An Author's Crossroad

Stained glass butterfly....


When I decided to write seriously, I stood at a crossroads—not on what to write, but on how to write. A delicate balance, especially since I wanted to write in the Young Adult genre.

Raised with a heavy religious mantle on my shoulders, at first I felt compelled to write to please instead of to write for pleasure. I felt the pressure of my dead grandmother looming over my shoulder, gasping at every unsavory word or scene, worried about the judgmental eyes of those in my small community, not to mention the mantra my mother drilled into me throughout my informative years..."Don't do anything you wouldn't do in front of me." Sound familiar?

I delved into my teenage romance, full of enthusiasm with the story my characters told, until one of my characters wanted to do something I didn't morally agree with. I tried to write a "bleached out" version, changing all the "gosh darn" words, shoving my hero's wandering hands into his pockets while placing a chaste kiss on my heroine's lips. Even altered their attire from the normal low riding jeans and cropped tees, to outfits that made Amish kids look risqué. I created the "Stepford Teens." When I tried to write their story in their new "appearance" it became as lifeless as they had. My characters fell silent and their story stopped. At that point I realized I'd written to please.

Then I attended a seminar where the very subject of characters who broke unheard of rules, scoffed at our moral upbringing, pretty much doing as they damn well pleased, was discussed. I mingled with authors who wrote bizarre sci-fi stories, erotic romances, and bone-chilling slasher-thrillers. Normal people who lived in normal neighborhoods with spouses, kids and pets—who wrote amazing "moral defying" books.

These brilliant authors who wrote dark works based on murder, rape, drug addictions, and sex, were not their characters. Just because someone creates a story based on a stalker who kills and dismembers innocent people, doesn't mean that person is constantly thinking those thoughts—that they may commit the heinous crimes themselves; or the romance writer who creates scenes full of mind boggling sex that makes your blood sing when your read their words, spends all their time "in the bedroom" so to speak. Not so.

Authors are storytellers. We're "secretaries" to our characters. We write what they tell us, casting aside personal hang-ups and bringing their lives to written form. We write for pleasure.
 
My books will not grace the shelves of religious bookstores. I decided I liked my colorful, gritty characters, who can make me blush (personally, I think they like the 'shock factor'). I know some eyebrows waggled and a few gasps taken when my friends read Riley's Pond, but there was no "bleaching out" the story. It would have stripped the essence of the characters—killed the story. Not all my books are as racy, but they border an edgier line—sometimes nibbling forbidden fruit. Depends on how much my characters want to share. But…that's the way I decided to write. No apologies offered.

Tonight, one of my neighbors approached me. She'd read Riley's Pond, which surprised me because very few people in my neighborhood know I write, or my pen name. She wanted me to know how much she loved the story. "You had me from the first paragraph and I hated turning the last page, knowing it came to an end." When I dared the question for her opinion on the racy context, she told me any other way would not have been Riley's story. She also expressed a hope all my books held a pinch of spice. (She was one of those I worried about!)

Now that's writing pleasure.

MOVING DAY

  Sometimes I feel like the cartoon character comedienne Carol Burnett always started and ended her weekly television show with. I get up around 5:30 every morning, snuggle into a pink fuzzy robe and head for the coffeemaker. If I'm totally honest, I probably scratch my butt on the way to my office, too.

This morning when I walk through the door, still blurry-eyed and relishing the first swirl of hot java coating my throat, I find Jesse twirling in my chair and Jordan perched on the arm of the small sofa in the corner, with Marli seated to his side and tucked protectively under his arm. I rub my eyes, about to ask what's going on, when Riley barrels into the room, towing Taylor, and Jaxson following behind in a lazy swagger—dressed in his new camouflage fatigues.

Jordan rises to his feet, taking a precautionary stance in front of Marli. Always her protector. Always jealous when another male steps in her airspace.

"Why are you here?" he demands.

"What's it to you, pretty boy?" Jaxson answers.

Riley knocks his brother's arm. "Dial down the 'macho-machine' would ya? And honestly, do you wear anything else? I mean if you're permanently GI Joe, I'm raiding your closet."

"Touch my stuff and you're dead."

"Whoa, boys. No bloodshed before I've had my second cup of coffee, got that?" I motion to Jesse, "The 'throne' is mine. Plant your sweet butt in the chair."

"So you have been checking me out."

I thump my head on the desk, twice. It's way too early to exchange quips.

"I created, you," I choke out after a large gulp of my liquid morning vitamin. "But aside from your shameless peacocking, can I ask why you're all here?"

"I thought you asked us to come?" Marli answers plaintively.

