In Which I Almost Die

On Friday night I almost died.

I’m not trying to be all dramatic about it. Okay, maybe I’m trying to be a little dramatic, but for good reason. I mean, if facing death doesn’t give a girl the right to theatrics, I don’t know what does.

So back to my almost-death. It was Friday night and The Man was out. I’m cool with being alone. My mother thinks it’s a character flaw, but I tell her I’d be a failure as a writer if I spent all my time communing with other humans. That’s when she usually glares at my dad and says something like, “This is your fault.” Which is true, because my dad’s introverted and I guess half of my genes come from him, apparently including my disposition.

Anyway, I was alone and in bed, bundled under a mound of covers and watching a terrible movie on Netfix because I’d already watched all of the good free movies. And that’s when I saw it.

I should tell you now that I have incredible peripheral vision. It’s actually funny because my overall vision isn’t so far from a blind person’s. It’s something I truly worry about when considering my life twenty years from now.

So I was staring at the computer screen when I saw a black dot moving in my peripheral vision. I looked.

I screamed.

Here’s where you should know that I don’t scare easily. I have yet to be scared during a horror flick, even though I went through a period in high school when my ultimate goal was to find a movie* that terrified me. Instead, I watched my friends frighten and found ways to further freak them out by setting up elaborate hoaxes which, looking back, probably lost me more friends than I gained. So you know that my fear this Friday was 100 percent, honest-to-goodness, totally-freaking-out FEAR.

Maybe I can’t finish this story. Maybe I have PTSD. No, I most certainly do have PTSD. But here I go...

I saw a spider lower itself from the ceiling toward the bed. When I noticed, the thing was about an inch from my blanket, hanging upside down on that stupid clear string/webbing/whatever you call it,** it’s little legs moving all over the place.

First, I screamed. Then I started hyperventilating.

And in a split second I had a surprising amount of thoughts. I wondered if this was what it was like right before you died. People say they think of the most random things, like whether the local meteorologist got spray tanned or something.

I grabbed a napkin that I’d been using and for a quick moment I thought, “This napkin’s dirty,” as if this spider had to be killed on a pristine paper towel. As if using a dirty napkin was any more disgusting than touching a spider through two layers of thin paper.

The thing was an inch from my blankets—AN INCH!—when I squished it between the napkin. I ground that sucker so good I’m sure it was one with the napkin. After I threw it out, I called The Man.

“Hello?” he asked when he picked up.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. I just had the most tramatic, most terrible, most—OH MY GOODNESS!”

Silence. “Trace, what’s wrong?”

“Something happened. OH MY GOODNESS something happened. I can’t—” I took about 347 tiny breaths but my mind was picturing that disgusting spider and my breathing was making me dizzy.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” The Man asked, and despite my serious lack of sanity, I knew enough to respond before he killed himself trying to drive home and save me from a psycho killer or masked robber or some other two-legged menace.

“There was a spider. An inch from the bed. AN INCH FROM THE BED!”

Laughing.

“This is not funny. I was in a perilous situation! I might need years of therapy after this! I should just kill myself now to stop the mental image I have.”

Laughing. “But you killed it? So you’re okay. It’s all gone.”

“Yes, this one is all gone,” I said, glancing at the trash can to make sure the napkin was still in the same spot. I can never be too sure when it comes to bugs. Part of my mind believes they’ll come back to life and start crawling all over me.

“But,” I continued, still partially hyperventilating, “how do I know this is the first spider to land in our bed? Have there been others? Have they touched me? Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. They touched me didn’t they?”

“No, a bug has never touched you. Your skin is repellant.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Yes, I’m the ridiculous one.”

I shut my eyes, then opened them fast. I needed to keep watch in case any of the spider’s friends descended on me at that moment. The Man laughed off my theory, but I had a sneaking suspicion this spider was just some sort of lookout and when he didn’t return, his entire battalion would drop from the ceiling and—

I can’t even finish that thought.

