The Razor's Edge

Season Three of Battlestar Galactica ended with a fantastic cliffhanger and a song that created buzz on the Internet for months.

Here are the last four minutes that left everybody breathless, plus a little something extra . . .



That clip gives me chills every time I see it! I'd love to see Kara and Lee get back together. Here's my favorite ending scenario: They finally make it to Earth, but only two people survive the landing. Lee and Kara, the new Adam and Eve.

If you've been waiting for the next installment, keep your TV on this weekend. Battlestar Galactica: Razor is scheduled to air on the SciFi Channel (where else?), November 24.

I Choose

They’re putting their hooks in me and pulling me down, when I want to fly. Pulling me back to sanity, to reason. But I crave the insanity of the unknown. I dance at the edge of belief; tease the unknown, lure it like a wild tiger. Come closer, I plead, knowing I will end up torn and bloody. Knowing that I would rather be mauled by that which lurks in my imagination, than pampered by that which sings from inside a golden cage.

Forever forward, I choose the road of danger, the path dirty and overgrown with wildflowers. I follow the forest line, out of the city, to the place where silence intoxicates and no voice propels me to submit.



Words will drip from my fingertips, they will continue to weave stories, perhaps bold and brave, or perhaps in reflection they will be foolish.

But they will come from that inner place of unsatisfied hunger, that soul's desire for something wild, something stronger than me, something that can never be tamed.

Writing and Reading

Now and then, every writer needs to step away from the keyboard and do that which got them in this whole mess in the first place. Reading.

For me, it all goes back to my love of books. I have no one to blame, except maybe that dratted first grade teacher who helped me decipher those strange looking symbols called letters.

Books. I love books. Except when I have writer’s block and I’m trying to finish a book. Or, the other dreaded peril, is when I have to write a book review that I know more than five people are going to read.

Sorry, I’m getting off the point. Probably on purpose.

I was talking about reading. The kind that is done out loud.

I know. Painful for a somewhat introverted person who would rather stand behind a computer monitor and project her thoughts to the world.

Still, tonight I will be doing a reading. Out loud. In front of humans. Aliens would be better, but they aren’t easy to find on short notice.

I’m going to be reading the first two chapters of my work-in-progress, Resurrection, to a group of completely innocent Southern Californians who never deserved anything worse than a bad tan. I feel sorry for them. All of them.

So, I hope none of you come. Because then I’d have to feel sorry for you too.

But, if you feel so inclined to subject yourself to the excruciating horror of listening to me read my writing, out loud and in front of God—because He is always listening, whether we are worthy of it or not—then, well, here is where I will be.

WHERE: Refuge, 7800 Edinger Ave, Huntington Beach, CA 92647; Phone: (714) 891-9495
WHEN: November 16, Friday, 7 p.m.

I hope I don’t see you there.

Great Advice for Writers

Mary DeMuth posted some really great advice for beginning writers over at The Master's Artist.
Check it out!

My Favorite Oxymoron

Above is my favorite oxymoron of the day. Gleaned from an Ozark Web site.

Live help. Meaning right now, immediate.

Leave a message. Meaning guess what, we're not really here.

I Signed Up!

I don't know about you, but I registered to go see the FREE showing of Razor on Monday, November 12. Are you going? If you are, drop a note below.

Skiffys unite! (Or is it Skiffies? Who knows how to spell a made-up word? Especially one treated with such great respect throughout the universe, one that has its OWN page in Wikipedia and is used by all those who dearly love Sci Fi.)

No Cigar, But A Diamond Tiara Will Do Just Fine

It doesn't look like I'll make my goal to finish writing Resurrection by October 30. I'm close, though. Really close. I can feel the ending on my fingertips, everytime they press the keyboard.

Scenes are flowing, characters are obedient. Even when they have to die.

I forgot that I cry when I kill off a character. It took me completely by surprise the other day. I had to stop and grieve for about half an hour. Even though I knew it was coming from the beginning.

Well, back to the mines of metaphor and plot twist.

It's a dirty job, but somebody has to destroy the world.

What I’m Reading

If you’re a writer, you should be reading. Goes with the publish-or-perish territory.

Here’s a list of what I’m reading or just finished:

1. Spook Country by William Gibson: just finished. Gibson’s eloquent, as usual, but I must confess that I felt like an intellectual half-wit through most of the book.

2. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card: just started, already halfway through (loving it!)

3. Auralia’s Colors by Jeffrey Overstreet: on chapter 4

4. Vanished by Kathryn Mackel: on chapter 4

5. How to Write Funny, edited by John B. Kachuba: jumping around and reading chapters at random. Great reference material.

6. The Children of Men: Halfway through the book. [Spoiler alert] Very discouraged by the main character. Any man who is happy when he accidentally kills his own infant is extremely hard for me to connect with.

7. Wicked by Gregory Maguire: on page 30. A bit slower than I expected.

It seems rather obvious, when I look over my list, that I am more willing to read science fiction than fantasy.



What can I say? I’m a Skiffy at heart.

Battlestar Galactica Returns

In serious withdrawal, Battlestar Galactica fans have already programmed their DVRs to record Razor on November 24, and pre-ordered the unrated extended DVD, which is coming out on December 4. If that's not enough, you can attend the advance screening event if you happen to live in one of the lucky regions: Boston, Chicago, Dallas/Ft. Worth, Los Angeles, New York City, Philadelphia, San Francisco, and Seattle.

