writing inspiration - dialogue

Two nights ago I stayed up till 3:23 in the wee morning reading the new book, Slayers by CJ Hill (aka Janette Rallison). I've been a big fan of her writing for quite some time. Usually it sort of falls under the chick lit category, so I was curious to how well Janette would pull off a fast-paced adventure. Of course, I can't share that now. I gotta keep all of my five blog readers coming back. So I'll post my opinion on Slayers tomorrow. You won't want to miss that.

But I walked away feeling newly inspired to write better dialogue. Janette's dialogue is witty, funny, true to character personality, and never forced. It makes her characters and the story come to life.

Dialogue is often my own challenge, but I've seen a lot of awkward talk in published books. I'm always surprised when I find a little "maid and butler" in something I pull off the new releases at B&N.

In order to write better dialogue, I've developed a system.

Erin's Method to Writing Dialogue

1. I write the conversation as fast as I can as it pops in my head. I don't worry about punctuation, or blocking, or tags.

2. Then later, after a trip to Harts for my Diet Coke, I read through the scene out loud. (Ask Jessie Humphries. She said I'm a mumbler when I'm writing. It's mainly because I'm getting a feel for my dialogue). When I'm reading, I omit anything that sounds awkward or fake to the characters in the scene.

3. Last I add blocking. I have them move, or show expression.

4. Then I read it once more out loud, and adjust anything that feels awkward.

My process is somewhat layered, but it's helped me create better dialogue. Maybe one day I'll be a master like Janette.

What do you do to create witty and natural dialogue? I'm quite curious. 

writing inspiration - faces

I used to be a people watcher. In order to make my characters feel more real, I'd go to the mall and shop a little for shoes, but mostly I'd check people out. I'd listen to their conversations and study they way they move, and look at their features. But honestly speaking, I kind of felt like creeper. Especially when people noticed me watching them.

Now I stay home. Thanks to Pinterest, I find my interesting character faces online without creeping anyone out besides my hubby. Here are the faces of my current WIP that's a contemporary spy novel:

Milla - Kick-A protagonist. Lethal agent that too often listens to her bleeding heart.

Mag - Milla's bestie, just as lethal but not as confident 

Crow - their beloved trainer that looks tough but really has a soft side

Kane - the new trainer who is as mean as he looks . . . most of the time

And the boy. Sigh. 

Of course a lot of my characters are dream cast, but I tried to find pictures that set the scene for me. When I'm finding my character's voice, I'll pull their image onto the screen and start writing scenes. Sometimes those scenes don't end up in the novel, but they help me figure out who the character really is.

Now, the questions of the day:
How do you find your character's voices?
Are you a picture finder? If yes, who is in your dream cast?
Or are you a people watcher? If so, where do you go? 

secret 11 of 100

I own 46 pairs of shoes. (An all time low for me.)

After falling victim to a terrible shoe storm in my closet, my husband made the rule that I could only own as many shoes as years old I am.

First, I'm not 44. I won't be for quite some time.
Second, I used to be pretty good about following the rule . . . by bending it a little. I separated my winter shoes from summer. Depending on the season, I kept only my age amount of shoes in the closet. But last month I had a yard sale and purged myself of fifteen pairs of shoes. (Yes, that means I had over 60 pairs.) So now that my 44 are feeling small in number I decided to put them all in the closet. To heck with the rule.
Third, I'm feeling the itch for more shoes. Have you seen all the boots this season? Ugh. I'm dying. What's another couple pairs of boots?

I admit, I'm a little bit of a shoe addict. But not bad, right? What's 44 pairs? I'm pretty sure there's a lot of you out there that probably own twice that. And if that's the case then it wouldn't matter if I add a few more pairs to the closet. I NEED shoes!

Do you have a shoe addiction too? If not (though I can't imagine why not) I want to know what's the one thing you hoard in your home. I've decided that these new shoes I want so badly can be my reward once I finish my WIP. I'm super close, ya'll. And then we can party with my new boots!

friday five.

Today I'm dedicating this post to five people that I think are seriously awesome. Some are published, some are not, and some are really close. But whatever the stage of writing they're in, they amaze me with their mad skills. Check them out:

1. Peggy Eddleman - my girl Peggy has been with me from the beginning when we were rogue class attendees in a writing class that changed our lives. She's helped me figure out plot structure and fix bad dialogue. And on a side note, her husband makes a mean roasted red pepper soup.

2. Jessie Humphries - I like to call this girl Coonskin because her maiden name is coon. We met at a writing conference two years ago and she's been one of my best writing buddies since then. I can't imagine going to a conference without her. It would just be lamesauce. Jessie makes me laugh because she's kind of irreverent and kind of random and a lot of cool.

3. My Pile of Books -this awesome little book review site was started by a great writing friend of mine, Stacey. She and a few other "anonymous" bloggers support this blog. But sometimes those other gals are really busy and kind of lame and they feel really bad for not supporting so much. But the point is, the blog is awesome. And Stacey is awesome for starting it. Can anyone say awesome much?

4. Ally Condie - I met Ally years ago at a writing conference. I love her because she's small, she likes to run, and she writes like a friggin' genius. She makes me laugh with her dry wit. And her next book, Crossed, is soon to come out and it will be as fabulous as the first so check it out.

5. Julie Donaldson -  Alright, so here's the situation with Julie. One, she's amazing. She can do anything when it comes to writing. I met Julie at the same conference I met Ally. Julie published a little book on love awhile back and her first national title will be out sometime next year. You'll want to keep an eye out for her.

Those are my five favorite writing ladies. They inspire me. Check them out, I hope they inspire you too.

reading update - people from England time travel?

Ruby Red by Kerstin Gier

My Take:
Honestly speaking, I was more hooked by the cover of the book than by the first chapter. It took me at least two before I warmed up to the main character. I've found that a lot of YA writers write mature characters, at least to some extent. But Gwyneth is 17 and she actually acts that age. Once I got used to her quirky self doubt, yet strong determination, I was down with her. And by the end of the novel she kind of rocked my socks off. I loved her. I love that this book takes place in England. And I REALLY love Gideon, her potential love interest and time traveling partner.
The thing I didn't love is the end. Why? It ended and the story wasn't done. As in, there's a hook.
But, (there's always a but) the costumes in the book are fab. There's danger, mystery, and serious romantic tension.


