My parents’ take on World War Z

Hardly any of you know my parents to appreciate this (how anything was said [with the southern accents] or any amount of cussing on my mom’s part that I’ll leave out).

Watching movies with them can be quite fun, and World War Z definitely wasn’t a disappointment in any sense of the word. The running commentary by the two of them was rather entertaining.

If you haven’t seen the movie and intend to, I won’t ruin anything. It was one of the fastest starting movies I’ve ever seen. Zombies in a manner of minutes (and PG-13 so I can stand the blood). Who can complain about that (plus, there’s the unrated version for all of the people who don’t have problems with blood in movies – WIN-WIN)? Within the first few minutes, there is a car accident (okay, that’s putting it lightly, but there was a car accident involving the MC). Before it, my husband said something along the lines of, “It’s a good thing they have a Volvo.” During it, I said, “That would’ve been MUCH worse if they didn’t have a Volvo.”

Those were the only good ones we got, but they were both immediately followed by my mom making a comment about how, “if he was watching the road and not his kids . . .”

I’m pretty sure there was a cuss word thrown in there. At least one.

Amid zombies throwing themselves off of things, my dad noted, “Zombies don’t have any brains.” I’m taking liberties with that, but imagine it with a southern accent/different word choices.

Those weren’t the ones that got me, and there were a few more zingers throughout (by my dad, as that is his way). My parents’ dog is relentless in his need to go outside when people are paying attention to the television so he can sit there on the rocks and just stare off, but I can’t really complain. It was on the first of those that my mom said, “They all should’ve just laid down and died.”

I asked, “Wouldn’t you fight zombies?”

Her response was, “It’s like you said. They’re just too fast.”

That was my mom’s take on World War Z. Everybody should’ve just laid down and died.

Thought someone out there would get a kick out of it, regardless of not knowing my mom to really appreciate it.

But hey, I thought it was a pretty good freaking movie.

And just a reminder . . .

KEEP YOUR FINGER OFF THE TRIGGER.

That is all.

🙂

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The strange things people do in their sleep…

I do weird things in my sleep, or so I’ve heard.

It’s kind of funny, when thinking about it, that people who would be in the know about what I do in my sleep never deem it worthy to inform me of those things in a reasonable time frame.

I didn’t find out that I talk in my sleep until I was 22 years old – while my husband was deployed – and walked out into my parents living room one day only for them to ask me, “Were you talking on the phone last night?”

Um, no.

So, after being informed that they’d heard me talking, I decided to call Best Friend. I asked, “Do I talk in my sleep?”

Her response was, “Yeah.”

That was one of those how could I know that if you didn’t tell me?! moments.

Countless sleepovers throughout the years (we used to spend all weekend and nearly every day of summer and school breaks together), and she NEVER TOLD ME.

I’ve been known to sleep with my legs straight up in the air, tickle my arms, and do all sorts of EXTREMELY strange things. I think those two things are enough for anyone to know in that department. Too much, actually.

Yes, I tickle my arms in my sleep sometimes. I know it’s weird. TRUST ME; I know it’s weird.

Talking in my sleep was the most disturbing of things I’d heard I did by far. Needless to say that when my husband was preparing to return home from that deployment . . . I was afraid, despite having slept next to him for however long before that unwanted parting.

I’m unsure how long it took for Husband to inform me that I do not SPEAK in my sleep. I mumble – incoherent words that my brain must know, but not want let out. I’m a mumbler in general though, so I shouldn’t be so surprised. Still, I AM surprised, as my mouth is a constant frustration-inducer (it so rarely does what I want it to). I’ve mumble-sang in my sleep once before. That was interesting to hear about.

After so long of being irritated that nobody deemed these things worthy of telling me, I’m kind of glad now. Husband and I were talking about this a few days ago, and I got so uncomfortable at some of the things I do (the mumbling, which I wake him up doing because sometimes I apparently argue with myself, or some unknown person in my dreams [I call it fair because he wakes me up grinding his teeth and giving me the occasional *knee-jerk* in the rear], heavy sighs that also wake him up [I suppose I’m as discontent in my sleep as I tend to find myself while awake . . . such is the curse of nothing ever being good enough to suit me]) that I’d rather ignore the fact it happens at all.

