Dawn's Rise: Blogfest

Showing posts with label Blogfest. Show all posts

Monday, February 14, 2011

Romance Blogfest: Steam Palace

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!

This is my entry for Jordan McCollum’s Romance Blogfest. Her instructions are: “Post a first meeting between two characters who will fall for each other (even if it doesn’t look like they will at the time!).” Please check out the other entries!

This scene is from the first chapter of Steam Palace where our Heroine Sophia is rescued by a mysterious stranger. Hank had been pursuing her, trying to force her to marry him.

Sophia’s world was crashing, burning around her. A man dead? she thought in disbelief. She looked at the four faces that surrounded her, all seeking her mortal harm. Two lifted Jim’s body onto his saddle. She had done that man a grievous wrong, and she ached to think of Jim’s family.

Despite the horror, Sophia would not be forced into a marriage with someone she did not love, no matter what the circumstances. That left only one path. Sophia ducked under Al’s arm in an escape move, breaking his hold, and ran through the woods with all the effort she could muster. She would fight them all the way to the gallows if necessary.

“You can’t run from this!” cried Hank behind her, no doubt mounting his horse in pursuit.

If she could just reach the mechohorse, the shotgun lay in its belly. Just as she reached the trail and spotted the machine, horses surrounded her once again, circling her. Sophia turned every which way but could not find an opening. Hank pulled out his pistol and shot at her feet, the reports echoing throughout the forest.

“Dance, Duchess, dance!”

A different boom rattled the trees. A lone horseman stood on the trail. A black hooded coat draped his head and shoulders. He rode on a magnificent chestnut mare worthy of the King’s Guard, holding a long, smoking rifle at the ready. “I shall not miss again,” he called.

“Hey, get the hell out of here!” cried Hank. “This ain’t your business. This woman killed one of my men, and we aim to have our revenge.”

The dark rider leveled the rifle and peered down the sight. “Say the word, milady, and I shall dispatch these men to their graves. This is a repeating Spencer, boys, fully loaded.” His voice spoke cool and calm.

[a lot of fighting and shooting ensues including an airship attack]

Sophia crept out from under the belly of her broken mechohorse. The dark rider rode his mare out from under a tree where he had hidden from the airship.

“Are you hurt, milady?”

Sophia examined herself for a second, and then looked up at the man who had saved her endless grief. “I am quite well, thank you. To whom do I owe gratitude?”

The man removed his hood. “Thomas Putnam, formerly Captain in the Third Aivy. This is Lucy.” He patted the mare.

“Thomas?” Sophia had not heard that name for years. Thomas was the son of the town’s only physician, a foreign woman from Charlottiana. He had been in the Aivy, the Air Navy as it were, for many years. “Thank you so much. I am forever in your debt.”

Sophia studied him. He looked terrible, with sunken eyes and many days’ growth of beard, quite unlike the tall, strong boy she remembered. His dark wavy hair lay plastered to his scalp. But she saw something else in his eyes, a strength of character missing in most men she had encountered in her life. She instinctively knew she could trust him.

“Do you require any further assistance?”

Sophia glanced at the mechohorse. “I believe she is done for. Might I request a ride to my home?”

“It would be my honor.” A hint of a smile crossed his lips.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Death Scene Blogfest – Steam Palace

Blogfest O’ Death – Steam Palace

Now I know people have been waiting for this for a long time, so welcome to The Death Scene Blogfest hosted by the wonderful Tesse Conte! Go check out all the other great entries!

So as some of you know, I’ve been engaged in cutting scenes right and left, and this one unfortunately fell on the cutting room floor, but now it will live on forever on the internets. Bad Girl Viola has fled to the Southland, and now lives in a woman’s dormitory at the Great Southland World Exposition for Peace in Richmond where she works. She shares a room with Charlotte, a college student. She’s also taken a new name, Violet. But make no mistake…she’s still Viola through and through. Let’s just say she’s taken a liking to Charlotte and feels protective of her…very protective.

Charlotte shook Violet awake. “Violet! Violet!”

Violet jumped up. “What? Am I late?” The dawn was still dim.

“No, look at this!” She handed Violet a news-graph. “Two women, murdered in their beds last night. It’s Frenchie and Barbara!” Violet glanced at the crude drawings of their unfortunate friends. Charlotte tore the graph away, her eyes wide. “You did it. You murdered them!”

“I was here all night!”

Charlotte sniffled, huffing her breath.

Violet stood and wrapped her arms around Charlotte’s waist. “Listen. I’m sorry what I said last night, about killing you. That was stupid. I was hurt. I could never do such a thing, even in anger. I’m not like that. Come, let’s dress, find breakfast, and talk about it. We mustn’t let such things interfere with our day.”

She reached up and kissed the girl on the cheek but Charlotte turned from her.

“Violet,” said Charlotte, her dark eyes wide and accusing, “please swear to me you had no involvement in this.”

Violet’s mouth dropped. “I swear! And I can’t believe you would think such a thing. I am as shocked as you. How could something like that happen to people I just met?”

Charlotte attempted a weak smile. “Okay. Sorry.” Did Charlotte believe her? What did it matter? The poor girl could never understand these sorts of things.

Violet gathered her green Expo uniform. Of course, she had no involvement at all, except for creeping in their window and stabbing them in the hearts as they slept, holding their mouths shut as the life left their bodies. Barbara, for hating Americans and Africans, and Frenchie, for touching her friend. Violet protected hers. She tousled Charlotte’s head and smiled.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

My Best Advice for New Writers Blogfest – NaNoWriMo

Thanks to Carrie Bailey of Peevish Penman for hosting the My Best Advice for New Writer’s Blogfest! Check out all the other kewl entries!

Every November for the past 11 years, hundreds of thousands of writers huddle around their laptops and notepads with a singular goal in mind—write fifty thousand words in thirty days…specifically from 12am Nov. 1 to 12pm Nov. 30. Can it be done? Yes.

The “idea” behind NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is that many aspiring writers talk about writing, think about it, but never actually complete a novel. The challenge is to actually complete a novel in one month. Here’s how it works: you sit down and write 1667 words a day, more if you can. That’s about 7 pages of published text every day. Once November is over, you will have a shiny new manuscript to brag about, and you will join the ranks of those with first drafts of their novels.

Here’s why this works. By forcing yourself to write every day, and write a lot every day, you must be creative. The sheer tension of the exercise translates into your text. Your characters usually face deadlines as well. You must throw them into danger and find quirky ways to extricate them. Your life and your characters’ lives become intertwined, and you start living in both worlds at once. This is total immersion into the world of your novel, where the ideas flow out as fast as you can think them up. You don’t have time to ponder proper grammar or punctuation, let alone metaphor or point-of-view.

