Last week we played Two Truths and a Lie – actually more like Six Truths and Three Lies – and this week it’s time to take a look at which is which.

1. I’m over a foot shorter than my husband.

- True. Josh is 6’6” and I’m a whopping 5’4”. Stop sniggering. 5’4” is average and it’s not my fault I married a giant…well actually it is, I guess.

2. The first car I ever hit was a Jaguar.

- True. I hit a Jaguar with a neurotic Ford Taurus. Not a bad accident but dents and yelling ensued.

3. The first stitches I ever had were in my tongue.

- True. Never had stitches in my life until a dentist cut my tongue open with her drill when I was twenty-four. Very unpleasant. Very traumatic. Needless to say I do not like dentists.

4. I’m a Texan by birth.

- False. I consider myself from Texas, since I spent the most time there growing up, but I was born in New Jersey.

5. I have a hot foot and a cold foot.

- True. During a scoliosis surgery they have to cut a certain nerve that runs along the spine that regulates the temperature of your feet. I now have one hot foot and one cold foot. Since they both used to be cold all the time, I consider this an improvement.

6. I have eaten kangaroo, alligator, crocodile, veal, octopus, squid, swordfish, and bison.

- True. My favorite part about being to so many countries is the food.

7. I have sky-dived, bungee-jumped, and white-water rafted while here in Colorado.

- False. All I can say is: hell, no.

8. I was a crew member on a 135 year old tall ship.

- True. My dad and I spent several years volunteering on the Elissa in Galveston.

9. My husband proposed to me under the Century Tree at Texas A&M (our alma mater).

- False. Though the century tree is a popular spot for that sort of thing, Josh proposed in Rocky Mountain National Park at the top of Trail Ridge Road. Much better than some ancient tree, I think.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this little break from the norm. I certainly had fun with it.

A couple weeks ago my friend Becca nominated me for the inspiring blogger award. The idea that I’m inspiring to anyone is still new and unsettling, but it’s very encouraging to know that there are people out there who actually pay attention to - and care about - what I write. So thanks to everyone who listens to the small things I have to say. As part of this I’m supposed to tell you seven things about myself, but I think lists are boring so I figured I’d change it up a little and turn it into a game. We’re going to play Two Truths and a Lie. I'm going to tell you nine things about myself. Six of them will be true but three of them will be lies. If you think you can spot the tall tales, give it your best shot in the comments. All clear? Then let’s play.

1. I’m over a foot shorter than my husband.
2. The first car I ever hit was a Jaguar.
3. The first stitches I ever had were in my tongue.
4. I’m a Texan by birth.
5. I have a hot foot and a cold foot.
6. I have eaten kangaroo, alligator, crocodile, veal, octopus, squid, swordfish, and bison.
7. I have sky-dived, bungee-jumped, and white-water rafted while here in Colorado.
8. I was a crew member on a 135 year old tall ship.
9. My husband proposed to me under the Century Tree at Texas A&M (our alma mater).

Any guesses? Stay tuned next week for the answers.

When technology and humanity collide, one woman’s life is changed forever… Woman Gains Full Mind Control of Robotic Arm

How amazing is it that this quadriplegic can pick up a pencil again. Or brush her hair. Or pet her dog. Or do any of the millions of things that we take for granted every day. I’m constantly floored by the incredible leaps and bounds being made in fields like physical therapy and bioengineering.

I can’t help but think what the implications could be for me. I mean, I can walk just fine, and I only use the char when I’m tired or I’ve got a pressure sore. But the implications… I’m imagining a chair with legs. Wheels are great but they can’t climb stairs, hills and curbs are a pain, and grass and underbrush are nearly impossible. With my striding chair I’d be able to hike through the wilderness, climb to the top of a lighthouse, and navigate the rubble at the end of the world (by the way, I’m still here, how about y’all?).

Also, the article mentioned how her reaction speed and strength were equal to normal reflexes, but one of the common thoughts for robotic prostheses is that one day they’ll be better than what the rest of us have. Better, stronger, faster…and all that. So how long will it be before people are voluntarily chopping off limbs to replace them with shiny titanium or carbon fiber bits and bobs? The article mentioned Luke Skywalker but what about the Borg? We're no longer limited to what we can just strap on our bodies. These prostheses are actually integrated into human flesh, using the framework and electrical signals our bodies provide. Why would I need a striding chair when I could replace my faulty legs with awesome walking machines?

Don’t worry, I’m not ready to lop off bits of me yet. But I will definitely be interested to see what the future holds.

Bent Not Broken by William R. Potter is a contemporary romance about a man with OCD finding the girl of his dreams and the struggles he faces, both in the world and in his own head, as he courts her. I picked this book up as part of the research I was doing for my latest project since I have no experience with OCD, and my main character has a pretty severe case. But I picked it up as a reader as well as a writer. The premise was so intriguing. I love romances of all flavors, but I also love wounded or flawed characters. A character that has to fight against himself in order to win a chance at love? Let me at him.

As I’ve said before, I think an important aspect of portraying disabilities is the details an author gives. And there were plenty of details in this book. I was never in doubt of what Dwayne was feeling. His mental state was laid bare for the reader to see no matter how hard he tried to hide it from the rest of the characters. In fact, I almost feel like there might have been too many details. It read like a report with the author listing everything that Dwayne was thinking and feeling. I guess I would have liked more showing and less telling. This could have been a deliberate choice on the author’s part – a way to illustrate Dwayne’s state of mind. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell. And if I can’t tell, then that choice hasn’t really been made clear.

There were also quite a few loose ends that seemed to blow in the breeze and their flapping was very distracting. Things that were mentioned that I assumed would be important ended up being left forgotten by the end of the book. Little things and big things alike. For example, the girlfriend’s cats. Dwayne is supposed to take care of them while Dee-Dee’s gone, but he falls into a drunken stupor for four days, forgetting about the cats. Dwayne and Dee-Dee fight, she comes home, they make up – but the cats are never mentioned. Not even so much as a “Hey, I’m sorry I killed your pets.”

And in the end I was disappointed with the depth of the story. There were so many places where the story could have been more vibrant, but instead of pulling out the shovel and digging into the things that made the book unique, Potter merely skimmed the surface. For instance, I wanted some discussion about the fact that Dwayne refused to treat his OCD, instead self-medicating with alcohol. This could have been a really interesting flaw, providing room for character growth. But it was a depth left unplumbed.

Overall, I did like the story. I thought the relationship was cute, and I was left wanting to know what happened next, which is mostly a good thing. I found myself really sympathizing with Dwayne; I felt his panic and his frustration with himself until he finally wanted to change so much that he sought the help he needed to become the man he wanted to be. And the descriptions of his OCD were so vivid that I wanted to reach in and cuddle him and intervene for him with the other characters. “Look what he’s going through. Can’t you see how hard it is?” But I was left with mixed feelings. I think this novella could have used a couple more drafts before hitting the press.

A few weeks ago I caught this stand-up routine on Conan O’Brien. Samuel Comroe is a brilliant comedian and actor with Tourette’s Syndrome (I freely admit, I had to look up how to spell it). I thought his act was amazing and wonderfully done. I’ve always been drawn to comedians with self-deprecating humor, but I think there’s something particularly courageous about not only using your disability as comedic material but standing up in front of complete strangers and drawing attention to your differences. Too often we’re ashamed by our differences; we either try to cover them up or ignore them. Comroe actually highlights them and makes us laugh along with him.

