Bacon Number? 1...Maybe 2

Trailers of the upcoming movie Stoker keep landing in my inbox. Could be my Google alert for all things a-certain-British-hottie. I really should remove that particular alert; it's so when-I-wrote-the-book-that-released-this-week. I just can't seem to leave him behind. This movie feels like it's a number one on my personal Bacon number: psychological suspense, Nicole Kidman (half a bacon strip away from the tastiest Aussie on the planet), and one more fresh excuse to revisit the inspiration for a past hero. So he plays a creepy homicidal maniac uncle. We can forgive a few things, can't we? The movie is rated R because the Brit's hotness might burn your retinas. Beware.


You may have guessed I would have gone to see Looper by now. To that, I would say, "Nay, my ghostwriting has kept me busy." I'm hoping to sneak out by myself for a nooner this week. I hear rumors of an awesome Bruce Willis line (while speaking to his younger self over a diner table): "I don't want to talk about time travel. If we do, we'll be here all day making diagrams with straws." Amen, David Addison.

And here I go again, breaking my newly-minted photo rule. For a booksigning? Best. Treats. Ever. This video seemed like a good place to start.

As it turns out, my ghostwritten novel is not as exclusive as previously thought. If you have a Kindle or Nook, you can join the fun. How will you know the path to titilation unless you follow me on Twitter or sign up for my newsletter? Psst! In addition to the icing aroma in the Vortex today, there is the distinct air of a contest. Just saying.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Bazinga! It's Laundry Day

Today's post feels like a laundry list, but who better to provide colorful, soapy little pods of information than The Vortex, right? First, the bleach-y whites...

I could very well be violating my new policy of attaching photos not mine, but this is a perfect Monday chuckle. Remember when we talked about the awesomeness that was Looper? I give you the perfect example of what happens when a movie poster is strategically placed in a public restroom:

courtesy of HappyPlace

Forgot your coins for the wash? No problem. Check out this handy chart from Editorial Freelancers Association to find out what your services might be worth to the non-writing types. Need an hourly rate calculator? I used freelanceswitch to calculate my optimum ghostwriting rates-SO helpful, no matter which industry you're trying to pick up a little extra ka-ching.

And for the dark load...bioluminescence on a beach in the Maldives. If you look at only one photograph on the internet today, make it this one. Seriously, how many times can our retinas withstand a Kardashian-burn? This is nature's inspiration at its finest.

Also in the dark load, a rare opportunity to submit sans-agent to HarperCollins. Vortex author peeps wanting to go the traditional publishing house route have an open invitation to send in their epic fantasy, sci-fi, urban fantasy, horror, dystopia or supernatural submissions between October 1 and 14. Last Thursday's Guardian article has the 4-1-1. Good luck!

Certainly not least, please hand-wash this tee with care. It's my fave.

Bazinga!

 

 

More BBT shirts here. Best. Crazy. Catalog. Ever.

I'm super-excited to celebrate the release of my contemporary romantic comedy (with the hot Brit--remember him?) to the ibookstore this week! It's an interactive experience like nothing you've ever read before. If you don't have an Apple device on which to enjoy it, find someone who does, or-heck-buy one. This week. I'll wait. Make sure you're following me on Twitter or subscribed to my newsletter. This week. I'll wait. Since the project is ghostwritten, tweets and email are the only way you'll find links to buy and be eligible for contests and giveaways by yours truly. I won't pay for a stellar review like John Locke, but I will sing you "Soft Kitty" when you're sick. Flu season is just around the corner, people.

Have a squeaky clean Monday, everyone!

Chimps Found in My Unnatural Bubble

First, a bit of Vortex housekeeping. I moved my email newsletter to Mailchimp because yahoogroups is so turn-of-this-century, and because I love primates. If you subscribed previously in yahoogroups, there's no need to take action. If you haven't, for the love of Dean Butler, what are you waiting for?  Seriously, I don't bomb your inbox but once every, say, millenia, but I do have some amazing announcements, freebees and giveaways coming up that you'll want to know about. Subscribe now or later via the box on the blog's right column.

