Dory Days

We all remember Dory, the fun-loving, slightly forgetful, Regal Blue Tang fish (Peracanthurus hepatus for all you geeks out there) from Disney's FINDING NEMO. Thanks to the vocal artistry of Ellen DeGeneres, the world fell in love with that silly blue fish as she adventured through the dangerous Australian waters with an uptight clown fish in pursuit of his gimpy-finned son.

Loyal. Brave. Hopefulness in the face of uncertainty.

Dory embodied all the qualities we strive for...OR DID SHE?!

Sure she impressed us with her mastery of whale speak but don't forget, dear blogging pals, that she had one major flaw. A flaw that is...CONTAGIOUS! (Insert sinister music here)




As evidenced in the above video clip, we see that Dory is easily distracted by shiny things. And since I've been blogging, I realize I've been contaminated by this debilitating syndrome as well.

You see, I have these amazing, creative friends with amazing, creative blogs that I enjoy checking in on from time to time. (Multiple times a day) For example, my friend Phresh is quite possibly the most disturbingly funny person I've ever met. I know that a pit-stop by the Party Pony will leave me laughing and wondering why God passed out all the creative juices to her. And then there's Anita...Anita my rock. My constant source of encouragement and wisdom. I need Anita! And I can't forget Mindy...geesh, Mindy's like Wonder Woman (only Wonder Woman would have used her invisible jet to catch her rather than tumble down the stairs with no undies. Wait...are her undies invisible?) with all of her amazing interviews and impossible metaphors.

I could go on and on, there are so many of you!

BUT, you knew that was coming, YOU'RE ALL TOO SHINY FOR ME!

I can't seem to help myself when I start looking at all your beautiful, shiny blogs. I want to read, then post, then come back and see if you commented on my comment, then blog hop, then read again...and when I finally minimize Explorer and reopen Word and see that tiny little cursor flashing in the exact same spot it was an hour before--well, that's when I know I've been infected.

The truth is, I want to stare at you all day. But for my own sanity, and the future of my current WIP, I need to limit my exposure. (Just a little).

These are dangerous waters we're swimming in, my friends. Be well. I'll see you often. (Just not as much.) So until next time, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...

CAUGHT ON CAMERA! A Day in the life of an aspiring author

(To be read in the deep voice of the movie trailer guy. I contend that this does not count in my 55 word limit as it is instructional content.)

For decades these legendary creatures have evaded the public eye. Disappearing into the darkest corners of their local Barnes & Noble--vanishing into the safety of their heavily-curtained living rooms.
"Who are they?" we ask, "these professors of make believe?"
Thanks to the undercover work of Nigel Merryman we finally have an answer: ASPIRING AUTHORS.

(Caption comments are to be read in your best Australian accent, think Crocodile Hunter. However, like most Americans, your attempt to master an Aussie accent will fall short, likely evolving mid-sentence to that of a drunken Englishman from Texas. Since the Rookie Riter cannot seem to master the art of including text beneath the photo, parenthesis will act as a replacement.)

(Working off an anonymous tip, acclaimed undercover journalist Nigel Merryman was able to nab the following photos of actual aspiring authors in their natural habitat.)




(This photo was taken just shy of 6:30 a.m. last Thursday morning. As you can see , the writer is waking up refreshed, happy and hopeful. She is certain that today is the day when she'll finally get the email from that agent. The email requesting a phone call to discuss the future of her book and offer representation.)


(After a quick shower (photos of this event were taken but are currently on display in a private gallery in Charlie Sheen's bedroom) Nigel found our agent looking sharp and relaxed, enjoying her morning coffee and checking her bound-to-be bursting with offers inbox.)

(Because he had eaten two bowls of Fiber One cereal for breakfast, Nigel took a brief reprieve in a Chick-fil-A bathroom before returning. It was just after 2 p.m. when he found the author in this position:)

(From the untrained eye the aspiring author appears more bored than creative. A sad, sad sight. )

(Deciding to take advantage of TGIFriday's happy hour specials, and because the aspiring author has done little more than refresh her email for the last two hours, Nigel returned at 5:30 that evening to find our author no longer bored but slightly agitated.)

(As night sets in on any town America, Nigel records the author as she submits to the inevitable pressures of so many creatives before her:
THE BOTTLE)

(Because he is easily influenced, and thought he had a chance with the chunky blond he was sitting next to at the bar, Nigel returns to TGIFriday's before happy hour disappears, only return at 9:30 pm to find this. It is at this point that Mr. Merryman's professionalism prevents him from taking any further images. It has nothing to do with the fact that there's a seriously intoxicated, half-dressed woman just feet from him who would mount a ten-speed if willing.)