As y’all know, I’m all about finding humor in crappy circumstances, so it’s no wonder this guy caught my eye. But what made me sit up and watch was that Comroe isn’t just laughing off his struggles the way you laugh off the twisted ankle you got tripping over the dog on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He uses his disability to his advantage. Check out how he works with the ticks and pauses to effect his own comedic timing. The Tourette’s becomes a part of his style of humor.

So all in all I was really impressed with this guy. And impressed with Ricky Gervais and Conan O’ Brien for recognizing his talent and giving him an opportunity to showcase it. I’ll definitely be looking forward to more of Samuel Comroe.

So last Wednesday was the last installment of the Accessible Excerpts series, bringing Merry, as a character, full circle. With this series, I wanted to show how I use disabilities in my stories to create unique yet believable characters. It’s my hope that in these protagonists you can see real life struggles and flaws, traits that help them step off the page and into your mind. I realize that those of us with disabilities are a minority and the experiences of these characters are not necessarily universal, but I also hope that by spending so much time in their heads and finding things in their thoughts, feelings, and experiences to relate to – you can see that we’re not all that different.

It’s not my intent to ram a certain agenda down your collective throats, but I did have a purpose going into this project. I want to empower those of us who read tales about heroic feats and think, “I can’t do that”. I want to examine what it takes to be a hero – an important question whether you have a disability or not – and who it is that steps into that role. And finally I want to promote understanding. Everyone has their problems and it’s not any one person’s place to rank those, saying “Oh, my struggle is harder than your struggle”. This creates division, we become us and them, or you and me. I think this is a gap that needs to be bridged.

I hope you guys have enjoyed seeing this deeper look at Merry. I know I learned a lot more about my character than I realized when I first wrote her. And thanks for all your comments and feedback. They’ve been very encouraging. Maybe we’ll see Merry and some of her compatriots again further down the road.

AE: Full Circle

Today is the last day of Nanowrimo so I thought I'd give you guys a rundown on how it went. I was pretty solid with my word-count for the first couple weeks and I even managed to get ahead before Thanksgiving (after four years I know full well that family plus turkey does not equal much writing time). But despite that head-start I somehow hit the second week slump in my fourth week. I managed to reach 50,000 words on Monday but it was an uphill slog. And since my personal goal was to write 75,000 words this month, I didn't quite make it. At least I learned something. I have a very hard time working on two projects at once. Whaddaya know? I'm human after all.

One of my favorite parts of Nanowrimo is the community. My writing partners and I get together once a week at the library and have our own write-ins. Hard at work above are my sister and Rebecca Green Gasper, who was kind enough to answer some questions for us last week along with Susan Oloier. Becca's been one of my critique/writing partners for a couple years now. If you haven't checked her out yet, you should take a look.

So, I'm coming out of this side of November with half of a new novel and about 8,000 words of a devotional (that was supposed to be 25,000, I told you the dual projects thing didn't work, right?). Not bad all things considering, and I'm really looking forward to finishing up The Robber Bridegroom. So far it's been a blast to write. The devotional has been more of a battle but just as rewarding. Looks like I've got my work cut out for me this next year.

Here's a sneak peek at The Robber Bridegroom:

"The building was large and imposing. Until now it had always meant fear and danger to me. Along with the rest of the Reaper’s crew, I had avoided it for the last ten years. I swallowed and mounted the steps. One, two, three, four, five steps separated my past from my future. Such a small distance for such a huge leap of faith.

I couldn’t keep myself from turning one last time to glance behind me. Across the street, Clarence and Aalan stood watching. Clarence’s lips were twisted in a contemptuous sneer but Aalan’s eyes were wide with horror and disbelief. Like the Reaper, he didn’t believe I would do it. He didn’t think I had it in me to throw away my whole life, everything I’d ever known, all the family I had, just for an ideal.

This was the end. If I took this step, I’d be hunted. I’d go from being the Reaper’s employee to being his next target. No forgiveness, no leniency, no second thoughts. I’d made my decision a long time ago but this was the moment it would become real.

I lifted my chin and stepped into the police station."

This is an excerpt from my novel, By Wingéd Chair, one in a series of posts in which I try to show how I use disabilities in my writing. Click here for my intro to the series. Merry and her companions encounter a creature who has the ability to make them relive their worst memories.

An invisible hand reached out and grabbed hold of my mind, dragging me deep into the darkest corners of my own thoughts.

My horse was leaping, a move I could feel was faulty even as she left the ground. She stumbled as she landed, and my foot came loose from my stirrup, my weight shifting and the edge of the gully rising to meet me as I fell.

A darkness I remembered all too well, the black behind my eyelids as I refused to wake, refused to face what I already feared might be true.

“I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid she will never leave this bed again. You may as well get used to it now. It will make it easier in the years to come as she realizes she will never live her life as a normal person would.”

“Papa?”

“I'm here, Merry-child.” His voice was broken, and I opened my eyes to see why. His face hovered over mine, his eyes red-rimmed with pain and exhaustion.

“Papa, I can't feel my legs.” I tried to sit up but my balance was all funny, and Papa put his hand against my shoulder to keep me from trying anything more. I fought growing panic and threw the blanket back so I could see my legs and feet. They were there, everything was where it was supposed to be, but I couldn't feel anything below my waist.

“Papa, what's wrong? I can't move.” I tried. I tried harder than I'd ever tried anything in my life. The desire was there, I was doing exactly as I had the day before. The signal was leaving my mind but it was blocked. I told my toes to wiggle. They didn't. I told my knee to bend. It remained limp against the bed linens.

“Papa!”

“I'm sorry, Merry. I'm sorry.” There were tears coursing down his cheeks. I couldn't look at him; I could only turn my face to the wall and scream. The bed sagged as he sat beside me and gathered me into his arms. His chest heaved with his sobs, but I couldn't tell under my own shrieks of pain.

I could feel two sharp personalities present in the back of my mind looking on in horror as I relived the moment I'd realized I would never walk again. I don't know how I recognized Zev and Whyn. There were others there too, though less distinct.

This wasn't anything like the memories I'd relived with Zev before. I'd never given him anything so personal or painful, and they had never been this vivid. I struggled to regain control, like I did with Zev

With a gasp I was back in my chair, feeling like I'd been thrown there, the frigid air flooding my lungs and making me cough. Zev crouched, quivering beside me, holding his head. Someone was crying, and I turned to find Lans holding a distraught Vira-we to his chest. I looked for Whyn and found him still sitting opposite me. His hands shook and his eyes were glassy, but he met my gaze.

Zev collected himself and stood, raising defiant eyes to glare at the creature who had accosted us. “You have gone too far, Elder. In attempting to prove how wrong I am, you broke a sacred trust. You had no right to take those memories from these people. You fed on their experiences without permission and for that you are no better than the Vachryn.”

“These humans do not deserve the respect we grant our own kind.”

