Ditto

I was going to blog about the MoMo Writers' meeting today, but Natalie did such a fabulous job I'll just send you there. Aren't we cute? And I'll just say ditto to Natalie's sentiments. Writing friends rock.

Extreme Poetry: A Day Late

I didn't write poems yesterday,
it's true
But if you spent the night with Dojo
neither would you.

The prompt 3:33 AM from Storyqueen:

My eyes protest
it cannot be
the clock, it reads
3:33
my boy is breathing
so very loud
he would make
Darth Vader proud.


The prompt Yogurt from Whirlochre:

Once, in junior high
I forgot to bring a spoon
But yogurt needed eating
that lovely afternoon
Being smart and clever
I borrowed my drink's straw
and sucked that yogurt through it
into my awaiting maw.
It really was disgusting
and I'm sorry to say
that I still can't eat yogurt
to this very day.

And finally, Carrie Harris suggested the idea of being a midget in a land of giants:

I may not be able to reach
(despite trying with all my might)
the highest shelves in cupboards
But I'm more comfortable on flights
I never lack for leg room
I never hit my head
And I've yet to find my legs
dangling off the end of beds.

Sorry I don't have time for more, but I'm meeting the MoMos, my writing group, for lunch! Party. Hopefully someone else remembers a camera, because mine's in California.

Extreme Poetry Mondays

I've decided to go ahead and make our poetry Mondays a regular feature. I certainly can't be asked to generate content on my own--especially not after nights like last night. Turns out sleeping in the same bed as three-year-old Dojo doesn't actually involve any sleep. Little stinker.

So, those of you who've played before remember the drill, but anyone can participate. Leave an idea for a poem--a title, a theme, an image--in the comments thread. I'll pick a few and write the first poem that comes to mind later today.

Storytelling

In addition to making delightful new imaginary friends, I've noticed one major benefit from daily blogging and extensive creative writing. (Besides, of course, incredibly muscular typing fingers, a new obsessive relationship with Sitemeter, and shinier hair.) (Wait, you didn't know about the deep conditioning effects of daily blogging and extended computer screen exposure?) I've always used storytelling (some people may refer to this as daydreaming; alternatively, borderline psychosis) to entertain myself during down times. In fact, my first novel (the one that snagged me my fabulous agent Michelle) started because I finally decided to type out a daydream scene I'd been playing over and over again for the last five or ten years.

(Yes, parenthesis have returned with a vengeance. This is what happens when you are on vacation and WAKING UP AT SIX AM THANK YOU VERY MUCH DOJO YOU LITTLE BUM.)

However, I've found blogging has actually changed my perspective on life.

I'm not kidding.

I'm constantly looking for new post inspiration. This changes how you view experiences. Several employees ignore me standing right in front of them waiting to be served at a pizza place for five minutes? Oh baby, I've got a post. The time I had a traumaticly close-encounter at a nude beach? That one won me a book.

In fact, last year when an internal organ blew up on me and I had to have emergency surgery to prevent, well, death, I actually planned a funny post about it while waiting to be discharged. (Sure, it may or may not have been a coping mechanism allowing me to defer the pain and shock of what happened, but you wouldn't believe how many people visit your blog when you nearly die. I don't, however, recommend trying it just to get new visitors. Not really worth it. I suggest getting an agent or guest posting for Nate, both of which have a similar effect minus the scars both physical and emotional. And they're way more fun.)

Life is more entertaining and full of possibilities for humor when you look at it through a storyteller's lense. In fact, yesterday when I arrived at the airport with my two kids, ages 3 and 5, sans a stroller, and was informed that what should have been an hour until our flight left was now, in fact, four, my first reaction was, oh CRAP whymewhymewhyme. My second reaction was, ah well, at least I'll have some funny whining to do.

Unfortunately (and rather surprisingly) my kids were downright pleasant. Easier, but not really funny.

There's always next time, though, right?

