Samhain Publishing

I didn’t forget it was my turn to blog!! For me, this is a memory miracle. An ditz defying feat for which I’ll give myself that cocoa flavored reward. I might start remembering things just to satisfy my craving for the lush smooth treat melting on my tongue. Ooh, chocolate…Wait, I was going to blog about something, hmm what was it again? Oh yeah, Now I remember!

How do fictional (and lots of real) women figure out who their perfect guy is?

Sex, while great is not truly an indicator for a good match, just a good night or two. A cute smile, nice hair, muscles, or even a big brain (size matters in this above, well, almost all other organs) are nice, but not the end all be all either. No, what I’m talking has been the subject of poems, movies, books and of course, songs—a kiss.

When the hero cradles our girl grumpy ever so gently in his arms, kissing her soft and slow, why does her frozen heart melt into a puddle of gooey Chunky Monkey? The term heated embrace comes to mind, but even that doesn’t give us the full story.

Scientists could explain why two pairs of lips can pull so many other body parts into the hormonal hot tub with them. They’d say it was just chemistry, and love was just some secondhand emotion. Well, a scientist named Tina Turner would call it that and with her supernaturally sexy legs, she’d look great a lab coat. But can simple chemistry really make hearts stop, knees go weak, eyes flutter and spines tingle? Nah, only great kisses can do that. Or maybe an Elvis sighting but that’s a different blog and not one I’ll write while sober, thank you very much.

But we’re talking an end her-send her-bend her over his arm and lay a lip lock on her that’ll make her forget her name special. The one our heroine will remember until she’s old and gray. She’ll yuck her grandchildren out with tales of this kiss. The memory of it will make her forgive him for forgetting anniversaries, birthdays, and the all important putting the seat back down at 2 a.m. It might not have been her first kiss or even the first they shared but it held the magic that let her know that he was the one for her.

Like the song says, if you wanna know if he loves you so, it’s in his kiss.

Shoop Shoop,

Jenna Leigh

Since my internet is hinky, I’m banking my blog ahead of time. If you know me, the Great Procrastinator, you’ll realize how hard this is for me. I’m okay—sort of—I’d be better if not for my husband who thinks the first AI auditions where everyone is totally icky are the best of the lot, and insists on watching them.

I on the other hand, just want to know what in the world those people were thinking. I watch it for five minutes at a time and become irritated, because, it turns me from the nice Paula/Randy-ish type of person I really am into the dreaded evil heinous, Simon. I begin sneering and spitting out things like, “Get that person off the TV! Oh. My. God! Smack them in the head, they just ..suck!” I’ve been Simonized!

Don’t they know anyone who’d have kept them from embarrassing themselves on television like that? Surely when they asked their friends and/or relatives about their singing abilities, someone could have piped up and said, “Dude! You suck really bad! Do you hear that howling? The dogs are having fits!” Yeah, that’s a Simon says, but better here than on T.V.

I’ll admit if they had me for a relative they would have heard it. Nicely, of course. Well, okay, after the consumption of mass quantities of chocolate I’d have been nice. I’d have nicely told them to stick to the choir (the very back) instead of going so low as to solo. If they didn’t believe me, I’d record their efforts and play it back, loudly, to illustrate my point. That’s a little more Paula, maybe even Randy. Hmm, better.

As for those costumes. In a galaxy far, far away, a mad scientist came up with a magical invention called a mirror to prevent the occurrence of things like the Princess Leia Slave Girl folly. I shall not go into any more detail, except to say, just no. Also that costume that guy wore that looked like a cross between I Drean of Jeannie and Sinbad was a mondo-bad dream. Gross! No!

See? I’ve been Simonized again, just thinking about it!

I come from a large family who would (have, do, shall, and will always) take great pleasure in telling each other that they essentially suck at something. I never really appreciated that little trait until now. Thanks American Idol!

Back to being Jenna Leigh again! Yay!

