New Digs

Hello, Internet!

This post is in place for one reason and one reason only: to inform you of my (title drop) new digs.

I have started a new blog. It is updated every day, unless I am violently ill or the zombies attack, in which case, let's be honest, I will probably immediately be infected and begin a new life of shambling and moaning for brains.

I'm not a very tough person, Internet.

My new blog is located at http://zejlarkin.blogspot.com/ and you are welcome to the party.

Week 21: The Next Big Thing

Hello, Internet! How have you been? You're looking well. I like what you've been doing on Youtube. (And don't worry about that bit of bloating around your political side...I'm sure it's just a bit of swelling. It'll go down in another couple months. Until then, just cover it up with a few GIF jackets, and it'll be much less noticeable.)

Anyway, I've been up to stuff lately. Lots of stuff. Book stuff. Writing stuff. Head injury stuff. But that's neither here nor there (or maybe it is, how would I know? I'm still trying to catch up on what day of the week it is). But I am here now because my dear friend, President of the Missoula Chapter of the Extreme Grammarians (or something, I can never remember the full name, sorry!), and fellow budding authoratrix Amber June tagged* me in this neat little interview for human-types with texty works-in-progress.

The rules state that I am meant to say something about the process and my tagger, and then answer the following questions. I am also supposed to tag five people in turn. Unfortunately, I have been working very hard to conform to the scraggly-haired, scatter-brained, moony-eyed weirdo that REAL authors are supposed to be. What I'm trying to say is that I don't know any other authors or writers. Or rather, those I do run in the same circle as dear Amber June and I. So they've already been tagged. Plus, I waited until the day before my blog was due to actually ask anyone. They haven't responded yet. 

So, I'm going to be THAT gal and just tag anyone who reads this and wants to do it themselves :) I'll gladly add your names and links to your pages if you want to jump on the wagon. Just mention that you're doing it in the comments and I'll edit this beauty of a blog to include you.

Onward!

Ze Questions:

Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Thing:

What is the working title of your book?

Lorelei, Once.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

Alright, so. Once upon a time, I wrote a book. It was an awesome book full of detectives, sorcery, stolen artifacts, kidnapping, and face-to-knee-style violence. I loved this book. I still love this book. And absolutely no one in the publishing world wanted to touch it.

After the initial heartbreak, I found myself floundering for new ideas. I couldn't keep throwing my head against that particular wall, but I'd poured so much of myself into that one work that I was hesitant to offer more than a passing glance to something else. I decided I needed to hang up novel writing for a while, and perhaps play around with short stories, just to get the feel of ink back under my fingers.

But again, I couldn't latch onto an idea. A friend at work (cool guy; sexy writer's brain) suggested I work with some personal material. He mentioned stories I'd told him from my past: about my brother and I, running wild through the woods in West Virginia sans care, sans shoes, sans parental control. It was the happiest time in my life; full of sunshine and frightened toads and hidden turtles and more than a few near-death experiences.

So I did what he suggested, and considered those images. However...whether due to my grim mental state at the time, or simply because my Tim Burton-loving side was catching the light of the moon, the images morphed into something a little darker. I imagined the kids as pale-skinned, sneaky little sprites that lured people deep into the trees. I wondered where the kids might be taking these poor souls, and imagined a perfectly round pool that delved into the earth out of nowhere, filled with water slick and dark like an oil spill. And when the tricked humans crawled out of the pool, they were smaller. Paler. With wicked grins and yellow eyes and a penchant for luring strangers back to the pool...

Things started rolling after that.   

What genre does your book fall under?

Romantic comedy! Lawl. It's a YA Fantasy Horror. Though I suppose there is some romance, and a chuckle here and there.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

I have spent entirely too much time thinking about this, and when Joss Whedon finally gives in and buys the rights to this film, I'll have the cast list pretty much all ready for him! I realize that, unless you've actually read any of the book, this section doesn't matter to you. But for those of you who have, here's who I have mostly pegged:

(NOTE: I was going to have pretty pictures of the cast, but at the risk of bringing down the wrath of the internet with pics I don't own, I'll just list names with links to their IMDB pages).

Cinder, our leading lady/repentant siren:  Saoirse Ronan

Prince Aden: Jamie Campbell Bower

Daniel: Ian Somerhalder

Margaret: Anna Popplewell

Ysbail: Summer Glau

Rhosyn: Jayne Wisener

Connell: Chris Hemsworth

Dakir: Jamie Dornan

Amel: Liv Tyler

Amil: Zoe Saldana

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

A water spirit grows weary of drowning humans, and is offered a challenge: if she can guide a group of them safely out of her haunted forest home, her own humanity will be returned to her.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I'm gunning for the representation route, but my crystal ball is too far away for a proper reading, and I'm far too lazy to get up and grab it. Which means I could never successfully self-publish anything, soooo...

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Technically I DO have a first draft done, but I don't consider the manuscript finished. All the same, I started writing this monster in April (of this year). It feels like it's been much longer, but all things considered, this has come along very nicely and very quickly (my first book was nearly a three-year project, which I realize is still rather fast for a dayjobbing, sometimes-school-taking author, and I really cannot bemoan the time my craft requires. Did you know Tolkien worked on his world for...like...all of the time I've been alive?).

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I know I should have an answer ready for this...but most Fantasy Horror books in the YA section are very heavily focused on romance. Mine is not so much focused on kisses. In fact...I don't think there's been a single proper kiss so far, not even between the awkwardly married couple, and we're nearly 300 pages in. So I'm not sure the comparison would stand.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

The entire reason the main character is a reformed-ish water sprite is Florence + the Machine's What the Water Gave Me, which my First Wife (and real-life-plagiarization-victim inspiration for one of the most popular characters, thank you very much) directed me to, and which led me into the deep, wonderful cave of wonders that is all of Florence + the Machine's work. Some of the moments and details in the story are direct, obvious tributes to the band and their many wonderful songs. 'Girl With One Eye,' for example. Again, if you've read it, I don't have to explain this one.

