Tagged By Pearson Report - A to Z Co-Host

***This is a game of blog tag that I'm attempting to play; the text below is pasted from elsewhere and my answers to the questions are in red. Lord only knows if I'd doing this right, and if I'm not, please forgive - I'm largely clueless.***

Have you ever wondered what would happen if we played TAG out here in Bloggerville?

TAG = The Answer Game

You'll be asked the following questions and you answer them on your blog! (A simple copy and paste event - no biggie.)

Then you pose the same questions to your Followers and so on, and so on…

If you play the game...I’ll add your blog to my TAGGED BY PEARSON REPORT Blog List - where everyone will know you are a team player who's kickin' it with me and the A to Z team. Our goal is to see 1,000 participants, on the sign-up list, by March 1st...so here’s your chance to pitch in and show your support by playing TAG.

HERE ARE THE QUESTIONS:

Are you signed up for the A to Z Challenge?
As I noted in my previous blog post, I completely lost my mind and did, in fact, sign up for the Challenge. God help us all.

What is your sign-up number?

Edited to note: as of March 17, I'm #635.

I'm #637, Some Dark Romantic, at the moment (I was #638 just the other day...someone saner than I must've dropped out).

Are you ready? If yes...explain yourself.
I'm getting there. Came up with a theme ('cause I heart me some themes, y'all) and plugged in some ideas for a number of letters. I'm deliberating over exactly how to execute the theme and need to peg stuff to the other letters (whatever fills those blank spaces may guide me in the theme's execution). So I reckon I'd say I'm a third of the way along, more or less.

If you’re not ready...what’s your excuse?
Geez, take a chill pill - what are you, like, my mother? (She's never satisfied.)

Just copy and paste these questions in your post and have at ‘er! Let’s see what makes you a Blogging from A to Z participant!

Tell Pearson Report when you post your answers and you will be added to the TAGGED BY PEARSON REPORT Blog List which is on the side of the page just under the list of A to Z Co-Hosts.

The spotlight’s on you…all you have to do is play The Answer Game (TAG).

So what are you waiting for...you’ve just been TAGGED!

And a little perk for Pearson Reports' Followers of Note - if you participate I will enter your sign-up number into a draw basket for an original artistic creation from my daughter, Courtney, a designer in Animation. The piece I have selected is called Life and is a series of four prints - they can be seen HERE

***OK, fellow Bloggers - and you know who you are - Don't just stand there, let's get to it! Play the game, there's nothin' to it - TAG!!!***

Crazy insane...?

The title of today's blog (apart from being a short, if hilarious, line from the movie Weird Science) accurately describes me, as some of you may have guessed and others know for a fact. I out myself as a loon because I've signed up for this year's Blogging From A to Z Challenge. (Witness nifty badge to the right.) Basically, I've committed to blogging at least 100 words per post on subjects spanning the alphabet, in order. (So, April 1's subject must begin with the letter "A," April 2's with "B," and so on.) Blogs may be themed or not, it's up to each blogger's particular brand of bonkers.

I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I decided to throw down with the alphabet, blog-stylie. Rather, I don't know that I was thinking - a primal urge to engage in battle bubbled up from my reptilian brain and completely overrode all reason. I saw the sign-up page and it suddenly got all Eye of the Tiger in my mind's ear. This surge of writerly recklessness took no note of how I'd utterly failed to complete NaNoWriMo back in November 2008 (though my frenzied efforts, while they lasted, did form the beginning of a story I'm keen to expand upon). (At some point.) (I'm dead meat if Chuck Wendig ever reads this: see point #8 of this blog post.)

Anyway, I believe I will successfully complete the A to Z Challenge because it's a different sort of time investment - 26 100-word blogs don't seem quite as daunting to write as a 50K-word book. Too, I can write some, or all, of the blogs in advance and have them automatically publish on their due-dates. (That is to say, it's my understanding that the rules allow this. I encourage anyone who knows different to please set me straight.) This Challenge appears to be a more manageable endeavor for a single mom who works full time but, as I said before, I'm nuts. (NVTS)

In other news, R. Mac Wheeler's blog post inspired me to Wordle my mythological romance, That Fatal Kiss, which I've been shopping around. A Wordle is sort of a word-collage of selected text, or set of words, which emphasizes repeated words by increasing their size in the collage. The larger the word, the more often it's used. Check it:

Here's another one; I dig how it looks like Hades is breaking through a ground of words to get to Persephone:

PS, y'all: It would be super groovy if you'd vote in my poll, up yonder at the right-hand tippity-top of the page. Thanks!