Now let’s be serious for a moment. Most of the stuff you will come up with will be crap (whether you write your first draft during NaNoWriMo or not). Characters will show up and disappear. Threads will be left hanging. Scenes will be as empty as a Christmas store in May. Your villains will be as hollow as a later Schwarzenegger movie. Don’t worry about it. Your magical First Draft is simply a milestone on your way to a publishable masterpiece. Consider it as a detailed outline, subject to edits and revisions. The point is that you now have something you can work with, the first step in creating something bigger. You’ve written a novel, and no one can take that away from you!

Despite the fact that NaNoWriMo starts Nov. 1, I highly suggest starting earlier—not writing, of course, but plotting, planning, thinking about characters and conflicts, the general gist of the story, settings, world-building, etc. The more you have ready-to-go before Nov. 1, the easier it will be. Character sketches, backstory, maps, descriptions, scene ideas, whatever you think might make it easier.

To help you out, I’ve assembled some of my other posts on NaNoWriMo:

Good luck, and I hope to see you all November 1, 2010!

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Bickering Blogfest – Steam Palace

Thanks to Kristen Yard for hosting The Bickering Blogfest! (My characters? Bicker???) Check out the other entries!

So this isn’t an actual scene from my novel, but I realized it would be a perfect time for some bickering between Sophia (the milkmaid-turned-burleque-pianist-turned-undercover-agent-turned-cavalier-turned-fugitive) and Viola (the Bad Girl who is Sophia’s long-lost twin sister, although technically Sophia is Viola’s long-lost twin sister, but I digress).

There’s a body, and I’m not saying whose. But it’s kind of a problem.

Sophia shoved the heavy body but it clung to her frame. “A little assistance please.”

Viola hovered, her dark features dripping with the dead man’s blood. She placed her hands on the man’s torso, and together, they rolled him off the bed. He thumped the floor with a sick thud.

Sophia looked at her waist. “His blood is everywhere! I’m soaked!”

Viola smirked. “Would you rather I waited for a more convenient moment?”

Sophia leaned over and looked at the dripping corpse. “We can’t leave him there. What if someone calls on him?”

Viola crossed her arms. “We must return him to bed. Then if someone calls, we will act as if he were in the throes of passion.”

“He’s dead! You want us to lay with him? I do not wish to even touch him.” Sophia shivered.

Viola wiped her hands on her corset. “Maybe we can shove him under the bed.”

Sophia swallowed the rising bile. “Look at that puddle. How much blood can one man have? It’s crawling along the cracks in the floor board. We cannot leave him here. And this bedding is ruined. Not to mention that we both appear slightly guilty in the matter.”

Viola turned and walked away. “Good point. I shall escape by the window.”

Sophia reached out. “No! We can’t leave, it will bring suspicion.”

“I think the body will bring suspicion.”

Sophia glanced down at the man, still pouring his lifeblood onto the floor. “What about the tub? We’ll just say he slipped and fell.”

Viola laughed, blood shimmering in the light. “Dear sister. How does one slip and fall into a dozen stab wounds?”

“I don’t know!” Tears formed in her eyes. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Viola’s eyes narrowed. “And I’ve never had to sit and watch the body stiffen. Do you think I enjoy this? We should be miles away by now.”

Sophia breathed, forcing her trembling limbs to quiet. “Okay, to the bathroom then. We shall lock him in, explain that he consumed some rotten whalemeat. You know what that does to one’s digestion.”

Sophia slid out of bed and waved Viola over. They each grabbed a leg. “Okay, ready?” She yanked on the foot, but her feet slipped on the oozing blood and the floor smacked her butt. Viola hovered over her, shaking her head.

Sophia placed her fists on her temples. “This is impossible! What can we do?”

“Back on the bed then.”

The two maneuvered around and grabbed the slick body, but its dead weight would not budge.

Sophia stood and stomped her foot. “This is all your fault. We were well hidden in that cave, but you insisted on revealing yourself.”

Viola frowned. “And you could have had everything with him. You made your choice, I made mine.”

Sophia sighed and looked at the corpse, then at the bed. “Okay, here’s what we do. Tie a bed sheet around him, then drape the sheet over our shoulders and pull him like a donkey would.”

“I am not a donkey!”

“Viola, please. Mechohorse then. How is that?”

Viola sniffed. “I am no beast of burden. I had to do the killing, and now you want me to perform heavy labor? Did you ever consider that I might be a bit distraught at this moment? Do you think killing is an easy thing?”

Sophia slapped her thighs. “And I had to endure his assault. Viola, this bickering is getting us nowhere. Now unless you have a better suggestion, I would like to remove his body as soon as possible.”

“Throw him out the window? Ooh...the fireplace. Burn him.” Her eyes glowed.

“You want to either toss him out the window in plain view of a thousand infantrymen or burn him in the fireplace so a thousand men can smell our crime?”

Viola threw up her hands. “I usually want people to find the body, to send a message. Hmm. Throw a rug over him?”

Sophia had an impulse to strangle her sister. “No.”

The corpse groaned. Sophia squealed. “He’s still alive! Viola, he’s still alive!” She jumped across the bed and huddled on the other side.

Viola looked at her and laughed. “You really are new to this. Corpses make all sorts of noises. See?” She stood on the body and jumped up and down. Each jump resulted in a small groan.

“Viola, stop! Please! You are making me gag!”

A knock rapped on the door. The women looked at each other. “Just a minute,” called Viola. “Come, help me push him.”

Sophia sprang over, slipping and sliding, and together, they shoved the body under the bed. Viola dragged a carpet over the blood while Sophia made the bed and blew out some candles.

Viola pointed down. “Okay Sophia, hide with him.”

“What? Under the bed?”

“It’s the only way. Hurry.”

Sophia crawled next to the corpse.

“Come in,” called Viola from under the sheets.

A young man entered. “I have a message for ______” He waved an envelope.

“He’s taken quite ill, I’m afraid,” said Viola. “He’ll be unavailable for a while.”

Just at that moment, the corpse groaned again. Sophia almost screamed but bit her finger.

“Yes, I can hear,” said the man. “Sounds like he’s on death’s door. Okay, make sure he receives it. We need his response right away.”

“Will do, as soon as he’s able. Just leave it over there,” said Viola from under the covers.

