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I thought for sure I posted this before, but I can't find it, so here it is again...
Steampunk is a term that there’s been quite a bit of buzz about. But, what is exactly Steampunk?
Steampunkers party like it’s 1899. (It's also what happens when Goths discover the color brown, lol.) Steampunk is set in a world where steam and natural gas, not coal and electricity is still the primary power source. It’s a world abounding with airships, gas lamps, gears, cogs, and brass goggles and populated with mad scientists, philosophers, adventurists, and air pirates. HG Wells and Jules Vernon are huge inspirations for Steampunk. Examples include League of Extraordinary Gentleman, Stardust, Treasure Planet, and the Golden Compass.
Even though there’s a heavy Victorian influence and feel to Steampunk, there could still be extraordinary technology all done with Victorian materials and in Victorian styles. There can even be Steampunk airships, space ships, computers, and brass robots. Technology may have simply evolved differently--or maybe a natural (or unnatural disaster) caused society to "regress,” though Steampunk stories traditionally lack the dystopian/anarchist elements that cyberpunk has.
Steampunk stories can be set in the past, in the future, or on another planet. They can be alternate histories, mysteries with hard-boiled detectives or cozy Victorian ladies, they can be gothic, or horror, or sweet romance. They can be bodice rippers, erotic, or completely "tame." Steampunk stories can even feature the supernatural or paranormal elements.
It's in the setting, the language, the gadgets, and the characters--who could speak like Victorian ladies or fast-talking American teenagers. With Steampunk, there's really a great opportunity to be creative and make amazing worlds ranging from gritty to opulent. Its basis is Victorian in nature, but it's also fiction so you can do incredible and imaginative things. Are you ready to write?
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Twelve Days of Steampunk Christmas
On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me...
12 Air Pirates
11 Painted Ladies
10 Clock Hands
9 Ray Guns
8 Pairs Brass Goggles
7 Aviator Caps
6 Cogs and Gears
5 Mad Scientists
4 Flying Cars
3 Top Hats
2 Dirigibles
And an Airship in a Pear Tree
12 Air Pirates
11 Painted Ladies
10 Clock Hands
9 Ray Guns
8 Pairs Brass Goggles
7 Aviator Caps
6 Cogs and Gears
5 Mad Scientists
4 Flying Cars
3 Top Hats
2 Dirigibles
And an Airship in a Pear Tree
Monday, November 30, 2009
Whew!
This month I wrote 65k in order to finish a manuscript for the Golden Heart Awards. It's currently in a box, on the way to Texas.
I started late in the month (about the 12th) so I was writing at a break neck pace (3-5k a day). But really, it's not that bad. For NaNo, which is only 50k, that's less than 1700 words a day--easy. A 70k novel would be less than 2400 words a day. Even a whopping 100k novel could be written in about 3400 words a day.
It's not that hard.
It's about pacing. After two weeks of 3-5k, I was exhausted. But 1-2k with the occasional 3-5+ is pretty comfortable for me. Just like a runner, you have to find your pace and set your goals accordingly.
It's also about motivation. I *had* to get this manuscript finished, otherwise they're be consequences. But there were a few times where I was ready to give up.
But I didn't, and it was partially because I leaned on my writing friends for support. Writ ting can be lonely, solitary. It's nice to connect with other writers who understand, who can cheer you on, and help you brainstorm (or discuss recipies, movies, and parenting.)
I'm lucky because one of my RWA chapters has a chatroom where writers meet to do "writing sprints" (write as much as you can for a set period of time). Writing sprints are helpful to me because I'm a little competitive and it's usually the jump start I need--also during breaks we chat, which also is something I sometimes need--to know I'm not alone and not the only person who wants to kill her characters off because they're being stupid.
Another one of my chapters had a NaNo email loop where we posted counts, cheered, cried, and met on instant messenger for more writing sprints. Last night I stayed online with someone until she hit her 50k. She, too, started late in the game. And she, too, had to do it, and she did.
I'm also lucky because I have a loving hubby and an understanding tot who support me in my writing with love, hugs, chocolate, and BBQ night.
We all can do it. Baby steps. The point is not to give up entirely--because if you do, you'll never know if you could have done it if you'd only pressed on.
I started late in the month (about the 12th) so I was writing at a break neck pace (3-5k a day). But really, it's not that bad. For NaNo, which is only 50k, that's less than 1700 words a day--easy. A 70k novel would be less than 2400 words a day. Even a whopping 100k novel could be written in about 3400 words a day.
It's not that hard.
It's about pacing. After two weeks of 3-5k, I was exhausted. But 1-2k with the occasional 3-5+ is pretty comfortable for me. Just like a runner, you have to find your pace and set your goals accordingly.
It's also about motivation. I *had* to get this manuscript finished, otherwise they're be consequences. But there were a few times where I was ready to give up.
But I didn't, and it was partially because I leaned on my writing friends for support. Writ ting can be lonely, solitary. It's nice to connect with other writers who understand, who can cheer you on, and help you brainstorm (or discuss recipies, movies, and parenting.)
I'm lucky because one of my RWA chapters has a chatroom where writers meet to do "writing sprints" (write as much as you can for a set period of time). Writing sprints are helpful to me because I'm a little competitive and it's usually the jump start I need--also during breaks we chat, which also is something I sometimes need--to know I'm not alone and not the only person who wants to kill her characters off because they're being stupid.
Another one of my chapters had a NaNo email loop where we posted counts, cheered, cried, and met on instant messenger for more writing sprints. Last night I stayed online with someone until she hit her 50k. She, too, started late in the game. And she, too, had to do it, and she did.
I'm also lucky because I have a loving hubby and an understanding tot who support me in my writing with love, hugs, chocolate, and BBQ night.
