Holiday Time Again

It's the holidays again, and for once there is no power outage and my husband isn't deployed. We've been in this house three years, and this is the first time we've put decorations out. So you can understand that we're quite excited.

Wow. It certainly has been a while since I wrote a blog post. A lot has happened recently, and I also haven't read a book that I cared to write a review about. I've decided to re-read the Harry Potter books. I love them and appreciate them more now than I did as a kid. There are a few things that Rowling does in her writing that I don't much like (for instance using capital letters, exclamation points, and dialogue tags like "roared" all in one go) but it doesn't really spoil my enjoyment that much. I should be starting the last book tomorrow. I've been flying through them at light speed and cannot wait to Book 7.

Then I will be starting Clockwork Princess to finish up the Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare. (You can find the reviews to the previous two books here and here.) It will be an interesting endeavor since Princess managed to chase off some of her most loyal fans.

The writing is going... uh... we, it's going. I'm in the last seven chapters of my editing and I almost have the outline for the sequel done. I still have a lot of research I have to do for the next book, but nothing that will stop me from starting the novel right away.

And my blog has officially had over 10,000 views by perfect strangers who never leave any comments. That's awesome, but the lack of interaction kind of bums me out. If you are one of these wayward people, or someone who reads regularly, don't be afraid to say, "Hi," before running off. It's cool. I don't bite.

So there you have it. My really boring, entirely uneventful life update. I look forward to torturing you all to more book reviews soon.

Book Review: City of Glass (Mortal Instruments #3)

City of Glass by Cassandra Clare
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

FINALLY! It's over! I'm done with the original Mortal Instruments trilogy, and it feels so good.

Now, before I begin, I will be courteous enough to inform you all that the following review is filled with whining, griping, and spoilers. If you love anything about this series, read at your own peril. I am not responsible for any strong feelings that my ravaging of these books trigger.

Before you read this, please read my reviews of City of Bones and City of Ashes because I will be most likely reference past jokes. You could say I'm consistent, unlike Clare.

Last time on the Mortal Instruments: Jace gets thrown in jail for being a smart ass. Daddy V steals the Super Special Sword of Truth and then gives it after-market blood mods so he can raise Hell, literally. Simon gets turned into a sun-proof vampire. Clary goes Super Mary Sue and blows up a ship. Other than that, those 500 pages were worthless.

Sigh. If I wasn't shaking my head during this book, I was screaming at it. You would have thought I was watching a horror film. The last couple chapters I read on auto-pilot, not even caring to scribble down some notes. I'm done this series, and anything else Clare writes.

Before I chase people off with my dour attitude, it's time for the Character Breakdown!

Clary: I get that she's a 16 year old girl, but after thousands of words, she's still clueless, rash, and bitchy. When Jace and the rest of them leave her behind for Idris, she throws a temper tantrum like a toddler. Then she makes her own Portal to Idris, ignoring the rule that she needs permission to do so, and drags Luke with her. After splashing down in the Mortal Mirror (because Clare couldn't be more obvious that was what Lake Lyn was), Luke's poor sister Amatis saves her life from the freaky water. And then Clare proceeds to treat Amatis terribly. She eats her food, wears her clothes, sneaks out, and destroys her property without so much as a thank you. That poor woman gets no respect from Special Snowflake Clary.

Then there is the treatment of her mother. She spends books worried about her, and then freaks out when Jocelyn walks in the door like the woman abandoned her. Clare tries to use the excuse that Clary just didn't know how angry she was. As a young woman who loves her mother, I would have given her the biggest hug because she's all right. Then proceed to grill her on what was going on. But my point is, I wanted to slap that pubescent red-head and scream, "Bitch! Don't talk to your mother like that."

The one thing that really bugged me is when Clary reveals her special rune making skills to the Shadow-hunters and Down-worlders. (Yes, I grammatically corrected those.) Clare specifies that Clary gets her Super Scribbles from the angels because daddy experimented on her by accident. (I just realized how lame that sounds.) Clary tells the crowd gathered that she creates the runes. Yes, creates the runes even though we, the audience, knows that she does not create them. She's just "remembering," for lack of a better term, runes that have been forgotten to time. I didn't think I could get more depressed until everyone gave her credit for finally uniting the SH and DW after a thousand years. Um, no. Just, no.

The truth is, the Shadow-hunters were just too afraid and jealous to form a real bond with the Down-worlders. A real relationship. It felt like they jumped on the opportunity as an excuse because they got super-powers out of it. That does not repair the damage caused by hunting these people for hundreds of years. And they give Clary the credit. Fecking Shadow-hunters.

And then there is her one wish. What does she wish for? Jace, because daddy ran him through a sword. I know Clary isn't that bright, but as an artist, couldn't get creative. Clare kept shouting at us that Clary is an anime and manga fan. So why not rip off one of the mass resurrection wishes from Dragon Ball Z? All you need is a little modification: "I wish for all those killed in the last week by Valentine and his agents to be returned to life. Except the evil ones." Okay, there might be problems with that, but it would be worth a shot. It's better than just Jace because the Lightwoods are missing a certain little boy. What was his name again?

Moving on.

Jace: He's come a long way from being one Ed Hardy shirt away of being the douche in the corner of the night club you roll your eyes at. Sadly, instead of developing into a better person, he just grew more dramatic and boring. I don't know how that's even possible. It's almost like his personality was sucked out of him by all the similes Clare used. (I know. I almost lost my sanity to them.)

There's this scene where Clary catches Jace making out with another girl, and then they have a fight. Clary leaves, leaving him with Alec and Izzy to have a nice talk. At the end of their conversation, Jace gets angrier and punches a picture window. Do you know how expensive those are to replace? He's was being such a Drama Queen, feathered boa and all. It was painful to read, and not in the good way.

