It Begins.

Well, I got my first rejection letter today from a literary agency regarding my novel.  Apparently, it “doesn’t fit their profile, therefore [they] must pass.”  I wrote a fantasy novel, and this company helps find publishers for fiction writers.  Last I checked, “fantasy” was “fiction.”  I don’t know what was wrong with it, and they didn’t bother to tell me.  It is disheartening, and I am a little sad, but the path a writer must walk will be paved with rejection letters.  Here’s hoping it’ll be a path wtih little pavement as I keep trying to find a literary agent. 

Wish me luck.  Oh, and welcome to December. 

For all who are interested, my novel “Itara: Lightborn” has been up on Fictionpress.com since 2003.  Feel free to go have a read.  I did this to get feedback from readers, and to copywrite my work. 🙂  This is my baby, after all.  I must protect it.  Go to http://www.fictionpress.com/~kpresson  Scroll down past the yammering of my un-updated profile until you see the stories.  The novel is #5 on the list.  Enjoy! 🙂 And please, by all means, tell me what you think along the way.


…When all through the house,

Not a turkey was roasting, not a butt on the couch.

No one had made beds, or vacumed the floors,

Or cleaned out the bunnies that clung to the doors.

The yard was in ruin from gold leaves with red,

Just after the rake was replaced in the shed. 

The stuffing lay stuffed in its package with care,

In hopes that St. Freezerburn’s touch wouldn’t dare,

Defile the foul that would be the Turducken.

Without it, Thanksgiving itself would be nothin’.

The three beasts that make up this wild concoction,

Was planned by a man with no feast time direction.

The Honey baked ham sat chilling with care,

Near three pumpkin pies, Yams, and something with hair.

The holiday place settings remained in their box,

And the silver wear’s silver was stained with old spots.

Tomorow’s the day friends and family will call,

Expecting a dinner to rival them all.

Diets and weight plans will sluff to the side, 

As soon as the guests get a whiff of the pie.

The game will be blareing on the old T.V set,

And the kids will be playing soccer with no net.

Grandpa will snore at the 1st and down,

Forcing uncle to turn up the halftime sound.

The dishes will pile up high in the sink,

And the women will gab while the men sit and drink.

Eventually all will go on their way,

Except for your brother, who’s got no’else to stay.

Thanksgiving will promise a chaotic time,

But tonight, my dear family, this sofa is MINE!


Much Nothing About Adu

Other than hearing all sorts of stories regarding fabrics from two sources in my life, there really hasn’t been much going on.  I have yet to start the PRI trials, and may have to drive over and give them my medical records.  So, in order to refrain from moaning and groaning about how financialy inept I am, this idiot will take her complaints and leave them on the floor in front of the t.v. 

In conclusion, there is much adu about nothing.  Unless I edit this post.

Edit:  Ok, I bought car insurance, and that cost me a pretty penny, but after realizing I’d been driving so long without it, I had to bite the bullet.  On top of owing a few more companies more than I can afford right now, the insurance took precidence.  I feel better knowing my car won’t be towed for that reason, at least.

Jonathan Brandis. 5 Years

Today marks 5 years since Jonathan died.  At 2:44pm, I will officially be older than him.  He was born 5 years after me, and I never thought, or wished, to be older than him.  It’s quite depressing, and it feels like I’m passing him up in more ways than just age.  From now one, I will get to experience more than he had the chance to.  It’s sad. 

He lived a full life –traveling to Prague a number of times, shooting films all over the U.S.A and Canada, going to celebrity parties that included the Playboy Bunny house, and seeing and doing more than most people get to in a life time.  He never went to college, though I think that if he’d had the chance, he would have donned the laptop bag and spent time cramming for midterms and finals.  He couldn’t sing worth a lick, but he could play the piano, and by God he could act.  He was one of the most incredibly talented actors I’d ever met or known. 

The time between 2003 and now has been filled with a menagerie of events, emotions, situations, and heavy duty changes.  Not all of the changes have been bad.  God put me where I had to be, with the people who needed me as much as I needed them.  Because of Jonathan, I have some of the best friends a girl could ask for.  Sadly, I lost Jeff Rosenberg last year to a cerebral hemorrhage.  Today is to remember Jonathan, but also to remember Jeff because he had a deep appreciation for Jon, and losing him altered his life as well.  I can only hope it was for the better at least in some ways. 

