Questions, Taunting, and Haunting

STOP! Before you go further in this read, google the microscopic water bear. Then come back.  I'll wait for you.

Chop, chop, pork chop, clocks a ticking.

Okay, now that you have seen the little sucker, are you with me on thinking this is one of the most bizarre things on earth. It has little hands, people! Besides food, what does it use those hands for? Does it pull it's mate in for spoon cuddling in the middle of the night? Does it wipe its mouth with a napkin after sloppy taco night? Sip lattes or hot cocoa? Does it care if its' gluten laden bread is non-GMO?

These are the important questions scientists should be asking.

Other important questions:
When you walk down a dirt road that has recently been laden with rocks to keep down the dust and mud, how many footprints are needed to smooth out that road? Where is the research on this?

Every Spring, I notice that the fir trees have neon green tips at the end of the branches. Is this from new growth that has not yet turned the dark, sullen green of the rest of the fir needles? Or do forest elves paint them as some kind of festival event?

Why are japanese maples pink, red and burgundy? Who gave them the go ahead to be a totally different color than the other trees? Was it some kind of favoritism by the Tree Goddess? Or did they win a tree coloring lottery when colors were being handed out at the beginning of the Age of Trees?

What does Ellie do in the next chapter of the latest Scout and Ellie book I'm writing? The circus is about to start, she and Scout are going to be performing a new act, I have to write about it, and she still
has not told me what happens. I mean, sure, she's given clues. But not the whole act. All I can say is, she had better do a darn good job of showing me what is happening, because I certainly don't have a clue. Elephants can sure be secretive and tricky to deal with. Am I right here, or what?

Why does warm apple cider taste even better when I'm writing?

Where are the people who are supposed to be giving me the answers to these questions that haunt me. Are they taunting me with their secret knowledge? Laughing behind my back?

Maybe I can get back at them by just not asking questions anymore. That would show those little secret  keepers. No, that wouldn't work. If I don't ask my questions, my mind will explode.

Or implode. Now which one is it?

Heather Leigh,
Tormented soul forever seeking answers to unanswerable questions.

Second Description of First Person

Okay, so in my last post, I let you know the joy, the thrill, the bliss obtained from switching a story (Scout and Ellie) from third to first person. And, while I know you were all excited as my cat used to be catching songbirds before I put bells on her collar and ruined her fun, I thought that perhaps I did not describe why the change was so fun.

Because I am able to get inside Scout's head. Got to wedge my way in there, 'Scout' around so to speak. The dialogue is now from the boy. That means, no holding back, no wondering what comes next or what he could possibly be thinking. No, I am in that mind of his just listening and typing away what I hear.

Ever see that movie, 'Inside John Malkovich'? These elderly people find a way to live forever inside of John's brain. They will never die. Kind of weird for John, but whatever. I think they find a way to compensate him. Anyway, these people get to hang out for the ride and watch life through someone else's eyes for as long as he lives. Cool, huh?

So, I get to do this with Scout. But the extra cool thing is that if he does something I don't want to, then I can give the big Presidential veto and change the direction of the story. Right in mid-sentence. Snap, snap, snap.

And for you non-writers, you, let me tell you that most of writing feels like you are a fly on the wall, watching what is happening in the story, rather then making it up on my own. At least, when I am in the flow of the story it happens that way for me. Can't speak for others.

Which, by the way, is why I have a difficult time hearing people around me when I am in the middle of writing. It's because I am not here anymore. I am visiting imaginary people.

Hmmm, somehow that sounds like I have split personality disorder. Maybe, but I'm pretty sure I don't.

So, I get to experience life as a ten year old with an elephant living in his backyard. They do crazy, fun, wild and sometimes a bit mean stuff. They do things, have parties, go places--and I get to do all of this in the comfort of Scout's brain. I get to live two lives at once!

Now are you getting the emotions I'm getting here? Living two lives at once. Wow.

I'm totally thinking that Scout should go on vacation, perhaps a cruise to Hawaii. Mmm, I can feel that tropical sun beating down on me right now.

Heather Leigh
(aka the passenger in Scout's brain)

First Person Woo Hoo!

Woo Hoo! Oh, the thrill of changing text from third person narrative to first person is simply indescribable fun! Am I right, or what? Oh, wait, not every one who read this is a writer. Some people may think this is a boring, dull, no-big-deal thing do be Woo Hooing about.

But you are so wrong.

I mean, what could be more fun than completely re-writing a hundred page, middle-grade humor story so that the narrative comes from the kid? No weird, bizarre background voice telling you what is going on. This is from the source talking, people. Oh, don't you understand the thrill that I am talking about here?