(With their existence proven, I pose the following questions: 1) If this is their daily life, why do they do it? And 2) Why do we care?)
*This post represents my attempt to win the very cool, very verde, Jenny Phresh's trashcan worthy prize for a blog post using only 55 characters.*

My best "THANK YOU"

If there's one thing I've learned in my thirty-five years of right-brained living on this planet it's this: INSPIRATION COMES FROM THE STRANGEST PLACES! Today is no exception.


I've been racking my noggin for days (or minutes, but let's not get hung up on the details) for the best way to thank the amazing authors who have befriended, encouraged, and now honored me on this here blog. (See PRESTIGIOUS AWARDS section to the right.)


I thought about creating my own award, but figured their many awards were probably covered in mantle dust by now. I tossed around the idea of sending flowers, but considering I just cancelled my NetFlix account because my 30-day free trial period was expiring, the odds of me dropping $100 on 3 chicks who don't know my last name is highly unlikely.

OH, NO! Rookie Riter, what are you going to do?!

Fear not, Underpaid Fan Club, it's all figured out. It seems the answer was there the whole time--staring up at me like a freakishly long second toe.


The best way for me to say thank you, is in rhyme. So here goes:

An ode to Blogspot.

Ahem...

"Before this Blogspot I felt so alone,
there was noone to complain to, cry to or moan.
My queries were rejected like a dork at the prom,
my only true fan my sweet, loving mom.

So sad, so pathetic,
so painfully true.
But all of that changed,
when I hooked up with you.

Oh Blogspot, oh Blogspot,
what a savior you are.
Fostering friendships from near and from far.

Some think they are ponies who paint themselves green,
others are dorks submitting art "on the scene".
There's the girl whose poor cat wears a frilly, pink boa
and another whose got a huge second toe-a.

They laugh at my jokes,
empathize with my rage.
They give good advice
and throw roses on stage.

They support and encourage,
sing my name to the masses.
(Too bad when I'm famous,
I'll forget their sad asses).

Without you, Blogspot,
I'd have none of these,
So thank you for giving me just what I need."

Thanks to all my blogging friends who encourage me daily through advice, wisdom, laughter and freakishly private personal information. I know I'm supposed to post seven things about myself--forward the same award on to a few other friends--cut off a lock of my hair and send it to an inmate--but I've never been one to follow the rules. You wouldn't love me if I started now, would you?!

The well runneth dry...

In the last 24 hours I have been lucky enough to receive two AWESOME awards from two equally AWESOME writers.

I intend to reply as instructed (i.e., send a dishtowel to the person on the bottom of the list and I add my name to the top of the list--before Christmas' arrival I will have received 1,042 dishtowels or something like that) but today, my creative well seems to be running dry.

As an appetizer to my bound-to-be-super-cool-main-course-blog-of-thanks next week, I thought I'd do something to acknowledge just how much I appreciate all my blogging buddies.

Considering my mother said she would disown me if I ever put a picture of one of my children on the Internet (because all 142 of my Facebook friends ARE, in fact, registered sex offenders) the very idea that I'm including a picture of me, ACTUAL ME, on this blog is pretty impressive. (My husband is in the picture, too. He's a complimentary accessory to the Rookie Riter package). But, here it is anyway.


THANK YOU, BLOGGING BUDDIES FOR YOUR FRIENDSHIP, ENCOURAGEMENT and MY AWESOME AWARDS!

xoxo
Bethany

GO AWAY, BIG GREEN MONSTER!

I've never been one to worry much about peoples' opinions of me. (There is significant photographic evidence of this, I assure you) But as easy as it's been for me to roll my eyes, flip a bird, or simply ignore the naysayers in my life, there is one I just can't shake.

It's this guy:

We've practically worn out the pages to this book at my house (Bravo! Ed Emberley--it's genius in its simplest form), but until last night it never occurred to me that THIS was the guy in my head. The guy who has been causing me so much grief.

You see, this Big GREEN Monster may appear sweet to the casual observer, with his face made of simple shapes that appears less and less threatening with each turn of the page, but to the Rookie Riter...this dude spells TROUBLE.

Most recently this evil-eyed freak has been polluting my mind with doozies like these:

"YOU'RE NOT LEGIT UNTIL YOU GET PUBLISHED!"

