NaNo Fail

Good Morning!


I'm coming at you live from my cluttered desk, armed with Earl Grey tea and a brand new blog layout! Woohoo!

I'm just going to say this now, to get it out in the open and off my chest.


I quit NaNo.

It was partially because I feel like I kind of suck at writing MG, which is sad, but mostly because I AM SO BUSY.

I have to have Second Hand Lace in to my editor by the end of next week --  no problem. It needs more of a buffing than a polish.

And then there is Washed Up....

I just feel like it's never done.

Each time I make even the tiniest revision, I'm convinced it's the best it can possibly be.

Then I dream a new scene, or want to tweak some dialogue.

UGH.

I'm putting it in a box and not looking at it again until December....



Yeah right.


So just for shits and giggles, here is the first chapter of my MG adventure.



Chapter One

Everyone knows that secret agents don’t have to go to school. Well, not normal school anyways. Instead of spending half an hour reading, they get to practice their target shooting or assemble grappling hooks. I bet James Bond never had to worry about reading comprehension.

Well James Bond could probably read, I think as I stare at the space above my book. It’s not like I can’t read, I can, but only when the words are small, simple, and not upside down and backward.

“Alright class, guess what we get to do?” Miss. Pettiberg, my engligh teacher, says from the front of the room.

Twenty or so groans fill the air, mine being the loudest.

“Oh, give me a break.” Miss. Pettiberg says as she walks down the rows of desks, handing out single sheets of bright white paper. “There are only five questions.”

If there’s one thing I hate more than reading, it’s writing a pop quiz on what I was supposed to have learned from reading.

1. Weher did Leo mtee Juliet?

Easy peasy. I let the tiniest, hopeful smile cross my face. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

2. Wyh 0d L3o’s parents disapprove of Juliet?

I squint, trying to will the letters to arrange themselves, as sweat begins to prickle my forehead. The questions are starting to look like they've been written in alien code. I let out a long, deep breath, and move onto the next question.

3. Woh deos eLo cnvoice sih parents ot eemt uJielt?

My heart starts to gallop as the room begins to swirl. I read the question again while a sour taste fills my mouth. I swallow five times, my mouth now turning to chalk as dread, or at least what I think dread feels like, settles on my bony shoulders. I look at the clock, then back at my paper, and sigh again.

“Are you alright?” Miss. Pettiberg asks, her head tilting as she peers at me.

“Yup, I just need a different pencil,” I say, ducking down and tugging on the zipper of my backpack.
I push a sweater around and lift up my lunch, a tuna on rye from a gourmet bakery with a bottled frapaccino, and wrinkle my nose. Mom clearly forgot it was her turn to grocery shop yesterday, and the fact that I’m twelve, not thirty. I’m going to program her stupid blackberry to remind her I like mountain dew, not coffee.

I’m just about to give up my pretend search when I hear a subtle clack and look up to see Miss. Pettiberg walking back to her desk, a freshly sharpened pencil lying on my desk.

I go back to rereading the second question, and after ten minutes, I finally understand enough of it to answer. By then, the rest of the class is shuffling and tapping their pencils. They’ve already finished the quiz.

Suddenly, the shrill bell sounds off and everyone leave in a stampede, dropping off their pages as they go. I jump up, grab my bag, and stuff my half-blank sheet under the growing pile.

I push my way through the crowds and walk right by my locker—I’m in no mood for homework. Once I’m outside, the sweat dries up and the sour taste goes away.

I’m free.

I walk along the edge of the parking lot and duck through the opening in the fence that separates the school and the woods.

“Alex!” I hear from behind me. I turn around and see my best friend, Colin, struggle to push his way through the gap. Mom says he eats too many complex carbs—whatever that means. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Sorry, I had to get out of there. I just failed another one of Miss. Pettiberg’s pop quizzes.” I start walking once Colin catches up.

“That one was tough,” Colin says, swinging his backpack around so it’s resting on his chest. He unzips it and rifles around until he comes up with a baggy of broken cookies. “Want one?”

“Sure,” I say, my stomach growling from skipping out on my fancy lunch. “Hey, if you knew we had a test, why didn’t you tell me? I would have made myself barf or something.”

“I had a dentist appointment at lunch, remember?” Colin says, grinning so I can see the bright blue elastics dotting the steel tracks of his braces. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, it doesn’t really matter if I took it today, or tomorrow, I still would have failed.” We turn left at the forked trail and I can see the clearing in the distance.

“Do you want to come over? Jack forgot to return the newest piranha movie. Mom says I can’t watch it because it has boobs in it, but she’s still at work.” Colin waggles his eyebrows.

“I can’t, it’s family dinner night.” I roll my eyes.

“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” Colin says as we come up to his back fence. “See ya.”

“See ya,” I echo. I walk keep walking through the clearing until my back fence comes into view. Dad paid the big bucks so we could back onto the clearing, with no other houses behind us. Mom says it’s all about the view, even though the only thing you can see is Mr. Douglas’ poodle take a dump in the same spot every morning, and a few straggly trees. Some view.