I wish Jon had had more time.  Maybe he could have received help dealing with his depression and his life situations.  I wish that I had had the chance to know him personally for more than a night, although I know him now far more than anyone else.  Again, I say I will never regret my decision to meet him.  His impact on my life changed my life for good.

And I will never forget.

Weekend Wordz: Valley Trek

See?  I told you I’d forget to write something on friday.

I had intended to sit all day at Starbucks,  sporting a comotose stare at a blank laptop screen and counting the number of times the curser blinked in a minute.  My plans were foiled that morning.  Instead of waisting time, I did something productive with it.  I drove around the valley as chaparone for one of my friends.  I didn’t mind, really.  There was good company and food involved, and both combinations are rarely something I say ‘no’ to.  I did manage to finish one section of book 2 on Saturday night that will probably be placed somewhere toward the middle.  Concidering how long my last novel is –a mere 489 pages– halfway is still a long way off.  I’ve also started the process of binding a copy so it looks like a decent, real book.  I can’t concentrate enough on writing it to keep going for any length of time.  In fact, I’ve already spent ten minutes typing this becuase I’ve wondered off somewhere else entirly. 

Let’s stay on that topic, shall we?  I drove over to the P.R.I offices in Encino on Monday just to see if they got my message last Friday regarding contact numbers to obtain my medical records.  Apparently I haven’t been sick enough in my life, so retrieving them from the piles of dusty files was going to take a drug sniffing dog, two detectives, and one bag of peanuts.  Apparently peanuts are essential to detective work.  I have yet to hear from P.R.I as to weither I’ll be taking part in the study, or if I made it under the deadline — which is this week. 

Watch for Falling Topics.

Today is November 11th.  Anyone who knows me well knows that today and tomorrow hold significant meaning for me.  In 2003 just before midnight , Jonathan Brandis commited suicide by a hangmans noose.  He died the next day of brain damage due to lack of oxygen, and a crushed larynx.  For tonight and all of tomorrow, I will be honoring his memory.  His death marked a drastic change in my life, and in myself, and I’ve never been the same since.  If anything good came of this, it was the lesson that I learned from his actions:  Tell those you love that you love them, becuase you might not see them again.  This became more true since last september –around the aniversary of when I met Jon–that Ray wound up in the hospital due to scarily high blood pressure that fortunatly evaporated a clot that almost killed him.   It was during this time that Jon’s lesson slapped me hard in the face. 

I was fortunate enough to have one night of my life with Jonathan.  That was one of the few true moments of happiness I’ve ever felt, and I will never regret making the trip to L.A that september day.  Although I’ve moved on with my life –got a few new jobs, had a boyfriend for some time, moved to L.A, finished my novel and starting another–, a part of him will always be with me. 

Tonight, I shall toast with a friend over home made fudge and a good movie. If I don’t post tomorrow, at least the reason has been made clear. 

Take care.

P.S.  It’s suppose to be 98 degrees here on Friday. ………  >_<  It’s November!  What part of November does mother nature not understand?  There is no bloody excuse for this kind of chaotic weather in middle of Fall!  ~_~ … This will all end in tears, I just know it.

Results Show

I have a strange feeling this blog will be turned into my report booklet for the PRI medical trials.  That is, if I remember to post, it will be.  See, I went in for the consultation with one of the their doctors, and after a while, he said that I showed signs of ADD and Depression.  I am officially qualified to participate in the medical trials, which makes me wonder if that verdict is a good thing or a bad thing. 

I went through the hassel of obtaining my medical records from the Sonora local file warehouse.  Since I haven’t been seen by a GP for a check-up since 2001, the records had passed the “keep in the office” time alloted, and were moved to the warehouse.  The studies start next week.  Ironicly, I forgot to call my father and ask for the information yesterday so I could go ahead an be involved in this trial.  Need any more proof?  I can’t afford any real therapy, or lengthy therapy, so this is the closest I can get.  I’m trying to activly find help to fix myself so I can have a normal life and ambitions like everyone else.  I just want everyone to know that. 