It's like right up there with the time the son of Evil Kinevil rode his bike across the Grand Canyon!  Yeah, like that. If you don't believe me, than go buy it on Amazon. The book is called 'Scout and Ellie' with a picture of Scout and Ellie, the elephant, having a tea party in her front yard. I just now got it all posted up proper like on Amazon--available in Kindle and paperback format.

So am I manipulating this blog into a way to sell my new story? You betcha. Cause it is way more than good enough for me to feel 100% comfortable in doing so. It's like that.

What other things are this good in life, you ask? What else do people woo hoo about? Here is a partial list:

Calling Obama and telling him his refrigerator is running and he had better go catch it.
Finding 23 cents in the dryer--it really doesn't matter the amount, I just love when I get paid to do my own laundry.
Good hair days on date night and then having the wind destroy your look. Sometimes, you just have to laugh.

I'll have to think of more good things in life later. My son is home sick and I need to get videos to him. Oh, so I guess when he is feeling better, that will be something to Woo Hoo about.

"Scout and Ellie, The Birthday Party" Check it out. It really is a woo-hoo good one for 7-9 year olds!

Heather Leigh

Doesn't Suck

When I told my son that the new version of "Scout and Ellie" just might be funny, he told me I was pushing it. Well, I replied to my dry humor eldest child, what about if I declared it didn't suck? We deliberated. Saying it was great was vain and vulgar. Good, that's all according to opinion. Humor? Gracious me, that is way over the top in assumptions.

So we settled on 'it doesn't suck'.

I feel totally confident in that review of the new version.

And, I can tell by the edge of your seat stance you are taking, that you are wondering, dying to know, and heavy with anticipation what a new version of the boy and his elephant series is all about. I'll let you dedicated fans in on the fun of being me. Okay, here it is:

The old version used third person narrative. New version is first person talking/thinking.

Yep, there it is. The whole enchilada. Are you okay? Don't forget to breathe (if you don't breathe, you will die--I guarantee it).

Now I am going to bypass eldest child's warnings and say this: it is way more funny than the original!!! I was able to get into the character's head and talk and think and act like a ten year old boy!!! What could be more fun than that? It opened up the sky of humor writing possibilities like the first day of National November Write a Novel In a Month day (google their site for more info on that fiasco: NaNoWriNo). It was so danged much fun to write, I feel elephant giggles surfacing on my tongue at this very moment.

Hmmm, now you have me thinking about what else does not suck in this world:

• my teenaged sons now argue without trying to kill one another--must be a sign of maturity
• the sun has consistently risen every morning since I was born
• Paul Newman now makes gluten and dairy free cookies just for my sensitive constitution--I don't even know him and he is that considerate!
• down the street from our new house there are piglets for us to watch as they grow and not have to own one--cuteness boiled over three thousand times!
• that no one in the world knows that I listen to Classical music in my car--wouldn't want anyone to know I am a true geek
• my cats let me pet them
• my dog  still thinks she has to protect me, even though she is 14 and can barely make it up stairs
• okay, here comes the gushy one: I have friends who love me. Okay, I said it, no need to dwell on sentimental subjects
• my parents are alive and healthy, and I like them. Even my grandmother is alive! And she could out-dance me at any moment
• I have the most awesome aunt in the Universe. Don't be jelly, someone had to get her. Just happened to be the lucky one. 
• Extended family is funny, supportive, great to be around, and a joy to be a part of. Don't make me name names--you know who you are.

There are more doesn't suck bullets to add, but the time has come to pick up the younger son.

Did I mention my winning the lottery two times by having two such wonderful kids?

Heather Leigh
proud author of books that don't suck

What Can I Stop?

Sydney, the Australian Shepherd who allowed us to take her home from the animal shelter a decade ago, was all a frolic and joyful when she saw me take out a plastic bag from under the kitchen sink. It's our little communication that it is time for a potty trip. Although she is taken out four times a day, it is still like a mini-doggie Disneyland excursion each time. She was hopping and full of glee, as only an old dog can muster, until the door was opened and she discovered the truly rare of San Diego...RAIN!

She looked back at me and kindly asked me to turn off that water. It was not her intention to wet her coat. That beautiful black, brown and white fur of which she is so proud does not smell nice when wet.

Well, I told her, I can't stop the rain. 

Humph! She answered, and made her way down the stairs with raindrops falling in her world.

So that got me to thinking about what else I can't do. I can't change the amount they put in 12 ounce cans, and I would like to be able to. What about all those times when I am at a 13 ounce thirst level? What am I supposed to do then? Bust into a whole 'nother soda and pour out the other 11 ounces? Talk about waste. I couldn't even mail it to some thirsty person because by the time they got it, it would be flat and lifeless.