We all can do it. Baby steps. The point is not to give up entirely--because if you do, you'll never know if you could have done it if you'd only pressed on.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Flash Fiction--The First Thanksgiving
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I know I have alot to be greatful for and I hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday. Don't forget to save room for pie.
The First Thanksgiving
© 2009 Suzanne Lazear
“Come on, Little Bit, time to wake up.” The musical voice with the Irish lilt attempted roused me from my sleep.
“Umff.” I pulled the covers over my head. I liked to sleep. It was too early. Even without looking at the clock I knew it was early. Half-past the ass-crack of dawn to be exact. My head pounded. Last night, as usual, we’d gone out to the part. There had been shots, darts, and…
I groaned. There had been drunken karaoke and table dancing. Knowing my friends, they took pictures.
“It’s a long drive to Boston, and I promised to help Lilly cook—come on.” Amber pulled the blankets back, then put her hands on her hips.
“Why?” I missed Lilly but couldn’t we leave later?
“Because it’s your first Thanksgiving and Miss Obsessive Homemaker wants it to be special.” She grinned lopsidedly. “Ray’s coming down from DC and Charlie’s already there.”
With a groan I got up and showered. When I came out, Amber was dressed and packing up. We were on tour, Amber was a rock star opening for a rock band filled with really fun people. Well, they weren’t exactly people. The leads were Faeries. Amber was half Siren. I wasn’t exactly normal either.
“Coffee’s on the table.” She balled something up and threw it in her suitcase. I cringed. Last night I’d packed all my things up neatly.
No sooner had I sat down with my steaming hotel mug of strong black coffee when David, lead singer for the BoGo’s the hottest hard rock band in America opened the door.
“Am, we need to go.” He looked at the room and frowned. Amber’s stuff was everywhere—well, on her side of the room.
She sighed. “I know. Oh, Lilly wants us to bring two bottles of rum and another bag of cranberries.”
“Ding-dongs?” I took another sip of coffee.
David’s blond eyebrow rose. “Rory, you don’t have ding-dongs on Thanksgiving.”
“Why?” Everything was better with ding-dongs. Or beer and wings.
Amber shrugged. “I don’t exactly know, but I’m sure Lilly will object. It’s an American holiday.”
David started helping her pack. “Turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, pie…those are all traditional foods.”
“Why?” I didn’t really understand Thanksgiving. Growing up on the farm it involved shooting turkeys and a lot of eating, but I never got to eat any. It had smelled good.
“To eat way too much of Lilly’s home cooking.” Amber grinned. Lilly was a really good cook.
“Come on,” Amber slung her guitar over her shoulder. “Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Lilly.”
#
“No, Rory, the water has to be cold. Like ice cold.” Rushing over, Lilly took the measuring cup away from me. She, Amber, and I were in the kitchen making pie. I was lousy at cooking.
“Okay, I’ll go watch football.” Why did the guys get to watch football and I had to cook? I hated cooking. Lilly wouldn’t even let me have a snack. My stomach growled.
“No, you’re going to help.” The tiny sorceress put her hands on her hips.
Sighing, I put ice cubes in the water. “Better?”
“Yes.”
While her back was tuned, I tried to steal a piece of the turkey she’d just taken out of the oven to rest. Why did a cooked turkey need a nap? It was dead.
“Rory!”
Her voice startled me and awaked old memories, starting a habitual reaction we had yet to totally undo, even after all these months. I cowered, backing straight into Amber. A bowl hit the ground, shattering, and pumpkin batter went everywhere.
“Rory!” Lilly’s face fell. My body went slack.
“I…I’m sorry, Lilly. I’ll clean it up.” I liked to clean.
With a heavy sigh she took a tea towel and handed it to Amber who was now covered in pumpkin. “It’s okay. Dinner will be ready in an hour, why don’t you go watch football with the guys.”
Nodding, I cleaned up, then went into the living room, taking a seat on the back of the couch, not wanting to actually squish onto it—I didn’t like to touch people.
“Exiled all ready?” David grinned. Ooh, the Patriots were on. My favorite.
Ray shook his head. He was Lilly’s boyfriend. He was also my housemate when I wasn’t on tour. “I’m surprised she lasted this long.”
I’d broken several microwaves and an oven at Ray’s.
We watched the game and the apartment continued to fill with delicious smells as the sun went down. My stomach growled again, but the only food on the table was a tray of raw vegetables. I’d rather eat cardboard. At least there was beer.
“Well, isn’t this cozy.” Charlie grinned, walking into the room.
I waved. “Hi Charlie.”
“Hey, Little Bit.” Charlie was a smooth-talking, Cajun Vampire. “How’s tour.”
I threw him a beer and he took a seat opposite Carl, David’s twin. “Do you want to play darts after the game? Or are you still banned from Keone’s?”
Keone’s was the only SuNat—Supernatural—bar in the area. “Darts? Football?” He put his hands up in mock despair. “I thought you people were supposed to be teaching her about life.”
David shrugged, taking a sip of beer. “Football is life.”
“Here here,” Carl added. “We’ve taught her other stuff.”
“Yes,” Charlie shook his head. “I heard about Karaoke.” But he was grinning. “They have Karaoke at Keone’s.”
“You are not going to the bar on Thanksgiving.” Lilly stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. “It’s Rory’s first Thanksgiving. It should be perfect.”
“Actually, I’m having fun, Lilly.” Cooking aside. But I’d like some food now.
Lilly shook her head and went back to the kitchen muttering about rum balls. We’d forgotten the rum.
“What is Thanksgiving again, Ray?” He was the only actual American in the room.