For the Love

Kiersten's Laptop here. She asked me to post today because she's running around like a macbook with a lost power cord, trying to get ready for a trip to Utah with the kids. "Oh no, I forgot to finish the dishes! Oh no, I forgot to leave a mushy love note for Hot Stuff! Oh no, I forgot to" blah blah BLAH.

You know why I'm happy?

She's leaving me here.

Yes, for the first time since Hot Stuff relinquished me to her, I'm getting a vacation. And let me tell you, not a moment too soon. Besides the grooves worn into my space bar, I'm just plain tired of being on all day, every day, perched next to the sink. THE KITCHEN SINK. Is that any place for a laptop?

Regardless, don't think I haven't noticed the upswing in traffic and all of the new followers. You might not know about me, but I know about you and I am not happy. NOT HAPPY. The more people who encourage Kiersten in this obnoxious blogging and writing thing, the happier she is about it and the more she does it.

My keyboard can't take much more.

So please, for the love of Bill, STOP FOLLOWING HER. She's really not that funny. The whole thing is entirely wearisome, and I think you should all take up productive hobbies like counting the number of cracks in the sidewalk outside, or seeing how long you can hold your breath in the bathtub. Hobbies that will get you somewhere.

Because quite frankly, I don't like your blog any more than I like Kiersten's.

(Well, I kind of like yours. But don't tell the others I said that.)

That is all. Please don't come back.

Update: Please ignore cranky old Laptop. I love you all.

I didn't say you didn't love them. Of course you love them, you're an idiot. I just said I didn't love them.

Oh, alright then. As long as they don't get the wrong idea.

Don't you have a plane to catch?

Ah, crap!

Exceedingly Helpful

Today's my day on Nathan Bransford's blog. My faithful readers will recognize the post--it's one I wrote a while ago, edited a bit. I'm just so glad I'm going after the guy in book sales who posted yesterday, because it makes my post look incredibly informative in comparison.

Hrm.

No, not really.

Ah well. Such is life. Or at least, such is my blog. It's not that I don't have thoughtful, informative posts on here (I mean, my college poetry on bra shopping? Vital information there, folks!), it's just that, well, nonsense is so much easier. And funnier, for the most part. Still, there are a few gems here. In lieu of actually coming up with something today (I'm taking a pass--Dojo is potty training and none of us are happy about this), I'm going to direct anyone who's interested to He Said, She Said, my post on dialogue tags.

However, if you're just beginning in the wide writerly world, I'm going to go ahead and re-post my fool-proof series of steps for becoming a writer. Updated, even, for those of you who've seen it before.

Keep in mind this applies equally well to deciding you're going to write a short story or deciding you're going to write a novel. Heck, it even applies to scholarly or work-related writing.

Step One: Decide you're going to write a story.

Step Two: Decide it's going to be brilliant. Imagine the response of your [teacher, classmates, reading group, agent] and how it will completely change the way they look at you.

Step Three: Open up Word.

Step Four: Stare at the blank white screen stretching on into infinity until your eyes begin to burn and your brain hurts from the sheer emptiness of it all.

Step Five: Check your email. If writing a novel, research agents for a couple of hours.

Step Six: Stare at the blank Word document again.

Step Seven: Realize you need music. Spend the next hour finding the perfect "mood" music for what you want to write.

Step Eight: Inspired by [insert perfect music here], click back over to Word document.

Step Nine: Change Facebook status to: [Your name here] is WRITING!!! Realize you aren't on Twitter, and that anyone who is anyone is networking/wasting time on Twitter. Sign up for an account and spend the next two hours figuring out how it works and what the crap # means.

Step Ten: Stare at blank Word document. Decide you need a title. Brainstorm for the next hour.

Step Eleven: Come up with a GENIUS title. Proudly type "The Scent of Green Papayas" at the top of the document, followed by your name. Happily consider how easily a story will come now that you have such an amazing, literary title.

Step Twelve: Take a four hour break for snacks and naptime.

Step Thirteen: Refreshed, sit down and toy around with pen names for a while.

