Well, I think I'm in need of a do-over. No agent anymore... Not necessarily a long story, but not much fun to tell. So, I've created a new journal at http://kelseycan.livejournal.com/ If you care to friend me, I'd be happy to hug you. :-)

From Emma's story, SCORNED, page 56. Been posted before, I think... But it's different now. Better, I hope.


There’s a laugh outside the stall door. ‘Mike’ is closer than I thought. Steve appreciates his audience; his smile is full of smug achievement.

Wait… What had he said before? ‘Send that note’?

Shoulders slump, eyes half close, head tilts down… I’m trapped; I’m trapped; I’m trapped.

Steve's hand is hot yet soft against my face, brushing back my messed hair, but it's not relaxed. The violence won't wait for long.

“Don’t worry.” His voice is sick with reassurance. “He’ll make sure no one comes in. See, this is all about you knowing one thing—you will pay for what your mom’s done.”

His voice becomes stronger now, angry again, but he checks it. "She had no business coming here." Doesn’t let it get too loud. Loud voices echo in bathrooms. “That job was meant for my dad and she knew it.”

His eyes have that crazy thing going on, like they’re amped with a thousand volts—not made any prettier by the swelling, the shot veins, or by his bruise’s purples, reds, and browns. But there’s more… Like he's pleading for me to believe him. Like he wants me to agree that I deserve his rage. Then his eyes go dead and as cold as his voice.

“She’s nothing,” he states. “Nothing. My dad should be in that office right now—not some clam loving freak!” The last word rings. He quiets a bit.

“You see this black eye? Do you?” He slams my head against the wall. My involuntary wince is his only reward. But it’s not enough for Steve.

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Just a female character.

You think, "Age 15."

Add hair color, etc.

Add a name, too.

And now she's dressed a certain way.

Why?

Because it fits her personality, of course.

But what is her personality?

She like heights... Being with friends... Poetry... Can't stand the sight of blood... She's strong-willed and has leader potential, but... She doesn't lead. The women in her life are meaningful. The men in her life? Disappointing. She remains unbalanced (as many teens are), but there is hope for emotional growth and that ever eluding equilibrium.

That's what you know.

And you know she's a... What? Spitfire? Maybe, but she's not snarky.

And now she's talking.

And only you can hear her.

And at that same time, your fingers tingle.

Why?

Because you know you can share her words.

If you write them down.

A paragraph.

A page.

A chapter.

She's all right there.

A female 'character' no more.

She's something else now...

She's real.

All because of you.

You.

You spun her and wove her and spelled her.

Look at you....

Magic Maker.
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I love love! Le sigh!

This is tres romantic!
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And for the rest of us... Hee, hee!
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If you have 13 letters in your name, you will have the devil's luck. (Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Theodore Bundy, and Albert De Salvo all have 13 letters in their names.)

Okay. So I don't have a clue who Albert De Salvo is, but he can't be a very nice guy if he's hangin' out in a clique like that.

And guess what... You might as well add 'Kelsey Johnson' to that not-so-lucky list. Great. Just great. This explains a lot.

But then I got married! And I added 'Defatte'!

Okay... So yeah... I mean, the pre-trial's set for the upcoming divorce--which some might consider bad luck--but I ain't changin' it back! So there. Bad luck gone.

How many letters are in YOUR name?
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Wait. Back it up... Why is Friday the 13th unlucky? I mean, besides the 13 letters thing....

I mean, if the number 13 itself is unlucky, wouldn't any 13th day of the month be bad luck? Why Friday?

Unless... I mean, if you think about it... (And I clearly have....)

Fry Day.

And any day which announces itself as the DAY to FRY is, in and of itself, bad luck.

And let me tell you, by the end of the week, I really am quite fried. So, that explains that.

But why is 13 unlucky? I mean, it's a baker's dozen, right? And a little extra something from a baker has got to be 'lucky', right?

And, if you get an extra 'fried' donut....

See? No bad luck at all!

So....

HAPPY FRY DAY THE BAKER'S DOZEN!!!!!!

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I love love. I do.

I love the shades of red and pink...
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I mean, come on! Valentine's Day is by far the most girly-girl-girly-est of holidays. Pretty in Pink all over the place, baby! No, not THAT Pretty In Pink.
glitter-graphics.com Okay, yes. THAT Pretty In Pink.
But besides that....

The holiday, by it's very lovey-dove romantic nature, is not so fond of solo celebrators.