As usual, the back gate is locked, which leaves me two options.

A)Step back seven feet, run at half speed, push off our bronze sun statue with my left foot, catch the stone angel with my right, all while flinging my backpack over my head. I will land belly first onto the fence, then wiggle until my legs catch up before dropping down to the other side.

Or

B) Walk around to the front door.

James Bond would never simply walk. I back up the carefully tested seven feet, and launch myself at Mom’s fancy statues. I make it onto the fence and over, but the knee of my jeans does not.

Mom is going to kill me.

I pick any trace of fabric off the fence and let myself in the back door. A note on the fridge tells me they’ll be late, but one of them will bring home take out. I open the fridge and find it fully stocked and organized. They must have used the grocery service; Mom never remembers to buy chocolate milk. I take out the milk, three cheese strings, and a pudding cup before taking the haul to my room.
An hour, maybe two pass, before I hear the garage door open.

“Alex Theodore Vincent,” I hear Mom yell from the kitchen. “You have five seconds to get down here.”

Crap. She must have found traces of denim.

I think back about everything else bad I’ve done the past week, including spilling paint in the basement, and prepare myself to be royally chewed out. I jump down the stairs and slide into the kitchen before Mom can reach one on her count down.

“What now?” Dad says as he comes into the kitchen, his arms overflowing with brown paper bags.
Chinese again?

“Why don’t you ask your son how he did on his English test?” Mom stands in the middle of our huge kitchen with her hands on her hips.

“You failed another test?” Dad stops unpacking and stares at me.

“It’s not my fault, it’s the words….” I hang my head, blinking back the hot tears that are spearing the back of my eye balls.

“Yes, we know, it’s the words fault,” Dad says, turning around and slamming down containers of steaming food.

“You are officially failing English, and your history mark is not much better,” Mom says, her heels clicking the marble tile as she starts to pace.

“You need to do your homework, and study.” Dad starts to load up plates, not bothering to ask what anyone wants.

“He needs more help than studying can provide,” Mom says, coming to a halt in front of the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine. “Miss. Pettiberg has set him up with a tutor. You will meet with him every day after school, for an hour, until you are no longer failing.”

“What?” I roar, panic taking over. “I have to stay after school for a whole hour? Every day?”

“Yes, and you better pray that helps or you will be repeating grade 7,” Mom sloshes the wine into two glasses, uncharacteristically ignoring the drops on the counter. “Now, let’s have a nice family dinner.”

I eat in silence, not that anyone was trying to talk to me anymore, and listen to my parents discuss their jobs. Mom is treating a prisoner from a high profile case, she’s a shrink, and Dad is defending him. I have the world’s busiest parents. Tonight, I don’t mind that they don’t ask how the rest of my day was, or how I felt about failing my test, I’m just grateful they’re not grounding me. I finish eating, clear my dishes, and go back to my room.

I shut the door and jump onto my bed, hugging the bear I have to hide when Colin comes over. If I were a spy, I wouldn’t need to know how to read. I’d have a special pair of glasses that would just read everything to me. But, my shooting skills aren’t good enough to be an agent. Yet.

I roll over until I fall off the bed, leaving my bear on my pillow, and land on a cluster of bean bag chairs. If I have to stay after school every day, there’s no way I’m going to practice reading now. I grab my controller, flip on my system, and start my secret agent training.

Rejection

So if you're in the query trenches, like me, you know one thing....

It sucks.

I cannot wait for the day where I can burn all my query letters - after I frame/hug/kiss the version that landed me my agent.

Anyways - I started a new ritual, and so far it seems to be helping a little.

The other day I got rejection on a full. Wah wahh wahhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I was glum.

Then, half a day later, I get a new request for a full.

Woohoo! Party times! Yay!

THEN that same hour - rejection on a partial.

Lame sauce.

My I-just-got-a-full-request dance stopped, and I pouted. For the whole night. I even thought "Well eff this noise - I'm not going to be a writer. I'm going to be a dancer. Or a comedian. Or a pastry chef."'  Then once I realized how long it takes to actually become a pastry chef, not to mention the fact that I can't really bake, I started scratching down a new story idea.

Anyhoo - let's move along, shall we?   So. I'm lurking on the WriteOnCon panel of the pros and an agent somehow describes my manuscript PERFECTLY. She says, and this is a copy and pasted quote from the chat, that she wants "Something contemporary with romance, maybe a twist of magic or something paranormal, but not too over the top"

!!!!!!!!!!!

So naturally I send her my query letter, quoting her in the beginning, and BAM. Full request.

Happy dance ensues. *  I kind of do this thing where I put my hands behind my head like I'm relaxing, squish my face, and put one foot up on an elevated object....then I kind of do this pelvic thrusting thing and i say things like "oh yeah"  and  "you're the champ".   It just as unattractive as you are imagining. *

This time, I write a quick "you're so awesome" note to myself, and take a picture of my smiling face.