What They Say It's About:

Gwyneth Shepherd's sophisticated, beautiful cousin Charlotte has been prepared her entire life for traveling through time. But unexpectedly, it is Gwyneth, who in the middle of class takes a sudden spin to a different era!

Gwyneth must now unearth the mystery of why her mother would lie about her birth date to ward off suspicion about her ability, brush up on her history, and work with Gideon--the time traveler from a similarly gifted family that passes the gene through its male line, and whose presence becomes, in time, less insufferable and more essential. Together, Gwyneth and Gideon journey through time to discover who, in the 18th century and in contemporary London, they can trust.

You Shouldn't Read This If:

You can't stand books that end with a hook. But if that's the case, pick it up when the next installment comes out.

You have no fashion sense and you're a country-ist. (England + to die for outfits = awesomeness . . . unless that's not your thing.)

You're illiterate. For obvious reasons.

Go Forth And Read!

writing inspiration - do i dare go there?

I am so happy with all the feed back from yesterday. Writing has been on my mind a lot lately because I'm getting my current work in progress (WIP) ready for submission. I was so amazed with your answers and quite inspired. Thank you so much!

In short, my current WIP is a little edgier than other books I've written. People die. And not just by the (duh, duh, dun...) bad guy, but by lots of main characters. Basically my book is killer. (ha ha, sorry I had to put that one in).

So in real life I'm not a killer. And my biggest sin is my frequent use of the "D" word. I'd like to blame my hubby for that, but I'm sure if you met him you'd know I was a big, fat liar. Though I've written a kill-all book, I'm not in any way advocating being an assassin. When my character uses the "D" word, it doesn't mean I use the "D" word in everyday life. (Alright, so not a good example).

What I'm wondering is, when and where do you draw the line?


What if what you really want to write is a bit darker and scarier than your personal morals or religious beliefs?


"D" Word or the "B" Word . . . or the "Sh" word . . . or the (duh, duh, duh . . .) "F" word?


Holy mother, did I just ask that question? Yes I did. 

Please, for the love of all things, let me know. Or I'll be a sad "D"word-dropping girl for the rest of the day.

writing inspiration - working out

When I was seventeen I graduated from high school and went away to college. My freshman year I put on twenty pounds. Ugh. I felt tired and pudgy. After hearing me bemoan the drama of my tummy tire, my roomate convinced me to take an aerobics class with her. Reluctantly, I went.

I hated it.
Every muscle burn, drip of sweat, and labored breath. I loathed aerobics.

I know what you're thinking (well, maybe I know). You're thinking, that's weird because Erin is an aerobic instructor. Yep that's right. I am. See the thing is, when I was seventeen (not so many years ago), I made a deal with myself. I decided I would stick with it until I LOVED working out.

And the funny thing is, now that I love it I don't want to stop. I usually work out five days a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But I've found that consistency is the key. The more I do it, the more my body expects it. And really after awhile all those push-ups and lunges kind of, sort of feel great.

Writing is like working out.

Sometimes you hate it. Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes forming a great scene is as hard as doing a hundred one-arm pushups.

But the more you persist in writing every day, the easier it gets. And the easier it gets, the more you love it . . . like aerobics. Right?

How often do you write? 
When do you write?
What time of the day works best for you?
If you don't write, but you just read my ghetto blog for fun, what would you write if you were a writer? 


Please for the love of all things holy, just respond so I don't feel like I'm talking to myself. I'm such a sucker for a comment. 


Luv, erin

secret 10 of 100

My mom is really my biological mom. 

Seventh grade was a beastly year for me. I was chubby and I lived in Hawaii where all the kids at my school were brown or haole (Hawaiian slang for a white person. Take for instance my mom.) Since I shied away from confrontation like my kids hide when it's time to clean the bathroom, I was also teased a lot. I hated that. 

One day during math, I felt feverish. My teacher sent me to wait in the office for my mom.

When she arrived the brown girl beside me asked,"Eh, who dat? Your auntie?" 

This particular girl was the queen beast of seventh grade, and I didn't care for her. She teased me on a regular basis. I didn't want her making fun of me for having such a ghost-white mom. 

So I said, "No. She's my step-mom." 

And she believed me.  

I admit I was spineless. Not claiming my mother was a terrible thing to do. So I'm setting the record straight. My secret, one I've carried for so many years is that haole woman in the photo with me and my sisters is really, truly, my mom. 

Have you ever lied about something big in your life to save face? Or told a little lie? Any lie at all?
Don't leave me hanging. I want to hear your little secret too.

friday five.

In Utah, it seems like this is the weekend for writing conferences. Well, at least two that I know of. At UVU, prospective and pubbed writers can attend the Book Academy, or if you want to trek into the cold snowy Utah mountains, there's the Heart of the West conference held at the Canyons Resort. My writing buddies and I have been to both, but this year we're heading up to Park City for the Heart of the West conference. In fact, we got here last night and I'm freezing my toosh off. There's something seriously wrong when it snows during the first week of October. (Silent prayer to move back to Hawaii)

Today I'd like to dedicate this post to Writing Conferences. I'm not a complete conference groupie, but I go to a couple a year. And I've learned a thing or two that may help you.

Five Things To Do At A Writing Conference

1. Shower

How should I put this? Since I'm not one for putting things in a delicate manner, I'll just say it. Sometimes people stink. And sometimes a room can be filled with the stench of dirty head. (I'm not pointing any fingers at the ladies I'm attending the conference with. I'm just saying.) Fifty writers in a room can smell bad. I know I don't shower for days on end when I'm in writing mode. But conference mode is different. For the love of all books, please shower.

2. Keep your bra to yourself

Or better said, don't wear shirts that have buttons. This one really just comes from personal experience. But since I'm back at the same conference, I certainly don't want to flash any hot pink braziers to older, erotica-writing men. You can read about that HERE! 
(Side note: Don't try searching for "pink bras" on google. Big mistake. UGH.)

3. Leave the Wizarding Costume at Home

Well, if you're going to World-Con, go for it. But for any other conference, it's always best to dress your best. Wear something that plays up to your eye-color or hair style. I think setting a good first impression is sometimes more important than showing the world how much you love The Lord of the Rings. Then again, I've seen some fab costumes at conferences so I could be totally wrong about this one.

