tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70287074891942454732024-02-21T09:55:38.806-05:00Marguerite LafayetteMarguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-87058009958720772882013-02-27T13:33:00.000-05:002013-02-27T13:33:32.378-05:00Skipping Stones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't believe I every gave much thought to anything of significance as a child. The sun came up and went down regardless of what I did or where I was. Politics, homelessness, war...were talked with hushed tones. To say I was sheltered was an understatement. I was, and to some degree still am, spoiled. As such, I never really did grasp the whole actions/consequences concept. To this day, I still struggle to mend fences I tore down years ago with my carelessness or thoughtlessness of others. I didn't learn until way too late that words hurt faster than they heal and somethings should be left unspoken even with the best and closest of friends.</div>
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In the end, I wish I had realized that words/conversations are a lot like skipping stones across a lake. It doesn't take a lot of force or many attempts to disrupt the calmness of the water. That first bounce sends waves racing a distance away, never able to be taken back. The repercussion sparks a new ripple which sparks a new one and so on and so forth. You can never take it back. You just have to let it flow and pick up the pieces left behind. A stone unthrown will never cause a ripple or a break, but it also won't go anywhere. </div>
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The best we can hope for is a group of friends willing to forgive us for our shortcomings and that stand by us come what may. Sometimes the biggest drama queens put on the best shows. I just need to remember that just because someone is there for me at my worst, does not mean they always will be, especially if I continuously take them for granted. That the person who always says yes, might need a hand in helping them learn to say no (even to me). </div>
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As I write this, I can think of so many people I have hurt and that in a way have inspired me to help others. I wish I could change the harsh and insensitive things I've said and done, but I can't. I wish I could say I will never do those sorts of things in the future, but I will. All I can do is try to be better...do better and hope the ripples I send out into the world inspire others and not tear them down. I am the only me I can be, but I am getting better.</div>
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~Mags :)</div>
<br />Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-82526273705039776692012-11-13T13:00:00.002-05:002012-11-13T13:00:27.998-05:00Who Cares?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I had every intention of writing a piece on the illusion or myth of fairness, but as I sat down and began to write this piece, it suddenly hit me...Who cares? In this world of minutia, we post pieces about anything that strikes us as important, but do we really care any more? I'm just as guilty (if not a little more). I rant and bellyache about whatever slight I feel I've incurred, dwell on it and spew out whatever spin I give on the situation. Often, after some time has passed, I can see the situation more objectively, can pick out the information I need to grow and discard the rest. Before Facebook, Twitter, and email, we had time to cool off, to gather our thoughts and sort out what we needed to say before confronted someone or something. Now, everything is instantaneous and for those of us with impulse issues and a...um...fiery personality, it can be a volatile rollercoaster ride.<br />
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I know life is not fair for in order for one person to win another must lose. I know that sometimes a person is successful for nothing more than being at the right time at the right place. Luck, fate and perseverance can be as important (if not more) as education, training and connections. People can rant "why do bad books sell?" or "why does that (fill in the blank) get a raise and I don't?" The simple answer is because they do. What right do we have to judge what is good or bad, who's deserving or not. Writing is an art and as such, success is judged primarily on what sells. In the end, hype can be more valuable than proper grammar or structure. It doesn't mean you shouldn't care about such things, it just means that you have to write for you and if you happen to tap into the vein of popular commerce then you should consider yourself blessed.<br />
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Everyone has their dark days filled with doubt. Fear shadows and doubt haunts us all. I guess you just have to get to a point where you say "F*CK EM", maybe I can't write (or paint, sing, dance...whatever) but I enjoy it and so what if I never get to be the next (fill in the blank), but that's okay because I am better at just being me. (Okay that was my Jack Handey moment). So, here I go, being me. I have gotten back to writing and will have this wip "Just Say Yes" finished by Sunday (yes, you can hold me to this) and ready to send off for a good round of edits with a professional. Ultimate goal is to have it submitted to the publisher before December. Then I will go back and pick another unfinished project and complete it (rinse/repeat).<br />
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I might suck, but at least I will no longer be digging myself any deeper into this rut I've fallen into. I've chosen my path and picked a direction. There will be thorns and hazards along the way and tons of bunnies to distract me, but I'm moving forward and however long it takes, I'm going to get there...eventually.<br />
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~Margie<br />
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<br />Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-15773257471953799012012-11-01T12:56:00.001-04:002012-11-01T12:56:36.913-04:00NaNoWriMo <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well, it's November and that means one thing, National Novel Writing Month, better know as NaNoWriMo, or NaNo. For some it is a hectic month of a frenzy of wordage in order to have a silly little badge to display on your blog and website. Many think it's impossible to write a book in a month, but there is also a site that touts a Book in a Week. In the end, if you really sit down and ponder the concept some, you see that the real agenda is to get you to write dirty, to leave your inner critic in the dust and just put pen to paper/fingers to keyboard and write.<br />
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It helps you get in the habit of meeting daily writing goals. I have definitely been lax about writing every day. I write in spurts. But I can see that writing is like a muscle, the more you use it and exercise it, the more apt it will carry you when you need it. I recently read that the main reason for failure is the i<strong style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">nability to take consistent action. </strong>If it takes 21 days to form a habit, then NaNo is perfect for creating a worthwhile habit.<br />