“It’s a day of football games and turkey, I told you that,” Carl teased.
Ray settled back into the couch. “The first people who came here were the pilgrims…”
His words became blah, blah, blah as he got academic and used words I didn’t know. I didn’t have a large vocabulary, but on the farm so one expected me to say much.
“And so that’s why we celebrate thanksgiving.” Ray smiled.
I smiled and nodded like I always did when I didn’t really understand.
“The short version is that we celebrate the fact that the pilgrims nearly starved by over eating,” Charlie added.
“Okay.” That was better than Carl’s story about it being a holiday made up by the aliens who were fattening us up for their holiday feast.
“You guys,” Lilly sighed. Flour streaked her face and cheery turkey apron. She had a mitt on one hand. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Lilly, it’s fine.” Ray got up and kissed her on the cheek. “You did good, hon.” He wiped the flour off her nose, making her giggle.
“But there’s no rum balls.” She pouted.
“Thanksgivings not about rum balls,” he teased as we walked into the dining room, my mouth watering in anticipation.
“I know.” She nodded. “I’m just glad you were all able to make it. But I did want it to be perfect.”
My eyes went widened as I saw all the food on the table. “That’s all for us?”
Lilly nodded. “I hope it’s enough.”
Amber shoved her playfully. “It is, now sit.”
We did, I started to reach for some turkey. Charlie shook his head. “Lilly has to say grace first.”
Oh. Lilly was big on the praying before you ate thing. It reminded me a little too much of the farm, but they prayed to a different deity.
“Thank you for bringing us all here today. We’re grateful for the food and the company. We all have a lot to be grateful for—Amber’s big break, Ray’s promotion, Rory…” She smiled, though her eyes were closed. “New friends like Carl and David, and old friends like Charlie. “Anyway, bless us and this food and may this next year be just as fruitful.”
She opened her eyes and raised her glass.
“Here here,” Ray hit her glass with his, gently, then kissed her.
Everyone else did as well. I only tapped my glass against Charlie’s. If you tapped too hard the glass broke and you got glass in your food.
“Grateful?” I looked at Lilly.
“Things you’re glad for. That’s what thanksgivings really for,” Lilly told me. “To get together with those you care about, share a nice meal, and be thankful for everything you have.”
“Oh. Can I have turkey now?” I reached for a leg.
“Please.” Ray laughed. “We have enough food for an army.”
Lilly threw a piece of bread it him. Catching it, he popped it in his mouth, then showed it to her.
“Eww.” She rolled her eyes.
“Good dinner, Lilly,” Amber took a bit of green beans. How could people willingly eat vegetables?
I started to eat, ignoring the vegetables, except for the mashed potatoes, which I smothered in gravy.
Grateful. I ate and watched as they chatted, played, and joked with each other—even David and Carl, thinking about what she meant.
I had a lot to be grateful for. As hard as the real world was, , it as infinitely better than life on the far—a world of cold showers, beating, being starved, and living tied up in the hayloft of the barn.
Oh, and no one forced me to kill anyone. That was a plus.
And the food…
I took another bite mashed potatoes. It was nice to be able to eat as much food as you wanted—and food you liked to eat.
“Lilly?” I cocked my head. “Is being here, like here and not on the farm, something to be grateful for?”
Lilly nodded. “That’s an excellent thing to be grateful for Rory, we’re grateful for you, too.”
They were? Sometimes I felt like a great big pain. I didn’t know nearly as much as they did—about anything. Even silly things, like putting the shower curtain inside the tub so you didn’t flood the hotel bathroom when taking a shower.
I still wasn’t sure why they brought me into their circle of friend, why they put up with me. But I was glad for it. “I’m also grateful for you all.” I looked around. “Now can someone pass me more turkey?”
Lilly laughed as Carl handed me the platter of meat. “Save room for pie.”
She’d made four pies. David laughed. My appetite was famous.
I looked around the table. “Pie eating contest, Charlie?”
The Vampire grinned. He didn’t eat much, but had a fondness for baked goods. “You’re on.”
Lilly put her face in her hand. “You guys!”
“Lilly, your thanksgiving is perfect.” I smiled. “Pie eating is fun.”
Ray put an arm around her. “Food, fun, friends, that is what Thanksgiving is all about.”
We all raised out glasses. “Here here.”
Charlie ginned. “This is the best thanksgiving ever, Lilly. Now, did someone say something about pie?”
The First Thanksgiving
© 2009 Suzanne Lazear
“Come on, Little Bit, time to wake up.” The musical voice with the Irish lilt attempted roused me from my sleep.
“Umff.” I pulled the covers over my head. I liked to sleep. It was too early. Even without looking at the clock I knew it was early. Half-past the ass-crack of dawn to be exact. My head pounded. Last night, as usual, we’d gone out to the part. There had been shots, darts, and…
I groaned. There had been drunken karaoke and table dancing. Knowing my friends, they took pictures.
“It’s a long drive to Boston, and I promised to help Lilly cook—come on.” Amber pulled the blankets back, then put her hands on her hips.
“Why?” I missed Lilly but couldn’t we leave later?
“Because it’s your first Thanksgiving and Miss Obsessive Homemaker wants it to be special.” She grinned lopsidedly. “Ray’s coming down from DC and Charlie’s already there.”
With a groan I got up and showered. When I came out, Amber was dressed and packing up. We were on tour, Amber was a rock star opening for a rock band filled with really fun people. Well, they weren’t exactly people. The leads were Faeries. Amber was half Siren. I wasn’t exactly normal either.
“Coffee’s on the table.” She balled something up and threw it in her suitcase. I cringed. Last night I’d packed all my things up neatly.