Shooting at the Devil...

You wanna pass me over a what, now?

I recently discovered a blog which has quite gripped my fancy - As the Crowe Flies by author Penelope Crowe. Her book, 100 Unfortunate Days, is described on Amazon as being "...the diary of a woman of the verge of a breakthrough--or breakdown." With an opening like that, you can bet this'll prove to be a wild trip. I've not read it yet (it's available as an eBook right now and I've no eReader, so I'm waiting for it to come out in paperback format in the coming month or so, 'cause that's just how I roll). But Crowe's put some excerpts up on her blog, from the amusing Day 10, which provides "profiles" of a variety of pet owners, to Day 23, a dark fable which left me feeling rather hollow. In another post, Do You Believe in Possession? A True Story, Crowe writes about her friend, a young woman who suffered from and succumbed to Wilson's disease, though Crowe wonders if demonic possession was at the root of her illness. An unsettling post, certainly, but what really struck a strange chord in me was that the friend was in Portugal when the spooky stuff went down.

I'm a first-generation American of Portuguese descent. One thing about my peeps across the ocean that's always perplexed me is that, for a ridonkulously Catholic country, the folks there got superstition oozing out their what-whats. For instance, you can't say with any certainty that a thing you're planning will come to pass - you say it will, "Se Deus quiser" ("If God is willing"). For this reason alone, if you wish a Portuguese a happy birthday before that event takes place, you may induce a stroke in the poor unfortunate. Belief, whether real or "just in cases," of O mau olhado (the evil eye) is so pervasive that folks will give a newborn to the family a charm bracelet meant to protect the babe from supernatural harm. If a kid's stretched out across the floor, God forbid you step over him or her - the child's mother will insist you cross back over because you've just opened the kid up to eeeeeee-viiiiiiiiiiiil and you must close that "circle," imediatamente! (For realz!) Mind you, not all the 'guesers are that twitchy but the average native buys into this stuff just enough to make him careful not to cut a homemade loaf of bread when it's fresh out of the oven and still hot (because that would be the same thing as cutting into the loaf's maker, as everyone knows).

I myself have long been interested in things mysterious and spooky, from tarot cards to ouija boards, runes to gemstones, witchcraft to astrology to dream interpretation, vampires to werewolves, you name it. I've been told that my occult bent stems from a branch a little higher up on the family tree - my dad's maternal uncle (my great uncle), Tio Nuno*. (TEE-oo NOO-noo.) AND, as it happens, though the gentleman never met me in person, he did diagnose me as being "possessed" of some kinda yuck.

Tio Nuno was a typical, chouriço-fed farm boy from a podunk village in the middle of Portugal, until he traveled to exotic Brazil to make his fortune. This he did, and came back an "Espiritista," or Spiritualist, to boot. With his newly earned coin, he set about buying some forested land, a vineyard, and whatever else seemed a good money-earning prospect, and the man did well for himself. But he developed the reputation for being involved in bruxaria (witchcraft) and, to be honest, alcohol. My dad tells some entertaining tales of Tio Nuno's exploits, which frequently transpired in the black of night, while Tio Nuno made his way home from carousing with women and spirits of the liquid variety, his trusty pistol within easy reach. One time, as he made his way along the dusty road to the neighboring city of Aveiro, Tio Nuno was surprised by the Devil, who straddled the cliffs that bordered the road and effectively blocked his path. He told Old Scratch to get bent, who (unsurprisingly) wasn't inclined to oblige him. So Tio Nuno whipped out his pistol, fired off a few shots, and, when that failed to yield the desired result, prudently took an alternate route to his destination. Another time, as he engaged in his nocturnal rambles through the woods, he saw a light flaming from the top of a pine tree. Tio Nuno called out but heard no answer. He resorted to his pistol again, shot at the light, but it wouldn't go out. So he took an alternate route home. Yet another time, as he approached his parents' house in the wee hours of the morning, he found a lamb chillin' by the front door. He couldn't get past the lamb and couldn't shoo it away. Thankfully disdaining his pistol this time around, he scooted around to the back of the house, thinking to get in through the backdoor, but that tricky lamb was already there, once again blocking his access to the house. So what did Tio Nuno do? Well, he took an alternate route to Dreamland by snuggling underneath a nearby haystack, where he was discovered by his parents in the morning.