After that it was all down hill. By the end of the book, Jace feels like a generic tragic hero. He tries to show his girl how much he wuves her. He goes it alone, tracking down the bad guy. He kills his evil twin, and then gets killed by daddy. Oh, boo-hoo. Poor, [Insert Hero Name]. It was just... meh. I actually missed Jackass Jace. There was substance I could make fun of.

And Former-Shadow-of-Himself Jace finally hooks up with Clary, for good. Don't care.

Oh, and Daddy V isn't his father. He was cut out of his suicidal mother's womb after she killed herself. And he's got angel in his genetic code. Like I didn't see that one coming...

Simon: He is my favorite of the three, hands down. Despite the issues he has coming to terms with being a vampire, which is understandable, he's still the smartest and most mature. He's also the only one who sacrifices anything.

When Raphael wants to kill him in exchange for the help of the vampires, Simon goes but tells Clary to put the Mark of Cain on his forehead. While this may curse him to wander for eternity, he doesn't care. He wanted to live - well, as much as a vampire can live - and unite the vampires with everyone else. Despite the deception, Simon gets two thumbs up for courage. He really is too good for this book, especially since he was in jail for 200 pages of it.

Isabelle: By this point she's just Jace's mouth piece. Jace never tells any one any thing, so Izzy does it for him in skirts and hooker heels. I feel bad for her. By the end she's Jace's knight in shining armor. Not Clary. His adopted sister protects him and saves his ass more than anyone notices. Clary is totally the wrong MC for this story. I'm sorry how your writer treats you, Izzy.

Alec: Gains a spine a little too late. I wish Clare had given him substance two books ago. I do get why Magnus likes him, though. He's boring. I would want boring too if the rest of my life was glitter and chaos.

Magnus: There wasn't enough of him to save my sanity. I often missed him. Good to know he's capable of somber behavior.

Jocelyn: Finally wakes up, thanks to Magnus. Acts as giant info dump. Wasn't really given a personality for a woman who escaped her abusive husband, lived in hiding, and raised one of the most self-centered people in the book.

Luke: Mostly in the background even though he does all the political heavy lifting. They give Clary the credit. Feh. It's this guy who deserves it.

Amatis Herondale: Luke's sister. Puts up with Clary's abhorrent behavior. Of all the people in this book, she deserved to give that brat a beat down. First wife of Jace's father. She's nice and supportive. Too bad her writer doesn't pat people on the back who deserve it.

Sebastian: Will the real Jonathan Morganstern please stand up? This psycho is the demon child of Jocelyn and Daddy V, which makes him Clary's real older brother. He was a better baddie than his father because he was scary. When a teenager beats a nine year old to death with a hammer, I admit I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley. That's horror flick shit right there.

Of course, Clare wouldn't know how to describe a creepy smile if she tried. She can't keep the damn similes off the end of the sentence to make it effective. And then there's the dark prince metaphor that Clare keeps using every time she writes about him from Clary's perspective. Here is the funny thing about dark princes, they are always bad, bad news. Very bad news. I'll list a few off the top of my head that quite a few people might know about:

Prince Joffrey from Martin's Song of Fire and Ice books: I don't think I have to explain this one to anyone who's seen the HBO series or read the books. Joffrey is horrendous. This pretty little blonde pre-teen puts Sebastian to shame in the violent-acts-that-make-people-squirm department. He beheads people left and right, has Sansa smacked around by his cronies, and likes it. He's just... pure evil. That's all I can say.

Prince Jorg Ancrath from Lawrence's Prince of Thorns: Another young psycho, except he has goals. There is nothing like someone who will do whatever they want to get what they want, and that includes raping women and blowing up whole freaking castles. He also stabs his own men. There is really nothing like young Prince Jorg, except maybe Alec from A Clockwork Orange.

And because Clary likes anime, and I've been using Dragon Ball references pretty consistently, I give you Prince Vegeta: This walking Death Star gets off eradicating entire civilizations. Beating on people excites him. He killed his childhood nanny - I mean body guard - because he suddenly became useless. Even after becoming the world's wealthiest trophy husband, he nuked half of a sold out stadium to get his rival to fight him after juicing up on black magic.

So you can see why Clary's romanticized version of her "dark prince" immediately made me think, "He's evil! Evil! Run, stupid!" Seriously, Clare's logic when it comes to writing has shorted out my brain more than I want to count. No mental acrobatics will compensate for whatever goes on in that woman's head.

Daddy V: Sigh. Clare gave him a personality a little too late. It's book three, and we're just now finding out he's the well meaning, mad scientist type. Too bad the path to Hell is paved with good intentions, because that is where V is going to end up. When an angel looks at you and basically says, "You are not God, you cannot judge," then you know you're screwed.

That's what happens to V, and I must say that I pitied him. It was almost sad, if a bit pathetic. I wanted to reach through the pages and say, "Dude, you messed up. Time to face the consequences." I think I felt more for him than I did for any of the other characters in the book. If Clare was capable of good character development, then he wouldn't have been made of cardboard for two books before finally being fleshed out.

How do reader's connect with these characters? Hold on, I have to reboot my brain. I thought too hard again.

Now it's metaphor time! Prepare yourself for the worst that I cared to write down. 3... 2... 1...