Sophia crawled back out after the man left. Viola smiled, reached out her arms, and wiped the blood off her shoulders and back. “You see? We’ll get through this.”

Sophia shuddered. “As long as the blood doesn’t start dripping through the floor.”

Viola picked her feet up as if that made a difference. “Shoot. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Yes, you did not think about any of this, did you?”

And the bickering continues….

Secret Blogfest – Steam Palace

“Secret” Blogfest – Steam Palace

Thanks to Tara Fouts for hosting the “Secret” Blogfest. Go check out the other entries!

Okay, I was going to use this for the Cognitive Dissonance Blogfest that was cancelled, but it works here too. Sophia has just read a hand-written note from Viola who has fled the country. I hope this doesn’t reveal too much. It’s a little over a third of the way into the novel. Sophia has been wrestling with the fact that she and Viola look almost identical although they grew up on opposite sides of society.

Sophia sat at the kitchen table chewing a slice of rich, dark bread, studying the last line over and over again. “Your true sister.” Double underlined? A hand clenched her heart and the bread fell from her mouth. For a week she had lain in bed in Beatrice’s residence, hiding ugly bruises from the world, sulking in misery at the injustices of life. This morning, a courier delivered the note.

“Beatrice,” she said. No response. “Beatrice!” Her constricting throat cracked her voice.

The woman rumbled down the stairs. “Yes, yes, Sophia, what is it?”

Sophia passed the note to Beatrice.

Beatrice’s eyes went wide; her hand found her mouth. “Viola has fled the country. I feared it would come to this someday.”

“That’s not what I find most upsetting. Read the last line.”

Beatrice swallowed. “Well, she thinks of you as her sister.”

Beatrice would not meet Sophia’s gaze. Why? ”What are you hiding from me? What does she underline ‘true’ twice? What is she trying to tell me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Her downcast eyes and shaking head betrayed her.

“Beatrice Harwinton. Is Viola Willamante my actual sister? Answer me!” Sophia stood up and faced the shivering woman.

Beatrice turned, ran upstairs, and slammed her bedroom door shut.

Sophia pursued and pounded on the oak door. “Open this door at once! I demand to know the truth!”

“You don’t want the truth,” she cried, “you don’t want it!”

“I do! Please, Beatrice. By your actions I can only assume that Viola is my actual sister.” And if Viola is my sister—how could such a thing be possible? Scenarios churned her mind. Had Viola been stolen as a child? Then why hadn’t Shelby or Mother ever told her? Sophia pounded on the door again.

“WHO IS VIOLA WILLAMANTE!” Sophia’s throat convulsed into choking coughs, and she fell to her knees, gagging.

The door unlatched. Tears flooded Beatrice’s eyes.

“Please,” rasped Sophia. “How did Mother or Shelby not know I had a sister? Or my father? But you knew, didn’t you? That’s why you took her in. She must have been stolen from us. Tell me, please.”

Beatrice slumped to the floor next to Sophia, her hands pressed to eyes. A sob escaped her throat. “They never knew. I am so ashamed. You never needed to know. But the truth is…” The woman paused, her chest shaking. “…the truth is that Viola is not the stolen child…you are.”

The “cognitive dissonance” part comes right after this as Sophia needs to deal with the fact that she’s been “adopted”…illegally.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Bad Boy Blogfest – William

Thanks to Tina Lynn for hosting the Bad Boy Blogfest! Click to look at the other entries!

So despite having a plethora of Bad Girls, I don’t really have many Bad Boys. Then I remembered I started writing a story that is a documentary (working title is “Bio”) about a man written ten years after his death. The concept is that William starts as a street punk, grows into some kind of terrorist/bad guy, then has some kind of revelation and tries to atone for his sins and is killed for those beliefs. I have about 14K written but I don’t know if it will ever be completed. Note this is rough first-draft material, and it’s told in retrospect.

William nestled himself down into the homeroom class chair, scanning the other faces in the room with hostile intent. Little did he know how much this day would affect the rest of his life. Most of the students kept their distance from him. Few dared to talk directly to him. Only the deadbeats and junkies would approach him. The aged and faded teacher brought the class to attention.

“Listen up! Today we have new student from Kansas. Her name is Kendra. I hope you all can assist Kendra in her way around school today.”

William had been staring blankly at his knuckles, calculating which terrifying phrase he should engrave. When he lifted his head to glare at the newcomer, his breath caught in his throat. Up to this moment in his life, women were simply something more to be hated. All his eyes saw up to now were wicked, greedy, selfish women. But here was a very flower, a beautiful lily in a sea of seaweed. Her hair grew short and light, her features small but clean, her eyes as bright at a bullet, her mouth a tasty treat. She shyly waved to the class before casting her eyes nervously on her neatly covered and labeled schoolbooks.

While the Principal and other school officials read off boring announcements and pronouncements, William locked his gaze on the girl’s small figure. Her apparel spoke of a wealthy upbringing, with the latest wireless gadgets and fancy computer controlled hair net garnishing her scalp. Part of William’s soul raged at what she symbolized: wealth, power, “good upbringing”, health. He imagined how “good” and proper she was. All throughout the class he glared at her profile. So clean and unmarked, in contrast to his piercings and body alterations. Her eager demeanor infuriated him. His mind filled with hateful images, of blood and strangulation, knives and nails. She represented everything he was not, she had everything he didn’t and her short flirtatious glances at the football guy did not escape his keen scrutiny. His lip involuntarily curled into a sneer. His rage consumed him and burned his heart black.

The moment the bell rang to dismiss the class, he rushed to the girl’s side, ready to find some immediate cruel way of welcoming her to his class. As he drew close to her, something stayed his hand. Something indescribable, something he had never felt before. Suddenly he stumbled for words.

“Hi,” he said to her meekly.

“Hi,” she replied, a friendly smile on her face. But that smile slowly faded as she took in the sight of the unkempt rebel. Numerous loops and studs pierced his facial features, and several tattoos littered his visage, including hate symbols. His clothes, mostly leather in various stages of disrepair and filth. An aura of cigarette and worse fumes arose from his body. One eye bore the mark of a recent struggle, pouting with black and green stains. Kendra slowly backed away from him, her friendly smile replaced with a curt, worried one.

“Need help finding a class,” he ventured.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I gotta run.” And run she did.

William’s face turned red upon hearing the mocking laughs of his class mates, but inside a terrible churning ripped through him. He clenched his fists in suppressed rage and stomped down the hall, determined to make this humiliation right.

My idea for Kendra is that she becomes his nemesis/mentor in later years and is the catalyst for his eventual reformation.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Breaking the Rules Blogfest – WTF?

