But wait, there's more!

A door-to-door salesman came by today.

Naturally he knocked when I had just hopped out of the shower, so I rushed around and pulled on the nearest available clothes before I opened the door. Yeah. A powder pink baby tee and a pair of long, red basketball shorts. It was high fashion, y'all.

Factor in two barking/growling/wanting out the door Rhodesians, and it was probably a pretty comical exit from my house to the front porch. Not to mention the fact that my feet were clad in my trusty leopard-print houseboots. (they're not houseshoes--they're houseboots. true story.)

But. There, with barely controlled soggy hair, a horribly mismatched color scheme and my houseboots, I was ready to listen, bells on.

It's true that there for a moment I considered not opening the door.

I really did think about letting him keep on knocking. While my dogs went berserk and tore down every available curtain/mini blind on the west side of my house to get a better look at the offender. It was sorely tempting, window treatments aside. But I've got some serious respect for people who go door-to-door to make a living. I mean, like, SERIOUS respect.

I couldn't do it.
I'm getting nervous and red and sweaty just thinking about it.

I know loads of people are naturally better at talking to strangers than I am. Though it still has to be a little daunting, especially because regardless of your pitch, factors beyond your control influence the potential buyer's decision*. There have been times when I really wanted to buy something, but financially I couldn't swing it. Even though I really, really wanted to. Ah, life.

As it happened, this salesman was really aggressive with whatever he was selling (honestly not sure I could tell you). It took about five seconds for me to realize that whatever it was, I didn't need it. Dude, however, was not to be deterred. At one point, he actually started trying to invite himself in my house** (we were both on the front porch, the door to the house closed. sometimes I can stifle my upbringing and not invite strange people inside and put a beverage in their hand. sometimes.) (common sense, FTW.) I would have been impressed with his tenacity if it wasn't holding me up from my day.

Short of getting irritated, I did what anyone with seven puppies in the backyard would do.

I tried to sell him a puppy.

That, my people, is the unspoken magic trick.

Not only did he bring his rather aggressive pitch to a screeching halt, but he left shortly thereafter.

The only downside to the situation was that he didn't take one.

Apparently we're both bad salespeople.

~~

Currently listening to: Kelly Clarkson--What Doesn't Kill You (Stronger)


*Sounds like publishing, no? Just be thankful we can email query, rather than go door-to-door with our pitches.
**This would have solved the problem. I guess he didn't hear the 160 pounds worth of growl and teeth on the other side of the door. When I walked back in, Bella and Roo were both laying side-by-side, facing the door. I love those crazy dogs.

What do you feel when

you come up with the perfect title for your manuscript?

Glee?

Elation?

Relief?

Me, well, I feel all of those. Especially because coming up with the perfect title* for my current project has been a long road, and I don't feel like I can really work on something unless it has a name beyond WIP1 or @)(*&Q#$)(*%)@#(*!!!!! (<---This is a common stand in.)

No title is like not naming your children until they are 18 and headed out the door.** Too late. I try and make my titles capture the essence of the book in question, so once I find a fitting one I hang onto it for dear life. It's my fall back when I lose my theme or core of my story.

So, yeah. Call me a big bundle of Gleelation (that's really happeh, people.) I found the one.

Relieved? You bet. Which is probably what Wendy Corsi Staub felt when her work finally got the go-ahead title:

along with Mr. Green

and George Pelecanos

The HELL TO PAY by Wendy Corsi Staub was the book that brought about this blog post. Hot off the gleelation of finding a title for my WIP, I was perusing the book aisle at walmart when I saw it. The sight prompted me to first burst out laughing and then to do a quick search on Amazon, which is what led me to the others. There's even a Hillary Clinton book with Hell to Pay in the title. Needless to say, this just reinforces the belief that creativity is unlimited, but ideas aren't.

Just when you go a'thinking you're somethin' speshul.... Yeah. Not so much.

Consolation: None of those books are anywhere near mine in terms of theme or plot. Hell, none of them are even the same genre. So no harm, no foul.

Have a great one, everybody :).

*Yes, I know that titles usually get changed, but com'on--this one's perfect. (because I'm the only one with a perfect title...LOL.)

**This is a bad metaphor, I know. Books aren't children. And the writers who treat them as such generally end up never getting them out the door. That's right, those bookbabies become 40 year-old stay-at-home children who crow about the glory days of high school and wipe potato chip grease on your recliners.

Yep. This.

Character Traits: The Baddest of the Bad.

this is mah worried face. im so cuute.

Meet Roo. (He's that adorable bugger on the left, pictured at 9 weeks old.) (Roughly 70lbs ago...eeee!)

Roo is adorable.

Roo is funny.

Roo is Bad.

Roo is, above all things, a character.

The Rundown.
Name/Aliases: Lord Remington LaRoo of Tsavo. Roo. Rooster. Rue. BadDog. MarleyWho? Torpe Torpedo. No (<--- this is the one he answers to most often.)

Puppy Group: Rhodesian Ridgeback

Character Traits

• Positive: Fun-loving, outgoing, energetic. Loves a good walk. Great companion. Excellent jogging buddy, crumb-picker-upper. Happy ALL THE TIME. Adorable. Good with kids and strangers. Low Key.
• Negative: (These are the faults, because every character needs them.) Demanding. Juvenile. Only barfs on the carpet, never the tile. Has terribly destructive affinity for cords of all colors and constitutions. Chases the DemonCat. Tail Wags at perfect height to clear coffee table in one swoop. Eats flipflops with unbounded passion. Enjoys un-potting grandma's flowers and other plantlife. Digs deep and random holes in the backyard, much to the chagrin of momma when she's walking around outside without the usual Constant Vigilance.