Now, my husband also does some things in his sleep. There’s the teeth-grinding, which has lessened significantly from when he and I first met. But he, also, talks in his sleep. Not as often as I do, because I allegedly do it nearly every time I sleep, but when he does . . . it’s clear.

While in Alabama a few months ago, he woke me up doing such a thing and the only two words I heard were, “Soul cairn.” He’d been playing Skyrim and he loves video games in general (as do I, but his love for them goes above and beyond). What can I say? There’s not often that I can wake up out of a dead-sleep and laugh my ass off; I usually don’t consider myself awake until I’ve had my eyes open for at least an hour. I did that day. I laughed for several days about that. I’m laughing about it again now.

But there was a one or two week time period about two months ago that was just . . . unprecedented. I’ve only heard him say things in his sleep a few times (which might be due to the fact that I am generally a HEAVY sleeper), so when it happened three times in that time period . . . I don’t even know.

Once, he woke me up laughing. I asked, “What are you laughing at?”

He was dreaming about a dude on skis falling.

Once, while he was napping, I asked him where the extension cord was. He said, “It’s under the fish tank.” This was after we’d returned to Kentucky. Our fish tank is still in Alabama, with our former roommate. He didn’t know he’d said it until I managed to wake him up by VERY firmly saying, “THE FISH TANK IS NOT HERE.” He informed me he was dreaming about the fish tank that time.

The one that will forever stick with me was me walking into the bedroom to inform him I was going over to my mamaw’s to eat potato soup (I believe). He sat straight up in bed and literally almost shouted, “Good day!” at me. I thought he was saying it just to say it, as he seemed completely coherent and being strange/random isn’t off-base for him. Imagine my surprise later when I bring it up and get the scrunched-eyebrows-confused-face and, “Did I really?”

Good day! is now a running joke with us, understandably so.

I’ll probably regret posting about the weird things I do in my sleep, but who really cares?

Hopefully somebody gets a laugh out of it.

Dear previous owner of my cellphone number,

A year ago when I went into the store to buy a cellphone, I never could’ve known the trouble it would cause. It was my first awesome phone, rather than a passably cool phone. I was excited, especially given that I’d spent several years of my life cellphoneless and cut off from the majority of the world.

And then the calls started coming. I thought, naively, that they would stop – that they would stop after a certain amount of time had passed and all the people trying to find you, or your wife, or your brother (or whoever the hell you all are) realized that your number had changed.

They never stopped.

I do not appreciate having to have a spam-blocker app on my phone because of someone else.

I do not appreciate having to keep my phone on vibrate so the Doctor Who theme song that is my ringtone doesn’t cause my husband (or my sister) to wreck their cars while I’m riding with them. It’s always calls for you. People do not call me on my phone. People call you on my phone.

I do not appreciate waking up to a recording on my voicemail telling me that, if I am not you, to delete the message immediately without listening to it.

I do not like picking up my phone and hearing a recording about tax debt every other day.

I do not like vision centers calling about appointments for the female end of this trio of same-last-name-entity. Ten times in a year. How bad is your freaking eyesight?

I do not like all these recordings in general, as it gives me no one to speak with to inform them, “YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER.”

But they do not have the wrong number, do they?

No, because a person called – it sounded like a creditor or someone of that nature – and had a very interesting talk with me about how you’d given them this number JUST A WEEK AGO. I do not like being interrogated (asked my name on my own freaking phone) or asked, “Are you sure you don’t know [NAME].”

Yes, I am sure I do not know you. But I do know that . . . I’m quite positive I hate you.

I suppose this is what I get for being picky and asking for a phone number with as many even numbers as possible. This is what I’m going to call karmic-jackassery. It is my own fault, in that way.

You shall go unnamed here, but I hope on all that is holy that I never run into you (or that I never figure out who you all are past your names) because I’m quite certain I would throw something at all three of your faces. No, I wouldn’t really, but I like to think about it sometimes.

STOP GIVING MY NUMBER TO PEOPLE YOU OWE MONEY.

Thank you.

Have a wonderful life.