Step Fourteen: Realize to your horror that your genius title is actually the name of a Vietnamese foreign film you saw seven years ago.

Step Fifteen: Erase the title, pressing Backspace much harder than necessary.

Step Sixteen: Stare at the blank Word document until your eyes bleed.

Step Seventeen: Check Facebook. See that fourteen people have commented on your status, asking what you are writing. Feel both guilty and annoyed.

Step Eighteen: Slam your laptop shut and go to the movies. Tomorrow's a better day for writing, anyhow.

See? You never knew writing was so easy!

Your Poems

You asked for them. I present: Extreme Poetry. A handful of poems based on the suggestions in the last post.

The Exuberant Giraffe (Suggested by Whirl)

This poor exuberant Giraffe
Is prone to the social gaffe
His short jokes are tacky
His sense of style, wacky
At least he can make us all laugh.


The Great Dance: An Epic Poem (Suggested by FairyHedgehog)

Vlog the Diminutive Troll
was on something of a roll
In each ballet contest
he was simply the best
All competition was bowled.

But one day, to his great dismay
around him leaped and sashayed
a goblin so graceful
whose dance was so tasteful
Vlog was crushed in the fan fray.

Nursing his wounds and his pride
Vlog crawled off determined to hide.
But soon, inspiration!
Then determination
Across the dance floor to glide.

No pirouettes for him now
a new beat had moved him somehow
He locked and he popped
he breaked, then he stopped
That goblin was so going down.

The day of the dance-off was here
Creatures came from far and near
The goblin was smokin'
But Vlog wasn't jokin',
Demanded the whole stage be clear.

His rhythm astounding and pure
This wasn't graceful or demure
The crowd watched in awe
The last thing they saw
Was Vlog's grand finale of pulling out his battle axe, massacring all of them, and declaring himself the Hip Hop Grand Champion.


Now for a change of pace, how about some free form?

A Donkey Named Sheba (Suggested by Kaotic)

Shackled and work worn
Walking in infinite circles
her gaze drifts away

In her dreams
a Queen

(Dude, I don't know about you, but I'm touched.)


And finally, as suggested by Whirl,

MoMo Hip Hop Puke Scoop Blues

Yesterday while at dinner
I caught my son's vomit
in a paper plate

Mad skills indeed
No clean up necessary
He tosses his cookies
I toss the plate
And everyone goes back to eating

Such is my life


And that concludes this round of Extreme Poetry. Thanks for playing!

Coming tomorrow: Something that makes sense! Then again, probably not.

Hit Me

So, true to form, I spent all weekend thinking of ideas for posts. And then deciding they were lame. Didn't I tell you? Truth is, I write nearly all of my posts immediately before posting them. Usually in the morning, once I can get my eyelids to stay open, and in between breaking up fights and feeding small, squawking mouths. (That makes it sound as though I house both a hockey team and a flock of baby birds. Both of which, I might add, would probably be less maintenance than Dojo. But not as cute.)

I also write before I shower and/or get ready for the day, so it's a good thing this is a blog and not a vlog. Plus, as dumb a word as blog is, vlog is even worse. If I ever decide to completely geek out and get into role playing games, I will be a troll named Vlog the Impaler. Or maybe Vlog the Moderately Awful. Vlog the Endearingly Clumsy? Oh! Most accurate: Vlog the Whiner. I'll shuffle along, fighting leaking mutant sewage tanks or whatever it is they do in those types of games, and complain very loudly about whatever it is we're doing, and how poorly suited a troll of my stature is to it, and how much longer until we win the freaking treasure already. But--BUT--I will dance extremely well.

I really need to start some role playing games, I've just decided.

And of course since it is Monday, my brain is still broken from the weekend. Let's do a little poetry on the fly, shall we? (I like to use phrases like "on the fly" so you will know exactly how cool I am. Answer: not cool at all.) It goes like this: suggest a poem idea, topic, or title in the comments section. I'll take the first few, depending on inspiration (because on the fly is all about inspiration, right?), and write the poems, to be posted later today.