“They are thinking, rational beings like us. Some are evil yes, but some are noble and worthy. These,” Zev said gesturing to Whyn and I. “These are mages. Like the ones we used to partner with. How dare you say they are not worthy?”

“These are the least worthy of all,” the elder said, his voice raised. “They aren’t born with the magic inside like the enchanters of old, so they steal it with cunning tricks. The enchanters would never have let their Realm fall like this. They would have weeded out pain and suffering from the human race long ago.”

Saints, the arrogance in his voice was almost tangible. I wanted to grab it and shove it down his throat. “You idiot,” I said.

“Excuse me?” His incredulous tone boomed with an intensity that willed me to back down, but I stood my ground.

“We shouldn't inflict pain on others, and I'm sorry there are those who do so willingly. But if we avoid challenges and difficult situations just because we might experience pain how will we ever grow? Suffering tempers us. You feed on memories, experiences, life. Life is nonexistent without challenge, without pain. What you seek is only the shadow of life.”

The misty figure leaned down to look at me closer. “And would you say you are tempered by your suffering? Are you made stronger by your horrible experiences?”

“Yes,” I said and swallowed. I hadn't admitted it to myself yet and it was wrenching to do so here with so many listening, but the truth of it swelled up through me. “I would not be who I am today if I hadn't gone through everything that I have. I am grateful I've had a chance to grow and appreciate the things that have made me stronger. I pity you in your safe, comfortable existence, always running, never standing to fight and grow.”

“You pity me?” he asked, his voice rising with disbelief.

“Yes, I do,” I said. “The next time you want to dig in my memories you will ask first. Is that clear?”

I had a really hard time writing this scene. The first couple weeks after my injury are very blurry due to pain, drugs, and a dizzying procession of doctors and therapy. So I don’t actually have any memory of a specific moment that I became aware that I couldn’t walk anymore. Which made it excessively difficult to portray how Merry felt in her own moment of realization. I think she ended up with something like an entire year’s worth of my emotions crammed into about five minutes of story.

I wanted to bring Merry full circle with this scene. This is the moment where we see that not only has she accepted herself and her limitations, but she sees how strong she is. She can finally acknowledge how her experiences have shaped her to be who she is.

As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated. What did you think? What did you like, what did you dislike? Did I accomplish what I set out to do?

AE: Easier Said Than Done                                                Not All that Different

Today I’ve got a couple special guests over from Moxie Writers. Rebecca Green Gasper and Susan Oloier are both young adult authors out on their Break Out Against book tour.

Rebecca is the writer of young adult fiction. Before becoming a writer, she was a high school special education teacher working primarily with students with emotional disabilities. She also worked as a tutor and coach. Rebecca grew up in the mountains of Colorado. She now resides outside of Denver with her husband and two children.

Susan is a mom, a wife, and a writer of YA and Adult fiction, as well as non-fiction. She has been published in Inside/Outside Magazine as a columnist, at http://www.fertilesource.com/, and in Cliterature Journal. She just finished a travel memoir about her family's year in the national parks.

Rebecca and Susan take on some of the tougher issues in young adult fiction nowadays and I thought you might like a closer look at what they write and how they go about writing it.

Where did you get the idea for your book?

Rebecca: Break From You started with a dream about a fire and a cowboy, and another element I can’t tell you about because it will give away the book. Eventually the idea developed into a story about dating abuse and became Brooke’s story. I did a lot of research about dating abuse, abusers, and victims.

Susan: Outcast has been a part of me since junior high. I was the victim of bullying in both junior high and high school. The experience of being picked on and singled out has been with me my whole life. It was a book I needed to write. Initially it was for catharsis, but it later turned into something more.

How long did it take you to write?

Rebecca: It doesn’t take me long to write once I get going. Break From You took around two or three months to write. The editing and publishing took a lot longer.

Susan: I started Outcast in 2001. It went through many drafts, edits, and revisions over the past 11 years.

Are you a planner or a pantser? (do you plan your novel before writing or do you write by the seat of your pants)

Rebecca: I plan, but not always on paper. I will make notes and write some scenes. I also write out a brief outline, but for the most part, when an idea comes, I spend a lot of time brainstorming and developing the story in my head long before I start writing. I also spend a lot of time researching. For Break From You, I did research on dating abuse, victims, and abusers.

 Susan: When I have an idea, it brews in my mind for 4-6 months. The characters become real to me in that time, as do the details of their lives and situations. Then I begin taking notes and write a rudimentary outline. With two of my books, I wrote detailed outlines (Outcast being one of them). So I’d say I’m a plotter, but I always leave room for the characters to do what they want—as they always seem to do.

Do you edit as you write or wait until the first draft is finished?

Rebecca: I do some editing as I go, but most is done when the story is finished. I find that I need the whole story laid out in front of me before I can start working on the editing.

Susan: I am notorious for editing as I go, which is why it takes me a year or so for a “first draft” to be finished. I always go back and reread what I wrote, then revise and edit before the version is ever complete. Writers as a whole seem to frown on this, but it’s a process that works for me.

Was there any part of this project that gave you more trouble than the rest?

Rebecca: Brooke’s emotions gave me the most trouble. Brooke has strength, but she also displays a lot of weakness and showing why she made the decisions she did was a very difficult task.

 Susan: I didn’t like a lot of Noelle’s choices. They weren’t things I would do in a million years. So letting her get involved in decisions I didn’t approve of and allowing her to plot revenge were really hard for me.

Where can we find your books?

Love shouldn’t hurt this much…Brooke Myers wants to believe she has it all: the perfect guy, the perfect relationship, the perfect life. She wants to believe it so much that she's willing to overlook the fear, the isolation, and the pain her boyfriend has caused her. She knows it isn't right but tells herself that love isn't always easy. However, when a fire destroys the restaurant during homecoming dinner, she forms an instant bond with the boy who saves her, one her boyfriend wouldn’t like. With the pain of a concussion reminding her of how bad things can get, she is forced to re-evaluate the relationship she has with her boyfriend and face the ghosts that haunt her. Brooke once believed love was all it took…but is it enough? Is it truly love when you've lost yourself in it?

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Break-From-You-ebook/dp/B009YLW5NG/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1353426083&sr=8-2&keywords=break+from+you Smashwords-http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/249896 Barnes and Noble-http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/break-from-you-rebecca-green-gasper/1113712532?ean=2940015898903

Website- rebeccagreengasper.blogspot.com Twitter- @rgreengapser

Noelle dreams of a different life, one where Trina Brockwell doesn’t exist. Trina has bullied Noelle since junior high. Now she’s tired of it. With the help of her black-sheep aunt and a defiant new classmate, Noelle seeks revenge. But vengeance comes with a price: Noelle risks friendship, her first love, and herself to get back at those who have wronged her.

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Outcast-ebook/dp/B009Z5A3PI/ref=sr_1_cc_2?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1353426297&sr=1-2-catcorr&keywords=outcast+by+susan Smashwords-http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/250017 Barnes and Noble-http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/outcast-susan-oloier/1113779699?ean=2940045052269

Website- susanoloier.blogspot.com twitter- @narrawriter

Thank you, ladies for stopping by. If you want to see more from Rebecca and Susan, stop over at moxiewriters.blogspot.com and be sure to follow the rest of their tour as it's sure to be interesting.

