Kristal Lee

April's mission was to blog every day, excluding Sunday, using the letters of the alphabet to prompt post ideas. Easy, breezy~ right?

Not so much. That's why the code name was A-Z Challenge.

When I was recruited, I envisioned that a theme in my posts would emerge. Like a compass to guide me to an understanding, or awareness, of who I am as a writer.

Looking back, I see the hodge-podge of topics I chose have only my stream of  consciousness in common and my stream of consciousness meanders here, there and everywhere.

Photo Source

Facebook's Status Shuffle got it right. I have ADHLS ~ Attention Deficit Hey Look a Squirrel.

All kidding aside, the A-Z Challenge brought me new followers and lead me to follow other blogs that I may never have found surfing the blogosphere. Although I wasn't able to post comments on all the blogs I visited, I did make daily rounds to fellow A-Zers. It was interesting to peruse all the different topics that people came up with, and I was envious of more than a few. 


 Here's a recap of my A-Z topics.


Congratulatory hugs to all the bloggers who completed the A-Z Challenge. A big thanks to Lee at Tossing It Out, Talli at Talli Roland, Jen at Unedited, Candace at Misadventures in Candyland, Karen at Coming down the Mountain, Jeffrey at World of the Scribe, Stephen at Breakthrough Blogs and Alex at Alex J. Cavanaugh for hosting this year's event.

And a special thanks to Elizabeth Mueller for gifting me with my newest blog award.


So, A-Z Challenge~ That's a Wrap!

Last night I contemplated a "B" topic that would coincide with Saturday's Shout-out. By the time I plopped into bed, after midnight, I had come up with Nada.  I had the inkling that my creativity would stall on the second day of the A-Z Challenge. How annoying.

Although not the first thing on my mind when I wake, the letter "B" soon skitters across my mind doing the nana-nana-nana (fingers-in-the-ear, tongue-sticking-out) wave. Considering the taunt, I trudge into the kitchen and set about my Saturday morning routine...

I grab the electric teapot and fill it with water while the fur-babies eager for their morning treat hover at my feet. (Well, Brave Little Basset hovers. With his short legs, he can't reach higher than my calves. Monster Puppy, however, stands at the perfect height to reach the back of my thighs, just below my butt cheeks. He doesn't hover; he sneaks. Waiting for the opportune time when I'm distracted, he gooses me by pressing his cold, wet nose against my skin. So not a good thing, especially when I'm carrying a pot of water.)

After I manage to plug in the teapot, I dole out the dog biscuits and shoo the fur-babies outside, wondering if I should post about Brave Little Basset...two "B's" there. But, Saturdays are about Shout-Outs not musings.

Then, I consider writing something on butt cheeks. Somewhere, I heard about people paying to get butt implants. Looking over my shoulder at my derriere, I shudder to think what would possess someone to consider such a thing. I'd like mine smaller, please. Not bigger. No Shout-Out, there.

Sighing, I reach into the pantry and pull out the tea bags.

I love tea. Hot tea. Iced tea. Any way you brew it, tea. Some writers need coffee; I need tea.

Tea is fairly inexpensive when compared to other beverages. It's easy to prepare and is believed to have many health benefits. My grandmother always had a glass of tea in her hand and a pitcher in the fridge. She was 96 when she passed from this life to the next and she didn't suffer from any major age-related sickness or disease. No diabetes. No heart disease. No arthritis. No dementia. I think tea was the key to her longevity.

I stare at the Bigelow tea bag in my hand.
Inspiration strikes.
The Hallelujah choir sings.
Funny how the angelic host sounds a lot like Evanescence belting out Bring Me to Life.


Then and there I realize today's Shout-Out belongs to  R.C. Bigelow, Inc., a.k.a. the Bigelow Tea Company. Founded in 1945 by Ruth Campbell Bigelow, the company remains 100% family owned. They sell more than 50 varieties of tea world-wide. The Bigelow Tea Company also owns the US's only tea plantation in Charleston, SC.

 A successful, American-owned, family driven business started by a woman, continues under the administration of a woman, and manufactures my favorite beverage-- that definitely deserves a Shout-Out. But, there's more.