Yesterday I got a second pass on my full BUT I reread my awesome note, recalled my sweet dance, and looked at my excited picture.

I  do not feel like a failure.

I'm not glum.

I'm awesome.

So.....to summarize this blog post, I've included a meme of the dashing Neil Patrick Harris.

Sun, Contests, and Gordon

Hey girl heyyyyyyyy (or boy- boys read blogs too)


So summer, august in particular, is known to be kind of a slow time to be querying. But you know what it's an EXCELLENT time for?

Contests!!

So far I've participated in #XmasinJuly, which was incredible. I was on team Michelle and she critiqued my query (and made it way better) and my first pages. I even got a full request out of the deal!!

Right now i'm in MSFV First Line Grabber. I made it past the first round with around...60 yes' and 20 no's. So that was exciting! Next round is the first three sentences which I'm a tiny bit concerned about. I feel like it's a little wordy - so I guess we'll see :)

Hahaha * sidenote *  I'm watching Hell's Kitchen and instead of saying goodbye, he ALWAYS says Fuck Off. I love him.

I've also entered my first 450 words in the Aspiring Author contest. The winner gets $1000 based on votes accumulated for the top five. How sweet would that be *mexico writing retreat* Short list gets posted tomorrow so it's a nice, quick wait.

Last, but certainly not least, is the Defy the Dark contest held by HarperTeen and Figment.com. It's running until Sept. 1 so you still have time to get your entry in! All you have to do is write a short story between 2-4k that takes place in the dark. It's for a YA anthology with some of the biggest YA names out there, so obviously your entries have to be PG-13, but they can be any genre!

How fun!

Here is a link to mine if you want to check it out.

http://figment.com/books/406061-Slim

The only downside is once you hit "Publish" you can't fix any unnoticed grammar errors, so please check your work carefully and don't point out my glitches or it will drive me mad.

Anyways. I'm back to stalking agent's twitters and refreshing my e-mail.

peas.

B- to A++

Good Afternoon kittens...


So I've had an up and down week so far, and it's only Tuesday!

Last week ended on a high note since I MADE IT INTO #XMASINJULY !!!!!!!!

So that was an excellent way to start the weekend.

Then, on Sunday, i'm popping around the interweb when it hits me. Yesterday was MY day on Dear Authors First Page Saturday!!!

Sometimes the entries get a few hits, sometimes they don't.

I log on and there are 48 comments. Four. Eight.

I instantly get nauseous. My palms are sweaty. I'm dizzy.

I start to read them, so far so good. It seems most of the issues are whether Melia would call her doctor Rick, or if she'd eat candy in his office etc. A few quibbles about grammar. Nothing I can't handle.

Then there is a doozy. The words "extraordinarily vile" are used. I couldn't help myself. I laughed. I was shocked.

I know not everyone has to like it, I don't expect everyone too. I think the word vile just caught me off guard.

So I apologized, because I don't ever want anyone to think I'm making light of teen suicide...I've lost more than my fair share of friends that way.

A few more people say they like it because it's not paranormal, a few people don't like it because she's not a mermaid, it's all good.

Still, I wallow in self pity. How pathetic am I? It was one...freaking...page...

My husband took me out for eggs Benedict and tea...which made me feel better....we grocery shopped etc. then I came home to check it out again.

A few more comments about how they're confused whether they like it or not, I'm still a little wounded....so in order to clear up some confusion I post my query letter.

Then I turned ignored my e-mail and cleaned a bit, walked the dogs etc.

Monday rolls around and I'm just drinking some tea, checking my e-mail when BAM. E-mail from DA's Jane.

"Jenna, Did you notice the comment from Nephele Tempest?"

I did a victory lap of my living room. I jumped up and down. I twitter stalked.

Then I found her. My literary guardian angel.

Be still my beating heart.

(Susanna linked to my First Page post)

I've since thanked her, and will continue thanking her...well...forever.

Even if nothing comes of it, and even if I never find an agent, this woman has changed my life by doing something extraordinarily kind for a complete stranger.

I'm now off to figure out how to mail Susanna a box full of puppies, or kittens if she prefers, along with crates of wine, boxes of chocolates, and the freshest of roses.

xox

Too young for high blood pressure

As any querying author knows, contests are a GREAT way to get your query/material in front of agents.

We also know they are incredibly stressful. Like setting-your-alarm-at-5am-to-see-if-you-made-it-in-stressful. Overly-hyphenating-stressful.

But oh so fun.

And as hard as it is to wait to see if you made it in, imagine how hard it is to be choosing 10% of the entries. If i were in TB or England, I'd be delivering wine by the crate.

So far I've held off from begging/tweeting to choose my entry. I hope my work stands for itself, and if it doesn't, I know I have some tweaking to do.