This is an excerpt from my novel, By Wingéd Chair, one in a series of posts in which I try to show how I use disabilities in my writing. Click here for my intro to the series. After working with the Disciples of Ammon to fight the Vachryn, Merry feels more confident about herself and her abilities, but her work places her back in the situations which caused her so much trouble before, and she can feel her old mindset waiting to trip her again.

I smiled and accepted the thanks along with the others, but inside I was shaking. Too many people crowded me, their curious and sometimes pitying looks sending barbs into my heart. There was nothing nasty or rude behind their expressions, but it felt like I was right back at Madam Francine’s, with the girls giggling about me behind my back.

I'd thought I was done with that part of my life. The Disciples didn’t look at me with those all too familiar expressions. I’d thought I wouldn’t mind them anymore. But here I was, with the old mask creeping back across my face to hide the feelings that welled up inside.

Nothing had changed. I'd just been avoiding the realities of my life for the last couple months.

I wheeled myself out of the crowded house and into the crisp night air. I stopped at the edge of the light spilling from the windows and tilted my head back so I could see the sky.

A step behind me made me turn, and I saw Whyn coming toward me from the house.

“You left the party,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

“No, you're not. I saw the way you looked back there. What's wrong? I thought things were better.”

“It's nothing, okay? I just don't like people.”

“You like us just fine,” he said, not letting it go. “You like most of the Disciples.”

I looked away. “They don't act like I'm some kind of abomination.”

Whyn nodded. “We treat you the same as everyone else. They treat you like you're different.”

“It's not their fault,” I said, realizing I believed that. “They're not used to seeing someone like me.”

“If you understand, then why were you so upset?”

“I can’t help it. I understand, but I still don't like it. I don't like who I am when I'm around other people.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone who’s always angry. I want to be mad at everyone else in the world because they can't possibly know what I'm going through. I hate them for not understanding. I hate them for being able to do the things I can't, but in the end I hate myself more.” Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked hard, trying to get rid of them.

“Marion.” There was a catch in his voice that made my heart jump. He crouched in front of me so he could take my hands and look straight in my eyes. “You shouldn't hate yourself.”

“But I do,” I said. “I shouldn't feel that way. I know better, but I can't help it.”

The light behind me illuminated his face. There was no pity there, only sympathy and understanding. “I think I know what you mean,” he said. “There really isn't any kind of shouldn't or should when it comes to feelings. They are what they are. But sometimes we can steer them in another direction. When we first met you, I concentrated on one thing, and that was finding and destroying the Vachryn. I was so single-minded I shut out everything else, including my friends and everything I'd ever enjoyed doing.

“I didn't even realize what I was doing until Lans told me they were going to leave me at the Refuge the next time they went out hunting. My whole life had revolved around this one thing and suddenly it was taken from me. Without it I had nothing, and I realized I didn't like what I'd become. You said I was holding onto my grief to avoid living. Called me a coward.”

I gasped. “I said no such thing.”

He smiled. “No, but that’s what I heard because that’s what I was.” He pulled something out of his pocket and looked at it for a long time. When he passed it to me, I saw it was a child's jumping jack. The paint was worn thin and the wood was smooth, as if it was handled every day.

“That's Gisa's,” he said. “I gave it to her the day she died. I used to hold it when I got upset or overwhelmed. When the memories were too much, feeling it under my fingers would help calm me down. After you told me to let the wounds heal and leave grief behind, I used it to remind myself to be patient. Now every time I hold it I remember the life I'm supposed to be living and the person I want to be. It's helped me get there. You helped me, Marion.”

I couldn't look away from his earnest eyes, and my breath caught in my chest. His hand pressed the toy into my palm.

“Maybe it can help you now,” he said. “Any time you start feeling like you're that person you don't like, hold it and take a deep breath. Concentrate on it rather than the irrational reactions and when you have yourself under control, remember who you want to be.”

I didn't know what to say. His confession and his gift had left me breathless with emotion. I didn't want to consider the way my heart pounded against my ribs, or the way the light caught the white streaks in his eyes.

He squeezed my hand and stood. I watched as he walked back into the house, leaving me sitting in the dark holding a child's toy.

I’ve had a really hard time explaining what I was feeling the first year or two after my injury, but Merry’s confession comes pretty close. It’s frightening and depressing to hate the complete stranger who opens the door for you just because he can’t possibly know what you’re going through. Maybe part of it was that I felt so isolated. I was facing something none of my friends or my family had ever had to deal with and in a strange, twisted way I felt entitled to my pain and anger. Look, I have a right to be pissy, so just back off and let me wallow. But since then, I’ve realized I’m not the only one who’s ever hated themselves for something they can’t control, whether it’s frightening emotions, mental illness, or just the shitty situations life sometimes deals out.

I don’t have any pithy advice for the people who feel like this. I don’t know what it was that helped me crawl out of the mire. It probably wasn’t any one thing but several. I do know that at some point I realized if I hated who I was, there was absolutely no reason I should keep being that person. Easier said than done, right? But it’s the first step. Knowing you have a choice. And knowing you’re not alone.

As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated. What did you think? What did you like, what did you dislike? Did I accomplish what I set out to do?

AE: Worst Case Scenario

So, how is everyone doing on their nano novel? I figured it was time for an update myself, and time to spread a little encouragement to my fellow writers. Miraculously, I'm on target. But the next couple days are going to be hard as I try to get ahead for Thanksgiving. We have family coming into town and I know myself well enough to recognize that I won't get any writing done while they're here. With that on the horizon: full steam ahead.

We're coming up on the end of the second week, which means we're still making our way up the hump. Week two is probably the hardest part of Nanowrimo. You've lost some steam after week one, you're staring at the blank page thinking "I have no idea what happens next". And in week three everything starts to sound like it was written by a drunk zebra. But don't despair. Remember it's quantity that counts in this race, not quality. If you're behind, there's still time to catch up. And it gets better. By the end of the month you'll be taking charge again. In that rush you'll remember exactly why you wanted to write this novel in the first place, and the going will be easier.

So, keep plugging along. Don't let the mid-month slump discourage you. And above all. Keep writing.

This is an excerpt from my novel, By Wingéd Chair, one in a series of posts in which I try to show how I use disabilities in my writing. Click here for my intro to the series. Merry and her companions are still on their way to the Refuge when they are attacked by bandits.

I'd seen the three of them in action before and figured the fight would be short. Five bandits wouldn't even come close to a couple Vachryn, but it soon became clear these men were well trained. Maybe they were mercenaries or deserters from the royal army. Whatever they were, they worked as a team as they surrounded Lans, Vira and Whyn, attacking them on all sides.

I whipped around, wondering how I could help, and grabbed the one thing that came to hand. When the bandit in front of me came into range, I swung as hard as I could. The hot frying pan clanged against the man's head, and our dinner went flying through the air, only half cooked. My victim screamed and stumbled against me, tipping my chair over so that I was flung to the ground.

My heart was already beating fast, but now it slammed against my ribs, as if trying to leap from my chest. Boots stomped around me, missing my fingers, and blades clashed above my head. I tried to crawl out of the way of the fighting, using my arms to pull myself along the ground. My skirt clung to the dead-weight of my legs, catching against leaves and bushes and slowing me down.