This is as close as I come to sports, people. It's like Extreme Poetry. I'm pretty sure it'll be on the next X Games. Along with Vlog and his hip-hop dancing of doom.

I'm Just that Cool

I really deliberated on whether or not to be falsely modest in this blog post, but the title should be your indication on which direction I decided to go.

I won! Well, won-ish. Over at Nathan Bransford's blog, where he called for guest posts for next week and got, uh, 250 responses. Including mine. Rock on. No doubt many others were funnier or better written, but The MoMos (my writing group) seem to have good luck with Nate's contests. Ren, it's your turn to win one next.

Anyhow, after cycling through my obligatory jumping-up-and-down and "ha ha HA!"ing, panic has set in. This means new readers. Readers who will, no doubt, come over thinking, what does she have that I don't?

The answer is simple: an incredibly hot husband.

(As far as writing is concerned, well, you're probably better. But I'm cool with that. After all, my husband's hot. I've found that makes up for a lot in life.)

So I'll spend the rest of this weekend feverishly coming up with and then subsequently rejecting blog post ideas in the hopes of luring new victims to become regulars. Odds are I'll end up with the same blend of ridiculousness and, well, ridiculousness. It's worked for me so far. So any new readers: pull up a chair, scoff at my love affair with --s and ()s, and play with us in the comments sections.

Answers

To some of life's most important questions. (Well, that sentence would be more accurate if you took out most...and important...and really of life's, too. So that leaves us with answers to some questions. I can live with that.)

Natalie asks: When are you going to finish the ghost story? I'm kind of dying here.

Well then, what better state-of-being to be in while reading a ghost story? Honestly, I don't know. Sorry. But it is rather especially deliciously wonderful. In fact, I was just looking through it for a little snippet I could put on here and am instead reading for fun. And then I decided to save a snippet for some day when I don't already have a huge, long post.

But ah, Aaron. Loren. You two crazy kids. Throw in a ghost or two and some seriously angsty issues and the whole book is just fun. Fun that's taking me a long time to write, unfortunately. Give me another couple of weeks, okay?

Where are we going to lunch when you come visit?

Since I will be the visitor, I don't have to choose. I hate picking. I am very much in favor of somewhere with Dr Pepper though.

If you were a high school English teacher, what books would you most look forward to teaching?

Ooooh, now THAT is an interesting question. The opportunity to expose teenagers to some of the best YA out there...wow. I mean, besides the obvious classics. But now I'm paralyzed by indecision! There's so much that's so good! I think I would have a required list of the ones they should read, like To Kill a Mockingbird, Lord of the Flies, Animal Farm, Huckleberry Finn, etc. And then I'd have a list of options for extra credit, and for that I'd draw from contemporary books like The Book Thief (okay, no, that might be required), If I Stay, fun ones like Hunger Games, etc.

Because here's what I think. All too often in high school classes, the curriculum focuses on introducing kids to adult books. And there's nothing wrong with that--except when it turns reading into a chore and they don't realize just how much fun it can be. I sometimes tutor, and these 15- and 16-year-olds are coming to me having read (or, umm, tried to read) Crime and Punishment, or The Bluest Eye. Great books! Really great books! So not YA.

I would definitely try to balance out the "important" books with books that are just plain fun, great reads. So yes, I would let students read Twilight and Uglies and Wings and what-have-you for credit. Because reading is reading, and reading is WONDERFUL. And even reading "fun" books I think teenagers can learn to be critical, thoughtful readers.

Also, I would never be a high school English teacher because I'm too short. I'm pretty sure there's a regulation requiring you to be taller than a twelve-year-old for any teaching positions.

(Great, look what you did, Natalie! I've only gotten through one person and it's already the longest blog post ever. The rest of the answers will be short, I promise. I'm good at short. See above paragraph.)

Whirl asks: Is it true you're turning into a pirate? Will you be featuring any more photos of silly hats?

