No Excuse

Sorry, I was away on business. You understand.

What? You-- you don't understand? Well, actually, I had to...um...wash my hair.

Nope? Still not good enough? I-- um-- my dog ate my laptop.

Sympathy, but still not good enough? Gosh, tough crowd.

I-- hm. We-- nope. It all just-- ah, shucks. All right, all right, I cede to you people. I have no excuse for not blogging for 2.5 weeks. None whatsoever. I am a horrifically inconsistent blogger with a pension for staring at blank blog posts and then deciding I really have nothing exciting to say. And I'm not saying that to be humble. I really, honestly, had NOTHING exciting to talk about. I got a puppy. That has been the pinnacle of my excitement this summer. I haven't written anything, read anything, DONE anything to warrant a really exciting blog post. Even now, I'm writing this with absolutely no idea what my conclusion will be.

I know what you're thinking. I'm thinking it too.

Where is this going?? Why is she writing??

No clue. But I felt it necessary to post something today, seeing as today was the first day in about three months that I was INSPIRED to write something. See, for the past three months, I've written nary a thing. A few sentences here and there, a few bullet points in an outline, but overall, nada. Zilch. But today I rediscovered my love, nay, my adoration for my characters/world in Stream Pirate, and spent the better portion of the day working on the outline for the sequel.

Oh! I know where this is going now!

In honor of my rediscover-ation of Yazoo, Lu, and all things stream-piratey, I shall hold a contest! *and the crowd goes wild*

See, I changed the sequel. Entirely. No longer is it Web, and no longer is it from Arachne's POV (she blatantly refused to tell her side of the story. There's just no reasoning with pirates). It is now from a split Lu/Yazoo POV, and it is now called -- um. Yeah. That's where the contest comes in. I have absolutely no plans for a title. I need help. So I shall throw out a few of the things the sequel will be about, and whoever comes up with the zaniest/best title will win! Yay!

But, Sara, what will we win?

You will win your name being written in really BIG, BOLD, COLORFUL letters! Yay! Everyone's dream, right?

Okay, here's a few things the sequel contains:

Sediment monsters (Dirt has never been so scary.)
Under-mountain rivers (The original water roller coaster.)
Stream pirates (Lots of hot, angry, feisty stream pirates.)
Invisible trees. Evil trees. (This ain't your momma's forest.)
A conniving former-lord (The coup, part deux.)
Marriage, interrupted (Sometimes those ceremonies are just too stinkin' long.)
Big, climatic battles (um, duh.)

Okay, hit me with your best titles! They don't have to be serious. In fact, they'd better not be. I can't very well tack a serious title onto a book about evil trees.

EDIT: Sorry; character explanation here.

When Good Puppies Go Bad

Sure, my new dog is cute. Sure, she's all cuddly and adorable. But I somehow managed to get the one dog on earth (okay, maybe not the ONLY dog...) who holds a grudge. Me, being the "mommy," has spent the past three days saying one phrase: "Pippa, no. Pippa, NO. Pippa -- NOOO!!" Because, though she's cute, though she's cuddly, she's ORNERY. Stubborn. Inquisitive. And small. So small she now knows how to use her smallness to dart into tight spaces and keep whatever unchewable object she got a hold of. And while I thought at first, "Oh, puppy! It'll be fun!", and I'm sure she at first thought "Oh, new home! It'll be fun!", we both now look at each other with the same thought going through our heads: "I. Need. A. Break." Because I'm tired of chasing her around the house, pulling small objects out of her mouth, and because she's tired of me yelling at her whenever she licks (yes, LICKS) a light-socket.

So here's how I take a break. (She takes a break by playing with my mom, dad, or sister, all are people she still likes. Me, on the other hand, just gets this look of "I don't like you" whenever I try to make peace and play with her.) I take a break by watching movie trailers. And my oh my, are there ever some frickin' awesome movies a-coming out this year. Allow me to start with a classic.

THE classic.

THE classic and inexplicable, uncontainable, just plain AWESOME it-shaped-yet-destroyed-all-hope-I-had-of-finding-a-good-man, DISNEY.



Yeah. A new DISNEY PRINCESS movie. Can we all just jump and down as one and squeal a little bit? I mean, seriously Disney. I had almost convinced myself that men were imperfect, human, and made mistakes, instead of the perfect, sculpted, mesmerizing princes you thrust into my subconscious during my formative years. I needed to be reminded that my expectations should be set inordinately high. You returned in the nick of time, Disney. In the nick of time.

The next is yet another love story because, well, that's the kind of mood I'm in today:



I'm on a huge self-help book kick lately, so this one really popped for me. Though it makes me a little sad to think the people who wrote the amazing books I've been reading don't really do the things they wrote about...but this trailer used the Goo Goo Dolls, so I'm appeased.