Hence the 'hate'.

I mean, don't you feel it, too? That need for a romantic Valentine?

One that I don't have.

And yes, I do realize that I'm totally wrapped up in the over-exposed, media-exploited-ness of it all. And no, I'm not alone out there... But in my head, well, there's just me in there. We think. I mean, 'I' think.

Anyway, to make matters worse, the soon-to-be ex most certainly DOES have a Valentine. Grrr....

Honestly though, do I want HIM as my Valentine? LORD NO!

But I am a bit jealous... Like sibling rivalry or something. Does that make sense? Maybe it doesn't even need to... But seriously. Why does HE get a Valentine and I don't?! Grrr... But then again, a lot of me really doesn't care. I'm sure she's a nice enough woman... Her interloping ended up being my godsend, really. So I do honestly wish her a nice Valentine's Day. I mean, there's a certain amount of gratitude there. As for him... Valentine's Day was never quite what I'd hoped it would be, and it wasn't even worth celebrating the last couple of times... So I can't really feel one way or the other about it. Yeah. That's about right. It kind of feels like a big where he's concerned.

Good. That's better.

But I still wish I had a romantic Valentine.

Like, just for the day, since I'm not interested in any boyfriend responsibilities right now. Worse than puppies, I swear. But I suppose girlfriend responsibilities aren't much better. Hee, hee.

So... Since a romantic Valentine isn't really my true desire this year, I will gladly forget the romance side of Valentine's Day and think more about the love we have for friends and family.
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I will order a heart-shaped ice cream cake from Dairy Queen and a couple of heart-shaped pizzas from Rocky Rococo's, and I will celebrate with my family--me, my boys, and my parents. Maybe I can even get my grandma and grandpa to join in on the fun. We'll have our own party, and I'll feel the love--just like I always do from my family.

And friends? Oh, I love them all... My friends at home, at work, in LJ Land, and abroad.

So this Saturday I promise I will think of each of you and send you each a friendly smooch.

Hope you think of me, too.

And, now that I think of it, maybe I'll even buy myself some fresh flowers. (Monkey not included.)

It's a trailer park, okay. It's by a train yard. 'Natch.

TRAIN

Where I live, I hear the whistle blow

Air pushing through the slotted metal

Powerful

Sorrowful

Warning

It says, “Beware my wheels that cut like knives, rumbling over iron tracks. Beware.”

It says, “Make way, frail things. Make way. I barrel through. I barrel.”

Where I live, I see the trains

Their hulking cars long and dark

Scarred

Barred

Waiting

Each says, “Clasp me, lock me, back to back, need to go. Make me go.”

Each says, “Want to follow, want to move. Let’s go!”

Where I live, I fear their place

The place below where those steely beasts roam

Monstrous

Horrendous

Beautiful

I say, “I’ll look from here, above and safe. Here I’m safe.”

I say, “I feel the pull, to be down there, to ride with you. I want to go.”

“Let’s go!”
“Let’s go!”
“Let’s go!”


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Rules: Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following questions. They have to be real . . . nothing made up! You cannot use any word twice and you can't use your name for the boy/girl name question.

01. What is your name:

02. A four Letter Word: Kink

03. A boy's Name: My name IS a boy’s name, but I’ll choose…
Killian
The name Killian comes from Irish origin meaning strife or battle; fierce.

04. A girl's Name: My name works well as a girl’s name, but I’ll choose…
Keira
The name Keira comes from Irish origin meaning dusky; dark-haired.

05. An occupation: Killer. Yikes! It might be safer just being a kaleidoscope manufacturer. Less prison time.

06. A color: Kelly green (Like an apple green, not so bad.) or Khaki (Like beige, like b-o-r-i-n-g!)

07. Something you wear: Kilt. (Okay, I don't personally wear a kilt, but....)

00: Explanation for why there’s no #8: Eight angry Klingons captured the 8 and ate it.
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09. A food: Kiwi

10. Something found in the bathroom: Kotex. Well?

11. A place: Kenya

12. A reason for being late: “Sorry I’m late—I’m still getting over a bad case of Kaliopenia.” (No, it’s not some rare dysfunction of the penis. Geesh! It’s just an insufficiency of potassium. Geesh! Again!)

13. Something you shout: Kutta kameena! (It mean 'son of a b**ch'. What? I often swear in Hindi.)

14. A movie title: Kramer vs Kramer. Never actually saw it. When it came out in 1979, I was…9. Not much interest in it then, not much interest in it now. Though I hear it was good….