In the mean time, I've been doing random things to keep myself occupied such as:

Drinking
Outlining new projects
Trying new teas
Editing a previous MS
Drinking more
Playing jet pack warrior
Spooning my dogs
Hassling my husband
BBQ-ing
Sleeping
READING THE DIVINERS
Drinking some more.

Anyhoo: Here is a funny little story from the other week.

A giant Oil show rolled through our city last month. Thousands of booths filled our big fair/hockey/rodeo grounds filled with big rigs, suits, and free stuff.

I knew a few people at one booth, so my co-workers and I went to visit. There was a cute guy all decked out in a suit, arranging some free material. He had air fresheners, handy iphone screen cleaners, and condoms. Yes. Condoms.

I took took a few cleaners, and an air freshener, and asked the gentleman about the condoms. 

I love making people laugh...or in this case...feel incredible awkward.

Jenna: I was just wondering if you had any condoms in larger sizes?

Suit: Uhhhh....I think condoms are a one size fits all...

Jenna: Oh, maybe for you....My husband requires something a little larger...

He stands there, mouth open, staring at me.

Suit: These are the only ones we have, I'm sorry.

He immediately turns red and walks away.

I was just trying to lighten the mood, and be funny. Every one else was laughing.

Turns out he is a very strict, formal Mormon man....

Just my luck.

I apologize profusely to his co-workers, who are giggling.....I then hang my head, grab a handful of condoms, and leave.

Seriously? The one freaking person in the entire oil show who wouldn't laugh at a condom joke, I manage to find. 

Anyways. Best of luck to all of you who are entered in #XmasInJuly

Michelle and Ruth, I'm so thankful for you ladies and your hard work. 

I'm excited to read your books!

peas out kittens.

Query Hell

If you are a writer, there are few things more daunting then a query letter/synopsis. They are so stinking hard to write it makes me want to pull out my hair. Which is ridiculous. I wrote the book, I should be able to summarize it in one page and make you wanna read it. Right....right??

Ugh.

So, I'm going to put it below...and you tell me if this makes you want to read it....then I'll tell you a funny story later about a condom and a very pleasant Mormon man.


Dear Dream Agent,

Seventeen-year-old Melia Dawson has been in and out of the Royal Alexander Center for Mental Health since she was six years olds. Convinced she can breathe underwater, Melia has spent the majority of her young life waiting to complete her transformation into a mermaid. What her parents think are multiple suicide attempts are actually Melia’s way of trying to begin her life, not end it. When her most recent stunt at the local pool lands her back in the Center, she meets fellow patient Kass Mercer. To Melia, It seems like the stars have finally aligned; not only does Kass believe that she can breathe underwater, Kass thinks he can fly.  Somewhere between broken curfews and lame horror movies, Kass and Melia fall in love. Together they explore the boundaries of their supernatural abilities through skydiving lessons and late night swims, all while appeasing their therapist, Rick.

When a fellow patient dies unexpectedly, Melia begins to question whether she and Kass are special, or just sick.  Worried for her safety, Rick sends her on a surprise trip to the ocean, where she can finally complete her transformation. When the experiment doesn’t go as planned, Melia sinks into depression, dragging Kass down with her. Together they teeter between reality and delusion as they struggle to accept themselves for who they truly are, before one of them pushes their limits too far.

Washed Up is a contemporary young adult novel, complete at 57,000 words.
My name is Jenna Lehne and I live in Calgary, Alberta with my husband and 2.5 dogs. My debut novel, Second Hand Lace, is due for release April of 2013 by Turquoise Morning Press.

Thank you for your time,

Jenna etc.



Well there it is folks.....I'm off to find a patio and a slushy drink.

I'll be back.

Passion Party

So. I have been thinking a lot about what I want this blog to be about....I read a lot of writers blogs, and they have writing tips, book reviews, etc...but I just don't feel like that's what I wanna do. So I'm going to try something different.

 Hilarious and or Embarrassing stuff always happens to me, and it's often inappropriate. Like, I can tell you in real life, but I don't need my 500+ fbook friends, and twitter followers to read it. Because people judge. It's true. So I figured my secrets are safe with you, my nine blog followers. So. Here we go.

I had a Passion Party the other day. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a sex toy party. Nothing to crazy, just a few aesthetically pleasing dildos, a few bullets, lots of creams for various, uh, parts....and even some things for the fellas.

Anyways, I made some funny treats, and bought a tonne of wine.

Anyways, the party was great fun. People ate, drank, and shopped to their hearts content. Once everyone was gone I took the remaining wine and went down stairs. I saw two televisions ( we only have one) and promptly passed out.

