The new year is here! Which means...we all write the wrong number on our check date slots for about three to five months. The holidays are finally over so the eating excuses have stopped for some of us and the extreme resolutions have begun. Cold and flu season catches up with us kicking our collective butts. I know I've had my butt kicked. As I write this I sniffle and cough. There are endless reviews of 2013 in magazines and on TV and Internet. Frankly I thought it went OK as years go. I guess that's a personal take on the year. I personally didn't suffer any major tragedies, no one died, I didn't split up with my wonderful boyfriend, I didn't suffer any debilitating injuries or catch any incurable diseases, my friends are still doing pretty well and are still my friends strangely enough, I saw some good movies, read some good books, ate some good food, and I had two of my own books published. So all in all not a bad year for me. I hope 2013 was a reasonably good year for most of you too.
So now it's 2014 and a fresh new page is before us. What do we want to scribble or sketch there? I'm working on the next book in the Real Magik trilogy...Real Magik: Darkness in the Blood. The first book will be available to order in soft cover from Amazon sometime this month so check in with them periodically. I'm told by my publisher, Nevermore Press, that it will be in bookstores by February or March 2014. So for those of you waiting for a paper and ink copy now you know when to look.
In kindle format there's also my anthology Wishing and Wanting that's been out since October 2013. It's comprised of three short stories all about women in strange situations that have to make difficult decisions. A meek young woman who stumbles upon a magic lamp, a savvy Greek goddess who falls for a mortal man, and a bold mirror maker who takes on a quest to break a curse. All of them heroines who can be just as courageous as their counterparts even if they use different methods. It's a sweet and sour little read, lots of fun in more than one mouthful.
All right well that's all for now. Don't let your resolutions beat you down. Everything in moderation please. And think of something nice and playful to scribble on your first 2014 page.
Author Rebecca Wrigley's Magik Musings
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Saturday, November 30, 2013
A little Christmas Madness for You
So THE big holiday is nearly here. It's coiling around us isn't it? All that warmth and cheer and family togetherness that will drive you round the bend in short order. No, I know some of us genuinely love Christmas and all of its warm fuzzy nostalgia. At times I love parts of it too. Hell, I decorate the tree every year. I also know that it's a time of year when family can drive us absolutely bonkers. That's why I wanted to share the following story with you. It was written back in my twenties when I was still working for Disney and living far from home. Enjoy and take some heart in knowing that your holiday could be so much worse.
Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire. . .In Hell
by
Rebecca A Wrigley
For the first time in five
years of successful holiday avoidance on my part, I gathered with the rest of
my slightly irregular family at the home of our recently deceased Patriarch--my
mother's father. It's a quaint little clapboard house packed to the gills with
chatchkis crap. Apparently Grandpa had a compulsive knick-knack shopping habit
in his last few years. Somehow, I'm glad I wasn't around to experience that new
development first hand. Grandma's addiction to painting pictures of squirrels
and yard gnomes was, I thought, more than enough colorful wackiness.
Either
Christmas Eve at Grandpa's house was meant to be a fond remembrance of the long
standing family tradition, or it didn't occur to anyone that we'd be celebrating
Christmas Eve in a creepy shrine to my Grandparent's questionable taste. Even
weirder--there were little yellow post-it notes with various family members
names scrawled on them stuck to all the pictures, lamps, furniture, and
appliances. Well, we gathered round the warm glow of the big-screen TV (post-it
placed considerately without blocking the screen) to watch a heartwarming video
recording of a Christmas Eve past in the same house--minus the labels and a
whole lot of bad resin Golf and God themed mini-sculpture. As per tradition,
Grandpa read the Nativity sequence from a family Bible so old it was mostly
held together with spit and paper clips, while his youngest grandchild knelt
beside him. Danny was actually pretty cute at the date of the taping, probably
eight or nine years old, Tiny-Tim skinny with huge coke-bottle lens glasses.