I did? Maybe subconsciously, but I don't remember. Before I can retrieve a thought in my scrambled brain, a light breeze blows through the French doors. Leaning against the frame is Alex, looking completely out of place in his dark jeans, black T-shirt…and brilliant white wings. The gold centers actually glow when the first brave rays of dawn bend through the slats and stretch across the room.

"What's with the Bird Man," Jaxson asks, his eyes checking off my guarded angel. Jesse, however, stands and brushes his T-shirt tight, flexing a couple of defined muscles when two girls flank Alex's sides.

"Hel—lo ladies," Jesse croons. 

Maddie tucks behind behind a wing when she spies the crowded room, and I notice all my male characters lean slightly to watch her, curiosity mixed with a tinge of lust and their forever raging hormones stirring beneath the surface. Alex's arm stretches out, offering a reinforced shield, but he says nothing. He doesn't have to. We all feel the steely glare of protection. He's her guardian angel.

"Guys, meet Alex, Jude, and Madeline." Alex clears his throat. "Forgive me, Princess Madeline." Maddie takes a small curtsy, pillowing her brocade skirt. My boys, all gentlemen under their various facades, bow in respect. My girls? Cross arms over chests and take a no-nonsense stance. Neither Marli nor Taylor handle female competition entering their territory well.

Wait. My territory! Why do I let these kids take over? Before feathers fly and the language starts, I raise a hand. "Sit, stand, whatever. Just be quiet. I remember why I called you here." I let them settle on couches, chairs, or on the floor. I forget how long teenagers' legs are, and I maneuver through the tennis shoe covered feet with my second cup of coffee.

"We're moving." My hair blows every direction as they all draw a deep breath. "We need a larger space, and well, I've created a special one just for you. Also, 'Boss Lady' will now be 'Ms. Brooks' to all of you. I'm officially a 'dot.commer' and we have a new home.  www.harleybrooks.com  I think you'll all like it there and you can flex your muscles…or wings, a bit with your fans. You'll each have your own room, so to speak, where I can share stuff about your stories, without it all being crammed onto this small space."

They murmur among themselves as if deciding what to do. "Hey. You don't have a choice, so deal. I promise once we're settled in, you'll like the new place."

Taylor pulls her legs close and rests her chin on her knees. Her big eyes hold a childlike innocence and I sense her uneasiness. She's been through a lot, and trust isn't something she's good with. "What about this place?"

"It's not going anywhere. I'll just work between the two sites. Besides, I've got some new occupants possibly moving in."

"Sorry, we're late. Still having some issues here, I hope you work out soon. I'm running thin on patience." Nate, my would-be suave detective if he didn't have cream cheese smeared on his suit, fills the doorway.

"Whatever," snarls Sydney as she fidgets with the handcuffs. "Unlock these, moron."

"And chance you running off on me again? No way."

Sydney reaches for the teal satin bra wrapped in his free hand. "Give me back my bra!"

The room stills. I can smell the pheromones and testosterone it's so strong.

Riley nudges Taylor's shoulder. "Can you get one like that?"

Jordan snickers and Marli slaps his chest. "What? I didn't say anything!"

"But you were thinking it."

"Well if he wasn't, I was," Jesse smirks.

"Great 'Detective Degenerate'. You've poisoned the minds of innocent children," Sydney scolds.

Nate scoffs. "I doubt it, but before I lose it and show them how to murder an ex-girlfriend, I'm taking you back to the cruiser. Like I said, Boss Lady. Hurry it up, or your writing a murder mystery, not a romance."

I stare into the bottom of my empty cup, wishing for something stronger. I straighten. "Okay, all of you head over to the new place. Go in through the back because the front still has wet paint, and try to not destroy the place before I get there." Alex's wings wrap Maddie and Jude. "You too. We've got work to do."

One by one my characters fade out, except for Riley. "Boss Lady, er I mean Ms. Brooks, you okay? This is what you wanted isn't it?"

I smile, wishing I could erase the crease between his brows. "Yes, I'm fine. Just scared. Now that you're out there, I can't protect you. You're no longer just mine."

"We're tough."

"Let's hope so. Riley, your story is officially out. Smashwords.com; Barnes and Noble (bn.com); Amazon.com, and in print version on Createspace.com. You ready for what comes next?"

"Can't wait! Party at the new 'frat house'," he calls over his shoulder as he disappears.

"It's not a frat house!" I yell out to the empty room "It's Drama Queens and Jock Kings…which you all are!" The faint sound of giggles echo back. I head for the coffeemaker. It's a "3 cup day."