Another man stumbled into my victim, and they both fell across my overturned chair. There was a heart-rending crash, and they rolled away from the wreckage they'd caused.

I gaped at the pile of broken wood and upholstery while a wheel spun in the air at a crazy angle.

“Whyn,” Lans called, pressed hard against a tree by the bandit leader. “Get Marion! Get her away!”

Whyn grabbed his attacker's arm as it came around to slash him and sent a bolt of energy into the other man's body. The bandit fell down screaming, and Whyn's eyes snapped up, searching for me. His gaze found what was left of my chair and he went white.

I cried out and he finally saw me lying in an awkward pile on the leaf mold. He dashed over and hoisted me up, hugging me to his chest, before he strode off into the trees.

As the sounds of fighting faded away, I turned my face into his shoulder and convinced myself I wasn’t going to cry. It was just a chair. It was a tool. My father was not manifest in the wonderful contraption he'd made just for me.

First off, I’d like to point out I wrote this scene about six years ago when I first envisioned the story that would eventually become By Wingéd Chair – way before Tangled came out.

This idea came from a couple different places. From the very beginning I wanted to see what it would be like to get a character in a wheelchair through a fight scene. She’s been in a couple conflicts so far but nothing as physical as this, and as you can see, she doesn’t make it out unscathed.

Also, with character driven fiction we like to ask the question “what’s the worst thing that could happen to this character?” For Merry, that would be losing control of her own movement, having to rely on others for even the basest necessities. She’s been doing pretty well with the anger thing, so let’s see how she reacts to this new challenge. It’s evil, I know, but a character can’t truly prevail unless there’s something to prevail over.

As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated. What did you think? What did you like, what did you dislike? Did I accomplish what I set out to do?

AE: A Risky Kind of Fun                                                     AE: Easier Said Than Done

The Ship Who Sang by Anne McCaffrey Given her physical deformities and acute mind, Helva is chosen to become a “brainship”. She escapes the confines of a human body but there is still the matter of her human heart.

This is going on my shelf permanently since the last story in the book, “The Partnered Ship” kept me from meeting a deadline. Anne McCaffrey has been one of my favorites since I read Dragonsong in 8^th grade, and she continues to be a best-loved author to this day. But my Pern collection is just going to have to scoot over to make room for this one.

Helva was born with some staggering physical challenges. I couldn’t tell what her disabilities were supposed to be specifically, but McCaffrey’s vivid description paints a pretty hopeless picture for Helva. However, with the help of some futuristic technology, she becomes the “brain” of a spiffy new spaceship, achieving more power and more control than any human has. She goes from being an embarrassing drain on society to a huge asset with the universe (literally) at her fingertips. In fact, several times throughout the book, when someone expresses pity for her situation, she states that she likes herself just fine and she’d never trade her titanium hull for a real body. She even pities the fragile “brawns” who get hurt so easily.

Yet Helva learns that physical hurt is the least kind of pain the universe can dish out. Her body might be protected by an impenetrable shell but her heart and mind are just as vulnerable as those of her more fleshy counterparts. And like any character, Helva learns, changes, and grows from her experiences, becoming a stronger, better person than she started.

I was worried that because of Helva’s technology she would be too powerful to be interesting. She’s a ship; she can just run from trouble, right? She can just use her super sensors to sniff out trouble and stop it before it can advance the plot. But I was wrong. McCaffrey created a strong, powerful character, but she also put her in situations that tested her abilities realistically and in some unexpected ways. She can’t always pull out all the stops because she is limited by her human companions. And she still experiences prejudice and misunderstanding from the highly evolved world.

We even get to see Helva save the day without her phenomenal resources. As a result of the inattention of one mentally and emotionally abusive partner, Helva is stolen from her ship and her sensory and movement connections are disengaged so she can’t see, hear, or move. For the first time in her life she is truly disabled. Yet she withstands the sensory deprivation and tricks her captors into giving her enough control so she can save herself and the others trapped with her.

I found it interesting that while Helva would never trade her ship for a body – and while borrowing an alien body she even thinks “how limiting mobility is” – her goal through most of the book is to find a suitable partner. She may be impenetrable, well adjusted, and confident in herself and her abilities but she’s still lonely. She still longs for companionship. And in the end she finds her own kind of love – a partnership that’s beautiful and fulfilling even without the possibility of ever being able to hold her beloved.

Exploring the bounds of humanity is not a new concept in science fiction, but what a unique and stirring way to ask the questions “what makes us hurt?” “What makes us human?”  Well done, McCaffrey.

This is an excerpt from my novel, By Wingéd Chair, one in a series of posts in which I try to show how I use disabilities in my writing. Click here for my intro to the series. On their way to the Refuge of Ammon, Merry and her companions stop to help out some villagers.

“Why are there wheels on your chair?”

I jerked in surprise. It was the bold little girl from before, standing beside me and frowning at my chair. “Excuse me?”

“Your chair has wheels on it. It looks funny.”

My spine stiffened and my face went blank. What an impertinent child. My first reaction was to say something sharp that would tell the girl I wasn't interested in answering rude questions. Then I saw Whyn watching me, waiting for my response.

I took a couple deep breaths and tried to look at it from her perspective. My chair really was strange. And most invalids were confined to their homes, so she wouldn’t be able to guess what was wrong with me. Her question wasn't rude; it was the result of someone who wanted to know the answer and wasn't afraid to ask. Huh, kind of like me.

“It's because my legs don't work like yours do,” I said. “This helps me get around.”

“Oh,” she said. “Is it fun?”

“What?” Was it fun to be bound forever to a chair? My tone of surprised incredulity would have scared off a lesser child. But not her.

“Is it fun?” She pointed at my wheels. “I bet they go fast. Like the rich people's carriages. We had a goat cart once and we got it to go really fast down hills.”

“I-I don't know. I’ve never really thought of it as fun before.”

Whyn had a really strange look on his face. If he laughed, I was going to punch him.

“Well, come on, you should try it.” She dragged at one of my arms until I followed her. At the end of the village, the road sloped down a gentle hill, and the girl stopped at the top.

“We sled down this one in the winter. It's not as good as Deadman's Hill, but that's half a day's walk.”

I was thinking this was plenty steep enough, and we didn't have to try anything called “Deadman”.

I cleared my throat. “What if it's too fast?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You steer with the wheels, right?” she said, grasping the mechanics of my chair. “You can just grab them to slow down.” She climbed up on my lap, apparently coming along for the ride.

“But once I'm down there how will I get back up the hill?”

“Easy, I'll push you.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “Are you always this good at solving problems?”

She grinned over her shoulder. “Da says I'm either a blessing or a menace. He hasn't decided which.”

I stared down the hill, slightly daunted by my precocious passenger. I could just imagine Whyn standing behind me with raised eyebrows. I couldn't back down now, not with him watching. I had the fleeting hope if something went wrong, he knew a spell that would keep me from plummeting to my death. An image flashed across my mind: this stretch of road, except now it was called “Deadgirl's Lane”.