• "... she spotted a smaller mausoleum, growing like a white toadstool in the shadow of a leafy oak tree." Does that mean the mausoleum looks like a mushroom?
• Referring to the demon towers: "The fading sunlight struck dull rainbows from their surfaces like a match striking sparks." I think I got it with the "dull rainbows."
• "... the world was coming apart in soft colors, like a jigsaw puzzle drifting on the surface of the water."
• "The chuckle that answered Simon sounded like metal scraping against stone." That sounds painful for the person making it.
• "... all she could see was the bright bits of sunshine that dusted his fair hair, like shards of broken glass." This woman has a fetish for broken glass. If this book was mine, I would have highlighted every broken glass reference to see how often it came up.
• "... a sudden spray of broken glass like a shower of jagged stars." Look, another one.
• Referencing Alec's eye color: "At the moment they were the color of the East River during a storm." I'm not from New York City, so how would I know what that looks like?
• "Clary woke to a sound like hail stones on a metal roof." She's describing Sebastian throwing rocks against the window. Having heard both, they sound distinctly different. When rocks hit windows, it makes a hollow noise. When hail hits metal, it's more metallic and high pitched.
• "Pages ripped from books drifted in the air like ash." If time has passed, how is this possible?
• "Sebastian's face came alive, like a video flashing back to action after it had been paused." And all these terrible comparisons are wearing me out, like a tire that has been driven hundreds of miles.
• " ... like a beautiful painting destroyed by vandals." I swear I've seen her use this one before.
• "The desire in his eyes cracked into a thousand pieces like the shards of the Portal mirror a Renwick's... " Told you she had a thing for broken glass. She's even made voices sound like it.
• "Isabelle's whip came alive in her hand like the flaming sword of an avenging angel..." This is another comparison that Clare uses often. She uses it so often, I'm going to card her for repetition.
• "With a sound like a pail of water poured onto flames..." She couldn't use "with a hiss?" It would make the sentence eight words shorter and make more sense.
• "The tension underlying his voice was a live wire." If something is tense, it's taught or wound. There is nothing loose about it. It's under strain. A live wire is none of those things.

Relieved that it's over? There's more! Check out this review where they attempt to figure out the percentage of word count that the bad similes, just the similes, take up. It's a pretty hefty 27%. Wow. And the review is funny.

Now onto a more serious analysis of her writing. Below I'm going to post they typical Clary thought process paragraph. Why? Because this is typical of how Clare likes to write her descriptions and keep the character involved.

"They passed under a streetlight. Clary glanced sideways at Sebastian. In his long dark coat and white shirt, under the pool of white light, he looked like a black-and-white illustration of a gentleman from a Victorian scrapbook. His dark hair curled close against his temples in a way that made her itch to draw him in pen and ink."

First off, Clary is looking at him out of the corner of her eye while they pass briefly under a light post.

Then she gives a typical simile that is both long and tries to sound poetic, but only hampers the sentence.

And the last bolding is what I like to refer to as a Clary thought. It is a thought that is entirely unrelated to anything in this section. I know that she's an artist, but we only see her draw runes in this book. She never sits down to sketch so she can clear her mind as the Shadow-hunter apocalypse looms near. This kind of Clary thought happens a lot in all three books. She's always like, "I would draw so and so this way... This person would look good in [insert medium]... I would use [insert technique]." Since we hardly see her in the act of drawing, it just feels like Clare is trying to show off.

Same goes for the dump-truck of similes. She uses them to make her writing sound poetic, but seems to miss the point of metaphors. She either describes something so much she kills the scene, or not enough. Her writing lacks balance in that sense. It's either overwritten or underwritten. The sad thing, there is an editor listed on her Acknowledgements page. Remind me to never have the person look over my work.

All right, time to move onto another aspect of writing; world building. I would like to list some weak world building points that made me scratch my head:

If the towers keep out demons, and Down-worlders have demon energies, then how come Down-worlders can get into Alicante? I'm probably thinking too hard about this one. It just keeps bothering me, especially since Sebastian was only part demon as well.

Guns, cars, or any electronics don't work because of runes. All of these things require a spark. So, do runes prevent the creation of a spark? If so, then that would make combustion impossible, or any standard heat source that uses fire or electricity. Clare writes it off saying no one knows why, but that's pretty lazy writing. I mean, they wouldn't be able to heat food. Even in Harry Potter there was a flying car.

Then there was Clare's weapon knowledge. It's obvious she has no idea how they're even kept on the body. Every time she describes a Shadow-hunter, she says they have a belt with a bunch of weapons thrust through it. The position of the weapon on the body matters because that person has to draw it out in a battle. It needs to be easily accessible depending on the fighting style. No boot knives. How about bandoliers? I guess no one uses a claymore. And if Izzy's whip is razor sharp, why does she loop it around her arm? It would cut her. Clare throws out fancy weapon names, but then fails to describe them. For a bunch of fighters, these Shadow-hunters come across as pretty inept when it comes to weapons.

And as for the ending, it works. I just feel like it too long to get there. If you think that every book is roughly 150k a piece, with about 25% of the word count being similes alone, then these books could have been shorter with a good edit and still retain their pacing and most of the story line.

Anyway, I give this book 1.5 stars. I thought about two, but just couldn't bring myself to do it. If everything sucked but the characters, than I would probably give it three. But the characters is the series' biggest problem. The two main ones are just... frustrating.

I'm going to find something better to do. If time is kind, maybe I'll forget I ever read this.

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Book Review: City of Bones (Mortal Instruments #1)

Do you want to know what happens when I really don't like a book and I have nothing to do on a Saturday night? This is what happens, my most detailed review to date. And I giggled the whole time while I wrote it. Enjoy.

City of Bones by Cassandra Clare
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Why, oh why did I waste such valuable reading time finishing this? Because, apparently, I'm a glutton for punishment.

I will warn you ahead of time, this review may contain spoilers!!! I'm not sure yet because I don't really care enough to plan this out. This will mostly be whining, ranting, and general complaining. Remember, I warned you.