Many musicians have had a heavy hand in the formation of this book, though. Ashley MacIsaac's 'Wingstock' gave me the idea for the Meridian Archers, and Flogging Molly's music helped form them into what they are now: easily the most popular characters in the book.

But back to that First Wife: my best friend, whose name I won't list just in case I end up getting sued by IMDB or something, has been a huge inspiration to me. She has directed me to awesome music, supported me from the moment I was floundering for new ideas and beyond, and just been the sort of epic hand-holder that the casual neurotic needs to get through something like writing a book with no solid evidence that it will ever go anywhere. That's why she's First Wife. And her stories about her Irish heritage were definitely straight-up stolen and tossed onto, as I said, one of the commonly favorite characters, Kelia, of the Clan McGuire.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

At its heart, this is a story about choices. How they really can't be made by anyone but the individual, even if they effect the whole party. Accepting that and rolling with those punches has been the hardest thing I've ever had to learn. And that little 'The More You Know' nugget is wrapped up in a tale with ghosts, spirits, leather-clad rebellion leaders, tragedy, comedy, and, FINE, maybe one kiss.

*follow-up joke: textually transmitted disease.

'Round the Block

Quick reminder: This week's Requestion is open to responses until Friday's Weekend Shuffle, when I will shower my favorite answer with affection and as much free publicity as being spotted on my blog can afford.

Now! It's Wednesday, which means it's time to go

'Round the Block.

What does that mean? A little something different every week. The block may refer to a creative block, or it may refer to the fact that I'm kicking pebbles around the internet and seeing what rises to the surface.

Today, I'm not really sure what to talk about. My work-in-progress is going along well. The only real issue I have is in finding the time to get as much work done on it as I feel like I could if I didn't have other responsibilities and...if I wasn't so lazy.

I've redecorated my apartment. Switched everything right up. Got some fancy little hangers for all of my posters, which should prevent the pretties from becoming swiss-cheese-holed papers. Seeing them up now, though, I think I liked them better when they were all pinned flat against the walls, overlapping. I'm going to give it a few days for my eyes to adjust before I decide that the money spent on the frames was mega wasted. Because I do rather like the frames. I just liked the wallpaper effect of having the posters pinned directly better. But that might just be my eyes being dumb.

Plus, I'm sure my neighbors are sick of all the banging and thumping that comes from knocking pins into one's walls.

And that pointless little trip into J-Land is all I have! See you on Friday! 

Requestion: Your Journey into Your Genre

Hello, and welcome to this Monday's

Requestion of the Week!

For those of you not in the know (at this point, that's everyone) here's the Requestion of the Week deal:

I, J Larkin, will begin with a little pondering about something. A question will be posed, and I will answer it for myself. Then, I will pose a follow-up request/challenge for you, my lovely readers.

All those who are interest, take up the challenge. Answer the question. Post your answer (or preferably a link to your blog where I can read your full, flowing, frabjuous response) in the comment section of the Requestion page. I will read and attempt to comment on all of your responses, and on Friday (which should give those interested plenty of time to procrastinate and then madly dash out a post in the last twenty minutes) I will put up a link or a quote from my favorite Requestion answer. For the moment, that's the big prize*. Free publicity.

And now, onto the main event! 

As I've mentioned, my current WIP is a fantasy horror. There are dead bodies, ghosts, hauntings, and a giant magical forest that wants to kill things a little. It's not all doom and gloom, of course, and I've tried to approach things in a more poetical fashion than the typical gorn (that's gore porn, for those of you not familiar with tvtropes.org) that is common in the modern horror tale.

This project is so completely different from 4th Leaf, and in fact is so completely different from what a lot of people would probably expect me to be working on, that I couldn't help but wonder how I arrived at it.

So let's take a little journey, back through my relationship with the Horror genre!

I originally had something actually horrifying here. Then I realized I wanted you to actually keep reading.

I learned to read when I was five years old, and once the door was opened there was no stopping me. It began with simple, typical five-year-old things, such as Little Elephant Turns 5, and the various Mercer Mayer books. I glommed onto every book I could find, and eventually started taking larger and larger paperback hostages, because I could. So I did. And before long I found a story that instilled in me a lifelong love of nautical adventures: Treasure Island.

"Who cares about that masterpiece?" you're asking. "I thought this was about Unpublished Author #999's history with horror?"

Too right. We have to remember, though, that I was 5-ish when I read Treasure Island. And some of those scenes were downright chillifying, and gave me the sort of delicious nightmares that leave you staring into space when you wake up, wondering how anything in your head could leave you trembling in the dark like that. It was my first experience being scared by the printed word, and it was exquisite.

Fast forward a few years. Before middle school, I latched onto and devoured most of the classic monster novels. Frankenstein. Dracula. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The works. I loved them all, and it never occurred to me that there was something odd about a preteen girl giggling over blood-sucking, body-throwing, life-leeching creatures roaming around Jolly Old England. They were awesome stories that made me afraid to step into the dark on my own, and that was sweet.

The problem with having a love affair with Classic novels, though, is similar to the problem with having a love affair with an elderly person (bear with me here): eventually, they expire. You reach an end number, and find yourself without any more dusty old spines to clamor for and--

You know what? Let's just leave that analogy there. The point is, there weren't any more classic novels for me to devour. So when I reached middle school I started trolling around in the Horror section of the library.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

It was all crap! Not even grade-A crap! Kids stupidly fooled around in the back seat of their cars in the exact same park where their friends got chopped into bologna fodder three days before. Lunatics sent vaguely threatening messages through newspaper ads because...uh...because they were the villains?

