Oh, Hey, look! Thanksgiving's my favorite!

Beth Revis is giving away lots of books! Some of them I've read (Hourglass! The Forest of Hands and Teeth! Paranormalcy!), but out of the ones in the list of eighteen, the one I've most appreciated is Wither. With rhythmic, gentle horror and a sort of aged poetry (think dried flowers no one remembered to display or treasure, anymore), Lauren DeStefano proves there is ample room for quiet provocation and roiling emotions on levels deeper than first love (which is saying something, 'cause, you know first love).

To help spread the word, and to answer Ms. Revis's question for yourself, visit her website and READ THE DIRECTIONS.

To celebrate all Beth has to be thankful for . . . 

Win 19 Signed Books

Things That Happen When I'm Awake Too Early

For one, I inappropriately capitalize titles.

Also, I get drawn into the 'good morning' rush on Twitter. On occasion, this has the weird effect of me Thinking Thoughts.  This morning, for instance, I felt a deep surge of love for several fellow authors; I read more about the awesomealito skillz of close aquaintence, Jodi Meadows (seriously, she's like Galadriel--instead of a Dark Author, we'd have a Queen, beautiful and terrible as the Morn! Treacherous as the Seas! Stronger than the foundations of the Earth! All shall love her and despair!), and lastly, I got the urge to write stuff. Dionadir stuff, which makes us all happy, no?

But it got me to thinking; many writers have blogged about what gets them juiced to write, but I'm not sure I've read one of them say, "Just talking to other writers." In my opinion, that'll do it. Humans and writers alike (no, we're not necessarily always the same thing) are social, tribal creatures, which means we encourage and spur on one another, even when we aren't consciously trying to. This morning alone I got "snugs" from Authoress Anonymous, an "awww" of mutual affection from Bria Quinlan, and as I mentioned, a rather alarming jolt of terror via Jodi.  All three are writers, writers I know and regard very highly, but to whom I have a certain level of access and familiarity. They also write in the same genres I do, which is very nice, but not a requirement. They're part of my tribe as a writer. There are others, of course; I haven't even mentioned my writing bestie, Michelle Witte, but these are the ones I interacted with this morning. Also, my husband, but he doesn't count because he is pretty much the definition of Not a Writer (can be expressed as "of the race known as Vulcans"). He's a lot of AMAZING things, but not that one.

Anyway, so kind of like an infection spore, just talking to writerly friends rocked my Authorial Tendencies. If you're in a rut, maybe you have a writer friend to call up. You don't have to talk about writing per se, or even the particular problem that's got you stuck, but I'm willing to bet doughnuts to dollars your friend's excitement about their own project, or about nothing related, will give you a little leverage, or at the very least something to snack on.

We're writers; in our tribe, we share the marshmallows.

Personal Note: I don't actually like marshmallows unless they are on the end of a pointy object, blackened to a crisp. Don't judge. Every tribe needs a member like me.

No Geniuses Here, Today.

My first day fully back to business, and I'm sick. I'm also not wearing my glasses, but that's more because my brain isn't processing things as quickly as usual. I seem to be experiencing a series of half-thoughts, like my brain is dictating for my subconscious, but kind of just stops mid-sentence like it's decided it can remember the point from just that much.

Men with white-blond hair look more suave in grey than they do in black. my opinion.

I'm supposed to do some chores today. I have to do some chores today. Gonna be interesting with my eyes falling closed one me every fifteen minutes.

I don't think I like Alexis Stewart any more than I like Martha Stewart. They seem disdainful and robotic.

Wait, what? Did he just say "the final season of CHUCK"? Noooo, I need the same amount of Zachary Levi in my life. This is what happens when you forget to watch television because you've got Netflix.

Did I mention, The Youngest is just getting over this germ. Grr.

My dad yesterday, on working at a Waffle House when he was much younger: "People would come in and say, 'That's not cooked with butter, is it?' and we'd all stop and just stare, then someone would answer, 'Cooked in butter? Listen, you're in Waffle House; you're breathing butter. It's in the air.'" I love that man.

Your Body is an Enterprise (starship)

I am meant to be taking a break from the internet, so of course I'm online, writing a blog post. Nothing like taking a world wide web vacation to spur on the writing of a blog. The irony is not lost on me.

The other thing I could/should/would do involves writing and editing. I'm avoiding that. I have my reasons . . . my mad, mad, stubborn, insecure, sloth-like reasons.

But the other evening, or early morning, some time I wasn't really awake or asleep yet, it occurred to me my nervous system (which includes the brain, if you're cloudy on your anatomy), is a bit like a sexy, balding British man, a freakishly pale android, a geektastic puppy ensign, a blind engineer, and a very empathetic babe with enviable hair.

An itch is my body's way of going to Yellow Alert. Pain, going to Red Alert.

Other ways in which my body is an Enterprise will surely come to me. Stick around. They'll be entertaining.

Personal Note: I co-run a book review blog with Michelle Witte. It's called LibriAgo: Book Lives. We kind of love it. You might come by, see if it tickles your fancy, too.

Also, this past weekend, I attended a Medieval theme wedding reception, to which I did indeed wear a corset and a dress with double sleeves, but mostly I was pleasantly shocked and amazed I somehow did the following with my hair.

Those dot-like bits are actually a liberal dusting of gold sparklies. Yeah, baby.

These Dreams

Last night I dreamt:

1. That I had somehow become a shape-shifter, but in my dream shifters were all kept together in an almost militant setting, in a secret base in the middle of and beneath a small lake.  Also, I was a boy for most of it. I'm pretty sure I can attribute this to watching Teen Wolf and seeing some tweets about Supernaturally online.

2. That I had an extremely vivid dream in which my mother and step-father were getting divorced. My real lie in-laws were my step family and my own children were step cousins. Not cool. I texted a friend about it in my dream-within-a-dream only to wake up and find my mother's long time, live-in boyfriend was David Tennant, and he wasn't going anywhere. He adored my mother and me, and my little brother. Try the strange weirdness that is completely crushing on your potential step-dad, even though he clearly loves having "relations" with your mom. Also, when I woke up (not really awake, just from the inner dream), my friend had texted me back with condolences. Sleep texting?

So, dear psyche, please stop doing this to me. I'm an adult woman with a fantastic (hot) husband, great sons, and I can frakking well delight in the quirky, lanky beauty that is David Tennant without your help, thanks.