Bigelow Tea Company has a Green Mission. They don't use pesticides. That means no herbicides, insecticides, or fungicides. Their irrigation system uses only rain water and pond water so they aren't tapping into the local water reserves. They recycle the stems and fibers extracted from the tea plants during processing and use them in the fields for mulch.

They incorporate ECO-friendly practices not only in the fields, but also in their business offices. Electric hand-dryers are used in the restrooms and double-side printing is encouraged to reduce paper waste.

Pay them a cyber-visit at www.bigelowtea.com and drop a comment below to let me know what's your favorite beverage and why. Hey, if you've been to the tea plantation in Charleston (or any tea plantation), I'd love to hear about your visit, too.

Hop over to New Kids on the Writer's Block. I'm talking ergonomics.

http://www.officefurniture2.com/2010/12/

Last month I began using a spreadsheet to track words written. January's grand total was 14,445 with 10,547 words credited to my current WIP. I challenged myself to do better.

Did I?

Yes and No.

Here's the tally:

Grand Total for February ~ 17, 375 words written.

The breakdown:

photo: performance-rules.com

WIP ~ 10,223
Blog ~ 3,685
NKotWB Blog~ 2,073
Season Reviews~ 1,394

Although I surpassed January's total word count, I'm annoyed that I didn't manage more words for my WIP.  324 words short of matching and my goal had been to exceed.

So what happened?

My organizational skills in February were virtually non-existent. Creatively, I felt like I was tied to the end of a bungy cord, flailing all over the place. I really need a schedule. I really hate schedules.  Schedules keep me on track. Schedules are stifling, inciting a sense of rebellion.

Believe it or not, I did make a weekend writing schedule. I just didn't follow it. I tried to structure it the same way my work week runs. Problem is, I'm not a morning person by nature. Getting up at 5:30am on Saturday just ain't gonna happen. Even with the alarm set, even with the furbabies pawing at the door, even with Professor X nudging me.

I need a new plan for March. 10,000 words a month for WIP isn't gonna cut the cake. I did 50,000 words in November for NaNoWriMo. I can do it again, right?

I had a little extra help, though. I took some time off work and with a few holiday freebies I gained extra writing days that I don't normally have. Can't repeat that pattern too often, so I need to figure out something that will consistently work for me.  I'm thinking about going for a weekly word count goal. I just need to figure out what's doable and stretch it a little.

What about those of you who also shuffle a "day" job with writing? Do you worry about scheduling time to write? Do you hold yourself to a word count or hours spent at the desk? Do you set deadlines for yourself, or do you adopt the attitude, "it'll get finished when it gets finished"?

Join me at New Kids on the Writer's Block for a look at twenty writer stereotypes.

On Monday, I revealed a little about myself, but among the tidbits was a fabrication. So, which fact didn't belong?

On a cruise to Jamaica, our ship had to wait several hours before coming ashore in Montego Bay because fuliguline had congregated in the port.

I did take a cruise to Jamaica. The lie was that the ship was delayed. Fuliguline blocking the port and eating duck for dinner are exaggerations of the lie.

K.C. suggested that I wasn't really afraid of killer rabbits. After much thought, I had to agree. Although the statement wasn't an intentional lie, more than likely I would tame the critter and turn it into a pet. Having an attack bunny would be awesome!

The gauntlet is on the ground and the first challenge of the 2nd Writers' Platform-building Crusade has been issued.

In 300 words or less, Crusaders must reveal tidbits of themselves that include:
· one secret
· one lie
· one interesting quirk
· one annoying habit
· one of your best character traits, and
· one of your favorite things in the whole world.
The post must include the random words, “bloviate,” “fuliguline,” “rabbit,” and “blade.”



I have accepted the challenge, so here are some randoms facts about me, in no particular order, without rhyme or reason.

Photo:Birdphotos.com

photo: whiterabbitcult.com

I'm quirky about movies. I love bloody, gritty vampire flicks like BLADE, UNDERWORLD, and VAN HELSING. Although, natural disaster films like TWISTER, THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW, and NIGHT OF THE LEPUS give me panic attacks. Professor X doesn't understand this, even though I've explained that I'm not afraid of fantastical beings such as vampires and werewolves because they are kindred spirits. I am, however, scared to death of tornadoes, apocalyptic storms, and killer rabbits.

I may have revealed something about me that isn’t strictly true, can you guess what it is? 

