Archive for July, 2009

Diving out of the nest and learning to twitter

July 25, 2009

My twitter name is Lwhitcomb23.

Thank you to Karen and Meradeth for pointing out that I forgot to mention it. (By the way, Meradeth, my mouse slipped and I accidentally spammed your comment. Can’t figure out how to get it back. Please comment again whenever you’d like and I’ll be more careful, I promise.)  

Soon there will be facebook and twitter links on my website provided by Brian Batson, my fabulous web stylist. (If you need a web guy, I can get you in touch with him!)

Tweet to you soon!I love free clip art!

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Huzzah to the fans!

July 24, 2009

Huzzah (Renaissance Faire “speak” for Hurray) to everyone who has left comments or answers to my questions on my website (Amelianna, Becca, Cynthia, Kayla, M.E., Melissa, Rebecca, Susie, and Zac .) I love hearing from you all. And huzzah to the blog reply folks (Karen, Passionandfruit, Robin, Tashi, and Wendy.) And  a big huzzah to the creators of the SLANT mini-films which can be viewed  from the “Enthusiasm” page of my website. Links to those film-lets were sent to my literary agent, my Houghton Mifflin editor and publicist, and my Hollywood agent. Everyone loved them. Congratulations!

Thank you!

Thank you!

By the way, I’m twittering now. Just started. I’m also on facebook and Goodreads. I’ve always been a bit of a low-tech gal, but I’m trying to get more with it.

Talking about fans . . . I am a fan of many people/places/things that I may talk about from time to time. As an example, here is a link to a recording that I love so much I listen to it at least once a week:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJYyqzUr6jU

Adam Lambert (American Idol 2009 runner-up) sings a song from the musical Brigadoon. Such a gorgeous tenor voice. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

About Maximus (who is not convinced that he is a dog)

July 20, 2009

When I sold my first novel, I bought things like a CD player for my car, a new pair of sneakers, and a new printer. When I sold my first movie option I bought something I’d been wanting even more.  Maximus is now a four-year-old, but when I got him he was an eight week old, two and a half pound, Min Pin (miniature pinscher) puppy. The girls at the pet shop called him the Escape Artist because he could get out of any cage. They ended up putting a pad lock on his kennel door.

the Escape Artist himself

the Escape Artist himself

He chose me, or perhaps I should say that we chose each other. He locked his eyes on me when I walked into the pet store and wouldn’t look away, making respectful yips every few seconds to make sure I kept looking back to him (rather than at the other puppies for sale.) When they put him in a “play area” with me, he alternated between playing with my hands and running up my arm to cuddle at my neck. Come on—who of you could resist? Since he didn’t really know me yet, his courting of me gets chalked up to cleverness (he knew how to get chosen) more than affection (though he has plenty of that going on now.) He was so small (how small was he?) he was so small that when he curled up to sleep in the palm of my hand he looked like a mouse. 

There were a couple of weeks, during our first month together, when neither of us knew exactly what the other was saying, or wanted, but with a little time (and a great pup trainer namedVali Sugden) we were soon great friends and beloved companions. He appears to understand English, but he hasn’t actually spoken any yet. He’s pretty good at his tricks: sit, lie down, wait, relax, come, jump up, jump down, and simmer down now (which means “settle yourself into a comfortable position because you’re going to be here a while”) and he is a delight.  He’s not completely convinced he’s a dog (my fault) but he does believe I’m the boss which is what makes our relationship work so well. He started out the size of a hamster with long legs and is now over ten pounds and about the size of a box of Kleenex with long legs.

 I’ll let you know when he speaks his first word. (Does sign language count?)

May your pets bring you delight this day and every day.

A work in progress

July 12, 2009

Well, it’s not even mid-July and I’m almost a quarter of the way into writing the first draft of UNDER THE LIGHT, the twin to A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT. I love playing in Jenny’s head, experiencing where she went when she was out of her body, and seeing Billy through her eyes.

I dreamed, the other night, that Filmcolony (the producers who currently hold the option) were making the movie of SLANT. It was fascinating to see the scenes in which Helen shadowed her first hosts, the one where Helen and James wrote notes to each other in class, the one where they first kissed. I love dreams like that — they make me feel wonderful all day.

May your week be blessed, and in case you’re not familiar with them, I’m including (below) the two Emily Dickinson poems from which the titles of ACSOL and UTL were taken. (I like to pretend these two pieces were especially written for Helen and Jenny.)

THERE’S A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT

There’s a certain slant of light,

Winter afternoons–

That oppresses, like the heft

Of cathedral tunes–

Heavenly hurt, it gives us–

We can find no scar,

But internal difference,

Where the meanings are–

None may teach it–Any–

‘Tis the Seal Despair–

An imperial affliction

Sent us of the air–

When it comes, the landscape listens–

Shadows–hold their breath–

When it goes–’tis like the distance

On the look of Death–

UNDER THE LIGHT, YET UNDERTV EMILY DICKINSON

Under the Light, yet under,

Under the Grass and the Dirt,

Under the Beetle’s Cellar

Under the Clover’s Root,

Further than Arm could stretch

Were it Giant long,

Further than Sunshine could

Were the Day Year long,

Over the Light, yet over,

Over the Arc of the Bird —

Over the Comet’s chimney —

Over the Cubit’s Head,

Further than Guess can gallop

Further than Riddle ride —

Oh for a Disc to the Distance

Between Ourselves and the Dead!

The Mystery of the Hay Shower

July 3, 2009

Yesterday hay fell from the sky. I was going out to let my Min Pin, Maximus, have a widdle. Out of a clear blue sky, strands of hay appeared and drifted down onto our driveway and lawn. Some strands as long as my arm with dry tufts on the ends like the tails of strange straw creatures. Some clumps, looking like flying birds’ nests, were as big as cowboy hats. This went on for several minutes. I could look into the cloudless blue and watch the blades appear from so far up they seemed to materialize like ghosts or fairies.

I called one of my friends (Grace) from madrigal choir, who had her own farm, and asked her about this phenomenon. She suspects a dust devil had touched down in some nearby field (there is, after all, a horse farm across the road from us) and swept up a load of loose dirt and hay. When the little twister lost its energy it would’ve dropped the straw back to earth from quite high up. That certainly sounds logical.

Luckily, I did NOT see this across the street.

But I’m not totally convinced. (Her other theory, although I suspect she was kidding, was some kind of crop circle event.)

Now, whenever I step outside the door I look up and wonder what might be drifting down for a visit. My dog sniffs the hay that still decorates the yard and sometimes jumps nervously back from a piece of it. (Although Max is also afraid of feathers, so I’ll not give his suspicion undue weight.) Still, I’d love to know where those nests of straw were right before we were gifted with them.