The final straw came after I read a book where the big 'EEEEEK' moment came from the fact that the heroine's boyfriend was cursed to be...ugly. Yeah. He can look like a normal human, but the fact is he's actually super ugly. Aaaaah. Shrieeeek. Oh nooooo's.

"Ugh, I have to take HIM to the prom? Oh, barf!"

That was it for me and the horror genre. Boo to the modern day horror authors! And a hiss to them, too!

Fast forward a couple of years. I'm at my Dad's house, perusing his collection of books because that's just how I roll. Medical jargon, medical jargon, clinical crap...Steven King? Holy crap, my Dad has basically every Steven King novel ever published.

Meh, I've avoided King ever since accidentally walking in on a viewing of 'It' which scarred my view of shadow puppets forever, but I'm a teenager and I am bored. This 'Green Mile' book is pretty short. It should entertain me for the weekend.

The Green Mile, which was released as a serial, took me about five hours to read. Then I stormed my Dad's book collection and gathered up everything else that King wrote, and may have sort of a little stuck some of them in my bag on the way out, because the weekend is only so long and the library was closed on Mondays.

Nom nom nom! Went my reading mouth against King's novels. I can't say that I've read all of them, because eventually I realized that King had a thing for random moments of extreme violence that simply did not interest me. But I was enchanted by the way King wrote. He cast out into the mind of the reader using voices--not just one voice--that were as inescapable as they were distinct. In a single novel, he could place the reader in the shoes of a runaway abused housewife, a psychopathic cop, and a monster in a painting, and not a single beat was missed. Part of the power of King's work was that the horror--the real flinchy stuff--wasn't about monsters or spells or space-age wizardry. It was about human nature. The terrifying part of the climaxes in his novels was that I could only bob my head and think 'Yeah, that's what would happen. That's exactly what would happen.'

When King was awarded with the title of Most Epicest Awesome Bigshot Author Evar a little while ago, I was not surprised. Even still, I had lost my taste for King and his dark chocolate stories. I thought, this time for sure, I am done with Horror. Even though I loved books with vampires and werewolves (real ones, not ones made from crushed disco balls) and all those sorts of bump-in-the-night things. But whatevs. That's just how I roll.

Then, within the last couple of years, my Broinlaw introduced me to this sweet book. Steampunk Zombie Horror set during Civil War times.

Look it up. Buy it now.

Um, yes please.

The book was Boneshaker. The author was Cherie Priest. And I. Was. Wowed.

I went all Amazon-stalky on Priest (meaning I bought all her books, not that I lopped off one boob and watched her from the bushes). Her first series was set in the south and involved a medium who has been stalked by ghosts and a crazy shooter all her life. Urm, okay, thank you, yes please, more.

I read the first book in this series, and it was one of those awesome experiences where you don't even realize you've done nothing but sat there for six hours with your nose buried in delicately crafted words. As I reached the end of the novel, I realized something odd.

I had the chills.

An actual, physical reaction to the tremor in my heart that Priest's story had given me. I was actually scared! WOAH!!

Priest's work sent me back on the path towards spooky things and nail-biters. It showed me that there CAN be elegance in the grotesque, and the horror genre is not something that has been destroyed in the modern day. Even though it can be hard to believe that, when you look it up on Amazon...yeesh.

Several months ago, after I made the difficult decision to, rather than work on a sequel as I was unsuccessfully querying 4th Leaf, work on a completely different project, I had a conversation with a friend. I was blocked and frustrated and everything I started was a dud. He suggested I work on a short story based on a favorite childhood experience I'd shared with him: my brother and I, running footloose and fancy-free through the beautiful woods of West Virginia, where my family used to camp.

I liked the idea. But the more I thought about it, the more it changed. The woods got darker. The trees more sinister. The children less innocent...and they were running towards a pool. A pool where they led wanderers, shoving them in, and when the wanderers crawled back out, they were children, too...children who wanted nothing more than to lure in more strangers.

Bam.

And from there, I developed my current WIP: A fantasy horror novel titled Lorelei, Once.

And that, gentle friends, is my journey to my genre! Long and adventurous, wasn't it?

So now...tell me yours!

If you aren't working in a 'genre' situation, describe your journey into whatever medium, speed, flavor, or any descriptive term that you are working in or with or on. Any particularly eye-popping responses will be linked to on Friday's blog!

And...go!!

*At this particular moment in time, all cash and prizes take the form of free publicity. I'm an unpublished author working in a bakery, after all.

But Why?

And thus concludes the longest break between blog posts that I have ever indulged in!

I promise, this Monday I have a brand new Requestion post already written up and ready to go, and from hereon out I will do my best to actually stick to the schedule. I even have a new theme for the vlog that will be a lot of fun! The Internets will be absolutely smothered in J.

Today, though, I have a muse-y blog for you.

It is graduation time, which means a lot of planning and prep and stress for some people, which translates readily into the bakery world. Dozens of cake orders that must be JUST PERFECT because dozens of people are experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime moment that they have worked very, very hard for. Families come in from out of state, sometimes even from out of the country, and the last thing any of them need is a crappy cake to ruin the glorious moment.

Stress levels--and business flow--is high. That's just what happens around big events; holidays, celebrations, you name it. If you have lived long enough, you know this. If you have worked in customer service long enough, you know this.

Well, I'm 24 and I've worked in customer service since I was sixteen. So it takes a lot to surprise me.

Today was a fairly awful day at work. We were busy, which is fine because it makes the day go by much more quickly, and besides that three of my best friends were working with me, so the day could have just been fantastic. But throughout my shift there was a constant stream of uncalled for rudeness. This is also something you just sort of come to expect in customer service--when you have one person who is paying for another person to do something for them, there can easily be a sense of entitlement. Some people aren't built to handle that with grace. That's just the way it is, and it really does not have to be the end of your good mood, but it does tend to grind on you if you get enough of it all at once, and all throughout the day. Smiling and asking someone how they are doing should not result in them sneering at you to 'piss off' as they flick their wrist and march away with cookies in hand. That's just excessive. Somehow, it happened twice today.

