Hi, my name is Crystal and I’m a research addict.

Crowd: Hi, Crystal!

Research is endlessly seductive, especially to a librarian. Eden Bradley mentioned that she’s thinking about doing a new story (and I’m not giving spoilers, but it’s awesome) and by the next morning I had info-dumped all over her project. She was grateful and all, but the problem is, I just couldn’t help myself. I had to research. I wanted to know more about the topic. One of the newest issues for me with writing non-fantasy stories (i.e. “Full Swing” and my new S. American Phaze story) is that I research the ever-living crap out of it. And these are short stories. I can’t even use what I find as more than teensy-snippet details! But, I was a history major, trained up to be scholarly and shit. I can’t say something that isn’t verified by credible sources, even for those teensy snippets, I just can’t. I now know way more than I could ever need to about golf (even though I was a varsity golfer in high school, I still did the freaking research!) and South America (again, I can’t even use this stuff!)

Somebody stage an intervention! Can’t you recognize a cry for help when you hear one! *sob*

I finished my short story last night! “Full Swing” just came right out. I’m kinda shocked because it’s my first try at a contemporary story. Woo-hoo! I have to tweak it from here, but I made wordcount and I’m done, done , done!

Sometimes, I impress the crap out of myself. Day-um, I’m good (or at least that’s what all the boys tell me. Just kidding! No, really.)

Here’s some incredible breaking news: I have a second contemporary idea that I want to write for Phaze’s Samba line. Must be set in South America and muy caliente. As soon as Eden Bradley mentioned it to me last night, the story just came to me! How awesome is that? It also means that I need to finish 5K by June 4. Ho-lee Jeezus! I can do it. I think. Because I impress the crap out of myself, right? Right. Totally. No problem. I’ll, uh, get right on that.

I just realized that I’ve only had 2 days off from work in the past 25. I’m starting to feel the drag of it. We are seriously understaffed at the library right now, so I’m working a lot of extra hours. Let me tell you, I started writing to avoid becoming a workaholic. The Mad Madam M can tell you I have serious OCD/workaholic tendencies. I’m totally becoming a zombie. I walk into a room and people ask me if I’m sick. Yeah. That’s not a blow to a girl’s ego. Not at all.

Must. Get. Rest.

I’m making excellent headway on my contemporary story, “Full Swing,” and I’m excited by how fast it’s coming along. This one is just pouring out of me. I hope my writing does it justice, but I’ll let my critique partner be the first judge (Be nice, Shawn! But not too nice! I don’t want to be like those sad people on American Idol who only think they can sing because their friends tell them they’re a rock star.)

Recap of my weekend in the sticks with Dixie Chick (she wanted a cool nickname, too. Everyone’s jealous of the Mad Madam M. Of course, I rose to the occasion.)

First, we (for some insane, inexplicable, incomprehensible reason) went to see the new teeny-bopper flick “Stick It.” My eyes are still burning folks! That was a really, really bad film. It wasn’t even so-bad-it-was-funny, either. It was a bad movie with a message. Hol-lee Jesus. Dixie Chick is still traumatized, whereas I have mostly deleted it from my memory banks. Will have it completely deleted by tomorrow, but I wanted to tell ya’ll about it. (Crap. Did I just say “ya’ll”? Get me out! They’re corrupting my native Valley Girl!)

Trip to visit Dixie Chick’s parental units went well. They are some funny people. Kinda disappointed with the local color though–maybe they all hid because it was raining? I only saw one toothless relative and one barefoot dude with no shirt. He didn’t even have a beer belly! Darn!

I did see what a holler looks like (FYI: in hick-speak a “holler” is a teensy crack in a mountain that people decided to settle in) and I saw the requisite off-road-4-wheeling-Jeep-vehicle that was artistically paint-gunned and spray-painted in strangely camo colors. Only they forgot the brown in the camo so it just looked like a weird green car with rabies.

Today’s Quiz: What’s Your Muppet Personality?

Apparently, I’m not as funny as I think I am. Too true. This one is right on. I’m just glad I’m not Miss Piggy. The Mad Madam M would have gotten a lot of mileage off of the whole “Muppet Mermaid Pigs in Space” idea she came up with. Ha! See? No mermaids, pigs, or space. Just un-funny Fozzie! I can live with that. Which Muppet are you?

You Are Fozzie Bear

“Wocka! Wocka!” You’re the life of the party, and you love making people crack up. If only your routine didn’t always bomb! You may find more groans than laughs, but always keep the jokes coming.

Okay, so what am I working on now? I gave up Every Witch Way and The Misadventures of Supersize Girl is currently simmering on the backburner, but when I said I intended to focus on e-publication for my novellas, I meant it.

Check out my sidebar and you can see the word counts for my works in progress. Luring Lorelei is finished and in the stages of being edited thoroughly. I’m hoping to have it off to my critique partner soon. By next Friday, that’s my goal. *crosses fingers*

Then, you have my (hopeful) Ellora’s Cavemen story, then a new series I thought up, and finally a short story idea that I’m hoping Freya’s Bower will like. It’s my first contemporary idea ever. No witches, spooks, goblins, vampires, or even any explosions! That’s just crazy talk! Still, I think they might even like it.