Thanks to Elizabeth Mueller for hosting the Breaking The Rules Blogfest! The idea is to highlight your crappiest writing from your past, showing how you used to break the “rules” of writing.

Well, I searched around for some crappy writing but it’s really hard to find docs I wrote some 20+ years ago, but then I remember I had written a small prologue (ding!) that is quite purple (ding!) with a strange typo (ding!) and makes little sense (ding!). At the time, I thought it was some of my best writing. I’ll let you judge. I believe this dates back to December 1988 although I might have edited more in the following years.

The blasted desolation of the North American Glacier crouched frozen in time, mute testimony to the psychotic destruction of dead ages past. A torrent of years swept across the huddled land, thrusting great glaciers skyward, a massive enematic[SIC] force. Pitiful, hopeless in comparison was the microscopic infestation which presumed to multiply in and upon the surface of the barren wasteland. The lethal climate beat upon this infection mercilessly, expending all its efforts upon destruction. Yet the miserable particles survived.

Deep below the layers of ice and dirt and bitter remains, a whispery, elusive force lay dormant, its forgotten glory like battered rags on its slumped shoulders. The infestation had danced and sang to its almighty song until it thrilled with ecstasy, never hearing the black dirge of death and destruction the tiny motes chorused. Not until now, when the only song brought to its withering consciousness was the fearsome wind, screaming across the barren wasteland in a fit of mockery. But it watched, and waited, while the hated radiation beat upon its infertile soil, while the last remnants of its finest achievement pleaded to survive one more day, one more hour, in a desperate struggle for life. The force waited, steeped in sorrow and shame, for the day when Spring would return, to try a new experiment in creation, correct the horrid errors of its past. But its last experiment still survived, and had no intention of being hurled back into creation's bleak mixing pot.

I have no idea what the heck all that means.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Character Interview Blogfest – Sophia Responds

So after yesterday’s post, Sophia has been relentlessly hounding me for a response, so I conducted another interview. Sophia is the main character of Steam Palace.

ANDREW: Hello, Sophia. What’s so urgent that I must make another post?

SOPHIA: Thank you very much for your indulgence in my petition, Mr. Rosenberg. I shall drive straight to the point. I am quite upset at your portrayal of Miss Viola as an Evil Villain. Nothing could be further from the truth.

ANDREW: Okay…

SOPHIA: It is true that she is quite challenged, but I believe her to be good. She performs many heroic acts.

ANDREW: I know she’s your lost twin sister, and you feel you must defend her, but at some point you must open your eyes.

SOPHIA: No, it is you with eyes shut. You are always seeing the worst in people.

ANDREW: Sophia, in the last scene I wrote yesterday, Viola is holding a knife to your throat as you sleep. You are in denial about her true nature. You are an inherently good, loving person, and you refuse to see what is right in front of your face. Evil.

SOPHIA. Nonsense. Did she kill me? No. You want me to believe she is beyond repair, broken, a fractured soul. I do not—I cannot believe that. She can change. She can be redeemed.

ANDREW: Do you understand that this is what makes you the Hero? You would lay your life down for Viola, wouldn’t you.

SOPHIA: Not only would I, I nearly did if you recall.

ANDREW: Would she do the same for you?

SOPHIA: …

ANDREW: Well?

SOPHIA: Of course she would. We have had our differences, yes, but there is love and compassion in her heart. And I know deep inside she wants to change, to better herself. You could do this. You have the power to fix her, to set things right. Please, good sir, please have compassion for one of your characters and help set her on a better road.

ANDREW: You know I can’t do that. Viola is who she is. You need to accept that.

SOPHIA: And you need to accept that I will never stop fighting for her. No matter how evil you write her, how vicious and mean she becomes, I will always be there for her.

ANDREW: Even if she kills your aunt, your sister, or your mother?

SOPHIA: You would not write such things. Tell me you would not do that. Please, please, kind sir, do not do this to Viola. Even you are not so cruel. If you set her to such tasks, I will refuse to participate in this novel. I will simply sit and do nothing—I shall go on strike.

ANDREW: Are you beginning to understand what you’re up against?

SOPHIA: Yes, the most evil creature ever devised. The most hideous, despicable, and utterly gutless character in the entire Universe. The Author. I will fight you with every means at my disposal. In the words, on the pages, across the hard disk. You will not win this fight, Mr. Rosenberg. Viola will have her redemption, I promise you. And now that I see your thoughts, I will act to prevent such occurrences. Now I must be off. Good day.

ANDREW: Okay, Sophia, take care. And watch your back.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Character Interview Blogfest – Viola

Thanks to Sangu Mandanna for hosting the Character Interview Blogfest. Follow the link to read all the other entries!

You might remember Miss Viola Willimante from other blogfests such as the Let’s Talk and Bad Girl Blogfests. So I decided to sit down with her and here’s the edited transcript of that conversation (I removed some of her more saucier language).

ANDREW: Hello, readers. Today we’re going to interview Miss Viola Willamante, a character from my latest WIP Steam Palace. Viola, could you tell my readers a little about yourself?

VIOLA: No.

ANDREW: Uh, hold on, readers. Viola, what’s up?

VIOLA: I’m a tad perturbed at how you are conducted the writing of your novel, so I respectfully decline.

ANDREW: Viola, you’re an important part of the story, and our gentle readers want to learn more about you.

VIOLA: So you can continue to portray me as some low-born gutter prowler? I think not.

ANDREW: You’re a huge part of the story. You make Steam Palace what it is.

VIOLA: Why not interview precious Sophia?

ANDREW: Oh, boy. Let me explain to the readers. Sophia is the main character, Viola’s twin sister in fact. Steam Palace is a chronicle of Sophia's adventures as she navigates the strange alternate history of North America.

VIOLA: You failed to answer my question. Because deep inside, you consider me to be the main character, not Sophia.

ANDREW: No, I just think the readers—

VIOLA: You invest vast amounts of energy on my character, providing me with grand flaws and ribald passion. I bring the book alive. I suffer the most. I sacrifice the most. By all rights, I should be the Hero.

ANDREW: Yes, you are very flawed, but I—

VIOLA: You have challenged me with steep mountains and great challenges. What has Sophia ever achieved? Ever lost? Why does she even appear in the book?

ANDREW: Viola, I don't know how else to say this, but you're not the Hero. In fact—

VIOLA: Well, I should be. What does Sophia have that I do not? You said yourself that we are identical.

ANDREW Viola! You need to face facts. You are not the Hero. You’re—well—you’re the Villain. You are Sophia’s greatest challenge.