I'll reveal the untruth in Wednesday's post. 

I'm excited to have ASHLYN CHASE visiting today. Ashlyn is a multi-published author of light paranormal romances and erotic romances. Her 2010 release, Strange Neighbors was one of my favorite reads last year and she follows it up with this month's release of The Werewolf Upstairs.

Ashlyn, Welcome!

Thank you for the opportunity to reach more readers, Kristal.

“People will forget what you said; people will forget what you did; but they’ll never forget how you made them feel.”

Ashlyn, thank you for sharing your inspiration and how you apply it in your writing.  I think you do achieve your goal to entertain rather than bore with your books. For me, your novel Strange Neighbors was definitely a fun read that still makes me smile when I talk about it with my friends. And now, the stand-alone sequel, The Werewolf Upstairs, is out and I can't wait to read it!  BTW, the cover is fabulous.

I love fireflies. Their mesmerizing iridescent glow composes epic adventures across the dark canvas of night in a mysterious language that burns my imagination. When I discovered John D. Engle, Jr.'s brilliant firefly poem  in Writers Digest, it spoke to my bard's soul. I clipped it, laminated it, and have managed not to lose it for over 20 years-- quite a feat for me. I could misplace something while it's still clutched in my hand, so says Professor X. Nevertheless, Mr's Engle's masterpiece has never been far from my reach. Presently, it's taped to my glass-top desk where it continues to inspire me to practice with persistence the art of writing with abandon.
 

I try to practice what I have been taught."   John D. Engle, Jr.


Mr. Engle is an award winning poet, creative writing teacher, and writing coach. He has also published works in fiction, non-fiction, and drama, including a full-length historical. 

Photo: tennismd.com

Months of chronic elbow pain, unremitting after ice and heat packs, anti-inflammatories and pseudo-rest, prompted me to trudge over to the orthopedist's office. Diagnosis: lateral epicondylitis, commonly known as "tennis elbow."


Whaddaya mean, doc? I'm a writer, not a tennis pro.



According to the fine doctor, I have overtaxed a tendon that runs from my elbow to my middle finger, a common injury to tennis players but not exclusive.

Photo: gmoneysack.blogspot.com

Hmmm, I wonder how I managed to accomplish an injury stemming from one finger. Ironically, the bird finger. Now there are times I want to flip off a driver who's cut me off, I rarely give in to that temptation. So, I studied my habits and can say I still have no idea how I did this. It doesn't appear that I use the middle finger any more than the others. If had to pick one with the most repetitive use, I would have placed my bet on the index finger. Yep, that would be the one. It points, dials, scratches, flicks, turns pages, and opens snail mail. 


Whatever the cause, I've renamed this phenomenon "Writer's Elbow" because I sure didn't get this from playing tennis.

The cure? A wrist splint. Yes, a wrist splint. Not the elbow brace I'd been wearing. 


How long? Six weeks. I almost croaked. Actually, I think my voice did croak a bit when I repeated back to the doctor, Six weeks? Are you kidding?

Ummm, no. He wasn't. Six weeks in a brace with anti-inflammatories as needed and a warning that if this fix doesn't work, a cortisone injection will surely follow. Crap! I've heard those things hurt like the dickens. My brain went into avoid-shot-at-all-cost mode.


The first night I wore the brace to bed I had a nightmare about the top of my hand splitting open and large toad frogs leaping out of the hole. Freaky. Even for a paranormal writer.

In folklore and mythology, frogs often symbolize transformations and self discovery. Think of the Frog Prince, a parable of animus integration and metamorphosis.


Okay, my dream was probably more of a response from my brain alerting me that the brace was too heavy and tight, but it's much more interesting to ponder it from an allegorical perspective.

Although dream frogs are generally positive symbols, their leaping could represent a bad habit of hopping from one thing to the next without completing the former. Ouch! That's how 2010 turned out for me. Skipping from one writing project to the next, leaving a string of unfinished manuscripts. At least until NaNoWriMo came along and I committed to finishing one, Howlin' Hearts.

2011 is the Year of Completion for me. Even with Writer's Elbow to contend with I'm determined to finish what I start and not start something else until I do. Perhaps this dream was a warning to be diligent despite unforeseen circumstances. So, I'll wear the brace and rest the finger. I've got nine others I can use to type.

