Author: Allie P.

How Important is Your Plan to Your Outcome

by Allie P., posted in Book Stuff and Publishing News, Life as I know it

How Important is Your Plan to Your Outcome - www.alliepottswrites.comA three-day weekend loomed in front of us and our plan was to have no plan. We’d sleep in as much as the children allowed. We’d stay in. After being away from home most weekends in August, my husband and I were looking forward to tackling a few projects but generally doing nothing more than relaxing. It would be a weekend to simply enjoy being a family.

It was a good plan.

I’d no sooner stepped out of my bedroom Saturday morning when I was met in the hall by my eldest son and his best friend, Biff. “Mom! Biff invited me to go with them to a mud run. Can I go? Can I?” I blinked. I hadn’t drunk enough coffee that morning to be able to process that level of excitement. It was a wonder I’d even gotten into my day clothes already.

I stalled. “Those things usually cost money.”

“My mom will take care of it,” Biff assured me.

I felt like there was something I was missing. Kiddo would be out of the house all morning? He’d be exercising instead of alternating between begging me to allow him to binge-watch his latest favorite cartoon (there are only six seasons, mom), creating Lego minefields, or complaining about how bored he was and I wouldn’t have to pay for it? It seemed too good to be true.

It was.

We learned no such offer had been authorized. Sure, Kiddo was welcome to come along (the more the merrier!) but the insurance waiver clearly stated that a legally responsible adult must be present along with every child. One of us, either my husband or I, would have to go with Kiddo else live with a weekend long case of ‘you are the worst parents ever!’ There went our relaxing morning.

My husband and I faced off like gunslingers at noon in an old western.

“It’s only a couple of miles,” my husband pointed out.

“You are the one training to run another marathon,” I reminded his father.

*do-la-doooooo wha wha whaaaaaa*

“Please?” I swear Kiddo batted his eyelashes. (Don’t ask me where he learned that trick).

My husband broke first. “I’ll go change.”

LT, our youngest, caught wind of the conversation. He had no idea what a mud run was, but his brother and father were going. He would not be left out or heads would roll (as would the rest of him as his tantrums are typically full body affairs). Then all four of us were at the starting line with the elder Potts guys in their work out attire and me and LT standing on the spectator side with a camera and their spare clothes.

A fog horn blew and then they were off.

How Important is Your Plan to Your Outcome - www.alliepottswrites.com
This is after he swam across a pond. My washing machine is demanding a raise

A short time later, two incredibly filthy smiling faces crossed the finish line. I know they were smiling because the only part that wasn’t covered in brown was their shiny teeth. The shoes they’d worn were tossed in a pile which would be industrially cleaned and donated to those in need. A large tanker truck provided the water needed to remove the mud from Kiddo’s ear. Speakers blasted music while LT grabbed fistfuls of grass and rubbed them into his hair and across his belly in order to look like one of the participants. We hadn’t brought a change of clothes for him, but I found I didn’t mind. Not one part of the morning had gone to plan, but it was still a good morning.

No. It was a better morning.

I am a planner by nature as much as by habit. I set goals. I track milestones. I know how to keep a program advancing, but though it is making me twitchy writing this, there are times you have to focus on the outcome, but let the plan go.

“Stay committed to your decisions, but stay flexible in your approach.” – Tony Robbins

I was supposed to have another book out by now, but my characters rebelled. I found myself asking what was more important? My outline or my outcome.

I thought my outline was a good one. I’d put real thought into it. I’d spent hours if not days planning and pacing. I’d created character profiles and scene summaries. I’d researched setting. It should have worked, but it didn’t, and ultimately I allowed myself the flexibility to adapt moving forward. I picked outcome.

Though I hate that it has taken so long to get to this point, I have to admit my characters were right. I rewrote my plan. I altered my method. I’ve received my feedback from my beta readers and all that is left to do is a few manageable rewrites and work through my final edits before sending it out to the next round of advanced proof readers (if that sounds like something you’d enjoy, please contact me at allie AT alliepottswrites DOT com).

The path to publishing this book may have deviated from my plan. It’s taken a few twists and gotten messy along the way but my commitment has never wavered. With a little patience and a whole lot of support, I will publish this book and it may just be better than I ever planned for.