VIOLA: Ha ha ha ha. Snarf. Oh, I understand. It is that “Evil Twin” meme, is it not? How many posts have you crafted railing against it, how you despise and loathe Evil Twin as a cheap gimmick? So, I am Sophia’s Evil Twin. Excellent. She is good where I am bad. She is sweet where I am cross. She loves where I hate. Predictable. Well, it reeks of foul putrefaction. I am not the Villain. The true Villains are the Duke and the Fuhrer. I save the day. I am the Hero. I would wager more readers care about my story than hers.

ANDREW: Okay, name one way you’ve changed during the course of the book.

VIOLA: Change? For heaven's sake, why would I do that?

ANDREW: Because that's what Heroes do. Yes, you are the most interesting character by far. You outplay Sophia from time to time. But she has the capacity to transcend things, to forgive, to change her way of thinking, to rise above the muck.

VIOLA: Sophia is a one-dimensional caricature. “Ooh, poor me, I am but a lowly milkmaid seeking more. I shall ‘Mary-Sue’ my way to becoming Queen.” It shares the redeeming qualities of rat urine. You know why I do not alter my outlook? Because I know who I am—a top-tier temptress and a vengeful adversary. I take what is mine and I care not whom I hurt. I do not care who dies.

ANDREW: Does that include Charlotte?

VIOLA: …

ANDREW: Well?

VIOLA: That was a cruel blow. She did not have to die. And now I must carry on as if it never occurred? I intend to make the rest of your manuscript writing a living hell. Everything that Sophia does, everywhere she goes, I will be there to ruin it. Do you comprehend my position? You gave me hope, and then yanked it away. I hate you, you [redacted]. This interview is over. Good fortune finishing the revision, [redacted].

ANDREW: Viola, wait! Damn. Well, readers, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed our little chat. Now I need to run off and calm Viola down before she does some serious damage…like deleting every chapter Sophia appears in or changing Sophia’s name back to Prudencia or over to Hortense. Thank you for listening.

NEW! Sophia responds to this interview!

Friday, June 11, 2010

Title Blogfest – Steam Dawn’s Singularity Palace Rise Matrix

The Next Top Title Blogfest

Thanks to Slushpile Slut (love that name) for hosting The Next Top Title Blogfest! Follow the link to view all the other entries.

The rules are: No background, no log lines, no information. Just 3-5 titles. Okay, maybe I’ll explain in the comments. Well, here we go.

Steam Palace

Steamerica

Pride, Prejudice, and Goggles

Sophia Stratton and the Fury Lords

The Stratton Chronicles. Book One: The Fury Lords

Okay, after I posted this, I thought the last couple sounded too YA so I had to add a really raunchy one:

The History of Steam Sluts of the Early 20th Century

Well? Well?

Suggested by Valerie:
Sense, Sensibility, and Steam Sluts

More Ideas:

Corsetocracy

Sophia Stratton and the Search for the Sea Key

Tea, Corsets, and Brass Goggles

Steam Twins

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Dream Scene/Beach Scene Blogfests – Dawn’s Rise

Thanks to the great Amalia T. and the powerful Rachel Batemen for hosting the Dream Sequence and the Beach Scene blogfests. I have a scene that (hopefully) satisfies both!

Turns out that Steam Palace has neither beaches NOR dreams (what’s wrong with me?). So I had to go back a couple WIPs to Dawn’s Rise. Here, our heroine has just fallen and hit her head, and she wakes up to experience some weird dreams, one of which occurs on the beach!

Where am I?

Towering fir trees menaced her, extending up to the sky. A mat of soft moss tickled her fingers.

Great, I’m dead.

Dawn gesticulated and then poked her skull. “Location. Map me. Call Rose.” Her implants remained silent and blank.

“Come on!”

A chilling breeze rustled the trees, prickling her skin and showering Dawn with needles. She rubbed her arms and stood, studying the verdant forest for signs of civilization.

I’m not dead. Trees bent and branches snapped from a sudden gale. I’ve seen this before. A tree splintered in a loud crack and slammed the ground mere feet from Dawn. Wind rumbled and moaned.

Dawn scrambled among the swaying trunks. A gap under downed tree beckoned. Dawn huddled, shivering in the freezing air. “Come on, this is enough!” Her breath blew clouds of steam as she panted.

The wind snatched her words away. Trees bent and creaked, snapped and fell. A tremendous rush of air tugged her, clawed her, and then yanked her up into the sky. Trees scattered like twigs blasted by a leaf blower. A hail of snow whited out the world, clinging to her with numbing cold.

A vast cityscape appeared. The slush coating her limbs slid off. Yet Dawn flew, suspended in the air. Her heart pounded and her arms swam through the sky, seeking anything to grasp.

What’s happening to me? It’s a dream, it must be. Or a premonition. She gasped for air as the city sat far below. It’s happening again. The night monsters. The violent days are coming, days of disaster and death. She swallowed. Her medplants had kept the terrors at bay for years. No. Not coming. The truth of it slammed her bones. Those days are here.

She covered her eyes, but the vision remained. The murmur of normal city life bubbled up, cars and planes and construction. Picturesque skyscrapers soared above the nearby clouds. Her gut clenched. Those days are here. “Nonononono. Please! I don’t want to see it!”

The spires swayed, shudders rippling along their flanks. The glass blew out in a haze of white, and then the concrete exploded into clouds of dust. Spires toppled sideways; others sank into the streets in boiling cauldrons of death. Dawn reached out as if she could grasp the towers and pull them back. Screams and cries shivered Dawn’s soul as the city disintegrated into dust in a massive quake. “No, no! Stooooppp!”

Dawn twisted and wriggled but nothing ended the destruction. She plummeted.

Burning sand seared her skin. Dawn jumped to her feet and hotfooted it to the shade of a palm tree, blowing on her blistered hands. A turquoise ocean lapped against a white sandy beach, but Dawn recalled this scene from the blanket-tearing dreams of her childhood. The sun blazed overhead. It’s here. It’s here. Nothing can be done. The low hum of a motorboat pulled her gaze to the ocean where a parasailor practiced, his rainbow-printed chute billowing out behind him. She studied the figure, an element she had never dreamed of before. The smell of salt wafted on the light breeze. Dread crept up her spine. The parasailor’s chute snapped and he plunged.

“No!” Dawn raced down the beach, ignoring the blistering of her feet. This is a sign, a signal. He must be rescued. She plunged into the waves, the warm waters supporting her body. The waves grew in size and force, until she battled boiling waters. A vast curling wave collapsed, driving her down into the depths. Where is he? Where is he? Burning liquid consumed her lungs as her breath escaped.