I just finished an online violence and weaponry class for writers taught by Rory Miller, who is so bad ass in his creditials that I'd have to kill you if I elaborated. I've written scenes here and there that required high-octane, moment by moment violence, but my latest ghostwriting project required more. Like war. Ongoing. The deep psychological place soldiers must go. For a suburban girl whose only exposure to violence is what comes in a red Netflix envelope, it was a must-take class.

The most memorable lesson he gave was one on the unnatural state of our existence. For the first time in human history, violence is essentially foreign to us. We don't raise weapons to meet our basic needs. Mass casualties are things that largely happen somewhere else. We live in a bubble of treaties and modern philosophies and shared ethics. As writers, one of the hardest things to do is get inside the head of our characters. But for a writer raised in this bubble, getting inside the head of historical characters is the greatest challenge of all. As Miller put it: "The most evil things in history made sense to someone. As an author, if you can't see that, your antagonists will be flat. As a human, if you can't see it, you can't effectively fight it."

Miller's book, Violence: A Writer's Guide, covers many of the same topics as we touched on in class and is a fantastic reference if your project requires a deep understanding about the complexities of violence.

Guyliner on Atlanteans? Nah.

One thing I love about ghostwriting is that I become a tourist in someone else's world. On the desk beside me is a stack of research books I wouldn't have picked up in a million years: theories of Atlantis, Norse mythology, a dictionary of made-up languages and a coffee table book called Drives of a Lifetime with some wicked-inspiring photography for an alternate world found right here in our world. With six different colors of post-it notes whipping out like foreign flags on a stiff breeze, it's an invitation to explore.

Back to research, but first this Vortex tidbit...

The term guyliner has migrated from pop culture vernacular to official entry in the Oxford Dictionary. I know, right? Exciting doesn't begin to cover it. Maybe they read the Vortex's official stance on the issue. Check out thirty-four other new word entries and have a great Monday.

Ya'll Join Me For A Dallas Dissection

Stereotypes of the southern U.S. in pop culture. Discuss.

Why are reality shows (and I use the term reality loosely) like Honey Boo Boo and The Week the Women Left set in the South? Because stereotypes are based in reality. And those stereotypes make for WTH?-television that brings ratings.

I haven't lived in Texas my entire life. In fact, I have the unique perspective of being a nomad: pacific northwest, midwest, deeeep south. Those are just the places I set up residence for a respectable amount of time. I've heard stereotypes from the outside and lived them from the inside. I suppose that gives me a bit of cred when it comes to today's post about the reincarnation of the 80s television show, Dallas.

First a story. Everyone grab your binkies and warm milk and meet me on the swirly vortex rug.

When I went to Munich as an exchange student in the 90s, my host family spoke very little English. I learned quickly that academia had taught me high, proper German, not the low country dialect of Bavaria. I compare it to a non-native English student being placed in a deep Cajun household where every other word is hoo-eee and lawd sakes. You can't possibly guess the common ground of conversation we discovered. Dallas. Not the historical site of JFK's assassination, nor the fact that it's the ninth largest city in the United States--not even the Dallas Cowboys, but Dallas the television show. Upon finding this connection, my host father laughed boisterously, scurried to the front of his VW convertible and drew imaginary bull horns on the hood with his hands. After I assured him that all Texans did not ride horses and have cars with bull horns strapped to the hood, I realized how powerful stereotypes are.

Maybe that's why Dallas will always be a little more special to me than it should. Because the show had just started its translated syndication in Germany, gathering around for that hour each week became our common ground. Maybe that's why my host family wanted a French girl. No self-respecting French girl would put her family in the clink for oil rights.

Which brings me full circle back to the stereotypes still portrayed in the newly resurrected Dallas. Sure, the horns are gone, replaced now by sweet Italian sports cars. I can tell you first-hand from driving on both the Dallas North Tollway and the autobahn that there is little difference. Of the dozen or more cities that comprise the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex, Dallas is most certainly where the money is.

