Stargate Universe

Okay, I'm a Stargate Universe fan. I like the show so much, I'll stay up to midnight to watch it. And if any of you know me, that's saying something because I'm definitely a morning person.

I like that they analyze the show afterward. It helps with my writing, believe it or not.

Take last night's show for instance. It was the fall finale and was excellent.

For those of you who aren't up on this show, it's a spin off from the other Stargate shows and this one has an unlikely and sometimes unlikeable humans who are on a distant planet by way of the stargate, but when the planet is under attack, they are forced to take the gate, hoping to get back to earth, but who find themselves on an ancient star ship far from earth. The mix of people is delightful, and each has both good and bad qualities.

Colonel Young, the leader, dislikes Rush, the leading scientist, because he's a bit of a know-it-all who is bitter about the loss of his wife. Eli is the nerd who can do just about anything because he's smart, but has pretty much no incentive unless his butt is on the line. There's a nurse who is struggling to be doctor to all, and there's Young's protegee, Scott who appears to love Cloe, the senator's daughter who adds a bit of class to every room, but whose virginity was lost sometime around the Clinton administration.

There are some darker characters, but what I love about the show, especially last night's episode, was how the writers are putting the pieces together slowly and tantalizingly. The space ship has a chair that appears to be able to inject all the ship's knowledge into whoever is seated in it, but could kill you in the process.

Rush refused to risk his own life, but rather was willing to risk others, much to Young's fury.

But Young isn't so perfect and justice filled, either. He's already proved that he could beat up people who act up, as he did in a previous episode.

Last night's show had one scientist, a secondary character succombing to the temptation and sitting in it. He's in a coma now. Young blames Rush, of course, because he doesn't like him.

This isn't all that's happened. A troubled soldier on board commits suicide, and Rush decides to frame Young, to get him out of the leader's seat and get Rush more freedom to experiment on the chair, something Young refuses to allow.

In the midst of that, the gate opens and allows them to check out a planet, something they need to do for food, water, etc, because so far, no replicators on this ship. The recon team finds another space ship, and Young takes Rush to investigate. But there, Young confronts Rush about his framing him for murder, then beats the snot out of the scientist.

Then leaves him on this distant planet.

Now, you may not like Young for this, and people are saying the stress of being on this space ship is getting to him, but I think he had it in him all along.

Now you may be bored stiff here, but let's look at this from a writer's POV. Young has already proved he'll do the dirty stuff if he feels like it, but we were fooled to think it was for a good reason only. He's been shown to prevent a fight by punching the aggressor, and he's already beat up a rival colonel for sleeping with his wife. All for the greater good, you think.

So this latest is a believeable act for him. Only, it's not for the greater good, at least not completely.

And because we've learned that there is another spaceship and Rush is now alone on the planet with it, we know Rush has everything he needs to get home. He's smart, motivated, and has a ship now.

But the motley crew on the ancient ship aren't without an ubersmart scientist. They have our nerd, but also that scientist who sat in the chair. Sure, he's in a coma, but they aren't up a creek without a paddle. It's amazing how the writers are piling on the problems for the people, but hope dangles in front of them. Our nerd who won't get off his butt is now motivated to step in and help. The writers have left some big carrot for us to follow.

Can we authors leave some carrots for our readers? Can we make our characters as believeable, too? Can we twist our plots around but still have them fully motivated, like they did with Colonel Young? Can we add tension and hope all at the same time?

Check out the show if you can and see for yourself how the writers are planting motives and suppositions in our minds, only to turn them around.

You'll be impressed.

Primal Obsession

My summer read this past July was Primal Obsession and I loved it so much, I had to review it!

Primal Obsession by Susan Vaughan (at http://www.susanvaughan.com/) is a tense, exciting mystery set in the Maine woods. Mix the smooth, poetic prose of H. D. Thoreau with the sly suspense of Stephen King, and you have Vaughan’s masterful style.

In Primal Obsession, reporter Annie Wylde has already connected various unsolved murders together, catching the attention of the killer, who finds in her an outlet for his murderous cry for notoriety. But when she decides to scatter the ashes of her best friend, one of his victims, over a placid Maine lake, and leaves the story to a co-worker, the killer becomes enraged.

Sam Kincaid is a burned out, injured major league player whose return to his roots as a wilderness guide only punctuates his sense of defeat. Even when the innuendo-filled banter with Annie is unsuccessful and the hodgepodge mix of vacationers he must guide bicker, he knows this trip will either make or break him. But ‘The Hunter’, as Annie dubbed the serial killer, has decided Annie needs a reprimand, and if it takes killing everyone on the backwoods canoe trip to do it, so be it.

Primal Obsession has all the great story telling of a whodunit, the sophisticated suspense of a master storyteller, and enough twists and turns and surprises to keep the reader enthralled. It’s a big story, both in pages, (369 in trade paperback size), and in depth and plot and is excellent value, promising and delivering a great read. Vaughan uses her finesse at suspense to keep readers guessing up to the end. And her knowledge of the setting is perfect for anyone who enjoys man pitted against nature. Like Rainsford in ‘The Most Dangerous Game’, by Richard Connell, Sam and Annie must either fight back or become easy prey for the ruthless Hunter.