Dawn convulsed, seawater pouring out of her mouth. She dripped with liquid and coughed up more. An ugly landscape surrounded her. Smoldering ruins lay crumpled on the ground, nothing but empty skeletons of buildings and vehicles in all directions. A murmur arose. Huddled figures approached her. “Dawn,” they cried. “Dawn, Dawn, save us.”

They sported terrible injuries, weeping sores and matted blood, with only primitive wrappings to protect them. Their ribs protruded through their tight skin, and their eyes sunk into their skulls. They approached Dawn, their hands reaching towards her. Dawn jumped and backed away. Her legs shook and her breath wheezed and gurgled.

“Please, stop. Stay away from me, I can’t help you. This isn’t real. None of this is real.” But it is. This is all real. Their hands grasped her clothes and the stench of unwashed bodies and infected wounds sickened her.

Blinding light swept the sky. Pure heat slammed the ruined city. The supplicants’ flesh ignited, burning them to skeletons. Dawn’s own hands flamed to bone and dust, yet she continued to witness the scene.

The ground shook and an ocean half a mile high tumbled across the landscape. It washed over the city, covering it in black waters, and then receded, leaving nothing but an empty plain of mud in its wake. It has come. It has come. All this has come. The Days are here.

Dawn screamed.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Logline/Hook Line Blogfest – Steam Palace

Thanks to Bryan for hosting the Logline/Hook line Blogfest! Follow the link to read all the other entries!

Since I’m out of town this weekend, I’m posting this up today. I won’t be able to look at the other entries or reply to comments until Monday.

Here are my five (well, six, but 2 aren’t serious) hooks from my WIP Steam Palace:

Simple one:
A milkmaid can save her country by marrying the man responsible for inviting evil invaders, but her heart belongs to another.
Now for a wordy one:
In a backwards world where New England never joined the Revolution, a former noblewoman seeks to restore her family name by journeying to the Steam Palace, a den of lawlessness and sin, and attracting the one man who can fulfill her wishes—but only by destroying her country—and her heart—in the process.
Another:
Torn between her country and her heart, an ambitious milkmaid seeks to restore her family’s name but is caught in a web of intrigue when her fiancé plots her nation’s destruction—and she discovers she is in love with another.
I’m not sure how accurate this one is, but it’s different.
When an ambitious milkmaid discovers her hitherto unknown identical twin trapped in a morass of sin and degradation, she risks her country’s future and her own heart to rescue her sister from the depths of ignominy and start a new life.
Now for the lamest possible hook:
Steam Palace is a really kewl book about this girl Sophia who like goes to the Steam Palace thing which is this big boat that’s like a Western lawless town and she meets this chick Viola who tries to turn her into a prostitute but Sophia is too smart and so she forms a band and they play for the Duke who’s like tots into Sophia but he’s doing Viola and they’re identical twins so it’s really messed up and the Nazi-esque Reichlanders want to take over New Britannia but Sophia has to stop them because she really digs the Queen and so the book is about Sophia trying to attract the Duke, not piss off Viola, save the country, and hook up with Thomas who’s this awesome ex-Sky Captain but he’s like a dope fiend so he’s gotta work on himself first so it’s all really complicated and stuff but you’ll love it.

Now to Steampunkify the lame hook:
“Steam Palace” is a most excellent novel pertaining to a young maiden named Miss Sophia Stratton who travels to a most quaint and extraordinary vessel known as the aforementioned “Steam Palace” which resembles nothing less than a fearsome Western outpost drowning in lawlessness whereupon she encounters another fair maiden known as a Miss Viola Willamante who endeavors to matriculate young Miss Sophia into a most unfortunate profession—indeed the world’s oldest—however, Miss Sophia cognates on Miss Viola’s prevarications and instead assembles a wondrous set of musicians who capture His Grace the Duke’s attentions so he requires their ministrations at his gala Ball during which he becomes infatuated with the beauty and talent of Miss Sophia—whilst still secretly courting Miss Viola (who bears a striking—no, an identical resemblance to Miss Sophia)—where was I—oh yes, during this gala Ball the horrid and altogether reprehensible Reichlanders reveal their plot to steal New Britannia from her people but Miss Sophia cannot let such terrible threats stand, for she loves her Queen dearly, so my fine readers, if you are still digesting my litany, let me summarize: to save her dear country, Miss Sophia must win the hand of the reclusive Duke, keep doppelgängerous Miss Viola at arm’s length, and oh did I mention that her heart has become irretrievable entangled with ex-Sky Captain Thomas Putnam of the Third Aeronautium who himself is entangled in the dreaded thicket of opium addiction, so poor Miss Sophia is most torn between all these competing and conflicting notions? Now I must breathe.

Well? Any jump out at you? Any suggestions or ideas on how to make these better? Thanks for any feedback.

Monday, May 17, 2010

The “Let’s Talk” Blogfest – Steam Palace

Thanks to Roni Griffin for hosting The “Let’s Talk” Blogfest. Click to check out all the other entries. The idea is to post your most “sparkly” dialog. Well, I think I used my most sparkly dialog for the Baking Scene Blogfest, but I’ll try to find something worthy.

For those who have read bits of Steam Palace, in this scene, “Bad Girl” Viola is helping fit Sophia into a dress. Beatrice, Sophia’s aunt, has left them to their own devices. I’ve edited down the original for length.

The humor left Viola’s face. “Give me that.” She yanked away the corset without as much as a please and tossed it away. “Turn around.” Her eyes burned black, daring Sophia to disobey.

Sophia pirouetted and returned to face the woman, arms covering her chest.

Viola placed her long-nailed hand on her chin, a vulture savoring her prey. “Inconceivable. A perfect figure. Unlike me. I’m a little too—saucy. The downside of ale, as they say.”

Viola manipulated delicate fingers that worked through the lacing of a red and black sateen corset she retrieved from a pile.

She wrapped Sophia into the corset and then used her foot as leverage against Sophia’s back and hind quarters to tie the laces. She stuffed Sophia into the blue Cobbs dress, stood back, and nodded. “You’re almost a lady now.”

Sophia stared down at her protruding bosom and bustle. “I feel like a peacock on display. I dread to consult the looking-glass. Shouldn’t my chest be covered?” She placed her hand on her bare sternum.

“You are so precious! You look most ravishing, darling.” Viola led Sophia to the glass.

