The Wiz

I love this song... Makes me cry every time I hear it.  Home: from the musical film, The Wiz. One of my favorite musicals as a kid... 

The lyrics below:

Home
When I think of home
I think of a place where there's love overflowing
I wish I was home
I wish I was back there with the things I been knowing
Wind that makes the tall trees bend into leaning
Suddenly the snowflakes that fall have a meaning
Sprinklin' the scene, makes it all clean
Maybe there's a chance for me to go back
Now that I have some direction
It would sure be nice to be back home
Where there's love and affection
And just maybe I can convince time to slow up
Giving me enough time in my life to grow up
Time be my friend, let me start again
Suddenly my world has changed it's face
But I still know where I'm going
I have had my mind spun around in space
And yet I've watched it growing
If you're list'ning God
Please don't make it hard to know
If we should believe in the things that we see
Tell us, should we run away
Should we try and stay
Or would it be better just to let things be?
Living here, in this brand new world
Might be a fantasy
But it taught me to love
So it's real, real to me
And I've learned
That we must look inside our hearts
To find a world full of love
Like yours
Like mine
Like home...

Friday Modern JukeBox

On Repeat is Skylar Grey

Love the way you lie

 Coming Home

Words

Paranormal, Bastards, Sucks :) :) :)

I have two full days off work (the job that pays the bills), and two full days to work on my new YA manuscript. Thought I would share some of the books I've used. They've helped me out along the way. 

Writing The Paranormal Novel by Steven Harper

Writing The Paranormal Novel, Steven Harper

Bullies, Bastards & Bitches by Jessica Morrell

Bullies, Bastards And Bitches, Jessica Morrell

Your Screenplay Sucks! by William M Akers

Your Screenplay Sucks! William M Akers

Back to writing, backspace, and more writing...

JL

Birth Song

So, I’m turning thirty-two on the fourth of August, and it feels kind of nice.  At least I’m not crying into a pillow, falling into a mild depression, and stuffing my throat with Ben & Jerry’s like I did the week before I turned thirty. (I’m an emotional eater)  I feel as if I am exactly where I need to be--floating in a resilient sea of uncertainty and semi-loving the groundlessness of it all.

With that being said, I love my life in thirties. (Hey, that’s a cool book title) “My Life In Thirties.” I even feel more comfortable in my own body.

Disclaimer: Such comfort with body image is subject to change without notice.

Time seems to fly by faster and faster, leaving me less and less time to make this world a better place… and all that jazz. Leaving me no time, but the present to become a better version of myself.  Not that I’m a bad person. I just never stop considering ways to evolve. Be better. I have a thing about life and death, and it’s a good thing, too. How else does one learn to appreciate all the small things, without first dwelling on how little time one has to treasure them? 

Oh, about the bad person strikethrough... Not too fond of using the “B” word---Love the other “B” word thoughJ…Bronchitis people;)

So this is one of those blogs. A rare glance into how weird the inside my brain travels.   I could simply not think of these things, but what kind of lesson would that teach me?

I’ll end with this:

Last year, at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, NY, I was able to meet/meditate with Pema Chodron. She is amazing. One of her many quotes comes to mind right now:

“…feelings like disappointment, embarrassment, irritation, resentment, anger, jealousy, and fear, instead of being bad news, are actually very clear moments that teach us where it is that we’re holding back. They teach us to perk up and lean in when we feel we’d rather collapse and back away. They’re like messengers that show us, with terrifying clarity, exactly where we’re stuck. This very moment is the perfect teacher, and, lucky for us, it’s with us wherever we are.” ~Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart

#jenniferpointsfingeratherself <<< Yep, weird and random sometimes.

Jennifer

For your listening & viewing pleasure ;) Ani DiFranco, 32 Flavors

Lost Girl: SYFY

So, I am completely hooked on this new show. It is called, Lost Girl, and it airs on Syfy. It is extremely entertaining! Did I mention--Steamy!

I downloaded season one onto my notebook--via itunes. $17.99!

It's about a Succubus on a journey to discovering who she is.  If you have itunes, you can download the first episode for free!  Below, I have posted the link to the Syfy network page.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I am.  It's a pretty cool concept for a show.

http://www.syfy.com/lostgirl

The Waiting Room

The hardest thing about being a writer (so far) is...the waiting room.

Definition-Waiting room: a building, or more commonly a part of a building where people sit or stand until the event they are waiting for occurs.

My waiting room exists in my mind. It is this way for many writers, agents, and publishers. I assume. 

The good thing about the waiting is that I've discovered two things about myself: 1. I detest waiting and 2. I've found a way to deal with my personal waiting room. 

(I've typed the word "waiting" several times now...how many times can I type it...Let's test that theory right now) 

waitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaiting... Okay, I'm done. 

I've decided to spend my time creating new ideas, imagining new characters, and designing new places to write about!  