The next one is quite a bit different from the first two:



Lately I've been very unsympathetic to movies like this. For instance, I saw the latest "Transformers," and all I could think during the big, powerful scenes was "They're cars. I get that it's supposed to be epic, but -- they're cars." I don't know why I want to see this one, but it's Peter Jackson. After LOTR, I will always give him a shot. Even if he has "King Kong" on his record. *shudder*

Okay, I'm REALLY excited about this one:



I'm such a sucker for relationship-oriented chick flicks. I know, I know, what chick flick isn't relationship-oriented, but there's a big difference between sappy chick flicks and relationship-oriented, actually-has-good-advice chick flicks. And, chello? The guy and girl from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" are TOGETHER AGAIN! Win!

So, this is how I take a break. Yup. Instead of using what precious free time I have to work on my outline for...um...ANY WIP I have, I watch movie trailers. I'm a failure at writing. But at least I'm an entertained failure at writing.

The Break-Up

Dear Body,

Letters like this are always hard to start, partly because of all the happy memories that come to the surface and make me want to rethink writing this. But -- oh wait -- that's right, we don't HAVE any happy memories. So this will be easy.

It started young. The sleepovers I missed, the play dates I canceled, the frantic looks on friends' parents' faces when I clutched my stomach and turned green in the middle of lunch at McDonald's. I was dubbed with a "nervous stomach," and thus the labels started. The so-called "nervous stomach" did not stop through middle school, or even through high school, and lord knows it didn't stop into college. I mean, could I not move back ONE semester without curling into a ball and praying for a stomach transplant the first day? Really, Body. It was college. If anything I should've had stomachaches for another, less-legal reason, not because I had a "nervous stomach."

Then things went from bad to worse. The so-called "nervous stomach" became an every-day-every-minute-every-hour stomach, where food became the enemy and long nights were spent curled in the fetal position in a constant prayer to the stomach gods. What small animal did I have to sacrifice to get a little relief? Badgers? Rabbits?

Then came the real kicker, the "beginning of the end," as I call it -- the doctors. Oh, their intentions were honorable, their tests were given with the firmest of beliefs that we would find a "solution". But after 4 -- yes, FOUR, Body. Remember? -- years of tests, exams, nasty-crap liquids, and IV's, it always resulted in the same thing: "We didn't find anything. But we'd like to do another test..."

You were finicky. You were selfish. You acted sick and upset until the MOMENT before a test. You teased me. You refused to digest anything, ANYTHING, for years. You treated me like some disposable carrying case for your own personal fun-and-games. And now, NOW, you dare to contract stomach virus after stomach virus, as though the YEARS of nausea and pain weren't enough? You dare to develop a weak immune system as though I haven't been tip-toeing around you my entire life?

Well, Body, this should come as no surprise then. I'm breaking up with you. I've had enough of your abuse, your insensitivity, your cruelty. I've had enough of your interruptions. I've spent far too many nights making excuses for you, missing out on events because of you. You, quite frankly, suck at being healthy, and I deserve to eat whatever the hell I want and not cry about it later.

Don't let the door hit you on the way out,
Sara

Why I've Been AWOL: A List

Reasons I've been missing for a week:

#1) As though I haven't spent enough of my life ill, my body decided to contract God-knows-what bug and incapacitate me for a few days. Yay, mortality.

#2) I got something. Oh -- you want to know what I got? Well, okay. It's best to show you:


Yep. I bought a dog. Not just any dog. A 7 week old Corgi puppy. So not only have I been sick, but this little bundle of teeth and claws has been making me feel like I just had a baby, not bought a puppy. Granted, mi familia has been caring for her whilst I lay around moaning, but still. Puppies + sickness = Buyer's remorse.

Funny/sad vet story: I took her to the vet today for her first shots (actually my mom took her, I tagged along, looking very pathetic and sickly). My mom told the vet that Pippa (the dog) was my dog, I'd bought her, yadda yadda. The vet looked at me and said "Just wait until you turn 16 and get to buy a car. That's a whole new world of purchases!" And I just sat there, looking even more pathetic and sickly. I'm going to be 20 in August. Ouch.

Suffice to say, as soon as I get better/get adapted to having a baby-- I mean get adapted to having a puppy, I will return to the blogosphere. Until then, I leave you with this YouTube video:



I might be late to this bandwagon, but John Green does YouTube videos!! Who knew?

Tudor...Wednesday?

I missed Tudor Tuesday. In my defense, I didn't know it was Tuesday. Summer = loss of all sense of time. To apologize, I shall *cringe* post a snippet of my as yet untitled WIP. Yeah, you should feel thoroughly apologized.

I have decided that this WIP is the one that is the most stubborn of my two WIPs (the other one being Web), thus I will be working on it for the remainder of the summer. Tudor fans, rejoice!

This snippet is still brand new. As in, I just wrote it a few hours ago. So be gentle. It takes place at the beginning of Chapter Three, when Crystal decides to show Docker (one of her professor father's physicist students) the machine her father built that got him fired from Columbia. She's none too pleased with her father's loyalty to the machine and not his job/family, as the machine ("The Eloi" -- supposedly a time machine) has taken precedence over everything else in his life. Even though, to this point, it has proved entirely useless.