These stories are great for a laugh over a glass of vinho verde and some tremoços, but the one involving me is slightly less goofy.

Mom and Pop brought me over from the States when I was a wee one so the family could meet their first born. Apparently, I gave them a bit of trouble - I stayed up crying the first nights they were in Portugal, growing cold and clammy from getting so worked up. Nothing they tried soothed me. I hadn't been colicky or anything up till then, so there was no reason they could discern for my fussing. They took me to a local doc who assured them that I was medically fine. So my Mom put it down to me feeling out of sorts from being in an unfamiliar environment. Or, you know, the evil eye (I dig that she didn't rule anything out). Shortly after the doc visit, Tio Nuno stopped by my paternal grandmother's house and my Avó told him about my peculiar spells. Because my Grandma's husband had recently passed away, she wondered if he might somehow be "visiting" me and generally freaking me out. Tio Nuno thought there might be a larger problem and asked her if any of my clothes or belongings were lying around. She found something of mine and brought it to him, which he examined carefully. After a while he told her that someone in the family wished me ill, but he wouldn't specify who (the big tease). He gave her the following instructions to pass on to my parents:

1. Make the baby a wreath of garlic and sprinkle her with holy water.
2. Make a bonfire and toss into it some rosemary, rue, and eucalyptus.
3. Pass the baby through the smoke of this fire and pray to some saints (which specific ones is lost in the mists of time).

When my Mom heard all this from my Grandma she nodded politely but privately thought there was no friggin' way she was going to pass me over a bonfire (the Portuguese equivalent of this thought, obviously). Instead, when she went to put me to sleep that night, she laid me on my back and prayed the Apostles Creed over me three times, all the while making the Sign of the Cross over me, asking God to liberate me from whatever ailed me. And, according to her, from then on, I did get better.

I have to admit, I'm disappointed that she didn't try the bonfire thing. Also, I think I'd look pretty smashing in a garlic wreath (kickin' it old-school!). But seriously, I'm proud of my Mom for turning to her faith during this peculiar phase in our lives...I hope I'll always turn to God, in good times and in bad. Still, I'd love to know who hit me with the bad juju, so I could avenge myself (and my parents) by TPing her house.

*Nuno was not his real name, but it is a common - and unique - Portuguese name, for an uncommon man!

Dark Romance #3 ~ Tim Burton's "Sleepy Hollow"

(Obligatory spoiler warning - if you've not seen the film or read the original short story, but intend to, move on to some other blog 'cause THAR BE SPOILERS! Also, one of the items linked below leads to a profanity-laced tribute to the Headless Horseman, so approach with caution if you don't approve of that kinda stuff.)

When Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow was released in 1999 (with the punchy, if predictable, tagline, "Heads will roll!"), I fell for its gorgeous gruesomeness, hard. It's become a favorite and serves as today's study of dark romance.

First, the kvetching: the film only loosely follows the tale laid out by Washington Irving. But then, according to Peter Miller (writer of the "Afterword" in the Signet Classic edition of Irving's The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.), Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" ripped off German folklore, generally, and Gottfried Burger's "Der wilde Jäger," in particular (Afterword, p. 377). Well, whatevs - Miller doesn't think Irving's contemporaries would've cared and nor do I - it's a ripping good yarn, if you'll pardon the imagery.