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I sincerely hope that this is true. I am the first to admit, I am skeptical. I've done and won NaNo in the past. Those projects still sit in a folder, unedited and unrevised, deemed too craptacular for public consumption. In the end, this will be a difficult task for me to overcome. One, I am riddled with self-doubt. My inner critic absolutely shreds me for every word I write. I get great ideas and think "Oh this is 'the one" and then he'll start to nit pick it til I can hardly stand to do anything more than wish about writing. The second and probably the hardest to overcome is my ADHD. It is hard for me to stick with any one project for any real length of time.<br />
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So, here I stand on the first day of NaNo and I'm one chapter in and so far feel pretty confident. For me, I have added that I must send my work to another person for verification. This hopefully will guilt/shame me into sticking with it until the end.<br />
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I do know that I need to sit down and do some plotting and character charting. I am not sure if this story will have some romantic elements or stay as a mystery thriller. I am reminded of an interview with R.L. Stine. He said that if you can figure out how the story ends first the rest will fall into place. I'm not sure if that is really true, but I am going to give it a try.<br />
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Wishing all the best of luck with your own projects, whether you were crazy enough to sign up for NaNo or not.<br />
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~Marguerite (Mags)Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-13788328583109834862012-10-23T21:09:00.000-04:002012-10-23T21:09:37.351-04:00WiP Wednesday<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Like so many other things that I end up doing, WiP Wednesday idea came to me at 3am. For me, there is just something magical about the hours between 1 and 4 in the morning. Personally I think it is because my inner critic is <b><u>NOT</u></b> a night owl. So I usually get these off the wall ideas for stories or crafts or whatever. Usually this results in some very odd emails or texts to friends, but thankfully I have yet to be disowned by them. Anyhow, I had this idea about posting a clip from a work in progress heretofore known as WiP. The thought was still hanging in the air dripping fuzzy clouds and sparklies, when a story idea stepped forth demanding it be first. Of course, I shooed it away, but it kept coming back, poking at me til I sat down and began to write.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> This story changed several times while I wrote. The original one had to do with mistaken identity and a marketplace bombing, but I have found that I must let the story run its own course. So here it is. Djinn There, Done That. I hope you find it interesting, but please remember this is the first draft after all and just the first chapter.</span></i><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Djinn
There, Done That</span><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Ancient plastered
covered buildings towered over the dust covered cobblestone streets. Vendors
and beggars called out in a strange and exotic tongue. Even the air smelled
foreign, filled with a mixture of spice and earth. It had a heady quality that
warmed the soul and suffocated spirit at the same time. Colorful tapestries
hung from lines stretched taunt across the roadway, a bold dash of color to a
bland beige backdrop. At five-foot-four, even Jenn had to duck and weave to
make it through the maze of rugs and throws. Monkeys jumped from rooftop to
rooftop, chattering to one another as they searched for open windows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Never had Jenn seen so
many people in such a small area…okay maybe on Black Friday, but that’s totally
different. Kids ran in-between the maze of merchants, laughter ringing out as
the grabbed for the candy she held out for them. She could sense the stares,
being fair-skinned and auburn hair she’d expected as much, but there was
something unsettling creeping about just below her ribs, making her shiver. She
scanned the crowd in attempt to see what had set off the ominous sensation.
Lost in a sea of faces, she desperately tried to spot anyone staring at her. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Startled, Jenn screamed when someone or something had grasped her arm.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">“Oh, I’m sorry, but you
startled me,” Jenn rambled. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. The old woman
didn’t mean her any harm. She just wanted her to buy a necklace. The crone
cooed to her, apparently talking up the jewelry. The only word that Jenn could
make out was ta’wiz. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a black pouch on a
string. It smelled of musty herbs and paper, it reminded her of the library
after a hurricane had flooded the town. The woman fastened it around Jenn’s
neck before she knew it. The woman gave her a toothless grin, very pleased with
herself. Not wanting to offend her, Jenn found some coins and held them out. The
old woman grabbed a few and with her other hand stroked Jenn’s cheek. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">“Safe now,” she rasped
as she went back to her stand. The old woman kept watching as Jenn stood there
debating whether to keep wearing it. She grabbed her camera, raised it and
snapped a picture of the woman. One day, she will show this snapshot when
telling this story the next time one of her friends complains about mall kiosk
workers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Hands grabbed at her
pants leg as she passed by, nearly skeletal men begging for change or a bit of
food. This was completely different than the streets of Atlanta. It broke her
heart to see so many hungry. Knowing it really wouldn’t solve much, but unable
to walk away Jenn purchased some strange meats, fruits and a couple jugs of
water and handed it out to all that she could see.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">In her mind, she could
hear her grandfather say something about the nothing good comes from feeding
strays, but how could she call herself a Christian if she turned a blind eye
and just walked away? She felt a bit better when rationalizing it as payment
for her using them in her photos not as a hand out. A crowd began to form
around Jenn as she handed out the bits of food.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">She spotted a man at the entrance of
an alley, partially hidden by debris apparently too weak to make it to her.