No sooner had I sat down with my steaming hotel mug of strong black coffee when David, lead singer for the BoGo’s the hottest hard rock band in America opened the door.
“Am, we need to go.” He looked at the room and frowned. Amber’s stuff was everywhere—well, on her side of the room.
She sighed. “I know. Oh, Lilly wants us to bring two bottles of rum and another bag of cranberries.”
“Ding-dongs?” I took another sip of coffee.
David’s blond eyebrow rose. “Rory, you don’t have ding-dongs on Thanksgiving.”
“Why?” Everything was better with ding-dongs. Or beer and wings.
Amber shrugged. “I don’t exactly know, but I’m sure Lilly will object. It’s an American holiday.”
David started helping her pack. “Turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, pie…those are all traditional foods.”
“Why?” I didn’t really understand Thanksgiving. Growing up on the farm it involved shooting turkeys and a lot of eating, but I never got to eat any. It had smelled good.
“To eat way too much of Lilly’s home cooking.” Amber grinned. Lilly was a really good cook.
“Come on,” Amber slung her guitar over her shoulder. “Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Lilly.”
#
“No, Rory, the water has to be cold. Like ice cold.” Rushing over, Lilly took the measuring cup away from me. She, Amber, and I were in the kitchen making pie. I was lousy at cooking.
“Okay, I’ll go watch football.” Why did the guys get to watch football and I had to cook? I hated cooking. Lilly wouldn’t even let me have a snack. My stomach growled.
“No, you’re going to help.” The tiny sorceress put her hands on her hips.
Sighing, I put ice cubes in the water. “Better?”
“Yes.”
While her back was tuned, I tried to steal a piece of the turkey she’d just taken out of the oven to rest. Why did a cooked turkey need a nap? It was dead.
“Rory!”
Her voice startled me and awaked old memories, starting a habitual reaction we had yet to totally undo, even after all these months. I cowered, backing straight into Amber. A bowl hit the ground, shattering, and pumpkin batter went everywhere.
“Rory!” Lilly’s face fell. My body went slack.
“I…I’m sorry, Lilly. I’ll clean it up.” I liked to clean.
With a heavy sigh she took a tea towel and handed it to Amber who was now covered in pumpkin. “It’s okay. Dinner will be ready in an hour, why don’t you go watch football with the guys.”
Nodding, I cleaned up, then went into the living room, taking a seat on the back of the couch, not wanting to actually squish onto it—I didn’t like to touch people.
“Exiled all ready?” David grinned. Ooh, the Patriots were on. My favorite.
Ray shook his head. He was Lilly’s boyfriend. He was also my housemate when I wasn’t on tour. “I’m surprised she lasted this long.”
I’d broken several microwaves and an oven at Ray’s.
We watched the game and the apartment continued to fill with delicious smells as the sun went down. My stomach growled again, but the only food on the table was a tray of raw vegetables. I’d rather eat cardboard. At least there was beer.
“Well, isn’t this cozy.” Charlie grinned, walking into the room.
I waved. “Hi Charlie.”
“Hey, Little Bit.” Charlie was a smooth-talking, Cajun Vampire. “How’s tour.”
I threw him a beer and he took a seat opposite Carl, David’s twin. “Do you want to play darts after the game? Or are you still banned from Keone’s?”
Keone’s was the only SuNat—Supernatural—bar in the area. “Darts? Football?” He put his hands up in mock despair. “I thought you people were supposed to be teaching her about life.”
David shrugged, taking a sip of beer. “Football is life.”
“Here here,” Carl added. “We’ve taught her other stuff.”
“Yes,” Charlie shook his head. “I heard about Karaoke.” But he was grinning. “They have Karaoke at Keone’s.”
“You are not going to the bar on Thanksgiving.” Lilly stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. “It’s Rory’s first Thanksgiving. It should be perfect.”
“Actually, I’m having fun, Lilly.” Cooking aside. But I’d like some food now.
Lilly shook her head and went back to the kitchen muttering about rum balls. We’d forgotten the rum.
“What is Thanksgiving again, Ray?” He was the only actual American in the room.
“It’s a day of football games and turkey, I told you that,” Carl teased.
Ray settled back into the couch. “The first people who came here were the pilgrims…”
His words became blah, blah, blah as he got academic and used words I didn’t know. I didn’t have a large vocabulary, but on the farm so one expected me to say much.
“And so that’s why we celebrate thanksgiving.” Ray smiled.
I smiled and nodded like I always did when I didn’t really understand.
“The short version is that we celebrate the fact that the pilgrims nearly starved by over eating,” Charlie added.
“Okay.” That was better than Carl’s story about it being a holiday made up by the aliens who were fattening us up for their holiday feast.
“You guys,” Lilly sighed. Flour streaked her face and cheery turkey apron. She had a mitt on one hand. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Lilly, it’s fine.” Ray got up and kissed her on the cheek. “You did good, hon.” He wiped the flour off her nose, making her giggle.
“But there’s no rum balls.” She pouted.
“Thanksgivings not about rum balls,” he teased as we walked into the dining room, my mouth watering in anticipation.
“I know.” She nodded. “I’m just glad you were all able to make it. But I did want it to be perfect.”
My eyes went widened as I saw all the food on the table. “That’s all for us?”
Lilly nodded. “I hope it’s enough.”
Amber shoved her playfully. “It is, now sit.”
We did, I started to reach for some turkey. Charlie shook his head. “Lilly has to say grace first.”
Oh. Lilly was big on the praying before you ate thing. It reminded me a little too much of the farm, but they prayed to a different deity.
“Thank you for bringing us all here today. We’re grateful for the food and the company. We all have a lot to be grateful for—Amber’s big break, Ray’s promotion, Rory…” She smiled, though her eyes were closed. “New friends like Carl and David, and old friends like Charlie. “Anyway, bless us and this food and may this next year be just as fruitful.”