Anyway, in Sleepy Hollow we've got Irving's basic cast of characters (Ichabod Crane, Baltus and Katrina Van Tassel, "Brom Bones," Gunpowder the Horse, and, of course, the Headless Horseman - who, it must be noted, was probably not the genuine article in the short story). Burton diverges from Irving's story in several ways: Crane, rather than being a geekazoid schoolmaster from Connecticut, is a (hawt) young constable from New York city (which puts me in mind of the role that helped propel the actor who portrays him, Johnny Depp, into stardom - that of Officer Tom Hanson in TV series "21 Jump Street"); there's a whole cast of named characters who've got sordid shenanigans coming out the wazoo; and, getting back to Crane, a "father-wounding" theme that recurs in Burton's work (in, for example, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or, inadvertently and without malice, Edward Scissorhands). While I'm compelled to make a little bit of noise about these deviations, I'm not too fussed about 'em, I just want to make the point for folks who've not read Irving's story (which I've linked above, so quit slacking and get to it, already).

In Irving's story, the main action revolves around the rivalry of Crane and Bones for the hand of the nubile Katrina, as well as Crane's ill-fated ride home from a country dinner one dark and lonesome night. In Burton's film, we've got the murders of four to five* denizens of the titular village which bring Crane, with his kookily newfangled and untried instruments, in to investigate. The romantic rivalry exists but is done away with by the intervention of the devilish Horseman (poor hunky Casper Van Dien!), leaving us with a horror-whodunnit and wondering if Crane will get the girl before the Horseman gets his head.

The dark romance of it all: Oh, where to begin?! First, Depp is adorable as the intrepid yet simultaneously cowardly Crane. He's determined to solve the case by means of science and cool reasoning, but frequently freaks out - to great comic effect - when the occult proves to be the source of all the mystery. Then there's the lush setting, costumes (I would consider committing criminal acts to possess one of Katrina's gowns), and set design, and a hushed, misty landscape which becomes a character in its own right. (And I won't even complain - much - about it being mostly filmed in England, rather than the place in which it's set.)  The cinematography is so beautifully effective that one can almost feel the autumnal chill, the toasty warmth of the hearth fires, even smell the gamey scents of a late 18th century village (did they really not think to pen up their sheep at night?), and shiver from the ominous gloom-painted skies above. But what I love the most about this film is (and you'll hardly be surprised to learn it) the Horseman. That strapping (if headless) physique - woof. His inexorable approach, heralded by the thrilling thunder of hoofbeats - woof. The scrape of steel when he unsheathes his spectral sword and gives it a masterful twirl as he sights his prey - woof! Every time he ventured forth like some "night headhunter looking for some head," my heart throbbed. OK, there's that one scene where he murders a family in their home that I can never bear to sit through (especially the bit with the little boy hiding beneath the floorboards, to no avail, alas - gah!). Apart from that, the ghostly avenger is hot, hot, hot - and never hotter than when he pitilessly turns the tables on the one who'd enslaved him.

*I say "four to five " because there were "five victims in four coffins," which you'll just have to check out for yourself...if you dare. ;-)

Never Say Nevermore...

...unless you're the infamous Raven of the Edgar A. Poe poem.

Last Thursday was Poe's 203rd birthday, and in his honor Dan Boujoulian, Poe fan and keeper of The Macabre Edgar Allan Poe page on Facebook, organized what I believe was the second annual Edgar Poe Birthday Worldwide Reading. (And ain't that a mouthful!) I missed the boat on this last year, which I deeply regret, as the 2011 selection was my fave, "The Cask of Amontillado." This year's selection was "The Pit and the Pendulum."

What the "Worldwide Reading" bit consists of is recording yourself reading a passage of the selected text and submitting it to be merged with readings done by other fans...well, worldwide. To be honest, though I did remember Poe's birthday on January 19 (being a fan of his myself), I hadn't been on Facebook for a few days and missed Dan's plea for a handful of New Yorkers to join him at Poe Cottage in Da Bronx on Jan. 21 to record some "P & P" reading there.