One incident in particular jarred me. A woman came to the bakery and insisted that she needed a cake specially made for her by 5:30 tonight--which was kind of impossible, as the decorators were not only long gone, but left a giant stack of orders they had to do for the next day. Various suggestions were made--she could buy a kit and decorate her own cake (her idea, and $10), a cake could be written on for her (standard procedure, free) or a kit could be put on a ready-made cake and the price adjusted to fit (a hassle on any day, much less massively busy ones; $6).

I wasn't actually the clerk helping her. One of our new ladies was helping her, and unknowingly quoted the wrong prices. My friend was standing nearby and corrected her, unknowingly giving her a second incorrect set of prices. When I heard the incorrect quote, I hurried over, waited for a lull in the conversation, and explained what the actual charge would be. I smiled. I asked if there were any other questions. I went back to work.

A moment passed, during which the woman decided on having the new lady redecorate a cake for her. Then she came over to my side of the counter, where I was packaging bread with my friend.

"Excuse me?"

I looked up.

"I just wanted to let you know that that woman was very kind and sweet and helpful-"

She's smiling, I'm smiling. Good! Our newer worker is a good saleswoman.

"-and you were a complete SNOT."

The childish word and the absolute vitriol in the woman's voice takes me by surprise. She proceeds to snarl at me about how I barged in and I was so completely RUDE! She actually spits with some of her words, and points at me like I'm a dog that peed on the carpet. She rants at me for a bit more while my friend and I just sort of stare at her, slightly slack-jawed. I try to explain that I was just trying to help get the correct information out, and she slaps the explanation down with a couple more insults. So I apologize, and get back to work while she huffs back to talk to the lady working on her cake.

Later I explained to my manager what happened, in case the customer decided to lodge a complaint with an store manager.

That is all I am allowed to do. I can't defend myself. I can't fight back against name calling and insults that I got as a reward for doing my job. I just have to take it, and apologize for imagined slights, and get back to work. I try not to think about it for the rest of my shift, but my stomach is sour and my hands are shaking for a while after the outburst, and I spend more time telling myself that it doesn't bother me than I probably would if that were true.

Am I a snot? A rude person? Sometimes, yeah! I'm young. I listen to my music to loud. I'm intelligent enough to recognize when other people are idiots,  and snarkery is one of my favorite pastimes, hanging right below writing, and I am blessed because the two can mate and produce a beautiful baby in the form of snarky lit. But I need my job too badly to bring any of that out in front of customers. Because I know that one grouch could get me fired if they complained to the right/wrong manager.

But that's besides the point. I've met morons, and jerks, and irritants in humanoid form before. But I would never pin someone down and snarl at them about how much they suck just because I COULD. The only time I have ever given someone a tongue lashing was when they did serious emotional harm to someone I care about. Even then, I do it in private, and I let them have their say, and I try to remain respectful and calm.

And throughout the day, I wondered about this snarly woman.

What did she hope to accomplish by coming over, singling me out, and insulting me like that?

What's the next move for her? Does she go around and brag to her friends about how she told off some snotty rude ruderson at the grocery store, because they had the audacity to correct someone on a price?

What sort of life must she lead, that she derived so much pleasure in putting some nobody bakery clerk in Podunk, Montana, in their place?

Whatever has happened in my life--whatever magical series of events--that led me to becoming the sort of person who is not THAT sort of person, I'm grateful for it. If I ever become the sort of person who will verbally slap someone around just because they have to take it, and just because I can, may all my fingers go numb so I can never write again until I change back.

To my great relief and mild amusement, that woman sent someone else in to pick up her specially designed, late notice cake. With any luck I won't have to deal with her again. In the meantime, I'm taking this awful day and turning it into fuel for words. I wrote this muse-y, rant-y blog post, and because a coin flip turned out heads I'm posting it. The rest of the night belongs to my novel, which should benefit greatly from the 8-hour reminder of why I am not down with the day-job world.

Larkin Out!

Forever Rewrighting Pitch Contest

Hey Internet!

I know, I blogged just the day before, and just two days before that. It may feel as though I'm smothering you with attention. Just adjust the ruffles on that costume for the family photo and we'll all get through this without incident.

Today I'm posting a quick blurb about this awesome new contest over at Forever Rewrighting, which is wo-manned by author Melodie Wright. Do you see what she did in the title? I love it. Well played, Mrs. Wright.

Anyhow, her lovely agent Tricia Lawrence, of EMLA, is going to have an open-season query acceptance period. She normally doesn't accept unsolicited queries. I want in, so I'm hogging some of the last entries.

There might yet be some room for you, though! So spring on over to Forever Rewrighting and check it out!

That's all. I'll see you all this evening when I throw confetti over the winner of the Requestion of the Week. There's still time if you want to enter!

-J Larkin

'Round the Block: Inspiration

Quick reminder: This week's Requestion is open to responses until Friday's Weekend Shuffle, when I will shower my favorite answer with affection and as much free publicity as being spotted on my blog can afford.

Now! It's Wednesday, which means it's time to go

'Round the Block.

What does that mean? A little something different every week. The block may refer to a creative block, or it may refer to the fact that I'm kicking pebbles around the internet and seeing what rises to the surface.

This week, it's the former.

Throughout the month of February, I am going to be writing up a storm. I have a fun new YA horror-fantasy novel that's taken me by storm. My brain is agog with ideas and symbolism and character development and as I chunk into my year-long sabbatical*, I want to make the best use of it. February is going to see the first draft complete. March will be a heavy editing month. April will be fine-tuning. Then, at the end of April, I have a week's vacation scheduled from work to reward myself/finish work if I've been lazy.

