Poetry Thursday

I may not always keep right on schedule, but I figured I'd share a few poems with everyone.

A Place Where...

Breaking apart

Busting through the seams

Falling out of touch

All I can do is scream

No place where I belong

Stress threatening to take me past my limits

I can’t take it

I just want to go somewhere so quiet 

My pulse so loud it threatens to burst

A place so cold the rest of me matches my insides

A place so dark I can get lost in the shadows

A place where I forget me

And where everyone else forgets me too.

A place so far away

It doesn’t show up on most maps

A place so hard to get to

Few could bring me back

A place where I can get lost in my thoughts

Somewhere where I don’t jump at every sound

Somewhere where I feel at home.

I want to go to a place that can swallow me whole

A place where I no longer feel

Numbness the norm

Apathy the routine

A place where no one cares

A place where I don’t care

Carrot Whore

The cookie monster sold out

He betrayed the cookies too

Give him enough money 

And he’ll sell you out too

Carrots aren’t his thing

But to get him some more bling

He’ll lie to you

And then secretly 

He eats all the cookies

And still he lies to you

The cookie monster is a sell out

And he’d sell you out too

He noms the cookies in hiding

Eating cookies behind closed doors

The old beloved cookie monster 

Is now a carrot whore.

Rainbows and Unicorns

What I thought were rainbows and unicorns 

Turned out to be barbed wire and knives.

The sunshine turned out to be a halogen light.

The expansive meadows were just a long barren hall

The sounds of birds and bees 

Were just the whispers behind my back. 

The flowers were just floor lamps

The butterflies were just broken glass

2,000 words. Once awesome, now dull.

A year ago I would have been thrilled to write 2,000 words in a sitting. It would be a pretty good streak. Not my best, but not too shabby, either. Even a few weeks ago I felt good after 2,000 words. But now it is just not cutting. It doesn't seem like it takes me much effort to write 2,000 words. Is that a good thing, or a bad? Am I upping my stamina, and soon 3,000 will make me feel good? Or will I never be satisfied by my wordcount. What I am writing now just comes so easy to me. No effort whatsoever needed. The words write themselves, it's like I have to fight to keep up. While I enjoy that, I also love to be puzzled as to my character's next steps. Writing them out of tough situations. These characters are writing themselves in and out of situations, and it's like I'm just here for the ride. Maybe it's a good thing. I hope at least my readers will find it so. What are your thoughts on this?

KF Ridley interview and book review.

Welcome to my blog Kim!
If you could be anything you wanted, not writing related, what would it be?
A philanthropic billionaire

What is your favorite piece you've written? 
The Curse of Yama is my favorite Middle grade. DIRT, which is about to be released is my favorite YA that I've written.

Is the The Curse of Yama of the C. Walker Adventures your first published work?
Yes, it sure is. But it won't be my last. There are 5 books slated for the series.

Where do you write best? 
Anywhere, anyplace, anytime. I could be sitting down, eating dinner or shopping and things pop into my head. I always have paper and pen ready.But I write when ever and where ever I can.
Do you outline or write as you go? I usually just start writing. I have it outlined in my crazy brain.

Who or what is your biggest inspiration? 
THE MOVIES!!! I love the movies. My books kind of roll like movies in my head. I guess that is why I eat a lot of popcorn.

What is your favorite genre to read? To write? 
Action Adventure, fantasy...To write? I like MG and YA. I am usually writing and reading several things at once.

Favorites:

Author: J K Roling
Travel Destination: Italy, Scotland....anywhere
Food: YES..food in general is a favorite. I couldn't pick just one thing. But I try to eat organic.
Beverage: Iced tea
Movie: Pride and Prejudice
TV Show: American Idol
Book: Harry Potter Series
Animal: Horses

Tell everyone about your upcoming installment in the C. Walker Adventures
The next book in The C Walker series is called The Castle of Family Secrets. Based in Scotland, Chloe finds out about her family's legacy which leads her to an adventure of a mythological underworld. Dr. C.Y. Clops is the veternarian who helps Chloe and Sotol protect the family secret that has been hidden for generations.

I will be at Booksellers of Laurelwood in Memphis for a Booksigning on October 8th, 2011.