Several times he tried to stand only to collapse, shivering at the attempt. Jenn
pushed people aside to get to him. She tried to pat him arm to reassure him
everything was going to be okay, but he flinched away from her. Obviously he
was use to being struck and had come to expect it. She gave him water and fed
him some of the remaining meat. He coughed and tried hard to keep it down. </span></span><br />
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gentle smile began to spread across is leathered face. His eyes were the only
thing youthful about him. They had a mesmerizing quality to them, almost a glow
within those deep obsidian pools lined with just a touch of mischief; you could
lose yourself in the depth of those warm dark eyes. When he pointed to her
neck, she knew he wanted her necklace. Without realizing what she was doing,
Jenn had unfastened it and held it out for him. He cautiously reached out for
it and she let go, letting it fall. He turned his hand at the last moment
letting it hit the ground and kicked it away. Amused and confused, Jenn started
to ask why he had done such a thing, but those eyes…They made her so dizzy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">He broke the spell when
he bowed and kissed her palms in thanks. His lips were soft as silk and c<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7028707489194245473" name="_GoBack"></a>old as ice, sending chills from her tips of her fingers
straight to her heart. He must have been
a real ladies man in his youth for even now she was flustered by him. Jenn
looked around and found that they were all alone in the darkened alleyway. Apprehension tugged at her and she pulled her
hands back. It took her a moment to
realize she was holding onto something. Slowly opening her hand, she found he
had placed a small coin in them as payment. She tried to give it back, but he
was adamant she keep it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">The coin was oddly heavy
for such a small thing. Jenn flipped it several times, admiring the artwork of
this unusual find. A slight tingle seemed to emanate from hit when she grasped
it tightly. She looked back to try once again to return the coin, but when she
did she discovered he had vanished. The only evidence he had ever been there
lay in the middle of her palm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">"Heads left, tails right," speaking only
to feel less alone in the dark, dank alleyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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high in the air, caught it, and slapped it on the back of her hand. Jenn hesitated, unsure if it was due to the
sudden disappearance of a clearly frail man, the isolation within the dimly
light alley or the sudden knowledge that a new journey was about to begin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">"Left it is."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Jenn started off at a
fairly good clip. She managed to get a block away before she was thrown to the
ground. A deafening roar shook the ground and the sky lit up brighter than the
fourth of July. Screams seemed to come from everywhere at once, even inside her
head. It wasn’t until she felt the tension in her own throat did she realize
she was screaming too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Another explosion
rocked the market sending Jenn back to the cold cobblestones, only the layer of
dirt and sand cushioning her fall. Rolling onto her back she could see the
fireball shoot up to the sky, like a demon hungry to grasp the stars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">The air began to
shimmer from the heat. A strange buzzing sound kicked up and grew in intensity
to an almost maddening level. Jenn covered her ears trying to buffer it out,
only to discover it came from within. Everything shimmered and wavered like
glitter filled water. Jenn reached out to see if it held mass. At first she
thought she was imagining it, her hand was transparent. Holding it up and
covering her eyes, she could still see the marketplace and the fire that
ensued.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">A crack appeared in the
cobblestone just before her. Jenn tried to move away, but she felt encased in
gelatin. The buzzing spread throughout her, echoed and amplified, shaking her
to her core. She saw a thin thread of bluish silver smoke wrap round her and
snake up her body. It worked its way to her head and wove back round to her
feet. Jenn tried to break free, but it just moved with her, like it was part of
her. Cocoon, was the only thought her mind could grasp and the mist-like smoke
encased her. Her world had become a
shimmer of silverish blue. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">People ran past her,
like she was invisible, her screams muffled to an inaudible whisper. Jenn
punched and kicked to break free, but the mist began to squeeze her. A dull
electrical like current pulsated in time with her heart. A floating sensation
began in the pit of her stomach and she swore she would soon pass out. A young
woman carrying her child ran toward her. Jenn thought she had made eye contact
when the pair ran straight through her. Not around her, but through her. Jenn
clawed at the mist. She saw the tail end of it begin to be sucked down the
crack in the road. Her mind screamed as she felt herself be pulled toward that
small yet deep abyss.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">“This wasn’t what I meant when I prayed for an
adventure,” she sobbed. Prayers and promises flowed from her like water until
the darkness finally took hold.</span></span></div>
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Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-33122295065890947762012-10-22T09:36:00.001-04:002012-10-22T09:36:18.630-04:00Ruined by Rants<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't know if it's just me. but there seems to be a lot of ranting going on. I don't know if it is just due to the political climate or what, but it seems like every day my inbox is just filled with subject lines of hate-filled rants. Now a few have turned out to be laced with quite a bit of humor or have a tongue in cheek self-deprecating vibe, but overall there are just too many that are ranting at the world.<br />
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I believe everyone does have a right, a need, to vent, but is a public outlet the right way to go about it? I was always taught not to do this in such a venue as publishers and agents may read these tantrums and decide they can live without the drama or avoid the future risk of being included in one of these public tirades. Maybe I'm being paranoid or overly cautious, but I for one know I have enough stress in my life without subjecting others to my emotional take on the publishing world. Poorly written books will continue to be printed, some will even make the bestseller list and make millions, but that doesn't mean they should. Agents and publishers will continue to drop writers for whatever reason, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't seek representation.<br />
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Writing is an art, and as such, is subjective. Just because someone doesn't like one story, doesn't mean they won't like another. Randomly pick 10 books from a shelf and I think you'd be lucky if you liked one third of them. Like with most fields, you must develop a thick skin and learn to pick your battles. In the end, we write simply because we must. I've come to think as the whole publishing industry as speed dating. You are going to get burned quite a bit before you finally get to sit back and enjoy the fire. So write for you. Get it down and send it off into that great abyss known as publishing. You never know, maybe yours is the next must read.<br />
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Good Luck and Best Wishes,<br />
Marguerite (Mags)<br />
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Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-5619529420446968172012-07-04T10:55:00.000-04:002012-07-04T10:55:34.371-04:00A Chance to Win $50 Amazon Gift CardI just created an Amazon Author's page and I'm trying to get my like numbers up. So, I started to think "what's in it for you?" You are asked by a million authors to do this or do that and seldom to you get more than the ocassional thank you. Don't get me wrong, it isn't easy for us either ( at least not me) to continually bombard you with requested, but it is the nature of the beast with publishing.
Anyway, I thought I would do a giveaway of a $50 Amazon gift card once I hit 50 like and we'll see where we go from there. You get one entry for liking my Amazon Page http://www.amazon.com/Marguerite-Lafayette/e/B005HDZII4/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1341412761&sr=1-2-ent and either post here, or FB with a tag to me or tweet @margie2092 that you've liked it and you're entered. If you post the link or tweet it you'll get another entry. So you can have up to 3 entries for just a moments work.
Thank you for your support and good luck!
~MagsMarguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-57386904138481765422012-05-28T18:33:00.002-04:002012-06-17T06:38:54.849-04:00Coming Soon ~ Camdyn's CurseI've decided to try something new (<i>well new for me</i>) and write a story exclusiveness on this blog. Each Friday I will post a chapter and hopefully (<i>fingers crossed) </i>at the end I will have a full and complete story and you will have enjoyed the creative process.<br />
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Friday, July 13th the debut chapter of Camdyn's Curse will be up and ready for viewing.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 200%;">Art
student Camdyn Barrett thought she was doing her dad a favor by using her
summer break to clear out her grandmother's cabin so it could be sold. Little
did she know she would be opening a door to a secret from her childhood long
since forgotten. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 200%;">Fifteen
years ago, eight children in the small rural town of Axson went into the woods
for an adventure, only one came back. Camdyn was only seven when she and her
friends followed a mysterious light deep into the woods surrounding Avalon. Several
days later, she stumbled onto the local road, catatonic and covered in blood. No
trace of the children was ever found. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 200%;">Camdyn’s
biological father fell under suspicion and when he was found hanging in the
woods, the local law deemed it a suicide, even though it clearly was a lynching.
Fearing further retribution her mother packed them up, left the town of Axson and
the horrific memories behind them. That was until Cam’s dad received notice
that her grandmother had passed on. She hadn’t realized she had any surviving
family. So when her stepfather said they could sell it to pay for a year at the
Sorbonne, she jumped at it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 200%;">Now
she is faced with a past she can’t remember and a town full of hushed whispers
of witchcraft and a curse that bears her name. Her only friend and ally is a
young firefighter, who always seems to be there to rescue her. Can Camdyn solve
the mystery from her past before she becomes the next victim of Camdyn’s curse?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 200%;">Remember: Camdyn's Curse starts on July 13th so I hope you'll save the date and stop by each Friday for each chapter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 36px;"> <i> ~Margie</i></span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 36px;"><br /></span></span></div>Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-86605727894959764332012-05-25T12:00:00.000-04:002012-05-25T15:32:15.344-04:00Dare to Dream<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have studs! No not the fun kind :P This shortly after busting through old sheetrock that had cured to the consistency of concrete. Don't let those home improvement shows fool you, it will not come down in a clean sheet!<br />
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In my pursuit of becoming a writer and the excuses that quickly followed, I decided what I REALLY needed was a dedicated space in which I could sequester myself and retreat into a world of my own creation. Mostly, it was a way to delay having to actually write. Now that it has finally started to take shape and I'm on pins and needles waiting for its completion.<br />
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When I first started this little room could have been part of the show "Hoarders." Piles of stuff accumulated over the years had found there way out into this tiny corner room in my garage. I kid you not to say if the door had not opened toward the outside, I would never had been able to open it at all. I literally looked into a mass of items as high as my shoulders (okay, I am only 5'4 but still).<br />
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It took me the better part of the next few months to sort through that mass of mess and I did find quite a few treasures among things that should have gone straight into the trash. I found catalogs from the 80s and a couple of picture from then too (anyone remember tall bangs and poodle perms *shudders*), needless to say, somethings are best left in the past.<br />
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I was so proud when I first laid eyes on that first little patch of concrete. I think that really spurred me on and kept me going. After I had managed to clear it completely out, I tore down the impromptu bookcases that were attached to all four walls. Now don't get me wrong, I think bookcases are essential, but these took up so much room there wasn't enough room for anything else. I mean the room is barely 7ft by 8ft, so I am not kidding when I say it is more of a writing knook than anything, but it is away from the furbabies and a space that will be dedicated to writing and writing alone.<br />
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I do believe that one lesson I learned after losing my job last year was that when you decide to rely making your hobby a job, you must treat it as such. I seriously messed up by not scheduling actual writing hours and having a designated space which to do it in. Being one who is easily distracted, I have to be very diligent about keeping myself on schedule. I have to time myself when accessing social media or I tend to find myself sucked into the vacuumous void of the internet where time speeds by faster than one can blink.<br />
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So here I sit, counting down the days until I can reveal my writer's cave to the masses. I hope that it is everything that I envision it to be. I have been dreaming of it for so long now I'm not sure if that it will ever be real, but one can certainly hope.<br />
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Coming Soon </div>
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I have planned to do a serial story here on this blog starting next week. It's a little paranormal story I've been toying with, so I am hoping y'all will enjoy it.<br />
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~Margie<br />
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<br />Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-62234776417333692172012-05-25T08:49:00.001-04:002012-05-25T08:49:49.006-04:00Congratulations to Laura Andlauer, you've won the $25 Amazon gift card. Please email me at margie2092(at)yahoo(dot)com let me know if you want a physical card or email version and where you would like it sent.<br />
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A huge thanks to everyone for taking the time to stop by and leave a comment. I truly do appreciate it. Wishing all a wonderful weekend and remember, never stop believing in your dreams!<br />
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~MargieMarguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-15708118901273043702012-05-18T10:38:00.003-04:002012-05-18T11:14:07.358-04:00The Long Road Back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"><i>"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renewed shall be the blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king."</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"><i><span style="color: #003399;"> </span>~JRR Tolkien Lord of the Rings</i></span></span></div>