An interview with my muse – a fiction challenge

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Personal Favorites

Diana over at Myths of the Mirror challenged writers to interview their muse after finding that hers had recently outsourced the job to a merciless mercenary for hire/part-time healthy life style disciplinarian. But upon accepting the challenge, I found my muse somewhat difficult to track down…

A fiction challenge and the investigation into the mysterious disappearance of my muse - www.alliepottswrites.comThe air was heavy with procrastination as I heard the door open behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to recognize her perfume, a mix of earth and chocolate spice. It could only be Moka. Moka Chino. She spelled her name with a k rather than a ch. She thought it gave her an extra shot of originality. I’d never had the heart to tell her I thought it made me question whether her head was on right.

She sashayed into my office as if it hadn’t been years since we last met. Though I tried to keep my expression neutral, I couldn’t help drinking in her appearance. “What brings you to the old neighborhood?” I asked as she removed a pair nutmeg shaded glasses, revealing mascara stained eyes underneath.

“It’s Latte. She’s missing.”

Latte was Moka’s cousin. Tall and skinny, though just as smooth. I’d met her at one of Moka’s parties and we’d spent the next hours in easy conversation. Latte’s side of the family wasn’t nearly as rich and she’d offered to help with the occasional job or two for whatever change I could spare, which was never much.

It was worth the expense. Her contributions might cause me the occasional heartburn, but they never failed to get results. She was reliable that way. It wasn’t like her to disappear without leaving a trace.

“So, can you help me find her?”

A lock of white slipped from her frothy up-do. I fought the urge to inhale her scent, as I helped sweep it back into place. She was bad for my health. Some might argue, toxic. I knew it. It was another reason I’d kept my distance. But I also knew she didn’t need to ask. Moka was someone I could never say no to. The problem was, she knew it too.

Latte spent her time between gigs in the editorial department of a local publishing house. It would be my first stop.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” I said to Latte’s boss, B.K. Caffé, a huge man with a complexion as dark as his current expression and crushing arms.  I extended my hand.

He didn’t take it. “You’re late.”

“I apologize. I was given the wrong directions in reception. Has anyone ever told you guys that this place is difficult to navigate?”

“You said this was about Latte?”

“Yeah, her cousin says she hasn’t seen her in awhile. Looked worried.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t seen her lately either. Now I’ve got senior management roasting my beans. I’ve had to bring my sister’s kid on board just to deal with the slush.” His scowl deepened as he glared as something or someone behind me. “But now I’m beginning to wonder if I was better off.”

A kid who must have traded his diaper in for an overpriced suit stood there. From the slicked back hair to golden pinkie ring, he could pass for an extra in the Wolf of Wall Street. He marched across the room like I wasn’t there. “We need to talk about my assignment.”

“Not now.”

“But Uncle B, I really don’t think you are recognizing all the benefits I bring to the table. I should be in charge out there.”

“And yet I still don’t have a publish-ready novel from you, now do I.”

“If you’d only listen -”

“We can talk later. Now do the job I’m paying you to do.”

The kid left, slamming the office door behind him. “Kid thinks he’s bulletproof,” B.K. said more to himself than to me, shaking his head.

“So Latte.” I took out my notebook, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. “You saw her last…”

“Weeks ago. We sent a draft off to beta readers and a crew went out celebrating.”

“Including you?”

“Not my scene.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been told I can be a bit of a buzz kill.” Someone knocked on his door. B.K. looked at his watch. “Are we done? I have a schedule to keep.”

“One last question. You wouldn’t happen to know where they went to celebrate, would you?”

“Where else: Quotable Potables.”

I was familiar with the hot spot. Signs of wear on the bar’s exterior were beginning to show. Even so, it still maintained a stable of regular customers thanks to its welcoming atmosphere. I made my way to the back where a makeshift karaoke stage, stood. It was also where I knew I’d find the Pinot Sisters.

They were seated at a nearby table, ready to launch into song the moment the equipment came online. I pulled out a chair and handed them a picture. “I’m looking for a gal named Nila Latte. You didn’t happen to see her here recently, did you?”