Poe's actual birthday proved rather a brutal and soul-crushing day for me (through no fault of the dearly departed gentleman himself) so I'd intended to pick up a bottle of amontillado on my way home from work and sip it genteelly while reading "The Cask" before bed. But my local liquor store was out of it so I purchased some port instead and proceeded to fall asleep without cracking either it or "The Cask" open. I remedied this lapse last night, consuming copious quantities of the port while finally catching up on my Facebookery. Pleasantly pissed, I read Dan's post that only one New Yorker had volunteered to go to Poe Cottage and more were needed. Tipsily troubled that I'd been a slacker fan (who'd *yet* to visit Poe Cottage, for shame!!!), and forgetting the snowstorm predicted for today, I e-mailed the fella and said I'd join in.

And, in spite of the fact that the weather was wet and raw and my fingers froze to, fro, and during the reading (we did a bit of recording from the Poe Cottage porch), I'm really glad I trudged through the slushy ick covering the Fordham section of Bronx today. It was such a pleasure meeting and chatting with fellow Poe fans and actually getting to sit at Poe's desk for some of the recording!!! (Squee!) The grand, worldwide recording mashup should be ready for public consumption in a few weeks - can't wait to see how it all turned out!

Your humble bloggy-blogger, standing before Virginia Poe's bed.

Writerly things...

...because I'm all give.

Well, not really - but I'm happy to share! (Unless we're talking about men or chocolate. Then I'm all, "Mine, mine, mine!!!") Mmmm, men or chocolate. Hmmm...men covered in chocolate? Oh dear, I feel a swoon coming on. Wait, what was I gonna say...? Oh yeah - in today's blog I'll share some stuff I've found useful as a writer.

There are loads of books about writing and how to go about it and whatnot. My fave so far is Fearless Creating: A Step-by-Step Guide To Starting and Completing Your Work of Art by Eric Maisel. Among other things, Maisel writes about "belligerent commitment" to your craft, be it writing, music making, painting, whatever. You just *do* whatever the hell it is you've gotta do. Do it, do it now, already!!!!! That's oversimplifying the matter, somewhat, which doesn't make it wrong, if you see what I'm sayin'. And for some funny (and highly profane - you've been warned) advice on writing, try Robert Brockway's How to Become an Author, in 5 Incredibly Difficult Steps or Chuck Wendig's 25 Things Writers Should Start Doing (ASAFP).

For writing prompts, I've got The Pocket Muse by Monica Wood (a gift from a former boss, bless her heart) and The Writer's Block by Jason Rekulak, both of which contain (in addition to textual prompts) gorgeous and/or evocative pictures which, if you're visually oriented like me, you may find pretty nifty. I've turned to them many times when I've felt sluggish or stuck, using a prompt for either a simple exercise or as the catalyst for a scene I couldn't get through.

Got a beautiful, sensitive hero or a brave, ballsy heroine and don't know what to name him or her? (Or it?) You could check out Popular Baby Names for free, courtesy of Social Security Administration. Or you could try The Baby Name Wizard: A Magical Method for Finding the Perfect Name for Your Baby by Laura Wattenberg. Neither will tell you name meanings, but the latter does other groovy things, like categorizing names by style and giving you names related/similar to a name you may be considering (useful for naming siblings). I think my favorite section is where Wattenberg lists names from the "Surfer 60s." (Strangely, for a goth, I've really been jonesing for the beach and its ginchy Gidget culture...what's up with that?) (Don't worry, I'll explain in a forthcoming bloggy-blog.) (OK, maybe you should worry, a little.)

I've used agentquery.com to hunt - ahem - research agents and querytracker.net for the same, which also has info on publishers. Another site I've relied on for agent info is Absolute Write Water Cooler, a fantastic forum in which other aspiring authors have posted about their experiences in submitting queries. And a cool site for researching markets and tracking submissions for magazines and short stories is Duotrope.

Want to blog but aren't sure how to get started? Robert Lee Brewer's Blogging Tips for Writers helped me out a lot. (But you can't blame the poor man for what I write, or even for the fact that I do write; it's totally not his fault.)

So how about all youse creative guys out there - what stuff's helped/amused/inspired you?

Intuition...?

...or just more smartassery?

I'm sure those of you with teens can relate - sometimes, one's child develops such skill with the latter that it's difficult to discern whether:

A) your child's being serious, and if so
B) the gravitas should be trusted.