So a few days pass, and my order comes in! Woohoo! I ordered some Pleasure Pearls, which aren't actually that pleasurable, especially if you have a lot of stairs to climb, some G-Spot Cream, and a lovely, bright pink vibrating dildo, complete with a butterfly stimulator. So. I took everything out of it's packages and gave them a nice thorough cleaning. Then they sat on my night stand, taunting me. The pink one scared me. It was a lot girthier then my wine hazed brain remembered. I decide to just relax, maybe watch a movie or something, and let my mind warm up to the idea. I open my side door so my dogs can have free reign, and pop some corn.

Around half an hour later, I hear a thump. I run upstairs and find nothing tipped over or broken, so I return to my movie. Another twenty minutes or so pass, and the dogs are silent. If you have dogs, you know this is not a good sign. I pop my head outside and find them playing with their toys. All good.

I decide to change into some shorts, so I go upstairs. Something isn't right. Something is missing. The bag of sex toys is gone. I look under my bed, I look on my bed. I look in the dog kennels, I look in the living room. I look everywhere.

Then I hear it. The faint tinkling of childrens laughter. I go outside. Boys are jumping on their trampoline, kids are playing next door while their parents BBQ. My dog is in the middle of the yard, fully exposed, gnawing on my pink, girthy, flutterfly. My other dog has successfully chewed the cap off the G Spot cream. The pleasure pearls fun oyster case is destroyed, the pearls scattered.

I turn fifty shades of red ( ha ha) and scamper about the yard picking things up. I then lock up the dogs and hide in my basement. I'm still in here. If anyone can drop off some food, it'd be appreciated.

FML.

Camp NaNoWriMo

Hey Team!

I've been busy! Busy at being the worst blogger ever...clearly...I haven't posted in like..a month.

So. here it goes.

I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo - for those who don't know, it's a sadistic ritual writers put themselves through, which requires them to write a freaking novel in thirty days. It's hard. But. it will be worth it. I decided to work on my untitled Mermaid story - my last post had the first chapter in it if you're interested.

Here are the problems I'm having with it so far:

I cannot write at home. It's THE most painful thing in the world. I have dogs. I have a husband. I have TV. Wine. Bath tub. Friends. All sorts of distractions. I have to write at work whenever I find the motivation/time

I am just over 20 000 words in ( I clearly did not write all that in four days, the first chunk took a couple weeks) and don't have an outline. Enough said.

My characters won't stop making out. It's like...every time they're alone, they're trying to hook up. Controlling them is harder then you think.

I'm struggling with whether or not my characters should have sex. I hear it limits your audience...but it seems like a natural step. AND they're almost eighteen. People have sex before they're eighteen all the time, right?

I'm constantly getting new ideas for new books. It's maddening. I've been tempted to start new projects twice already and it's only the fourth day. I need the voices in my head to move out for a bit.

So that's where I'm having issues....what about you?

#AmWriting

I am having THE hardest time deciding which WIP to commit too. So....I'm just going to post the first page or two and hope someone tells me one is better than the other. ugh. writing is hard sometimes. One is Adult Horror, other is YA Contemporary.

NO TITLE


          My parents first had me committed when I was six years old. They found me in our pool, floating above the tiled bottom, with the pockets of my sundress filled with rocks. The second time, I was eleven and I jumped off the lower deck of the cruise ship we were holidaying on. My older brother tattled on me, even though he promised he wouldn’t. Now I am seventeen, and have just been dropped off at the Royal Alexander Centre for Mental Health for the third time in my short life. The process is the same; my mom hugs me, all tear stained and snotty, my brother stares at me, his eyes brimming with tears as he rings his ball cap, and my dad stays in the car. My doctor, an attractive man in his mid forties, Rick, takes me to his office while an orderly puts my bags in a room, after thoroughly searching them.
“Sit” Rick orders as he points to a well-worn leather sofa. I obey, popping my sandal-clad feet on the coffee table and unwrap a candy from an old fashion jar. I take a deep breath, enjoying the familiar scent of the old books he stocks his shelves with, but doesn’t read. “I saw you last month; you were fine. What happened?”
“I just need to be in the water,” I murmur as I stare longingly at his aquarium. If I were a fish none of this would be an issue.
“I know you need to be in the water,” Rick says as he reaches for a sucker. “But you also need to breathe.”
“I don’t,” I protest, feeling a sense of familiarity as we slip into a conversation we’ve already had. “I was only down there for six minutes; I would have come up if I had known they were there.”
“You were in a public pool” Rick replies, clearly exasperated. “The lifeguards found you, floating face down in the deep end. Mothers wailed, kids screamed, people thought you were dead.”
“I was just trying to catch my breath” I say quietly as I rip the candy wrapper into confetti.
“You fought against the lifeguards when they tried to pull you out” Rick states. “You kept diving back into the water, and swimming to the bottom. It took three of them to restrain you until your parents got there.”
I sit in silence, remembering the bliss of being underwater. The calm, blue serenity of the pool was too much to ignore. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be around water unsupervised, but I just couldn’t help it. I had meant to come up before the morning swim class got there, but I lost track of time. I may have overreacted with the lifeguards, they were just trying to help, but they took me out too soon. People don’t understand that I need to be in the water. Rick and my family have classified my need as a number of different things ranging from deliberate self harm to schizophrenia. I’ve tried to tell them the truth, but it makes my mom cry more and my dad mad. My brother used to believe me, but not anymore; he’s all grown up now.
“You don’t appear to have suffered any physical damage though.” Rick says thoughtfully as he scans over his notes. “I think keeping you here for the night will be good enough. I’ll call your parents.”
Taking that as a leave of dismissal, I get up off the couch and wander towards the common area. I’m in the youth wing, which is co-ed, but usually pretty empty. Most kids that have real problems are brought to the bigger hospital up state. They have craft days, music therapy, all of that shit. Today I’m pleasantly surprised to see Marissa. She’s my age, but so beautiful she makes me want to throw up. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ugly. Self loathing is something I do not suffer from. I’m tall and lanky, with just enough boobs to fill a b-cup but no ass. I have white blonde hair and pale grey eyes, and a surprisingly pale complexion for how long I spend outside. Marissa is also tall, but she’s gracefully thin, like a willow tree. She has long, thick dark hair and oval shaped green eyes. She has beautiful bronze skin, small enough boobs to go braless, and an ass you could bounce quarters off of. Her only flaws are the hundreds of tiny, perfectly straight cuts that mark the inside of her thighs and wrists. If you ask me, they just make her all the more beautiful; beauty is flawed, perfection is a lie. Today she is wearing a pale yellow sundress that makes her skin look like honey, with fresh bandages on her wrists.