Both girls had the kind of legs that made you want to laugh or weep but were just as known for their bubbly personalities. Usually, the trick was getting them to stop talking, but neither offered a word. “Yes, you did.” I tapped the photo again. “A gal like that, on your turf. Yeah, you noticed.”

“We don’t remember.” Nora, the red head, pushed the photo back at me. “Okay?”

“You don’t remember seeing her, or you don’t remember what happened that night?”

Gio, the blonde, began to sweat, “She was iced!”

Nora covered her sister’s mouth. “We don’t know that.” Her gaze swiveled around the room as she looked for who else might have overheard Gio’s outburst. “Really. We don’t. Most nights are a complete blur. Ask anyone.”

It was clear that the girls were spooked and weren’t going to tell me anything more, but they’d given me an idea as to who to talk to next. I left the bar and took a turn down Memory Lane. I’d get to the bottom of this story.

It’s my job.

I’m a writer.

Those who are interested in seeing more of this story (or future short stories) are welcome to join my mailing list here and selecting short stories under interests.

Dead Flies and Sherry Trifle by Geoff Le Pard – A Rambling Review

by Allie P., posted in Indie book promotion, Product, Service, and Software Reviews

Supporting Indie Authors #book review
background image courtesy of Unsplash.com
I have two children under the age of ten which apparently means that I have two people who can somehow muster the strength to throw every single pillow or cushion off a bed or couch without breaking a sweat and yet can’t seem to muster the energy required to close the door all the way as they run in and out of the house. If this weren’t special enough, the blasts of air-conditioned air they’ve been so generous to share with the wide wide world have become like a welcoming beacon for all sorts of guests of the insect variety.

Particularly flies. There have been so many flies this year.

I will be sitting at my computer, trying to get a post written for you lovely people when buzzzzzz! I will be dive-bombed in the head by a particularly noisy specimen. It’s really beginning to have an impact on my work. To make matters worse, these flies not only don’t have any respect at all for personal boundaries, I’m even starting to suspect they are purposely trying to thwart my writing attempts. Case in point, one morning, I turned my back a second only to find that one had thrown itself inhto my morning coffee. I told it while dumping the mug out, that ruining my coffee was just being cruel, but I don’t think it cared.

I’ve tried the hunt and swat method. I’ve tried the “GUYS, FOR THE LAST TIME SHUT THE DOOR!” method too. Nothing seems to work. For every fly I remove, another one seems to pop up in its place.

It’s like whack a mole, except the only tickets you gain after playing, are receipts from the groceries you’ve had to buy to replace the food they’ve ruined.

It’s also remarkably hard to achieve a zen way of thinking or discuss a life lesson when flies are around, believe me I’ve tried. I guess that’s why kung fu masters in movies are always trying to ask students to catch them. Speaking of flies, I wanted to share another book I’ve recently read.

Dead Flies and Sherry Trifle by Geoff Le Pard

First – if sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll turn you off, this is not the book for you. That’s not my attempt at a reverse psychology sales pitch, but an honest warning. Seriously, pick something else.

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Set in the 1970s in Great Britain, Dead Flies and Sherry Trifle is a coming of age story much in the vein of movies such as Adventureland, American Pie, or The Way Way back, except set on the other side of the Atlantic.

Nineteen-year-old Harry Spittle has returned home from university, only to be told he is expected to pay rent. He takes the first job he can find as a waiter at a nearby hotel, where he gets to know a wide variety of people including sadistic chefs, small town gangsters, pretty girls, and overly competitive pumpkin growers, but really the story is about him getting to better know himself.

I admit, I didn’t immediately follow the story due to British idioms I didn’t quite understand, but once I was more familiar with the characters’ mannerisms, I found it to be an enjoyable read. Often humorous, the descriptions are particularly well done, straddling that fine line between too little and too much. I was especially amused during the scenes featuring Harry’s mother’s cooking. It almost seemed as if the author might have been pulling from personal experience.

But the downside of any coming of age story is the reminder that eventually we all have to grow up. Just as this book made me reflect upon my first summer jobs it is a reminder that one day my children will no longer be children too. I may no longer have to worry about the door being left ajar or the buzzing of flies they’ve let inside, but I won’t hear the sound of their games, their jokes, or their laughter on a daily basis either.