It's free as long as you reserve your ticket.

Or, if you want to watch Flash Gordon on the Sci-Fi Channel on Friday nights, they're running "Razor flashbacks."

If you don't want to record and fast-forward through Flash, you can watch the flashbacks at http://www.scifi.com/battlestar/.

On Fire

The world is on fire. A rushing, hissing silver wind blows through the treetops and ashes mask the mountains. Half a million people have been evacuated as the flames steadily devour the landscape.

In my backyard, the world is on fire.

Creative Carnival: October 2007

Check out this month's Creative Carnival over at Write Stuff. It's full of the unexpected: everything scary, creepy and horrific.

And yes. Oddly enough, one of my stories is over there.

A Step Too Far

Personally, I have to say that Miller beer has gone a step too far with their recent endorsement of a Christ-mocking image.

There are a few things I hold sacred and Jesus happens to be one of them.

This is one of those times I'm glad I don't drink. At least I know I'm not supporting this company nor have I made a recent contribution to their advertising fund.

Boo, hiss, Miller. Very poorly done.

Reason Number Three

Any woman brave enough to carry her own mosquito net around with her deserves to be queen.

Reason Number Two

Georgia O'Keeffe meets Cate Blanchett in this stunning epic.
(Sorry, I had to say that.)

Reason Number One

A very good reason to go see "Elizabeth: The Golden Age." Pirates are the good guys.

Secret Confessions

I must confess that I am completely addicted to Fiction Friday. Any fiction writers out there, who are surfing the Net instead of writing, should check it out.

The home page for Fiction Friday is here.

You can check out my current Fiction Friday post on my Crop Circles blog.

Retro Christmas

I have to confess I love old things. It doesn’t matter whether they’re broken, battered or bruised, whether they’re from the 40s, 50s or 60s. Old is good. A piece of tattered lace, a vintage lamp, a sepia-toned photo—almost anything old-fashioned can capture my heart. Especially at Christmas time.

To most people an old-fashioned Christmas means hot cocoa and sugar cookies, Bing Crosby carols and a crackling fire. Nearly everyone has a Christmas memory of opening presents beneath a 7-foot evergreen tree that smells like heaven, while the landscape outside disappears beneath a blanket of fresh snow.

Not me.

The funny thing is I didn’t realize how different my Christmas memories were until I ran into them, head on. I was in a contemporary urban store—one of those trendy California shops that cater to a young, hip crowd—hunting for just the right gift for my twenty-something son, when I saw “it.”

Christmas personified: a spiky silver tree, as fake as they come, with maybe 12 branches total, all made of glittering tinsel. On the floor spun the magic color wheel, a spotlight that shined on the little tree, changing it from yellow to red to blue. And in between the primary colors flickered a million prismatic shades, melting into one another, tumbling over one other, each eager for a split-second moment to transform the world. Saffron changed to scarlet, vermilion to indigo, lavender to tangerine.

Like a deer in headlights, I froze. Lump in my throat. My eyes misting. Suddenly I was ten years old again, sitting on the floor in the apartment I shared with my mom and my sister, staring at our Christmas tree, mesmerized. Watching as the tree changed from emerald to aquamarine while all the other lights were turned down to a mere whisper. Outside an Illinois winter wind howled and icicles dripped from the eaves. Glassy stairways were treacherous and snow flurries spiraled through busy streets—an ever-changing paisley pattern of white on white.

But inside my living room was a drowsy, comforting heat, while in one corner stood all of the magic of Christmas: a tree that was never the same color longer than a heartbeat, surrounded by glittering packages filled with untold promise. Anything could be inside those boxes. A doll, a book, a sweater. A record, a hat, a necklace. The tree was a portal to another world, a land where colors danced and chased one another, where all the hopes and dreams of a year could be answered in an evening. In a moment.

In a fraction of a second, somewhere between amber and honey.

I was startled back to reality when I saw two teenagers staring at my tree, oohing and aaahing and giggling because it was so different. It was retro-chic. I think they liked it because it represented everything that Christmas wasn’t—this tree didn’t have prickly needles or sticky sap, it didn’t embody the fragrance of an evergreen forest at dusk.

What they didn’t realize—what very few people could realize—was what this “Charlie Brown” silver tinsel tree really did represent.

All the hopes and dreams of a ten-year-old girl’s Christmas.

Mine.

Frankie Baby

"Just trim the toenails, Doc."

BFF

Best friends forever, Frank and the little woman.

A New Way of Thinking

Below is a list of other Victorian authors, besides those listed in the previous post, who carried the torch for this new evolving genre that we now call science fiction.



1. Edgar Allen Poe, 1809-1849
“The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar” (1845)
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket (1836)

2. Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1804-1864
"The Birth-Mark" (1843)
"Rappaccini's Daughter" (1846)

3. Jules Verne, 1828-1905
Journey to the Center of the Earth (1864)
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1870)
From the Earth to the Moon (1865)

4. Sir Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, 1803-1873
The Coming Race (1871)

5. Edwin A. Abbott, 1838-1926
Flatland (1884)

6. Samuel Butler, 1835-1902
Erewhon (1872)

7. Mark Twain, 1835-1910
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (1889)

8. Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850-1894
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886)

9. Edward Bellamy, 1850-1898
Looking Backward (1888)

10. H.G. Wells, 1866-1946
The Time Machine (1895)
The War of the Worlds (1898)
The Invisible Man (1897)