15. A word to describe YOU: Kinetic

FIRST KISS FOR EMMA AND DANIOR:

Velvet… Velcro… Euphoric… Electric… Mind numbing… Mind exploding… When a kiss works.

I swear I’ve never done drugs. Gotten drunk? Okay, we won’t go there, but the whole true drug thing? Never. But I also swear that getting high can’t be any better than this right now—his lips on mine.

Am I supposed to think 'beautiful'? 'Heavenly'? 'Butterflies'? I'm not. It's more like, every trashy romance book… Every soft porn flick on Showtime… It’s all right here in my hormones and his. I can’t want anything else but to feel him…to be him. This is the magic that stops common sense—that makes babies from two tiny squishy things colliding and dividing. This is why parents worry… Why preachers preach… This soul-consuming, horrifying magic… This kiss.



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Christian Bale has a temper tantrum. Sounds like a couple of customer service calls I've received... No biggie to me, I can't help but laugh. What power that lighting guy has! Just hear the swear words fly! That lighting guy has the amazing ability to actually disrupt a professional actor's mojo during an action film--that's power. Listen to how easily he turns up the blood pressure on American Psycho, Christian Bale... I said it once, I'll say it many more times... Amazing! F bombs left and right and all for one little lighting guy! I laughed out loud. You have to... I get these kind of calls at work--what power I have! Little ol' me did all of that? I am amazing! Lighting guy... YOU are amazing.

WARNING: F BOMBS DROPPING http://www.twirlit.com/2009/02/02/christian-bale-flips-out/

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"Could you BE any more scrofulous with your food?!"
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"I thought I looked fabulous. But according to my little brother, I looked scrofulous."

Now, honestly, I thought my above sentences were silly, made up examples of how to use this tongue-tying word. And then I looked it up.

*high fiving myself*
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And thanks to Webster's Online, I also got to HEAR how the word is pronounced. Not so tongue-tripping after all. Go figure.

Tomorrow's Word? (I don't know... Cat?)
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Summin' it up:

Girl has **itty additude about guys (with good reason). Nicest guy she's ever met? Not even human.

Well, he's half-human. And that'd be the side she *doesn't* trust.


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Sum up YOUR latest WIP!

I'm sure it was her. I mean, who else in Bath, England would read MY blog? Exactly. No one, but Jane.

Now, some folks might say, "Yeah, but, ah... She's like, not from Bath, you know." No duh. But hel-lo, she has vacationed in Bath. We mustn't judge.

And I suppose some of you might even say, "Yeah, but, ah... She's like, all dead and stuff." Trivial. Very trivial.

I mean, really people. If she were truly d-e-a-d, how could she star in both a movie AND a Masterpiece Theater presentation?

I know, right?



All I'm saying is don't be a hater just 'cause

Jane Austen Read My Blog.

Waiting for a package to arrive from UPS?

Need a tech, but it's not scheduled for days?

Wondering what ex-boyfriends look like nowadays?

No patience for class reunions?


Simply do the following....


Don't shower that day (or at least not yet).

Skip all forms of makeup.

Don't brush your hair, but do pull it back into a sloppy, shabby, unflattering bun.

Make sure your eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Now....

Go return DVDs at Block Buster. Answer the ringing doorbell. Or, pick up a gallon of milk at Kwik Trip.


And...voila!


Not kidding. Works for me every time. You'd think I'd learn by now.

Enjoy the trip my manuscript

Auf Wiedersehen my candycane

Much luck my duck (What the truck??)

You'll do swell, I can tell

You'll do your best to pass the test

You'll wow her eyes and give high fives

You'll write, you'll call, you'll have a ball

You'll wine, you'll dine, you'll do just fine

You'll dance till dawn out on the lawn

'Cause you'll impress in your full dress

You will! You will! I know you will!

You will, you will, I pray you will....

First day with internet at my new home! HAD TO SAY HELLO TO ALL OF YOU!!!!!! Oh how I have missed my LJ pals out there!!!!

Well, I've got a makes-me-happy full time job, and I've got to get ready now, so this little note will just have to do for the moment... But I just couldn't resist at least giving a shout-out to my fellow fabulous writer and illustrator and doin'-whatever-feels-fine friends in cyberspace! HOLLA!!!!!

I'll be sure to write more about my tres exciting life (don't trip over the sarcasm there) tonight!

