Prize positioning

So, tonight I’ll be going to a rather snooty wine pairing dinner for which the dress code is formal. No biggie. Jason’s got the tux he got married in and I’ve persuaded him to buy me some gowns.

Well, the gown I was gonna wear tonight was too long so I had to have it shortened. Once again, no big deal.

My chuckle came in when I went to pick up the dress.

Y’know how when you go to a snooty restaurant, there’s always nice cars laying around the entrance. I’ve had this happen with my Prowler, Viper, even one of my old classic Mustangs. I still chuckle, but whatever.

When I went to pick up my dress, it was ever-so-prominently displayed in the front.

I guess dry cleaners like to keep the nice stuff up front, too…makes the clientele look snootier. I dunno. It could’ve been a coincidence, but still. I was amused.

My website is coming rather well. I still have a welt on my forehead from banging against my laptop, but the site ain’t half bad. I might be able to upload in a week or so. Hopefully sooner, but all in all, not bad. For a little while there, I was beginning to wonder.

I must start thinking

I gotta figure out what I’m gonna wear to the World Fantasy Convention.

For most people [or at least Jason] packing for a conference is simply open the suitcase and toss a bunch of clothes in it.

But for me…well…it’s not that simple. The last time I tried the open-suitcase, toss-stuff-in method, I ended up with a bunch of clothes, but nary a single outfit. See, my wardrobe is huge and mostly full of weird clothes that barely go with themselves let alone with other pieces.

I have geese with stripes for goodness sake.

And fuzzy, bright blue flamed pants.

And a sci-fi swirl dress.

These are not bits that I’d want randomly tossed into a suitcase for an event where I have to look at least somewhat competent.

I realize there’ll be a certain quantity of time when I’m Jason’s second-fiddle-playing arm ornament. But there’s also going to be time when I’ll be Rina Slayter, author extraordinaire. I gotta come up with stuff that reflects both of those roles simultaneously. I don’t want to hide a spare hat in my bag and switch per role. It didn’t work in acting class, so why should it work in life?

So, once again, I’m in a quandary. How bizarre should I go?

For RWA, I painstakingly plotted out what I was going to wear when and I felt pretty good…like even if I wasn’t altogether with it, my clothes gave the impression that I was. That was good enough for me and I want to continue that tradition.

So here I am, holding up my $30 Armani and a metallic nylon Chinese top while shrugging my shoulders.

Guess I’ll need to wait until the deadline is closer and there’s more pressure.

Good golly I’m back

I had a fantastic vacation. Came home sick with a cold, but happy as a clam.

I’ve been back a day and I’ve already managed to ruin a new skirt… This was a replacement for the one I ruined last month after RWA National. Perhaps this is the real reason I shop at thrift stores…every time ‘spend the money’ for something new, it’s never as good as it should be. And what’s the fun of shopping if the funky, unique blue shirt you like is available in fifteen sizes. Doesn’t that mean it’s not really unique and one-of-a-kind? There’s fifteen in the store–add up how many stores–that’s a lot of people wearing your unique shirt, huh?

Whoa, I digressed there, didn’t I? Let’s just attribute it to my head cold. I feel like my head is normal size, but somehow someone shoved a bowling ball into it. Good golly, I just want this cold to drain away!

So, I made a surprising discovery today. It should seem like a ‘well duh’ kind of thing for part of it, but I did find the rest of it fascinating to say the least.

My local and favorite coffee shop [where I drink snooty tea while writing my novels] is having a month-long promotion where they’re giving away free tea between the hours of 1 and 3.

I’m sick. I’m grumpy. I’m looney.

…But I’m not gonna pass up free tea and an environment that might help me clear the headgoo away and get a scene written so I figure all’s gonna be great.

I get there and I’m still miserable! I grimace at my laptop. I sip my snooty tea. Grimace again.

Maybe the novel wasn’t gonna get attention, but my journal…oh my journal needed to hear exactly how fed up I was with being sick. Oh yes.

My journal got an earful…er…screenful.

But that’s not the fascinating thing about all this. See, I’d happened to look at the clock when I started writing. (I rarely ever do.) It was 2:19. By the time I’d looked again, it was 3:11, just after I’d received a short phone call.

Yawn…get to the good stuff, right?

Well, I kept writing until 3:19 rolled around and I discovered that in an hour, I was capable of writing at least 2300 words.

2300 words.

All it required was passion.

2300 words. That’s a book in roughly 2 days if I didn’t stop to eat, sleep or take a wiz.

And all that was required was passion and my laptop? Wow! It was like I saw my life with a new set of eyes. I’d previously thought I wrote about a thousand words an hour, so sometimes, if I didn’t quite have an hour, I wasn’t quite motivated to write because when I write, I like to WRITE.