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It's been awhile since I have blogged or wrote anything for that matter. It isn't that I haven't had anything to say or that I didn't want to write. I simply was attacked by a bad case of the shoulds. Many of you know exactly what I'm talking about, I should clean the should, I should work out or at least jump on the treadmill for thirty minutes and most of all I should write or blog today. Like many with "authority issues", I instantly rebel against anything I should do and quickly succumb to another dreaded malady, the Sparklies, which for those of you don't know, is when you are fascinated but whatever you aren't doing at the time.<br />
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Anyway, after a while I fell into the trap of thinking I couldn't write or maybe shouldn't write. I sat back and supported many wonderful authors, celebrated their latest releases and although I truly was happy for them (and still am) I was jealous. It is the plain and simple truth. I just couldn't understand how it was so easy for them. How the stories just seemed to flow from a unseen tap. Little did I understand at the time, that ALL authors struggle. Whether it is with self-doubt, plots, stories ideas, revisions, whatever, they all have their moments. We often don't see the downs or maybe they are there but we don't take them to heart, but they have them all the same. In the end, I had to be honest with myself, I just wasn't devoted to my craft. I had a million excuses/distractions, but the simple fact was I didn't write because I was afraid.<br />
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I was afraid I would never be the writer I want to be. I still struggle to capture the story I see in my mind. It wasn't until I had another bad workshop experience that I saw I had actually grown some as a writer over the past year. I won't name names by berating a workshop or instructor but suffice it to say their instructing technique and my learning style were vastly different. This time instead of being thrown into a "I quit" or "I can't write funk" for weeks (months) I simply shrugged and realized we just didn't click. Now, for those of you that really know me, understand what a big accomplishment this was for me (LoL), but it truly was groundbreaking moment.<br />
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So, now I'm back; back to writing, back to being a supportive friend and contributor and hopefully back to entertaining you with my quirky sense of humor and often odd outlook on life. I will be posting ever Friday and hope that we can have some fun and make this adventure to publication an interesting journey. I will be trying on many different genres and posting excerpts for your pleasure and opinion.<br />
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Now let's see who read this whole post. I will give away a $25 Amazon gift card to one lucky person who leaves a comment. To be entered you must say what your favorite genre is (ie: mysteries, thrillers, chicklit, paranormal, erotica etc) before midnight on Thursday the 24th. The winner will be drawn at random and will be announced on May 25th.<br />
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<br />Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-22308675977676637132011-02-07T12:18:00.001-05:002011-02-07T12:36:59.044-05:00Elven Dreams and Things<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Last night I had this little story begin to nag at me. It all started with me looking out into the woods which were concealed in a thick fog. It almost appeared as though you could wander into another world if you were just brave enough to venture outside into that mystical misty veil.</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So here is my work in progress, Elven Dreams. I hope you like it :) ***note: it is still in it's roughest stages ***</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Elven Dreams</span> </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My morning started like any other countless days. I woke up at six and went for my obligatory run through my neighborhood woods. What with the big four zero approaching; I, Madelyn Carver, was going to fight gravity and those extra pounds with every ounce of strength left. Some women are afraid to run through the forest, especially before the sun is really up. It isn’t for everyone, but I love nature and the rough terrain really kicks my ass. Not to mention by being surrounded by all that foliage your mind can really motivate you to run harder. Nothing quite like a strange noise to really make you pour on the speed or run that extra distance.</div><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A mile into my five mile run, my mind clear, I was enjoying the crisp smell of the dew soaked earth mixed with the freshly blooming honeysuckles. This was the scent Glade and Yankee Candle tried so hard to capture, but failed. As I crested the hill, the terrain grew a bit tricky. Leaves covered the ground and the evening rain had made the ground soft and slick. This mixed with a steep incline made it a struggle to maintain my footing. Twice I had slipped and narrowly missed eating a mud muffin for breakfast. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The morning sun barely broke through the heavy canopy of trees. My mind harkened back to the fairytales of my childhood. The sound of my dear uncle’s voice whispered in my ear reminding <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>me of the stories of children who wandered into the woods alone. I could sense a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“If only it were true. I would love to meet an Elven prince or even a warrior. Sadly, I gave up on love long ago, both real and imaginary.” My words echoed through the trees and magnified my solitude. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I couldn’t help but sigh as I rounded the corner and lost my footing. This time there was no recovering. I careened down the hill at an ever quickening pace. My only thoughts were to dig my heels in to attempt to slow myself by down and use my hands to try to steer myself away from the trees. All it managed to do was to throw me end over end, in a nauseating tumble. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I squeezed my eyes shut in hoping to quell the sickening sensation coiled in my stomach. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The sudden and terrifying stumble ended as abruptly as it had begun. I slammed into something solid, but not as unforgiving as a tree. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Goddess be blind,” a strange male voice uttered in the tone that meant it was a curse.