While Grandpa reads reverently, Danny performs what we like to think of as his
"perpetual motion performance art"--it involves variously flailing
the air with both hands and lolling his head side to side ala Stevie Wonder on
speed. Danny was born with Hydrocephalus
and Cerebral Palsy. The camera swerves abruptly with a cinema verité style
reminiscent of Cops (and suddenly I'm expecting to see some half-dressed mullet
head streak through the scene clutching a beer can and screaming incoherently;
which would actually have pretty stiff competition for attention amongst my
clan). We zoom queasily in on Grandma's sweet expression as she blinks at the
camera and then back to the floor show, all the while smiling vaguely as if to
say, "I don't have the slightest idea what's going on and I think I like
it that way." A shuddering pan past Grandpa and flailing child widens to
reveal my oldest cousin Peter and myself in the foreground, both dressed in an
apparent homage to the band Kansas, complete with large incongruous
neckerchiefs, all of it nicely accessorized by the stiff expressions and
posture of political prisoners attempting to stoically endure torture in vain
reluctance to abandon that last shred of human dignity. If you're paying attention,
as we blur past my Uncle's game grin, you can catch the ever present faint
glimmer of, "They're my family, and I love them, but please let this be
over soon, Dear Lord," in his eyes. In what has to be the longest and most
ill-advised one-shot in Television history, the camera pauses once again to bob
in the erratic fashion of a drug-addict's POV, framing--yes it's another
recently deceased Grandfather. This was our wacky pseudo-French Grandpa Pete,
who could always be counted on to behave like the demented love-child of Pepe
Le Pew and Bette Middler. Whatever he said was loud and just this side of
inappropriate and he was always saying something. In fact that's what he's
doing in this shot, discoursing loudly over the venerable recitation of the birth
of the Christ child and the gentle strains of an Ave Maria recording. Beside
him, my long suffering aunt (his daughter-in-law) seems to twitch with the
desire to strangle the man into silence but restrains herself to shooting
deadly glances. At last my Grandfather finishes his reading as gracefully as it
began (mostly because he can't hear much and is completely oblivious to
anything else that may have occurred since he opened the Bible). The camera
swoops back to catch little Danny as his tribal gyrations climax in a huge
flapping of arms, page-boy haircut flaring dramatically in exponentially faster
head turns, and he shrieks, "PRESENTS!"
Now, jump-cut to the present Christmas
Eve, as my adopted sister--legally blind, developmentally disabled with
Cerebral Palsy which wreaks havoc on her coordination and balance, hugely
overweight due to a number of completely valid factors that nonetheless render
her somewhat Kong-like amongst a family of smallish short fat people such as
we--abruptly rears up from her seat in the darkened labeled living room. Lit
only by the dim flicker of Christmas Eve Past, she lurches to the back of the
room, hands slapping randomly at furniture and shoulders as she attempts to
build speed on her path to the hall-way. And say a brief prayer with me as we
thank Jesus and the Saints that this is a small one story house and fully
carpeted. Grandma has just begun blinking and smiling from the television
screen when a door thuds loudly behind us, followed by the dull thwack of
padded plastic on porcelain. As the shepherds are visited by a host of angels
and the demure choir on the stereo glides through its devotion to the mother of
Christ, we are treated to the real-time sounds of violent projectile
vomiting--taking place in a bathroom not more than six feet away (I did say the
house was small). This is the kind of regurgitation that is precede by gagging
to rival the most protracted feline hairball experience and causes audible
splashes in toilet water that last only slightly longer than the special
effects geysers rigged for The Exorcist. Everyone left in the living room
stares determinedly at the TV screen in polite silence (ironically even more
politely silent than the videotaped Bible reading), until at last my mother
explains in her new hard-of-hearing voice that everything's fine. My sister has
recently been diagnosed with possible gall stones which make her throw-up like
this after every meal. She's been doing this for at least two months, comes to
dinner every night at the parent's house, eats a hearty meal, and then returns
it before going home. Honestly I don't know why I wasn't expecting the
Christmas Eve spew, since we had just eaten dinner before sitting down around
the electric glow of video nostalgia. In hindsight, a tasteful warning
announcement for the whole extended family might have been wise. But then that
wouldn't be traditional, really, for our family it isn't a down-home holiday
celebration unless it all skates narrowly between humor and horror.