Dallas is also where the hubris is. The stink about moving the home of the Dallas Cowboys out of the Dallas city limits to Arlington, a suburb between Dallas and Ft. Worth, was one of excessive pride. Nevermind that the seven million people spread throughout the surrounding cities contribute financially to the success of the team via ticket and merchandise sales. The Ewing family really capitalizes on the pride-goeth-before-the-fall premise.

I can also say, without hesitation, that out of all the places I have lived and visited that there is a reason Mary Kay headquarters is in Dallas. Women take care of themselves here. Women wear makeup here, even to make the trek to the mailbox. So when the Ewing women are dressed to the nines with lined lips and manicured nails, you can rest assured they smell rich, too. All authentic.

The spectacular plethora of good looking men here in jeans and cowboys boots? No stereotype, I assure you. Entire Harlequin lines of romance novels have been devoted to this natural wonder of beauty.

What about the series strikes me as inauthentic? Not one "ya'll" has slipped into the dialogue. Stereotype? Sure. During my lifespan, there has been a huge influx of transplants into this city. Some pick up this slang, some don't. But I don't buy into a family who has had a Texas ranch in their family for a century who doesn't let the Y-word slip occasionally. I blame that on the writers. Hollywood types, I'm sure. The thing about the Y-word is that it is no measure of intelligence. Think of it as efficiency and clarity. When addressing a group of individuals, "ya'll" covers more and better than the awkward "you guys" or "you all." Even J.R. would know a thing or two about efficiency.

The last thing you need to know about Texas that Dallas got wrong? Sure, Texans pack a lot of heat, but there's no place I'd rather be stuck with a flat tire on a dark highway. You see, people make eye contact here. They stop and move heaven and the flat, prairie grazing grounds to help strangers. All that backstabbing makes for great script, but you won't find much of that here. We have the death penalty and aren't afraid to use it. There is a code of conduct inherent here. Love your mama. Be nice to your neighbor. Hang the flag out, not just when its expected. Respect authority and your elders. Family above all.

At least Ms. Ellie would be proud they got that right.

What other Texan stereotypes have I forgotten?

J.R. Is No Dean Butler

I swept the dust bunnies out from the Vortex corners and did something I had been meaning to do for awhile now: remove photographs that weren't mine or protected under the fair use rule.  Mercifully, I hadn't relied too heavily on them for the past six years. I did, however, make the conscious decision to keep Dean Butler's photograph up. I'm thinking at this stage in his career, he'd shout, "Holy Half-pint!" that someone remembered him. The benefit to housekeeping is two-fold: it's the right thing to do and gives me stats that are content-based instead of image-based. My apologies in advance, but this means you will not only see more of my corn-pone, home-grown photography, but I won't be driving to Southfork Ranch to stamp an original image on my next post regarding the reincarnation of the DALLAS television show. I haven't been to Southfork since I was eight, and I wouldn't know where to begin looking for that picture.

For now, though, I'm celebrating my new ghostwriting project. Sure, that means things will slow a bit at The Vortex, but we've been there/done that before. Consider it time travel with less vomiting. And oh, the places I'll go.

Happy Monday, everyone!

What's In Your Chapter One Suitcase?

Anyone familiar with early drafts of my writing can tell you that beginnings are my biggest struggle. Not because the beginning doesn't come. It does. Boy, does it come. In a vomit of description and character and dialogue and tonal inflections and figurative language, it comes. I want the reader to be right there with me in all the places I have discovered and all those nuances left to discover, often all at once. Sometimes I forget the reader and I are not already friends, that we haven't spoken at least three dozen times about the grand "what ifs" of fiction. Sometimes I even forget the reader is looking for one good excuse to abandon the story.

Author Benjamin Percy compares readers at the beginning of our stories to coma patients. Have a look. I shall picture a reader burdened with a suitcase labeled short term memory each time I revise a story's opening. Since we're all about London this week, I say, "Brilliant."