But now that I know what I can get done in an hour, I’m wondering why the hell I’d made any excuse ever. Sure, if the passion isn’t quite as high, my productivity will go down, but coming down from 2300 words in an hour, I’m sorry, that’s not enough to care about.

I’ve got another hour before Jason gets home…guess I should go write something, huh?

sewn, rejected, submitted, requested and started

I’ve managed to add about ten things to my wardrobe in the last week.

No, I didn’t go shopping again…

I mended stuff I already have: Purple jeans, checkerboard 70s shirt, fluorescent pink 80s dress…and some other stuff that was necessary, but not flamboyant.

EARTHQUAKE! Just a tiny one, though. I thought I’d imagined it until I noticed the chains dangling on my ceiling fan.

Anyhow, rejection letters are streaming in–some for me, some for Jason–and I’m enjoying comparing notes with Jason. That’s what makes it fun. We’ve submitted to some of the same people. So far, he’s gotten better responses than I have.

But I did get a request to see more of one of my novels. I’m pretty darn stoked about that. That was my first written request and I’ve framed it. Ironically, I’d opened a rejection just before opening the request, so I’d assumed it was going to be another. Hell, even if I get a rejection from it later, I’ll cherish it and the euphoria that I’ve floated on for three days now. Life is very, very good.

And today…(I’ve saved the best for last) …today I started my next novel. I will easily have it done by the end of the year. (And no, that statement will not jinx me–this book is really that easy to write…’course I’m only in chapter one right now, things could change.)

I recall some of my acting classes back when I was in college (I was a lighting/sound/set technician, but required to take acting classes, too). Us budding actors and begrudging technicians were assigned a series of scenes that we had to re-enact for the class. I say re-enact because we had to take moments of our life and present them as slice of life exercises.

In essence, our characters were ourselves.

I found it remarkably easy to be myself…

I still don’t know why it was considered ‘acting’.

I got A’s on all those assignments.

And what am I getting at with this tangent?

My new book essentially stars myself as the main character, is based on a conglomeration of events in my life–although funny-ed up a whole lot–and is written in first person.

So far, I’ve felt like I’ve been walking down memory lane and writing an autobiography which is much more interesting than the way stuff really happened. (The truly bizarre stuff won’t start until at least chapter five or so–those events won’t even need funny-ing–they’re already bizarre.)

I might end up shelving this before it’s done. I might end up writing it faster than SR. I might even get bored with myself or finally identify with those budding actors in my classes who thought it incredibly difficult to ‘act’ like themselves.

Maybe they just didn’t know who they were and what they wanted. That’s what my scenes were all about. I was X and I needed Y, but Z got in my way as I dealt with A, B and C. If you don’t know who you are or what you want, Z is going to devour you and A, B and C will only kick you while you’re down.

Hmmm…I just unintentionally inspired myself to go write another chapter…

geese with stripes and my bio…again

In the very short time that I have owned my Armani suit, it has already inspired me…and I haven’t even worn it yet!

I redid my bio…slightly.

Here it is again:

Rina Slayter lives in Los Angeles with her writer husband Jason Stoddard and absolutely loves life. When she isn’t writing romantic women’s fiction, she’s working as a background actor in television shows and feature films. Visit her blog for more details and screen captures from her blink-of-an-eye performances. As half of the award-winning Ashleigh Raine writing team, Rina writes mostly paranormal, erotic romance and is published through Ellora’s Cave. She is webmistress of www.ashleighraine.com (check out all the bonus features), www.rinaslayter. com (read her Tales From Hollywood) and www.fictionados.com (she’s one of the founding members of her local genre fiction group). Outside of writing and Hollywood, Rina has a passion for early English history (especially Celtic Wales), cars (with Jason, she owns 8 and works on them), sewing (see some of her creations on her website), and antique dolls (she buys them in pieces and restores them herself), snooty green tea (no day is complete without a cup or two…or three or four) and thrift shopping (watch for her $30 Armani suit and the infamous Out Of This World swirl dress).

I couldn’t resist my addiction to shopping second hand stores. They’re incredible. I’ve been the exact same size since high school and have been thrift shopping since the year after I graduated…that’d be 12 years now. Consequently, my wardrobe is gigantic and includes quite a few gems.

Also, when I work as a background actor, it helps to have a diverse wardrobe. I discovered 70s clothes while working on Starsky & Hutch and Anchorman. Since then, I’ve learned to cherish my polyester shirt with geese and stripes.