And that’s the word, hummingbird.  Tune in tomorrow (if I remember) for the next exciting installment.

November with a Bang

Well, it’s November again.  This is the month of Thanksgiving that makes us all think of shades of oranges, yellows, russets, golden hues, and browns.  And then there’s the color of the leaves…

I’d like to start off with a congradulations to President-Elect Barack Obama for his landslide victory over Senator John McCain.  This was without a doubt the most publicized, most mocked (SNL), most difficult campaign ever run in American history.  With two wars on our backs, and an econimic crisis so fragil it would break if someone blew on it, the outcome of this election was going to sound bells all around the world.  And how. 

Today at 6:45, I’m going in to PRI (Pharmocology Research Institute) in Encino for a consultation to see if I qualify for any of the medical trials regarding ADD/ADHD, and depression.  The latter of which I’m sure was caused by the ADD.  This way, I’ll have proof that I’m one of two things: A) Broken, or B) naturally the village idiot.  Perhaps they’ll be able to find out why I have an “Awe, screw it” outlook most days.  There are some days when I’m all gung-ho, but they’re bursts of short lived emotion, and usually don’t last an entire day.  Here’s hoping there’s some way to fix me, and it doens’t involve needles.  I hate needles as much as Garfield loves lasagnia.   If anyone is curious about what I’m thinking of doing, the website is www.priresearch.com.

I started writing a little bit on my second novel yesterday.  Not much was completed.  I think I wrote a page or two before I left to watch the election results.  It’s taking me a long time to realize that I don’t have to write straight through from beginning to end.  Writing here and there is going against my English programing of “Write the story, and stay within the lines” sort of thinking.  If that made any sense.  If not, then welcome to the club.  Maybe this book will at least reach something that looks like a half way point by next summer.

Good Morning, Class

Welcome to my first serious blog outside of Myspace. 

If the title sounds a little odd to you, or smells like it slept with a Tolkein novel, then you’re sort of getting close.  “Ferinlayth” is the P’nai academy in my novel “Itara: Lightborn.”  Book one of the trilogy-in-progress.  “Ferinlayth” is Elven for “Living wood.”  And since all of my thoughts and musings –important or otherwise– will be stored here, this blogspace resembles a library, or a school of my thoughts.  So, naming it after the best school of magic on Itara seemed like a logical, and unique, choice.  The musings here-in will be benign, feisty, bland, outragious, contagious, infectious, funny, sad, offensive, boring, creepy, interesting, and any other adjective you can think of.  These are my ideas, and this is my place to post them.  If there are any actions incured because of my posts that are bad, idiodic, harmful, or otherwise of the mal-sort, it is not my fault, and I hold no responsibility.  Have fun reading my thoughts, though.  If you get lost in the labrynth of my mind, then look for the save crystals and go back to the last point you saved your character. 

Please remember MY OPINIONS WILL BE POSTED HERE.  They are opinions only, and not to be a rule book for others to follow.  I plead the First.  I respect the opinions of others, even if I don’t always agree with them, and I urge the same from any who read my blog.  Thanks.  ^_^

Now class, please open your books to page 42 for the answer to Everything.

Go Outside and Play

kids-on-jungle-gymWhat if we were never told to stop playing? What kind of society would come from always knowing you could go outside after work, or whatever, and jump onto some playground equipment?

A pretty awesome society, that’s what.

We have it in our minds that playgrounds are for kids.  The older populous beyond the age of 12 should bid farewell to the place they used to be allowed to run wild, climb, swing, and crawl, and hand it over to the next pack of kids.  That such thinking is only in our minds because bitter adults missing their own childhood put that idea there.  “Stop playing and get to work.”  Because every good adult needs to simply work work work work work.

This idea is wrong.  I’ve known it was wrong since I was falling off the playground equipment at Dennis the Menace Park in Monteray, CA.  From a small age (7), I swore never to forget why I loved to play, or the feeling of swinging on jungle gyms, because I never, ever, wanted to be ‘corporate gray.’   (Yes, as an adult, I have responsibilities that I take care of, too.) Sure, I have happy, sad, and scary memories of playgrounds.  They are a micro-regional space tucked inside a park, or a yard in and of itself, so every emotion in the world exists in a playground.