</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you. I…I fell down the—” </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I turned to point to the hill, but the ground was as flat as a prairie. Confused, I spun back around to explain myself and was dumbstruck by what stood before me. I was in center of a beautiful little town, cottages and stores lined the road with strange flowers flanking both sides. There weren’t any cars or trucks, just horses. It was just like a fairytale village. I half expected to see foxes walking upright and holding conversations with a fellow badger.</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“But…but this can’t be real.” Sputtering, I looked up and finally saw the man who had stopped me. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He stood six foot four, solidly built, the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Piercing eyes, the color of the Summer sky, sun-kissed tan skin, and hair so dark it had a bluish hue to it. My eyes were drawn to the tips of his ears that broke through his wind tousled hair…they were pointed.</div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">~***~</span></strong></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Contest Week #2</span></strong></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I hope you enjoyed this little excerpt of my latest work in progress. This week's giveaway is for five lucky winners. I am giving away your choice of any one of the following pieces of jewelry. As an added bonus the piece will then also be named after you too. To enter all you have to do is leave a comment. Winners will be announced on February 13th by 10pm est.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><strong><span style="font-size: large;">#1</span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIQhhzYYysm2_XP5BB-wtqOq5NnhGYZxyA9wm-LoTAvtkVzLiiZtOeHpmq2juvljIyU1Rw2Ra-5DmXpFCLVz_kCAjZdvxKDn6CEicuJmtJ7_JDJad6Pc1XpnuGPUAR67CHCHjw_U4gw/s1600/Design+%25231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIQhhzYYysm2_XP5BB-wtqOq5NnhGYZxyA9wm-LoTAvtkVzLiiZtOeHpmq2juvljIyU1Rw2Ra-5DmXpFCLVz_kCAjZdvxKDn6CEicuJmtJ7_JDJad6Pc1XpnuGPUAR67CHCHjw_U4gw/s320/Design+%25231.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> #2</span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhSiROYVNfiuOjlnLrIco3og0aWLzcYNGuZ6RyxaZsHG0QMFtGZkVEvnoOhNFBrfBK1CRpM1hY1oc3BnIGOCF2dgWyVTbe4-OVSp5vUuK5l-kA5tZhU-N3JYHJZVbA8NLW1uM3eevow/s1600/Design+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhSiROYVNfiuOjlnLrIco3og0aWLzcYNGuZ6RyxaZsHG0QMFtGZkVEvnoOhNFBrfBK1CRpM1hY1oc3BnIGOCF2dgWyVTbe4-OVSp5vUuK5l-kA5tZhU-N3JYHJZVbA8NLW1uM3eevow/s320/Design+%25232.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> #3</span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmr_0f1adyINd5tHtuOcshcbGzyI18Pv_uzcOAl9enIVrVOmXOBbA6G47YPWBQtf5e0XKezRAUS82Z7ftUGAMcNqCbnK-e097JrE9UF9a_p74KW1GjZNlnCRw4mTLy16NVnkuzzC9Bg/s1600/Design+%25233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmr_0f1adyINd5tHtuOcshcbGzyI18Pv_uzcOAl9enIVrVOmXOBbA6G47YPWBQtf5e0XKezRAUS82Z7ftUGAMcNqCbnK-e097JrE9UF9a_p74KW1GjZNlnCRw4mTLy16NVnkuzzC9Bg/s320/Design+%25233.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> #4</span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhQPIUegKT2nzRP5CL4ozcfoSrTqTUQwgIIwWvjj_iAql3OnuWqHotbozYBHviLFhAL_BbUhXWY7Mu_ewfaAHI3jwU7TG1rE59ZzgQ5B1hHmZ60jYIkWcSVWS2_jV09MO5yjr1VQjgQ/s1600/Design+%25234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhQPIUegKT2nzRP5CL4ozcfoSrTqTUQwgIIwWvjj_iAql3OnuWqHotbozYBHviLFhAL_BbUhXWY7Mu_ewfaAHI3jwU7TG1rE59ZzgQ5B1hHmZ60jYIkWcSVWS2_jV09MO5yjr1VQjgQ/s320/Design+%25234.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> #5</span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7TGCDt8puVmlyRFPdAJBffKYOgADL5vG04VW695JPE6059MmiYtg0ElTIEXP1WUfVvwcZK0nUVgrbYP5s4ZEx_qQL64AX0qcpOuYM6GOettN5y2IIoa0bQEVb0LluK8FavmZfsTvwQ/s1600/Design+%25235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7TGCDt8puVmlyRFPdAJBffKYOgADL5vG04VW695JPE6059MmiYtg0ElTIEXP1WUfVvwcZK0nUVgrbYP5s4ZEx_qQL64AX0qcpOuYM6GOettN5y2IIoa0bQEVb0LluK8FavmZfsTvwQ/s320/Design+%25235.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> #6</span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDKxh5O37MM2RaRKm39tfJ1rtJTJtEQxiQ7f48BbMbmwulT4qU0-gs5KRVyCuuB25ap6c0TxxucuxmUjpe91YTNbu7HcxpGw7qJFb6YSITjJu9ALORThIDx0cd0nYyKHB3UomPfCJ1yw/s1600/Design+%25236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDKxh5O37MM2RaRKm39tfJ1rtJTJtEQxiQ7f48BbMbmwulT4qU0-gs5KRVyCuuB25ap6c0TxxucuxmUjpe91YTNbu7HcxpGw7qJFb6YSITjJu9ALORThIDx0cd0nYyKHB3UomPfCJ1yw/s320/Design+%25236.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> #7</span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9c7mAvBL1KCiK9Xfv4x3HE9RJcMZO4ttdbogZYzUNhudZGE8j09Kl174HPVUo__DdNCSYHvsBAbP8leRtndgtKuYTkQ9EVvW_QDh45UM3Nkk5c6ftIuVaBAmXMWsfWO57hbfVKIhPw/s1600/Design+%25237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9c7mAvBL1KCiK9Xfv4x3HE9RJcMZO4ttdbogZYzUNhudZGE8j09Kl174HPVUo__DdNCSYHvsBAbP8leRtndgtKuYTkQ9EVvW_QDh45UM3Nkk5c6ftIuVaBAmXMWsfWO57hbfVKIhPw/s320/Design+%25237.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> #8</span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnXokS-tRx1CscEGjwwgfVWgeB81VjZ3DNNciCpYiaJf4QLarb1K8qKT10AnrIxBVhyvDPN63j4Xu_MDIXmvEo4M3h0wayP_1ySPeqC_Hg63GAxa0rRxzy-8Ug83A2KD4YJuGodfUBw/s1600/Design+%25239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnXokS-tRx1CscEGjwwgfVWgeB81VjZ3DNNciCpYiaJf4QLarb1K8qKT10AnrIxBVhyvDPN63j4Xu_MDIXmvEo4M3h0wayP_1ySPeqC_Hg63GAxa0rRxzy-8Ug83A2KD4YJuGodfUBw/s320/Design+%25239.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-20558265006528856882011-02-01T05:36:00.005-05:002011-02-01T08:29:36.659-05:00The Lure of Romance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSP9rtxT9MSE5u4jMzpZ_bmrBNhtqB2ByVDQydBW8gEAsgdoiFLz6O7jkF1fn4CCpEjLmzY59z_EWgfutEp47KYDHO2i1BtIukelLVhvNoZOMLjpstU0vfMaapgxqWdv9S4jEE63N9A/s1600/Fotolia_12093627_S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSP9rtxT9MSE5u4jMzpZ_bmrBNhtqB2ByVDQydBW8gEAsgdoiFLz6O7jkF1fn4CCpEjLmzY59z_EWgfutEp47KYDHO2i1BtIukelLVhvNoZOMLjpstU0vfMaapgxqWdv9S4jEE63N9A/s320/Fotolia_12093627_S.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I’ll be the first to admit, I was one of those who turned their nose up at the whole genre of Romance. I believed that women, in particular, were setting themselves up for heartache by reading such "perfect romances"—that real life would never be able to compete. The idea that romance novels would create a standard that no man could possible achieve. I’m glad to admit that I was wrong. I made an assumption based on the few people I knew who read them. I thought it set up an environment that encouraged people to fall in love with love, and to hell with rationality or reason.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I’m pleased to say the genre of Romance is so much more than falling in love with your "perfect" soul mate. In today's world, you don't just have your "Happy Ever Afters," you also have "Happily For Nows." You can find stories filled with life lessons on learning to let go, how to forgive, second chances and most of important of all, learning to love yourself. Now that I’ve taken the plunge and started writing romance, it has really opened my eyes to the complexities of love, lust, and obsession.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I’ve learned that there is strength in being a hopeless romantic. To believe so strongly that love will win out above all else. The damsel isn't always helpless. The knight isn't always the one in the shining armor coming just in time to save the day. Sometimes, he is the one standing right next to you in line at the coffee shop. You know the one, he gives you a smile even when you're having a bad hair day and you forgot to put on mascara, but still he makes you feel beautiful.</div><br />