Ya
know, somehow, I feel all those
John-Denver-Dolly-Parton-Charlie-Brown-Christmas specials left me unprepared
for the very real weirdness that I seem to have been spawned from. I hope your holiday was slightly less
eventful and really, mine could have been so much worse. See, they couldn’t find the truly awful
Christmas Eve video from two years ago, where Grandpa Pete kept taking Polaroid
pictures during the Bible reading, and a twenty-something Danny read part of
the narrative while hissing distinctly audible demands for silence and awe to
his mother who had crumpled into embarrassed sniggering with me at my all-time
heaviest camera weight snorting and jiggling like a bowl full of jelly. This delightful bit of documentary-style
holiday viewing was introduced last year at Christmas Dinner where it was
played in a loop all evening long–they tell me it’s a new tradition.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Hello Again
Hi everybody. Apparently there is an everybody to address now. Past blog entries I felt were sort of echoing into the wind. Heavens, now I know someone's read them or at least skimmed them. Thank you for the interest, really, I deeply appreciate it.
What's even more astounding is that according to my last residual check, quite a few people have actually purchased the book--more numbers than I can account for with people I know. So I have to say thank you to those who have shown enough interest in the book to purchase it. May it amuse and excite you as much to read it as it did to write it. I am hard at work on the second book in the trilogy already so you shouldn't have to wait too long for the next installment.
I'm rather sorry I let October come and go without a blog entry. It's my favorite month and it was almost perfect this year. Textbook weather here in Northern California. Leaves just starting to change color. Evenings growing longer. And I was in a good place to enjoy it all in relative peace. Well at least on my weekends off when I drove up to Santa Rosa to be with by boyfriend and had no responsibilities I got to enjoy October peacefully.
Anyway onward to November and we're nearly through already. I've taken some time to write a few short stories in between working on book 2. I've submitted them to some Nevermore Press anthologies for publication so we'll see if they get to see the light of day. I wrote them mostly in October so they're all horror. Though I rather think I like writing short horror stories in general. I have one right now that I'm writing in the cracks between book 2. Not sure what I'm going to do with it. Just enjoying the process of telling a story.
I could rant about the commercialization of Christmas which is nearly upon us, but that really doesn't have a place in my blog space. I'd rather wish you all a great holiday season and happy reading no matter what it is you're reading at the moment. It's a great time of year to snuggle up with a book, electronic or paper.
Best to all!
What's even more astounding is that according to my last residual check, quite a few people have actually purchased the book--more numbers than I can account for with people I know. So I have to say thank you to those who have shown enough interest in the book to purchase it. May it amuse and excite you as much to read it as it did to write it. I am hard at work on the second book in the trilogy already so you shouldn't have to wait too long for the next installment.
I'm rather sorry I let October come and go without a blog entry. It's my favorite month and it was almost perfect this year. Textbook weather here in Northern California. Leaves just starting to change color. Evenings growing longer. And I was in a good place to enjoy it all in relative peace. Well at least on my weekends off when I drove up to Santa Rosa to be with by boyfriend and had no responsibilities I got to enjoy October peacefully.
Anyway onward to November and we're nearly through already. I've taken some time to write a few short stories in between working on book 2. I've submitted them to some Nevermore Press anthologies for publication so we'll see if they get to see the light of day. I wrote them mostly in October so they're all horror. Though I rather think I like writing short horror stories in general. I have one right now that I'm writing in the cracks between book 2. Not sure what I'm going to do with it. Just enjoying the process of telling a story.
I could rant about the commercialization of Christmas which is nearly upon us, but that really doesn't have a place in my blog space. I'd rather wish you all a great holiday season and happy reading no matter what it is you're reading at the moment. It's a great time of year to snuggle up with a book, electronic or paper.
Best to all!