Before I dive into this review, I will tell you that I've heard the Cassandra Clare plagiarized arguments, and that this book is basically a reworked fan fiction like the famed Fifty Shades of Grey books. I will not go into those details. I'm just going to look at what has been presented to me in a digital style format for Kindle. So be prepared for jokes and snarky comments that most will probably not think are funny.

I decided to read this book because my fourteen year old cousin asked for the series for Christmas. I helped my family purchase it for her (because I'm their book guru) and I thought I would give at least the first one a shot. I've been trying to read more YA lately to familiarize myself with why it's so popular since I pretty much stopped reading YA when I was ten. I'd make the odd excursion into the wilds occasionally, but for the most part I didn't read much.

This was my reaction to the book:


  WHAT DID I JUST READ! HOW IN HELL DID THIS GET PUBLISHED! DID SHE SELL HER SOUL TO THE DEVIL OR SOMETHING?



Yes, I bolded that. I currently want to rub my head along the floor as I walk in the futile hope that I'll rub this book from my memory. If Sherlock Holmes' Attic Theory is to be believed, that this book is taking up valuable space I can use for my writing and better books.

Let me start with the characters since they're probably the most appalling aspect.

Clary: This little lovely is a fifteen/sixteen year old red-head who loves her sketchbook and doesn't think she's pretty. Sounds like me in high school. I should relate right? Wrong. Clary is one of the angriest, self-absorbed, whiniest little brats I've ever had the displeasure of getting to know.

I've read my share of female protagonists who go down like cheap alcohol; they put up a fight and don't agree once you think you've stomached them. But I liked those gals anyway. Clary is not one of them. She bitches about everything. She gets angry at the stupidest stuff. She also can't keep a solid thought in her head. She wonders about the strangest things at the strangest times, like in the middle of a fight. And she slaps or scratches people with barely a reason.

Let's move on, shall we? Before I throw my computer. She really pisses me off that much.

Jace: I know he's supposed to basically be this popular ideal of fanfic Draco (Now with more leather!), but I honestly thought Draco was a waste of space to begin with. Not because Rowling was a terrible writer (because she's definitely not that), but because he was a terrible person! If I just look at this character without thinking about his developmental origin, I still don't like him. He's a conceited jackass. He's the kind of guy where you're friend looks at you and says, in the sassiest way possible, "Gurl, you can do better." Sure, he's got tattoos and blonde sex hair, but when are those boys good for you?

Now, I'll be straight with you, reader. Think of it this way. Cassandra Clare refers to Jace's blonde curls so often I was beginning to wonder if he was rockin' a perm. And he's wearing leather pants in hot, humid New York weather. His dangly bits have got to be chaffing. Seriously, ladies. That is not hot. All he's missing is an Ed Hardy shirt before he's the douche in the corner of the club you roll your eyes at.

Before any fans read this and freak out on me with: OH NO! JACE IS TOTES HAWT! YOU JUS HATIN BECAUSE YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! YOU JEALOUS CAUSE YOU CAN'T WRITE LIKE CLARE CAN! (I can't even be a pre-teen girl right, and I was one once.) There are no pictures. You are living in your fantasy. All Clare describes most of the time are his eyes and hair. If you are a grown woman and you're mad at what I've said, go drool over Supernatural. The Winchesters are hot, demon hunters, and have better personalities. Okay, marginally better personalities. Whatever. At least they aren't wearing leather pants. Or in puberty.

Simon: The child hood friend suffering from unrequited love syndrome. Yawn. He was awesome until he got all heart broken. Solid friend till the end even though he could have pushed Clary off a cliff and I would have felt it totally justified. The only character that the dry wit Clare tries to use fits. At one point he does tell Clary off and calls Jace an asshole, earning him my Favorite Character Award.

Isabelle: The bitchy hot chick Clary hates even though she isn't that bitchy. I actually kind of liked her despite being a totally undeveloped stereotype. The butt of cooking jokes.

Alec: Isabelle's boring older brother. He's gay for Jace. Hates on Clary because she's also making eyes at his dream man. He's just there for plot conflict. Too underdeveloped to be interesting.

Magnus Bane: I liked Magnus despite his unfortunate attire. He really seemed better than that. I would read the other two books for him, but I'm pretty sure I couldn't suffer through more Clary. Although, he could totally be that sassy gay friend Clary needs to tell her, "Gurl, you can do better." (I really wanted to say that again. I blame the lack of sleep.) Of course, nothing Clare writes is really that interesting, so I don't know why I expect it to happen.

Luke: Clary's mother's friend suffering from unrequited love syndrome. Also liked him, but he should have yelled at Clary more for being a little brat.

Jocelyn: a.k.a. Coma mom. That's how she spends the whole book. And ends the book. I felt cheated.

Valentine: The big bad. More like Bad-Guy-From-a-Can. He's not really menacing at all, or even memorable. Even his name sucks. I'm gonna call him Daddy V from now on because for some strange reason I can take that more seriously than Valentine. Who names their child that anyway?


That should handle all the characters, which I enjoyed writing about more than I thought. Now, onto the next biggest complain that I've read about and couldn't help noticing: the metaphors! Bum-bum-bum! I'll just list a few off:

"The night sky rippled overhead..." How does the sky ripple when you aren't looking at it through anything?

"The moon hung like a locket over the city..." So it just hanging there wasn't good enough?

"She wondered how often he let glimpses of his real self peek through the facade that was as hard and shiny as the coat of lacquer on one of her mother's Japanese boxes." This one broke my brain.

"... was black as velvet." Oh, honey. Didn't you know velvet comes in many different colors?

To describe a mausoleum: "... like an iceberg off the bow of the Titanic."