Where people can find you: www.kfridley.com

My Review of The Curse of Yama by KF Ridley:

I saw the cover of The Curse of Yama and I knew that I just had to read it. So, in this case, I really did judge a book by its cover. And I was right. The Curse of Yama, the first in the C. Walker Adventures by KF Ridley does not disappoint. Right off the bat you are introduced to a spunky 12, almost 13 year old girl named Chloe. She is sarcastic, smart, witty and seems old for her age(Not like a lot of female characters you find in books now-a-days). She is close with her family, but also very independent, making her the perfect candidate for an awesome adventure. And boy does she find one. It is refreshing to see The Curse of Yama masterfully blend the gods we learn about in school with a fresh curse to accompany them. This book is for any kid, and the kid in all of us. Even the minor characters in this book are engaging, and you get attached to everyone, especially the animal characters. If I had to compare it to anything, I would call it a mix between The Wild Thornberrys and a younger Indiana Jones. I can’t wait for the next one to see what adventure life takes Chloe next book. KF Ridley is definitely an amazing author to keep an eye out for.

Read this and then vote on which piece you are most looking forward to.

This post is to go along with the poll I put up on the left side of my blog. I want to know which piece people are the most interested in reading. So, here is a short synopsis of each, in the order they appear on the poll.

Aluria: The Prophecy: [A YA fantasy series] Skye is a sixteen year old who runs away after experiencing some family problems. After a bizarre boat-ride she finds herself in a place unlike she has ever seen before. Little did she know, the place she ended up was experiencing problems far worse than her own. She meets Lance, a member of a peace-loving race, the Alurians who have been forced underground by the evil Lord Furgison. Lance tells her she is the one from their prophecies, the only one who can save them and help them return to life as it was before. Lord Furgison's plans are aided by seven types of monsters: Pride, Lust, Anger, Envy, Sloth, Greed, and Gluttony. In this land, the seven deadly sins aren't ideas, they're real and will do everything in their power to keep Lord Furgison in Power. Skye is joined by Lance and four others to embark on the journey of a life time, putting everything at risk to save this wonderful race of people.

The Hunted: [An erotic Halloween tale.] Hadrian is an experienced hunter of all things supernatural. He loves killing vampires the most. On Halloween night he follows a gaudily dressed vampire to her home to engage in a night of passion. Little does he know, Oleander wasn't kidding. She really was a vampire. Once a mortal enters a vampire's home, they cannot leave unless the vampire allows them to. Once he figures out that she's a vampire he doesn't know what to do. Three thoughts race through his mind. Leave her. Kill her. Or fuck her again. How will Hadrian the Hunter respond to becoming the Hunted?

Don't Ask, Don't Tell: A Month in Reformation Hall: [A Young Adult/Teen Novella or Novel depending on how long it gets.] Rachael goes undercover at Mooreville High to write a tell-all piece for her journalism portfolio. School's across the bible belt, USA, have instituted a new policy. Don't Ask, Don't Tell. It is no longer allowed to "come out" at a public school, and LGBT students will receive varying degrees of consequences if they do. Rachael goes undercover as Cassie Ray and instantly befriend a stereo-typically gay boy named Zane Miller. This will recount their time in Reformation Hall(where gay students get sent as their first warning). Brian is a bully who makes Zane's life hell, and Coach Tyler[A seemingly closet butch lesbian] overly enforces the DADT policy.

Sequel to Sunny With a Chance of Homicide: [Adult Psychological Thriller-novel] This one picks up right where Sunny With a Chance of Homicide left off. It focuses on the consequences of Randall's actions and centers around what a Mother is willing to do to save her own name. This will either be the final, or next to final novel in this set.

Zombie Strippers

Zombie Strippers

[a flash fiction zombie story]

Things had changed ever since the zombies begun to run, or more accurately 

shamble amuck. Society as we had once known it was in disrepair. The survivors were far 

and few between, and they generally stayed out of dodge. But there were those few 

individuals that had fun with the state of things--and they turned the situation into a sort 

of parody of life as they remembered it. Caleb was one of those people. He had run a 

semi-successful adult entertainment establishment. The place was suffering with only 

zombie clients and clientele, and they never paid. However, staying alive was far more 

precious to Caleb than any sort of currency. Money meant nothing in this day and age. 

Survival. That’s what it’s all about. Just because he could become a snack at any time 

didn’t take away his sense of humor. The signs out front that had once raved about “Live 

entertainment” now flashed “Dead Entertainment”. Some of his girls had been turned, but 

they didn’t seemed to know it. Instead of stripping garments as they had once done, they 

stripped layers of skin. The rest of the zombie population seemed to like this form of 

entertainment. The zombie strippers sated them, parts of humanity could be seen here and 

there among the zombies. Every time he passed the sign, he felt a small amount of joy, 

and with the state of things, joy went a long way. As long as there were zombie strippers, 

Caleb would be just fine. 