CAPTURED


          Gabriel Johnson never thought days like the one he was having actually existed. He thought they were merely Hollywood clichés drummed up by directors to make the audience feel compassion for the unlucky S.O.B. Unfortunately for Gabe this was his life, not a movie set. It had started off in a typical fashion; he lost his job.
“Well Gabe” His overweight, greasy mustached boss said as soon as Gabe got to work. “The good news is that we love you; the bad news it that we don’t love your numbers. That new kid, Jerry, bypassed your monthly sales quota in a week. We are going to have to let you go.”
Gabriel murmured that he understood, packed up his desk, and left the car lot he had worked at for ten years. On the drive home he spilled his coffee on his lap and was quite certain he got a photo radar ticket. He then walked through the door of his suburban home and found a note from his wife on the counter.

       I've gone to stay with Angeline for a few weeks. I think we need some time apart to evaluate our relationship.
Molly


Underneath the note was a letter from their lawyer stating that today marked the first day of their trial separation.
Gabriel kicked off his shoes and went to the refrigerator, tossing the note into the recycling bin as he walked by. He collapsed in his leather recliner, a present from his wife, and whistled for his dog. Failing to hear the thumping of paws, he opened a beer and drained half of it in one swallow.
“Of course she would take my dog.” Gabriel said to the empty room. “One can only hope she took that damned cat too.”
Hearing that someone was home, their big grey cat, Simon, sauntered into the room.
“Great” Gabriel said sarcastically as he finished the rest of his beer.
        Molly leaving him wasn’t as much of a shock as losing his job was. They had been having problems. They had tried unsuccessfully for the past two years to have a baby, and despite countless checkups and counts, she was positive he was the problem. Their once exciting sex life had dwindled into a boring routine that only happened when Molly was ovulating. She spent her days flipping through books and researching the best positions to conceive in. She begged for IVF but with her not working and the miserable economy it was out of the question. His job on the other hand was going great, or at least he thought it was. Sure his numbers weren’t as great as they used to be but no ones were. If that little prick Jerry, with his bronze skin and fake teeth, hadn’t showed up everything would have been fine. Now, at 32 years old, he was going to have to dust off his rarely used résumé and pound the pavement.
        Gabriel stood up and made his way to the office, grabbing another beer as he went. He booted up his computer and found a photo of him and his wife smiling on his desk top. Suddenly Gabriel felt a wave of emotion overcome him and he started to cry.
        The next few passed by in an alcohol induced blur and Gabriel woke up Thursday morning to numerous piles of vomit and his cat meowing loudly. Gabriel stood up, wiped his face with the bottom of his filthy t-shirt, and stumbled into the kitchen in search of cat food. He dumped some into a bowl and placed it on the counter next to an obscene amount of empty bottles.
        Gabriel either didn’t notice or didn’t care that the phone was ringing but froze the moment the answering service kicked on.
       “Gabe” Molly said over the recording “We need to talk. I’m coming over today, if traffic isn’t a bitch I’ll be there in two hours.”
       “Damn it” Gabriel moaned as he surveyed the damage he had caused. Aside from the vomit, there were bottles strewed all throughout the kitchen and living room, cat shit in the corners, and at least 4 oddly colored stains on their light beige carpet. The TV was blaring trashy made for TV porn and he had missed thirteen calls to his cell.