–         C

PS) By the sound of the voice of the man I spoke with very recently . . . he was not happy. I suggest you attempt – VERY HARD – to get your ducks in a row. It seems like you’ve got quite a lot of them. Thank you, so very much, for sending so many of those ducks my way. My life is so much more complete and wonderful because of all the little duckies quacking around.

🙂

Merlin

What began as something with the sole purpose of creating background noise in the silent space of my world transformed itself into something else entirely – a glorious, albeit too-short, love affair.

Merlin.

What did you think I was talking about?

Seriously though, that’s how my obsession (and I call it that word in the most endearing way that an obsession can be felt) with the show started. It was simply . . . on. It was on (reruns) at the same time I found myself waking up while living in Alabama several months ago. I noticed, gradually, that I began paying less and less attention to the games I was playing on my phone and more attention to the show itself. After a little while, I started ensuring I woke up in time to watch it. I was a little embarrassed the day I admitted, “I really like this show. I know it’s silly, but . . . I really like it.”

Soon the reruns began rerunning themselves on BBCA. By that point, I was hooked and desperate for more.

If you were following my blog while I was in Alabama, you’ll know that my internet was ATROCIOUS, if it could actually be CALLED internet. I reversed my schedule back to my preferred nocturnal, so that I could watch it on my roommate’s Netflix. (We had a data cap until 2AM, but after that . . . Fair game.) I watched all four seasons of it that could be watched, and then . . . nothing. The fifth season was still airing at that point, but I couldn’t just start watching it part of the way through. So I waited. Impatiently. Frustratedly. I waited.

The first several seasons are rife with silliness and something that can only be described as jackassery. It wasn’t until at some point in either the second or third season when I realized, “Holy crap (not that word). These people are exceptional actors.” The instant – and I mean THE INSTANT – I realized that . . . there was no turning back from the love I was starting to feel for it. It went so far past ‘being hooked’. Merlin had stolen a part of my heart. If you think I’m being dramatic . . . you have no idea.

Husband and I had intent to watch the fifth season sooner, but it just didn’t work itself out that way.

So, about a week ago, when I’d come in from writing for the morning, we started watching the last season.

It was epic. Seriously. I can get over the horribleness of the dragon and the other ‘not real’ things – they truly were horrible at worst, and meh at best. I don’t even care. And I USUALLY care. But I swear to god, there is just SOMETHING about that show. Colin Morgan (Merlin) and Bradley James (Arthur) together are pure magic. Yes, that was a little joke, but a serious one. I’m not kidding. If I could bottle the two of them up (I want to smack myself for that one, I’ll admit) and throw their chemistry into all of the movies and television shows where believable interactions are nonexistent, I would do it in a heartbeat. I can get over the sub par acting from some of the others for that alone. I don’t think I even realized how amazing Angel Coulby (Gwen) was until the fifth season. She was spectacular. And my god, how Katie McGrath (Morgana) will make you want to smack THAT FREAKING SMIRK off her face. I could list off all the others, but I will spare you all of what I think of each knight and whatnot. And who couldn’t love Gaius?

Now, to be fair, I am a ‘Read The Ending’ kind of person. After all the frustrations of, “HE IS USING MAGIC RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM! HOW CAN ARTHUR NOT SEE THIS?!” I had Husband look up when Arthur found out about Merlin’s magic. I knew it wasn’t until close to the end. About . . . three days or so ago, I looked up what happens in the last episode.

I was heartbroken. I’m not kidding. But I was so glad that I looked so I could be preparing myself. I read all the complaints about it and already had the idea in my head that it was just going to be unarguably horrible.

The last episode came up, we watched it. I spent some teary-eyed time processing it. And then I decided . . .

That was PROBABLY one of the BEST series finales I have ever seen in my life. It really was. I do understand why it made so many people (including myself, in ways) so angry.

Still, I’m sad. I don’t want it to be over. I want them to do something else with it, as they CLEARLY left it open for possibilities. There needs to be more.

Husband made a comment yesterday about the funny interactions on a serious show and how well they did it. And they did. Like Doctor Who, I could laugh and cry in the same episode. Throw the occasional bit of fear in there (some things were PRETTY creepy and I’m jumpy by nature), and you’ve got something truly spectacular. Some people might want to smack the crap out of me for comparing the two shows and, if you’ve talked to me even a little, you’ll know that I LOVE Doctor Who.