Bling on, Baby!!!!



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Pamela Ross had a great idea--write about the loss of my mother's doll. So... I did. It's a serious poem, but it reads kind of funny. I mean, it IS about a dolly. Hee, hee! But... I loved Beth, and more importantly, my mother loved Beth.

So, here's to Baby Doll Beth... RIP.



Little baby doll of mine

Was once my mother’s special find

A doll of fragile composition

Held two girls’ hearts’ best position

Mother called her Baby Beth

A name I kept until Beth’s death

Oh the tears I shed that day

When flooded waters swept Beth away

That poor dear doll could not resist

The water’s tug and awful twist

How cruelly did the water fill

Her every nook and cranny ’til

Her rosy cheeks and soft red lips

Ran down her face in soggy drips

That’s how I found her, sewer-ed through

A doll whose heart was plush and true

For sixty years she held her own

Now Baby Beth is all alone

Goodbye, my mother’s baby doll

When I was young, you were my all

My husband had a coffee can full of marbles from his childhood.

Due to the flood, my husband lost his marbles.

Ba-da-bum.

My mother's doll... Completely destroyed. This had me in tears. The Cabbage Patch doll is mine, but I'm not worried about that one like I am about my mother's. This will hurt her, and I can't bare that. There are others...other dolls of my mother's...but they can be taken to a doll doctor. The damage isn't just water damage...it's actually damage from sewage water. Sewage.

I know what you're thinking: Why put precious dolls in the basement?

Well, I had them wrapped in pillowcases and in plastic boxes up high. The problem was that the water pushed the boxes out from underneath, toppling ALL of the boxes into the storm/sewer water. I had no idea something like this could happen in my basement, but still....

Obviously, I am thankful to the Lord that only material possessions were damaged in the storm/sewer water that backed up into our basement. I mean, a doll is just a doll, after all, but I still cried.

My basement, of course:



By-the-way, it's 3:13am over here, and I think I'm feeling a bit more 'bitchy' today than yesterday. Just sayin'.

Lord, besides my yard, my basement is flooded. Will you please send a couple of angels to drain it for me? Thanks. Sincerely, Well... You know who this is.


The little hatchback is actually floating. It bobbed up and down when a truck went by. (You can barely see the back end of it covered by the tree.) We had waves lap against our front yard whenever a truck went through. And the neighbors across the street in the white house? They have their own private lake in their backyard.



And of course, my basement. (Notice the fishing pole. Maybe there are fish in there now....)

In this poem, the narrator is angry and depressed. But this is just a moment...a funk...like we all experience sometimes. It's not really this person at all--it's a facade. Like the mean old man who's not really mean at all... The narrator calls kids and pets "junk", but then turns around and passes out popsicles and attentively watches their bike tricks. "Junk" is part of the narrator's "mean old man" syndrome, but the narrator can't keep up the facade for long--not even through one whole day....


P.S. This is a fictional poem--I've never called anyone "junk" in all my life. ;-)



SUNNY DAY


Sunny, happy, awful day

Ignore my tears, laugh them away

I hate you birds, I hate you trees

I hate you ants, flowers, bees

I snub my nose, I jeer, I growl

I fly a finger, swear, and scowl

Who needs Nature’s symphony?

No respect for misery

I’ll stay inside, inside to hide

I won’t give up my dismal pride

I’ll close my curtains, close them tight

No glitter-day, but moody-night

I’ll plug my ears from outside sound

Refuse to hear what’s all around

My neighbor’s chatter on the breeze

A child’s laughter, doggie-sneeze

Music from the ice cream truck

Ropes to skip, balls to chuck

I glance, I peek, I am intrigued

Depression’s left me weak, fatigued

I can’t keep up my own despair

Not with perfume in the air

I guess the porch is safe enough

But I’ll still frown, keep my voice gruff

I won’t return my neighbor’s grin

(Oh shit! I did, but I’ll still win)

I’ll fold my arms and glare at all

No welcome here—I’ll keep your ball!

But…no screens or doors protect my funk

From children, pets, and other junk

Fine! Here! Take a popsicle

Show me your tricks on your bicycle

Yes, I’ll pet you, you annoying cat

Nod to the neighbors, just like that

Slump in my chair, an utter defeat

I can admit when I’ve been beat

Oh sunny, happy, awful day

You stole my wallow all away

How dare you sparkle, glitter, shine

How dare you…you…oh… Fine.