Check out Riley's Pond, now available for $2.99 in ebook format or paperback. Also, buzz over to www.harleybrooks.com and take a walk through the new place, then hop onto "Drama Queens and Jock Kings" and show your support. I know she'd feel a lot better if some of her old friends stopped by. If you feel inclined to share a link or two to let the world know Riley's Pond is officially for sale and to check out the new digs, please do so!

For now, I'll juggle both places, but here, I'm just boring Joelene until another personality kicks me in the butt – one who has got to fix the mess Nate created. "Dirty Laundry," a working title, is the playful adult romantic comedy I'm playing with when the "kids" are asleep. Stay tuned.

BREAKING DAWN....

Just returned from the midnight showing and I will report that this Twihard fan came away stoked! Awesome. The best movie in the Twilight films and I can't wait for the next installment. Definitely worth the wait (arrived at 9:30 thinking early enough...oh no, loooong line and an hour wait outside before letting us inside. Very well done. No spoilers, (wedding dress is beautiful) but I will give you a tip...stay through the credits!

Nite all...or should I say, "good morning?"

WACKY WEDNESDAY is traveling....

I'm guest blogging (I know! In the middle of NaNoWrimo!) WACKY WEDNESDAY today at www.calisarhose.wordpress.com 

Stop by my good author friend's site and read another reason why you're normal and I'm not. Sharing another episode off my personal reality show, this time on the "feast of foul" better known as Thanksgiving dinner. I've yet to pull off the perfect "Martha Steward Thanksgiving Feast," but I'll be darned if I don't get to try again this year!  Come share a giggle, and leave me your suggestion on how to get the grease spots from Thanksgiving pasts out of my rug. Later.

By the way...ended last night with a wordcount of 14,842 (yea!)

NANOWRIMO - Let the writing begin.....

Day one:  "Some Boys" courtesy of Death Cab for Cutie

Well, it's here. November 1st....
Twenty days to my wedding anniversary; twenty-three days until Thanksgiving and consequently twenty-four days preceding "Black Friday." It is also the beginning of NaNoWrimo - the exciting, wonderful, hellish month for which those authors who have signed on for the gruelling task, have until midnight November 30th, to download their project into the database to see if they have met the 50,000 word marker required to win NaNoWrimo for 2011.  Last year I clocked in at 6:00 pm with 53,700 words and two-thirds of my now completed manuscript, Riley's Pond.

Last night I downloaded my playlist onto my iPod, researched my "buddies" to follow and compete against, and mentally plotted the story I would conceive. Last year I tried plotting, and it wouldn't allow my mind to flow freely. Once I chucked the plot because the characters had a different story they wanted to tell, Riley's Pond took off. So this year, no paper plot. Just an idea and so far, only four characters. Others will jump on stage when their time to shine appears.

I also decided this year I would do a daily blog of my accomplishments, frustrations, and yes, failures. I have become addicted to social networking, which has proven, unfortunately, a huge drain on my creative time. It mostly serves as an avoidance tactic to my never ending edits. However, I am a person who needs "checks and balances" in place to keep me on track. Therefore, I will blog daily - short snippets to keep myself on task. Those faithful followers who are not up to my daily rant, you are excused. For those who hang on, I applaud you and wish I was filthy rich to adorn you in expensive thank you gifts. All I can do is offer you a glimpse into my daily escape into my new manuscript and perhaps a giggle or two. You know how my life plays out.

WACKY WEDNESDAY has been suspended a couple of weeks due to a cold and "pee your pants" cough that refuses to leave, despite my efforts to share my germs with unsuspecting passersby, but if I can squeeze one in somewhere I will. Do note that I promised my author friend, Calisa Rhose I'd do a guest WACKY WEDNESDAY on November 8th on her site, and I'll give you more details when the date gets closer.

Okay, epitaph closing now. I'm on to NaNo - ended at 7:00 this morning with 1,325 words and the beginnings of "Saving Grace" or "Fatal Serendipity." Haven't decided on the title. I'll give you little excerpts along the way (remember they are in such rough draft form you could get "cut") but at the end of the month, I'd like your opinion on which title .... or if you've come up with a better one, I should use. Credit will be given if I choose yours, I promise...BECAUSE I WILL BE PUBLISHED!!

Now, here's my blurb to the working title "Saving Grace"...