Primal Obsession is an edge-of-your-seat story you won’t want to miss. Vaughan’s characters are realistic people to root for and worry for, right up to the exciting, satisfying conclusion.

Blog 5 of 5!

PLEASE NOTE! This series is about to end. Feel free to pass it along to anyone who needs a good laugh and is considered a conference for the first time.

Now, before I tell you about my experience at pitching to an unknown editor, let me tell you about the Harlequin Ball the night before. Each year, my publisher puts on a ball. They go all out, and this year, it’s extra special because Harlequin is 60 years old. And it’s always held at the Grand Ballroom of the Ritz Charlton. A bunch of us authors climbed into a cab and off we went. Excitement was as high as the heels and nerves were as weak as our bladders. A stop in the restroom was in order.
Whoa. Stop. Pause. Hold on to the moment. The restroom was the fanciest I’d ever been in. They even had towels instead of paper, with which to dry your hands. I asked a fellow author to take my picture.
“Would you like it on the throne?” she quipped.
“No, but this Queen Anne chair in front of the marble make up table and gilded mirror would do just fine.”
Pictures were taken, and we went off into the ballroom. Some incredibly talented and inventive person had chosen the decades theme, with each small bar featuring a bevy of fancy cocktails from that decade. Beside them was a selection of famous desserts from that time period. I had tapioca pudding from the fifties, chocolate fountain from the eighties, and crème brulée from the nineties.
One gal sat down at our table, a long red drink in her manicured hand. “It’s a Singapore Sling! I haven’t had one of these since grad night!”

(Those of you concerned for my well being please note that I did NOT drink any of those that night.)
We danced, sang, “Fame, I want to live forever,” yakked and talked and had a fabulous time.
But at midnight, and each of us being our own Cinderella, we were finally kicked out of the room. I danced my way into the cab, and up to my room, waking up those patient roomies of mine as I sang out “It’s raining men!”, until they shoved me into my jammies and into my bed.
The next day brought a definite need for coffee. I had that editor appointment for which I had been so well prepared. Now, just to find that piece of paper and head off into the bowels of the hotel.
And I mean bowels. It had a row of loading docks, and the first day, we’d all been down there for the literacy signing. Remember me mentioning that? Two thousand plus romance writers, about a third signing books, and line ups for the likes of Nora Roberts and Debbie Macomber rivaling Russian lines for soup shortly after the war.
But today, tables upon tables, each a few feet apart, covered in snowy tablecloths, with two chairs. At the near end, the parade marshal trying to keep order. We were to line up, five rows, ten minutes before our appointments, and marched down the side of the echoing room, the sergeant major keeping time. One author, not a retired soldier like me, likened it to a cattle call. I can see that. But I know my army husband would have loved it, despite the fact he told me he’d rather watch paint dry than attend a romance writers’ conference.
I met the editor, a nice man young enough to be my son.
I pitched four projects.
I got four rejections.
Oh, well. It wasn’t for lack of preparation. Or maybe it was. Who knows? I didn’t mind, and was kind of secretly glad that part of the conference as over and done with. Mind you, there wasn’t much of the conference left. The grand finale, the awards night went nicely, with more glitter and sparkle than the Oscars. Heck, even the old ladies polished up their walkers for this one.
But remember I mentioned that rich food, and my simple system’s reaction to it?
It caught up with me. Big Time. Heartburn hotter than all those feet shoved into sling back heels for several hours. I had to escape as soon as the evening ended, but found myself stuck behind some glittery lady whose walker wouldn’t allow much more speed than the thickening crowd would allow.
Upstairs at the reception, the food needed better access, and many authors got nothing for their patience. I however, found the buttered shrimp and Beef Wellington hidden behind a large support pole, but the heartburn won out. I had to return to my room.
And apparently, so did my roomies. And their friends. So, clad in jammies, I sat and chatted and schmoozed some more, until everyone was tired.
Then I checked out. Yup, checking out at one a.m. beats fighting the crowds at seven, in order to catch my ride to the airport, generously supplied by another author and her gentleman husband.
My first conference was over. I thought I was schmoozed out, until I met some other authors at the airport. But I did learn a lot, one good thing being how the lovely southern ladies, “Bless your heart,” and what it really means. Thank you, Lenora!
But most importantly, thank you, roomies, who shall remain nameless at their own requests, because of that big foot of mine heading for my mouth at the worst possible moments. I loved it. I loved Washington, and I loved meeting all those gals I’d only talked to on line.
Thank you all of you, for making this newb’s memories so delightful.

My First Conference, Blog 4 of 5

WARNING! Deer in the headlights crossing ahead!