I took what was surely my last breath and pushed myself over the crest of the hill. We picked up speed, and the wind of our passing blew my hair out behind me like a war banner. My wheels clattered, and the chair shuddered as it shot down the packed dirt of the road. My passenger flung her arms out to the sides and shrieked with laughter. I closed my eyes and hung on for dear life, longing to grab the wheels to slow down but not daring to. My gloves protected my hands, but even they wouldn’t be able to withstand this kind of friction.

We hit the bottom of the slope and rolled to a stop.

“You can open your eyes now.”

I did and was a little surprised to find myself still among the living.

“See, wasn't that fun?”

I had to wait until I no longer felt like I was going to have a heart attack before I could answer. But then a grin plucked at my lips, and I found myself saying, “Actually, yes.” And, in a sort of death-defying way, it was. She hopped off and started pushing me back up the hill.

We were greeted by a chorus of voices. “Was it fast, Sara?”

“Faster than sledding, but bumpier,” she answered.

“All life and limbs still attached?” Whyn asked.

“Yes...”

“Why do you sound so wary?”

“Because I think I want to go again.”

I like to find the joy and the fun in life’s little setbacks. Every now and then there are some advantages to disability and wheelchairs are one of them. It is a risky kind of fun – I’ve learned through personal experience there’s a reason for the seatbelts on wheelchairs – but what’s the point in having wheels if you can’t fly down a few hills?

This is a big step for Merry in her emotional journey. Just being able to stand back from her pain and see how she might look to others is a huge difference. And being able to see something other than anger and bitterness in her situation shows how far she’s come.

As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated. What did you think? What did you like, what did you dislike? Did I accomplish what I set out to do?

AE: A Choice                                                                          AE: Worst Case Scenario

So, if you haven't been paying attention, yesterday was the first day of Nanowrimo. I got off to a good start, met up with some friends for a write-in, met my word quota (though didn't get any extra written like I'd planned). If you were thinking about joining in but feel like it's too late now, think again. In 2008 I started my first Nanowrimo nine days late. I heard about it at church and decided that afternoon that it was something I couldn't miss. I finished on November 30th with about 50,200 words of a book called In the Company of Pirates. Still hoping to do something with that one someday. My point is, you can still take a flying leap onto this bandwagon. Roll call in the comments, who's in? If you're already taking a chance with all the rest of us, you're probably feeling excited and maybe a little overwhelmed already. Here are some last minute tips I forgot to include two weeks ago.

• Don't write in OpenOffice. OpenOffice has this weird word count voodoo where it counts quotation marks as words, inflating your word count and causing a panic on the last day when you realize you're three hundred words short. Not a happy moment. Don't do it. Use Scrivener or Microsoft Office. Avoid panic whenever possible.
• Update your word count on Nanowrimo's website often. Multiple times a day if you can manage it. This can be a bit distracting (especially if you get sucked into the "procrastination station") but I find it really helpful to see progress and Nanowrimo makes this tangible with a handy dandy status bar. Super cool to watch it fill up. Scrivener's project targets dialogue box is great for this too.
• Word padding is a completely legitimate, accepted, touted, effective, and overall not cheating strategy. This is your chance to get away with all those pesky things you're not supposed to let sneak into your writing. Throw in as many adverbs as you want, give your readers a lecture about the mechanics of REM sleep, repeat descriptions until you're so sick of them you can't help but come up with new and interesting ways to say flying, purple, gyrating kangaroos.
• Tell everyone you know what you're attempting. That way you'll be too embarrassed to quit halfway through. Sounds kind of shallow but it works.
• Never end a day not knowing what comes next. It feels all nice and neat to wrap up at the end of a chapter or a thought, but it's very hard to get started the next day when you have no idea what the next scene or even sentence is going to be about. Some people say end in the middle of a sentence, but I have a little OCPD in me that makes this maddening.

So, what are you waiting for? Get busy and I'll see you in a month.

This is an excerpt from my novel, By Wingéd Chair, one in a series of posts in which I try to show how I use disabilities in my writing. Click here for my intro to the series. Afer finding her home in shambles and her father almost dead, Merry travels with Lans, Vira-we and Whyn to the Refuge of Ammon. Whyn is making a concerted effort to understand Merry and help her through pain.

“You've never had a hug from a friend?”

I looked away. “I've never had a friend.”

“Maybe because you're always making that face.”

I turned to glare at him. “What?”

“You go all cold and angry. Your eyes are saying 'stay away from me'. You don't do it to Lans or Vira, but almost every time you talk to me you look like that.”

I blinked. No one had ever said anything about my mask before. No one had ever realized that it was a mask, that there was a real person underneath.

“Look, you don't have to tell me anything. I know I haven't been all that nice to you so far, but I’m trying to do better. I thought maybe you were sad, so I tried to make you feel better, but now you look like you want to bite my head off. What did I do?”

“You didn't do anything,” I said. I wouldn't have responded at all, but I was worried about the fragility of our new relationship. We'd been getting along, and it looked like I would be the one to ruin it if I didn't at least try to explain. “The face... it's a defense.”

“Against what?”

“Against pity.”

“You don't want pity?”

“No,” I said, wishing I was in my chair so I could run him over with it. “Would you?”

“I guess not.”

“Just because I can't walk anymore doesn't mean I'm useless.”

“I don't think you're useless.”

“Well, a lot of people do. I can't go anywhere without someone staring, or telling their children to feel sorry for me, or something. I want to keep people from coming up and saying stupid things, like asking if I need help.”

“Wait,” he said and shook his head a little. “You're angry because people want to help you?”

“No, that's not-” I took a deep breath and thought about how to explain the rage. “I'm angry I need help. I shouldn't need it. I should be able to do everything by myself, like everyone else in the world.”

He cocked his head to one side, and the corner of his mouth turned up. “You know that's kind of silly,” he said.

My jaw dropped, and I stared at him. I'd never told anyone about the anger before, and when I finally did, he laughed at me?

He looked over and saw my face. “No, wait, hear me out. I'm saying it's silly to be ashamed to ask for help. No one can do everything. I'm shorter than most men.” His ears turned pink. Funny, I’d never thought of that shade of red as endearing before. “I can't always reach the books on the top shelf of the library, so I have to ask Lans to get them for me. I don't particularly like it, but it's who I am; I'm not ashamed of it.”

“I bet Lans has never had to ask for help in his life,” I said, crossing my arms, but I was surprised when Whyn actually laughed.

“You wouldn't win any money with that gamble. Lans can't read Valerian.”

I raised an eyebrow. “But he speaks it so well.”

“Speaks it yes, but he’s been too busy to learn to read and write it. He's not ashamed of it, but if we get a missive or have to send one, he gets Vira-we or me to do it.”

“Oh.” Big strong Lans had to ask for help? It made my concerns seem a little ridiculous.

“So, let me see if I have this straight,” Whyn continued. “You don't want to have to ask for help, and you don’t like change.”

I pursed my lips. I should have known Lans would blab to his partners.

“Basically, you hate feeling out of control. But it sounds to me like your problem-” He made a vague gesture at my legs. “Is controlling you.”

“What?”

“Well, you're letting it get the better of you. If it’s always making you worried or angry, then it's the one in control of the situation... hypothetically speaking. If you let it go, accept there are some things you'll always need help with, then you can concentrate on the things you can do, the things that make you happy and feel in control.”