It’s 4 a.m. do you know where your author is? Well, this one’s blogging, but through the magic of the delay button, it’s not gonna show up until three p.m. At least, I’m prayin’ this thing works with the fervor of an inmate on death row waiting for that important phone call from the governor.

The quote by screenwriter, Paul Rudnick is essentially me. I have to be alone to do my magic, shabby as it is.

“As a writer, I need an enormous amount of time alone. Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials. It’s a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write. Having anybody watching that or attempting to share it with me would be grisly.” ~Paul Rudnick

The television’s too loud, and my husband yells out the coming attractions to the room at large. The cat comes in and out of my room incessantly and thinks a closed door is a crime against nature. And by all that is holy, whoever bought the dog that squeaky toy is going to the be hanged from the highest tree at dawn. Wait, that was me. Never mind.

My daughter is the least of my troubles because at seventeen, she’d rather be as far from the house as possible. However, this brings on a whole new set of distractions.

Where is she? Why isn’t she home? Is she out running the roads or worse, lying dead in a ditch? Hold on now, it’s not me doing all that worrying. Nay, nay! It’s my hubby, but instead of calling her, he goes into his Daddy of Dread routine, turns into the Prince of Paranoia, the… okay, I’m out of alliterative phrases, but it’s irritating in the extreme, so much so that he’s the one in real danger of turning up dead in a ditch!

So, how to block all these little distractions out and stop the procrastination to write the stories that buzz angrily in the back of the brain? Short of murder, we can do like Mr. Rudnick says, wait until the house is quiet and get started making that magic.

Many authors, me included are a lot like vampires. We crave darkness, only truly coming to life late at night. Of course, we don’t drink blood, our species is more symbiotic than a parasitic. The relationship we forge with our characters can be violent, bloody, and chaotic. Sort of like one of my family reunions after they’ve tapped the keg.

However, a vampire author shares his or her very essence with their characters, shoving it out through their fingertips onto the page. Many authors channel their emotions are channel through their characters. A lot of these are very dark indeed and it’s hard to bring them out in the light of day in front of family, not to mention the dog. The cat would just sneer. Some books beg to be written in the middle of the night when all is quiet.

Solitude is an author’s best friend because silence allows the thoughts to settle in and stick. Writing is a hard business, at least for me. I’ll let easier things like the television, IM’s, and email distract me until the night’s been frittered away. My characters are growing impatient, the sound of them stomping in my head is growing louder as I type, soon it’ll be too loud for even me the Queen of Denial to ignore. That’s why I’m up at four in the morning writing. That and Brimstone Babe is really scary. I wonder if she’s a vamp? Naah. She’s too cute.

I’m a pantsy-plotter, which means while I plot I fly by the seat of my pants to get to the end. Why? Because I have to steal time to write, that’s why. So, while I’m at work or cooking etc, part of me is submersed in Jenn’s World where my characters live and breathe. It’s hard to stay on course when that happens. I don’t keep my outline in front of me all the time while I’m thinking about my stories, therefore, surprises happen. I myself was a surprise for my parents so that may have something to do with it. Mama says I was a happy accident. You say tom-ah-to and I say, well, actually, I say ‘mater. But really, it’s all about where you’re coming from. ‘wink’

Case in point:

I’ve finished The Wolf’s Heart and started on the sequel. I’d planned for one of my secondary characters to be the hero of this story. He was, hot, broody, and did I mention hot? In other words, he was the perfect candidate for a follow up.

Yet, the longer I wrote, the more I felt that something just wasn’t right. Looking back on all ten (yes, count them, ten) chapters, I noticed how often another character cropped up. He was a fast talking, wise-cracking, son of a gun that wouldn’t shut up, no matter how I tried to force him to the background. He wanted to be the hero. In other words, he hijacked my story.