The Beast

A friend of mine asked me to write a poem about his penis, 

little did he know this would be what I wrote.

Not as flattering as he thought it would be. Lol.

The Beast

Lying there dormant, in a hibernation of sorts.

Waiting for spring’s newest arrival.

At the sight of her the beast awakens and begins to come out of hibernation.

The beast grows, ready to get his fulfillment after a long winter.

The prey’s needs are irrelevant to the desire of the beast.

So when he strikes, there is no going back.

She will do to feed his sexual appetite until another one comes along.

He has been alone far too long, yearning for the heat of another to fuel his own passions.

The beast...with his purely carnal, animalistic cravings.

My take on French's Crunchy Onion Chicken

The other day during work I saw a commercial for chicken. French's Crunchy Chicken to be exact. I have been wanting to try it since. It seems fairly straight-forward. Chicken breasts. Egg. French fried onions. Flour. Upon reading the reviews I am making changes before I even start. 

Here is the original recipe:

Ingredients:

2 cups (4 oz.) FRENCH'S® Original or Cheddar French Fried Onions

2 tbsp. all-purpose flour

4 (5 oz.) boneless skinless chicken breasts

1 egg, beaten

Directions:

Place French Fried Onions and flour into plastic bag. Lightly crush with hands or with rolling pin. Transfer to pie plate or waxed paper.

Dip chicken into egg; then coat with onion crumbs, pressing firmly to adhere. Place chicken on baking sheet.

Bake at 400°F for 20 min. or until no longer pink in center.

My turn:

I made some slight alterations:

Ingredients:

2 cups of generic french fried onions

salt

pepper

oregano

lemon pepper

3 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into strips

1 egg beaten.

Directions: 

Preheat oven to 400°F combine flour, onions, and spices in a bag and crunch them.

 Place chicken in the egg mixture to moisten.

 Toss them in the bag shake-and-bake style. Arrange them on a pan. Cook for 10 minutes. Flip. Cook another ten minutes. Take out and enjoy.

Before

After.

It was tasty and very easy. Next time I would use fresh squeezed lemon instead of egg. 

Other than that, the only problem I had was the same problem I have with shake-and-bake.

Getting all of the outside to stay on. And on a side-note. That baked potato was absolutely amazing!

Sunny With a Chance of Homicide

Why hello, world. I would like to introduce you to my debut novel, Sunny With a Chance of Homicide. This is a re-release, as I did everything wrong the first time. But I have learned from my mistake and think my cover looks pretty bad-ass now. I know how I've been going on about YA Fantasy, but this has absolutely nothing to do with it. Nothing young about this. There are elements of torture, sex, language, you know, all the good stuff. 

Here is my synopsis: Waking up in solitary confinement is never fun for anyone, and Randall is no exception. He is subjected to relive crucial moments from his past until he finds himself out on his own, free. He finds new love, but as always an old flame complicates things. His reality and fantasy worlds collide putting him in a very compromising position. Can he make it out with his relationship intact?

As of now it is only available on Smashwords, which, in my opinion is more user-friendly than amazon. But it will be there shortly. I'd say 24 hours based on their estimations.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87141

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12552368-sunny-with-a-chance-of-homicide

Buy, Share, Pimp, Promote, or whatever you feel inclined to do. I appreciate it all!

Every time I make a sale I get all giddy and ridiculously smiley. I must say it is a ridiculous sight. Enjoy 

Hunter Evans

Inspired by my sister's assignment this is a short story about depression and suicide.

Hunter Evans

Hunter Evans couldn’t get out of bed. What was the point? This depression gave him the emotional spectrum of a line segment. He didn’t want to eat. He lost interest in things he once loved. The only thing that kept him from going over the edge was/were the dark confines of his room. If he didn’t have to interact with the outside world, there were fewer chances of him finding something destructive to dull his pain. The irritating sunlight streaming through his off-white blinds didn’t elicit the slightest reaction in him. It was like he wasn’t there. A shell of the person he once was, he was forced to live inwardly drowning in his pain. His good days came with apathy. On those days there was no pain, only nothing. And he welcomed the nothingness with open arms. 