4. Put on a Happy Face

It may be a year from now when I get published, or ten years from now (heaven forbid). But since I don't know, I think it's best to always be friendly to other prospective writers. I've met some of my best friends at writing conferences. If it wasn't for Jessie Humphries smiling face and charming wit, we wouldn't be friends now. If you're open to making new friends, you can find your greatest writing supports at conferences.

5. Go with me and you'll find an agent

Call it luck, but there's something about attending a conference with me that will snag you an agent faster than you could probably finish your WIP. The last time I came to the HOW conference I attended with three other ladies. Two ended up signing with the agents from the conference. How is it possible I wasn't one of them? Well, my WIP wasn't ready. It's still not ready. The whole photography life of mine sometimes gets in the way. But I don't mind so much. I'm just glad to help another writer along even if it is by strange coincidence.

That's my five! Now keep it alive. I'd love to hear what things you've learned at writing conferences.
What conferences have you been to?
What has been your favorite conference?
What's something you've learned from going to a conference?

i want to thank all the people who made this possible...

I got a BLOG award! Can you believe it? 

I'd like to take a moment to thank the Cherie at Ready.Write.Go for giving me this award. It makes me ridiculously happy. Second I'd like to thank my Mom and Dad who made all this possible. Without their enthusiasm, I would've never been born, let alone given free reign to write whatever I feel like on this here blog of mine. Last I want to thank Al Gore for inventing the Internet. Thanks to him alone, I've been able to put my deepest thoughts out into cyberspace to be read by one or two people. 

Now, this is my first award, so I better play by the rules:

1. Thank and link to the person who nominated me. (Check)

2. Share seven random facts about myself. 

3. Pass the award along to 5 newfound blogging buddies

4. Contact those buddies to congratulate them.

GO GO GADGET O' 7 RANDOM FACTS:

1. My 4 year old is a parrot. The other day he said, "That guy is a bad guy." He was watching a movie, and yes, the guy was indeed a bad guy. Then Parrot-son added, "If I see him on the road I'm gonna kick him in the crotch." 

Uh, nice. Where did he learn that? Way to go, Mark. 

2. Sometimes my filter doesn't work. I should really watch what I say more. (Thus, the crotch comment.)

3. I don't wear deodorant. This isn't a blog secret, because I mentioned this years ago. But it's still the same. And if you're new to reading my blog, now you know. 

4. I don't stink. Unlike my sister who got B.O. at age 13, I never had the misfortune. I could teach three aerobic classes back to back and be dripping sweat like a 50yr old fat man, and I still wouldn't stink. 

5. I read a book everyday. I don't always finish it, but I still read. It's good for my soul. Not so much for my family. Yet another thing for me to work on.

6. When I write I gain weight. This is because my diet suddenly is reduced to M&Ms and Diet Coke. No matter how many aerobic classes I teach, it won't work off the constant hand-to-bag-to-mouth action. 

7. I own a pair of teal sweats that my Mom gave me when I was 15. I'm not 15 anymore...a mere few years have passed...and I still wear those sweats nearly every day. I love them more than I love M&Ms and Diet Coke. If someone offered me $1000 for those sweats, I wouldn't sell them. That's the honest truth. And if my husband ever threw them out...I would think about divorce. 

Now, that I've been so very blessed with this award, I would like to pass it along to other awesome blogs that I LOVE!

1.  An Alleged Author - I love this blog. The writer has great voice, 
and makes me laugh. And the latest post quiz is hilarious!

2. Angela Orlowski Peart - Does Angela have a rockin' name or what? I hear a name like that and I think she's probably the type to wear J Crew and drive a Range Rover. She just seems uber cool.

3. Alexis Bass Writes About Writing - For one thing Alexis is from Washington. For another, she loves the books that I love! So I know if we knew each other in real life we would be bosom buddies.

4. Myself As Written - I met Charlie a couple years ago in a brief writing group stint. She's pretty cool and she is named Charlie. What could be more intriguing. Right? 

5. Iain's Iainspiration - Iain makes me laugh so hard. When he publishes a book, I'll be the first in line to buy it. 

There you have it! My first blog award makes me feel so warm and squishy...or that could be that I've eaten too many M&Ms today. 

Thank you all! 

writing inspiration - robbed

2:12 am
Rosie, my great Pyrenees, howled just outside my bedroom door. I jerked awake, my heart racing. A couple foreign noises sounded in the night outside my house, and Rosie reacted with non-stop, ear-splitting barks. Mark hurried out of bed, and took Rosie to the back yard.

2:12 am
After she settled down, he brought her back in. Mark, unable to fall asleep, curled up on the couch in the front room. The light pouring through the open window shutters annoyed him. He walked to the window to close the shutters.

2:13 am
The shadow of two people beside our van, parked in the driveway, grabbed his focus. It took him a second to register that these people were taking something from our van. They were robbing us. Mark freaked. No matter that he was wearing just his undies, he tore out of the house and yelled at the burglars. They took off running.


2:14 am
In the other room, Mark's yell gave me a coronary. I jumped out of bed just as he came crashing into the room to pull on pants. In the blink of an eye he was in the van and sailing down the road to catch the crooks.
I was speechless. Did someone really just try to rob me?

2:15 am
I called the police.

2:18 am
Mark came back empty handed. The thieves got away with a backpack and dvds. Devils. I hope they watch Tangled in hell.

2:20 am
The police arrived. Apparently one should never chase two burglars alone. Next time we'll try to remember that.

3:30 am
Still awake. I figured there was no better time to write. Laptop open, I finished a scene that had been giving me trouble all week. Now it's better. It's awesome. I guess being ripped from my sleep isn't all that bad since it inspired me to write.

Writing Inspiration -

1. Usually if I can't sleep I pull out a book. But why not write? 
2. When do you write? 
3. Have you ever written in the middle of the night? And if so, was it pure crap the next day, or was it freaking awesome?

Please, I want to know. Because last night was a first for me. And I kind of liked it.

secret 9 of 100

I once lied to a boy.

Tis true. Shocking, no?

Eleventh grade was big for me. Younger than most of my classmates, I finally turned sixteen halfway through junior year. Which meant, I could finally date. Thank the Good Lord!
There was a boy I had my eye on. Tall, athletic, well known, funny (most of the time), and so sweet it made my heart swell just thinking of him.
We shared a few classes. I was on cheer (um...solely by the grace of the cheer coach. Not by talent.) And tall-boy was a basketball player. Whenever possible I would find times to talk with him, try my hand at flirting, and I'd hope and pray Tall-boy would ask me out.