I let out the breath I'd been holding. Through most of the conversation I'd wanted to hit him with something, but now I took a moment to think about what he was saying. Maybe the reason I was so miserable all the time was because I was only thinking about the things I couldn't do. His reasoning made sense and struck a chord within me.

There was still a piece of me that was resentful. I didn't want him thinking he knew everything and could fix the problem just like that, but maybe his idea was valid.

“Perhaps...perhaps you're right. But you do realize that's not something that's going to happen overnight.”

“Of course not. It's a decision you're going to have to make, probably every day for the rest of your life. I imagine it'll be really hard, but it might be worth it.”

Could it be? By doing it my way, I spent most of the time angry and miserable. So much so I didn't want to be called Merry anymore. Did I want to be miserable for the rest of my life? Well, the answer to that was easy. No, I didn't.

I had this conversation with my husband maybe two years after my injury. His words seemed harsh at the time. I was letting my injury control me? I finally realized he was telling me I had a choice. I could choose to focus on the things that made me miserable. Or I could move on and find joy in the things I can do, the things I'm good at. It's a thought that changed the way I look at my injury, the way I look at life.

The choice may be easy but the practical application is a lot more difficult. Like Whyn says, it's a choice that has to be made every day. I was ready to accept the difficulty. But is Merry?

As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated. What did you think? What did you like, what did you dislike? Did I accomplish what I set out to do?

AE: Familiar Struggles                                                      AE: A Risky Kind of Fun

Girl Stolen by April Henry Griffin just wants to steal a few Christmas presents and pawn them for some quick money to get his dad off his case, but when he sees a brand new SUV with the keys hanging invitingly from the ignition, he’s sure his luck’s finally changed. Snatching the car is a breeze. He doesn’t realize that he’s also snatching a girl.

Huddled under a blanket in the backseat, Cheyenne plots her escape. But how can she run when she’s blind? And what happens when her kidnapper becomes her protector?

I think I read this book in one sitting. It’s short, to the point, and easy to read, but it’s also packed with emotion, great characters, and great plot. I loved Cheyenne who right off the bat is working out how to use her weaknesses as her strengths. Yes, she’s scared, she’s blind, and she has a severe case of pneumonia, but that doesn’t stop her from luring her captors into underestimating her. She’s not a damsel in distress, waiting for her prince (or her father) to come bash the bad guy over the head. She does her own bashing, thank you very much.

There appears to be an art to portraying characters with disabilities well. I’m defining well as believable and intriguing, where the disability adds something to the story rather than taking something away, like just cutting out sight or the ability to walk. I’m thinking the key is in the details. It’s the details that make an impairment real. Details like Cheyenne orienting herself by sound, or how she explains the little difficulties of eating. They meld together over the course of a book to create a superb image and character in our minds.

And it wasn’t just Cheyenne. I loved how real Griffin’s reactions to her were. Forgetting to point out steps and asking if he can use the word ‘see’ around her. It was a great mix of experiencing how someone lives with a disability and how those around them respond.

I was also really drawn into Cheyenne’s emotional journey. It was taking place in flashbacks, not in the present story, yet it felt so real and immediate. Her initial reaction to her blindness seemed like a fairly typical response, especially for a teenager, but again, it was the details that really pulled her out of cliché and gave her life. She mentioned that she hoped when people saw her they’d think she was normal. She hid her cane under her seat so they wouldn’t see her disability. I used to do that. Play a little game in my head. If I put my crutches over here, and stand like this, and avoid walking, maybe I’ll look normal. Parallels like that aren’t necessary for me to like a character, but I’ll tell you, they don’t hurt.

Oh, and she has a service dog! I was disappointed he was absent for most of the book, but I got my fix through flashbacks and interior monologue. Dogs are always awesome. Always. Period.

One of the things that made this such a page turner was the blurred line between good guy and bad guy. A little gray can be a great thing. In this case Griffin is more of an accidental villain. He makes a mistake and it just keeps getting worse and worse. We feel bad for him, and by the end of the book, we’re rooting for him. What a great turn around.

All in all, a great book. I felt like it could have been longer and deeper but that’s probably because I was enjoying it so much that I wanted more. Usually a good thing. This is going on my recommended list.

This is an excerpt from my novel, By Wingéd Chair, one in a series of posts in which I try to show how I use disabilities in my writing. Click here for my intro to the series. Merry and her rescuers are a day away from her home.

Lans came and sat on his heels beside me while I finished tying back my hair.

“Merry,” he said, his eyes serious. “I have to ask you a question you're not going to like.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That's not a very nice way to say good morning.”

“No, but it's necessary. Merry, is everything all right at home?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, does your father…does he hurt you?”

My jaw dropped, and I snapped it shut as soon as I realized I must look like the catfish Papa brought home on summer days. I started to answer, but Lans went on.

“Because if he does, you don't have to go back to him. You could come to the Refuge, and the abbot would protect you.”

I shook my head. “That’s not- Why would you think that?”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I was struck with the thought that I’d never seen him uncomfortable before. He was uncomfortable now. “We were worried you didn't want to go home. You've cried yourself to sleep every night you've been with us.”

Heat flooded my cheeks and my teeth clenched. Damn. I hadn't been expecting that. What was wrong with him? Why would he even bring something like that up? I gathered my anger around me like armor.

“I don't see how that's any of your business,” I said.

Lans shrugged. “Maybe it's not, but I wanted to make sure I wasn't bringing you back to someone who might have hurt you.”

My shoulders relaxed, and I let the defensiveness slip from my face. “Papa would never hurt me,” I said. “We're all each other has. I've missed him this past year.”

Lans finally smiled. “Sounds like I was dead wrong then. I'm all right with that. So you’re looking forward to returning home?”

“Of course. I worry about him when I'm gone. He's a bit of a genius, and sometimes he gets so carried away he forgets to take care of himself.”

“You said he studies the Vachryn. Is he a mage then?”

“Mage, engineer. He even dabbles in invention. He built my chair.”

“Really?”

“After my accident, the doctors said I would never be able to leave my bed again. Papa didn't think that was acceptable so he came up with ways to help me move around by myself. He put wheels on Mama's favorite chair and took all the rugs out of the house. He built ramps over short flights of stairs and a magical box that carries me up to the second floor. He was my only reason to keep living, and he made living possible.”

“Obviously he loves you very much. So why do you cry?”

My eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look away, seeing through every wall and barrier I tried to put up. I’d hoped I had distracted him, but he wasn't going to let this go. And I'd thought Whyn was insufferable.

I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. “I don't like change,” I said. “I don't like not knowing what the day is going to bring, how I'm going to get around.”

“What's changed?”

“Look around. Does this look like Benevere? Or like a baronet's manor? Those are the only two places I've ever been. I know how life works there. Not here. This,” I gestured to the trees and the wilderness surrounding us. “This is scary.”

It was really only one of the reasons I cried myself to sleep every night, but I didn’t have to tell him everything.

“So you like to know what's coming,” Lans said. “That's easy enough to understand, and it's easy enough to work with. Here’s what's going to happen over the next two days. Today we'll ride. If we're attacked again, we'll protect you. If you need help, we'll provide it, no questions asked. Tomorrow, we'll reach your home, and you'll be back where you feel comfortable. How's that sound?”