So there is a plan, and the action is intense. I have a notebook chalk full of scatter-brained research and giddy plot twists. There's enough un-planned that the thrill of the chase is strong. I have an amazing soundtrack that I have been listening the crap out of. I've been staring down inspiration art, and watching all of the creepy shows at my disposal.

I can't disclose much about the project at this stage for multiple reasons. As I get some meat on the bones, I'll talk more about it. But for now, I can share my inspirations. Have a look!

This is involved!

As is this!

Yeah, buddy!

And a little bit of this, too!

And the songs headlining the soundtrack:

The new project doesn't have a title yet. I think this is going to be one of those that doesn't have a name until it actually exists. That happens sometimes.

And that's all I have to share! Anyone else got some inspiration they want to let the rest of us indulge in..?

Requestion of the Week: Uncomfortable

Hello, and welcome to the first ever

Requestion of the Week!

For those of you not in the know (at this point, that's everyone) here's the Requestion of the Week deal:

I, J Larkin, will begin with a little pondering about something. A question will be posed, and I will answer it for myself. Then, I will pose a follow-up request/challenge for you, my lovely readers.

All those who are interest, take up the challenge. Answer the question. Post your answer (or preferably a link to your blog where I can read your full, flowing, frabjuous response) in the comment section of the Requestion page. I will read and attempt to comment on all of your responses, and on Friday (which should give those interested plenty of time to procrastinate and then madly dash out a post in the last twenty minutes) I will put up a link or a quote from my favorite Requestion answer. For the moment, that's the big prize*. Free publicity.

And now, onto the main event!

I was (shock) reading a book recently. It was an okay book. The writing was a little 'meh,' the main character a little overly stupid, but the plot was interesting enough that I plodded forth in the hopes that it would get better. One of the subplots involved the main character, a 16-year-old virgin, dancing around the idea of sleeping with her boyfriend.

The main story is about a serial killer who is targeting magical creatures, by the way. Far more interesting to me than a teenager debating whether or not to give into her lust, but that's besides the point.

So I'm plodding, I'm plodding, waiting for another body to show up, and oh, hey, the sex subplot is moving again. Bleh. Don't care. Oh, she's going to his house. Whatevs. Hormones abound. Okay, fine, can we get back to the murders?

Ah. They're going up to his room.

Urgh...clothes are coming off. Boy Howdy, do I ever not want to be hearing about this from a first-person narrative. Yeah, teenagers do things and stuff with their bodies in places, but...

Oh! Ew! Stop it! Fade to black, fade to black! Come on! Ewwww!

It wasn't graphic. It wasn't glamorized. It wasn't steamy or lewd or nasty, per se. In fact, it was fairly sanitized. Removed from the emotions of such a personal experience. But it told you (in first person, no less!) everything you wouldn't want to hear about a girl's first time with a boy she, like, really, really likes.

It was not, in any way, shape, or form, what I wanted to be reading. For me, non-prude though I consider myself to be, it was pure ick.

I haven't really been willing to pick the book back up since then. That ill-conceived (ha!) scene got my thinkers rolling, though. The scene wasn't necessary. It could have been handled with, "I went to my boyfriend's house. Things happened with rose petals and stuff. It was great but awkward, then we had a fight and then plot happened." In other words, the scene was completely unnecessary. It didn't add anything to anything except whatever it took to tip the bar of my discomfort level. And that has never happened before in my reading.

So, why was it included? It wasn't titillating. There was no lesson to be learned about biology, emotional integrity, chemistry, or anything else that won't be picked up in health class or on TV. It literally added nothing to the story (the scene itself, not the action) except Uncomfortable Sauce. If the author wanted a steamy sex scene to make people squeal, they could/should/would have...well, made it whole-hog steamalicious.

Baffling.

SO, the Requestion of the Week is based off of all that up there.

WHAT makes you uncomfortable when you read/view/think about it? Violence? Sexy times? Political scandal? Pop culture?

HOW do you react to said Uncomfortable Sauce when it is thrown in your lap? Can you just not handle it? Do you edge around it like a pool full of acid and sharks (in acid-proof armor)? Do you make sure no one else is looking whilst you read?

WHY do you think people include that Sauce? Titillation? Fear mongering? Trend snarfing?

WHO is the Sauce cooked for, if not you?

WHERE and WHEN did you last encounter this Uncomfortable Sauce? You can go all censor-bar on this one, as I attempted to do, or you can fling fingers all you want. It's your Requestion response, just use it wisely.

Ready? Set...GO!

*Doughnut slinging and book querying doesn't leave much kale for glorious prizes, I'm afraid. Maybe in the future there will be something cooler for those involved. For now, though, just enjoy the cerebral experience.

Ch-Ch-Changes

Hey internet!

Alright, so I promised I'd get a post up before my birthday. It is now my birthday-eve, so I'm writing this out quick-like, and I hope you enjoy it.

I'll be 24 tomorrow, and this year has been one of massive change for me. I've stopped doing some things that I realized weren't really important to me. I've started devoting a lot more time to things that I realized are. I've approached scary stuff and put some of it to bed, and I've really come to terms with who I am, who I should be, and who I want to be.

Go me!

But I'm not just writing this to give myself a pat on the back. No, I pat my own back on my own time. When people can see me do it in person.

All of this change and age-upgrading has got me thinking a lot about the past. Let me start with a little story:

Colorado was a beautiful place to live; it had four REAL seasons, none of this Winter, winter, (winter), SUMMER, WINTER, crap that we get in Montana. There were mountains, which I could see as a tiny sliver of blue on the horizon if I climbed up onto the cart park at Albertsons. It was the closest to the wild I'd ever lived.