Living in the Witness Protection Program has its perks. No one knows your past, only the life you custom create. When seventeen-year-old Zoe Adams walks through the front doors of Grant High School, she leaves Grace Harrison and the life belonging to her, behind.  Immediately catching the eye of hunky heartthrob Branson Jacobs, Zoe starts spinning her web of lies. But when Devon Richards unexpectedly  transfers cross county with his family and enrolls in Grant High, he finds his missing girlfriend locked in the arms of another boy, pretending to be someone she's not. Devon threatens to expose Zoe for who she really is, unless she dumps Branson and returns to him. A choice that could prove deadly for her. Devon's uncle is the one responsible for Grace's identity crisis and when he discovers she is still alive and capable of fingering him in her father's murder, "Saving Grace" becomes a race both Branson and Devon find themselves running together, hoping they'll cross the finish line in time.

WACKY WEDNESDAY...Cheerleader tryouts - a disastrous life lesson

TODAY, I'M A GUEST BLOGGER AT  www.christinawolfer.blogspot.com  HOP ON OVER AND READ ANOTHER PAGE OF MY "LIFE LESSONS". . . EXPOSED PANTIES AND ALL!

WACKY WEDNESDAY...Where Anything Goes

Today's twisted topic:  Those little horror fables we call "nursery rhymes" - Brain teasers or easers?

I'm stretched out on a leather couch, my shoes kicked off so my toes can wiggle, hoping my feet don't stink or my stomach doesn't growl. Or worse…(refer to earlier posts). Across from me, a gentleman sits, pad resting on his crossed knee, and his pen tapping ever so slightly and annoying against the paper.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" he asks, as if scripted.

"Life sucks." Mature…to the point.

"And why is that?"

"If I knew the answer, I wouldn't be lying here, picturing you naked to ease my nervousness, and paying you $100 an hour. For that price, the least you could do is work out. Hell, you can afford a gym pass. And splurge on a tan, too, would ya? My fantasy isn't working with you flabby and pasty white. Would it kill you to get hair plugs and contacts? Honestly, the glare from your oversized wire rims is competing with your enormous forehead."

At this point, the counselor hands me the pad of paper and pen. He eases back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's my parents' fault," he starts. "I must have been dropped on my head."

That might explain the premature baldness on his frontal lobe.

It all boils down to the follies of parents.

I believe my parents were brain damaged from riding in the back window of the family car on long road trips. They "baked." My mother is the hyper type, so she probably only hit medium rare, but my dad's pension for "naps" leads me to believe he may have not been turned enough to heat evenly.

If there wasn't room in the back window, they were placed in a pile of blankets on the floorboards in the back seat and their siblings were threatened with corporal punishment if they touched the baby. I believe my uncle held his stinky bare feet over my dad's nose until he cried. He's had a feet fetish his whole life.

Personally, I think issues start in infancy, when the subconscious is damaged by dark twisted nursery rhymes, stories, and lullabies. Think about it. What's the most famous (and I might add, dark) lullaby a baby is cooed to sleep with?

Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree tops

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Oh hel-lo. I picture a mother suffering from post-partum depression, having given birth to her twenty-eighth child, all under twelve. They're running, screaming, jumping on the furniture and teasing each other relentlessly. The baby can't sleep, probably suffering from colic, and mommy dearest is at her wits end. Of course she's nearing the end of her six-week reprieve and daddy's getting all hot and bothered again. She's rocking the baby to sleep for the hundredth time to avoid amorous dad, and this lovely tune pops in her head.

Bewitched by the melody, the unsuspecting child craves the song night after night, his brain soaking in the lyrics which are embedded in the core of his mind. He grows up thinking mommy fantasized about putting him in a tree, praying for a windstorm, or tornado, blowing him out the branches and crashing him to earth.

Dropping him on his head.

My kids thought "Green Eggs and Ham" would be a fantasy come true, and I'm sure a couple of babysitters re-enacted the book.



And the nursery rhymes? Our infamous ""Jack and Jill?"  Sending two small children to traverse a hill for pails of water? What the hell did they do to deserve that punishment? Talk about child slave labor!

I picture myself using this threat on my cocky teenager:

"Son, if you sluff school one more time to play WarCraft, you will be dragging your sorry ass up that mountain with a bucket to search for water. Got that?" 

Of course Junior has heard the nursery rhyme countless times, and scoffs. His horny teenage brain knows he won't go alone. He'll take "Jill." 

What about "Five Little Monkeys Jumping on a Bed?" Think about it. "One fell off and broke his head?" Apparently, the chimp suffered severe brain trauma as the result of a massive skull fracture. The doctor, who we all told our little ones could heal all "boo-boos" can't do anything to save a poor monkey? How can he fix a broken arm or leg? He just left the semi-ape to die! And what of the other monkeys? It's obvious we have bully no one dares to stop until all his minions are eliminated. Then, it's a suicidal jump to avoid prosecution. (Wait? Is this symbolic of our schools?)