To refer to a restaurant building: "... like a collapsed souffle."

"... the lights of Manhattan burning like cold jewels." This would be a moment where Clare using glittering would make sense.

"The apple tasted green and cool." How do you taste green?

"She felt a bright surge of shame that burst behind her eyelids like a small sun." If shame looks like the sun to you, Clary, why do you still have eyes?

"... yowling like a foghorn." Does this woman think about what she says? This cat sounds possessed.

Okay, I'll stop there before I start crying. I swear, Clare doesn't think about what she's actually putting down. Everything in her world "sparks," "gleams," "glints," or "glitters." It sounds painful to look at. When I read the descriptions and think about what it would look like visually, it sounds like Tinkerbell covered Clare's world in pixie dust. Instead of making vampires sparkle, Clare made friggin' everything sparkle! Eyes, bracelets, bracers, weapons, random objects in the corner. It stopped making sense. I don't even want to know how many times she uses those words. I kept getting deja vu with those words as often as I saw "like" or "as." This chick needs an editor.


Plot wise it isn't much better. Three objects... blah, blah. Special snowflake girl... yadda, yadda. I actually got bored in the middle of the climax because Clare foreshadows with a brick. I guessed the ending at the beginning. Seriously, she lacks subtlety.

But I want to mention one main plot twist that should have made me gasp and drop my Kindle to clutch at my heart. Yup, you guessed it, dear reader. The Daddy V reveal. When I was reading the scenes with pacified Jace, I couldn't buy it. It became apparent to me that Clare had manipulated her character so it could suit the moment. There was no natural character progression to fragile, doubting Jace from jackass Jace.

This is how the scene should have went:

DADDY V: Jace, I am your father.
JACE: This isn't Star Wars. I want a DNA test. I know we use magic and all that, but science still exists. Hell, there's probably some magical DNA test. I mean, a couple of items and some convenient circumstances does not the truth make. Wow, I just sounded intelligent there.

Okay, I was pretty liberal with that, but I think I made my point.

That, of course, leads to the whole incest-love thing. I read Martin's Song of Fire and Ice before they were a cable show. Nothing will beat the creepiness that is that incest-romance. Well, nothing that I've come across.

Then there are the inconsistencies:

Mark scars are sometimes described as silver, sometimes as white.

Luke's dagger, then sword, then dagger.

The werewolves are strong enough to break through boarded up windows a couple stories up, but not a roof top door.

Light from the open front door doesn't affect Abaddon. Only the light coming through the skylight. Which, when I read it, I had to assume was dirty or frosted. She never clarified.

Yeah. Cassandra Clare, by royal decree, you need an editor.

There are a thousand other things I could go into like how all the characters have the same wit that isn't funny. Or I could go into detail all of the inexplicable rages Clary flies into. Or mention that Clare actually has Daddy V monologue and throw his head back to laugh. But I'll stop before I find myself bald because I've torn out my hair from looking at my notes.

Before I stop, let me put this in another perspective. As an unpublished writer who reads the work of other unpublished writers, I have come across much better. It's books like these that make me scratch my head. I understand if you want to blow an afternoon reading cotton candy fluff, you know, nothing really special, but there is stuff out there that has characters that are genuinely lovable. And the characters are what really matter because that is what the reader connects to. That is why Cassandra Clare's City of Bones got one star. In the end, I stopped caring.

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Update On This Thing Called Life

It's been exactly twelve days since my last blog post. What have I been doing? Writing and reading.

I recently finished the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I'm not doing a formal review because it really isn't needed. I'll just say I enjoyed reading it until the end. Why? Because I felt cheated. I wasn't properly distraught enough with the tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth. I should have been crying harder than I was during the dog fight scene in Bait Dog. Instead, I felt disconnected. A lot of her decisions seem to be shooting for the dramatic more than the story called for. Oh well. I would still recommend it as a YA novel for young women over anything involving vampires or werewolves. The Hunger Games is a solid sci-fi dystopia.

As for my novel, I'm chugging along. I'm currently working on chapter 32, which leaves me with three more chapters to crank out when I'm finally finished with it. I'm enjoying writing them because they're so exciting. My little Skyriter is getting a serious work out, but I need to take a gum eraser to the typeface again. Smacking into an ink covered ribbon has a tendency to get them all clogged up. Go figure.

By the way. When the end our your first novel is in sight, it teases you. This is the second time I felt this. The first time I thought I was done, and then had to add fifteen more chapters to round it out. It's a much better novel now, but I'm going to have to do some serious word chopping at the front end. Cutting out all "had" and "that" should cover a good couple thousand.

I also had the luck of recently reading a self-published short story by and internet acquaintance of mine. It's a genuinely good story with good writing. I can't wait for the his first novel. Check out the link:



For those who wonder if I have any other kind of life outside of the Word World, I have taken up bowling. I guess it was only natural since I work in a bowling alley, but I've joined the league team. I suck, but I'm getting better through practice, a concept that is not foreign to me. (See writing.)

I have also discovered that my dog is terrified of the rain. Not thunder storms. The rain. I know there has to be a story in their somewhere. Too bad Dan isn't a girl dog, or I would name her Wicked, short for Wicked Witch of the West. It's the water thing. You would think he was freaking out because he's melting. My dog is special.

Enough rambling. Time for me to go back to Typo. I think my cramp is gone for now.

Spring, The Anathema of the Vampire: Me and EPP

It's that time of year again when temperatures start to rise and people begin to put away their winter gear. The showers go away and the flowers bloom revealing vibrant blossoms of crimson, pink, sunshine yellow, virgin whites, deep violets, and soft lavender. Spring is a glorious time when the temperature is not too hot or cold. It is the expectation before summer days laying by the pool. For everyone spring is wonderful.