It seemed like eternity passed and Tall-boy hadn't asked me out.
Until one day, he called me on the phone.
Holy freaking moly! He called.
"Hello, Tall-boy," I said into the phone, trying to sound the picture of casualness. But really, "Freaky" and "breathy" pretty much sum it up.

"Hey, Erin. My friend and I are going mountain biking this weekend. I was just wondering if you've ever gone before."

Ok, so was this him asking me out? Or was he just testing the water to see if we were even compatibable. By George! If I wasn't compatible before, I was then. I knew he was quite athletic, and though I was a cheerleader that meant nothing in way of other athletic areas. But there was no way in Hades I would miss an opportunity with Tall-boy. If he wanted a mountain biking chick, then I was the girl for him.
 
"Of course," I totally and utterly and shamelessly lied into that phone. "I go all the time. I LOVE mountain biking." Or not.
I'd ridden a bike before, it couldn't be that different than riding a cruiser around town. Just add a little mountain, right?

Wrong. So very wrong.

Tall-boy picked me up early in the morning on Saturday. We went with another couple. After driving up into the mountains, we started our bike ride on a very secluded mountain trail. And when I say "mountain trail", I mean vertical ups and downs. As in the most hell-acious bike ride of my life.

Thirty minutes into the ride, my legs felt like jello and I seriously doubted I would ever pee normally again.

An hour later, I wanted to die.

After two hours of biking torture, I thought I was paralyzed because I could no longer feel my limbs.

Three hours later, I hit a tree.
Maybe it was because I mis-judged how fast I was coming down the mountain, or because I was shaking so badly I couldn't see the boulder in the path, but when my bike hit the rock, I didn't even realize I was in the air until the tree stopped my forward momentum. I knew right them, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I never should've lied.

Lucky for me, Tall-boy and his friend had gone on, leaving me and Other-girl to follow. She helped me up, dusted off my ridiculously muddy body, and got me back onto my bike.

An eternity later we ended the trail. I could barely walk, I looked as if I hadn't showered in months, and I'd lost all ability to form complete sentences. To this day, I never told Tall-boy the truth. Though he probably figured it out.

What I did learn is that lying about mountain biking is BAD. So very bad.

friday five.

I now dedicate this Friday, and every future Friday, to the number Five. 

So that on Friday you'll read my Five and you'll feel alive. (Or not . . . I'm just a big fan of rhymes.) 

Each Friday you'll find a list of different things.

A gathering of thoughts, or items I find interesting. 

(Stop groaning in agony, the poem's ending now . . . lest you call me a crazy, rhyme-loving cow)

Sometimes I wish...

1. Michael never died. 

Or changed the color of his skin. 

Or hacked up his nose. 

Or strung out his hair. 

But mostly I wish he was still alive and singing songs that Jive. 

RIP Michael. I love you.

2. Punky Brewster still rocked the tv airwaves. 

In her neon mis-matching perfection.

Honing her pig-tailed style. 

Annoying the creepy old guy she lived with (did anyone else question that one?)

And making us join in the canned laughter with her slap-stick comedy act.

3. Crystal Pepsi was back. 

Called a Cola, but looking like carbonated water.

Confusing us with the strange non-cola taste.

Looking almost pure enough to be called healthy.

Having the coolest soda name ever! 

4. Bell-ward never happened. 

I'm not talking book 1, 2, or 3.

But the fourth atrocity that makes me vomit in my mouth.

The freaky child baby with man teeth. 

The bed braking you know what. 

Gross.

5. Ice Ice Baby was still numero uno. 

When saying "word to your mother" made you cool.

You'd say "Stop" and I'd say "collaborate and listen"

And together we could bust out the running man and dance like crazy.

Ah...those were good times. Man, lets get outta here.
Word to yo' mother.

reading update - time travel anyone?

Hourglass by Myra McEntire

My Take:
A book a day. That's the goal, at least. But lately I've been having a hard time finishing. I don't know if I'm getting pickier as a reader, or YA lit is kind of stinkin' it up. Either way, I needed a good read something fierce. And I found exactly that in Hourglass by Myra McEntire. 
This book hooked me from the start. The main character is quirky, funny, and full of personality. Her antics kept me turning page after page. I would say this is a character driven book, but I'd be doing the tension of the plot a injustice. Each plot turn had me on the edge of my seat, wishing I could read faster and faster. There was a complex weave of time-traveling subplots that came together almost seamlessly in the end. Basically, it's good stuff.



What they say it's about: 

For seventeen-year-old Emerson Cole, life is about seeing what isn’t there: swooning Southern Belles; soldiers long forgotten; a haunting jazz trio that vanishes in an instant. Plagued by phantoms since her parents’ death, she just wants the apparitions to stop so she can be normal. She’s tried everything, but the visions keep coming back.
So when her well-meaning brother brings in a consultant from a secretive organization called the Hourglass, Emerson’s willing to try one last cure. But meeting Michael Weaver may not only change her future, it may change her past.
Who is this dark, mysterious, sympathetic guy, barely older than Emerson herself, who seems to believe every crazy word she says? Why does an electric charge seem to run through the room whenever he’s around? And why is he so insistent that he needs her help to prevent a death that never should have happened?

Full of atmosphere, mystery, and romance, Hourglass merges the very best of the paranormal and science-fiction genres in a seductive, remarkable young adult debut.

You shouldn't read Hourglass if: 
You only pick up high fantasy paperbacks, and you haven't showered in over a week. If that's the case, Hourglass won't be the book to float your boat.
You're my Mom. There's kissing involved.  And since you couldn't stomach the first Twilight, I'm pretty sure you can't take Hourglass.
You're illiterate. For obvious reasons.

If you don't fall into any of the categories above, than this is the book for you.

Go Forth and Read!

secret 8 of 100

I'm afraid of Goldfish.

Not the snack you find on aisle 10 at Walmart.  I'm talking about the squishy, slimy, living fish that swim around in the mucky tanks at Walmart...or any other pet store.