I believe I can answer both questions in one fell swoop here.

Yes, those are skulls and crossbones.

But you can tell by the look on my face I'm a rather apologetic pirate, not one of those vicious ones.

Wee Hotty Scotty asks: Have you seen my passport lately?

James, James, James...Steph called, she said you left it on the dresser by the bunk beds. Send her your address and she'll FedEx it, along with your last five toothbrushes. Or Chris Martin said he'd drop them by on his next tour stop.

H-Duck asks: Are you done teething and can you now dispense much wisdom upon us?

Alas. One of my wisdom teeth broke through, it's true, but two of them are in very dangerous spots, creating something of a mess. So, I'm one-quarter of the way to wisdom, which isn't very far at all, is it? But according to Socrates, knowing I'm not wise makes me far wiser than everyone around me. So now I'm going to wander around, asking people questions and then marveling about how stupid they are because they don't know they're stupid.

Little Brother asks: Is Schrodinger's cat alive or dead?

It doesn't matter, because I've already called animal control and reported him for keeping it locked up in a box all the time.

Sara asks: What questions will Sara ask this month?

I predict...what is my favorite type of weather, where do I go for "alone" time, and what is something that always makes me laugh.

What? All correct? I'm just that good. 1. Thunderstorms. 2. There is no such thing as "alone" time in my life. 3. Hearing my kids giggle with each other. That, and when Hot Stuff styles his hair into a faux-hawk.

Carrie Harris asks: If you could be in a fairytale, what fairytale would it be? Mine would be the one about the princess who was woken up by the kiss of a prince with a large publishing contract.

Man, that's a classic. Makes me cry every time. So I'd either pick that one, or the story from 1001 Arabian nights where all of these powerful men want to sleep with this woman, so she tricks them into meeting her one after another. But then when the next person knocks, she has the previous suitor climb into a series of stacked cupboards so he isn't discovered. And then she locks them all in and runs off with her lover. And then they all pee on each other and have a good laugh about how they were tricked. Clearly I would be the woman, and not one of the men peeing on each other. That, or I'd want to be the guy in the top cupboard.

Wait, you mean your mom didn't tell you that one when you were little? Mine didn't, either. But it's very clever how many different ways they come up with to say "peed."

Alrighty, folks, that concludes our July edition of Questions and Answer Time. Thanks as always for such stimulating questions!

Questions?

Whenever someone wants people to ask questions and says, "Remember, there are no stupid questions!" I always want to raise my hand and ask, "Is this a stupid question?"

Well, is it?

Speaking of questions, you may have noticed it's July. Time for our monthly feature of Question and Answer Time! It goes like this: anyone can play by submitting a question on any topic under the sun in the comments. When I have enough, I'll answer them. Have at it, my lovelies.

UPDATE: Tee hee, I love all of you. Thanks, I have enough questions. Answers to follow tomorrow!

My New Career

With the economic crunch, I've had less freelance work and am trying to think of ways to bring in some extra income. I've been researching, and one area that's been hit hard by the recession is the wedding industry. People just aren't willing to spend like they used to.

Perfect!

I'm marketing myself as an extreme low-budget wedding planner. Here are my first plans for the thrifty, wise consumer couple.

Option One: Thanksgiving for Love

Date: Thanksgiving Weekend

Pros: Easy entertainment for visiting family if they like football and parades

Cons: November is not a typically romantic month; moderately high construction paper costs

Theme: Giving Thanks for Our Hot, Hot Love

Groom would be in an old-fashioned tux, dark brown or navy blue, preferably one made out of velvet. Or corduroy, depending on which he prefers. He'll also have one of those top-hats with the buckles on the front, and square-toed shoes that go up past his ankles, with white stockings coming up to his calves and the pants tucked in.

Bride's dress will have puffy sleeves that go down to her wrists. It will also have a detachable apron for the front (which can double for honeymoon lingerie, saving even more money). She'd sport one of those cheery, poofy bonnets, which cuts costs on a hairdresser.