When we moved there, it was also a return to what some would call normalcy. My family was a robust one, teeming with children from teenage to fetus years. Before moving to Colorado, my brother and I were home-taught. Which meant we skipped to the back of the book, copied down some answers, and then ran wild and crazy in the dirt with the other kids in the neighborhood until it was time to sneak a peek in the back of the books again. Colorado meant going back to public school. I slipped in at the very beginning of second grade, raring to monkey around on playground sets with slides high enough that jumping off of them made you a daredevil.

I did. I was. It was awesome.

And all of the moving around that I'd already done meant I was pretty good at making new friends. I could slip in and out of a pack of kids, jump off a slide, and be ready to go again the next day.

One day, during the lunch break, I was hanging out with a bunch of girls. They, like me, were slide-jumpers. Foot racers. Tough girls who had holes ripped in the knees of their jeans that were punctuated by grass stains. Aw, yeah.

The topic of favorite colors came up. Blah, mine is green. Blah, mine is yellow. Blah, mine is orange.

I distinctly remember that I was laying on the grass, my hands tucked under my head, staring up at the painfully blue sky. "Mine is pink."

Silence. Snorts.

I looked up and saw one of my friends, her mouth melting into an open hole of scorn. "What are you, five?"

No. I was not five. I was seven. My honor had been dashed to pieces with four venomous words. I didn't even know what to say! Pink had been my favorite color forEVer. Since before colors existed!

My friend took pity on my dumfoundedness and explained that to be a cool tomboy, I had to have a different favorite color. She said hers was blue. I looked back up at the sky, pointed next to a cloud, and said "That's my favorite color, right there."

Things spiraled out from there.

I'd been a Barney maniac when I was little, but it was now important that I laugh at keychains that pictured him blowing up.

First I was going to find that keychain, but then I was like, "Oh yeah! Birthday tomorrow!"

I used to play with Barbies AND Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but now I had to make up stories about how I just used the Barbies for mangling.

I loved Batman AND My Little Pony, but now if I was going to draw them, it had to be together, and you don't want to know what the Batarang had to be doing.

IF ONLY I HAD KNOWN!!!

I HAD to change who I was, what I liked, what my favorite things were. I simply could not have a girly side. Not if I wanted to be cool. And I did! I couldn't stand the girls who ONLY played with Barbies and wore pink everything, and I didn't want to seem like I was one of them. Or, worse, be stuck with no one else to spend the twenty-minute lunch break with.

There are more and more similar stories from my life, but that's really where it started. I didn't care at all what anyone thought until that one moment. Do you know how long it took for me to admit that pink was maybe okay again?

A very long time. As in, the last couple of years.

And how silly is that? How many things have I given up or hidden because I cared what other people thought? Dozens. I've altered my tastes and interests so many times since that anti-pink event, I surprise myself sometimes when I stop and realize that I don't ACTUALLY feel such-and-such a way about so-and-so a thing.

I've stopped doing that, now. It's such a waste of brain power and embarrassment. As I grow older and hopefully wiser, I'm sure I'll figure out other things that I've picked up and attached to myself for reasons other than "I really do feel passionate about this." And I will deal with that accordingly.

How about you guys? Have you ever made changes to yourself for reasons other than...yourself?

Are you going to change that?

Still Alive

That's what I've been up to for the past month+!

Moving, book finishing, and so on and such and such.

Sorry I have been a bad bloggeress, but I'm back!

I do have a (to me) interesting topic I want to write about, but I think I'll save that for tomorrow if only because I think it needs a post all on its own, without the obligatory "Herp, derp, it's been a while!" nonsense that's going into this one.

So: December!

Undoubtedly, you have encountered the Holiday music. The snow, if you live in the right area. The insane sales. The insane traffic that results from all of the above.

I actually love the holiday season. And I'm not being sardonic! Possibly my favorite thing in the world--aside from storytelling--is gift-giving. I just love picking out the most perfect thing I can find for each person, wrapping it up, and then fidgeting in my seat until they finally open the darn thing. It's just fantastic. This year, I am not exactly flush with cash, so the gift-giving from my corner is being done a little more carefully. Harder searches and a tighter budget. When I'm used to giving each person several gifts, this kind of limitation is a combination package of frustrating and excitingly challenging.

You know what? I'll do a full-blown Christmas post sometime soon here. Between now and my birthday. Which is the 14th of this month. I'll be 24. Holy crap. That's old.

For now, though, I just wanted to let you all know that I am still alive and kicking things. And now that I'm all set up in the new Larkin Lair, I'll get back to posting faithfully. For real!

Best wishes and sparkle drops,

-J

Why Is This Okay?

Hey Internet;

I've just caught up with my goal for spit-and-polishing Ze Book. It will be ready for Beta readers come November--which is in just a few days--which gives me great joy. And apparently the title and theme of my last blog post suggested to a  few readers that I was ENNNNNDING le blog. Well, I'm not. To prove it, and because I need a little break from reading material I've already read 5,000 times: here's another post.

Normally, I try to infuse some chuckles and jests into le blog. I can't guarantee it's going to be that way in this one, but we'll just see what happens.

Lately, I've been seeing a lot of ugly things in the world. Hatred and ignorance and cruelty are being spread around like free razor-blade candy out of a stranger's van. Who is the stranger? Why is he driving a van? There may be no true answer to these questions, regardless of their relevance.

And speaking of pointless questions, what is the most fair-minded response to all that idiocy?

"Why is this okay?"

I've read and heard people asking this question many times. I've even seen it on one of my favorite sources for news: The Stephen Colbert Report. Let me clarify that this isn't aimed at Mr. Colbert, whom I adore, but seeing such a hard hitter whip out that tippy-toe line gave me pause.