Minutes passed but they felt like hours. The hours felt like days. Time was becoming irrelevant. Time seemed to pass differently for him now. It dragged on, and he begged for it to stop. He missed the days of nothingness that used to break him out of the agony he felt. But they visited him no longer. Someone came in his room and told him he had to go to school. He didn’t know how long it’d been. Days? Weeks? Months? He searched for the strength to speak and managed to mutter “What’s the point?” The other voice didn’t matter to him. It was just a temporary interruption in his very permanent world. “Get up and go to school. Stop moping around. You are just dealing with teenage problems, it will pass. I let you miss one day of school, so buck up and get ready Hunter.” The voice was harsh and high pitched. He wished it would go away. It didn’t. The voice persisted. 

He dragged himself out of bed and got his backpack. He didn’t bother with changing clothes or with showering. What was the point? He had nobody to impress, and he would impress nobody.  By the time he got out of the house, the bus was long-gone. He caught a ride to school with the irritating nagging voice and got out of the car without saying a word. The familiar school looked like a prison as he approached its gates. Everyone shot him dirty glances as he took his seat in class. He could hear them talking about him. “Goth boy, go cut yourself.” “Why’d you get out of bed today, loner?” “We’d all be better off without you.” “You should just do us all a favor and kill yourself.” “Kill yourself.” “Suicide is the best gift you can give the world.” The voices of his classmates and his internal monologue became indiscernible. He had to make the voices stop. He would do anything to just make everything stop.

Throughout the day he attended all of his classes, but paid attention in none of them. He didn’t take his things out. He didn’t take notes. He was there for attendance sake, but the rest of him was elsewhere. He played the comments over and over in his head. He could not shut them up. “Goth boy, go cut yourself.” “Why’d you get out of bed today, loner?” “We’d all be better off without you.” “You should just do us all a favor and kill yourself.” “Kill yourself.” “Suicide is the best gift you can give the world.” “Die” “Die” “Die” “Die” “Die” When the bell dismissed him for the day, his head was reeling. The unkind words gnawing at his insides like a flesh eating virus. At the front of the school the irritating voice from that morning was waiting for him. He got in the car and listened to it drone continuously on the way home. When he got home he grabbed something from the bathroom and shut himself in his room. 

He sat on his bed, begging the voices to shut the fuck up. “Goth boy, go cut yourself.” “Why’d you get out of bed today, loner?” “We’d all be better off without you.” “You should just do us all a favor and kill yourself.” “Kill yourself.” “Suicide is the best gift you can give the world.” “Die” “Die” “Die” “Die” “Die” He took the razor he snagged from the bathroom cupboard and laid it gently against the base of his wrist. He dug the razor and dragged it up the length of his arm with as much force as he could. This was the only way to stop the voices and it would make everyone happy.  Blood rushed along the path the razor made, pooling on the floor beside him. Blood continued to pour out of him as his life ebbed away. The voices finally stopped. Hunter Evans really was a shell of a person now, just a lifeless body on the floor. Hours later there was a knock at his door. The voice informed him that is was dinner time, but the voice was met with silence. The door opened to his room and the voice saw the boy on the floor, surrounded by his own blood. Clearly it wasn’t just a phase, or if it was Hunter Evans would never have the opportunity to outgrow it. Hunter Evans was no more.  

Mental Health Issue: Eating Disorder Rough Draft

Ginny, my 16 year old sister wrote this for class. 

The prompt was to address a mental health issue.

Mental Health Issue Addressed: Eating Disorder 

          Meet Amber Lynn Williams she is a seventeen year old girl struggling in high school, with issues no one knows she has. She laid in her bed staring up at her ceiling as her mother called her down for breakfast, she sighed inwardly as she dragged herself out of her room and walked down the stairs to see plate of food staring her in the face. She hated her body she felt like she couldn't eat without the guilt gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She slowly picked up the piece of toast and began to eat it knowing she was just going to empty her stomach of it very shortly after. She had eventually finished all the food on her plate and began to leave for school.

          Amber was driving to school and she couldn't wait to get there so she could throw her food up, it killed her every minute it was inside of her. As she arrived at school she quickly said hi to her friend and rushed to the bathroom, claiming she had eaten something bad and it was messing with her stomach. She quickly went into a stall and bent down in front of the toilet forcing her finger down her throat making herself gag until her stomach released its contents. She kept cramming her finger throat until she was sure she had thrown absolutely everything up. As she was throwing up the last off it she heard someone walk in and she quickly flushed the toilet and walked out of the stall to see her best friend Abigail Mitchell standing in front of her.           

