have one very stressed out Mommy. He’s a good kid. He only asked for two things and I want to get them right.
So if you could cover the Scribble Sticks and the bike, I’ll get everything else, ok? Deal? Please?
Thank you so much!
-T
(Wouldn’t it be awesome, all you other parents out there reading this on the internets, if that’s how it worked? Wouldn’t it?)
I love it when I have beer before bedtime and it makes my dreams all crazy-like.
I was at work. Well, it was my parent’s basement, but it was supposed to be work. More specifically, I was at the nurse’s office at work and Dylan’s teacher was the work nurse. Apparently I was having difficulty breathing because my chest was congested. In order to allow me to be able to continue coming down to the nurse’s office, Nurse Sue put on my record that I had Hepatitis B. (Seriously). So I had to see the doctor.
It turns out, the doctor was a guy I work with named Mark. I told him all my woes about my chest congestion and not being pregnant, which we determined was caused by the fact that I had a chest cold because, you know, those two things are obviously connected. But since we knew each other from work, we decided that I would need to be seen by a different doctor in the practice (the practice being the nurse’s office at work).
The other three doctors at the practice were 3 of the 4 Imagination Movers. Both Dr. Mover Scott and Dr. Mover Dave had too many patients and despite my protests about the evilness of drummers and their stick-spinning ways, I got stuck with Dr. Mover Rich, who was with another patient – a kid – at the time. He gave the kid a pair of his Scribble Sticks to make the kid feel better and I was like, “OMG Yes! If I can get in good with him, then I can get Dylan REAL Scribble Sticks for Christmas!!!”
So I met with Dr. Mover Rich, who said he hoped I had bronchitis and not pneumonia, but that I’d have to come down every day for testing. Testing included running around the block in the cold and then breathing into some tube contraption to test my lung function. (Some people dream about sparkly vampires in meadows. I dream about lung function and Scribble Sticks. Go figure).
So after about a week of testing my lung function, somebody died and they bussed in a whole bunch of other old people from the nursing home for the funeral, which was being held on the block I was running around. I was very upset, but Dr. Mover Rich couldn’t give me Scribble Sticks because he had dropped his last pair off the bridge we were standing on.
Fin.
Well, I did it. I shut my inner editor up long enough to produce 50,000 words in 29 days. Are they good words? Some of them. But, as the title of the post indicates, “done” does not necesarily equate with “finished.”
I am “done” with NaNoWriMo for this year. But my novel is far from finished. I still have to write a little more. (The epilogue is currently only one sentence). And then comes the bear of editing the monster. I may wait until March for NaNoEdMo. We shall see.
But now, reading over the story, there are some inane conversations going on. And part of me is like, there is no way those conversations would take place in real life. And then I remember the mix tape conversation from the PATH not too long ago.
Scene: PATH train on a Friday night, about 11:00. I am with my coworker, going back to NJ. Two guys, about my age, and two girls, about 10 years younger, get in the car with us. They are obviously drunk and going back to Hoboken to drink some more. The louder and drunker guy, we’ll call him Joe, starts talking about mix tapes.
Joe (to his assigned drunk 20-year-old): You mean nobody’s ever made you a mix tape?
20-year-old: No.
Joe’s somewhat-less-drunk-friend: Dude, you’re showing your age, talking about tapes. It’s all digital now.
Joe: I’m all about the analog. (Seriously. I would not make this up).
Joe: *looking at a guy halfway down the car* Hey you, you’re over 30. Ever make anyone a mix tape?
Guy: *shakes head*
Joe: *points at woman across from him* Come on, you’re in your 30s. Anyone ever make you a mix tape?
Woman: No.
Joe: *looks down at me and sees me laughing* Oh, someone must have made you a mix tape, you’re laughing. What was his name?
Me: *shakes head*
Joe: Come on? What was your first boyfriend’s name? I know he made you a mix tape.
Me: *shakes head again*
Joe: (to my coworker who is in her 50s) What about you. Anyone ever make you a mix tape?
Coworker: No.
Joe: Do you remember the name of your first crush?
Coworker: *shakes head*
Joe: Come on! Tell me his name!
Coworker: *sighs* Derek
Joe: Was he a white guy? (my coworker is black).
Coworker: What? No.
Joe: I don’t know. Derek is a white guy’s name.
Thankfully, we reached Hoboken at that point and Drunkey Drunkerson and his friend proceeded to go bar hopping with their hootchie friends. So the moral of this story is, inane conversations happen every day, and I shouldn’t be so hard on my story. That, and past 25, getting so trashed that you embarass yourself on the subway is no longer excusable.