So that's all folks......opinions would be greatly appreciated :)

One Month, One Day

I cannot believe it's been one month since my Father in Law passed away.
It went buy incredibly fast.
We are doing good, for the most part, but still have hard mornings / afternoons/ nights/ anytimes of day.
I miss him.

Anyways...what have I been doing this past month....I've been working like a mamajamma on my WIP, I had a couple 3k days, those always help.

I've also been ensnared, like millions of others, by the Fifty Shades series. They are the ultimate guilty obsession. I love them. I rave about them to everyone. Even my husband is interested lol. If you haven't read them - do it now!

In between my smutty erotica I'm also reading The Thirteen by Susie Moloney. She will be my first ever book review! I'm reading slowly, taking lots of notes, so hopefully I can do it justice. So far, so good.

Another guilty obsession I have is the Scandalous Scandals on Cuddlebuggery's blog. Seriously. They highlight that weeks drama - it's great! I highly suggest checking it out. cuddlebuggery.com

It has been unseasonably warm for Calgary, it was +27 yesterday. So naturally I took the day off, baked in the sun sipping Iced Tea, and read. It was divine.  Today I'm paying for it though, I have  sun burn and my back is sore from lounging all day. Life's tough.

In other news - i'm knee deep in the midst of a pregnancy scare. I don't want to tell anyone because I'm 99% sure I'm not. I just needed to tell someone - my ever so few blog readers being that someone :) Damn my body and it's irritating ways of handling stress. Ugh.

Release Week

So April 14th, 2013 should be marked on all of your calenders...why you ask? It's Second Hand Lace release week! Within that week you'll be able to order from a variety of online bookstores, and on your kindle, kobo etc. Woohoo!!

Now that the excitement is easing off the work begins..Line edits..grammar patrol..all sorts of goodies. I've spent most of the day fixing my unknowingly awful formatting and eating cupcakes. Yum.

My FIL is doing a little better though they have him on a breathing tube for precautions sake. It is scary but it's for the best I'm sure.

 I'm trying to think of ways to make my blog more interesting...perhaps book/movie reviews....jokes of the day...umn...hot dudes of the day? maybe ladies for any fellas out there? Alright..lets give one or two of these ago...

Daily Joke:

What's invisible and smells like carrots?

A bunny fart.



Movie Review: Hobo with a Shot Gun.

Do.Not.Watch.It


Alright. Well that was fun. I have a sick husband at home, and as you know, the man cold is far worse than any type of sickness a lady could have..so...I better scurry home and tend to him.

Have a good day!!!

It's Official!

Good Morning Kittens!

It's a great day to be alive, isn't it? So. I got to do an incredibly grown up thing the other day..I got to sign my first ever publishing contract !!! My debut (that word called for something fancy dancy) novel, Second Hand Lace, is being published by Turquoise Morning Press ! They have tons of good books if your kindle needs a boost, or if you're old school like me, you need a new paperback!  My book will come out in the Spring of 2013, pending I don't make any colossal eff ups. I got to fill out all this fun stuff about what I thought the cover should look like, and who I'd dedicate it too..and all that jazz. Too.Much.Fun.

In other news, I did a guest blog on rantingsofawinehag.blogspot.com. I love her blog. It makes me chortle. Loudly.

If you're into praying, or sending good thoughts, send some over to my Father in law ! He just had surgery which has rendered him cancer free ! Thank you Lord.!!

Other things I'd like to thank God for today are:

Gum Balls

People who put their hazards on to say "Thank You" when you let them in a lane

Tim Hortons ( not roll up the rim though!)

Toms

Memory Foam

Dogs


Any who. I finally got a cool idea for my new book...which I could use a couple readers for....so I shall be furiously scribbling into my notebook anytime the kids I'm babysitting for tonight are not screaming or hitting each other.

Have the best weekend ever!

xx

Sick rhymes with Ick.

I am sick. and I freaking hate it. I'm pretty sure Lady of the Wine's sister in law', guest blogger, and my very dear friend Courtney's, kid gave it to me. Thanks Paige, you little jerk. Just kidding. I love her, but she did have her sickly teeny baby hands in my mouth for a good 5 minutes. After being on an airplane. I feel nauseous. But seriously. I effing hate being sick. My whole body hurts and I turn into a sweaty puddle of self loathing girl goo. I also cry easily. Like super easily. My husband takes full advantage and can reduce me to tears with a series of pokes. My dogs can also sense my weakness. Just last night Indi, my 50 ish lb boxer, stood on my chest and unleashed one million kisses, and about a liter of drool, onto my face. Not cool Dog, not cool. It also makes me completely useless. I have missed three days of work the past 8 working days, and haven't written a stitch. Not my fault though. The characters in my WIP have stopped whispering to me so I've moved onto my other one. A delightful tale of a girl who finds Mr. Right when she's about to marry the other Mr. Right. A far cry from my previous baby, a ghost story, but this one will steam up the windows. Yes that's right. It's going to have sex in it. Good sex. Completely unrealistic, doens't-actually-occur-outside-of-hollywood. vase breaking sex. My only issue is every time I start writing the sexy time I imagine my Mother, Mother in Law, and grandmothers sipping tea, reading it together. Instant buzz kill. Obviously. I now resort to writing my sex scenes slightly drunk while vampire diaries plays on repeat. Ian Somerhalder..or however you spell his last name...is disgustingly attractive. He's on my list of people I can bone whilst still married. Matts list contains Kathy Bates, Rosie O'Donnel, Rosanne, and Rihanna.
Any who. I  have to work now. If you're in the Greater Calgary Area come on in for a spray tan :)