She opened her eyes and raised her glass.
“Here here,” Ray hit her glass with his, gently, then kissed her.
Everyone else did as well. I only tapped my glass against Charlie’s. If you tapped too hard the glass broke and you got glass in your food.
“Grateful?” I looked at Lilly.
“Things you’re glad for. That’s what thanksgivings really for,” Lilly told me. “To get together with those you care about, share a nice meal, and be thankful for everything you have.”
“Oh. Can I have turkey now?” I reached for a leg.
“Please.” Ray laughed. “We have enough food for an army.”
Lilly threw a piece of bread it him. Catching it, he popped it in his mouth, then showed it to her.
“Eww.” She rolled her eyes.
“Good dinner, Lilly,” Amber took a bit of green beans. How could people willingly eat vegetables?
I started to eat, ignoring the vegetables, except for the mashed potatoes, which I smothered in gravy.
Grateful. I ate and watched as they chatted, played, and joked with each other—even David and Carl, thinking about what she meant.
I had a lot to be grateful for. As hard as the real world was, , it as infinitely better than life on the far—a world of cold showers, beating, being starved, and living tied up in the hayloft of the barn.
Oh, and no one forced me to kill anyone. That was a plus.
And the food…
I took another bite mashed potatoes. It was nice to be able to eat as much food as you wanted—and food you liked to eat.
“Lilly?” I cocked my head. “Is being here, like here and not on the farm, something to be grateful for?”
Lilly nodded. “That’s an excellent thing to be grateful for Rory, we’re grateful for you, too.”
They were? Sometimes I felt like a great big pain. I didn’t know nearly as much as they did—about anything. Even silly things, like putting the shower curtain inside the tub so you didn’t flood the hotel bathroom when taking a shower.
I still wasn’t sure why they brought me into their circle of friend, why they put up with me. But I was glad for it. “I’m also grateful for you all.” I looked around. “Now can someone pass me more turkey?”
Lilly laughed as Carl handed me the platter of meat. “Save room for pie.”
She’d made four pies. David laughed. My appetite was famous.
I looked around the table. “Pie eating contest, Charlie?”
The Vampire grinned. He didn’t eat much, but had a fondness for baked goods. “You’re on.”
Lilly put her face in her hand. “You guys!”
“Lilly, your thanksgiving is perfect.” I smiled. “Pie eating is fun.”
Ray put an arm around her. “Food, fun, friends, that is what Thanksgiving is all about.”
We all raised out glasses. “Here here.”
Charlie ginned. “This is the best thanksgiving ever, Lilly. Now, did someone say something about pie?”
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Dear anonymous donor....
Recently I was fortunate enough to win a critique of my entry for the RWA Golden Heart Awards from editor Angela James in a contest on her blog. She had been offering her services to critique GH entries and an anonymous donor made a contribution to cover the cost for one person who otherwise not be able to afford such a thing.
I hadn't even realized I won, I was out of town at a funeral when the winner was announced. Someone in my chapter announced it to our e-loop. I was floored since it was a random number pick and I'm one of those people who could buy a hundred raffle tickets and not win a thing. I was beyond humbled and grateful to have won, since I had been considering not entering at all due to circumstances. Part of the conditions of winning was that you *had* to enter, so it forced me to invest in myself and go for it.
I just got my critique back and I'm just overwhelmed with the great info I got. I'll be incorporating it in over the holiday weekend so I can get it to the RWA office before the deadline.
I guess what I'd just like to say is:
Dear anonymous donor,
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing this. This opportunity means the world to me. I never would have been able to take advantage of somethign like this otherwise and nearly didn't enter the Golden Hearts at all because I've hit a rough spot. Thank you for giving me a reason to believe in myself, my story, and my writing. Regardless of whether or not I final, this experience has taught me a lot and my manuscript is all the more stronger for it. I will be looking forward to the day I can pay this forward.
Sincerely,
Suzanne
I hadn't even realized I won, I was out of town at a funeral when the winner was announced. Someone in my chapter announced it to our e-loop. I was floored since it was a random number pick and I'm one of those people who could buy a hundred raffle tickets and not win a thing. I was beyond humbled and grateful to have won, since I had been considering not entering at all due to circumstances. Part of the conditions of winning was that you *had* to enter, so it forced me to invest in myself and go for it.
I just got my critique back and I'm just overwhelmed with the great info I got. I'll be incorporating it in over the holiday weekend so I can get it to the RWA office before the deadline.
I guess what I'd just like to say is:
Dear anonymous donor,
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing this. This opportunity means the world to me. I never would have been able to take advantage of somethign like this otherwise and nearly didn't enter the Golden Hearts at all because I've hit a rough spot. Thank you for giving me a reason to believe in myself, my story, and my writing. Regardless of whether or not I final, this experience has taught me a lot and my manuscript is all the more stronger for it. I will be looking forward to the day I can pay this forward.
Sincerely,
Suzanne
Monday, November 16, 2009
Do you NaNo?
I'm bloging about National Writing Month and my progress so far over at Steamed today. Come join the fun.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Steampunk Costume Contest
The steampunk posse is hosting a steampunk costume contest over at Steamed! . They've just extended the deadline so send in your pics today...
Friday, October 30, 2009
Happy Halloween!
Happy Halloween!
I was plesantly surprised to see steampunk costumes at the tot's school this morning, including a gentleman air pirate, steampunk Jane from Tarzan, and a cadre of identically dressed steampunk lolitas in fishnets and mini top hats.
Anyone going steampunk for Halloween?