Guests will be handed pilgrim outfits upon entering the ceremony. These are easily made out of brown paper bags with holes cut for the head and arms, and magic marker details. Folded paper hats will complete their ensembles.

Colors: Orange, brown, and mustard yellow

Flowers: No need for flowers--Bride will carry a cornucopia filled with plastic fruit and vegetables.

Decor: With the help of my kids and the local kindergartens, I can make THOUSANDS of those little hand-turkeys with colored tails. Also, we would hire some actors to impersonate Native Americans. No need for authenticity--headbands with paper feathers attached should suffice.

Food for the reception: Turkey, stuffing, cranberries, and mini-pumpkin pies. Plus, you'll have tons of leftovers with which to make turkey sandwiches and soup until you want to vomit.

Entertainment during the reception: Pilgrim style dancing and music. Will require further research to determine if, in fact, pilgrims danced. If not, scripture study and prayer can replace the dancing. Also, a turkey bowl, which would be fun AND provide extra things to eat if we run low.


Option Two: We're so in Love, It's SCARY

Date: October 31st

Pros: What is more fun than costumes?

Cons: People may confuse it for a haunted house (in which case we could charge them admission, which will nicely offset the cost of renting a reception site)

Theme: Our Love Will Never Die

Bride will, of course, be a dead bride. Her dress will be artfully ripped and smeared with mud and red dye. Dress can be purchased at a thrift shop, since an out-of-date style will go even better. For her makeup, we'll do blood-red lips with a little bit dripping down the side, dark circles around her eyes, and base to make her look paler. We'll also rat up her hair, but in a cute way. The groom is a zombie. We may lose the deposit on the tux after we rip the pants legs off, though. Also, groom must be comfortable wearing makeup to zombify his look.

Colors: Orange and black with purple accents

Flowers: HUGE money saver here, since Bride will carry a spooky bouquet of dead flowers.

Decor: The entire reception will be decked out in orange and black streamers, and I'll start making construction paper* pumpkins, ghosts, and ghouls now. Also, we'll have the entire thing lit by black lights, which will hide any decorating flaws and make Bride's dress look AWESOME. The centerpieces will be jackolanterns.

Food for the reception: Huge bowls of candy and apple cider with dry ice so that it's all spooky and smokey. Instead of the traditional cutting the cake, bride and groom will bob for the same apple, which will be totally hot.

Entertainment: The line will be like trick-or-treating, with the wedding party handing candy to people instead of shaking hands. Also, at the end of the night, the entire group will perform a choreographed version of Thriller (also doubles as a tribute to Michael Jackson, which I think is a really lovely touch). Plus, since EVERYONE will be required to come in costume, when it's over the whole group can go out trick-or-treating together. Because that's what everyone wants to do on their wedding night, right?


Thanks to my business partner, my dad, we also have some working ideas with homeless shelters (hello, free food!) and a Sound of Music theme (outdoors in the hills = alive with music AND free). I can't wait to make wedding dreams reality. Forget writing; this is clearly my true calling in life.

*You may notice that construction paper features heavily in nearly all of my plans. I've got a long, very successful history of decorating with construction paper, including making a cheery fire place entirely out of the stuff when Hot Stuff and I were newly weds. If the wedding planning doesn't pan out, I may market myself as a low-cost interior decorator. You'd be AMAZED at what you can do with a forty-pack of paper, some scissors, and a little glue.

Holy Crap

This kid? He's three.

He also has a lot more teeth now.

How did this happen? Sigh. Well, off to the store to buy lots and lots of balloons for my baby boy.

Liar, Liar

Normally I don't play tag. This stems from a traumatic childhood in which my stubby little legs could never quite keep up with anyone else. Hour upon hour I'd futilely run after the other children until I was weeping with exhaustion. "Please," I'd beg. "Please, I don't want to be it anymore!" And still they'd run on, always just a few steps in front of me, taunting me with the length of their legs and the speed of their flight.