"NOONE IS GOING TO TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY!"

"THIS BOOK ISN'T CRAP. IT'S TWENTY DEGREES WORSE THAN CRAP!"

"THEY'RE JUST BEING NICE BECAUSE THEY'RE YOUR FRIENDS AND YOU GIVE THEM BEER. THEY ACTUALLY THINK IT SUCKS, TOO!"

And, last night he actually came up with this number:

"KINDERGARTENERS WRITE BETTER THAN YOU!" (This one was particularly painful because I've had a kindergartener...Ouch!)

So I beg this question of my underpaid fan club: How do you get YOUR Big GREEN Monster to shut up?!

Right where I left off...

Recently I've been inspired by some of my blogging buddies' playful posts. (Blogging buddies...that sounds sort of dirty) While I find it beyond encouraging to learn of other author's harrowing journeys to publication, or discover where the latest, eager agent is hiding out, I also find that wacky, nonsensical posts are a much needed distraction to this emotionally draining process.

That said, my creative cohorts, I'd like to challenge you to a little game. I'm going to start a story, then you're going to pick up right where I left off. Second blog responder will pick up where the first responder left off and so on...

So, lock the kids in the basement, tell your boss you're on a conference call, order pizza instead of making dinner. Whatever it takes to get your silly juices flowing, DO IT, because the game starts...NOW!

"2:52 a.m.... just like clockwork," Roger mumbled, refilling the Starbuck's mug Joyce had given him for Christmas. He'd never seen anything like it before. When it happened the second time he thought it was just a fluke, but it had been five nights in a row now. This chick was up to something.

He added a generous helping of sugar to his house blend before returning to his secured location behind the living room curtains. This was a show he did not want to miss.

BUT I LIKE IT HERE!

I like my comfort zone. A LOT.

It's a safe, cozy place where each morning begins with a steaming bowl of Quaker Weight Control maple & brown sugar instant oatmeal (add sliced strawberries and a fistful of black or blueberries for good measure) topped off with a lightly-freckled banana to be eaten in hand-torn pieces, not ripped into like a caveman with a drumstick, and a glass of Cranberry/Blueberry Ocean Spray 100% juice on the side.

What my comfort zone is NOT, is a dormitory for a discontented seventeen-year-old angel trying to earn her wings.

And THAT, my blogging friends, is the problem. My current WIP is so far out of my comfort zone I can actually feel my pulse quicken the very moment I sit down at the computer. Don't get me wrong--I'm wickedly excited about this story, but how on earth do you venture from the safety of your contemporary comfort zone into the scary world of make believe?
I decided to ask a few of my favorite TV personalities how they would adapt to such a predicament. Here's what they had to say:


MONICA GELLER:

"Adapt? Pffffff. Well, that's a stupid question. Adapt? Adapt to what? I'm flexible. I don't need to adapt to anything. In fact...I'm so adaptable I'm down right breezy! All the time. Adapt. Adapt. That's me! No comfort zones here. I'm open to the world, baby! I'm...hang on...Dammit, Rachel! The dish towels won't fold themselves into 3x3" squares. God, woman were you raised by wolves?! I'm sorry...where were we?"


SHELDON COOPER: "That's doctor Sheldon Cooper, and your question is riddled with so many external variants, there's no way to hypothesize how one might respond. For example, if I were to ask you if in 1943 one Oswald Avery would have had the intellectual wherewithal to determine that destruction of deoxyribonucleic acid would hinder transformation of the virtulent pneumonia without the precursory work of the great Frederick Griffith...well, I think you can see where this is heading.



MARLEY & LINDSAY

Marley: "Why would you ask that?

Lindsay: "Yeah, why would you ask that? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Marley: "Did someone say I wasn't adaptable? Someone did. Who said it? Was it Christine?"

Lindsay: "I bet it was. It was Christine. I'll rip her head off and shove it in my bag."

Marley: "That's a cute bag."

Lindsay: "Thank you. The nanny picked it up."

Marley: "Cinco finger discount?"

Lindsay: "Shut up." (uncomfortable silence). "Yeah. She found a little Coach shop in Tijuana. Me gusta Lupe!"

Marley: "I'm sorry Rookie Riter, you asked me something but I was so distracted by your hideous sweater that I forgot what it was."

Lindsay: "Yeah. Your sweater is ugly."

Marley: "You have that sweater."

DRAT! It looks like the Rookie Riter still needs advice. Got any???