And my grandma would be proud to see me in a purple and pink floral pantsuit. I swear she had one just like it when I was a kid.

Then there’s my crazy 80s stuff. Good golly don’t ever get in a clothing war with me–I can accessorize, too!

But throughout my years of apparel hunting and collecting, I have come across quite a few favorites and things I would’ve paid full price for if I’d had the money or if I’d found them new. The Armani suit, the thigh-high black suede witch boots, the blue flame pants, the black leather trenchcoat, my green Doc Martins. But then again, it’s the thrill of the hunt that truly lights my shopping fire. I never know what I’m gonna see or what I’m gonna come home with… geese with stripes, pleated swirls, or fluourescent daisies.

Buying second hand is recycling and saving money for the times when I might really need it… Like for super-nice gowns to wear to awards ceremonies. I’ve thrifted a few, but they’re on my to-be-mended/shrunk pile in my sewing room for that day or two when I have some good sewing time.

My Armani

It’s official. I now own an Armani suit. It’s a sort of celery color and it’s incredible.

…and I paid a whoppin’ $30 for it.

Yes. $30. Three-oh-dollars.

While perusing a vintage shop in Montrose of all places, I raided the 99-cent rack and then hit the half-off rack. Amid a 70s shirt (with geese no less) I came across a real Armani suit for $60 but marked down to $30. Zero stains. The pants zipper works. The buttons are intact. I have absolutely no idea why this suit was there, but it was and I left with it. The darn thing is gorgeous…as far as suits go. I now have a total of two actual suits. The other one cost me $30 and it was new! Quite a range there, huh?

Now the real question is what convention do I wear it to?

And on which day?

So far, I simply haven’t had a day when I’d wished I was wearing an Armani suit!

Ah well. I suppose I have some time until my next conference–World Fantasy.

But then again, what would truly warrant an Armani? Hmmm…Maybe finding the suit was a good luck charm in my quest for publication and agent representation. Maybe there’ll be a day when wearing an Armani suit is absolutely appropriate.

…Actually, what’ll likely happen is I’ll get called to be an extra on some snooty show and end up in the Armani. Figures…

I hope I survive!

There is no real crisis. I’m feeling mildly stressed at the moment. It’ll pass…

Ah yes.

Comic-Con this weekend, RWA National next weekend. I’m cramming an awful lot in these days. 2005 is insane and not looking like it’ll let up any time soon.

Of course, I feel like my life ends right after RWA National. It’s like the rest of the year is greyed out just so I can survive until the end of the month.

I finished the ugly shirt.

It’s still ugly and there’s officially nothing I can do about it anymore. I haven’t trashed it, but I bet it’ll sit in my collection for years before it gets worn… It’s really that bad. I’m not ashamed of it, but I don’t recall the last time I was unable to salvage a project before finishing it. I have several unfinished ones where I stopped right when things got ugly, but beyond those, I’ve never finished something that remained ugly through the entire process.

Oh well. If I build another shirt before RWA, I build another shirt. Otherwise, I just won’t wear those pants.

The ugly–but in a fun way–pants were why I was making the ugly shirt. But the shirt is ugly in the un-fun sense of the word.

And now it’s time to shove along. I’ve got packing to do, tea to drink, a scene to write.

Catching up…kinda

I’m back from the short, whirlwind wonderful time I had a BEA. I hung out mostly in the Ellora’s Cave booth, but did my fair share of walking the aisles. I was mostly looking to see what other publishers I can/should write for.

Lots!

I’m really excited about it all, too.

And while I was there, I finally came up with a real title for F. From here on out, F is hereby known as CR. Yaaaaaay!

Gearing up for RWA National has proven interesting so far. I’m trying to beef up my odd clothing wardrobe a little because people have seen most of the stuff I have…and I just can’t wear the same old weird stuff over and over, can I? Hell no. Not me. I gotta keep it all new weird, all the time. And it’s not like I don’t already have an enormous inventory of projects that need to be finished…or started.

So, today, I hacked the legs off a funky pair of jeans and a boring pair of jeans. The funky ones didn’t fit in the waist, the boring ones were too short. BUT–that means together, they’re perfect. I just have to add a ribbon to hide the seams and voila! Done.

Now I just have to do the rest of the skirts and pants and shirts and la-ti-da. My sewing goes in cycles. I go like gangbusters for awhile, then back far, far away. Something about being trapped in a room full of fabric and crafty stuff makes me go insane after awhile.

I’m almost done with my next book. ‘Course I’ll probably be saying that for the next month, but it’s still nice to say it now anyway. It sounds good…almost done. It’s got a nice ring to it.

I guess I should go work on finishing something…

Store not available