Sophia sucked in a breath upon seeing her reflection. Her hand flew to her mouth. Indeed, a lady stared back. “Oh my. Yes, I do.” A smile flicked her lips. A smile which descended into sadness. “But I have no means to finance such finery. I lost the full sum of my savings upon my journey.”

Voila laid an arm on her shoulder and her face appeared next to hers, a leering grin slashing her visage. “You don’t say, you poor thing. You know, I might have just the opportunity for you. If you allow me, I shall pay for everything. The dress, the corset, and while we’re at it, how about some boots, a hat or two, gloves, undergarments, and a coat? And I know of a fine jeweler nearby.”

Sophia shook her head. Accept money from this woman? Never.

Viola examined a slick pair of black boots. “I suspect we wear the same size, too. We could be such good friends, me and you. And with my help, you could earn the money back in no time.”

“Doing what?”

A hand crept along Sophia’s face and turned her head so they stood eye-to-eye. “Well, you enjoy the company of refined gentlemen, correct? And Beatrice mentioned the other day that you were seeking a husband. Well, I know the perfect form of employment for you. I manage an exclusive gentlemen’s club, and it just so happens we have a new opening for someone with special qualities. If you possess a strong intellect and excellent conversation skills, you’d fit right in. You already exude the beauty we desire. These men pay handsomely for attentive escorts.”

Sophia couldn’t imagine a more charming snake. But…men of refinement? Conversation? All things she longed for.

“You look so beautiful—and desirable, my sweet Sophia,” she continued, turning back to the glass. “You want to be sought by men, fought over, even. You didn’t come to Hartford to be ordinary, did you?”

Sophia bristled. “Of course not. If I wished for ordinary I would have married some pig trapper in Podunk.”

Viola grinned wide, her canines flashing. “Well then. I believe we are in agreement, yes? I can provide you with a life that is far from ordinary, full of wealth and beauty and everything a beautiful woman could desire. And if in the process you secure a match—so much the better. Let’s choose a few more items, if we can find any worthy of your beauty. Leave the bargaining with the store wench to me. You are going to love the Steam Palace.”

Sophia froze. “What!? The Steam Palace? My friend elucidated me upon what transpires on that wretched floating city—gambling and harlotry.”

“Filthy lies! Listen, Miss Podunk. Tell you what.” Viola leaned close. “I like you. I really do. You’re a strong, independent woman. You’re no simple country girl. Someone has taught you culture, a love of the finer things. All I ask is one night. If you don’t love it, then walk away, and keep everything I buy you. One night. One night can’t corrupt you, can it? Look at how pretty you are. With my makeup artistry, you will become irresistible. Think of all the fine things you could afford. Dresses. Shoes. Fine dining. Servants. Your own residence. Just by engaging in pleasant conversation with the cream of New Britannian society. Don’t you deserve the better things in life?”

Yes. She did deserve fine things after seven years of hard labor with nothing to show for it. She had sacrificed everything to get here, her job, her mechohorse, perhaps even her final moments with her mother. This strange woman with her silver tongue spoke true—what harm could one night do to her soul? Viola was right—Sophia was strong, she was independent, and she was not one to turn down such an opportunity.

“I shall require a matching parasol or two, a fine riding cloak, a wristwatch, new brass goggles, and I want Lady Beatrice’s larder fully stocked. Is that acceptable?”

Viola snickered. “Whatever you want, my dear, whatever you want. Shall we?”

For more Steam Palace, check out the first few chapters now up Authonomy.

Friday, May 14, 2010

How to Host a Writer’s Blogfest

So, you want to host a writer’s blogfest. What’s wrong with you?? Seriously, it’s a bit of work. This post describes what you need to know.

Choosing a Topic

A great topic can make or break a blogfest. Too specific, and no one enters. To obscure, and no one has anything that applies. Too general, then you’re flooded with entries and spend six days reading them all. Here are some general areas to consider (definitely not exhaustive, use your imagination):

Writing Skills – Dialog, description, exposition, POV, characterization, blurbs
Story moments – Romantic moments, challenges, ordeals, beginnings, ends, reversals, surprises, conflict
Characters – Good guys, bad guys, demons, angels, lovers, haters, the young, the old
Topical – Fighting, kissing, mentoring, self-sacrifice, sex, settings (kitchen, bar, beach are recent examples), props, drinking, cheating
Concepts – Specific moods, emotions, words, feelings, relationships

I would stay away from anything genre-specific like “Urban Vampire vs Zombies Blogfest.” Leave it open-ended enough that you don’t exclude tons of people. But it can be a little bit restrictive to make it challenging and fun.

One thing I did was that I created a poll asking people which blogfest they would like to see, which helped me choose the most interesting idea.

Setting a Date

So you have a great blogfest idea and can’t wait, so you make it next Tuesday. Don’t. You want to give yourself enough time to publicize your blogfest. I would suggest a minimum of a month from the time you announce it and open sign-ups.

Also, various blogs (including mine) maintain lists of upcoming blogfests. People get worn out! Try to schedule yours at least a week away from any others. You want your blogfest to be special, don’t you?

I’d also suggest avoiding early in the week when people are swamped with work. But I don’t have any empirical evidence to support this. I guess figure out a day that will allow you to spend the day reading everyone else’s entries (which as the host is part of your responsibility).

Create the “Blogfest”

You will need a way for people to “sign up” for your blogfest. Personally I don’t sign up until the day-of because
a) I want to make sure I actually get to do it and
b) I want to add the actual link to my entry.
But you want people to sign up right away if they want to. I’ve seen Mr. Linky and Simply Linked be used, but I don’t love either.

When you create the announcement post, stick to the point. “Here’s my blogfest. These are my general guidelines. Here are the rules [which I’ll address below]. Here’s the sign-up form.” I’ve seen blogfests that don’t even have the word “blogfest” in their title. Then it rambles on for two pages about their kid’s rabbit before getting to the point. Lame. This is the entry that people will link to in their own blogs. Make it somewhat professional.

Creating Rules

Rules? We don’t need no stinking rules!
Yes, you do. Here are the required rules:

Bloggers must sign up by or on the date of the blogfest.
Their blogfest entry must link back to the signup post so people can find the other entries.

Everything else is up to you. Here are some suggestions.

Word count. Encourage people to keep their entries short, because people generally shy away from long entries, no matter how good they are.
Commenting. Encourage people to comment on everything they read, good or bad. Honesty helps each blogger way more than empty praise.
Ask for people to help publicize the blogfest [more below]. Or demand it.
Ask for followers! Don’t be shy!
Encourage people to submit an entry even if it isn’t that good. The more the merrier.
Blogfest-specific rules. Any words they must use? Any types of characters or specific props? A specific setting or mood?