The Skinny: Roo is the happiest dog I've ever met. He also is the only dog I've ever wanted to strangle because he escaped and ran off for 4 hours while I was at home at my parents*. He has, in no uncertain terms, been the most destructive canine I have ever owned. However, all the negatives are off-set by his intense adorability (OH HAI, FAKE WORD!). Some days it's his only redeeming quality. (Well you know, besides being so happy all the time.) Even when he does something atrocious, like eat momma's netbook charger (the only one I have), his adorableness only decreases by two points for thirty seconds. That's the power of adorable, people.

In short, this is a fake blog post about characters. Okay, that's not true. This is a real blog post about (sorta) real characters. Make them real. Make them awesome. And make them adorable**.


hai. im bad.

*he returned unscathed, and (of course) happy as a lark.
**If they are villains, then this:

Hey, even villains need to be adora--erm...have redeeming qualities. Or at least a motive as to why they assassinate da flipfloppers. And when I did this in paint the ball and chain weren't floating, promise.

Welcome to the Blahhhhhg. [Subtitled: Voldemort Won't Be Dead, No Matter What the Last Movie Sez]

This week has been an epic, dismal failure on many fronts. Thus, for purposes of this post, I rechristen my blog a blahhhhg.

With extra helpings of blah.

I’m sick. In a fun, feverish, blah-kind-of-way. Thankfully, my momma's great. She demanded I come home when illness first reared its ugly, strepto-staphylo-infested head. (In my defense, I was planning a trip home to see the parentals anyways. Honestly.)

Okay. Initial trip to my friendly campus quack-shack (university health center) lead to a vague diagnoses (actually, I’m really not sure if I was given one, but with my mental acuity at the time, I probably wouldn't have remembered it anyways) and a prescription for pills that likely could have choked an bull elephant. And were a bright, obnoxious pink to boot.

This was on Tuesday. You can bet I started those badboys with the gusto generally reserved only for chocolate products.

Wednesday rolled around and I suspected I might live after all. I again had a zest for life: I moved from my bed to the couch.

Thursday happened and I felt like a million bucks. Okay, so that’s an exaggeration. I felt like twenty bucks, but that’s a far cry in the way of improvement from my previously negative balance.

Thursday.5. Mysterious, full-body rash. I know, I know…SEXAH. Madre wigs out. She makes (I wasn't consulted on the matter) me an appointment with her doctor. We have several brief but intense arguments over the pink-elephant-pill continuation. She says stop. I say pshhh no moms, you be crazzzze*. I’m finally starting to feel better. So what if I look like a diseased tomato with straw for hair because I haven’t brushed it since the advent of Pill 1. So, like, dc! 

Moving on.

Friday. Doctor. (yay.) He takes one look at me and gives three possible causes, two of which passed for interesting in my fevered-congestion-aching-head. They were:

Bad reaction to the meds. [Snores] Level on interest scale**: -100.

Mono—when a dying soul has mono and takes this certain antibiotic, they get splotchy. I was game for this diagnosis: I could blame the so-called ‘kissing-disease***’ on the BF. (I always knew those darn boys had cooties, Microbiology or not.) Level on interest scale: +5. (Mainly because I could blame BF for all my troubles. He loves that.)

The last option was fascinating: scarletina. That’s Scarlet Fever, folks. How cool**** is that? It’s rarely (like hardly, hardly, hardly ever) fatal these days, but people still shudder when then hear the name. I love a good shock factor. Level on interest scale: +11. Archaic sickness, I think so.

Two lab tests later, I feel like I’m on a game show (one where there's no free oxygen in the room), waiting to hear if I get the prize behind the sure-to-be-the-winning door I picked.

[Drumroll]

…

Damn allergic reaction. Hello no-fun-story-to-tell plus a -100 interest rating.

Today: New pills. Feeling...meh. I believe I will survive. To pass the time, I’ve taken to divining the flavor of my Halls citrus cough drops without unwrapping them. It’s quite a challenge, requiring the perfect combination of lighting and non-watery-eyed vision. I could really use a pair of jewelers’ glasses, or whatever they’re called. Here’s what my discernment has led to thus far:

The pile on the left is considered safe. (Read: Orange.) The middle is a sketchy grapefruit flavor, which will do in a pinch but is inherently less desirable than orange. The farthest right is a septic pool of lemon-flavored atrocity. *Shudders*  I think they’re burning a hole and oozing through my mom’s mesquite coffee table. They’re an abomination. I think Voldemort created them. Maybe they're little bits of his soul. HARRYYOUMISSEDAHORCRUX!!!! Game Plan: Avoid. At. All. Costs.

Every once in a while they get sneaky, but I am wayyy dedicated to my sorting quest.

They all have captions on the wrappers. I tried to get a picture of couple of them, but they all turned out stinking blurry. But I'm noticing something--the lemons all have the most enthusiastic sayings, such as "Conquer Today!" or "Get Back in the Game!" which makes me think of a cheesy junior-high sports movie. Probably the strategy--get you so pumped you mistakenly eat one of the little bastards.

Oh how you try, you snaringly captioned little drops of poison. No matter your tactics, I shall not be fooled.

oye.

           

*Antibiotic resistance is bad, peeps. Always finish ALL the antibiotics that your doctorperson prescribes. Srsly. *Is glad something semi-intelligent came of this ramble.*

** For practical purposes, the Interest Scale ranges from -100 to +10.

***’Kissing disease’ is a misnomer. But BF doesn’t know that.

**** I’ll be the first to admit my nerdiness. It’s my blahhhg today and I’m running with it.