Tumbling down the rabbit hole or beware of plot bunnies

Editing is a fact of an author's life, but usually we leave that horrible task to the experts. And let's face it someone who doesn't give a damn how much this and that adverb is loved. How much time was spent on that special phrase. The editor is THE EXECUTIONER! Their job is to go through and kill the stuff that doesn't work. Like downsizing a company, or making a chubby kid go on a diet when their fave food groups are FATS AND CARBS. Come on, it's their job. They're specially trained not to notice the screams of all those words going to their doom. *sniffles*

However, there are times when we must face facts, pull up our bootstraps and do the dreaded self edit. *insert screams of horror here* When something isn't working, when it's just not right. The story is too long or the pacing is off. I'm not expert by any means, but I've read enough books to know that if it takes too long for stuff to happen that I'll put it down. If I the A.D.D. Queen will do that, so will the average reader, and that's who I write for.

I'll say this, thank God--or at least Microsoft for the word processing program. Without it, this process would take much longer than it did for authors of the past. My respect for authors of the past is great, some wrote longhand, others took the typewriter route. While I've written down passages to put on the computer for later, but I'm not sure if I could write an entire book by hand. And from my high school days, I know very well that typewriters and myself don't get along at all.

So, back to the the drawing board yet again, or rather back to the cut and paste. But, it's all clicking together nicely now, finally after a breather and a bout of introspection that I had to do when life threw me one of it's little curve balls. However, with a little therapy from my cybersisters I'm getting into the swing of things again. Maybe I just needed a rest and refill. Let's hope so.

May All Your Holidays Be Bright!

Love Jenna

Panthers and Cougars and now Bears? Oh My! Wait.. Oh, Crap!

I may have mentioned that I've got a Sucky Day Job. Let me say that I love the people I work with. When you spend 8 hours a day with folks for years on end and they become your family. My boss is the big brother whose more heinous than me. Scary thought, no? Well, maybe not that mean.. okay, yeah he is. This is the man who calls me Luci, stating it's short for Lucifer. *pfth* Evil gets the job done. More on him in a bit.

Anyway, my hubby comes into my day job often because he and my coworker share books. She's the sweet one. You know the one in every bunch whose always positive, upbeat and nice, until that scary frickin moment that she's not. Then, Omigawd, take cover because like the song goes, Betty's Bein' Bad, and she's probably got a shotgun aimed at your ass. Her name ain't Betty, but I'm not goin to say it. Take not the scary sweet woman's name in vain is my motto, because she could be sneakin up on you unawares.

Well, I thought hubby was visiting Sweetie and discussing just what books to by and not to buy because she's a bad 'rebuyer'. If they change the cover, she'll grab it up, thinking she's got the newest book by one of her fave authors. I firmly believe publishers should put the word REPRINT in big letters on the cover for women such as her. Not that she'd believe it, because even when I tell her this and that she's read it she doesn't believe me. She makes me bring the book to work. Only after reading three or four chapters does she bring it to me with a look of disgust on her face so I can take it home and sneak it back on hubby's no touchit shelf. The lengths I go for this woman. Gaah!

However, hubby wasn't in with Sweetie, nooo, it was much worse, he was in with my boss aka THE CORRUPTER. The Corrupter gives him subversive testosterone laden ideas like; thinking for himself, doing what he wants, buying movies with lotsa bewbies in, going fishin', buying a truck with 4-wheel drive, etc. He'd never come up with these on his own, being more like Sweetie than The Corrupter, so I'd rather he didn't visit with him, as I always hear giggling coming from that office. Yet when I go in, it suddenly stops and they look guilty. Boys are such doofuses.

This time though, The Corrupter was showing him a PSA in the form of the picture shown. I thought this was from someone's deer feeder from Arkansas or Mississippi, so imagine my surprise when Corrupter claimed it was from his own deer feeder. I still wasn't too worried because he's got a camp at the Hooker Hole *pauses* Hush, that's the name of the place. No, I'm not makin it up, I'm from there. No, I'm not from the Hooker Hole! I'm from the general area..oh never mind! Anyway, this picture was taken about ten miles from my house! This is a black bear! While the Corrupter may be Grizzly Adams *snickers* I'm so not.

Intellectually I know we've got panthers and cougars in our area, but they don't let you see them because cats are smart enough to know that out of sight means out of mind. But Bears? Bears? All those dumbass rednecks were supposed to have hunted them to extinction years ago. Can't I depend on them for anything? Jeez Louisiana! I watched enough Discovery Channel to know they're gonna be in my trashcans soon, and once that happens it's onto my porch. Just, eeek! Hubby's response? He smiled and said, "See! I told you we needed to buy a bigger gun!" Dammit, I knew the Corrupter was up to something!

Path Not Taken, Road Not Traveled, Heart Still Broken

Different decisions sent me down different paths than my friends and lovers. Some of them were right, some wrong, and some weren't even my decisions at all. It's only when I look back and can see the way the paths overlap, looping back and forth, connecting and weaving that I understand how Fate has a hand in things, and that I have no control over it. It still hurts like hell.

The past has a way of coming back to haunt me when I least expect it. A breath-stealing slap in the in the face to show me things thought I'd put away. I only thought I'd forgot but no, it's been waiting for just this perfect moment to come roaring back with the vengence of a lover scorned.

