I only have one chapter of this novel completed and it’s sketchy at best. I’m working on finishing up Earthworms before I throw myself into anything else.

Title: Sixteen

Sixteen follows a serial killer and a victim’s mother and shows how their lives become intertwined.  This story plays with ideas of darkness and forgiveness. (No, it’s not like Dexter.) Be warned, it deals with violence toward children, but it is only mentioned, not described.

Numbers have always fascinated me. They are our lives.

One. Loneliness or forever single—happily or unhappily. How many kids you have, how long you have until graduation, how long you have to live.

Two. How many marriages you’ve had, how long you have to wait for a promotion, the age of your child.

The possibilities are infinite. Numbers are the sum of our worth.

Everyone and everything can be broken down into numbers. Simple or complex.

Take my boss for example. His name is Joseph Cramer, but he’s really just 20-1-2-2-2. Twenty years married, has one kid with his wife, has been cheating on her for two years and has two kids with two other women.

He gets around.

I on the other hand, can easily be reduced to a single number.

Sixteen.

I headed down a dark path at the age of sixteen. I’ve been on it for sixteen years and I’ve taken sixteen victims, the last of which died sixteen days ago. Not one was over the age of sixteen. And now I’ve been given approximately sixteen months to live.

There are many different versions of this song. I’m not sure I have a favorite. They all have a different feel. Cher’s version used to be my favorite, but last night I found myself leaning toward Nancy’s version. Then, I found Sheila’s version and now I may like that one more.

No matter what, each lady does a lovely rendition.

Cher 

Nancy Sinatra 

Sheila (French) 

Ania Dąbrowska 

Who amongst you loves international music?

I know I can’t get enough of it. In fact, if one were to search my iPod—or more accurately my iTunes library since my iPod is out of commission—they would find that 80% of it is foreign music.

Here are some samples of songs on my playlist. If you have Window Media Player Plug-in you can listen to the songs in your browser.

• Rachid Taha - Ya Rayah
• Cheb Mami - Viens Habibi
• Yamada Yuu - Free
• Celtic Woman - Harry’s Game
• Yim Jae Beom - Stigma
• IU - Araro 1  Araro 2
• Sonu Nigam & Kavita Krishnamoorthy - Satarangi Re
• Ringo Sheena / Ringo Shiina -Ringo no Uta (The song grew on me. )

Important tidbit: Always search for a translation of the song in English! The last thing you want to find out is that the song you’ve been singing along to was used for Nazi propaganda or encourages an action or way of thought that is not parallel with your own.

I’m always looking for something new! Have any recommendations?

I finally decided on a snippet from a new (yes another one!) novel I’ve been working on tentatively titled, Frayed. It’s about a girl named Freya who leads a fairly normal life until her estranged grandmother, Elli, tells her she’s to be sacrificed for the good of humanity.

This scene is taken from Freya’s birthday party. It’s a little rough, but enjoy!

The front door swung open as if it were an old saloon door, hitting the wall so hard, the knob became embedded in the drywall.

An old woman stood at the entrance, hunched over and dressed in what looked like an old burlap sack that barely covered her unmentionables.

Her white hair was in a matted bun hanging precariously off the side of her head and as the breeze eased its way past her and into the house, noses crinkled, assaulted by a smell more putrid than rotten potatoes.

Eyes closed, head moving to and fro, she scented the air like a hound sniffing out a rabbit. Nostrils inflated, she leaned forward then jerked her head to the side. Eyelids lifted and irides murkier than a rain cloud met my own.

It’s always a fun day at Freya’s house!

Want in on the fun? Join Six Sentence Sunday!

Writing:

Scribophile & Absoulte Write – Need help with your writing? You should definitely check these two sites out. You can critique others, have you work critiqued, participate in the forums, enter contest and most of all connect with other aspiring and successful writers!

Write or Die – I think the name says it all. This is a nice little tool that can motivate you to reach your word count goal, but don’t take too long to write or you may find the word disappearing before your eyes!

Goodreads – Looking for something good to read? Look no further. You can find your new favorite book or recommend that great horror novel you just finished. It’s also a great way to get the news out about your new novel, short, etc…

Miscellaneous:

Livemocha – A delightful site that offers online learning courses. I find the method somewhat similar to Rosetta Stone. As you learn new languages you can connect with others, have your lessons reviewed by native speakers and teach others your native tongue. Best of all, it’s free.

eCrater -  Want an alternative to eBay? Try eCrater, it’s free. Whether you want to create your own store or shop around there’s plenty to look at! The only downside—if you want to call it that—is that the site does not support auctions. It’s fixed price only.

Spry Fox – A game company I only recently discovered. I haven’t had time to explore all their games, but I’m loving Triple Town and Panda Poet. And just so no one can curse me later, I forewarn you, these games can be addicting.

The dangers of playing scrabble with grandma:

• She loves to be the score keeper and has the tendency to ‘miss’ the bright red triple word score under your word.
• She changes the rules when it’s her turn.
• She invents her own words.
• She makes words like this:

As she placed the letters, she said, "I shouldn't do this” and smirked. Bad Granny, bad!

• She has the uncanny ability to give you crap letters.

The result of Granny's psychic powers.

• She can and will play you for hours.

Picture taken at 12:48 a.m.

• She will never let you win.