Last year my job required me to take an Excel workshop. I'm not sure the expense the agency paid was worth the small amount of use required at work, but I'm not complaining. What I learned, I brought home and incorporated into my after-hours writing career. I built a spreadsheet to track words written on WIPs, my blog posts, and book reviews.

On Jan. 1st, I began monitoring my writing habits and productivity. To my surprise, I discovered that I liked being accountable to a chart designed with my favorite colors, with columns and boxes and totals galore. I can easily turn those into pie charts and graphs and forget how much I hated those things in math class. You see, math is not "my thing."

Oh, I can solve those mathematical equations, teeth gritted and fists clenched, under protest. But, really, who cares how fast Timmy has to walk to get to the station before the train going 55 miles an hour from Cincinnati arrives at 3:45, if he leaves his house at 2:15. I'm more concerned with why is Timmy walking alone? Where's his parents? Why can't someone take him? And why the heck is he going to the train station in the first place? That's why I'm a writer and not a mathematician. Much to the dismay of Mr. D., my tenth grade geometry teacher.

Photo: http://lkysppeak.wordpress.com

Maybe if we'd had Excel back then, my life would've had a different direction....Yeah, probably not. It's not the science of formulas and what-not that excited me when I began using my spreadsheet. It was seeing the numbers. Numbers that titillate rather than fill me with trepidation. Numbers that equal words written. Numbers that finally mean something to me.

A glance at January's spreadsheet revealed 12,011 words completed on Howlin Grace (current WIP), 2,152 for it's KRISTAL kLEEr, 1,756 for NKotWB, giving me a grand total of 15,919 for the month. Not too shabby. Of course, I'm a goal-setter. I'll have to best that number in February. Quite a challenge, too. February is a short month. I'd better get busy!

Photo: majorlycool.com

What no {husband} of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when {she's} staring out of the window.  ~Burton Rascoe

Sometimes it seems Professor X is more anxious than I am to see my stories published. On the weekends, which is when the bulk of my writing is accomplished, he always asks, "how much writing did you do today?"

Whenever I reply, "I did 3,000 words," his mouth folds with an expression more smirk than smile and with a nod he wheels on his merry way. I wouldn't say those days are rare, but neither are the ones where my response is simply, "I didn't get any writing done today." That garners a sigh, along with a chastisement that I won't get published by staring out the window.

That's true, if all that was happening was me staring out the window with a vacuous mind. Writer's rarely, if ever, have vacuous minds. We stare into space envisioning a sci-fi thriller, we peer beyond the backyard scenery into the past to ferret out historical plots, we gaze at the moon for a mystical glimpse into enchanted worlds.

And sometimes we wait. Wait for characters to emerge beyond the window so that we can invite them in and listen. Other times we're forced to watch as they disappear, taking with them our plans and predictions for their story. They aren't ready to tell their tales and we must wait until they are.

I remember working feverishly on a werewolf project in 2009. Everywhere I turned, I found massive road blocks to the plot, characters were running hog-wild all over the computer page. Out of control, unruly, and definitely not conforming to the character development worksheets I'd so carefully crafted.

I'm not sure if I was frustrated or relieved the day that stubborn Alpha Male werewolf launched himself off my computer screen and straight through the picture window framing my desk. His black fur, nothing more than a dark streak as he leaped over the fence and vanished.

He didn't venture far. I sensed him in the rustling brush in late afternoons, heard his howls riding the wind, felt his nearness in my writer's soul. He had oats to sow. I had other projects. Still, there were days when I found myself staring out the window. Wondering, wondering, wondering what would become of him.

Last fall, my wandering werewolf loped over the fence and nosed the back door. He was ready to tell his story and I was ready to listen. With rapturous delight I discovered my errant wolf had brought home not only his tale, but also a few friends with their own stories to tell.

I might've missed them all, had I not been sitting at my desk staring out the window.

On this day, 25 years ago, the Challenger Space Shuttle exploded over the eastern seaboard of Florida. Fiery debris littered the Atlantic ocean while vapor trails and curling smoke crisscrossed the otherwise clear, baby blue sky.