I can't change the color of the sky when it rains. I mean, who picked gray? Gray is an indecisive color. It's always asking if it should be black or white and ends up being in-between. It's unsettling for everyone outside taking their dog for a potty run. When we look up, all we see is an ambiguous, non-color formed gray. 

And what about skunks? Aren't they like the cutest animal, ever? Watch one waddle on those four tiny legs, with the thick batch of fur, and the white racing stripes, and tell me you don't want one. If, that is, it weren't for their whole stink issue. Another thing I can't change.

(Someone out there is going to ramble on about skunk stink removal operations, but I'm not going to go around de-flowering skunks. They have their protective ego thing, and I have mine. Let's leave it at that.)

There has got to be one thing I can change with out missing up the grand scheme of things. Oh, I can go see the last of the Hobbit trilogies tonight and finally change my status of not knowing how they end the series. Well, that puts me back into control of my universe.

Thank you, oh heavens that be, for a smidgen of something I can stop.

Heather Leigh

Physical Body and the After Life

Last night I received another fantastic, mind-blowing massage by Erin of Organic Energetix. And while relishing in the feel of stress and muscle pain relief, my mind formulated this question: If, when we die, we leave behind our bodies and drift around as a soul (in heaven or where ever we end up), do we get to partake in the sensations of massage?

If I am body-less, what compensation is there for massage, a good hair shampooing at the salon, or a sugar scrub from a pedicure? Hand holding? Ear whispering? My cats licking tuna oil from my fingers?
This is a (almost) G-rated blog, so I will just refer to the things we do towards making babies.

As the After Life is always (unless you go to a place that is hot, of which I will not discuss as per my personal beliefs) tooted as being so great, what are they dishing out in replace of the good body stuff?
With out a tongue, can I taste sea salt, chocolate covered caramels, fancy Italian Cabernet, or Uncle Jerry's home made apple pie? With out ears, how do I hear ( I know I'm a classical music loving geek) Vivaldi's Four Seasons, my boys telling me they love me, or my friend Heather laughing with me at that Improv show we went to last week?

And don't get me started about the things I'd miss seeing with no eyeballs. I can spend hours watching palm tree fronds swaying in the wind and seeking out dolphins past the breakers on the beach. How do I feel sunshine on my skin, with out skin?

All of these tough questions have put my old dog into a deep meditative sleep. She'll probably wake with the answers, but have no voice to tell me. And no opposable thumbs to use a pen and write it down.

If she is having that many problems trying to communicate her answers, how do I pursue my love of writing with no brain matter when I die?

So, as the After Life is supposed to be great and all, I want, at the very least, a brochure as to what they offer souls when we leave behind our bodies. Because we are giving up a lot of good stuff here.

If you don't believe in the After Life, I hope you at least appreciated the irony and humor that his blog was making a stab at.

Have a wonderful day appreciating what the world has to offer the physical human body you are in right now,

Heather Leigh
current owner of a 46 year old, healthy body

Writer-loving Zombies

There is something wrong with me. Monday, December First, I spent ten hours completing the rough draft of 'Suicide Soda'. As some of you may know, I was a willing participant of the National November Writing Month (affectionately known as NaNovWriMo), and I wanted to get the book done, albeit a day late. The goal was clawing at me like a loving zombie with raccoon-like nails.

And now, rather than sit back and wait until November to write the next novel, that loving zombie is whispering into my ear ideas for my next series of young adult novels.

I'm an addict, aren't I? Where is that loving Intervention crew of friends and family to help me stop? Are they just going to stand by and let the Undead drool on my cheek with his fowl breath and rotten teeth? Is my team of supportive writing friends just a bunch of inebriated enablers?

And why didn't I wind up with a normal addiction, like Crack, or chardonnay, or chewing my hair? At least those wouldn't make me a social outcast. I mean, who wants to hang out with the writer? All we do is ask questions to get story ideas and ignore people when we're working. Boring.

I also want to share with you my story idea, but I have a superstition about talking about plots before I've written them: if I let go of the idea, it will drift away like a helium balloon and be captured by another writer, before I've even typed a word. And this also goes with why I HAVE to start writing it. If I don't start, someone in the world with telepathic abilities will read my mind and steal my fabulous story. In order for me to avoid this catastrophe, I HAVE to start writing NOW!

Did you have any idea writers were so crazy? Because, I think we all, at some level, have these ideas. I mean, it's not like we choose to write. It's more like the ideas come from that writer-loving Zombie and we are forced to type out the story to avoid being eaten by the Undead.

Okay, the zombie is now chewing on my ear, so I have to go write an outline. Eww, zombie spit is so gross.

Heather Leigh, friend of Zombies