“But what if when we go to bed tonight,” I said, speaking faster. “The rest of them come down and go under our covers and crawl on us and crawl into our ears and up our noses and in our mouths?”

Laughter. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“And then we’d be sleeping so we wouldn’t know they were touching us and CRAWLING INTO OUR ORIFICES. And then they’d implant their eggs under our skin!”

“That’s an urban legend.”

“And then in however long it takes to incubate a legion of baby spiders they will hatch and CRAWL OUT OF OUR SKIN! Ugh, I hate my imagination.”

“As do I.”

And that’s the story of how I almost died. It’s not that I’m delusional and think the spider was a black widow or some other equally as deadly arachnid. It was more like my phobia almost killed me. At least, I think it’s possible to give yourself a heart attack. I pretty sure I almost did. 

There was a point to this, but my story kind of got out of hand. Not that it’s not true—it is, all of it. But I expected the recounting of my night of terror to be a lot shorter so I could tell you about this awesome book I read while attempting to take my mind off of a possible assault from a brigade of arachnids.

So my next post will be about that book, which was awesome and hilarious and so much better than a surprise spider.

Now that I’ve laid out my fears for you, what are you most scared of?

*Except for Arachnophobia. I knew that one would give me nightmares for years.

**You didn’t honestly expect me to look up the correct term, did you? I mean, you realize I’d have to LOOK AT PICTURES OF SPIDERS!

A Gentle Reminder

Readers who I love, there’s a lesson in my absenteeism and it’s this: Blog Me MAYbe really takes that whole maybe thing serious. At least I do.

And that’s why I’ve been maybe not blogging every day of May though it’s the point of the entire blogfest. But, you see, I’m drowning in a sea of work and if I stopped to write a blog post I might never resurface. Or at least that’s how it feels.* So I’m going to leave you with a reminder and then run straight back into my cave to continue working until the day job forces me to cry uncle.

The purpose of this post is to remind you that we’ll be talking about Insurgent, the second book in the Diverent series, as part of the YA Book Club on May 31. That gives you nine days to read the book if you want to join. Which you should.

Also, could this be any more true? I’m currently at the “sob” stage.

*We’ll see what happens after I finish this one.

Obsessed (Also, Pick Our May Book)

So Friday for my birthday The Man took me to FINALLY see The Hunger Games. It was playing at the drive-in nearby, and since I’m literally The Girl On Fire, I was happy we could sit in the car with the A/C blasting my feet.

The obsessed fan that I am, I wore this T-shirt:

Under a sweatshirt with the same saying. I’m pretty sure all those teens in tank tops were jealous of how cool I looked. I’m pretty sure that’s what their stares meant.

Pretty sure.

So without spending six pages explaining my thoughts on the movie I’ll just say three things:

• I really, really liked it.
• I still couldn’t help but think how the book was so much better. It’s understandable that A LOT has to be cut for film, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss some details.*
• Still, I thought it was great.

Right, so enough Hunger Games gushing. We have business to attend to. Friends, what are your suggestions for the May YA book club?

I’m looking to you for help. I know there are some pretty awesome sequels coming out at the end of this month, but let’s stick with stand-alone books** so the maximum number of readers can enjoy the book club.

Kapishe?***

Hit me: What do you want to read?

*Though it’s been way too long since I read the books, which I plan on doing before I see the movie again. I might be crazy, but I thought Peeta was tougher in the book for some reason...

**One day we’ll read a sequel to a book club book, but today is not that day. Mainly because there are no sequels to the books we’ve read…yet.

***Am I the only one who thinks of Uncle Jesse every single time she hears this word?

The Earworm

There’s a word I hate that automatically came to my mind when I decided to write this post. Actually, there are a lot of words I hate (not the least of which are these two) but this just happens to be the one that wiggled its way into my brain right now:

Earworm.

Oh. God.

I should preface this whole post by telling you that I am deathly afraid of anything alive that creeps, crawls, slithers, skitters, wiggles, or has more than four legs.* Basically, I like my animals larger than my hand and covered in fur. (NOBODY tell me there is a hairy spider larger than my hand in the world. If you do, I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND DESTROY YOU.)