This is not a man with tippy toes. He may not have toes at all. Just further extensions of his feet, covered with a tattoo of the Statue of Liberty wearing the Constitution like Princess Leah's golden bikini.

To me, that question is weak-sauce, especially when the answer is obvious ("It isn't. Dur."). But what especially makes that question watered-down-leftover-oatmeal-instead-of-Szechuan sauce is the direction it is tossed. More often than not, "Why is this okay?" is asked of the victims of ignorance.

"Hey, Billy, why is it okay that that guy just beat your teeth into your eardrums and everyone just stood around watching?"

"Hey, Joan, why is it okay that everyone is ganging up on your beliefs and nobody else has the balls to stand up for you?"

I could stage more hypothetical scenarios, but I imagine we all get the picture (and have probably seen it played out in real life enough times, anyway).

It's not okay to abuse or attack or insult another person just because they believe or behave differently than you do! That's not even a secret of the universe. It's just a bald-faced fact that is blatantly ignored by a frightening number of people. Asking 'Why is this okay?' implies ignorance of the obvious answer.

But the real reason I'm annoyed by the activity of 'Why is this okay?' is not based in self-evident facts that everyone old enough to sling their biased crap at other people should know. 'Why is this okay?' could actually play a role in fixing the problems. If it was being asked to the right people.

"Hey Jeff, why is it okay for you to break the teeth of that kid who's never done anything to you?"

"Hey Gina, why is it okay for you to spread blatant lies about something you couldn't be bothered to fully research?"

And so on, and so forth.

I have never, in my entire life, encountered a bully (real, fictional, living or dead) who impressed me. No matter who they are bullying, they are wrong. You can disagree with someone. You can even hate them for disagreeing with you. But I believe that in the end, it does not matter what you say, what you donate to, who you support, or what clothes you did or did not wear. All that matters is how you have treated others.

Why is it okay for me to say that? Because it's true.

-J Larkin

Now, I'm going to get back to work on Ze Book and enjoy some Americone Dream. Because Stephen Colbert told me to.

End! EEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNND!!!

Hey internet!

Very brief updates about Ze J Larkin:

I will be moving into my own studio apartment. WOO! Possibly soon. Probably I will be sleeping on my mom's couch for a little while if it takes the apartment complex's people a while to process my paperwork.

I am rewriting the entire climax of Ze Book. After I added a new arc, which put me 10 days behind schedule, I got to the climax and realized it made. Zero. Sense. But after much rage-at-self for being enemy-of-self, I have figured all that out and just need to really crush myself against the grind stone and make it happen. Ze Book is much better for it. Trust me.

Ze Book will be in the hands of official Beta readers in November. Woo! Excited! Concerned! Excited! Woo!

And Now Onto Le Blog!!

Let's talk endings.

As I said above, I'm currently reworking the climax of Ze Book. The final chapter remains more or less the same, but the big BAM! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED! moment is completely different. And I have spent a lot of time thinking lately about novel endings.

I've heard it said (okay, read it written) that it is the ending, more than any other part, that a reader will walk away thinking about. It is the ending of a book that determines what a reader will say to their friends about the book. The characters can be awesome, the prose can be ridoncidonculous, but the ending is the thing that weighs on their mind.

This makes sense, of course. If the punchline of a joke is lame, are you going to walk away praising how well it was told? If the climax of a film is the weakest of weak sauces, are you going to walk away talking about how sweet the filmography was?

Maybe. If you're one of those people.

But then, what makes a good ending?

Personally, I like to see the characters struggle. I don't want to read "AHA! And then we won." I want to get concerned. I want to not be able to stop turning pages, even if I'm pretty sure I know how things are going to go down.

I also like to be surprised. As many novels as I've read, it's not often that that happens any more. I've become tragically genre-savvy. Even the books I've loved lately, I knew pretty much exactly what each person was going to do and what role they were going to play before their introductory paragraph was over. But--and oh boy, here is where I get choosy--the surprise can't be the kind of thing you'd only know if you were, say, the author. So I want an 'Aha!' moment, but not a 'Duh!' moment, but not a 'Yeah, whatever' moment.

Picky picky.

What else? I like bookend endings. Themes that tie the ending back to something that happened way at the beginning. It makes me giggle. I don't know.

I like endings that are concise. Boom! BAM! Whammo! Brief conversation. The End.

I saw a movie recently that had the climax about thirty minutes before the ending. It also had thirty minutes of introduction before the movie started. I was screaming at the screen (the theater housed only my sister and I) "END!! EEEEEEEENNNNNND!!!"

On the other hand, a story shouldn't just...end. Boom! BAM! WHAtheend.

No.

Also? I like bittersweet endings. Heavy on the sweet. But it's hard for me to buy a story where EVERYthing is wrapped up neat and pretty with zero loss or quarter given. Life is compromise. A good story is a peek into someone else's life.

One of the best endings I've ever seen?

Granted, this clip skips a great deal of the other issues that are closed up beautifully (until the second movie rips everything all up to shreds for no reason other than to create some pointless drama AAAARGGH WHY DISNEY WHY) but this film, which happens to be on my top five list of all-time favorites, hits all of the points I listed above.

So what about you guys? What do you like in endings? What do you hate? What's an example of one of your favorite endings evar?

Peace out!

-J

Do Parents Make Babies?

Hey internet!

Haha. I bet that title caught your attention.

I had this thought a little while ago about a word I've seen floating around lately: 'Appropriate.' It's so ominous! If you throw a 'Not' in front of that bad boy, you've lost scores of eyes that might have otherwise been devouring whatever it is that's being judged. This is especially true of films and novels. And it is especially especially true of children's films and novels.

My aim is to be a Young Adult novelist, and in all honesty not a very racy one at that. There's murder, theft, betrayal, alcohol, law breaking, racism, sexism, kidnapping and a lot of white lies in my book. But it's all very light-hearted and fun. So I'm not worried about 'Appropriate' being waved over my head.