Even though I lived in south Florida, I could see the shuttles arch high in the sky mere moments after launch. That day was no different. I was driving down the highway on my way to work. The radio blared with the launch countdown and I carefully watched over the ridge of the dike surrounding Lake Okeechobee. I saw the marshmallowy trail and at the moment the fuel boosters should've separated I watched everything spiral out of control, like the inward workings of a clock that had sprung apart. I'd seen all the shuttle launches from the little town where I grew up. None had ever looked like that. Something went wrong. I knew it. I felt it.

Dead silence fell over the radio. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing but dead silence.

Once I made it to work, the televisions that normally showed the closed circuit cameras feed were all tuned to the news channels. The announcer confirmed what I had known in my heart. The Challenger had exploded. I knew there would be no survivors. No one could've survived that kind of catastrophe at that altitude.

It was the first National disaster that I remember. Mind-numbing. Breath-stealing. Heart wrenching. We were all affected. One Nation in mourning for our heroes: Commander Francis Scobee, 46; pilot Michael Smith, 40; Judith Resnik, 36; Ronald McNair, 35; Ellison Onizuka, 39, Gregory Jarvis, 41; and Christa McAuliffe, 37.

Photo: FoxNews.com

Today I remember them again and think of the progress we've made with the International Space Station and the sacrifices that got us there. But priorities change with time.

Living closer to the Space Coast than I did in 1986, I'm more aware of the perilous politics surrounding the space program in Central Florida. Shuttles are scheduled for retirement without replacements. Funding is strained and thinning. NASA--once a shining star, has lost it's luster in these economically depressed times. 


My hope is that our country will one day experience a renewed passion for space exploration. With it comes a sense of wonderment, the vastness of endless possibilities, and the hope for a better future for all generations. I believe those dreams are what the Challenger heroes held in their hearts as the launched into history.

God speed, Challenger crew. Though you rest in peace, we have not forgotten you.


Do you remember where you were when the Challenger was lost?

"Men {and women} acquire a particular quality by constantly acting a particular way...you become just by performing just actions, temperate by performing temperate actions, brave by performing brave actions." ~ Aristotle

And I like to add:  a writer by writing. 

Join me at New Kids on the Writer’s Block for a look at naming the New Year and what it entails for me.

Surfing the blogverse I came across a quiz link on Celtic Queens that asked "What's Your Celtic Name?" I stopped and wondered just what would be my Celtic name if I lived in those ancient days of gods and goddesses, magick and mystery. I proceeded to delve deeper into this curiosity. For research. Cough, cough.

In truth, I was procrastinating. Delaying jumping into the first draft of my new WIP, which is the second installment of a werewolf series and has nothing to do with Celtic culture, names or traditions. Still, one never knows what tidbits may be useful in the future.

The link at Celtic Queens directed me to appropriate page at Quizilla where I proceeded to answer the questions posed to me by the oracle spiritualkatana.

Lo and behold, according to the wisdom of the ancients, my Celtic name is Niamh [ˈniːəv]. When translated means brilliant or radiant. Hmmm, I think I rather like this name. <grin>


Somewhere in the recesses of my seriously over-loaded and sadly disorganized brain, I remembered the name Niamh. Not from a past life, but something I read. More procrastination ensued while I dug through volumes of books to find the few I'm looking for. My library, columns of books towering and teetering, stacked willy-nilly around my home office, is as orderly as the information in my noggin. After several minutes of searching, I lay my fingers upon the appropriate tomes.

Niamh-- Some legends claim she is the daughter of the King of Tir Na Og. Others call her the daughter of a Celtic sea god from the Isle of Man--Manannán. Whoa! Procrastination just turned into something useful. Manannán features prominently into the Faery Guardian Tales series I'm cultivating. Definitely need to bookmark these passages for future reference.

When Oisin reached Ireland he found all had changed. Man had become diminshed, somehow and the friends he'd known had long since passed. He watched in dismay as several men struggled to move a marble slab. Driven to assist them, he reached down from his horse to give a helping hand. Sadly, his saddle straps broke and he tumbled to the ground. When he stood, his young countenance transformed into a withered, blind old man. Never again did he find his way back to Niamh. 

Ironic that a romance writer be "given" the name of a woman who's own love story came to such a tragic end. Of course, in my imagination, I'm going to write them a happy ending. One day. After I stop procrastinating and get on with my current WIP.