Third Rail Projects in New York is having an amazing steampunk haunted house. It looks amazing!
Have a safe and happy Halloween, everyone!
I was plesantly surprised to see steampunk costumes at the tot's school this morning, including a gentleman air pirate, steampunk Jane from Tarzan, and a cadre of identically dressed steampunk lolitas in fishnets and mini top hats.
Anyone going steampunk for Halloween?
Third Rail Projects in New York is having an amazing steampunk haunted house. It looks amazing!
Have a safe and happy Halloween, everyone!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Flash Fiction Friday--The Visitor
Happy friday. Things have been busy, busy. Here's a little something for you...enjoy.
The Visitor
© 2009 Suzanne Lazear
Stefano Gianni stared into four smug faces as he tried not to tear his hair out. Two royals, one novice, and one very junior sentinel crowded into his office as he attempted to administer the lecture to end all lectures. But the “fearsome foursome’s” wasn’t buying it.
“Do you want me to get Headmaster Henley involved?” His eyes focused on Prince Davit Ornesky and Princess Karina Elistina. He’d rather not go to Henley, which was why the royal students were in his office, even though students were technically out of his jurisdiction.
Sasha Kashin was out also of his jurisdiction, since even though she was only seventeen, she was a full sentinel, not one of his novices. But he’d since the incident right before Christmas that had robbed her of her confidence and some of her mobility, he’d taken her under his wing. It gave him something to fret about.
Novice Niccole Smith was the only one he was actually supposed to punish. But since Christmas the four of them threatened to break the record set by Sasha’s brother and sister so many years ago. Henley didn’t do shit since Karina and Davit were royals and seventh formers.
This wasn’t pre-graduation clowning around. This was full-scale rebellion.
“Please, call Henley.” Karina crossed her arms over her blue twin-set, looking every inch the stubborn, privileged princess. Small and blonde, she looked so very much like a softer version of Bonnie. “Maybe he’ll send us home.”
Therein lay the problem. Jesus Christ, these kids were going to be the death of him.
“Both of us.” Davit crossed his arms over his chest as well. A lock of dark hair fell in his eyes making him look ever the rake. As usual for free dress days, he wore a black trench coat and a rock and roll t-shirt.
Stefano focused on Niccole. “You don’t want to be sent home too, do you?”
Niccole worked very hard to overcome the fact that she arrived at Stornholdt Academy about four years later than most novices. Stornholdt was part boarding school, part training academy for sentinels. One day Niccole would protect people like Davit and Karina.
She shook her short, red hair. “No. But I want to see Bonnie, too. Why can’t we see her, talk to her? When we call, she’s always resting or some shit.”
“Bonnie’s been through a lot.” But Novice Smith has a point. In the incident right before Christmas, Bonnie Petrova nearly died. Oddly enough it was Karina’s family who saved her, taking her to the palace for medical treatment—and Karina’s family who kept her from them all. Even he couldn’t get through to her. Mikhail, her best friend and adopted brother did, once in awhile. Stefano should have asked Mikhail to steal her from the palace the moment they knew she wouldn’t be bedridden or in a wheelchair.
“They are keeping her from us.” Sasha’s face contorted with pain. She’d been one of Mrs. Elstina’s sentinel’s before the incident. She, too, was one of Bonnie’s adopted siblings and idolized her.
“Why would he do that?” Stefano knew why and by the four looks he got, they did as well. Gennady Elstin, Karina’s father, was convinced that Bonnie was his lost sister’s child.
That would make Bonnie a missing Kajal princess.
But the problem was, she’d trained for most of her life to be a sentinel. Sentinels were Kev, half-breeds of the blood, who dedicated their lives to protecting the Kajal from their sworn enemy, the Denali.
Bonnie was the best Denali hunter out there.
The Kajal were not supposed to be able to defend themselves from the Denali.
So if Bonnie were not actually Kev, but a royal princess who’d been raised as a half-breed and trained as a sentinel—well that could cause all kinds of problems. Especially if she turned down being a princess so she could return to being a sentinel—and him.
Being a princess was far more comfortable than being a sentinel or the Moscow breeder colony she grew up in. He was sure the Elstin’s ploy to draw Bonnie into the fold included dazzling her with delights and comforts and appealing to her orphan side by telling her about her mother, making her part of the family.
But her family of fellow orphans was as tight as a “real” family—tighter, fueled by poverty, desperation, and loyalty.
“Why do they keep her from me, she’s my sister, too?” Karina screwed up her face.
“I don’t know, princess.” Unless Gennady was into some sick shit, Karina and Bonnie were actually cousins, not sisters. But Karina wasn’t the most mentally stable person so they didn’t bother to correct her. The Elstin line was prone to madness—and unusual magical gifts.
“I know you all miss Bonnie.” He missed her as well. “But acting out will not bring her back. It will just land you all in deep kimchee.”
“But I want to go home.” Karina pouted. “My little sister gets to see her all the time. I want to see her...and,” her expression grew concerned. “She has gentleman callers. One of them is Jean Rampart. No sister of mine is dating a Rampart.”
That was news to him. Stefano didn’t want her dating a Rampart either. They were high-ranking royals--and rakes. Bonnie’s childhood in Moscow hadn’t left her unscathed. A man like Jean would take advantage of that. Of her.
“How do you know?” Sasha’s head perked.
“Oaklyn’s older sister saw them at a ball.”
That made Stefano pause. Bonnie was on the mend, but balls?
“Marty Finklestein also visits her.” Karina wrinkled her nose.
Stefano knew about that. Marty had been in awe of Bonnie since she was a first former. The Finklesteins were a well-respected family and royal as well. They weren’t as handsome or as high-ranking as the Ramparts, but they were more honest.