I wish I could say I was going to be a good girl and write this weekend, but, alas, I cannot. I’m going to be very, very bad and take both Saturday and Sunday off from writing and just get the heck out of Dodge.

Saturday, I’m driving away from hickville and into the booming metropolis an hour away. *eye roll* It’s actually a very nice little city, but I’m feeling very snobbishly Californian today, so I’m peering down my nose at it–just because I can. Anyway, I’ll be seeing a movie with a friend–Akeelah and the Bee is what I think we agreed on, but whatever! As long as it’s not the horror flick she really wanted to see.

Her: How about An American Haunting?

Me: Please. Mama. No. I. Don’t. Wanna. (runs to cower in the corner, sucking thumb)

Her: Crystal, you Californians are weird ones.

Me: All part of the West Coast charm, I swear!

Sunday, I’m going deeper into hickville with the same friend. Apparently, I need to see some of the local color before I run screaming back to civilization like a wimpy little girl. I think it sounds like fun and my friend has instructed me on a few Californian-isms that I have to test out on her mom. She wants to be there to watch, of course. Yep, step right up to the new zoo exhibit, folks! It’s a rare Pacific Library Monkey–freshly captured from the wild.

My semester is finally winding down. I have to get all my grades in for my class tomorrow, so I’m pretty out of it today. Mild panic and hysteria reigns on campus as both the professors and the students frantically struggle to get everything done on time.

What amazes me is that I actually had a student call me and announce that she wasn’t going to do the final project because her life is crazy right now. Then she had the gall to get offended when I told her that she’d fail my class because she didn’t have enough point accumulated to blow off 30% of her grade and still pass. What shocks me is that I would never have had the moxie to tell one of my profs that in college. Seriously, never. And I had a rep in college for being the mouthy bitch. I’m not kidding…ask the Mad Madam M, she had to live through it with me.

For example, if we were bored in class, she looked to me to raise my hand and get the prof sidetracked on some wild tangent and then she would pinch hit to keep him or her going in the new (and un-note-worthy) direction. This also reduced the amount of information that could turn up on a mid-term or a final. Can’t test us on it if we didn’t have time to discuss it. Aw, shucks!

My favorite part was that we’d get extra bonus points for participation in class. Professors loved us! Sigh. Okay, the memory lane trip is over…back to work.

Apparently, I am a moron. I never knew (probably because I’m too stupid to figure it out) so I’m just so grateful that Barbara Bickmore could point it out for me. She felt the need to break out the hand puppets over on the Burning Questions on BookPage. Here’s what she had to say:

No American publishers seem interested anymore. I’m told that I write books that are too long, are about women and their problems and achievements and don’t have enough violence and action in them to interest Americans. I guess my two books before that didn’t sell terribly well. However, I do make a very nice living from Europe, and it does make me a little sad that America isn’t interested anymore. I don’t write romances, where there is nothing more than the man and woman getting together and then being torn apart and the rest of the book is about their getting back together. My books are too complex for romance readers.

Right. So, as they said over on Smart Bitches, all romance readers must then be “stupid, mouth-breathing morons.” Yes…yes…it all begins to make sense now… It takes my pea brain a while to process such a profoundly life-changing statement, you understand. Because, as an ignorant romance reader, I can’t possibly grasp anything more complex than picking my nose and flicking the boogers. I mean, it’s not like I graduated summa cum laude or finished graduate school in under 18 months. Nope, not me. I’m a drooling, syncophantic reader of that literature-for-simpletons called romance. It’s just stupendous that I can even spell a word with more than four letters!

So, let’s consider why no publisher wanted to touch her oh-so-justifiably-superior “literature.” Since I am an utter fool, I think I’ll quote from the Washington Post on this matter:

Romance publishing is a big business. In 2004, the latest year for which the RWA has compiled figures, romance fiction generated $1.2 billion worth of sales, based on data supplied by Ipsos Book Trends. Some 2,285 romance titles were released that year, accounting for 54.9 percent of mass-market paperback sales and 39.3 percent of all fiction sold in this country.

Ha! Who’s laughing all the way to the bank now, bitch? Won’t be buying any of her Euro-trash. My brain capacity is just too teensy to manage even a seminal understanding of the “real” literature she so eloquently pens. *snort*

In conclusion, I say: Way to go, Barbara Bickmore! Alienate the largest buying block of the American market. Can’t imagine why publishers wouldn’t be interested. But, then, we’ve already established my mental inferiority. Whew. Glad she’s the one who has to ponder that one out. I just couldn’t put two and two together, myself.

Every Witch Way has died. I know it’s sad and some may have trouble accepting the lose of such an important contribution to literary fiction, but, alas, it is as it should be. The manuscript has gone on to a better place with the Big Man Upstairs. It’s also been backed up in about 4 different places so that when (or if) I feel I can come back to it, I’ll have something to work with.

I’ve worked on this manuscript for so long that I feel like it’s holding me back from my other writing. It was my first try and I’ll never forget it, but it’s time to move on.

For now, I’m going to be focusing on my short stories and novellas and honing the writing craft. I also hope to seek e-publication with several publishers. Wish me luck!