Except me.

I know I said I would use this blog to talk about not only writing, but my life. It is time for me to relate a very important piece of this to those who read these words. I have a disease that dictates many aspects of my life. It is called erythropoietic protoporphyria, or EPP for short. With that giant question mark that just popped above your head, I now will attempt to explain what that is.

According to the American Porphyria Foundation's website:

Erythropoietic Protoporphyria is characterized by abnormally elevated levels of protoporphyrin IX in erythrocytes (red blood cells) and plasma (the fluid portion of circulating blood), and by sensitivity to visible light that is usually noticed in early childhood and occurs throughout life.

If you just made a face to go with that question mark, let me clarify. The protoporphyrin that has accumulated in every portion of my body that blood flows through is irradiated by long wave UV rays resulting in photosensitivity. This photosensitivity does not feel like a normal sunburn when you have been out swimming too long. It's more like holding your hand directly over the flame of a campfire, but not being able to pull it away. Or like getting hit with hot grease when cooking bacon. Or like a steam burn. Repeatedly stabbed by tiny needles works too. I've even heard the pain being compared to putting your hand on a hot stove and cuts filled with salt. To sum it up, the sunlight hurts.

Now, before any of you feel bad for me, I will come right out and say that I've been lucky. My case remained relatively mild until my sophomore year of college. I was able to wear tank tops and go swimming in my childhood and teen years unlike some children who have more severe cases of EPP. I've always known that I had it because I was diagnosed by my father, another with EPP, but I was formally diagnosed in June of last year. I was able to have a "normal" life, but perhaps that is why it is so hard for me now.

With the onset of spring this year in a new region of the US called central Cali, it has been especially difficult. Where before all I had to do was cover my arms and hands when outside, now I must cover my head and face. If I am "burned", light from my computer screen and those nifty florescent light bars they use in commercial buildings irritate the damage. Now I must wear gloves and sleeves when just getting online, and I can't take off my cardigan that I wear over my work shirt when it gets too warm at work because I am surrounded by brand, spanking new lights.

The ordeal has been frustrating with such gorgeous days. I am relegated to closed windows to limit the amount of exposure, something that is surprisingly hard on me. I never thought I would ever get this bad or feel this amount of pain. I never dreamed that I would have to plan my day around how much exposure I would get. I heard it said by a man with EPP in a video posted by the FDA that it was more like, "how much pain do you want to deal with that day." I think that is about as accurate as a person could get. When burned, I am tired and in pain. I feel the strong desire to tear off my skin, if it's especially bad, and often suffer from bouts of irritability. I feel like a wounded animal who just wants to limp away and find a  cool, dark place to recover. The one thing that doesn't happen to me is the outward signs of scabbing or discoloration. I swell a bit, but stay pale.

So, how do I deal? I suck it up. I use my weekends to stay inside and recover from any exposure that I've gotten. To limit my exposure to strong light, I have lowered the brightness on my computer. My typewriter is also getting a pretty good work out lately since I can't spend too long in front of the screen. I also keep my house cool to lessen the pain, much to the chagrin of my husband, but he deals with his favorite snuggie. (He wears it like a robe.)

As you can see, I'm managing but the mental implications have been more difficult to overcome. I know I'm trying to relay my experience, but there are some things that are still too personal for the internet. Besides, I'll feel like I'm whining if I haven't been already. My father has probably had it a lot harder than me, so I feel like I'm putting my foot in my mouth, but I do have one more thing to say:

Being in public is a strange experience when you're all covered up. People look at you with concern and skepticism. It's almost like they think I'm going to rob them, even if I'm driving in my own car sitting at a stop light. Once a lady gave me the most terrified look I have ever seen before she took a right. This is where I voice my confusion on societies fascination with vampires and the romanticism associated with them, and yet very little know about people with photosensitive disorders. When I tell people what I have, they look like they have found  Bigfoot. If they have already heard of or known someone with a porphyria, they often ask very polite questions about how I'm doing and are generally pleasant to talk to. Yet, I still have a conflict with what I like to call Vamp-fans. The popularity vampires have in our culture makes it easier to explain what I might be going through, but at the same time certain aspects of it baffle me to no end. To sum up this conflict, I shall relay a conversation I once had with my mom in a chinese restaurant. I believe it was triggered by a girl wearing a Team Edward shirt. (The following conversation may be paraphrased.)

Mom: I can understand why younger girls might like vampires, but I don't get the women who are in their thirties, or even my age, who are into it. I mean, I watch those things, Buffy and Angel, but I don't understand how obsessed they are with it.
Me: Mom, you married a vampire.
Mom: You're right, I did.

A fun revelation it was, but the best thing ever said was my husband: "Who ever thought being married to a vampire was romantic must have been on something."

There you have it, my short, half-assed explanation of what it's like for me these days with EPP. I could get more in depth, but I think I'll let the pros do it for me. Visit The American Porphyria Foundation for more on EPP, the innovations to treat it, and other forms of porphyria. For the best stories on the experience of living with it, the FDA interviews with two well spoken gentlemen and a doctor are worth viewing. They won't take much of your time and will help you fill your quota for Porphyria Awareness Week (April 22-28). I see that question mark again, so yes, that is a thing.

I'm going to go work on my book now.

How to Bind Your Own Book

This project came into mind when my mom kept nagging me that she wanted to read my own work. So, not knowing what I was getting into, I decided to bind a copy of my work together, by hand, to give to her as a gift  for Christmas after I had finished writing my book. As I worked on this project, I chronicled my adventure because it would make an awesome blog entry. After much lip flapping, here it is:

First, I had to collect all of the separate Word documents into a single one, and then put it into book format with five pages to a booklet. To say this was the most difficult part of the project would be a lie, but it did induce much screaming and banging on things. After fixing multiple formating errors, and after checking to see that I had sufficient ink and paper stock, I was ready to begin. 