          

          Amber usually had a tin of mints in her locker to hide the stench of puke on her breath but she didn't have the opportunity to do so and there was a very good chance she'd have to make up some lie to tell her friend. She wiped her mouth off saying that her mom had made some bad eggs and that's why she got sick. Her best friend didn't buy it since this had been her fourth bad food incident within a month that she had walked in on. Amber still denied that she did it on purpose since she didn't want to fess up to what she had been doing for several months now.               

          After another month of throwing up her every meal, she begun to feel weak it was taking a hold of her everyday life. Sores on her hands slowly began to develop along with a now irregular heart beat. She was starting to look ill and there was nothing she could do about it. The people around her finally begun to notice and started to ask her questions about it and she would still deny it. But one day she fainted in the middle of class and had to go to the nurse, they soon realized that she was dehydrated and was showing many symptoms of bulimia. The school called her parents as they showed up shortly after and immediately went to the nurses office, saying that they would do anything they had to do to help her get better.

          After three months of being watched over making sure she ate everything and didn't throw it up she was beginning to look better and everyone was starting to finally back off a bit. She felt better than she had before but she still had the urge to throw her food up she had to fight with the issue everyday. She still hated her body but was slowly starting to accept it but every once in a while she would throw a meal up. She tried so hard but sometimes her everyday battle won and it would almost send her back into the constant throwing up and starving herself. But she didn't fear because she knew she would have the support of her best friend and family along the way to keep her on the right path.

Removing the Block. My cures for Writer's Block

Writer's Block. A writer's worst nightmare. Well, aside from rejection letters and the other unpleasantries of the business. But for the purposes of this blog entry writers block is a writers worst nightmare.

These are my tips:

1. Mentally Stimulating Distraction: Lately I've found that playing Solitaire has tremendously helped my writer's block. If the ideas aren't flowing I open my document and a game of Solitaire. The other night I ended up winning three games and writing quite a bit. I would call this one a win-win.

2. Pressure: Also, I find the ideas start flowing when I am somewhere where it isn't practical to write. Like work, for example. I'll be making a bed or folding some towels and suddenly I have to write. Some days I can take my lunch break and spend it writing, but some days the ideas come post lunch. In which case I have to try to desperately cling to my ideas, hoping they don't fade away on the walk home. I find it interesting that pressure seems to create the most ideas for me. I can be sitting home on a day off doing nothing of importance with plenty of time to write, but the mood doesn't strike.

3. Dividing Attention: I've also found that dividing my attention between various pieces makes the ideas flow that much more. If I get stuck on Aluria: The Prophecy I can work on the sequel to Sunny With a Chance of Homicide. Or my children's book. Or the other two which are in their infancy.

4. Writeordie.com: And I can never say enough about http://writeordie.com/ I urge you to visit it and take a look around if you are having problems getting the words to flow.

What are your cures for writers block?

Three Poems

Dead Muse

My muse has been murdered

Oh, what a crime.

Creativity once flowing,

Gold turned to grime.

The words from my keyboard or pen

used to flow.

Now nothing is working

I have nowhere to go.

My muse didn't even go out with a bang

more like a whisper, barely caressing my ears.

I could do nothing to stop it,

it's worse than I feared.

Now all has grown stagnant.

Deceased ideas corrode

My muse had been murdered

it's the end of the road.

Displaced Hematoma

Glistening.

Metallic.

Hollow.

Roughly, it penetrates my soft pale skin.

Stings of pain as it sucks the life from me.

Taking what it needs it carelessly returns the superfluous matter to my body, my arm on fire.

Unconcerned with my wellbeing and procedure the crimson fluid fills my tissues, rather than my vein. Pooling under the surface of my skin, the blood causing my arm to swell well past it’s natural limits.

Grotesque and protruding is my once smooth skin.

The softness exchanged for hard, uneven lumps.

Bruised and battered, I leave.

Untitled

Gasping.
Struggling to stay alive.
Your key to respiration
Has been deprived
Writhing
Pained
The world begins to blur
This asphyxiation
Draining…
Its all happened before
The hourglass is running low
With no hope of being turned.  
Find a way to steal a breath
Or continue to feel the burn.
Lightheaded
Slowly becoming dead weight
Breathe in damnit
Before its too late.