“Marty’s a good bloke.” Davit shrugged. “He was a year ahead Yev and Bonnie.”
Yeva was his older sister who was covering Bonnie’s classes while she recovered. She was probably behind Marty’s visits. Princess Yeva was making her own problems at Stornholdt.
“Lika says Bonnie needs protecting. Who will protect her?” Tears streamed down Karina’s pale face. Davit put a hand on her shoulder.
“Lika?” Stefano put his head in his hands.
“My little sister. My father won’t send her to school. She’s too fragile.” Karina sounded as if she were parroting words she’d heard a million times. Odds were little Lika was either mentally retarded or unstable. Royal families had a lot of inbreeding.
“Dominick will protect them. He promised to watch over my sister.” Sasha nodded solemnly. Dominick was one of the Elstin’s sentinels. Not that Bonnie needed protection, usually. But things were different now, and over and over again, he wished they weren’t.
“Back to your punishment.” He was running out of them.
There was a knock on the door to his office. The door flew open before he had a chance to tell them to come in. It was probably Fred—or Headmaster Henley.
It wasn’t.
The blond man in the expensive suit was not tall, but imposing, having mastered that trick of presence few non-royals do. He also reeked of trouble—the hired sentinels with him attested to it. Not that the man before him couldn’t defend himself.
“I want you four to go downstairs to the prefect’s common room and stay put until I get you.” Stefano stood, urgency in his voice, as he assumed a defensive stance.
“There is no need to send the children away. They might be able to help me.” His Russian accent was pronounced, adding to his nefarious mystique.
“No one can be of help to you here.” Stefano didn’t keep the distaste out of his voice. “Why are you on my campus, Kolya Chornyi?”
Sasha went on edge, but she probably had heard the name growing up. Kolya Chornyi was fit, handsome, and looked royal—though he wasn’t. For a man in his early fifties he didn’t look it, but the Kajal never did.
He was also little more than a gangster. A rich and powerful gangster who controlled a good chunk of Eastern Europe.
“I need your help.” A manila folder rested in his gloved hand.
“I told you, no one can help you here. Now leave before I have you escorted off.” First and foremost he had to think of the royals.
Kolya sighed and for a moment one of the most-feared men in Eastern Europe looked tired, defeated. “If you do not wish to help me, Training Master Gianni, then perhaps they will. I have a feeling that these four have the same motives I do.”
The man in front of him was bad news all around. “What do two royals, a novice, and a sentinel have to do with a gangster like you?”
He shrugged, a privileged and moneyed gesture, clearly unruffled by the gangster comment. “I am not here tonight as Kolya Chornyi.”
Stefano raised an eyebrow. Kolya did happen to be one of those odd Russian nicknames and Chornyi was Russian for something--bad, dark, or what have you. Whatever he called himself, there was no good reason for a man like him to be at Stornholdt. There were bad reasons. Stefano wanted no part of those, nor did he want those in this room—or anyone else on campus--to be part of that either.
“Then why are you here? You have five seconds before I have you hauled off my campus.”
Kolya threw the folder on the desk. “Tonight I am here as Nikolai Petrov and I need you to get my daughter back.”
The Visitor
© 2009 Suzanne Lazear
Stefano Gianni stared into four smug faces as he tried not to tear his hair out. Two royals, one novice, and one very junior sentinel crowded into his office as he attempted to administer the lecture to end all lectures. But the “fearsome foursome’s” wasn’t buying it.
“Do you want me to get Headmaster Henley involved?” His eyes focused on Prince Davit Ornesky and Princess Karina Elistina. He’d rather not go to Henley, which was why the royal students were in his office, even though students were technically out of his jurisdiction.
Sasha Kashin was out also of his jurisdiction, since even though she was only seventeen, she was a full sentinel, not one of his novices. But he’d since the incident right before Christmas that had robbed her of her confidence and some of her mobility, he’d taken her under his wing. It gave him something to fret about.
Novice Niccole Smith was the only one he was actually supposed to punish. But since Christmas the four of them threatened to break the record set by Sasha’s brother and sister so many years ago. Henley didn’t do shit since Karina and Davit were royals and seventh formers.
This wasn’t pre-graduation clowning around. This was full-scale rebellion.
“Please, call Henley.” Karina crossed her arms over her blue twin-set, looking every inch the stubborn, privileged princess. Small and blonde, she looked so very much like a softer version of Bonnie. “Maybe he’ll send us home.”
Therein lay the problem. Jesus Christ, these kids were going to be the death of him.
“Both of us.” Davit crossed his arms over his chest as well. A lock of dark hair fell in his eyes making him look ever the rake. As usual for free dress days, he wore a black trench coat and a rock and roll t-shirt.
Stefano focused on Niccole. “You don’t want to be sent home too, do you?”
Niccole worked very hard to overcome the fact that she arrived at Stornholdt Academy about four years later than most novices. Stornholdt was part boarding school, part training academy for sentinels. One day Niccole would protect people like Davit and Karina.
She shook her short, red hair. “No. But I want to see Bonnie, too. Why can’t we see her, talk to her? When we call, she’s always resting or some shit.”
“Bonnie’s been through a lot.” But Novice Smith has a point. In the incident right before Christmas, Bonnie Petrova nearly died. Oddly enough it was Karina’s family who saved her, taking her to the palace for medical treatment—and Karina’s family who kept her from them all. Even he couldn’t get through to her. Mikhail, her best friend and adopted brother did, once in awhile. Stefano should have asked Mikhail to steal her from the palace the moment they knew she wouldn’t be bedridden or in a wheelchair.