You cannot remove the ‘Play’ if you want to have a successful society.

Now, I know adults do fun things, too, (rock climbing, swimming, jogging, volleyball, singing in the shower,) but I beg you to put aside your programming for a moment.

Close your eyes, and create a vivid picture in your mind, keeping yourself open to the idea of ‘what if…’

You’ve been in the office answering phones for a few hours, taken lunch sitting lazily on a swing as you eat your sandwich, then go back in when you’re half hour or hour is up.  The rocking motion of the swing, and the outside fresh air made you smile — if only on the inside.  When you walk back inside, you’re refreshed a little and ready to take on the challenges of the remaining hours in the work day.  You’ll do your best.playground net

The clock hits 5pm (or 6, or whenever you’re released), and you pick up your purse or brief case, or backpack, and leave.  You have things to do — like pick up the dry cleaning, and find something for dinner.  Those are just things you have to do and don’t elicit much of an emotional response.  However, right now, you’re going to meet some friends after work.  Only instead of going straight to a bar or coffee house or restaurant, you head to the playground.

This playground has been here for your entire life.  You’ve always known you could come here to let loose, relax, run around for no reason, and get every drop of frustration at the day out of your system.  It’s OK for you to be here, because it’s always been OK.  You’ve always been allowed to play, progressing from the toddler yard, to the normal playground, to the slightly bigger one to accommodate your longer arms and legs as you grew older.  There are even tall teenagers here who don’t quite fit into all of the smaller playground equipment, but that’s fine, because you were one of them, too.  Everyone you know, and everyone you’ve met plays on this and other playgrounds, because it would be stupid to stop.

You were told by a psychiatrist while climbing on the nets the other day that people abolished the ‘no play’ rule long ago, because they realized that an adult human still needed this form of release.  It makes sense psychologically, but you don’t really see the full intensity behind the lesson simply due to the fact that you never had to experience looking at a playground, longing to play, but being forced to turn away because of your age.  You feel sorry for the poor fools of the past who thought playgrounds were ‘just for kids.’  You only see it as ‘play,’ and know you feel much better afterward.  You don’t really miss it when you go home for the day, or run those erands, because it’ll be there tomorrow, as it has been for your entire life.  Plus, it’s free.  The city or grants build the playground.  No one minds, because everyone –from building officials, to the architects, to the builders themselves–get to play on it.  You’re just always taught to pick up after yourself if you bring food.

You arrive at the park.  It looks exactly like the ones you’re used to from childhood, only made to a little larger scale — not by much, since heights of different people vary.  Towering heights welcome you to climb them with bars and poles and nets of various directions and connections.  Wooden bridges that wobble, and slides that burn your butt on the way down are familiar and there to be used.  Swings, jungle gyms, and features of imaginative design wait for you.  You love it.  This has always been your favorite place.  Some of your best memories are here.

You park your car, or bicycle, or motorcycle, and jog in to the park, passing other adults leaving their jobs to do the exact same thing you are doing.  You grab onto a jungle gym bar and pull yourself up to sit on top of the world, because that’s always been your favorite spot.  You wait with your feet dangling through the bars as someone spins on a tire swing across the way, and spot your friends.  They wave to you and run over to join you on the bars.  You drop down to hang by your hands, and “walk” across to the other side to the equipment, and up to the third tier of a ‘house.’ Jenny tells you she got a raise as you two go down the spiral slide and race each other to be the first back to the top.  Tami and Eric sit on top of a geodesic dome and kiss.  That’s where they fell in love. They made dinner reservations to celebrate their 1 year anniversary, and invite you to come after Play.  You smile and tell them as you hang upside down by your knees that you met that perfect someone on the playground yesterday, and are hoping he (or she) will come back today.

This is your day just like every other.  You love being here, and couldn’t imagine life any other way.

Now, go outside and play.  🙂


star wars darth vaderJust got back from watching the funniest subtitled version of “Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith” with friends –otherwise known as “Backstroke of the West.”  It was a pirated version of the movie that was sent to China before the film actually opened in theaters, and before the CG I was cleaned up.  It was then translated from English to Chinese, then back to English seemingly straight through our friend the Babelfish.  Here are a few notable subtitles from the film.  ((As for subs that were 100% correct, only 21 lines out of the whole movie won this honor.))  You should also take a drink at every sub that’s of a sexual nature, or is heavily construed to be so, such as “I came, my host” said by General Grievous.  There were tons of these lines, and a few f-bombs thrown in, but I left a vast majority of those off the list.