Commence the snippet!

The Eloi looked like something that had been stolen from NASA. A half-moon-shaped control panel barred anyone who entered from getting too close to the platform that took up the rest of the windowless room. The metal disk bolted to the ceiling above the platform and the boxes of gadgets and flashing lights behind the entire contraption left one phrase echoing in the imagination:

“Beam me up, Scottie,” I announced as I shut the door behind us.

Docker didn’t respond. He walked to the control panel, the look of concentration and awe on his face all too recognizable. He was a scientist through and through.

While he let his hands hover over the knobs and switches, his lips moving wordlessly as he mumbled God-knows-what to the machine, I ducked under the control panel. The last time I saw The Eloi had been a few months after dad started to build it. Then it had been half this size, still mostly a jumble of wires and charts and theories, nothing this – complete. Though it brought up an endless supply of sci-fi, Twilight-Zone-esque quotes, it didn’t look entirely laughable. As I stepped on the platform, tested its durability by bouncing in the toes of my stilettos, I hated to admit that, all in all, The Eloi looked entirely legit.

Too bad it needed to work too.

“What did he test it on? Objects, people, animals?” Docker glanced away from the machine long enough to make eye contact before he resumed his analysis of the control panel.

I frowned. “I’m not sure.” Pushing the heel of my left stiletto into the platform, I smirked at the completely absent scientist-Docker. “Though I haven’t seen the family cat in a few weeks.”

Docker mumbled something that sounded like “Of course, of course.”

My smile widened and I fought to keep the laughter out of my voice. “And the neighbor’s little girl came over once. Haven’t seen her since January.”

Docker, now flicking a switch up and down, nodded. “She was a little monster anyway.”

I burst out laughing and Docker looked up again, this time meeting my eyes for longer than a second. He leaned over the control panel, resting his hands on a few levers. “Why are you so angry at him?” he asked.

My lips snapped shut. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Docker shook his head. “Mad at someone for following their heart?” He flipped a lever, and the room filled with the buzz of The Eloi turning on. “So few people do it anymore, I couldn’t be mad at someone for following their heart. No matter the repercussions.”

I crossed my arms. “I guess I’m just selfish.”

He dropped the lever down and the buzzing snapped off. His eyes wandered out again, but he wasn’t thinking about The Eloi. “We all are.”

I stepped to the edge of the platform, wanting to ask what he was talking about. Docker flipped the lever again, shaking out of his trance while The Eloi’s electric buzz filled the space between us. Before I could find the courage to ask anything, he absentmindedly fiddled with a few more buttons and switches and sighed.

“It’s human nature to–”

The buzzing exploded into a high-pitched wail, an octave or two below what only dogs could hear. I snapped my hands over my ears and tried to yell at Docker, but nothing from my mouth could pass above the wailing.

Docker’s eyes went wide and his hands flew from lever to lever as he tried to stop the buzzing. He looked up at me and shouted something, but I shook my head to let him know I didn’t understand. He paused, his eyes getting wider, his mouth opening in a wordless scream. The last thing I saw was Docker leaping over the control panel, just feet away from the platform, from me.

Fantastic Friday!

I think I missed Fantastic Friday last week. Hm.

Fantastic Thing-that-happened-in-the-last-week #1) Seeing as I will have oodles of free time this summer, I developed a list of summer goals. Would you like to hear them? Of course you would.

Summer Goal Uno: READ.
Summer Goal Dos: Everything I do must, on some level, be happy.
Summer Goal Tres: Start working on German (I decided to take German as my foreign language next quarter. Bring on the pretzels and beer! Oh snap, I can't have either of those things. Bring on the beer steins and leiderhozen!)
Summer Goal Cuatro: Get a puppy. This may take some fancy finagling seeing as I am still within my parents' jurisdiction and my mom "doesn't want a horse" aka a Newfie. How one can say no to this face, this face, or these faces, I do not know. However, this does not exclude a cocker spaniel puppy. Never underestimate my powers of finagling.

Thing #2) Three words: Sale at New York and Co. Okay, so that's like six words, but I was counting the store name as one word. Still, you get my point.

Thing #3) I went to The Cheesecake Factory for the first time. I'm in love.

I suspect many of my weeks this summer will result in short Fantastic Fridays simply because I won't be doing as much. This is all right, however, because a few Fantastic Things are better than no Fantastic Things at all.

It won't let me go!

Found something else that made me start thinking of Wintergirls again. Okay, seriously, this book is starting to stalk me.



Aside from the fact that Rob Thomas CANNOT act to save his life and reminds me of the lead singer of Creed from way back when (who also ruined his music videos through his over dramatic facial expressions), and aside from the fact that this song is altogether too upbeat for the whole girl-encased-in-ice dynamic, the imagery totally fits Wintergirl. So basically just watch the video on mute and ignore Rob Thomas.