So as much as the buzzing sound annoys me, if it also means I get to enjoy my kids being kids, I’ll guess I’ll find a way to put up with it a while longer.

One Nearly Foolproof Way to Achieve Absolutely Nothing

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

One Nearly Foolproof Way to Achieve Absolutely Nothing - www.alliepottswrites.com #beach #sharks #quotes

“There is only one cure for gray hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.” – P. G. Wodehouse

While the cure for gray hairs might only be death, spending a weekend at the beach accompanied by a handful of close friends, a box of wine, and neither kids nor spouses in sight, sure goes a long way toward treating its spread.

We’d arrived after work Thursday afternoon. The sky was blue and the air was still warm from the midday sun though occasionally gusts kept it from becoming unpleasant. Half of the group had arrived earlier and were already well into relaxation mode as I let the sand fill the space between my toes. I looked out to the sea. We meet again, my nemesis.

The sea waved back.

A surf shop at the beach swears by Sharkbanz, which I also refer as my bat-shark repellent. I can’t say it works, but I can say it hasn’t not worked when I’ve worn mine. Image will take you to affiliate link

To be clear, it is not the ocean I have a problem with, but its denizens. Even so, I looked out to the horizon determined. This was the year. I would go swimming with my friends rather than sit on the shore watching their antics with envy, helpless against my galeophobia (that’s fear of sharks) which seemed to have only grown stronger with every year, exponentially more so since my children were born.

I wasn’t always like this. I am sure once upon a time I was able to view a shark and see it the same way my children do – as merely a large meat eating fish rather than the soulless killing machines they are – a predator so perfect it stopped evolving back with the dinosaurs still roamed. I can blame part of it on my teachers in primary school. You see, and some of you may be shocked to read this, I wasn’t exactly the best-behaved child in the classroom. As a result, I was given the opportunity to earn a bit of extra credit by writing a few research papers. Unfortunately, while the teacher’s changed, the topic didn’t – sharks.

“Education is what remains after one has forgotten what one has learned in school” – Albert Einstein

I’m sure as far as my teachers were concerned the topic was harmless enough. They probably even thought I would enjoy it. After all, sharks are fascinating as the popularity of the Discovery Channel’s Shark Week proves. However, my teachers didn’t anticipate the scope of my imagination. When I read that some sharks, such as the Bull Shark (a highly aggressive species) can swim quite happily in either salt, brackish, or freshwater, my young mind immediately came to the conclusion that they could be lurking in all lakes, regardless as to size or how far a particular body of water happened to be from the ocean.

I became convinced that there was a shark living in the lake near my father’s house. Not wishing to be the only one stuck on land, I convinced my younger sister that there was an invisible shark living in our mother’s pool too. (If you are reading this, sis – love you and happy birthday again).

“Big sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life” – Charles M. Schulz

Yes - it's a shark in the roof.
Okay – so technically this is not the aftermath of a real Sharknado, but the Headington Shark in Oxford does illustrate my point nicely. Image courtesy of http://www.flickr.com

You laugh, but it could happen. There are several species of animals with transparent skin and much that we haven’t discovered yet leaving underwater. Also, Sharknado isn’t as fictitious as it sounds. Sharks have, in fact, been known to fall from the sky.

You might be wondering then why a person with issues a phobia like mine would enjoy going to the beach as often as I do. All I can say is this – it is the beach.

The sand, the sound, and breath-taking sunsets call to me like a siren. While it very well could lead to my death, I’ve found no other place where the command to sit and enjoy the moment is so strong. I love the mountains too, but while I may be cut off from civilization, I am still compelled to be constantly on the move – to hike, to explore, or to otherwise look for the next spectacular view.

But the ocean is different. Though you might sit for hours in the same spot, the view is never the same. Sands shift and tides change.

The ocean is a good reminder that everything changes with time. People too.

After spending most of my annual weekend ridiculed (gotta love good friends) and afraid last year, I decided enough was enough. While the fear might never go away completely, I would not let it rule me. Watching my friends in the water, I’d remembered a trick for handling my fear. It worked too. As long as I kept my eyes on the horizon and never looked into the shadows, I could wade out as deep as my shoulders. I could even swim a few strokes. Unfortunately, I hadn’t recalled this until it was nearly time to pack up and go home.