Let’s get down to business!

1.  Hopeless Situation Warrior.  ((a.k.a Jedi Knight –in this case, Anakin Skywalker.))
2.  Hopeless Situation Elder.  ((Jedi Master.))
3.  Boon Elephant.  ((I have no clue.))
4.  Master of the Help.  ((Apparently, this is Master Yoda.))
5.  I beat the intelligence the telephone.  ((Take a drink!))
6.  I was just made by the Presbyterian Church. ((Jedi are Presbyterians?  Who knew?))
7.  The wish power are together with you.  ((The Force grants wishes.))
8.  Hopeless Situation Encampment. ((Where all the Jedi hang out.))
9.  Rotting Hopeless Situation.  ((Insult to Jedi.))
10.  I think the pudding.  ((There was more to this, but I couldn’t get past the pudding.))
11.  Reaching the west of reaches.  ((Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith.))
12.  You can say that again. ((Vader to Palpatine in the Chancellor’s office.))
13.  The West will rule the galaxy again.  ((It means ‘Sith,’ but I’m sure you know where else this can go.))
14.  Kiss too loudly.  ((C-3PO doesn’t like Anakin mackin on Padme.))
15.  Have no thank.  Blow the skin.  ((Take another drink, folks!  by this point in the movie, you should be bombed.))
16.  This is what who fuck.  ((Can you still see straight?  Take another drink!))
17.  I has the hating.  ((I can has cheezeburger, too.))
18.  You are full cock now.  ((Apparently, Anakin’s a Sith now, but oh boy! O_O ))
19.  This is your own masterpiece. ((A far better line than Obi-Wan telling Anakin on Mustafar that all this was his doing.))
20.  Cockhold to be safe.  ((Padame is his WHAT, now?))
21.  Disabled person must solve.  ((See, this is why Anakin had his arm and legs dismembered.  It was all a clever plan.))
22.  My small manikin.  ((Palpatine speaking to Yoda.  But…I thought that was Anakin from the first movie?))
23.  Your dead period arrived, teacher.  ((Poor Obi-Wan.  That explains the hot flashes.))
AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST……  At that pivotal moment when Vader is wracked with horror and sadness upon hearing of Padme’s “death” at the very end of the movie when we should all have walked away feeling fulfilled, but sadly were not, we get…
24.  Do Not Want.  ((I was happier with that line than that god-awful, pathetic “No!”))


A link to this article by Brian A. Klems showed up in my inbox from Writer’s Digest.  I thought it had some interesting tidbits of advice for anyone stuck on naming their characters, so here I am shareing this with you.  I left his information at the bottom of this post, because…well, it’s his article.  Enjoy. :)



Choosing a character name for your novel is as pressure-filled as picking a name for a baby. It has to suit the character’s personality, makes sense for the era and, most important, be super awesome (sorry friends, the awesome name of Brian A. Klems is already taken by this guy). Names like Harry Potter, Holden Caulfield and Stephanie Plum are memorable not just because of the amazing stories they navigate, but also because these names “fit” those characters so well. You need a name that “fits” your character too.

I stumbled upon these seven great rules for choosing character names offered up by popular mystery writer Elizabeth Sims (the Rita Farmer Mysteries). When developing characters—no matter what sort of characters you’re pursuing—heed common sense and consider each of these tips before choosing a name.

1. Check root meanings.

It’s better to call a character Caleb, which means “faithful” or “faithful dog,” than to overkill it by naming him Loyal or Goodman—unless you want that for comic/ironic purposes. Some readers will know the name’s root meaning, but those who don’t might sense it.

2. Get your era right.

If you need a name for an 18-year-old shopgirl in a corset store in 1930s Atlanta, you know enough not to choose Sierra or Courtney, unless such an unusual name is part of your story. Browse for names in the era you’re writing. A Depression-era shopgirl who needs a quick name could go by Myrtle or Jane; it will feel right to the reader. Small public libraries will often have decades’ worth of local high school yearbooks on the shelves. Those things are gold for finding name combinations from the proper era.