Right, so the word earworm. I’m well aware that it’s not actually referring to a worm but is in fact a song that you can’t get out of your mind. (Like this.**) However. The word sounds too much like an actual worm that wiggles into your brain through your ears.

Oh no.

I interrupt this post with a horrible, terrible, make-me-curl-in-a-ball-and-want-to-vomit visual image. Sorry guys. If it makes you feel better, I completely creeped myself out with that one.

Anyway, I have this pounding headache that I’m 99.9978 percent sure is not a result of expanding blood vessels in my brain. I’m also certain this brain ache has nothing to do with the kink in my neck or the insane amount of time I’ve spent staring at a computer screen this weekend.

No. I’m pretty sure it’s a result of brain invaders. And one word comes to mind: Earworm. And mine? Mine is some sort of wannabe rock god because it’s playing the drums on my eyeballs, which if you think about it is pretty rude.

I just thought you should know this. Also, I thought you should know that there is still time to sign up for the Class of 2011 YASuperlative Blogfest, during which you can get back at all those losers who didn’t vote you Best Smile in high school by assigning your own superlatives to fictional characters. You’ll show them!

And because I care deeply about all of you:

Courtesy of the lovely Ryan Gosling Reads Young Adult.

This is going to seem like a non sequitur, but I promise it isn’t: Name a good song (or songs or album) you’ve been listening to recently. I need to get that terrible Song I Shall Not Name (the curious can click above) out of my head.

*Dear, Katherine, I do not understand you, but I admire you and would love to have you come over next time I need something teensy tiny killed. Deal?

**Click at your own risk.

The E-Book Secret

Here’s the thing about e-books that no one tells you: They make you incapable of basic math.*

Seriously.

I’m pretty sure there’s something in e-readers that interferes with brain waves, thus causing a massive mathematical malfunction in humans. Because Tracey A.N. (after the Nook) doesn’t have the same mental capacity, at least when it comes to math, as Tracey B.N. (before the Nook).

As proof, I will humiliate myself by revealing what has become glaringly obvious to me over the past few months:

My brain believes $9.99 + $9.99 + $9.99 + $9.99 + $9.99 is less than $15.99.

For reals.

When I’m looking to buy a hardcover and see five books I reallywantneedtohave I weigh my options, ultimately picking the book I most want to read. I can’t pull the trigger on all five because, HELLO, $15.99 adds up!

But when I’m looking to buy an e-book I click away. Do you want to confirm this purchase for $9.99? HECK YES! And this one, for a book you only sort of want to read? Obviously! This goes on between Barnes & Nobel’s pop-up window and me until I’ve spend $80 without realizing it.

And THAT my friends is how e-books wipe the knowledge of basic math from your gray matter.

Anyone else experience this phenomenon?

P.S. We’ll be talking about Daughter of Smoke and Bone on Friday for the book club. If you’re on the fence about reading it, I encourage you to try. I won’t give away what I thought, but ... um ... you might want to try it.

*If your job depends on you using math, I highly suggest sticking with paper books. Don’t say I didn't warn you...

The Revision Freak Out

I’m in the middle of revising my YA sci-fi novel, which means sometimes I look like this:

Like when I re-read a passage and I actually love it. Or when I’m sucked in to my own story. But most of the time I look like this:

Usually I stare at my revision to-do list and have a minor freak out because the draft sucks and I’m not sure I’m capable of reworking it the way it needs to be reworked. You know when you stare at the last five chapters and think they’d be better off in the trash? Yeah, I’m there.*

And it’s not that the words themselves bother me. It’s the fact that those words in those paragraphs and in those scenes don’t quite belong in that order. Sigh.

So I’ve been working through my revision notes methodically, attempting to ignore the crazy amount of yellow comments in future chapters. It’s kind of like ignoring an itch when someone tells you their house has bedbugs. Which is to say, almost impossible.