So, what's your Celtic name? Visit the oracle at "What is Your Celtic Name?" and post the results in the comments.  I'm curious to know.

Today is Tooling through the Neighborhood. Join me over at New Kids on the Writer's Block for "Out with the Old~In with the New."

When it comes to traditions, I'm not very traditional. In the past, my family celebrated Thanksgiving by barbecuing ribs, making enchiladas, lasagna, or some other non-traditional fare. It wasn't until I married that we started having turkey on Thanksgiving. Professor X insisted.


So, celebrating a traditional Thanksgiving has become one of our few traditions. We celebrate with family and friends and we remember the ones who are no longer with us. We watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. We eat turkey and stuffing, sweet potato casserole, cranberry relish, green beans, corn on the cob, and dinner rolls. We watch football, take naps on the couch, and round out the afternoon with razzleberry pie and coffee. We reflect on the highs and lows of the past year and look forward to the possibilities of the next one.


Some of the things I'm thankful for this year:

*Good health for me and the family. Something that wasn't always so over the course of the year.

*A day job that pays the bills and affords me time to devote to writing.

*Family and friends who cheer me on when I haven't the strength or faith to keep going.

*Two fur-babies who are always happy to see me

*A WIP that I've finally managed to get to "The End"


I could list more, but the turkey needs to be dressed and the fixins' need fixing. So, whether your celebration is traditional or non-traditional, Happy Thanksgiving, from our house to yours.


~kristal lee
Also posted today at New Kids on the Writer's Block

Three days of NaNo behind us, twenty seven days to go. I have visions of writers all over the world sitting in their cubby spaces typing like mad. Each one racing a thirty day deadline to achieve a common 50,000 word goal.

This is an exciting time for me. I've always worked better under pressure. And to ensure that I had the best chance possible to "win" this challenge I undertook a few preparations.

First, I finally finished an outline for my WIP. I used a trial of the software program SuperNotecard. It's like virtual index cards. I'm not really a plotter, at least not on paper. So, believe me, typing out an actual outline, chapter by chapter for the entire WIP was quite a feat. I patted myself on the back, because finally I figured out a pivotal plot point that brings the entire story together. Woohoo! So, after I finished my little "I got it, I got it" dance, I printed the virtual cards because I work with a netbook and the smaller screen isn't conducive when I have too many windows opened. The sad thing is that I won't look at them very much. Because really, the whole story is in my head now. I wouldn't have been able to say that, if I hadn't been forced to sit down and figure out the outline.


The second thing I did was read a book. Writing Magic by Gail Carson Levine. Now this book is written for kids who are writers. But, I found it relevant because it doesn't matter at what age you start writing. Writing is a craft and every writer needs tools.


The third thing I did was pour over the many drafts I've started of this WIP. I looked at what was the constant thread through each version. Keep in mind these were incomplete drafts because I never could get past a certain point before I'd start over.


Which brings me to the fourth thing I did. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't rewrite anything until I typed "The End." I realized that with constant rewriting while typing the first draft is so much more than merely counterproductive. It's like a stake in a vampire's heart. It kills the story dead, dead, dead. At least for me. I get so obsessed with making every thing perfect that I never finish story.


In Writing Magic Ms. Carson-Levine states "there is no such thing as a perfect book or a perfect story." That simple statement stuck. I could spend a lifetime working to make the first few chapters perfect before moving on and end up never finishing the story. I recognized that I needed to set a more reasonable standard for myself. That doesn't mean I'll slouch to being happy writing crap. It means that I can give myself some breathing room to make mistakes, especially in the first draft.


The first draft is hard. In my head I already see the story as a finished product. The difficulty comes in the translation from the imaginative concept to the written word and the discipline it takes to get there.

In the first three days, I've had a lot of distractions. Three book reviews to write, two dogs who insist that I should give them belly rubs, scratch their ears, play tug, and give them treats because they are jealous of the contraption that sits in mommy's lap so much of the time, and a nap that just couldn't be put off any longer. Still, I've managed to pluck down 7,701 words. That means about 15 % of my WIP is complete. Now that's progress!


So writers of the world, where are you and how much have you written?



~kristal lee
This entry also posted at the blogunity New Kids on the Writer's Block