I have no shame in admitting that I love the two shows equally. If you think it’s stupid, you can bite me. I don’t care.

So I will declare it to the entire world.

I LOVE MERLIN.

The end.

🙂

Hello World. I am a moron. Nice to meet you.

You know that overwhelming feeling of panic that you have when you’re turning a doorknob and nothing happens?

You’re turning, you’re pulling (and YES, it IS a turn and pull door). Nothing.

And then your claustrophobia starts setting in. And then – in the span of about five seconds – you’re contemplating all the ways you could POTENTIALLY break this door to get it to open. And, “Hey, C. How ironic is it that you wrote a scene in one of your books, making a joke about a door being broken? BET IT’S REALLY FUNNY NOW, iddn’t it?”

Anyway, the door opened.

And apparently I’m talking to myself via blog.

I should probably sleep, but I can’t yet.

Wow. This isn’t as bad as jumping and nearly screaming when you catch your reflection in a pancake syrup bottle.

Hello World. This is me.

– C

Overwhelmed by the new WIP

The title says it all, doesn’t it?

I somehow managed to fix my sleep schedule back to normal (nocturnal) after that first night of coming home from Florida. So, for the past several days, all I’ve been doing is WRITING. Time has slipped away from me. I’m not ashamed of it, and I feel only slightly guilty.

Things are going well with this second book (so far). I’m writing it from another character’s perspective. Interactive. The story rolls on.

Here’s the thing . . .

I write a LOT of characters over the course of a series. I’m not even going to tell you how many were in S2. It seems natural to me. People meet other people. I guess it’s enough to be confusing if you have a difficult time remembering names. Normally, I don’t.

And you see . . . it’s not that there are a crapton of characters being introduced in these new books. There really isn’t. It’s everything else.

EVERYTHING.

I made up a new world in S2. Cities, small towns, etc. But it seems so . . . my god, I’m going to hate saying this, but it seems so basic in comparison.

Now I’ve got magic to deal with. Who can do what most efficiently. What it looks like when each of them use it (and its differences).

I’ve got creatures.

I’ve got dragons with names.

Ties. Families. Wars. Lineage. Kingdoms. Villages. Armies. Generals. Units. Laws. Punishments. More ties. Marriages. Kids. Taverns. Weapons. Soldiers. Secrets. More magic. SO MUCH MORE MAGIC. HAVE I USED THAT NAME? WHICH DRAGON IS WHICH? HOLY JESUS, WHAT COLOR DID I MAKE THEM AGAIN? WHAT’S THAT ABOUT REPRODUCTION? WHAT WAS THAT NAME? WTF IS GOING ON HERE?!

I uhm . . . I’m going to have to map this stuff out.

This will be a first, minus my little lists for sh . . . er . . uhm . . . craps and giggles. Lists of names, usually. Gotta make sure they’re not too similar (as I tend to do that occasionally). Lists of chapter titles. Lists of word counts for each chapter after each editing. Tallies of each cuss word and how many times they’re each used. Yes, I’ve got a bit of OCD. I like lists. And apparently the word each when writing the past few sentences.

But now I’m going to have to make detailed sheets, like . . . for each thing. It’s new. It’s made my eyes twitch a few times, thinking about it.

Anyway. What I’m trying to say here is, “Hey. I’m a little busy right now.”

I know I try to post every three days. I think I’m a day off right now. I might have to extend that a little.

Here comes the guilt.

We’ll say I’ll try to give an update and say hello every four days or so. I’m usually pretty good at responding to comments, but I’ve even fallen off on that. I’m just feeling very overwhelmed at the moment. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me, but honestly? I’m looking forward to it. This will be a new experience. New experiences – yaaaaaay.

So that’s what I’ve been doing. That’s what I’ll be doing. That’s what’s going on.

Hope all of you out there in the vast expanses of internetdom are having wonderful days and all that good stuff.

I sure am, despite the eye twitching.

I shall wave the shame fan in my own face for being such a horrible person and neglecting my social networking stuff.