But that was last year. This year would be different. I just knew it. I went to bed that night convinced I would stun them all in the morning.

“Everybody’s got plans… until they get hit.” – Mike Tyson

The next day rain pelted down courtesy of a tropical depression that had made landfall in Florida earlier that week. It would appear my plans for phobic domination would have to wait.

Proving if you are looking for one nearly foolproof way to achieve absolutely nothing all you have to do is count on the weather.

What are the Odds of?...
and may the odds be ever in your favor…
Infographic courtesy of Visually.
Quotes courtesy of http://www.brainyquote.com

 

Celebrating Science Fiction and Fantasy Week #SFFWeek

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

Response to GoodReads Science Fiction and Fantasy Week - www.alliepottswrites.com #SFFWeekThe week of July 30 through August 5th is Science Fiction and Fantasy Week on Goodreads and I decided it was time I participated.

“If you could travel to any fictional book world, where would you go and what would you do there?”

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Pern. I would go to Pern in a heartbeat. As in the third planet from the star, Alpha Sagittarius as described by Anne McCaffrey in her Dragonriders of Pern series. Sure it might not have the best weather, (if you can call parasitic organisms that fall from the sky and devour everything they encounter except the barest rock, weather) but the rest of the wildlife more than makes up for the inconvenience. Because, if the series name wasn’t indicator enough, there be dragons. Telepathic dragons who form a lifelong bond with their riders. There are dragons who can not only fly but can teleport too.

So what would I do once I was there? Oh, I would enroll in the Harpers Hall and travel around the country singing ballads and telling oral history. What else?

Just kidding. I would sneak onto the volcanically heated sands of the hatching ground until my feet burnt off leaving nothing but nubs or I met and bonded with my dragon, whichever came first. (Let’s be serious, I would stay there even with my nubs for feet – who needs feet when you have a dragon? That’s what the wings are for.)

I loved these books as a teenager. They were a wonderful blend of science fiction meets fantasy, proving the two genres are not mutually exclusive. Yes, there were fire-breathing dragons, but there was genetic engineering, space travel, and the rediscovery of lost technology too.

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I’ve always been fascinated with the intersection of magic and technology and how discoveries in the field of science blur the line between fact and fiction. In the next few years, we are on track to create invisibility cloaks simply by figuring out to effectively and efficiently bend light. We will be able to communicate around the world or even into space without any time delay as if we were in two places at once. We will even be able to control and move heavy machinery with our mind. We will even be able to potentially make matter out of thin air.

Sources:

When it comes to magic, from the perspective of our ancestors, it would appear the witches won.

So where do we go from here? What will we still consider magic in the future when the impossible feats of yesterday become the humdrum daily life of tomorrow. I am sure we will come up with something, but until then all I can do is dream, wonder, and await the day I ditch my car to ride the friendly skies with my loyal dragon.

Here’s a snippet related to my upcoming novel inspired by the GoodReads Science Fiction and Fantasy Week Writing Prompt.

“Technology is a form of magic, if you think about it,” Wes replied as he adjusted his grip on the device on his hand so that his fingerprints fell into series of well-worn grooves. A bulb on one end flared to life. “Imagine if you didn’t know what a flashlight was,” he said swinging the beam around until it came to a stop on a wall made of rusted car doors, cracked glass, and broken chairs. “I could call myself a wizard right now, and as far as you knew, I would be telling the truth.” Wes opened his grip, and the barricade of debris was once again illuminated only by the light of a partial moon. A dog barked in the distance. Crickets resumed their chirping. “I would also be telling the truth when I say you should be careful with things you don’t understand.” He placed his empty hand on the new arrival’s shoulder. “And there is a lot here you don’t understand. At least not yet anyway.”

He gestured for the others to follow as he turned and walked toward the wall, coming to a stop where the collection of garbage appeared darker than the rest. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, but not enough to hide his knowing smile. “I’d ask you if you were ready, but I suppose it’s already too late for that to matter now.”

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