Marissa Turner

Granted, it would have been about ten cents as that’s all I have, but still. 

Saturday night was a going away party for one of the soldiers we know; he got orders cut and he’s off!  There was also the UFC fight that night, and that’s always good.  I don’t know what it is about the house we were at, but every time we watch a fight there, it’s ended due to tossing in the towel. 

But St. Pierre kicked Penn’s ass either way.

I can’t stand dog fighting, at all, but I will cheer the UFC like no tomorrow. 

I met my deadline head on and survived.  I’ve heard the horror stories (and read some books that I’m sure were rushed through to meet deadline and they were horrible).  I spent the last week digging around my own head for the book and, let me tell you, I found out things about myself that I didn’t know.  Not all of them good. 

However, I am off for the next few days!  I figure Wednesday, Friday at the latest, is a good break.  I’m going to read books I didn’t write, knit, and SLEEP SLEEP SLEEP.

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I started working on it last night.  I got the idea from Genreality to try summing up GENTRY in one sentence.  Yeah, one.  Me, the goddess of long and winded explanation, pared it down to one.

I’m so proud of myself.

And I found the sentence completely on accident, while dicking around with my facebook. 

And they say the Internet kills brain cells.

And, for something for everyone, the Urban Fantasy Land Reader’s Choice Awards!  Go, vote, now!

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Got this email from one of my editors (Hi!):

“i’ll get gentry back to you end of week.  and then i’m buying you a damned apostrophe for christmas!!!”

Sometimes, I forget the basics.  But that’s why the Powers That Be created good friends who are also willing to be editors.  Like Elle’s Creator and D.

Mention of D., I got so used to her being around, between Germany and then when we got back State-side, that a few dozen times since she and C. got housing, I’ve called out to her to tell her something or to ask a question, completely forgetting she’s in her own home now.

One day, I will be able to remember things.  Just not today.

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Yesterday was Baby E’s 1st birthday, and Little J. decided that cake was the most important thing in the world.  Every five minutes “Are we gonna make Baby E’s cake now?”  It’s a damn good thing she’s cute :-)  To quote Acheron, “I’m known for spoiling and I respect anyone who can raise a child and not sell it on eBay. So I’ll never criticize.”  Though, I bet we’d get a bundle for Little J., she’s adorable.  Until that curl pops up in the middle of her forehead, then it’s every male/female for themselves.

Apparently, we’ve realized that recycling is good for the environment.  I was outside the other day, checking my mail, when two kids walked by, their arms full of newspapers no one had picked up out of their drive.  Every other step, a paper fell out of their arms, they’d stop, pick it back up, walk two steps, drop another one.  I asked if they wanted to toss the papers in my bin, and the little girl piped up “Recycling is good for the universe!”  I’m not about to correct that thought.

Writing is going well, I’ve started kicking around full fledged ideas for Clio#2, while still working on Cyndra #1 and Luna #1.  Luna is the MS I found and don’t remember writing.  I scraped about 30 pages of it, but I’ve got a good start on half a book.

And the Zodiac Series?  I love it.

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Does anyone remember getting those handouts at the beginning of the school year?  The syllabus?  Remember how it had dates of tests, vacations, etc?

Apparently, one of my instructors doesn’t know how to follow one.  I have scheduled my tests for my other two classes (which I do online) around that syllabus.  She moved a test from next week up to this week, thus screwing the rest of the year.

“We’ve gone over the two chapters, we can take the test Wednesday.”  At which point, my entire class wanted to lynch her in the parking lot. 

I did get the second round of edits for Cliodhna done yesterday.  Both mine, and that of one of the editors, have been added to the MS.  Time for another print out and read through.  I keep wondering if it’s good enough; I think it’s perfect, but I’m biased.  D. read through, and edited, and knows me well enough to tell me if something is shit.  She reads books along the same line that Clio is in, and everything else she can get her hands on, so there’s a lot she can compare it to. 

I’ve found that the best thing a writer can have in their corner is a well-read editor. 

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I’m home again.  I missed my dog.  I didn’t get as much sun time as I wanted, but I had a blast.

The biting flies laughed at my OFF Deep Woods spray and bit the hell out of my legs and arms.  I swell up and bruise in beautiful shades of purple, red, and black from bug bites, so I should be nice and technicolor here in the next few days.

I saw dolphins every morning but Thursday, and that’s because Mother Nature was kicking some serious ass.  I didn’t sleep at all Thursday night, and thought of crawling into bed with my mother.  The sound of waves sliding onto shore is so relaxing versus the sound of them smashing into shore which scares the hell out of me.  Come Friday, the ocean was a lot closer to the house than it had been Wednesday night before the storm.

I got the rest of my personal edits on GENTRYdone, and even some work done on Cyndra while I was partying like a rock star . 

Now I’m broke, a bit burned, and sick as a dog.  It’s my thing: I go on a great vacation, and bring home a cold.

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I love it! 

Ignore the cleavage, I am not at all familiar with Paintshop, and whenever I tried to crop it, my computer ate the picture.

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I’ve said before that, while the Olympics are fun, I don’t think the standing of a nation should be based upon it’s athletes.  It’s like basing the cleanliness of a house on it’s pipes, just doesn’t make sense (at least not to me).

That being said, I am glued to my screen during the swimming heats.  I will confess to knowing one name (Michael Phelps) but that doesn’t distract from the awe I feel.  They make it look so easy.  I stayed up to watch the 200 butterfly semifinals (I cannot do the butterfly, no idea why, but the dolphin kick eludes me) and sat that, slack-jawed, as Phelps kicked ass in the last turn.

Which is why my edits didn’t get done last night, I crammed them in today before work.

I used to love the gymnastics, and figure skating.  But something about the swimming has always captivated me.

I’ll blame it on being a water sign.

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Cliodhna and I are doing very well as of late.

I’ve got pages of notes for chapters one through eighteen, and while I haven’t cut a lot, it feels like I have. 

Add in that I’m going to be juggling the ending of chapters around (when you start off with fifteen to nineteem page chapters, and suddenly you’re barely squeaking it at nine pages, you gotta change something), and I’m fairly certain my weekend is going to be chock full of me doing nothing outside of my own head.

I was struck yesterday how many authors look like an author.  Take Stephen King for example; with those glasses, he’s either a writer or a computer geek.  Clive Cussler, with all the classic cars, he just strikes me as a nerd.

But, more and more, I’m seeing authors who don’t look like authors to me.  Stop laughing; I grew up watching Murder, She Wrote and reading how Anne Rice showed up to a party in a wedding gown and casket.  So, I developed the mental image of writers as either somewhat insane… or older women who like floral print shirts and smelled like AquaNet hairspray.

Guess which category I fall under?

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