I should note that a printer that prints double sided is a must. I have a nifty HP Photosmart Premium C410 series that does the job nicely. (Here is where I thank my parents for the pricy not-so-little machine that made my desk wobble every time it spat out my work like it was about to take off for space. [It has since been moved.] It is my favorite little office assistant even though it is expensive to feed.)

Here is the finished product:

My stack of freshly printed pages. What a pain to sort.

After printing I double checked for errors. The only problem is that you have to print off the whole batch. You can't go back and reprint single pages if something flubbed. It did pretty good, except the page numbers were on the inside margin of the page and not the outside. Oh well. Word didn't exactly let me see what the whole format for a book page would look like, a flaw they should fix. (As another note, I have Office 2010, so I'm not going to give directions since I don't know how earlier versions set up this format.)

Since the batch prints out at once, I had to go through and divide out the 5 page booklets and fold them.

The first five pages folded and ready for reading. 13 more to go.

This is why you need page numbers. Without them,  you're screwed.

Done. That was that was the easy part.

Now it was time for me to gather the rest of the supplies.

My folded pages, ruler, scissors, box cutter, pencil, packing tape, needle, thread, cardboard from my garage, and paper bags from the grocery store.

The only purchase I made. The whole thing cost me $1.99.

Once I had done that, I could get started on the assembly of the actual book. The first step: sew together each booklet so the pages don't come apart. (I know it seems like common sense, but I can see people forgetting this.)

This is where I discovered that I had to loop the thread around the end of the page and tie it to itself so it didn't slip through. I was impressed at how straight I could make it.

First booklet done. Now 13 more to do.

Back view, and I tell you, this was not coming apart no matter how hard I pulled.

The finished product, so far. My stitches were so neat I almost didn't want to cover them up.

This work was tedious. I ended up with a finger and thumb so sore using the remote control hurt. I had to stop every few booklets to recover. It was moments like this I wished I had a thimble, or a sewing machine. The worst part, tying 28 little knots. (To think I might do this again after the work I'm doing on Hands of Ash now.)

I did notice a slight problem after I had sewn all the pages together. The margins didn't look right. It was time for some trimming.

Cut on cardboard or you'll screw up your table. We wouldn't want that now, would we?

I used a box cutter to trim off half an inch because I was too broke to afford an exacto-knife. It looks so much better now.

Cover time. Using the cardboard I didn't trim my pages on, I measured out a 1 x 9 in spine, and two 5 x 9 inch covers.

Wha-la! Aren't they lovely.

After cutting out the pieces, I tested to make sure that my pages fit. The edge of the cardboard should hang over all the edges of the paper when moved in about a fourth of an inch from the fold. Then I laid them out and used the packing tape to tape them together, leaving about a fourth of an inch between the pieces. Use the tape only on the inside. (I tried doing the outside too, it didn't really work.)

Those spaces are important. I swear.

See, I said they were important.

Here is where my $1.99 came in. (All purpose white glue is perfect for the rest of this project.) I glued down one of the covers to one side of the grocery bag that I cut away from the rest of the panels to get one smooth piece of paper. Then I trimmed the bag so that it would fit around the edges of the cover.

Make sure the sections to be folded over are big enough to do so. Too small, and everything will just peel apart.

I had to improvise for the spine to make sure that everything was covered. A lot of this was guess work. Successful guess work.

Now you see everything take shape.

Remember those little spaces? Make sure to tuck the bag into them to make a little indentation. This will help strengthen the fold. Let the cover dry before you move on to the spine and so forth or else the book will fall apart and you'll have to start all over again.

After everything had dried, I added those colorful pages that line the book covers on the inside. The problem I had was that I had left all my scrapbook paper that I use for origami at my previous residency, and so used some pretty underwater paper with whales that had nothing to do with my story in anyway.

I folded it over to see how much I had to trim off, leaving the spine exposed.

Then I glued it down. See how good that looks.

Both sides done.

I don't have pictures for the next part, bear with me. It had to be done pretty fast.

I took the glue and put it all over the inside of the spine. Holding my pages together so that they were even, I pressed the folds down onto the spine and lifted the covers up to sandwich the pages in. I evened out any pages that had gone rebellious on me as I applied pressure to the spine and cover to make sure that the glue set. After making sure that everything was straight, I dug around for 3 rubber bands while I clutched my fragile project.

I left it this way for a few hours. Better safe than sorry.

After wrapping the rubber bands around the book, I added some glue on the spine at the edge of the pages. When done, it turned out this way:

Those lovely stitches.

Power outage = no title on the cover.

So glad the spine held together.

This is were I gloat and say what a damn good job I did. I didn't use a youtube video, or another person's blog. I did this all from memory. I cannot say how happy I was to do such an awesome job on this project, especially with the power outage that happened around the same time. My mother loved it. She even made me sign it.

I know that this blog probably isn't as helpful about binding your own book as another source, but whatever. Don't kill my happy.

All I Want for Christmas is Electricity

It's Christmas Eve today, and I'm now living in a hotel. Don't worry, it is temporary. Unfortunate, but temporary. How did I end up in this situation? The little substation that powers our grid flooded with water and blew, so now 60 houses have no power for the holidays. Yes, 60 houses filled with young families, many of them with children. I am grateful that I do not have to pay for this room that I type this from now, or that the rest of the families living here do not either, but my, what a shitty first Christmas.