By this time in my life, I should be way more observant than I am. I wish I had a dime for each time my roomie poked me and said, “Don’t you know who that is?”
I’d give her a blank look, and again she’d patiently tell me it was some famous agent or author or editor. I have a confession to make, though. The names usually went over my head. I’m pretty sheltered, I guess. My own doing, I imagine. I’ve been too lazy for too long and have rarely bothered to learn the names and faces of all the people with whom I should be schmoozing.
I did meet a very nice, good-looking man from amazon.com. He used to be an editor and I innocently asked him why the switch. Apparently, it’s practically a promotion. I don’t know. He must own amazon.com or something, because I didn’t figure it would be moving up in the world. Regardless, he was uber nice, so my early foray into schmoozing must have been a success.
In fact, my schmoozing went pretty well throughout the conference. I met agents and authors, chatted with veterans and new recruits. I ate rich food, drank good wine, and recharged my batteries each morning with sharp and strong coffee.
Then came the day of my meeting with the editor. Okay, I’d been too busy with my life beforehand to bother with the pitch. As expected, my roomie insisted I write something legible down. She practised her marvelous pitch on me, and I scribbled down a few words in a notebook with an old pen. I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t anything but wide-eyed with extra caffeine, fighting cronic heartburn from all the chocolate, and right after lunch, at a workshop, I sat down in a warm room, filled with other romance writers, a panel of editors and veterans, all soft spoken, discussing the pros and cons of inspirational writing, and bang, it came.
The noise. At soft snore, followed by my forehead hitting the back of the chair in front of me.
I had fallen asleep.
I threw up my head, meeting the eyes of the editor. She could probably hear the crack and see the growing welt on my forehead. I did manage to stay awake the rest of the workshop, thankful that they were all being recorded and I could purchase them in the front foyer for a nominal fee. They take all major credit cards.
One great thing about the conference, like I mentioned before, was meeting some pretty cool people. I met a gentile Hungarian woman, ZsuZsa Simandy http://zsuzsasimandy.com/index.htm, whose life was so interesting she’d written her memoirs, so delightfully entitled, Gathering Roses, Thorns and All. And she was also impressed with me. She was to have an interview with my old editor, and I wished her the best. It turned out that she dropped some names at her interview, mine, of all people, and received an invitation to submit. Whoa, she dropped my name, as if I was someone special. How cool is that? Now, I’m really rooting for her. To the right is me with my roomie, and Zsu Zsa. Roomie Lina Gardiner is in the centre. Oops, cat's out of the bag, my roomie's been disclosed!
Back to the conference. But I still had to print out my pitch for the editor. I headed up to the business office, only to discover the printer was broken. It turned out to be a good thing, as the cost of using the computer was a mere $25 an hour. In fact, the quality hotel was getting infamous for charging for every small convenience. Thank goodness those of us on the sixth floor could pick up the McDonald’s wifi for free.

Tomorrow, the conclusion of my blog series.

My First Conference! Blog 3 of 5

CAUTION! Pictures of many romance-loving ladies ahead. All men should be prepared to be overwhelmed.




I’d registered, slipped the conference lanyard around my neck, and toured the Goodie Room, a place where promo items are given away. A gal can’t have too many bookmarks, right? My conference tote was designed by Harlequin, and featured an old Harlequin, back when men wrote the adventure stories of that time. The cover featured boasted a scintillating title. “You never know with women.”
How true. And this being my first conference, well, I didn’t know. Women of all shape and size were there, all styles, and all talent. And I learned you can fit 2500 romance writers in a basement loading area of the Marriott.



I did learn something else pretty quick. The more famous you are, the thinner you are. Nora Roberts is a size double zero, I figure. If she sells another book, she’ll disappear. Me? I’m a size fourteen, so I have a lot more books to sell, I see.
I wanted to go to the Newbie’s meeting, (or Newb’s meeting, as my teen son would have called it) but was told I wasn’t a newbie, that I knew the ropes, so I took their word for it. And, surprisingly, I did know more than I thought. Not being a shy person, I simply walked up, sat down beside and met many people just by shoving out my hand and introducing myself.
And I discovered that many people know me. Mostly editors, which begs the question on how they know me. Hmm. My brilliant, clear, concise prose?
Or my obsessive nervousness that pretty much seeps into my emails and phone calls? I guess I’ll never know.
My roomies were impressed, saying it was my writing. As I was up for a Daphne award, we went to the Death by Chocolate party. Okay, everyone. I like chocolate as much as the next person, but to be frank, am I supposed to eat that much? I am a little out of practice, here. But the stalwart soldier that I am, I gave it the old college try. I didn’t win a Daphne, but met an agent to whom I had spoke years ago. I joked about a bomb back then, and she remembered me. (Remember my roomie poking me when I shoved my foot into my mouth? She was at another table.)
Well, I didn’t win the award for which I had been nominated. But I eat a ton of fresh fruit, including black raspberries the size of large strawberries, and little cheesecakes drizzled in chocolate. I couldn’t leave without smothering my sorrows in sugar. Okay, there wasn’t any sorrow, but I gave it the old college try, remember?
The next day there was a breakfast, and I learned that you have to get to the food before all the other starving artists got there. Coffee is exceptionally valuable. I’d brought my own meal replacement bars, but with a complimentary continental breakfast, which included cheese and those giant raspberries again, those bars got shoved into my suitcase.
And I was discovering something else. My tummy isn’t used to rich food. It better adjust quickly, though. I’d paid for three more rich meals.
Well, it didn’t quite turn out the way I wanted it to…

Tune in tomorrow for the next installment!