But because I’m not overwhelmed enough, I decided to follow all of the tips Donald Maass tweeted last month. And of course they’re all awesome. And of course following them will make my manuscript better to the Maass degree.

I won’t list them all here since I’m guessing most of you have seen them, but I wanted to point to a few that have inspired changes in my story so far.

#14 In your climactic scene, what are 3 details of place that only your MC would notice? Cut more obvious details, replace with these.

#18 Give your MC passionate feelings about something trivial: e.g., cappuccino, bowling, argyle socks. Write his/her rant. Add it.

#26 Whom is your MC afraid to let down? What is the sacred trust between them? What would cause your MC to break it? Break it.

#30 What’s the worst thing that happens to your MC? Work backwards. Make it something your MC has spent a lifetime avoiding.

How do you revise? Do you have any tips to add to these?

Also, a huge congrats to my friend Erin Bowman who just sold her YA trilogy! You can read the Publishers Marketplace blurb on her blog. (Sneak peek: It sounds amazing.)

*Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way...

Writers Lie.

My characters have a mind of their own.

We hear this all the time. As writers, we think: Yeah, mine too. Pesky bastards. Non-writers think: These people deserve a straight jacket and padded room. So maybe I should explain when I say my characters kicked me in the shins and forced the story in another direction.

First, I’m not nuts. (OK, maybe I’m nuts but it’s not because I hear pretend people speak to me.)

Second, consider lying.

It starts out innocent enough. Someone asks you to watch their dog for the weekend—the same dog that peed on your rug last time, leaving a dark dribble mark you’ll never be able to walk barefoot over again—and you say, “I’d love to but I’m busy.”

Then things spiral out of control. Soon you’re explaining how you’re going out of town to help your mother clean her house because your father hurt his hip while cleaning out the gutters. Oh, and did you know that your mother’s house is extra messy because she’s been babysitting your sister’s illegitimate child for a month. And that child isn’t potty trained.

You get the idea. The lie takes on a life of its own, and before you know it you no longer have to watch your neighbor’s dog—though you do have to explain to your 15-year-old sister why she’ll be getting a gift box of diapers in the mail.

That’s how it works when you’re writing a story. Things happen you didn’t foresee. Characters do things you never intended for them to do. Your mind twists and turns until the story is alive.

Non-writers: That’s what writers are talking about.

In other words: We lie. A lot.

Do you guys find your characters push your plot in directions you've never imagined? And, truthfully, does it work like a lie for you or do they, um, really speak?

The In Between

The first draft is done. Those words flew out my brain almost faster than I can type. (Almost. I’m a speedy typist.) And now…

… I wait.

… I congratulate myself.

… I tell my sister.

… I tell The Man.

… we do a happy dance.

… I eat an extra dessert.

… I decide that one scene needs to be longer.

… and the scene where you-know-who does you-know-what needs to go.

… I realize there are a lot of blanks I’m going to need to fill in.

… I understand that my love interest is boring.

… and I need to give him more of a personality.

… if I bother editing.

… this sucks.

Right. So I’m going through the in-between moment where I’m staying away from my WIP for several weeks. Yet it’s constantly in my head, which is annoying at times. (Like when someone’s trying to have a real conversation with me and that someone expects a response.) It’s at this time that the self-doubt sets in.

Maybe it’s horrible. Maybe it’s boring. Maybe it’s the most horrible and most boring novel EVER WRITTEN!!!! (Yes, that’s a four exclamation point kind of emotion.) Then I realize that 1) Walden is the most boring book ever written and I’m sorry if you love Henry David Thoreau, but it’s a fact. And 2) I must write better than a celebrity (coughcoughSnookicoughcough) and I feel better.

And then my sister says she loves it. And I feel a lot better. Even if it’s just my sister.

I will edit this. I will right the wrongs. I will add and subtract and dish out personalities like Halloween candy.

What do you during your In Between? Read? Start another story? Watch bad TV? Hibernate?