Honestly, I have an irrational fear of finding a belly up goldfish. The fear is so great and gripping that I avoid the pet corner of the Walmart at all costs. If you own goldfish, I probably avoid your house like the plague.
Maybe once a year I'll find myself in the general vicinity of the goldfish tanks at Walmart. My throat closes, my stomach churns, my eyes water, and my gag reflex kicks into gear. I can't even walk down the very aisle because of the paralysis that will seize my limbs. Sweat beads will form on my brown, and my breathing will grow shallow.

Ugh. They're horrid little creatures that should be banned, I say. Banned!

You see, on my fifteenth birthday, my mom and sisters gave me five goldfish. Margo, Margo, Margo, Margo and Margo. Great name, right?
I loved them and cherished my Margos and fed them ALL the time. Then, come spring, I had to go away on a short trip. Before I left for those couple days I was distraught with worry that my fishy friends would starve. So being a loving pet-caretaker, I dumped a plethora of fish food in their bowl so they could have a final feast before I left.

When I returned all five Margos were dead. White bloated bellies to the sky, in a swamp of brackish water.
(I just threw up in my mouth. I don't even know if I can finish this post).

Anyway. My mom made ME flush each fish down the drain. Sympathetic much? I think not. After watching them go, and then cleaning up the mucky dead-fish tank, I swear the stank of dead Margo-fish clung to me like a special-Erin aroma for days. I couldn't get it out of my nostrils.

So you see why I can't stand fish. That is my secret. Goldfish make me vomit.

writing inspiration - Demi Lovato

iTunes and I have an agreement. They email me once a week with inspiring new songs and I buy them. I used to think I was special this way, but I'm pretty sure that they email everybody. Either way, I drop a lot of moola on music.
I used to just buy music for my Aerobics class, to keep it fresh while we're toning our buns. But in the last few years I started a new collection of inspiring songs. These songs, a range of slow to fast, quirky to moody, romantic to angry, help me in a lot of ways.

1. If I'm not in the mood to write, sometimes I just need to listen to a given playlist and the inspiration comes. To help, I've downloaded my "book playlist" onto my iPhone so I can listen to my music anytime, anywhere. Mostly this is in the car when I can belt it like a gospel singer. Call me Gladys Knight.

2. If I'm struggling with a particular scene, I'll find a song that best represents the scene. Then I'll listen to it again, and again, and again. Until I'm sick of the song. Then I write the scene. Sometimes it's awesome.

3. If I'm having a hard time capturing a character's mod, then I'll listen to a moody song. I've found that Demi Lovato's recent album, Unbroken, and her last one, Forget Me.

The right song can do wonders for my writing. My playlist right now is:

1. Secrets - One Republic
2. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For - U2
3. Heartless - Kris Allen
4. Fix a Heart - Demi Lovato
5. Calling All the Monsters - China Anne McClain
6. Candles - Hey Monday
7. Fix You - Cold Play
8. Your Love is My Drug - Ke$ha
9. Catch Me - Demi Lovato
10. Last Kiss - Taylor Swift
11. Polaroids - Shawn Colvin
11. Wedding Day - Rosie Thomas
12. Collide (Acoustic Version) - Howie Day

Do you have a favorite song or playlist that helps you write? If so, let me know. I could always drop another Washington or two.

secret 7 of 100

I am a hermit. 

I know you're rolling your eyes at this secret, but it's true. Kind of.

I think if I'm classifying the type of hermit I am, I would be a bear-like hermit. Because there are times in my life I hibernate and times when I'm out foraging (so to speak). It's not that I'm rubbing my nose on the dirt searching for food or anything, I just go through periods of super social-ness and times when I'm the complete opposite. Like, live in my cave house and don't open the windows type of opposite.

(I like to think that if I really am like a bear, I might be cuddly like this one. Add a Diet Coke.)

When I'm social I like to:
1. Go to the Olive Garden. This is, without a doubt, my favorite restaurant. You may hate it. (Especially if you're a certain hairy friend of mine). But know that I love it. LOVE it!
2. Buy shoes. Anywhere. Anytime. Anywhere. I LOVE me some shoes!
3. Go to the Water Garden Cinema. It may not be your first movie theater choice, but it's mine because there are almost always empty seats, the popcorn is cheap, and everybody knows my name. Maybe they should change the theater name to Cheers. (I'm just kidding about the last line. I don't know if they know my name.)


When I'm hibernating, I like to: 
1. Go to the Pleasant Grove Library. This is one of my favorite places on earth because every one here does know my name...so maybe they should be called Cheers. I love that they order my books. And even when I don't want to go anywhere else, I'll go here to get my book and read.
2. Read. I usually love to do this after I do #1. But I guess that's kind of a "duh" answer.
3. Write. Notice that reading comes first on this list. I think that's because at heart I'm a reader first. But when I'm not reading, I do try to write a little of my own fiction.

Does that make me sound completely crazy? Or do you get what I'm saying?

aerobics, pee, and karma.

I started teaching aerobics when I was 18. Which as you might guess, was in the not so distant past

Snort...fine you haters, stop rolling your eyes. It was awhile ago.

On with my story: 
One day during class, a woman complained of all the jumping jacks and jump rope exercises. She asked if we could do less, or none at all.
Being a huge fan of jump rope and it's body toning benefits, I couldn't figure out why she didn't like the activity. Maybe she was just having a lazy day. I've had a few of those. I could sympathize.
I asked her if she was having a hard time breathing. She said breathing wasn't the problem. It was peeing.
"Peeing?" I asked, unsure if I heard her correctly.
She nodded and explained that since having her last baby, jumping made her feel as if she might pee her pants.
Not having kids of my own, I couldn't figure out why having a baby would make you feel like you might pee. I told her we were almost finished and it was probably just a sensation thing. She should try to continue with the class. No pain no gain, right?
Apparently I was wrong. A minute later she bolted from the room leaving a puddle in her wake.

I felt like the most awful teacher ever.

Flash forward a few years after I had three kids of my own. 

After teaching a exceptionally challenging workout routine I decided to stop by the store on the way home. I pushed the cart up and down the aisles, as my toddler swung his legs, kicking me in the stomach.
"Henry," I stopped in my tracks beside the frozen foods. "Stop kicking me. It hurts Mommy."
He looked at my face, then at where he was kicking...then he looked a little lower. (Side Note: I sweat A LOT!) 

"Momma!" He squealed. "You peed your pants. You peed, you peed, you peed. Georgie look, Momma peed."
I tried to shush him, but he wouldn't stop. That kid chose that exact moment to holler like he'd never hollered before. "Momma peed!" he yelled until every adult in a three aisle range was made aware of my body sweat issue.