“They are keeping her from us.” Sasha’s face contorted with pain. She’d been one of Mrs. Elstina’s sentinel’s before the incident. She, too, was one of Bonnie’s adopted siblings and idolized her.
“Why would he do that?” Stefano knew why and by the four looks he got, they did as well. Gennady Elstin, Karina’s father, was convinced that Bonnie was his lost sister’s child.
That would make Bonnie a missing Kajal princess.
But the problem was, she’d trained for most of her life to be a sentinel. Sentinels were Kev, half-breeds of the blood, who dedicated their lives to protecting the Kajal from their sworn enemy, the Denali.
Bonnie was the best Denali hunter out there.
The Kajal were not supposed to be able to defend themselves from the Denali.
So if Bonnie were not actually Kev, but a royal princess who’d been raised as a half-breed and trained as a sentinel—well that could cause all kinds of problems. Especially if she turned down being a princess so she could return to being a sentinel—and him.
Being a princess was far more comfortable than being a sentinel or the Moscow breeder colony she grew up in. He was sure the Elstin’s ploy to draw Bonnie into the fold included dazzling her with delights and comforts and appealing to her orphan side by telling her about her mother, making her part of the family.
But her family of fellow orphans was as tight as a “real” family—tighter, fueled by poverty, desperation, and loyalty.
“Why do they keep her from me, she’s my sister, too?” Karina screwed up her face.
“I don’t know, princess.” Unless Gennady was into some sick shit, Karina and Bonnie were actually cousins, not sisters. But Karina wasn’t the most mentally stable person so they didn’t bother to correct her. The Elstin line was prone to madness—and unusual magical gifts.
“I know you all miss Bonnie.” He missed her as well. “But acting out will not bring her back. It will just land you all in deep kimchee.”
“But I want to go home.” Karina pouted. “My little sister gets to see her all the time. I want to see her...and,” her expression grew concerned. “She has gentleman callers. One of them is Jean Rampart. No sister of mine is dating a Rampart.”
That was news to him. Stefano didn’t want her dating a Rampart either. They were high-ranking royals--and rakes. Bonnie’s childhood in Moscow hadn’t left her unscathed. A man like Jean would take advantage of that. Of her.
“How do you know?” Sasha’s head perked.
“Oaklyn’s older sister saw them at a ball.”
That made Stefano pause. Bonnie was on the mend, but balls?
“Marty Finklestein also visits her.” Karina wrinkled her nose.
Stefano knew about that. Marty had been in awe of Bonnie since she was a first former. The Finklesteins were a well-respected family and royal as well. They weren’t as handsome or as high-ranking as the Ramparts, but they were more honest.
“Marty’s a good bloke.” Davit shrugged. “He was a year ahead Yev and Bonnie.”
Yeva was his older sister who was covering Bonnie’s classes while she recovered. She was probably behind Marty’s visits. Princess Yeva was making her own problems at Stornholdt.
“Lika says Bonnie needs protecting. Who will protect her?” Tears streamed down Karina’s pale face. Davit put a hand on her shoulder.
“Lika?” Stefano put his head in his hands.
“My little sister. My father won’t send her to school. She’s too fragile.” Karina sounded as if she were parroting words she’d heard a million times. Odds were little Lika was either mentally retarded or unstable. Royal families had a lot of inbreeding.
“Dominick will protect them. He promised to watch over my sister.” Sasha nodded solemnly. Dominick was one of the Elstin’s sentinels. Not that Bonnie needed protection, usually. But things were different now, and over and over again, he wished they weren’t.
“Back to your punishment.” He was running out of them.
There was a knock on the door to his office. The door flew open before he had a chance to tell them to come in. It was probably Fred—or Headmaster Henley.
It wasn’t.
The blond man in the expensive suit was not tall, but imposing, having mastered that trick of presence few non-royals do. He also reeked of trouble—the hired sentinels with him attested to it. Not that the man before him couldn’t defend himself.
“I want you four to go downstairs to the prefect’s common room and stay put until I get you.” Stefano stood, urgency in his voice, as he assumed a defensive stance.
“There is no need to send the children away. They might be able to help me.” His Russian accent was pronounced, adding to his nefarious mystique.
“No one can be of help to you here.” Stefano didn’t keep the distaste out of his voice. “Why are you on my campus, Kolya Chornyi?”
Sasha went on edge, but she probably had heard the name growing up. Kolya Chornyi was fit, handsome, and looked royal—though he wasn’t. For a man in his early fifties he didn’t look it, but the Kajal never did.
He was also little more than a gangster. A rich and powerful gangster who controlled a good chunk of Eastern Europe.
“I need your help.” A manila folder rested in his gloved hand.
“I told you, no one can help you here. Now leave before I have you escorted off.” First and foremost he had to think of the royals.
Kolya sighed and for a moment one of the most-feared men in Eastern Europe looked tired, defeated. “If you do not wish to help me, Training Master Gianni, then perhaps they will. I have a feeling that these four have the same motives I do.”
The man in front of him was bad news all around. “What do two royals, a novice, and a sentinel have to do with a gangster like you?”
He shrugged, a privileged and moneyed gesture, clearly unruffled by the gangster comment. “I am not here tonight as Kolya Chornyi.”
Stefano raised an eyebrow. Kolya did happen to be one of those odd Russian nicknames and Chornyi was Russian for something--bad, dark, or what have you. Whatever he called himself, there was no good reason for a man like him to be at Stornholdt. There were bad reasons. Stefano wanted no part of those, nor did he want those in this room—or anyone else on campus--to be part of that either.
“Then why are you here? You have five seconds before I have you hauled off my campus.”
Kolya threw the folder on the desk. “Tonight I am here as Nikolai Petrov and I need you to get my daughter back.”
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