"Three Blind Mice?" Why isn't PETA all over this one? Cruelty to animals rates pretty high here. The wee ones singing this little rhyme have yet to process the words that account for a violent, premeditated murder. Carving knife? What frame of mind was this author in? A broom must have seemed weak and metal traps springing over nibbling rodents didn't seem cruel enough?

Is this where creative mastermind Stephen King goes when he needs to picture a gruesome scene to write? He just closes his eyes and starts singing an old childhood nursery rhyme. (Note: these "horror fables" were defined as "nursery" rhymes).

Next time you cradle a frightened or upset little one in your arms, think about the words you're going to use to soothe him or her. Little minds paint big pictures.

Be careful crossing London Bridge….



Thanks for letting me twist your brain a bit. Now you know why I think with a "limp!"   Joelene

THE MORALITY OF THE STORY...

Currently indulging my ears with "Made for You" by a favorite:  One Republic

Forbidden fruit. We don't want it until we're told we can't have it. Soon the forbidden turns from a craving, to an obsession. What about when our characters are tempted with "forbidden fruits"....tangible wants kept out of reach? How do they react? Does their want turn to a need because they are told they can't have or do something, or do they suddenly turn introspect and listen to their conscience? Does our "world building" have an influence on how they handle the precarious elements surprising them throughout the story? Words of wisdom from someone in their current or back story helping them through the maze?



As authors, we create the character, the dilemma, and the solution, but somewhere between plotting and writing, the characters come to life. Their voices are loud in our heads, telling us that what we plotted for Chapter 7, isn't happening. They start getting their own ideas...developing their individual arcs as well as how they want to navigate the labyrinth we've established.


Those outside the writer's mind desperately wanting you to create the appropriate story (especially in Young Adult lit), suggest "just write them doing what you want them to do." Like children, our characters can be stubborn. Tell them they "can't" and they'll find a way to make it happen, jumping outside all the neat little lines we created on the plotting graph, often times, doing something inappropriate.


In world-building Designer Genes:


Marli is raised in suburbia America, but her home life is not conventional. Mom and Dad have split, her brother killed in the army, leaving her an only child. She leads a semi-normal life, attending public schools, bonding with girlfriends and swapping spit with her high school boyfriend. She's stubborn, a bit insecure, and trusts no one, outside of her father. To Marli, life is full of shades of gray.

Jordan comes from a powerful, affluent family. His mouth is shaped to the silver spoon he was born with. He's attended private schools since he shunned diapers for tweed knickers and leather loafers. But he doesn't act spoiled. Raised unconventionally as well, with two parents, but an absentee father due to his line of work, Jordan is loyal to his family. Goal oriented and driven, he's his own worst enemy. Life is black and white.

Jesse, Jordan's nemesis and twin brother, raised in the exact same environment, is a rebel rouser. To him, the world is colored brightly, and rules are made to be broken, or stretched to the ultimate limits, keeping just this side of a felony. He and Jordan are the classic "right brain-left brain" twin concept. Jordan rules his decisions with his head, while Jesse's wild heart leads his. Until they both meet Marli. I think we know what "leads" now.


A publisher interested in Designer Genes asked me if my characters had premarital sex. She said she would have a problem with that, if it were the case. ("Censorship" flashed in my brain.) The idea, the want for the "forbidden fruit" is the burning link between my characters, and the tension is the driving force of the romance. Only when the opportunity presents itself without any strings attached do my characters make their own decision. The fruit dangles within reach, the consumption undetectable. Do they "partake?"


World-building Riley's Pond was different. No futuristic elements or government control to deal with. Riley's, Jaxson's, and Taylor's world is here and now, filled with existing problems and raging hormones. Riley and Jaxson are brothers, raised in a small town. I gave them a stable home environment, with a father who is the local sheriff, making the lines between "right and wrong" clear and concise.


But Jaxson changes my story immediately by making himself the "bad boy." Riley's Pond opens with a consequence of one of Jaxson's choices, forcing Riley to decide his own life path. When Taylor arrives surrounded in mystery and waist deep in the pond, Riley lets his hormones decide and begins "the hunt," pursuing her with one goal in mind. Jump her bones. So when the forbidden fruit is handed out, does he take a bite? Share it with Taylor? Or does Jaxson steal the fruit first?


Our characters have morals and make decisions accordingly. Sometimes they're not the best choices and the consequences become a learning experience for the character and author, making a great story for the reader. One thing I've learned...there's no expiration date on "forbidden fruit," and it comes in all "flavors." It never ages, and is just as sweet or sour today as it was "in the beginning...."