Monday, September 16, 2013
Birth of Real Magik Trilogy
I thought I should talk a
little bit about where the trilogy came from. At the time when the idea was
born I was still working for Walt Disney Feature Animation. This was back in 2000. I'd been reading the Harry Potter series and finding it a bit juvenile
for my tastes (well I was an adult reading children's lit for heaven's sake,
what did I expect?). I was also watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and loving
the irreverent style with which they addressed massive danger while still
keeping it real and scary. Somewhere in my head I was thinking though, yeah but
all these things have one thing in common, the heroes are all pretty decent
looking. None of them looked like I did as a kid and still did as an adult: big
boned, zaftig, plump, chunky, curvy, fat.
I was also nervous as a kid,
to the point of panic sometimes. You never saw that in those shows or books. I
was insecure and had melt downs. Yeah all of this maybe made me a freaky kid
growing up and I'm a different a adult now, but I also thought that freaky kids
are human kids. There are lots of them out there and a heroine with those
traits could speak to them. Voila, Fred was born.
I also had a Nina in my
childhood who got me through the bumps. So it was easy to come up with her
character.
From there I came up with the
over arcing story line for the three books and broke it down into each book so
that they hooked together like nesting dolls, each building to the next.
From the story came the other
characters although I have to say that Oedipus came directly after Fred and
Nina. He was clear as day and just as feisty from the second he bloomed in my
brain. He was always Fred's introduction to the world of Magik and he was
always rude about it.
So I started writing about
2000 in bits and pieces, usually on a pad of paper clipped to my animation
desk. Whenever I had a notion or a sentence I'd take a second to write it down.
Probably not Kosher by Disney's standards of working, but I did get my work
done despite my little breaks.
Then on the weekends I'd work
in my office at my apartment for hours at a time, forgetting to eat frequently.
I wound up with a 300 page manuscript that was still incomplete and still
growing when I stopped in 2003. Walt Disney Feature Animation had virtually
closed its doors on traditional animation and I left to take up freelance
illustration, a career that took up all of my time. I shelved the book for ten
years.
When my illustration work
began to dwindle in a waning economy during 2012. I found I had time to work on
the book again. I took it down and started again, editing a great deal to trim
excess material, getting the thing down to 300 pages total instead of 300 to
start.
The whole thing was completed
in April 2013. I painted a cover for it myself and posted it on Facebook and
started planning for publishing it myself on Amazon Kindle. The cover got a LOT
of attention on FB. I was stunned. Many independent publishers really liked it
and wanted to know what the story was about and did I have a publisher yet?
Suddenly I had an independent publisher reading my manuscript and then I had a
contract in front of me. Now I have a book about to be in print and a trilogy
about to see the light of day.
It's been a long journey from
1999 to 2013 but satisfying. I hope that readers accept Fred and her friends
warmly and that they appeal to some kids who aren't Harry Potters or Buffys. We
can't all be heroic and pretty. Some of us just manage to do our best in the
face of danger and look OK instead of fabulous but go on anyway and that's its
own kind of heroism.
Authors Who Influenced Me
I was a little frustrated with
the author profile program on Goodreads as I went about adjusting the names of
authors who influenced me. I'd originally sketched in a few names as I was in a
hurry to set up the page and figured I'd go back later and fill in more. Well,
when I went to do a comprehensive list, I found out there was a pretty skimpy
limit on how many you could include. So, here I am with a blog where I can talk
about the writers I love and why.
The first I couldn't include
was John Steinbeck. Ouch! When I read East of Eden in eighth grade I was
floored. The descriptive power. The clean plot. He was elegant in a tough way.
And it was all so California, specifically Northern California, where I grew
up. I was enthralled.
Next was Mary Shelly. My God.
How could I leave Mary Shelly out of my list. She created the first real scary
monster story of my youth. It was so descriptive in its horror, in a way that
no other older horror stories had ever been. I was enraptured. I think it
planted the seeds for my love of horror fiction.
