Because I’m beginning to query literary agents for my first YA novel, I’m holding off on designating this little Tumblr as an author website, which it is NOT.
I am, however, also waiting until I land representation and solidify plans for my manuscript before I launch a true author website. I want to make sure the branding is just right before I pay for a professional site.
Cheers and see you around the Interwebs.
I’m almost finished polishing my first Young Adult novel. There are no vampires so you will probably hate it, but I’m pretty happy with it, so maybe you’ll give it a go. It’s about a sixteen-year-old girl, Beth Ann Castle, who goes out for the school paper. Severe dyslexia ends up being the least of her problems.
If it sounds like something you’d read, or even if it doesn’t, go on over and “Like” my new author page on Facebook.
I’ve been busy. In the summer, my short comedy script, Margarita, was a quarter-finalist in the Creative World Awards and received praise in the judges’ notes and scores of 8-9 out of 10.
This fall, I and some friends shot a short, silent film based on a concept my friend and I hatched. I wrote the script, landed the trust of a local business who offered its space and we shot it. Cemented is in post-production, so stay tuned.
Right now, a pitch and a scene I entered into the Champion Screenwriting Contest are in the quarter-finals. I hope they advance!
I’m also working on a novel. And I’ve entered Margarita into another contest and I’m entering the first 10 pages of my feature-length screenplay, Klementine, into a Scripped.com contest: First Ten Pages.
Fingers and toes crossed.
I love drug stores. The other day I spent six hours in PHAR-MOR till Eddie with the wallet chain started staring. Hottest cashier in Randall County, maybe the world. It wasn’t that good kinda stare, like, ‘take it off,’ it was more like What. The. Fuck? The one Reynold Hawk used to give me in second grade right before he threw my glasses in the dumpster.
I saw Eddie walk in for his shift two hours in, Damn, That chain that clinks against his hip when he walks. Eddie’s hip. Meow, that hip.
It’s quiet in there in the day in the summer. And cold. Happy orange and blue travel bottles stand at attention in blocks on shelves, rafters to tile. Squeaky tile. I pad around with a basket and mostly buy nothing. One day I found a Levellers cassette in this discount bin. I bet Eddie has it on vinyl. I picked up some ephedrine and lighter fluid too and bought it in front of Eddie. A couple aisles down, all passive-aggressive, like yeah, she’s interesting, but not interested. Possibly dangerous.
What else is there to do. You know, like that Bouncing Souls song, where they have that party and “call the wall.” I’d write my number on Eddie’s wall. He doesn’t know it, so maybe he’d call.
Got a big short film project comin’ up. We are shooting my script, Cemented, which is based on a concept my friend and I developed. I’m confident it will be an amazing experience because amazing people are working with me to create this film.
A local business has graciously offered up it’s pristine offices so we may shoot the film there.
I’ll be pimping this heavily in the coming months, so stay tuned. I hope you’ll come out to view a screening when we get to that point.
On another note, tonight Two Eyes is taking me to Acqua Al 2 for my birthday.
I had this stupid dream. I thought it was brilliant in the dream. Robin-Williams-esque, even. But it was STUPID.
I was debating the ins and outs of the safety bar on the ferris wheel and I quipped, “It might save your life, but it can’t sell you a vodka tonic!”
Get it? It’s a bar. Bars serve … oh nevermind.
Then last night I dreamed I put a sign on my desk that read, “The luck stops here.”
I’ve got to stop sleeping.
I’m Aimee and I’m gluten free. Been so for a month. Celiac runs in my family and though my blood test didn’t indicate it, I’m a new person on this new diet and I’m convinced I’m extremely sensitive to gluten. Blah, blah, blah.
That’s all that needs to be said. I’m not going to start a blog about it and neither should you. There are already too many “gluten-free” blogs. “The more the merrier,” you say. The more the more annoying, that’s what I say because it’s more accurate in most cases and definitely so in this one.
There are three meals a day, a couple snacks and that’s it. How much original information about this topic can there possibly be? If you have a really cool written voice and you happen to be a gluten-free engaging writer, show me where you are online because I can only think of two GF bloggers who fit this bill.
The world congratulates you and your grass allergy. B’Bye! Go, Gluten Free Chad. Get out of here. Go away and take Gluten Free Mary and Francine and Archie with you.
(If you have any fabulous gluten-free recipes that aren’t already online, totally send them to me.)
When people start flaking, it’s time to do your own thing. If that flake is you, you might be me. Apparently on this day in 2010, (thanks, Facebook status anniversary notice) I declared the formation of The Discriminatory Women’s Lunch Club, but as far as I can tell, we never met.
As a proverbial toast to this dormant collective, I met with my pal, N, at high noon. I like to think she continues to agree to my little games because she really wants to, but I think it’s just easier than disagreeing with me, which saves us both time and that’s why I call her friend. If I ever need some efficiency, I know I can borrow some of hers. She has it in spades. At any rate, this is how I imagined the club all along: lunch shared by a couple of very important women who don’t take themselves too seriously—aka, the two of us. A couple of women who, for an hour a week, enjoy acting out satirical situations between imaginary jackass women who take themselves way too seriously. Women we know all too well. Women who discriminate.
At our first meeting, there might have been bad British accents and I may or may not have spilled Lipton tea on my lap, but there was definitely laughing till there was crying betwixt Duchess Constance and Trixie Pompadour. That’s why I call her friend.
There was no lunch at the lunch, either, but we didn’t mind or even notice—we don’t discriminate. We’ll meet again next week, and the next and the next. But if we don’t that’s OK too. It’s nothing serious and that’s how we like it.
I don’t like rules, meaning I don’t like people telling me what to do unless that people is me and even then I get a little righteous. Nevertheless, this space is dedicated to telling myself and all ya’ll that I will post to this blog a minimum of thrice a week.
Sometimes there will be pictures!
Tomorrow I’ll post something about my rich-lady alter ego and her decade in the making. There will be spilled drinks of the hot variety and free stuff from a hotel I wasn’t checked into and three year old WASPs in sequined dresses who most certainly were. And some roasting of Two Eyes, my perfect husband. He doesn’t ever go by that and I haven’t told him I’m calling him that in this blog, but I figure it’s better than using his real name. (He has two eyes.)
See you tomorrow,
Hello! I’m a writer! I usually don’t yell like this, but I have a new blog and I hope you’ll read it and like it and friend it and tweet and retweet it and read it.
And read it.