I have so many ideas for stories that the "waiting room" has become this sort of cool space to reside in. It gives me peace of mind.  It reminds me that I am more than just one story, and that there are more than enough voices in my head for several books. (That did not sound creepy at all...)

I am not saying that the waiting room isn't like kicking rocks with open-toed shoes, because it is. I am saying that now... 

I pick up the rocks after they have bruised the hell out of my ten toes and put them on display. 

J

Old Trades

 

1. I used to sell generic perfume on the street for $20 bucks a fake bottle. I know right? (SMH) I pushed between 20-30 bottles a day. (Why does the word “pushed” in the previous sentence make me sound like a drug dealer?) Just say no!  No, I’m serious! Say NO.

2. I used to sell vacuum cleaners. I offered free carpet shampoos to stamp the deal.  I guess that made me a maid Once Upon A Time. It was cool to see massive amounts of dirt go into a machine. No one ever wanted to pay 2,000 dollars for a vacuum. It didn't matter that the name of said vacuum rhymed with "Derby".

3. Video Store-Front desk: "Hey, you got to love free DVD rentals!" 

4. Hardees: (My first job) I worked there for two weeks. I was afraid of the popping hot grease, and I thought that the smell of French fries frying would make all of my hair fall out. 

#Jenniferhandsinuniform

Next To Read Book List

Wish to read very soon. . . :):):)

Tess of the d'Urbervilles

The movie

Summer

Writing music for the day. . .  Mari rocks!

Hot Water

It’s been a little over two months since my grandmother’s death; I miss her.  I miss her smile . . . combing and rolling her hair. 

So here’s the memory of her that is stalking my mind today.

I was around twelve years old. One day while my cousin and I were washing the dishes, my cousin complained about the water being too hot.  I’m laughing at the memory as I type, but back to the story. The water was hot, especially from the kitchen drain. So hot, that it took about 10 seconds for the sting of it pouring over your hands to sizzle down.    Anyway, this is how the conversation between my cousin and my grandma went.

Hot Water

EXT.  AUGUSTA GEORGIA- STREET- MORNING

Bright sunny day, several kids cheer as they pass and dribble a basketball.

INT.  GRANDMA’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM

Southern gospel music plays.

1970’s décor, navy blue carpets, two flower print couches, a furnace heater, antique plates and family photos hang on the wall. Several generations of high school diplomas sit on the mantel.

Water runs hard in the kitchen faucet.

INT. KITCHEN

TWO YOUNG GIRLS stand over a double sink. THE SHORTER GIRL washes the dishes, while THE TALLER GIRL dries them.   AN OLDER WOMAN who appears to be their grandmother cuts potatoes at the kitchen table.

Shorter Girl looks at Taller Girl with a frown on her face

SHORTER GIRL

      This water is too hot. It’s 

          burning my hands. It’s too hot!

TALLER GIRL

               Don’t look at me; tell Grandma . . .

     Shorter Girl walks over the Older Woman.

SHORTER GIRL

         Grandma the water is too hot! 

It hurts my fingers.

GRANDMA

Well, I hope you remember 

      that when a boy asks you to have  

         sex with him. It’s hurts! It hurts, 

just like that hot water.

Taller Girl laughs as Grandma leaves the kitchen and Shorter Girl walks back over to the sink.

SHORTER GIRL

                But I wasn’t even talking about sex.

Life offers the best dialogue!

A bien tôt, 

J.L

Inspiration

You ever have one of those songs that makes you want to dance around the house in flannel pajamas?   I have three of them.

Goonies 'R' Good Enough – Cindy Lauper

We Are Young- by FUN (Feat. Janelle Monae)

If You Leave-by OMD

The thirteen films that unblock my writers block . . .

1.   The Labyrinth

2.   Little Women (1994)*****

3.   The Legend of Billie Jean*****

4.   Pan’s Labyrinth

5.   Tristan and Isolde

6.   Dirty Dancing

7.   Romeo and Juliet

8.   The Big Chill

9.   Heavenly Kid

10. How To Make An American Quilt *****

11. Pretty In Pink

12. Staying Alive

13. Imitation of Life

Favorite Vamp Films

1. Interview With The Vampire

2. Dracula

3. Once Bitten 

4. Let the Right One In

5. Nosferatu

6. Blacula

The movie that makes me LOL no matter how many times I see it….

The Wedding Crashers*****

The movie that makes me cry:

*The Lion King—I find myself yelling at Scar. It does not matter how many times I have seen the cliff scene. (King Mufasa)

The current soundtrack to my novel includes . . .