Later friends...I'm off to the "orchard!"  Harley Brooks off looking for Joelene who never stands still

Today's Thought:  When travelling life's path you stumble over a rock, move it aside so someone following behind doesn't fall and get hurt.

NIGHTMARES MAKE GREAT STORIES

Currently humming to Heartbeat courtesy of Enrique Iglesias and Nicole Scherzinger
(A delightfully sexy little tune...I picture Jesse whispering this tune in Marli's ear while he has her all to himself for a weekend in Park City, Utah - away from Jordan. Another beckoning glimpse into Designer Genes - "The Boyfriend Cut")

The wind is blowing, the air frosty. A full moon hangs on Heaven's branch and the stars glitter like diamonds against black velvet. A silvery glow illuminates patches of snow tucked between large pines and resting on rough boulders. The barren twisted branches of trees, naked in the winter night are silhouetted by the luminescense of the moonlight. The aroma of dead leaves, rich loamy earth, and pine boughs lace the chilly night air. A trail winds and curls through the forest and in the shadows edging the woods, beads of green, bright blue, and fiery red flash from the watchful eyes moving ghostily with my steps. Misty tendrils crawl along the black forest floor, wrapping my ankles like soft cold feathers. I push a wayward bough away and pause. A meadow of ice painted grass shimmers when a gust blows low and kisses the frozen shards. The air crackles and my skin pebbles when the hair on my neck pricks. Across the glowing field, puffs of mist rise from the nostrils of the black creature facing me. The musky scent carries on the breeze, swamping me with anticipation. The crisp grass crunches beneath the paws pressing in hard, deliberate steps. Magic weaves through the thick fur, transforming the black ruff to silky waves framing a face created into chiseled angles. Haunches turn to legs sculpted of lean muscle, carrying a body primed and ripped tight across a brawny chest and over large shoulders. His skin glimmers with a dewy sheen and his masculine scent wafts through me senses when his arms draw me into their embrace. Dark lashes fan his cheeks and he bends, brushing his full lips over mine, soft as the flutter of butterfly wings. My lips bloom under a second kiss, parting and inviting the delicious taste of his mouth capturing mine. My body leans into his curves, my fingers feeling his muscles ripple beneath their tentative touch. Heat surges through my veins with every pulse of my heart. But the edges of my dream ruffle, slowly tearing apart and fading away with the steady beep of the alarm on the night table. I pinch my eyes, willing myself back to the meadow, racing down the root laden path, only managing a few steps before it all disappears when the real world invades with the aroma of coffee brewing. A slight smile pulls the corner of my mouth. Another story is born. I think I'll call him Damien.

Writers never stop dreaming...

Have a day full of surprises and a night full of dreams.
As always, thanks for stopping by. Harley Brooks - one of many personalities inside Joelene

Looking for a real life happy ending to a horrible tragedy? Grab a tissue and hop over to Pen of the Dreamer at calisa-lewis.blogspot.com, my "cyber" buddy and talented author.

CHANGES

Current Listen:  Broken Dreams and Secrets courtesy of Ohio Avenue

I've been very "flighty" the past week, like a fairy searching for a petal to land on. My soul has been restless, my nights sleepless, my mood sketchy and unpredictable (apologies extended to all innocent victims). My thoughts are scattered, but my energy level is off the charts! I've decided my reaction to the "universe" is due to the new year. I'm standing in a doorway, looking over my shoulder at the Past, known and comfortable, whether good or bad. I'd molded into its shape, adapting to all the curves and angles. My head turns slightly and the view changes. I now face the Future, unknown and full of uncertainty. Changes are coming, and judging by my restless psyche, big changes. Fear and excitement kick the mass of butterflies already fluttering out of control (I may need to adjust my hormone medication) as I anticipate what lies beyond the mystic veil hiding my future. Change is hard but necessary. I'm still growing into what I'll become.


Therefore, I'm polishing my crystal bowl while my tea leaves steep, smelling the scent of sage and juniper from my smoldering smudge stick, and carefully selecting my three "angel cards," all in preparation of chasing away all negativity and welcoming only good karma to ring in the New Year. And just in case none of those work, I'll fall back on good old fashioned crossing fingers, toes, and yes, eyes (some things like chocolate look better in "twos"). 


Meanwhile, I lose myself in my passion and continue writing. I'm working on a re-write to the beginning of the second installment of Designer Genes and having a blast! Marli and Jordan's relationship is sailing stormy seas. My golden boy, Jordan, has got himself into some serious trouble when a ghost from his past manifests, and his blue band status in The Program is called into question. Instead of turning up the heat, Marli's frigid kiss goodbye leaves Jordan's lips suffering frostbite.