And let's be honest: teenagers (who will, if I ever get published, probably be my biggest readers) can get hold of stuff their parents don't want them to have. Especially stuff their parents don't want them to have. It's just a fact! And being told a book is 'Not Appropriate' is not going to stop teens from reading it.

So let's just leave that one alone.

What I'm actually interested in is children's movies and books that are deemed 'Not Appropriate.' In particular, media which are deemed too scary for kids.

I will admit, there have been a few times in the past when I've seen the premise of some 'children's' entertainment and just had to stare at it for a while, slowly shaking my head. Kids are naturally afraid of certain things...monsters in their closet. The dark. When I was a wee one, I was concerned that there were monsters that lived literally in the shadows, which were in fact doorways to their shadow realm, and if I took my eyes off the shadows for even a second the monsters would come up, wrap me up in my blankets like a squirmy pig in a gunny sack, and haul me off to roast and eat at some monster kid's birthday party.

I have yet to see cold hard proof that this is not the case. Also, I may turn that into a book some day.

So children do have some scaredy-cat tendencies that don't make complete sense to the adult mind.

My nephew went through a 'closet monster' phase. A few times I tried to help with this by going into the closet with a pillow, shutting the door, and then banging the pillow around and making grunting noises. Then I would come back out and inform him that any monsters around were thoroughly snot-beaten-out-of'ed and he would laugh and, sometimes, go to sleep.

So children also have the ability to understand--or believe--that something is just pretend.

My question, then, is this: is something too scary for kids because kids are babies, or because their parents baby them?

I've seen a lot of parents take their children to the side at a theater or a book store and explain to them that something they wanted to see or read or have read to them was "So scary!" The parents explain that there are monsters, that the child won't be able to handle it, that it is just not possible for someone the kid's age to actually enjoy the spookiness. And what happens?

I know it may seem odd, but perhaps the solution to your children's night terrors is to...y'know...talk rational to them. I have tried talking rational to children before. It doesn't always work. But sometimes it does. And creepy, spooky, eerie stories can be fun! Just ask Coraline Jones. Or Jack Skellington.

After all, is it not the job of parents to prepare their children for the world? That includes teaching them to brush their teeth in the morning AND teaching them how to deal with fear. Showing them how to play well with others AND showing them that life is not all peach flowers and sprinkly charms.

I could go on...but perhaps I won't. Because it is 2 in the morning and I have to work tomorrow/today and I'm not sure I'm getting my point across very well.

So, take care, internet! And enjoy this most spooky of months :)

Color Outside Ze Lines

So hilarious, sasstastic author Jaime Reed recently wrote in her blog about race issues. Her post is here: Color Outside the Lines.

I started writing a reply to her awesome post, then realized my reply was working up to be roughly blog-sized and I didn't want to take up too much of her personal internets. So here we go: my first official unrequested blog post that is strictly a response to something someone else blogged about.

Give me some time and maybe I'll think of a title with a cool acronym. But probably not.

Now: about coloring outside the lines.

I've had a lot of thoughts similar to Jaime's in the process of working on Ze Book.

I'm Caucasian, but spent a good chunk of my childhood in Maryland. My brother and I were the only white kids (and I the only girl) past tooth-sprouting age within hang-out distance. A few kids tried to pick on us for being the odd ones out, but for the most part we had no issue making friends and having regular life-threatening, poorly-supervised childhood adventures.

So that racial barrier is not as much an issue for me as I imagine it would be for those who grew up in a more monochromatic world. During my formative years I ran wild with my brother and a handful of kids who happened to have skin darker than my own. They were my best friends. They were awesome. One of them (super lifetime secret!) was my first kiss. We were five. Five-year-olds do that if you're not watching.

My first thought when I see someone who is African American is of my childhood friends, and not about the differences between us. I'm not colorblind. Nobody is, no matter how sweet and kind and open minded they may be. But I feel that the differences between the many billions of people on this rock called earth are awesome. The differences are what make everyone beautiful in gloriously unique ways.

Still, I'm very aware of the walls that go up around every unique culture.


There aren't many MCs that break the cookie-cutter mold or, as Jaime Reed said, color outside the lines. And that sucks. A lot. What sucks even more is that most--certainly not all, but the ones that get the most attention--of the MCs that ARE from a different culture or physical appearance mostly star in novels that deal solely with how The Man comes down on them for being different.

That SUCKS.

I remember being a young female reader trying to find awesome books where other young females go out, kick balls, save the day, bring home nondescript booty, and settle back in front of the fire preparing for their next adventure. Instead I found a lot of books about quivery-lipped gals being tragically put in their place by the menfolk. Maybe they'd bust free from the crapsack society. Maybe they'd just sort of waffle along and end the way they began. Lamely.

How this plays into Ze Book:

My MC is a biracial young man. He has a white mother, while the world would identify him as black. It affects his life, obviously, but it is not his key characteristic. Nor is it even remotely what the novel is about. His ethnicity is mentioned, because the novel takes place in the 30's and nobody would believe it if not a single character commented on the fact.

Part of what I want to do with Thomas Kaiser, apprentice sorcerer-detective extraordinaire, is add a drop in the great bucket of minority characters just going out and doing awesome things that don't have anything to do with being minority characters.

And in the end, Thomas is Thomas is Thomas. He would still be Thomas if he was white, Chinese, Eskimo, or a purple-polka-dot-platypus. Anyone, regardless of background or race or gender or taste in music, should, could and hopefully will eventually star in a story that is just about twisting life's fingers until it cries uncle.

That's my opinion, anyhow. It came out rather wordy and I'm afraid a bit preachy, but those are the facts.

Now I need to get off of this blog and log in some more Thomas-time. Ze Book is not going to finish itself.