Archive | February, 2012

The most beautiful video I’ve ever seen

28 Feb

Randy Halverson.  I think he’s going to be a pretty household name after his video went viral.  This is the most astounding series of sky captures I’ve ever seen and I remember when Nova was on TV.  (anybody else remember that?)

<p><a href=”″>Temporal Distortion</a> from <a href=””>Randy Halverson</a> on <a href=””>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>


Forgive the crazy HTML.  I know enough to get me in troubles.


~@Marc Schuster: I’m ruminating.  You gave me much food for thought on your response to my last post and I thank you.


26 Feb

I’m trying.  I’m really, really trying.  The words are in my head, the images are there, I’ve made my soundtracks and done my little meditation steps to get me “in the mood”…

but it’s not there.

My writing.

Is it like this time last year where it’s just…well…the time of year?  If you look at my time line, I pretty much abandoned my blog last February.  I’m fighting like hell not to do that again.  I really want to keep my promise to myself and build this platform, as I said I would.  For once in my not-as-miserable-as-it-could-be life, I want to keep a promise to myself.

This one’s kind of important.

The promise was to build an author platform.  Something that would put my name out there and build readership, preparing me for launching a book, while at the same time, giving me a launchpad for the necessary media for said book.  I’ve struggled a bit, this is true.  I’m no media guru and I’m certainly not versed enough in blogging to be successful at it (heck, I’m not even sure I’m using “tags” right) but I’m trying to make an honest “go” of it this year.  With all the things that have been happening to me personally, I need this for ME.

You don’t need to know about that crap, so I won’t bore you, but yeah, it’s enough to tip the Holmes and Rahe Scale pretty hard.  (I think my last score was an 863)  And it probably doesn’t help that I’m anal enough to keep up with a test like that…


So.  Stress aside.  What am I going to do to keep my butt in the writing chair?  Well, this, for starters.  I made myself blog about not being able to write.  I felt that at least writing about not being able to write was writing something, right? (snerk!)  Maybe it would be like the old sales trick that when you have a “no” customer, you start asking them simple questions you know they’ll say “yes” to, so they’ll be more used to saying “yes” when you ask the question you want that “yes” answer to.


still a blank wall.

I think I’ll draw some tarot cards.  I know it sounds a little bit “off” but I get the best story ideas and plot lines through a tarot spread. :)  When dreams fail!  I know, I know, I’m wandering.  It’s unaccountably cold and I need to keep my fingers warm.  Maybe I can use that as an excuse as well:  write anything just to keep my fingers warm.  Even if it’s DRECK, just write it.  That’s what beta readers are for… :P






Life and all it’s connective tissues seem to suck right now…

14 Feb

Please pardon my delays in updating.  I blame many other things en lieu of blaming myself.  I’m trying to upload complete and utter squee but it looks nothing like it so you’ll just  have to imagine the cutement of my two dogs settling in for a Valentines nap–literally snuggling together–as I sing “Inchworm” to them.

In other news, I’ve been a bad girl and completely circumvented my character profiles, diving directly into chapter entry of my new story.  I’ll throw you a bone:

**an unedited excerpt from The Education of Miss Persephone Norris (All Rights Reserved)**



The morning crept by inside the shoebox of a store she called a safe haven. Little bands of sunlight danced golden fingers across the antiquities stuffed into every possible corner, allowing only an occasional glimpse of bare wood floor and the only things left for Persephone to do to occupy her time in her safe, quiet shop were dusting and watching.

Dusting was easy. Well, perhaps not so for her sinuses or any silk shirts she may have once worn to work, but it kept her hands occupied and her mind empty. It was a repetitive task that had nothing to do with thinking, or over-thinking. No political machinations, no chicanery, no guessing ahead what the right or wrong answer might be…

Unless a particularly painful customer came in…

She stepped back from the high shelf she’d been reaching with the ostrich feathers and shook her head. Not to worry about that, now. Don’t borrow trouble, as her mother would once have said.


She sighed deeply and swallowed her ever-fluctuating grief. It had been almost a year since her parents had died, leaving her to the tender mercies of her dear Aunt Eustace, and nearly two months since she’d been able to and had moved sixty miles away to the nearest big city to get away from that dear aunt.

The brass chime on the door crashed dissonantly through her thoughts, pulling her eyes to the entry. Would it be him? It was silly and stupid and probably paranoid, but she could almost swear she had something between an admirer or a stalker. Or maybe he just wanted to be friends.

A few days after she started at the antique shop, a man with bright, glittering, pale blue eyes and dark blond hair left a bit longer than normal for a man his age—something around forty it seemed—stepped through the door to the shop with his greater than average height and wider than average shoulders and just…looked around.

She’d asked if he needed help. He had just stared at her, then walked out.

He’d taken tea at the corner shop. Outside. She knew because she could see him.

Every. Day.

Sometimes he same in the shop, sometimes to look, sometimes to ask about something she had no clue what he was asking for. For that matter, what was a parure, anyway? And she’d heard of a Dance Card, but why would an antique shop have one?

Regardless, she was to be ever-so-slightly disappointed, today. It wasn’t him.

It was one of those. The difficult ones.

She could just tell.

Maybe it was something about the fact that the sweet little old lady persona had something saccharine and poisonous wrapped around it, or perhaps it might have something to do with her wearing the exact shade of achingly bright coral red that her dear Aunt Eustace adored…she could feel her headache creeping back up the twin muscles of her neck and into her brain. She blinked and breathed slowly through her nostrils in patience, waiting for the woman to decide what she wanted help with. Retail wasn’t that difficult, really, it wasn’t. It wasn’t. The only difficult part was the possibility of certain people.

People like this broken old bat that had nothing better to do with her day than go shopping and harass shop keepers.



Well!  There you have a part of what I’ve been working on!  And yet another reason why Lioness hasn’t been updated.  I’ve got that stewing in the back of my brain, as well, so don’t think that’s been abandoned.  I’ve got the feeling that Chapter 12 will have to be very carefully researched, indeed, and from as much as I’ve already gathered, it’s going to be more difficult to stage than chapters 10 and 11.  Why do I do this to myself?  ;)  Regardless, I hope you’ve enjoyed.

xoxo Dena

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