Roll Up the Rim

Well it's that time of year...Roll up the Rim..!

That contest where NO ONE actually wins anything.

Seriously. I have never even heard of anyone winning anything more than a coffee

I am sipping my 5th tea, and have won two coffees. No flat screen, no camping gear, no car.

I've caught onto your lies Tim Hortons..

In other news my husband left me with this little gem as I was getting into the shower...naked...obviously...

"Justin Timberlake said real men like big booty-ed bitches"

I think I'll let that one roll around the old think tank before I respond..

Waiting

I hate waiting. With a passion.

I have refreshed my e-mail about...342 times.

I'm waiting to hear back from agents.

Waiting for questions about my contract to be answered.

Just. Effing.Waiting.

I have doodled the word "Fuck" on my notepad seventy three times.

I think I need a drink.

Dedication

I find that the older I get, the harder it is to become truly dedicated to something. 


I have attempted to diet many a time, and failed. I partially blame my husband - every time I tell him I'm dieting he goes on a love rant about how beautiful I am. I really do love that man.


Writing is another thing. I know I should write. I'm not suffering from any sort of writers block..i'm just...what's that word. ah yes. lazy.


Cleaning my house is another. But whatever. I will never be a dedicated house wife. Thank God matt is tidy.


You know who is the definition of dedicated though? Jordan, this little girl I used to babysit. Actually. Kids in general are dedicated to all sorts of activities. The example I'm thinking of brings a smile to my face every time my mind stumbles on it.


I was doing a week long stint of before/after school care for Jordan and her little brother. We were running behind, as usual, and I was hollering up the stairs for her to get her skinny behind into the car. She flew down the stairs, and before I could stop her, ran into the kitchen. I snuck around the corner to try and catch her sneaking more cookies, but to my surprise she was elbow deep in a bag of spinach. She quickly jammed a couple of handfuls into her backpack and put the spinach away. 


When we were in the car she started playing with her plastic horses. I told her I had seen her putting spinach in her backpack, and asked her why she did it. She looked me right in the eye, held up the plastic horse, and said " They need to eat Jenna, duh" I could not argue.


Now that is dedication to a pet, plastic or real. I told her parents when they got home and they howled with laughter. For the past two weeks her backpack and sweaters had smelled funky but they couldn't figure out why. She had tons of wilted spinach, and lettuce, at the bottom of her bag. 


ha ha ha ha. jeez..kids...one day i may have them...or just let my friends keep popping them out.


any who. that's about it for me.


peas.

Why?

So i..damnit..So I have never really been into keeping a journal or anything. Not since I was nine and Gary W burned me by choosing Amy M over me instead. Not cool man, not cool. But I have recently been asked about my "web presence" and felt my presence was inadequate. Yes - I have a Facebook page. Who doesn't? I've recently begun to tweet. It's quite addicting. My pal Jolene, rantingsofawinehag.blogspot.com , recently started blogging and hers is too funny. I thought to myself, Hey Girl. You're kind of funny too. You should blog. So here I am.


Another reason is I wrote a book. It's called Second Hand Lace. It's a ghost story that rotates between 4 points of view and jumps between to points in time. It sounds confusing, but it really isn't. You can read it if you want. That very book recently got an offer of publication !!! Since I am brand new at this, and no one knows who I am, come Spring 2013 I am going to have to pimp my book to everyone Tom, Dick , and Harry in the world. I figured a good way to start this was blog tours. But in order to do a blog tour you...kind of need a blog. 


Anyways. That's why I'm here. Typing on my finger print smudged Mac, perched on my couch, watching the February snow fall. 

Ello !!

Hello Kittens !!

How do I change the font on this thing...


Ah. Here we go. Easy reading, i'm-a-good-time-in-a-font Courier. Good. Now we can start.


Ola !


I'm Jenna. Jenna Lambiris. Formerly Lehne. I have a handsome husband, his name is Matt. I have two wonderful fur babies, Indi and Elli. I have a Mom and a Dad. I have a big family. Dustin, Levi, Carlee, Angel, and Mack - my brother in law. I read lots, watch TV and movies made for teenagers, and I write. I love travelling and food. I despise mushrooms and the dark. So....that's it. Now you know me. Who are you?