1. Not An Addict - K's Choice

2. Taylor Momsen - Zombie

3. Cold- Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz

4. Fair- Remy Zero 

5. I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You - Colin Hay

6. Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones

7. Death Letter - Edward Shearmur

Edit Purgatory

So, in editing... I've learned 5 things about myself: 

1. I'm anal about all revised changes. I end up cutting things, pasting them back, and then, cutting them again. 

2. I love my book, but secretly wanted to throw it out the window more than a few times.

3. I hate Revisions, but love how polished everything looks afterwards.

4. My brain continues to edit hours after I've decided to call it a night. 

5. A tape recorder on the nightstand comes in handy when my characters decide to speak to me at 3:00 in the morning. 

Pick More Daises

A Film Dedicated to Grandma.

Hummingbird

I'm stuck in Revision Hell, but I'm hoping to plan my escape in the next two to three weeks.

Besides the fact that editing is tedious in its own right, my Grandmother's passing has been extremely hard for me.   When I'm not writing, I'm trying to wrap my mind around the loss of her.  Hell, when I am writing I'm trying to wrap my mind around it.

I can no longer call her up to say hello, and that sucks.  I miss her beautiful laughter, watching her wash dishes at the double sink, and listening to her hum church hymns as she moved around the house clapping her hands to the beat.

J.L.

                              Mrs.  Hattie Virginia Jones 1939-2012

Message of Hattie

When we leave this life, no one remembers what clothes we wore, how much money we spent, or how popular or famous we were. What they do remember is how we treated them.

During one of the last conversations I had with my grandma, she told me to, “Tell it like it is.” This was common motto of Mrs. Virginia Jones, in that, she never hesitated to tell you how she felt.  She was authentic. She was real.  She was beautifully refreshing in a world where pure honesty is sometimes so very rare.

I loved the relationship that my grandmother and I shared. It was one in which I never felt I needed to be anyone other than myself.  Although many of the things I discovered in my life’s journey did not agree with her core beliefs, she never ceased to show or tell me how much she loved me whenever I visited—whenever I called.

She was an amazing, intelligent, and beautiful woman, my grandmother. The more of myself I became, the more she seemed to love me. That’s the message I received from her. To be your authentic self. 

Mrs. Hattie Virginia Jones 1939-2012

Cheers:)

I was only able to edit my MS a little today:(

It called my name."Jennifer, come fix me," said MS.

No, but seriously--

Okay--this cough is relentless; and the sinus infection is even worse.  I'm literally drowning in my own fluid.  Cheers to the Amoxicillin. I drink to that, yeah yeah, (In my Rihanna singing voice), in the hopes that it will work it's magical pink powers on my nasal passages.

Before I decided to write this blog, I was in the process of watching Bag of Bones, the series based on the book with the same name, by Stephen King.   I'll let you know how creepy it was once I press play again.

For now, I'm going to stack up on too much tissue and hope that the ringing in my right ear comes to a swift halt.

Sending a faux shout out to my Eustachian tube!

a bientôt

J.L

Blues of The Flu

It’s 3:45 in the morning. I can’t sleep, but not from a lack of trying. I’ve taken the maximum amount of Cold and Flu medication that will leave my liver intact once this snotty storm comes to a halt.  Nevertheless, the Flu is kicking my ass and taking all kinds of names. Sweat is rolling down the wrinkles of my tense forehead faster than the rain falling outside my open window.  I forgot to pick up Nighttime TheraFlu Warming on my way home from work. So I’m flat out of luck until tomorrow morning.  I’m hoping for a speedy recovery.  

Oh what the hell; just for fun . . . ;)

Chapter One

The Snot Storm

There was not enough tissue in the world to adopt the immense amount of yellow drainage that gushed out of her nose. The skin directly under her muzzle was irritated and burned as if she had been bathing for hours under a summer sun.

With the microphone close to her flushed lips, the girl with coffee bean hair shouted. “Calling all Gods and Goddesses,” She swallowed hard with a sigh. “Take away my Flu.”

 Coffee bean girl tore the microphone away from her chapped mouth, and dropped the germ-infested equipment to the wooden floor. The mike rocked side-to-side like an empty, old-fashioned Coca-Cola bottle beside her bare feet.  Her ten toes curled under like merciless bear claws.  Her body shivered as goose bumps made a quilt over her scrawny limbs.

She hoped—No.  She prayed that her request would not go unanswered. 

A bientôt,

J.L 

VBP's Story

Let's face it. I love old tattered paper. Paper so old that if you blew on it, it would crumble into a thousand pieces. Vintage Paper is inaudible tree poetry. There I go, being overly dramatic, but it's the truth.  Vintage Brown Paper is my Blog space, and I am not afraid to admit that it's my first time taking a swing at the blogger lifestyle.   Being a writer, who desires to be published one day in this century. . .  I figured it was about damn time I jumped on the wagon, instead of standing on the side of the road hitchhiking.  The blog will be a ramble of thoughts, as I journey into the world of publishing wearing a child's' seatbelt. I will also share selective poetry, and music that sparks my creative senses.

a bientôt, 

J.L