I decided right then that it was karma because I made that poor lady jump till she peed. I guess in life sometimes things come back to bite you in the butt. That's all.

(Side note: Oh, and if you're thinking my sweatiness was more than sweat, I'll deny it till I die.)

writing inspiration - one step forward, two steps back

Remember that half-cool, slightly-creepy music video where Paula Abdul danced on the roof tops with an animated cat? Kind of random walk down memory lane, but it's the message of the song that makes my point today. 
Before Paula's gyrating dance with a feline came to mind, I was thinking about my writing style. To this day I've written 5 1/2 books. None of which are published. That fact gets me super frustrated.
I like to write, but my problem is I get stuck in the thick of it. Once I finish writing a book I know it needs to be edited but I'm not sure where to start and what to do. And what if what I change actually makes the book worse?
I worry so much that eventually I put the book down and start on a new one. Hence the 5 1/2 unpublished books. Frustration to the max.

The other day as I was venting to my awesome friend and writing buddy, Peggy Eddleman, I was growing more and more irritated by the moment because in the two years that I've written 5 1/2 books, she's written two. And polished one to perfection. I thought to myself, why the heck can't I do that? Why can't I just polish one of the five?
Near closet to pulling my hair out the epiphany hit: I CAN!
I just need to take a couple steps back. If I'm sick of what I'm working on currently maybe I should take a look at one of the old five books.
That night, I picked one and read the entire thing. I'm not going to lie...some parts weres so bad it made me cringe with embarassment, but other scenes were friggin' awesome. Awesome to the point that I seriously wondered if I'd actually written it.

Now that it's been so long since I cracked that book open, I'm able to look at it with a fresh perspective. I've been editing it and re-writing scenes, and I hope to have it polished in the next month. I can't believe that I had to take a couple steps back to figure out what I need to work on. But it's like Paula Abdul says, sometimes you need to take "one step forward," and then "two steps back," to get where you need to be. 

Thanks Paula for your inspiration...and the creepy can-dancing vid.

remember my doughnut craze?

Here's a mini post for the day...I'll post more later. But I couldn't resist telling you that BEYOND GLAZE (the exact place I posted about three posts ago) is having a sale! You can buy their gift certificates for dang cheap. Just go here: http://dtmr.co/id2g?

Luv me!

secret 6 of 100

When Mark asked me to marry him (for the second time...the first is another story all together) I said yes. Obviously. But my secret is I wasn't entirely sure I should say yes. In fact, I almost wondered if I should say no. His family and my family were gathered around and it was Christmas Eve and I couldn't help but be caught up in the romance of it all. You know I'm such a Love-nut. And I loved him more than anyone or anything.

But the next day when I woke up to stare at that shiny diamond attached to my left ring-finger, I wondered if I made the right choice. It's not that I didn't want to marry the man. I just wondered if he really was "the one". My stomach clenched that I possibly said "yes" a little to hastily. I'd answered before I'd prayed about it...before the earth quaked beneath my feet because he was, indeed, "the one."

If I was wrong, how would I turn around and tell my family that I'd made a mistake? A small greedy part of me wondered if I would have to give back the sparkly diamond? Dang it all.

That morning I rolled out of bed on to my knees and prayed. I prayed so fervently to God that he would let me know Mark was meant for me. And you know what happened? A whole lot of nothing! Days passed, and I prayed and prayed again. I would pray silently while we were together and loudly when we were apart. I loved him so much and I wanted him to be mine. But I also wanted that earth-shattering confirmation that YES he was the one.
Time passed and before I knew it, it was my wedding day. That morning as I put on my make-up and curled my hair, I said one last prayer. I told God that if Mark was the wrong one then he better stop me from going through with the wedding because I loved Mark more than life itself and I wanted him and no one else.

Well, you know what happened? In the middle of the ceremony I got my answer. Mark's gaze met mine and in that moment I could see all the times that I'd received an answer to my prayer. All the times I knew we were perfect for each other. All the times God had really answered my prayers.

He was mine and I was a happy girl...even if I didn't know he was "the one" when I said yes.

 

worst and most epic photography fail ever.

The title of the post should be enough to clue you in on how utterly embarrassing the following story really is. I only share it because my sensor broke years ago. I'm not disillusioned enough to think that the readers of this blog believe I'm anything short of a train wreck. And that's on a good day.
Today, sadly, wasn't so good.
I was scheduled to shoot a wedding in Salt Lake City at 3:00pm. Because my favorite lens is in the shop, I planned just enough time to stop by Pictureline to pick up a replacement lens. (No I didn't snag a doughnut...what with time being of the essence and all that jazz.) Per my usual crazed schedule, I found myself running ten minutes late. I kissed the kids good bye, hopped in the mini (van...not mini-cooper), and headed to Draper to pick up the lens. I rushed in, grabbed the lens, and continued on my way to SLC. When I pulled into the parking garage I was feeling snazzy because I, the amazing photog that I am, was ten minutes early! I wanted the garage attendant to give me a woot woot, but he wasn't feeling it.

I opened the side door of my van to take out my gear. Right then, the woot woot rushed out of me. And I wanted to cry. I, the not-so-amazing-photog-that-I-am, realized with a sudden sickening gut-twist that I had left my camera at home.
Yes, my freaking camera! As in, the very tool I need to actually be a photographer. As in, my life!
Brilliant, Erin. Way to rock that wedding. And not only had I left my camera at home, but I also left the lens that I use during 90% of wedding day.


So after a minor heart-attack, I realized not all was lost. I had randomly shoved a second camera body in the bottom of my camera bag. Until Karly, my awesome-life-saving-super-fly-assistant, brought my camera and lens, I used the back-up and made due with the lenses I had. In the end, the day turned out to be amazing. And oddly enough, I think that today I snagged some of my most favorite wedding pictures ever! Even it today was also one of my most embarrassing days ever.

doughnut craze.