There’s poetry in the subtle movements found in a romance novel. The give and take is like a perfectly choreographed dance that, once completed, makes you want to stand up and cheer. That’s what I want to do, the kind of stories I want to write. The ones that heal the wounded and gives the embittered hope. I wish nothing more than to touch someone and make their world a better place. A world where Beauty is able to see past the Beast’s appearance, his gruffness, and discovers the man of her dreams. In romances love is forever, and all people have a perfect someone who never hurts them or leaves. What’s so awful about taking a walk in a world like this?<br />
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This week's giveaway is a $25 giftcard from Amazon.com. I will be giving away four gift cards on Sunday so all you have to do is answer the question by posting a comment and you may be one of four lucky winners to be chosen at random (thanks to random.org)<br />
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<strong>My question to you: </strong><br />
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<strong>What do you love (or hate) about romances?</strong><br />
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*Winners will be announce at 10 pm est on February 7th*<br />
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Come back each week for more chances to win :)<br />
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February 8th - February 14th (winners announced the 14th at 10pm est)<br />
February 15th - February 21st (winners announced the 21st at 10pm est)<br />
February 22nd - February 28th (winners announced the 28th at 10pm est)Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-47278651662268365072010-11-28T15:01:00.000-05:002010-11-28T15:01:55.180-05:00Life After NaNo<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 36px;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> Well, the fury has finally come to an end. I completed NaNo a few days ago. ***Throws confetti and blows horn*** Now what? I still haven't finished my story. I am nowhere close to being able to call it a wrap. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> <div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> A lot of it has to do with the way I write. I bounce from scene to scene in no particular order. It helps prevent me from getting bored. I have a loose rough outline to keep the characters from completely taking over, but for the most part, I let them run free. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> Some people complain about the time of year that NaNo takes place. I know the holidays are a tough time for most, but if you look at it in another way it just makes sense. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> This is the last part of the year. By having NaNo in November those that finish have a sense of accomplishment. The one year they managed to do an inconceivable amount of writing in an impossible span of time. Second, the stupor you often feel after completing it is akin to the state you feel after a good holiday meal. My third and final point is that you can put your manuscript away without too much guilt since you need to get ready for Christmas. After the hoopla of the holidays you will be able to look at your manuscript with fresh eyes and be able to polish it til it shines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> I am in that numb creative stage. I can’t seem to do much of any real writing. My muse Tallulah tempts me with vivid scenes. The more I resist the more she shows me. Maybe if I ignore her long enough she will break down and do the writing for me. LOL. (Note : Tallulah says: Pffffffbt! and then gave me the finger.) Oh well, a gal can dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> So now, I have six, count them, six projects that are in the wings, seven if you count my NaNo piece. Ah, the dangers we encounter after we open the floodgates. Story ideas have never been a problem for me (Tallulah curtseys). My bane shall always be in the follow through and as much as I would love to blame Tallulah, I know the fault is all mine. For now, I will kick back and relax a bit until the urge to write becomes overwhelming.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> I want to thank all my friends who put up with my whining and complaining. I really don’t deserve to have such a supportive groups as y’all and y’all don’t deserve to have to listen to me b*tching all the time. I love y’all more than I can ever express. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> Happy Holidays to all! </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div></span>Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-43983508179568969902010-11-11T22:34:00.000-05:002010-11-11T22:34:28.619-05:00Muses and Other Sadistic B*tches<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGVOe0xraqQqWy73PN-dTOcKSH1nwcdNQeyInX0WxmKtD3_e1_-hGW_nsMtahcjRKICkIqpEcY6BCuBJ0nkJJtJ3yC-Sqw4Kjzldng2JvlmSlK-tRRqIlnLohB2rgrno_UeKDFp4Lsg/s1600/iStock_000003532480Small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGVOe0xraqQqWy73PN-dTOcKSH1nwcdNQeyInX0WxmKtD3_e1_-hGW_nsMtahcjRKICkIqpEcY6BCuBJ0nkJJtJ3yC-Sqw4Kjzldng2JvlmSlK-tRRqIlnLohB2rgrno_UeKDFp4Lsg/s320/iStock_000003532480Small.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> My muse is named Tallulah Belle and she is every inch the Southern Belle. She is headstrong and extremely vocal. When she wants me to write something, she will not give me a minute’s peace until I at least sketch it out. I have to appease her or she will just not shut-up. She will flood my dreams with scenes from the story, often involving tasty snippets of some very hawt men. Let’s face it, the b*tch knows what I like and she know just what I need to get me hooked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I am in the middle of my second year participating in National Novel Writing Month, affectionately known as NaNo. I have a set story that I am desperate to finish. It has plagued me for months. I am finally making good headway with it, but Tallulah seems to have other plans. She waits until I start writing my story, then she will show me a scene and try to tempt me away. So far, she has shown me four distinctive stories. They vary genres from two YA stories (one mystery, one paranormal) both could easily go into series, one erotica, and one murder mystery. I don’t believe she has stopped in her attempt to derail my progress. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now, I know this sounds like a bunch of hogwash. I will fully admit that before I started writing I would hear an author speak of their muse talking to them, working out their stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would roll my eyes and think, “Boy, what a bunch of crap! If you don’t want to tell me where you get your ideas that’s fine, but seriously!” I have since fallen down the rabbit hole, stepped through the mirror, said goodbye to sanity and joined the league of muse-controlled writers. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It is a love/hate relationship. She taunts and teases. She disappears when I need her most. She pouts and pitches a fight when I refuse to listen. Worst of all the b*tch has no sense of time. She will wait until I am almost asleep to think of a solution to a certain scene or come up with a plot that I’ve been struggling with for days.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I will head to bed. Get all nice and comfy. My body starts to relax as the tensions of the day slowly leaves my body.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: Hey Mags. You asleep?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me: Hmmm.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: Oh…Too bad, I was thinking and you know how you had the guy falling down the cave entrance. Well, I was thinking that maybe he should first ALMOST fall first. You know sort of builds the drama don’t ya think.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me: *sigh* Tallulah, it is 1 am and I have to be up in 2 hours. Can this wait til morning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: Well excuse me, missy. I was just trying to help, but if you’re going to bite my head off then I’ll just shut up and leave you alone. It’s not like I don’t have other things to do. *huffs loudly**</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me: Thank you. *rolls over*</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: I mean it’s not like I enjoy thinking of your dreck every minute. I mean seriously some of the things you expect me to fix! I would expect a little more gratitude from you, but I guess that is asking way too much.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me: At 1 am? Yes, it is way too much to expect. Now, if you’d wait until the morning I will be more than happy to hear your take. Seriously, are you trying to make me so sleep deprived that you can just take over and write the d*mn thing yourself?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: Hmmm, is that possible? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was kidding. Now let me sleep…please.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: Oh alright. Goodnight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">15 minutes elapses</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: Had enough sleep yet? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: You want to write. You want to write. You want to write.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me: WTF?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah: Trying to take over your body. I dunno, it seemed interesting and I thought I’d give it a try. It’s not like there is a manual you know.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me: Who’s Emmanuel?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tallulah:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*exasperated, she sighs* A manual. A book on how to—oh never mind, go back to sleep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Me: *snicker*</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I want to say, I don't always win these battles. Truth be told, she wins far more than I do and I hate to lose. The only thing that stops me from getting truly bitter is I know that by losing these battles with my muse, I actually win. It illustrates the old adage, "sometimes you have to lose the battle in order to win the war." </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I have come to enjoy my talks with my muse, even when she jumps from subject to subject like a rat on crack. It is always an exciting exchange full of endless possibilities. Life is good and my muse is chatty. To say that my relationship with my muse is complicated is an understatement. I will ride this wave as long as it last and be thankful for the inspiration, even if it means little sleeps and whispered voices at </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">inopportune moments. It is the price I pay for my creativity and I happen to think it’s worth it. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 14pt; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> I'm blogging over a the Para posse blog tomorrow on what draws us to paranormal romance. Come by <a href="http://paraposse.blogspot.com/" onmousedown="UntrustedLink.bootstrap($(this), "c4b36", event);" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3b5998;">http://paraposse.blogspot.com/</span></a> and comment for your chance to win a $25 Amazon gift card.</span></div></span>Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7028707489194245473.post-47739663844355223742010-10-23T12:37:00.000-04:002010-10-23T12:37:36.815-04:00In the BeginningGrowing up in the rural South, you either spend your days exploring and creating magical lands or you retreat into the wonderful world of words. I would love to say that I was born a lover of books, but I wasn't. I spent my days running through the woods in hunt for the mythical beasts both my Grandfather and Uncle spoke of during my bedtime stories. Legends and myths were real and the battles mesmerized me. I feel blessed to have been born into such a rich heritage of story telling.<br />
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I think my Grandfather wasn't trying to do anything more than to con me into the Land of Nod, so he could have a moments peace from my endless litany of "why". Why can't we see fairies? Why does the Green Man hide from me? If I find the foxes hole, will he invite me for tea? If I climb to the top of a pine tree will the eagle show me how to fly? Yes, in my childhood, animals were my main focus. I loved the idea of shifters. The thought that we could become a fox or wolf consumed me. I would pester my Grandfather and Uncle to tell me story after story where the hero would spread their arms and take flight or shift to wolf in mid leap.<br />
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Years later, I have learned that for the most part my Grandfather and Uncle only loosely based their stories on the legends of the Cherokee and stories of Irish lore. They deftly wove them together and created a world in which I flourished. I look back at those stories as a springboard for my own tales of wonder.<br />
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Now I spend my days creating worlds full of misadventure. I let my imagination run rampant and sit back and smile. I can only hope that I do them justice in carrying the torch of storytelling. I too weave multi legends and myths into the background of my stories. I can only hope to find others who enjoy my worlds.Marguerite Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00074585348316787460noreply@blogger.com2