I blinked. “That sounds...uh...fine.”

He patted my hand and left just as Vira-we came back into camp.

Was it really that easy? No, but it certainly made it easier to think of things that way. I had an escort. I had help if I needed it. And I'd be home tomorrow.

I believe I've mentioned I'm a worrier. I could be out on a nice date with my husband, and instead of thinking about the food or the company, I'm worrying about how I'll stand up or how I'll navigate the crowded room to get to the bathroom. New places and experiences are stressful until I've worked through every possible difficulty or outcome in my head. Having someone there who knows how I operate and who knows exactly how to offer the help I'm so loath to accept makes the anxiety more manageable. Josh (and select friends and family) provide this function for me. Lans provides it for Merry.

Merry has a hard time putting it into words since this is the first time she's had to admit it to anyone, but she isn't just afraid of change. She's afraid of the unknown, she's afraid of losing her hard won control. Merry's reasons are unique, but who hasn't been afraid of these things at one point or another. At every turn I'm surprised by just how familiar her struggles are despite her differences.

As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated. What did you think? What did you like, what did you dislike? Did I accomplish what I set out to do?

AE: A Gentleman's View                                                            AE: A Choice

Two Thursdays from now is November 1^st, meaning Nanowrimo is less than two weeks away. Aah! For those who don’t know, Nanowrimo stands for National Novel Writing Month. The challenge is to write a 50,000 word novel (really more of a novella) during the thirty days of November. That’s 1667 words a day or approximately six double spaced pages. If you hit 50,000 words by the end of the month, you win! Your prize: the right to say “I’ve written a novel”. I know it sounds daunting – 1600 words a day? Are you nuts? Well, yes, some of us are a little nuts when November rolls around. But you can be nuts too. What about that idea you’ve had burning a hole in the back of your head for year? Maybe it’s about time you go it on paper. Even if you have no idea what to write about, you’ve just always wanted to write a book, this is a great opportunity to get started.

And you won’t be alone. With over 300,000 writers participating around the world, you have a great support network and a community to cheer you on. You can check out nano activity in your region and join other local wrimos for write-ins. Once or twice a week you’ll get pep talks from other writers and published authors.

If you’re still in school and 50,000 words really is too much, there’s the Young Writers Program designed specifically for kids who want to write a book. They can participate individually or with their class and they set their own word count goals.

Thinking about jumping on the band wagon? Here are some tips to help you get started.

• Get in the habit of writing every day now. You’ve still got a little less than two weeks. If you get used to writing just a few paragraphs a day, it’ll make those 1600 words seem a lot less daunting come November.
• You can’t start writing the book until Nov 1^st, but you can do as much planning as you like. You can jot down ideas, figure out major plot points, you can have the whole story outlined in color-coded marker if you want. I’m a pantser (I write by the seat of my pants). I go into Nanowrimo with very little structure. But even I benefit from doing a little research and getting the big stepping stones figured out before setting pen to paper.
• Don’t edit as you go. The whole point of this is quantity, not quality. You’re trying to see what happens when you just let go. This is going to drive you nuts, guaranteed, but you have to ignore the little voice wailing in your head, otherwise you’ll never hit 50,000.
• You’re going to get stuck. It’s a fact of life. The key is not to panic. Find some tips for writer’s block – here’s a couple to get you started. And if you’re really hurting, there are some tricks of the trade. Like adding something unexpected. How about a flying purple ninja. You can play with your character’s reaction for a couple pages until you get back on track. Who knows maybe the flying purple ninja will end up saving the day.

So, who’s going to join me on this crazy endeavor? If you need a writing buddy, look me up on Nanowrimo’s website. I’m kendramerritt85 and I’d love to see you there. I’m still on a fairytale kick. Last year was Beauty and the Beast. This year it’s going to be The Robber Bridegroom/The Singing Bone. Well? What’s yours going to be about?

This is an excerpt from my novel, By Wingéd Chair, one in a series of posts in which I try to show how I use disabilities in my writing. Click here for my intro to the series. Whyn takes a moment to assess Merry and her place with him and his partners.

A stab of impatience shot through Whyn. He glared at the dark shape of the chair which was causing him so much misery. The thing was such a strange shape. The seat itself and the cushion looked like an arm chair that wouldn't be out of place in his mother's parlor or beside the fire in his father's study. But instead of legs, there was a pair of large wheels attached to an axle and a smaller pair of wheels in the front to keep the chair balanced. Merry’s feet would rest on a plate that stretched between the front wheels.

He heard blankets stirring and looked over to see Merry had finally woken up. After everyone else had already started the day. Patience, he told himself. It was only just now dawn, and she couldn't possibly be used to the hours he and his partners kept.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position and rearranged her legs so she could be comfortable. He studied her movements. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t walk. Even sitting on the ground looked hard, since she couldn't use her legs for balance, and she had to move them with her hands to get situated.

When she had propped herself up, she ran her fingers through her hair and uttered a cry of dismay. She pulled out the ribbon that held it and fumbled her brush out of her belongings. A smile tugged at Whyn’s lips. The curls tumbled around her face in complete disarray. His sisters had looked much the same after waking up in the morning. Toryn had never let anyone see her before she had fixed her hair.

The sudden memory caught him off guard, and he grimaced at the pain it caused.

Of course, that was when Merry turned around and realized he'd been watching her. She gasped in indignation and whirled away from him again.

He swallowed hard and had to look away. Her dark hair was shiny from her furious brushing, and the early morning sun picked out streaks of auburn in it. If she was just a little shorter, he could have been looking at Gisa and not Merry.

When he gathered his courage to face her again, she had tied her loose curls back in a braid and was pulling her chair closer. His brow furrowed and he wondered what she was doing as she grabbed the seat in one hand and the armrest with the other. With a tremendous heave, she pulled her torso up and across the seat, but he could see it was going to be hard to complete the maneuver.

“May I help you, Miss Janson?” The thought hadn’t even formed before the words left his mouth.

“No,” she said, gasping for breath. “I can do it myself.” She glared at him over her shoulder.

Humph, he thought. I was just trying to be nice. He scowled as he watched her. He didn't think it was possible, but after a lot of work, she did manage to pull herself all the way up until she could plop back into the seat. She was sweaty and panting, but when she looked at him, he saw her nose go higher in the air as if saying 'see, I told you I could do it'. He tipped his hat to her, giving her a sour grin, and left to find Vira-we and Lans.

This is the first time we've had the chance to see Merry from another character's point of view. I really like first person. I like the fact that the reader sits in Merry's head, hearing her thoughts, seeing what she's feeling, but I also wanted to compare how she sees herself with how her companions see her.

So Whyn takes a minute to watch her, study her movements, and I'm hoping that we get a better sense of him through his observations. His impatience comes from his own hurt, not revulsion or prejudice, and even in the midst of his pain, he is still a gentleman.

Unfortunately, the only thing Merry hates worse than having to ask for help, is having it offered when she really doesn't need it. Maybe something she needs to work on.

As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated. What did you think? What did you like, what did you dislike? Did I accomplish what I set out to do?

AE: Blinders                                                                             AE: Familiar Struggles