I've never been a doughnut lover. But every time I go to Pictureline in Draper, I'm strangely tempted by the doughnut shop that sits just around the corner. The shop, Beyond Glaze, suits its name perfectly. They sell glazed doughnut creations that could be considered art. Each tempting delight in the store will make your mouth water...except for maybe the "maple and bacon" signature doughnut. I'm adventurous when it comes to sampling doughnuts, but not insane. And in case you're wondering, yes the maple bacon doughnut has actual bits of bacon on it's maple frosted top. Moving past that doughnut, I broke down and bought a half-dozen others. It was such a hard choice. Which only means next time I'm at Pictureline, you can be sure I'll go to Beyond Glaze too.
These yummy treats are a little on the pricey side, but totally worth it. I bit each one of my half-dozen and couldn't decide which was my favorite. And no, I didn't get any weird looks when I brought home a box of bite-marked doughnuts. That's kind of how my family rolls. And consider this post fair warning that if you stop by my house and there's a treat out, there may or may not be a bite out of it.

If you haven't been to Beyond Glaze, you should make a trek over soon. I'm certain you'll become an instant fan. My kids were. And they've been bothering non-stop to go back and buy more.

Question of the Day:
For all you Writers out there, what's your favorite writing treat to eat while you're tapping away on those keys? Mine is usually M&Ms and Diet Coke, but I might trade it out for a doughnut from Beyond Glaze.

agent stalking.

I go to a handful of conferences every year. Sometimes I get lucky (git yer mind outta the gutter)...I meant sometimes I'm lucky because I get to be the conference photographer. Which is a position that's not without perks. For example:

Perk #1 People hate me. When I turn my big lens on someone they look away or make a face. That makes me feel awesome. I love it when people avoid me at all costs. (Cue Nacho Libre voice) It is the best!

Perk #2 I flash people...and not just with my camera. My camera hangs from a fashionable neck strap that rubs across my side and front when I sling my camera around. It's a common everyday thing that I never think about much. That is, until last year at this conference. I brought a whole new approach to really understanding the genre. (The genre being romance. Think: heaving bosoms and bodice rippers. No, that's not exactly what I like to write...but maybe after what happened last year I should re-think it.) You can read about that here. 

Perk #3  I stalk people. And when I say people, I really mean agents. The thing is, being the photographer is like having an all access pass. Kind of. Usually the conference board that I'm working for wants me to take lots of pics of the VIP guests, like agents and editors. In the event they are not offended by the camera or my style of flashing, I usually get to spend some time talking with them. And when I say talking, I really mean stalking.


Basically it's an ok gig all around.

In October I'm going to attend the Utah Romance Writers of America-Heart of the West Conference. Man, that's a mouth full. The conference is going to be awesome because some pretty amazing agents are coming. Agents that I'll be stalking with my big massive camera and heaving bosoms. Want to come too? If you do, go to this link. Mention that I sent you over and they may waive the late fee! And then if you go you can come and stalk and flash and be hated just like me.

if they don't get together it ain't a romance.

At one of the first writing conferences I attended I heard Lynn Kurland speak about Romance in Fiction. To this day, it was the very best conference address I've heard on the subject. And believe me, I've been to quite a few writing conferences and heard more than I ever wanted on the subject. Lynn knew what she was talking about...after all, she is the queen bee when it comes to writing epically amazing love stories. Basically she said that a romance isn't a romance unless the boy and the girl end up together. If they don't then it's a tragedy.
Simple as that.
Frankly, I agree. If I pick a book up off the library shelf and it's labeled a romance, I expect that by the end of the novel the little lady will end up with her big strapping man. (ha ha...oh wait, I meant if I pick up the harlequin. Snort. That's really not my type of book, but you get my point.)
The story should play out as such: girl meets boy, girl and boy have issues that keep them apart, and then at the end girl and boy get together.
Yes, there should be some kissing.
And yes, their romance should be something that makes my heart jump in my chest. 
If the story follows the same pattern but at the end has some dramatic event like girl gets hit by a truck and dies, then the story is a TRAGEDY!
Which means, I don't want to see it, or read about it.

Which means, last night when my good friend Tracey dragged me to see One Day, I expected a romance.
But what I got was TRAGEDY!

And that, sums up why today I'm so stinking angry I could spit.

secret 5 of 100

I once gave a student an A on an assignment because I was embarrassed.

For a brief stint I taught high school English. (Yeah yeah, I'm the worst speller. I put commas all over the place, and my grammar smacks...exactly why I don't teach English any longer.)
When I was pregnant, I taught senior English in Hawaii and I happened to have a drool problem. You would think these two facts don't necessarily go hand in hand, but you'll soon see that you are wrong.
When I was preggers with Ted-O, I would wake up in a puddle (or lake) of drool. I drooled when I ate, and spat when I talked. Frankly, it was gross.
One afternoon my students were completing a worksheet. I walked through the classroom glancing over their shoulders and monitoring their work like a good teacher. When I came to Bob (not his actual name, but for privacy reasons I have to censor something now and then) I leaned over his shoulder to look at his work. I could see he was struggling with a problem half way down the page. I pointed at the question and explained it in further detail. As I was finishing up my expert explanation, showing my prowess as a high school teacher, a massive glob of saliva-tinged loogie plopped down and landed right in the middle of his paper.
He jerked back, his face screwed into a sickened expression.
Frozen in my own horrified stupor, it took me a moment to process that the gooey yellowish blob on his assignment just came from my mouth. My own freaking mouth!
"Eww, Miss," Bob started to say.
I snatched his paper away faster than I could spit again. "You just earned an A."
He blinked at me and back to the spot where his marred paper no longer lay. "Right on. You can spit on me any day."
"Keep quiet Bob," I hissed, "Or I just might."

Keeping my word, I marked an A in my grade book. And Bob never brought up the loogie-attack ever again. But now you know that I'm the type of teacher that spits on students' work!

writing inspiration - something about a ring.

I love LOVE. I love reading about Love and though I'm not published (yet...one day, one day) I love writing about Love. Frankly, if there isn't a romance plot line in a novel you have to prod me to read it. As the saying goes, Love makes the world go round.
I suppose this is why I'm so drawn to shooting weddings. The euphoria that surrounds a couple madly-in-love, about to take the plunge and vow their lives together is an addictive feeling. Though my feet are usually beat when I return home from a wedding, I have a smile plastered on my face and I'm often in the mood to pull out LoLa (my laptop) and go at it for awhile.
In fact, since I started really shooting weddings four years ago, I've written six novels. All with a strong romance plot line. And since I spend all day editing photos, sometimes just seeing a photo will inspire me to write.
I shot this photo at a wedding a week ago. Every time I look at it, my fingers start itching to get LoLa back from the Mac store where she's receiving a needed face lift. There's something about this ring that makes my heart fall in love again and again. As soon as LoLa returns I'm off to writer-land again where I can polish the chapters of my latest novel.