However, I just can't resist Carrie Harris. (That, and I've got nothing creative going on in my brain today.) She tagged me with a lying meme, in which you answer the questions with, well, lies. I thought I'd get a running start on the lying with that introductory paragraph. Here goes.

Pride: What is your biggest contribution to the world?

I don't care how green you are, I'm greener. I'm single-handedly saving the world from global warming. Many of you may know that I don't have a car. You probably think this is because we can't afford one. You're quite wrong. I could have purchased a car years ago, I simply choose not to. Why? Because I'm more righteous than you are, and I get a sick pleasure from walking everywhere or turning down social outings because they are too far to walk. It's not MY carbon footprint that's ruining the atmosphere!

Envy: What do your coworkers wish they had which is yours?

Most people envy me for my dance skills. That is, until they see my gymnastics skills, and then they just want to die because they know there's no point in even envying anymore; my abilities are too far out of the reach of even their imaginations.

Gluttony: What did you eat last night?

Well, since I'm a vegan AND I'm the greenest and most environmentally AND health conscious person ever, of course I ate my completely organic, home-grown vegetables with a lovely raspberry vinaigrette I made myself. With things from my garden. That is in my MASSIVE yard. Behind my lovely home. And I ate all of this in my dining room. Which is not carpeted, or dominated by a hand-me-down, falling apart table and chairs. And it certainly doesn't double as our family room/tv room/kitchen.

Lust: What really lights your fire?

I'm all about Robert Pattinson. I love his glazed-over eyes, his greasy, unwashed hair, his pale, hairy skin...oh, baby.

Anger: What is the last thing that really pissed you off?

This video here. Come on, not even Buffy could resist my beloved Edward! NO ONE is immune to his stalkerly charms and incredibly awkward stares!

Greed: Name something you keep from others.

This goes hand-in-hand with Envy. My dance/gymnastics skills are too good for the world, and I refuse to share them with the undeserving.

Sloth: What's the laziest thing you've ever done?

As you can no doubt tell, what with greening the world, nurturing my garden, obsessing over Robert Pattinson, and practicing my sweet dance moves, I'm about the least lazy person ever. However, when my kids were infants I refused to get up with them in the middle of the night, instead making Hot Stuff wake up each and every time they cried, which was frequently the entire night. But really, I needed the sleep more than he did. He was just, you know, in school and working and whatever. I was storing energy to keep saving the world.

Since I am in the best shape of my life, I tag each and every single one of you, because there is NO ONE who could outrun me.

(Okay, done with the lying now.)

Park City Zombie Apocalypse: Part Four

(You'll want to read in chronological order. Part One here, Part Two here, and Part Three here. Sorry for the lack of timely posting. Family in town + hyper demanding and clingy 3-year-old = tired Kiersten. If it makes you feel any better, I actually had zombie nightmares last night for the first time ever. I blame this story and Carrie Harris.)


"I know they're just up here somewhere," I said to Hot Stuff as we slowly drove up the winding mountain road. Lush green trees on either side obscured the view, making it impossible to see what was coming around each curve. Huge dump trucks kept passing us, heading down the canyon. I hadn't realized there was so much construction in this area.

Suddenly we broke out of the trees. On our right, set off the road several hundred yards, was a series of small, industrial looking buildings. Hot Stuff slowed. "Is that the mine?"

"I don't know. I haven't been here since high school." We both frowned, staring. When I came the mine was a big tourist attraction. These buildings were surrounded by massive chain-link fences topped with razor wire and--electrified? Really?

"It looks like that's a working building or mine or whatever it is." He was right--the parking lot was full. Even though it was only late afternoon, huge flood lights illuminated the entire complex. Several of the big dump trucks we had seen on the way were lined up. Men in biohazard suits pulled bulky things out, then dragged them along the ground into the building I was fairly sure housed the old mine.

"What on earth?" Hot Stuff pointed, squinting. "Are they pulling out--"

He stopped the car and we both stared, stunned, at the bulky shapes we now recognized.

Bodies.