Stay tuned fans. Designer Genes - "A Perfect Size 5" (a working subtitle - suggestions?) promises to show you what happens when Marli and Jordan decide to go against The Program. Hint:  "The Program can walk away from you, but you cannot walk away from The Program," as quoted by a new dastardly demon Ryder Kirk.


As always, thanks for lending an "eye" my direction. Joelene, writing as Harley Brooks

Today's thought:  Kiss a frog. You never know when he'll turn into Prince Charming. And if he doesn't, you can cross it off your "bucket list!"


Special plugs to the new release NAUGHTY GODMOTHER by Chloe Cole. Checkout calisa-lewis.blogspot.com for more details and a fun glimpse.  Later friends!!

Merry Christmas Baby

Current Listen:  Breath of Heaven, courtesy of Amy Grant


Tonight as I sat by the fire, basking in the glow of my Christmas Tree, a thread of thought passed through my mind. What would Marli and Jordan's first Christmas have been like? I never wrote a scene involving Christmas because my book ends with the Thanksgiving holiday. So I asked Marli to tell me about their Christmas. She told me she convinced Jordan to come to Ohio and spend the holiday with her and her father. It was only fair. She'd spent Thanksgiving with his family. With that said, here is how Marli's first Christmas with Jordan began....


My alarm went off, but I was already awake. Dawn was barely pinking the sky, giving the icicles dropping from my roof an iridescent glimmer. It had snowed yesterday and this morning, tiny crystal droplets clung to the branches. It was a scene worthy of a Christmas morning.


 I bundled inside my terry robe, tiptoed past Rick’s bedroom door and scurried down the stairs to my Christmas present, asleep in Daniel’s old room. Jordan.

The bedroom was dark, being buried from the sun and tucked beneath a snow laden bush. I stood by the bed, listening to the deep raspy breaths matching the bare chest rising and falling above the edge of the quilt. His lashes fanned across his cheeks and wavy strands of caramel colored hair edged his head in the crinkles of the pillow. The hand raised above his head twitched a couple of times and his full lips opened and closed with a deep breath.

 “It’s really creepy having you stare at me while I sleep,” Jordan softly spoke without so much as an eyelash fluttering.

My hand slapped my heart back to beating from being stopped with fright. I swallowed hard, pretending to be unfazed. “How long have you been watching me?”

“I heard the pitter patter of your little feet on the stairs.” He lifted the quilt. “Climb in here my Christmas Elf. I’ve got a present for you,” he beckoned in a seductive lilt.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that present,” I halfway lied.

Jordan’s eyebrow cocked and a corner of his mouth pulled into a sexy, lopsided grin. I shrugged out of my robe and slipped between the warm sheets into his embrace. My ear on his chest counted heartbeats racing to catch my own.

 “I’ll bet I could persuade you. Maybe even give you a candy cane, too?” he teased.

Jordan’s hello kiss told my willpower “goodbye.” By the time I was able to come up for air, I was already molded to his every curve.

“When you kiss me like that, you don’t need to even speak. Your wish is my command.”

“Too bad I’m such a gentleman. I’m also fond of certain body parts and have a strong desire to see my next birthday, so you need to get my favorite little tush back upstairs before Rick finds you.”


I giggled against his lips. “Yeah, I’d hate to see anything happen to my favorite body.”


Another heady kiss ended too quickly, but just in the nick of time.


“I better go,” I whispered. Reluctantly, I moved from beneath my hunky boyfriend’s body, but before I could exit my warm place, Jordan caught my shoulders.

“Wait. I told you I had a present for you. Close your eyes.”


“Hmm, the last time you told me to close my eyes, my life changed.”


"I promise nothing dramatic.”


Jordan pushed my hair to the side and a cold weight pressed below the hollow in my throat. “Okay, you can open them.”

My eyes dropped to what my fingers were holding. A teardrop sapphire surrounded by what I was certain were diamonds, was suspended from a gleaming silver chain. “Jordan?”

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” No longer caring what my father might think, I wrapped myself around Jordan and pushed him back into the pillows. “I love you, Jordan Mason.”

“I love you more,” he whispered over my mouth. “Now go. I’ll get dressed and come help with breakfast.”

One my way to the door, I tossed a pair of reindeer covered flannel pajamas, tied with a red ribbon at Jordan. “Sorry, but there’s no ‘getting dressed’. Davis house rules. Pajamas all day on Christmas.”


“You’re joking, right? Reindeer?”

I paused in the doorway and smiled, “I thought the ‘horns’ were appropriate.”