Ah, love true love...

panning.

Panning is a photographic technique that refers to the movement of the camera as it captures the image of a subject. While a subject is in motion (this can be anything from a car, to a person, or an animal) the camera follows that motion while snapping a shot. The exposure of the image is set at a long enough time to show the movement of the camera in the foreground or background of the image, but not necessarily on the subject.

If that sounds a little like photog mumbo jumbo to you, then here's the simple explanation. Basically you take a picture of something moving. And instead of holding still while taking the picture, you track the target of your picture with your camera. That way, everything else in the image should look blurry and your target should look sharp...or pretty close to it.

So what I'm saying is, this panning technique can be pretty tricky.

Some tips for panning:
1. Shoot in a manual setting so your shutter speed can be a little slower. (1/60-1/125) This will add even more blur to your movement...thus making your picture even awesomer. (It's a word, peeps. Trust me.)

2. Take a lot of photos. A Pulitzer prize winning photographer once told me, "If you want one great picture, then throw away 999." That pretty much sums up my style of shooting. Shoot lots, then throw away the crap.

3. Try a panning shot on a faster moving subject to get even better blur.

Here's a panning shot I took in Hawaii. The couple were spinning in a circle, so as they came around toward me I arced the camera as I took the picture. I love the blur in her limbs and hair!

school picture idea.

I don't like school photos. No. That's not quite it.
I loathe, detest, abhor, shudder-at-the-thought-of, completely-gag-when-I-look-at, HATE school photos. They're bland. They lack personality. And sometimes...if you're lucky, there's a mirror and a nicely posed child with a fist under his chin. Blech.

So this year I was inspired by a little photo I saw on Pinterest. If you're unsure what that is, email me and I'll fill you in. Basically Pinterest = best time suck ever!
This year I let the kids decide what they wanted in their picture. A favorite toy. A back pack. It was up to them. Then after the shoot, I mcjiggered a little somethin' somethin' in Photoshop. And voila! School pictures with personality and pizazz. (Can you tell I'm big on alliteration?)

It's an easy project.
1. Snap the picture.
2. Load the picture in Photoshop or another photo editing software that allows you to place text on the image.
3. Using varying fonts, type info about your kid at that age.
4. Flatten your image (if you used layers) and save a new copy so as not to save over the original file.
5. Print. If you live in Utah County go to Pro Digital Photos. They're great and I use them for a lot of my family pictures.

Here are a few samples of what I made:

bread butt.

The other day while I was making the typical PB&J lunch for my two youngest kids, I found myself out of bread. Luckily I keep a back-up loaf in the freezer. I pulled it out and thawed the first four pieces. When I started spreading the PB on the butt of the loaf, Teddy said, "I don't want that piece."
That was new. Up until that very moment I thought Teddy loved the end piece. He didn't protest the day before, or the day before that.
"I thought you liked the butt piece," I said.
"Not anymore. I don't like the butt."
I sighed. This new opinion of his had recently outed tomatoes and cucumbers too. I worried for a brief moment that he might become as fickle an eater as one of my friend's kids that will only eat toast and salmon. 
Ruby pulled herself up on the stool beside him and said very matter-of-factly, "I like butt."

And right then all my worries were washed away with laughter. 

procrastination.

I am guilty of procrastinating. Everything. Basically if I have something to do I'll wait until the very last minute to do it. Having said that, you'd think I didn't ever get anything done. Right?
Not so. See I have a theory. It is the theory of over-procrastination equals mass-production.

When I have a lot to do and I'm down to the last minute, I usually work faster and more efficiently. I get a lot more done. For example, when I have seven shoots to edit in less than a week, a chapter to write for my writing group, kids' appointments to attend, and a filthy house to clean; I actually end the week with a five of the seven shoots completed, a half-chapter written, an extra book read (because I cracked under the pressure and I de-stress by reading), only one appointment forgotten for the kids, and a semi-clean house.

If I compare that to any other normal non-stress week, I'd say my completed total isn't too shabby. I may have not finished everything I needed, but at least I did more than I usually would.

And so what I'm saying is procrastination creates an environment where you can be more productive than if you were sitting at home doing nothing. Therefore, I deem this the week of procrastinating!

Go Forth and Procrastinate.


...um, am I way off base here, or do you procrastinate too?

Secret 4 of 100

My first grade my teacher, Mrs. Vial, a horribly old woman with wretched, decaying breath and hair that resembled a white mushroom, hated me. She hated my wiggly body and constant chatter. She hated me so much she gave me recess detention. While all the other kids frolicked and played out on the school grounds I was stuck in her stuffy classroom, inhaling her horrid, dragon breath.
Towards the end of the play period, Mrs. Vial told me to stay inside while she gathered the class. Then she left. I remained in my seat until I couldn't take it any longer. I'm not sure what possessed me to go to the back of the room where all the students' brown lunch bags were lined up and clearly named. But I found myself back there, right in front of Lila McCormnack's bag. Maybe it was because she gloated that her mother had packed a massive bag of Skittles in her lunch. My mom only packed healthy gross things like a whole wheat sandwich, a banana, and carrot sticks. Bleh. For all I knew, Lila could've been Mrs. Vial's offspring because she was an equally detestable girl. But there I was, thinking about Lila's Skittles.
I knew at any moment the class would be returning. No doubt Lila, the first-grade cow that she was, would say something snide about my recess banishment. So in a moment of needing to rebel and fight back, I tore open Lila's lunch sack, ripped open the Skittles bag, and shoved my hand in to withdraw as many little sweets my fingers could possibly hold. With the same fervor, I munched and chomped and chewed those  skittles with guilty glee as I returned to my seat.

Moments later, the class returned. No one noticed the torn lunch bag, or the skittle dribble on my cheek. And when the folly was discovered at lunch, I promptly denied having any part of the Skittle snatching. Though I'm sure Mrs. Vial didn't believe me because I received detention after school and at recess for the next week. But to this day, I never admitted my guilt.

But I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm no longer stealing Skittles from first graders....(disclaimer: this doesn't apply to my own kids during the month of October). There you have it. My secret is I was a Skittle thief.