Events, people, places, things once beloved, were shoved into the back of my mind busy with the present, a heart full to the brim with the new. Mental keepsakes were safely pressed and folded and filed, but they lingered, like a cancer I thought were in remission. In reality, it was just waiting, for that one word, or name, or thought, or smell, or dear God, a song and just exploded into life. These cells, these visions regenerated with vivid clarity and I was simply....there again, like I'd never left at all.

The past is a scary thing, because I can't change it. Instead, it just lingers in the darkness like a chain tightening around the heart showing what could have been. However, when the past dies, ends, becomes a closed avenue, something strange happens. I freeze and wonder in that selfish, center of the universe way humans have, could I have done something to change it? Here is where the F-word comes in again, Fate. If I could go back, knowing what I know now, would I change any of my decisions, sure, should I? No, but I do know that a dear friend is gone, and this world a much dimmer place without him in it. I'll miss you, Perry.

Love always,

Jenn

Paco? ..Hell

I'd promised myself and more importantly the EFO, no more animals in the house, especially not a D- O-G. So, imagine my surprise and his dismay when hubby and I heard a strange high pitched noise on Sunday night. At first, I shushed him because, frankly, I didn't figure anything was more important that Harry Connick Jr romancing Sandra Goofball on Hope Floats. Seriously, how insane was she? He's hot! I'd have dropped my womanizing hubby in a heartbeat and rode that cowboy right down the middle of mainstreet. But that's just me. Where was I? Oh yeah, a strange noise on the porch. Finally, I looked out on my porch and lo and behold, something almost as cute as the Connick walked right in my front door.



I could have put him right out again, like the EFO was meowing for me to do, but in my defence, it was almost dark and we've got coyotes, panthers and bears.. OH MY! Plus, look at that face, he's so sweet. He likes me bestest, I know this. *coughs* Although,I keep telling myself that I'm only 'holding' him until someone claims him, over daughter's dead hmm--well, over someone's dead body--I know and you know ain't nobody coming back for this dog so I'm stuck.


So, his name is Paco, and we did this so Teen Mean wouldn't saddle him with something like Tinkerbell, Honey, Baby or Sassy. He's tiny, so he needed a macho name to make up for his lack of size. I know she would have because the minute she got home from work, she squealed and picked him up in her arms and told me with a smirk that she could be just like Paris Hilton now. My husband roared back that she could be Elle on Legally Blonde, but never, ever Paris. Ever. Teen Mean just shrugged and took Paco for his first of many car rides. He seemed to enjoy it if his butt wiggles were any indication. He sleeps with her too, which is good because the only time he got into our bed, he showed a strange inclination for snuggling under my husband's armpit that I'm sure would have freaked him out if he'd woken up. I've not told him about it .. yet. I'm going to save that for a fight, or a long car drive, whichever comes first.



Welcome to the Insane Asylum Paco. And kudos to EFO who has been nice, so far. Oh crap, he's coming after me, isn't he? Crap.




I being of unsound mind..
Jenna Leigh

Obsessive MS Polishing Disorder

Hi I'm Jenna Leigh and I have OMSPD. If you've never heard of it, don't worry.. I just made it up.. at least, I think so. For all I know this is a real disorder complete with its own support group, treatment program and medication. And here I am self-medicating with chocolate and while I deluge my poor friends with panicked IM's asking them. "Do you really really like it? Are you sure? Are you really, I mean really totally really sure you liked it?" Five minutes later. "Really really?" Five seconds later. "When you say really do you mean really or really really?" I'm sure they're ready to move away without leaving a forwarding address and put me on the FBI Most Stalkery List. (again)

What brought on this bout of self doubt and overindulgence in my most favoritist sweet in the whole world? *scuffs toe* I've turned in the final edits on one of my manuscripts. When I do that I get the freak out shakes. Between me and my editor the Sainted One Who Hasn't Killed Me (yet) we've hammered out all the POV switches, bad tags, icky grammar, Communication to Mars (I blame ET) and some parts that just did NOT work. It doesn't take very long for me to figure out that I need editing. What I want to know is how come I can't have an editor for real life? I'd love one!

Sans editor.
Hubby: "Honey, does this shirt look ok?"
Me: "EW!"
Hubby: "What do you mean ew?" Looks hurt and doesn't speak to me for the rest of the day.

With editor.
Hubby. "Honey, does this shirt look ok?"
Me: "EW!"
Hubby. "What do you mean ew?" Looks hurt..
Me. "Um, there's a spot on it." Comes up and sticks her greasy fingers on it while he's not looking.

See? Editing thing is gooood! My problem is finding someone small enough to fit in my ear though. Hmm..


Back to my manuscript. Now that I've turned it in, I'm forcing myself not to look at it again for fear that I'll find a million mistakes and go batty. I know I will.. I'll see this teeny thing that will blare out at me. It'll be Sainted One? On page 20.. then the next day. Um.. er.. page 92.. Then next week, if it ain't too much trouble, can we change this? Until I get a ticking package in the mail.

I know the score.. so I'll sit here not lookin.. no, not me. Not gonna look. Arrgh! I gotta go look! But nobody saw anything! Ok?


If you're crazy and you know it type your name,

Jenna Leigh