I was actually an innocent bystander in all of this. She was playing against my sister and somehow the miracle of all miracles happened. My sister beat her! An affront granny will not let alone for long. I foresee another late night scrabble session in the coming days.

That being said, I’m off to write. Congrats to all the NaNo winners!

In just three days I’m moving 610 miles south to Georgia. Though I’m not looking forward to the ten hour ride, it may give me an opportunity to write and or brainstorm.  Only time will tell!

And without further ado, here is a little teaser from my NaNo project Earthworms.

WARNING: This is the product of NaNoWriMo. It is rough, unedited and maybe even nonsensical. Proceed at the risk of losing brain cells.

Before Brant can get his key in the lock, the door flies open. We slide out of the way as mom comes barreling out of the apartment, oven mitts on and smoking pot in hand. Coughing and sputtering she practically throws the pot on the concrete floor. Eyes eatery, she leans down and takes the lid off. We all jump back, fanning the air around us as smoke billows from the pot. I cover my nose with my shirt collar as the smell of burnt meat invades my lungs.

Brant coughs and shakes his head. “What the hell, mom?”

She glares at him through the thin fog. “Watch your language!” She closes the door before more smoke can enter the apartment. “I had a slight mishap in the kitchen.”

We both stare at her.

She slicks back her hair and purses her lips. “I wanted to surprise you by making teriyaki chicken, but when I tried to glaze the chicken…it kind of caught on fire.” She averts her eyes and fiddles with the oven mitts.

Brant edges around the still smoking pot. “So you bring it outside so the rest of the place can burn down?”

She cuffs him on the back of the head, eyes cutting. “I’m not stupid. I snuffed the fire out with the pot lid. I just didn’t want the apartment to fill with smoke.”

I glance inside the foggy apartment and shake my head. “Well. It’s nice to know that if a fire broke out we’d probably burn to death in our sleep. I guess the concept of a smoke detector and sprinkler system is lost on the fine management of our apartment. That and blinds—which my room is lacking by the way.” I fold my arms and lean against the wall. “Great place Principal Whitaker set us up with.”

Mom sucks air through her teeth. “We can hardly blame it on John. I’ll just have to have a talk with management tomorrow.”

The door across from us opens. An older lady with glaring eyes peeks out.

Mom smiles at her and picks up the pot. “Sorry for the commotion. There’s no need to worry.”

The lady huffs and wrinkles her nose. “Riff-raff.” She glares at the po,t then at us and shuts her door.

I push myself off the wall. “Wasn’t she lovely.”

Mom sighs. “Let’s just go inside.”

I follow her and Brant in, closing the door behind me.

Mom puts the pot in the sink and fills it with cold water. “So much for my surprise dinner. At least the rice and vegetables are okay.”

Brant’s eyes immediately meet mine. Mom and the kitchen do not get along. The chicken burning was likely a godsend. We may have spent the night on the toilet otherwise. She tries. Really she does. That counts for something, but it doesn’t make the end results any less painful or damaging to my taste buds.

She throws the mitts on the counter and glares at the two of us. “And stop with the looks. I used the rice cooker and the vegetable went in the microwave so it should still be edible.”  She lifts her head strides out of the kitchen and into her room.

Brant leans over the counter to inspect the rice and veggies. ”It’s salvageable.”

I stare at the pebble-looking rice and raise my brow.

He ruffles my hair and goes around me into the kitchen. “Trust me. I can work with it. There’s still some leftover chicken. I’ll whip something up.”

Apparently, via a new laser treatment brown eyes can permanently be changed blue in two to three weeks with a twenty second procedure.

Aside from the possible ramifications on ones sight (they claim there are none, but give it ten, maybe even twenty years and then I’ll believe it). How do you feel about this? Good, bad, indifferent?

Some argue that people should be happy with who they are and leave it at that. But is there really any harm in wanting to change something about oneself? I’m not talking about people who get cosmetic surgery for deformities or medical reason. Nor am I referring to something as big as wanting to change your race (that’s a deeper issue). Just your eye color, the length or girth of your nose, the cheekbones you always wanted…

Is it taboo? Or rather, should it be taboo?

We all know of some celebrities that are addicted to plastic surgery. Michael Jackson, Jocelyn Wildenstein, Heidi Montag, Lil Kim, etc—though it’s obvious there’s something much deeper going on than simply not liking ones looks. Should people stop before they get ahead or be able to indulge themselves a little?

My take on it?

The danger lies in going overboard. Thus, moderation is key. If someone wants to get a nose job, I say let them. Of course, if the procedure is number one on a list of twenty and or their face looks like abstract rendition of their former self, that may not be in their best interest. Basically, it comes down to the individual. Some people will never be happy with how they look and will head into a downward spiral. Others may have one thing that makes them insecure and when it’s ‘fixed,’ they feel better about themselves. Is there really harm in the later—granted they don’t go overboard?

Whether the end result is a Picasso or a Botticelli, multiple surgeries is too much. It’s not even about the results being less than stellar. It doesn’t matter if others can clearly tell how many procedures you’ve been through or it looks natural, there is more to worry over. Too many people base their dislike of extensive plastic surgery on the results rather then the root problem.

I myself have no plans on getting any type of cosmetic surgery. Sure I look in the mirror and think one thing or the other can be improved, but it’s not a necessary and I’m quite content with my Plain Jane, average looks. But who knows? When I’m sixty, sagging and sporting triple chins I may change my mind.

I love it!