3. Speak them out loud.

Your novel might become an audiobook or an e-book with text-to-speech enabled. A perfectly good name on paper, such as Adam Messina, may sound unclear aloud: Adam Essina? Adah Messina?

4. Manage your crew appropriately.

Distinguish your large cast of characters by using different first initials, of course, and vary your number of syllables and places of emphasis. Grace Metalious (a great name right there) demonstrates this in her blockbuster Peyton Place, as do any of the successful epic writers like James Michener and Larry McMurtry.

5. Use alliterative initials.

Employ this strategy to call special attention to a character: Daniel Deronda, Bilbo Baggins, Ratso Rizzo, Severus Snape.

6. Think it through.

You might notice that in most crime fiction the murderer rarely has a middle name or initial. Why? Because the more you explicate the name, the more likely there’s a real person out there with it. And reading your story they might become upset and try to sue you or come after you some night with a bayonet.

7. Check ’em again.

When writing my novel The Actress, I needed a name for a Japanese-American criminal defense attorney, and the name Gary Kwan burst upon me. I loved the name and used it in the book. Only thing was, as soon as the thousands of copies of hardcovers were printed and shipped to stores, I heard from a reader who pointed out the simple fact that Kwan is a Chinese surname. I cursed loudly and decided: a) that I would ALWAYS check name origins, and b) that Gary Kwan had a Chinese grandfather who adopted a Japanese orphan who became Gary’s father. Or something like that.

Naming characters just right is a challenge, but give it some time and thought, and you’ll start to find the fun in it. Study the names great authors have come up with, let your mind loose to play, do your research, and above all, trust your ear.

And if worst comes to worst, here’s hoping you’re like Oates and lucky enough to just bump into your character in a dream—where you can ask him yourself.


Follow me on Twitter: @BrianKlems

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The End of a Chapter

green book, closed bookIt took me a while to summon to courage to write this letter, but I feel I now can without pushing away from the keyboard.


To my amazing fans:


I know you are all counted in a small group comprised of brave individuals who love reading, and care deeply for the stories that take you out of your world. You’ve read the first book, and are probably wondering when the 2nd one will come out. I can’t answer that yet, as there are many kinks in the manuscript that I still need to work through. You’ve been with the characters of Itara through their turmoil and troubles, pain, love, and laughter of their stories, and traveled with them on their journeys. You’ve walked alongside Jareth with his determined stride, laughed or groaned at Khyler’s gamboling nature, fought beside Kyra and the people of the Ferryn, and felt the flame of magic with Mason as he struggles to learn his place in the world. I respect you all for your time, your heart, and your imaginations. Without you, their stories could not come to life.

That is why, with a heavy heart, I must inform you of a change in the world of Itara. I sent an email to Black Rose Writing a few nights ago asking to be released of my contract.  On March 5th, I received a formal letter of cancellation, releasing all rights back to me as the author.  I am no longer published under the Black Rose Writing name.  Although making the decision to leave Black Rose is not an easy one by any stretch of the imagination, I feel it is a necessary step. Please know this is not a decision made in haste, but rather over a couple of months of hard deliberation. I weighed the pros and cons, listened to the emails sent to me by my fans, and took the advice of industry professionals seriously. I believe you, my beautiful readers, deserve a story that is well written, and well edited. The last thing I want is for errors to take you out of the world of Itara, as it seems this printing is notorious for doing. I am embarrassed by volume of mistakes within the book. You deserve far more.

Don’t fret just yet. Simply because I am cutting ties with Black Rose does not mean I am cutting ties with Itara. It is my life’s work, my legacy, and my baby, and it will be a part of me for the rest of my life. I will still work on the 2nd and 3rd manuscript, and will keep this page going, even if there isn’t anything else to speak about. You are still free to post your thoughts and feelings here (being respectful of others, of course), and I will continue to work on Wizzfeth Stipplewhim’s tales of daring do.

On that topic, there will be a new Wizzfeth story at the end of this month.

Thank you for sticking by me, and for believing in Itara, and it’s messages. I will not give up, and I promise someday your curiosity about the rest of the story will be sated.