It all started when my husband's pay was screwed up. Money was tight and I started to look for a job. I couldn't even afford decorations for the holidays. Then he didn't get the time off to see our families for Christmas because someone didn't send him, and the rest of dayshift, the email they needed. Things started to look up when I got my job at the bowling alley. After New Years things wouldn't be so tight financially because I was now helping out, but then yesterday morning there was no electricity. My husband's alarm didn't go off, and he ended up late to work along with the rest of the guys who live down the street from us. With no power, there was no heat. We spent the night huddled under piles of blankets trying to sleep. It was warmer outside than it was in our house.


This morning my husband called me from work to tell me that the inn on base was handing out free rooms, and here I am after wonderful help from a couple young ladies at the counter. At first I thought I was screwed, there was no room for us, but then they worked to find a place for me and my sweetie. I really couldn't appreciate them more.


The bad news is that they don't know when the power will be fixed. Rumor says it may only be a couple days to a week. Poor kids. I wish I could do something to make Christmas better for them and their families. At least they have a warm roof over their heads for the holidays.


Merry Christmas

What I Have Discovered About Writing Fantasy

This week, I am not going to bitch about how poor I am. Instead, I am going to talk about my nerdy little passion: writing fantasy.


I don't just write, as I have said many, many times. No, I write fantasy. I'm the person who dreams of places with weird names and weird species, and puts them down on paper. I watch as Microsoft Word freaks out with its little red and green squiggly lines as I try to type in words that its software brain cannot comprehend. (I have since become pro at ignoring the little buggers unless it is a true spelling crisis.)


Despite the frustration of trying to get my computer to respond to what I want, the truth is that I do not follow "typical" fantasy conventions as I have found out so frequently when my work on Book Country is reviewed. I have discovered that my work can be awfully polarizing, with people loving the wit and character interaction, and others spitting upon it for its lack of Tolkienesque details. When I set out to work on my book seriously sometime during my freshman year in college, I realized I wanted to write something that people would be able to read and connect to without being bogged down in unnecessary detail and background information like I had come across in fantasy so frequently.


To clarify, I do engage in world building to give people a setting, a place to escape to. The characters that are created must exist and interact in this world. You can't just throw in characters and not tell the audience what the laws, rule, or customs are. (Actually, don't tell. Show. But thats for an entirely different blog entry.) My point is that I don't like to overdo it. The people who don't like my work prefer whole paragraphs where I describe in minute detail what the street the character is standing on looks like, or the mountain top, or etc.


Too bad. If it isn't relevant, I don't put it in. I'm not going to describe the bar across the street unless my character goes into the bar at some point. For readers who want that kind of detail, read George RR Martin. The fact that I don't bog the reader down in unnecessary details is one thing those that like my work praise me on. I don't "let the genre rule me," as my creative writing professor told me once.


If there is one thing that I've learned from writing, period, is that people want action to happen with characters they can connect with. That is what I'm trying to achieve. I've come to the conclusion that if people can get that, then they might give it a try. With my work, I attract people who read just about anything from any genre, than those who read pretty much anything and everything fantasy. Those into "High Fantasy" really, really don't like my stuff. (I have yet to discover if this is a good or bad thing.)


For now I just keep chugging along in the hope that my audience will pop up and show itself. I've had from the "This is awesome!" to "Uh, no..." to those who missed every single important detail ever written down. For those of you who want to give my book a shot, here is the link: Hands of Ash.


I'll keep writing fantasy until my hands fall off. So all the naysayers can suck it, because I love being a such a geek.

The Love I Give To Chapter 9

Ah, Chapter 9. You are the biggest headache of my life right now.


I know my overly dramatic statement might seem like hyperbole, but in all honesty, I think my finances are easier at this point. I have a couple longer chapters to revise, yet none are quite so depressing as 9. There is death, weeping, and all the horrible sentences I wrote when I was putting converting it to a digital medium. You see, 9 is the chapter where I learned my lesson that you should never be bored with what you write, or bored while you write. Then, when you go back and revise you get this...

I know. Isn't it such a lovely mess, but it doesn't end there. I have plenty more where that came from.

Yes, those are post-it notes. I had to come up with something to put entire chapter rewrites on since I print double sided. (Although, the first copy I made of the revision I flubbed and printed single side. 25 pages wasted when I could have cut that in half. Sorry, trees.)

I know that some of you reading this are saying that is how they should look after a good, hard editing session. A writer should cut out the sentences and words that are unneeded. Dialogue and descriptions that aren't up to par should be rewritten or chucked in the garbage can to be taken away with the refuse, but here is the thing that shouldn't happen. An editing session on a chapter shouldn't take two weeks. Yes, folks. Two whole weeks, maybe even longer.

You see, when writing this initially, I was bored out of my mind. I wanted to get it done so bad that I wrote a ton of whitewash boring sentences. There was no flavor, no spice, no love to them. Then I had to fix them. The reason it took so long, is that when I found myself feeling tired, I put it aside. I did not want 9 to have no flavor like it did before. I wanted it to be engaging. I wanted it to be filled with the love of the craft. 

I don't know if I have succeeded at this point. I still have one more revision to do on it before I repost it up at my sources. Then it will be allowed to join the pile.

Above is the pile of folders for the Prologue through chapter 8. They wait patiently for me to put 9 through 14 with them, maybe even 15 since I'm almost done. I guess I will just have to take up the NaNoWriMo call and finish my novel before the end of November. (Thanks for making me feel guilty, Typewriter Mike.) Whether I get there or not depends on how persistent I am...

... and how good Skyrim is.

If you know me, text me, email me, Facebook me, or kick me and tell me to get my ass going. I know my husband isn't going to be the one to light the fire under my ass.