The Perfect Day

It’s a little after midnight right now, which is my prime writing time, but I figured I would type this up really quick.

I’d sat down to go through some blog entries I had to read (in open tabs) and . . . well . . . okay, I’m starting off in the wrong spot. That was the point of me getting on here, but I should explain that I have the ‘Reader’ page open all the time, hoping that I’ll find more than ten minutes to sit down here. I’ve given up on catching up. So I’ve been hoping for about four or five hours (yes, it takes me that long – I’m following a LOT of people) to go through reading people’s entries to make up for it. I’m going to say in advance that I’ll be digressing with this, but I actually thought about making a VLOG (had a funny conversation with a friend about VLOGGING) to make up for my lack of reading. Why would that make up for it, you ask? Because I’d make a complete and total ass out of myself, that’s how. Probably won’t happen, but the thought crossed nevertheless.

Anywho, while the Reader was open, I just so happened to see an entry that Briana Vedsted just posted. Clicked on it, read it, commented. It was asking for blogging ideas. I’ve only had about one clever blogging idea ever, so I couldn’t help with that. Well, she replied back to my comment and gave ME an idea. How freaking awesome is that?

So I figured I would do that right now. I wasn’t expecting to be this many words in and still  not have said diddly squat about it.

Basically she said for me to describe what my perfect day of writing would be – how I would start the day, what I would eat, and what it would be like to be a full-time, worry-free author. It was so funny to me that I just couldn’t help myself.

*Clears Throat*

My perfect day of writing:

Wake up at 8PM.

Go out into my shed. Preferably Husband will have woken up before me and turned either the AC or the heater on, depending on the weather.

Sit down with fresh cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. (Yes, I smoke. I don’t want to hear it. This is my perfect day of writing and you’re not involved.)

Write until about 8 AM.

Eat.

Sleep.

Repeat.

That’s it.

You see . . . This is basically what I do anyhow. It’s not fair, I know. I get to be a full-time (I’ll not say the A-word without Aspiring in front of it) writer. I get to do that because I have a ridiculously awesome husband who – SOMEHOW – understands that what I’m doing is ‘working’ and doesn’t tell me to get a ‘real job’. Worry free? I think not. I’m a worrier by nature. And clearly, you can imagine all the worries that come along when you don’t have a ‘real job’. That’s not why I’m writing this.

I sat here this morning. Er. Yesterday morning, before I went to bed (responding to comments). And I realized . . . I could totally let this entire blog fall off the face of the earth while I’m writing. I could. I really, honest to goodness could. Not going to.

It was easier when I first started this new book and wasn’t SUPER into it. I’m into it now. I’m to the point where I’m talking to Husband about it while I’m not writing it. I’m either writing it, talking it, thinking it, or sleeping. Period.

I had a conversation with my friend yesterday . . . wait . . . No. It was definitely yesterday; I’m just getting my days mixed up here (I lost a day somewhere and found out about it . . . yesterday?). Anyway, it was about ‘the way that we write’. He can do about two million things at one time. I can’t. When I’m writing, I’m writing. I need silence, solitude, uhm . . . I was trying to think of another S word that would be fitting here, but I can’t. Silence and Solitude. Need those. And I just honestly can’t make the time for the things I WANT to do when I’m working on a book. Because I NEED to write and everything else is wants.

I was hoping I’d be done with it by the end of the month (I type VERY fast), but I’m a few hours late tonight so that’s looking less and less likely.

So the entire reason this was funny to me is because I wanted to say, “Don’t expect to see me for a few days.” I might be inside for a little (and I mean LITTLE) bit of time in the mornings before sleeping. Only because I have to eat something. Maybe my balancing isn’t as perfect as other people’s. Maybe other people can have LIVES while they’re writing books. I’m just slowly realizing that I can’t. So I’m prioritizing. I’ve got to get this thing done. Then I’ll take a little time off (a few days). Catch up on here as best I can. Yep.

I’m crawling back into my hole for a little while. I’ll be happier when I resurface.

Everybody should spend a few minutes thinking about what their perfect ‘day’ would be – whether writing, or in general. Give yourself the time to do it. Life is too short to be unhappy and wishing for things. Do it. Take the time. People will understand.

See you again soon.

🙂