I could actually hear him say in that smart-alecky tone of his “Put me in coach.” New Guy was sure he deserved the spotlight and the glory. Heck, he’d already stolen all the good lines anyway, so I may as well give it up. But most importantly, he deserved the heroine, because, he was in his own words, “smokin’ hot.” However, I was worried. Was he worth going back and doing major rewrites? To which he replied. “Heck yeah I’m worth it!” I never said he was modest, now did I? But he was right because after fixing the MS and putting my new pitcher on the mound, I wrote 15K in two days, and by the way, the heroine was a happy little catcher too.

Baseball metaphors and the disturbing voices in my head aside, sometimes, you have to toss the plot out the window and go with the flow. While plotting makes writing easier, it also makes the surprises, like New Guy up there, who I love, despite the fact that he’s a total pain in my keyboard, fewer and farther between.

I’ll be truthful; pantsing has left this redneck as the Rebel Without a Clause, a time or two. Honestly though, I’d rather have a character like New Guy sneak up on me once in a blue moon than plot out those I’m familiar with day after day. While I won’t tell him, I will admit it to you; he’s worth all the work I had to do to make him the focal point of my story. It flows, it sings, it pops! Surprise, happy accident whatever you want to call it, I love the serendipity of inspiration. Plotting by the seat of my pants may not be the most productive way to write but it sure is the most fun.

Today is Valentine’s Day, the day for lovers to give each other gifts to celebrate their love. So when I knew I was blogging on this date, I thought I’d take the easy way out and look up some great romantic couples in history like Antony and Cleopatra, Napoleon and Josephine, and um, Sonny and Cher. Then, I thought about those for a minute, and besides showing my crappy research skills, it also points out another glaring fact. Those couples all bit the dust in the end, in some cases permanently. Even Liz and Richard, the actors who played Tony and Cleo, couldn’t make it work, so I’ve decided to do something a little different for Valentine’s Day this year.

They say there are all kinds of love, and though I adore my husband, he can’t be all things to me all the time. While the romance isn’t dead, there’s days, I could kill him just as soon as look at him. And those are the days when you have to get down on your knees and thank the powers above for no, not chocolate, but you’re close. I mean friends.

Great couples through the ages, Jenna style:

Butch and Sundance: Oh yeah, I was raised on Westerns, and this was one of my favorites, for obvious reasons. The scenery is very nice, you know. Redford and Newman make what could have been a boring movie something I’d watch over and over again. Still will you know, but there’s something about a buddy flick that gets me every single time, throw in some chase scenes and you’ve got gold.

Mary and Rhoda: Who could turn the world on with her smile? They were two of the first real examples of girl power. Mary had a job, apartment, and cool (for their time) clothes. She didn’t seem to want to get married anytime soon to feel completed either. The men in my family all thought she was possessed but the women loved her. Rhoda was sarcastically funny and hip, and she was my real hero.

Cagney and Lacey: Girl cops? My father almost passed out, but my mother never missed a show. Cagney was always so pulled together but Lacey was average sized and had a house that looked like ours, so we thought she was it. The gritty realism was a shock to our sugary southern world too.

Will and Grace: They were fun, funny, and sometimes way too over the top for even me to take, but I watched them and by golly, I cried on that last episode. I’ll also confess that sometimes, I watched just for the meaner and even funnier secondary couple, Karen and Jack, but to me, they were a great example of supporting each other. The first two, the second set were just sugary icing, something I knew was really bad for me, but I couldn’t stop myself from consuming until my belly hurt.

Daffy and Bugs: Yes, Daffy says Bugs is disspickable, and he sprays it, so I’m pretty sure he means it at the time. But, I always thought when the lights went down, these two bellied up to the bar and yelled when Elmer in, “Dude! It’s Fudd season!”

Unlike a husband ready to leave the mall, real friends will tell you if jeans make your butt look bigger than a float at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. But, they’ll be there with you through thick and thin, lyrca and spandex. So, remember your sweetie on Valentine’s Day, for sure, but if you have a friend, especially a single one, why not send them a little something too? I know there’s been a time he or she’s listened to you rant and rave about your significant other. Hey, don’t feel guilty. You never know, maybe you’ve helped them feel better about being single!