In particular, I reference my son, Balthazar, and his ready dismissal of the (very few) men to have interested me romantically since his dad and I split up, lo so many years ago. Oh, he knew there'd been a dude after his dad, but he was about 3 at the time, so who knows what a child that age can really grasp of such matters. But there'd been a long drought since that fella and it was in The Kid's earlier teens that other contenders nearly entered the ring, so to speak.

I commute into Manhattan for work and, a while back, there'd been this guy on the train who eyeballed me with some frequency. He didn't make any moves to reach out to me, just stared and let me catch him staring a few times, you know how it goes. Well, there was something about him, an intensity to his gaze, that appealed, and I was not averse to an overture, should it have come. Then one night, as The Kid and I walked past our town's train trestle, we both happened to look up at the steps leading down from it, casually noting the descending commuters, and there he was! Our eyes met and held for a few heated seconds, then Balthy and I kept walking. I slowed my pace at some point so the guy could pass us and was gratified to see him looking back at us periodically. The Kid noticed him and commented on the fact that he sorta resembled one of our neighbors. I agreed, mentioned seeing him on the train once in a while, and that was the end of that.

UNTIL I boarded a homeward-bound train one night and saw him seated at a window seat, with the middle and aisle seats next to him free. I had my chance - it was now or never! (Or so some twisted little voice in my head assured me.) I took the aisle seat. He looked up, saw me, and an electric moment of mutual awareness passed.

This is the point in the story where things should've taken a delightful turn for the woof! They kinda didn't. He tried, several times, to engage me in conversation. But my natural timidity with men (go on, laugh, disbelieve me, but it's true - I get stupidly tongue-tied and blushy when an object of my interest approaches) didn't allow for the burgeoning of rapport (or anything else, for that matter). Too, the timbre of his voice put me off, for some reason, and I just couldn't relax into the moment. I was interested but antsy, and I couldn't figure why, but I couldn't shake my uneasiness and did nothing to encourage him. Still, he gamely tried to chat me up, valiant man. We disembarked at our stop, walked together for a bit, then parted ways.

When I got home, I ached to share the experience with someone, though I didn't think I was so pathetic as to need to gush to my son. In fact, I was.

Me: You remember that guy from the other night?

The Kid: Yeah?

Me: The guy we saw at the train station?

The Kid: Yeah?

Me: The guy you said looks like our neighbor?

The Kid: Yeah?

Me: We chatted on the train tonight. I think he likes me.

The Kid: (Smirks.)

Me: What?

The Kid: (Smirks and shakes his head.)

Me: What??? (I glare at his continued smirkage.) Well, what do you think of him?

The Kid: He looks like a murderer.

Me: WHAT?!

The Kid: He looks like a psychopath, Mom. So what's for dinner?

And that really was the end of that. Oh, I saw the guy a few more times. Once, he passed by me and tapped me on the arm, scaring the ever-loving crap outta me, but my son's words echoed in my mind and kept me from welcoming further advances. Maybe a few months later, I stopped seeing him around altogether.

Now, I've no way of knowing if The Kid was sharing real concern with me or just being a snot, but what he said seemed to support my unidentifiable discomfort during my brief interaction with the guy, so I chose to believe Balthy had some sixth sense and might just be looking out for me, after all. However, about a year later, I had cause to question his purported altruism.

On Facebook, a male friend of a friend sent me a friend request. The corresponding message read, "I like your hair and eyes." I told Balthazar about this and asked him if he thought I should befriend this dude.

The Kid: No, Mom. He obviously wants to rape you and feed you to a wood chipper.

He had no reason, at all, to suggest such a thing (except maybe he'd caught the tail end of Fargo recently), still he glibly harshed my buzz.

Me (sharply): You don't ever want me to date again, do you?

The Kid: No, I want you to stay lonely. Forever.

Me: Why?

The Kid: It works for me.

Of course.

Mind you, I accepted the friend request and later wound up un-friending (De-Facing!) the dude, on account of his weird rants (and truly alarming misspellings and appalling grammar). So, possibly, The Kid's Spidey-senses did actually pick up some vibes to which this chick's ears are not attuned.

Possibly.