Edger Allen Poe came later in
the stream of things but he was just as big an influence. Ye gods, he was
wickedly horrific. I ate up every sentence. I think I learned the idea of
suspense from him, waiting until the appropriate time to reveal the worst thing
you could possibly imagine. And of course making sure that the pay off was
worth the wait.
More recently Jennifer
Armstrong and Nancy Butcher created the Kindle (Fire-Us series). I recommend
them to anyone that's looking for an example of realistic post apocalyptic YA
reading. The characters are so tangible and broken by events preceding the book
that you can easily imagine the world they're living in. Strangely the books
got only middling reviews but I'd rate them much much higher.
Jumping back to my youth
again, Robin McKinley was a piecemeal influence. I didn't like all of her books
but at least two of them were like cherished friends of mine. I read them over
and over. One in paperback form finally disintegrated last year. Beauty, a
retelling of Beauty and the Beast was so clever that it never failed to
surprise me every time I read it. The heroine was rewritten to be smart and
take-charge rather than a lovely sad-sap. Then there was The Blue Sword written
about a fictional desert country conquered by a "British-like"
country. One of the "British" girls strikes the natives as part of a
prophecy and they kidnap her, taking her far into the mountains, where her
countrymen cannot find her. Whether she shows herself to be the prophesied one
or not you'd have to read to find out but it's high adventure in the flavor of
Prince of Persia.
So those are all the authors I
couldn't list. I could say lots about the ones I COULD list but that would be a
much longer post. Perhaps another day.
Another
Book Coming Out
While I'm mostly blogging
about the Real Magik trilogy, I do have other things in the mix. I thought I'd
share one with you. I have a collection of short stories coming out soon called
"Wishing and Wanting".
A meek young woman stumbles
onto a magic lamp; a savvy goddess falls for a mortal man, and a determined
mirror maker goes on her own quest to break a curse. Three women who will be
faced with difficult choices in strange situations. Wishing and Wanting is
about the strength of a woman’s heart and the cleverness of her mind when she’s
pushed to the wall. Heroines can be just as formidable as their counterparts,
even if their methods are different.
They're three very different
tales but they're united in their subject matter, strong women taking the tough
road to find their place in the world. I'm hoping that you'll enjoy the light
flavor of the writing though. They're each romps in their own way.
So look for Wishing and
Wanting soon at Amazon.com. It’s due to be released October 22 2013.
Starting
with Grandma
If I’m going to talk about me and my writing at all I have
to talk about my maternal Grandmother,
Earline Desmond. I was really fortunate
to have her in my life, living in the
same town and so close that she could babysit and take me on trips with
her. She was incredibly imaginative,
both a painter and a storyteller. I
don’t know what happened with my Mother, she wound up a math teacher who can’t
read fantasy novels because she can’t picture what’s going on in them.
My Grandmother read me fairy tales from a book without
pictures, insisting that I had to see them in my head. That was a huge concept for me at six. Picturing things in my head from words on a
page. It seeded something in me that
took root. I think it lead to my
interests in illustration and writing.
When I was little, my Grandmother would provide my cousin
and I with pencils and water colors, brushes and watercolor paper. Then she would let us loose to imagine on
paper. Nothing was wrong. Everything was interesting. She would ask us to make stories around the
things we painted.
She knew stories that no one else seemed to know. Like the Vallejo Native American myth about
Mount Tamalpias. I’ve since tracked down
the story and validated its existance but when I was ten I had no idea how my
Grandmother knew it when no one else did.
The story went that an Indian maiden was bathing by the San
Pablo bay waters when a water god rose before her and told her he had fallen in
love with her. He begged her to come
with him and be his wife. She agreed but
when he took her to his watery home she drowned. In grief and remorse he rose up and laid her
body to rest upon the moutain top, creating the shape of a reclining woman that
we see from across the San Pablo bay—though only from Vallejo’s perspective.
See, how cool is that?
When your Grandmother comes up with a story like that as you’re riding
in a car past a distant moutain range you’ve seen dozens of times and never thought anything of—don’t you just
go wow—at least when you’re ten years old?
She died in 1997, confused about most things. I had already begun to miss her. I miss her still.
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