Well, I hope you enjoyed the holiday glimpse. Too bad blogs are short. Blueberry pancakes were on the breakfast menu as well as a fiesty snowball fight later, still in pajamas. Hmm, wonder how they warmed up? I've got a pretty good idea. With that steamy little thought to dream about, I'm off to bed. Hope your holidays are shaping up and you're further along in your shopping than I am!
 
Later fans. Thanks for stopping by. Joelene
 
Tonight's thought: Don't get caught up in all the hustle and bustle that you forget the "reason for the season." Give from your heart this Christmas.

CONGRATS FELLOW NANOWRIMOS

Tonight's listen:  No More Cloudy Days, courtesy of "The Eagles"

November 30th came to close with the sound of thousands whizzing over the finish line with seconds to go before midnight, all rushing for the "claim to fame" of being able to write a book in a month of 50,000 or more words. Not an easy task!


You barrel out of the starting gates Week 1 with enthusiasm, unbridled energy and able to live on 2 hours sleep.


Then Week 2 hits. It's like the first week of January when the holidays are over and tax season looms. The wind is suddenly gone out of your sails and the edges of the story you've carefully laid the ground work on, start to fray. For some, its the week of "writers block" where hard as you try, nothing creative is coming forth. But you must write. (Taking a day off from writing on NaNoWrimo is hell to catch up on later. Trust me. I know.) So you plug away, maybe writing "aardvark" eighteen hundred times just to fill your daily word count quota, but you write something!


Week 3 knocks at the door and you gasp! One more week! And this particular week for we ladies raising our magic wands, or I should say "spoons" (thank you Loretta), proves even more challenging. There's "fowl play." Thanksgiving sneaks around the corner, along with several companions, most of which you only cook once, maybe twice  year. Not only are you responsible for creating the "memorable holiday," you still have your 1,800 words to type by midnight, as well. Personally, I don't remember tasting the turkey until the day after.


Week 4 just busts through the door, unannounced, and a panic attack ensues. Your word count is not where it should be. When you check your stats online, the diagonal bar is stretching far above your daily word count, visibly shaking you to realize that according to your "production output," reaching your 50,000 word requirement will fall way past November 30th's deadline.
Family ties are severed at this point. People approaching you carry long sticks and linger near exits for quick retreat. You're on the border of shapeshifting into some paranormal beast at this point, crazed and obsessed with meeting your 50,000 word count. You'll respond to your new nickname (hint: starts with a "B") faster than your own name.


Two days before the cut off date, I was looking at 43,000 on my word count. I think the sun rose and set, and I vaguely remember a migraine plaguing me, but I'm not clear if I ate anything besides my weight in chocolate, or drank anything that did not have thousands of milligrams of caffeine. On my lunch hour on "D" day, I took my laptop and memory stick holding my masterpiece, and sequestered myself in the public library where I wouldn't be disturbed, tucking into the 'Periodicals' section.


Let me take a moment to comment here. Old men do not bathe. It's a scientific fact, and they hang out in the 'Periodical' section of the library for entertainment. Holding my breath and typing a very intense scene of my story, I crossed the 50,000 word mark. I continued to sneak a word in here an there until around 6:00 pm. I opened my account, and downloaded what I had finished. I wanted to be safe, not part of the mad rush at 11:59 trying to crash the servers on the NaNoWrimo website by downloading my story.


"Riley's Pond" (formerly known as "Avoiding My Brother's Shadow"), while not quite completed, came in on NaNoWrimo at 52,075 words. When I shut down my computer at precisely midnight, my word count was 54,049, and I was in love with my new story. Still have a couple of chapters before penning "the end," but I patted myself on the back for a job well done. It's raw, full of colorful language, unsavory scenes, but has a happy ending. Kind of like "life."


Congratulations to my fellow "NaNoWrimos." Whether or not you reached the 50,000 word goal, you took on the challenge and trained yourself to be a disciplined writer. What a wonderful experience. What an amazing year so far!


Did I fail to mention that the week I was plucking feathers, I also submitted a partial of my manuscript to two agents, with a query letter and synopsis? A feat worth mentioning.


Goodbye November. You'll go down in my history as one of the "great ones." I'm putting on my new "stretchy pants" (thank you M&M's) and taking on the daunting task of making fixing my leaning Christmas Tree. However, if I tilt my head just a tiny bit, it's straight!


Happy writing my author comrades, and happy reading my friends. Now....let the holidays begin.


Thanks for visiting.  "Harley Brooks" (Joelene's evil twin)

Today's thought:  Never say "I can't," or you won't. Never say "I might," or you won't. Say "I can do anything," and you will.