Yours in the art of wordsmithing,
M.K. Presson

“The end of a chapter only marks the beginning of a new one.” — Me.

Rain? In L.A?

Believe it.  Singing in the Rain

I awoke early this morning at 7am to the splashing sound of cars driving through water, cool air nipping at my nose, and the dulcet patter of rain falling on the leaves of the tree outside my window.  It was the best morning ever.  The rain wasn’t a surprise –as Fritz had said we should expect some variant on the amount of rain we’d receive this morning– so I had planned on getting up early in order to ride my bike in to work, change into dry clothes, and be ready for the day.  But, it seems I’m working from home today.  That’s fine with me, because I have projects I can work on for the office.  For now, I will curl up, relax, and enjoy this glorious morning with a warm cup of cocoa gently heating my hands.

Technically, the wet stuff falling from the sky is considered ‘rain.’  However, where I grew up, this smattering would be called a ‘drizzle’ since it’s enough to get my glasses and clothes wet, and be a general annoyance.  To me, real rain is when it’s coming down with enough force to splash like silver jumping crickets on the pavement, soak you through in a short minute of being outside, make you cuddle up in thick clothing for insulation from the cold, and turn the nearest rain gutter into Woods Creek part 2.  However, the last serious storm I remember was in 2006 , so I’ll take whatever I can get.  The only sad part about today is the lack of coffee in my house.  For that, I’ll need to travel to a friend’s house, but again, that’s fine with me.

Blue rain boots, it’s time to take you out for a solid test drive today, my friends.  If I am urged to jump in a puddle with you snugly on my feet (if there are puddles worthy of being jumped in) I will oblige the child within.  Thank you, Fall, for finally showing your face in the San Fernando Valley.

I suddenly have the urge to work on book 4 while I wait for orders from the office.

HeaddeskSo, I feel like a douche.

It’s not every day one wanders along the Blvd. minding their own business on a mission to buy a bunny tail (Halloween Costume idea.  Long story.)  On such a day, a beautiful day that was not attempting to murder me with temperatures peaking 100, I walked into “Aahh’s” — a store that sells cool stuff, costumes, and randomness — to find said bunny tail.  Well, I found it, but I also stumbled across someone I had not even thought of since the last time I walked into the local comic and nerd-stuff shop:  none other than the vertically challenged, very talented Seth Green.  That’s right, the creator of “Robot Chicken.”  The voice of Chris Griffen from “Family Guy.”  Much the same as I, he was in ‘Aahh’s’ possibly looking for the holy grail of random “must own.” 

I walked through the door, and there he was walking toward me. Without thinking, I said causally, “Hey, Seth.”

He stopped with a curious eyebrow arch. [*seth* Do we know each other?]

I then smiled and chuckled a little, realizing how relaxed the greeting was, and internally cringed as the self-douchery feeling began to set in.  “No, no. I just recognized you and said ‘hi.'”

[*Seth* “Oh. Cool.”]

And then he walked out. It took me a moment to realize I had just broken a generations old celebrity/pee-on barrier. This is where the ‘Headdesk’ moment comes into play.  I’ve worked around celebrities for so long, that the inevitable hoof-in-mouth (to quote my friend, Tym) happened.  I, the small town girl from a northern California mining town, am now…… Jaded.

Now for the justification segment of this rant.  *ahem*  I’ve seen Seth before many times either walking out of that particular store, or from the comic/nerd-stuff shop in the same block.  We both live in the area, apparently.  Robot Chicken is an actual dish served in one of these restaurants.  It’s where the idea came from.  So, I’ve been seeing him off and on for the past 5 years.  It is like seeing a local buying the same coffee order at the same Starbucks every Sunday… because it essentially is.

After he walked out, and the hammer of “idiot” slammed down on my ego, I backed up into the isle of multicolored costume wigs and muttered quietly to myself… “Fuck.”

Still, it’s possibly he may never remember the red-haired girl in the sky-blue rainboots.  If he does, then I hope it is with a fond chuckle and not a recoiling “nnnngh’ah.’

Don’t Forget!

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September 1st.



Itara: Son of C’reseth by M.K. Presson

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