Publicize

The best way to publicize a blogfest is by having tons of followers on your social network. This post does not cover how to accomplish that. But given your social network, here are some things to do:

Create badges so people can put them on their blogs and web sites.
Put links all over your blog and websites so people can’t possible miss the sign-up form.
Make sure people who maintain blogfest lists (like me) are notified. A comment on their latest post is sufficient.
Create a Facebook event. Tweet the event announcement. Repeatedly.
Make your “announcement” post appealing and clear, with easy-to-follow rules and requirements.
Participate in other blogfests, and comment on as many entries as you can. People who participate in one blogfest are likely to participate in others.
Mention it whenever you can (without being annoying). Or be annoying. People will forgive you. (please forgive me).
Guest blog, write a series of posts about your blogfest topic, send out invitations, whatever floats your boat.
Rewards! Turn your blogfest into a contest or sweepstakes, where you either choose the best entries or conduct a random drawing so that a few people are rewarded for their efforts. Personally I consider this cheating, people should want to participate because it’s fun, but it does add a bit of drama to it.

Whatever you do, remember that hosting a blogfest is all about having fun and meeting a lot of other writers. On the day of the event, make sure your entry is up, then start commenting! A personal comment from the host is wonderful!

And of course, the wonderful Lilah Pierce essentially made the exact same post as this one a few days ago but I tried not to read it. I still want to give her credit for posting her guidelines first, and you should definitely check her ideas out as well.

Good luck, and happy blogfesting!

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Internal Conflict Blogfest – Steam Palace

Thanks to Jessica Bell at the Alliterative Allomorph for hosting The Internal Conflict Blogfest. Click to see the other entries! She says, “I want to know what's going on in your characters' minds.” Well, maybe we really didn’t want to know this much, as you shall see:

In this scene, Thomas is suffering from a hangover, opium withdrawal, and a gunshot wounded knee. All this suffering has awoken his baser desires, which must be fought…

The last thing Thomas wanted was to speak of was flying, but he demurred to her wishes. “It was more work than thrill, and dirigibles have this unhealthy habit of dropping out of the sky or exploding. Frankly, I should have explored the Cavalry where I could have ridden mechohorses for a living.”

“And then this,” she said, nodding to his knee. “Well then, we both are in similar straits. We are starting our lives over. Isn’t it thrilling, Thomas?”

She turned around in the saddle. Her lips inadvertently touched his as he slumped. Her face turned red, her eyes went wide, and she whipped back around. A hand covered her mouth.

“Oh! I am so sorry Thomas! I had no intent—I didn’t mean—I could never kiss—”

He thrilled to see her squirm. Her small, lithe body caressed him with each step of the horse. In his mind, he grabbed her and covered her face and neck with hot kisses, plunged himself into her essence, and drank from her depths. But his broken body stayed. “You could never kiss a cripple?”

“What? No! I mean—yes, I—” She balled a fist and then relaxed it. “I fear you play with me, Mr. Putnam.” She rubbed her brow. “Which I am most grateful for, I confess. You strike me as a man with intellect balanced with humor, rare qualities in these times. I am eternally thankful it was you who came to my aide.”

She relaxed just a trifle against him. If she only knew the battle raging inside him. Her manner quieted his urges. Perhaps that had been his baser motive in trailing her—to capture her. She had always been so haughty, so distant and mean. A prize to be taken, not lured. Something to distract him from his pain, from the termination of his career and life, a quick moment of escape from hard reality.

Something about her soothed his raw desires. She was strong, and had set out alone into hostile country. She battled the wolves, unafraid, then challenged the airfleet. Sophia was no longer this thing, this creature. Yes, he desired her, to push her from the horse and have his way with her like a brute, but more than that, he wanted to protect her. Strong as she was, she was woefully unprepared to face the world. He opened his mouth to offer his support.

“Look,” she cried, “the Ferry! It departs!” The forest cleared to provide a view down to the wide Connecticut River, where a long white paddleboat waiting against a dock. She forced the animal into a gallop. Pain knifed from his wound as it banged against the horse’s flanks. Sophia waved. Fortunately, the ferry had barely begun to untie. She directed the horse over a plank and into the hold of the ship.

I hope that didn’t cast too bad a light on Thomas. He’s going through a really hard time right now…

Monday, May 10, 2010

Bad Girl Blogfest Wrap Up

Thanks!

Thanks to everyone who participated. We wound up with 41 enthusiastic entries, with bad girls of all shapes, sizes, and dispositions from the mildly annoying to the insanely cunning. I read through each and every one of the entries and was impressed by all of them. You are all wonderful writers and I had expected no less. Thank you so much for making the Bad Girl Blogfest a success!

Special Thanks!

Special thanks goes to those intrepid individuals who actually read and commented on all six of my Bad Girls (and probably most of the other entries as well). You guys are amazing. Please check out these dedicated commenters:

Extraordinary Entries You Might Have Missed

Here are some of my favorite entries. They didn’t receive as many comments as others but they completely rock. Go read them now!

Ian Thomas Healy – His Angel from “Troubleshooters” entry was a great intro to a bad girl assassin. Now maybe the problem is that it’s hard to register for his site, but he has a ton of great material up there.
F – She is a writer from Nigeria! I don’t know if she still lives there. Her Bad Girl Aisha is a Goldigger Extraordinaire.
Kiah via Charity – This is an entry from a twelve-year-old girl! Her unnamed 5th-grade Bad Girl is super mean. And it is awesome! Kiah has a bright future. Check it out!
Stu's Place – This one had me ROTFLMAO. Livia will go to any lengths to…well you have to read it. Very funny, with a wicked twist.
Haley – Bad Girl Opal has her way with men. What I liked is that Haley had the guts to put up graphic material. Some of you cut the scene off right before the good bits but Haley went for it! Nice!

And there’s more that I loved, but I can’t remember right now. You know who you are!

My Next Blogfest…?

This was fun, but a lot of work. I do hope to host another blogfest at some point. I may announce something in July and host it in August. I promise it will be at least as fun as this one, so keep tuned.

I hope to keep up with blogfests, but they are so close together now that it’s hard to keep up.

Deleted Scene Blogfest Today!

Since I didn’t have any time to come up with my own scene for the Deleted Scene Blogfest, I’m going to post my favorite “deleted scene” of all time…the newly discovered real ending to Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

See you next blogfest!

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