Kate Swenson

Frostabella and Her Celebrity Friends! Having a fantastic December, working as Frostabella the Snow Princess at the airport.  A strange little gig made even stranger by the fact that I start to work at 6 am.  While this may be the norm for some, I can assure you tis not the regular hour for theatre folk. Nothing like going through security at the crack of dawn with false lashes, covered in glitter, bumpit in place, and hot rolled curls a bouncing.  If you have never entered the airport sporting this look, you don't know what you are missing! My pal Frosty and I walk up and down the halls of the airport as people shout hello, wave, and come running over for hugs and pictures.  Little kids gasp and jump for joy when they see us--except for the ones who burst into tear and run the other direction.  I've had more high fives and photos taken this week than I have my whole life.  People say things like "best airport trip ever" and "thank you for brightening

That right--I am a National Novel Writing Month Non-Winner.  And I am okay with that. I have won many things in my time, including a bubble blowing contest and a minnow bucket. I have lost many things in my time, like every 5K I ever have or will enter and my marbles. Such is the life of a participant !  You win. You lose. You always learn. And, if you're lucky, there are snacks! What Did I Learn?   Do I Look Like I Care About Numbers? My official NaNo word count was 38,036. Better than a kick in the head! And no, I am not sure why I didn't just plunk down "but that wasn't all" for a nice round 38,040.  Anywhoo that is 11, 964 short of the goal. I learned how many words I average per session, without brain bleed. I also learned how far I can push myself to up the word count. Since it is never natural for me to think in terms of numbers--this is quite valuable. Now, with the aid of a calcumachine, I can better estimate how long it will take to

Let the triumphant kazoos sound!   I am officially Done Done with the first book! At loooooooooooong last my queries are sent and my brain is moving on. Looking forward to seeing how different the process for book number two will be.  It seems like it should be easier. Gulp. We shall see! Oh and look who is helping me pound out Book Two for NaNoWriMo.   My Self-Prize!  Pink, shiny, and way too big - but we can fix that!  What a good helper! 

Wanna Hear a Story? My photog friend and I are having a (weather pending) photo shoot.  The goal is to create an authorial headshot to replace this one, which is dandy for my theatrical life, but perhaps for the literary world it would be wise to show less of my - erm - talents. To make matters worse, in thumbnails the top of my head often gets cut off and I needs those brainses! We plan to gallivant around and see what photo-ops jump out at us.  Could be we get nothing and you are stuck with Ms. "I Know a Secret" over there for a while longer, but we will have fun trying. I would love a picture involving a wishing well, since it is an image central to my current novel and the nerdiness would be divine. Other than that we are open to suggestions - what do you think, Birdies? PS:  My Day 2 - NaNoWriMo Count = 3431   

I decided to join the NaNoWriMo Madness this year!  Nerd Power! Some selected blurb bits from their website... National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing on November 1. The goal is to write a 50,000 word, (approximately 175 page) novel by 11:59:59, November 30. What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month’s time. Who: You! We can’t do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let’s write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together. Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era’s most enchanting art forms! To give yourself permission to write without obsessing over quality. In 2010, we had over 200,000 participants. More than 30,000 of them crossed the 50K finish line by the midnight deadline, entering into the annals of NaNoWriMo superstardom forever. My plan is to jumpstart book two in the Children of Utrøst series.  I was tempted to start an

It's Halloween, I am working in a Haunted Forest, and the villains of my novel are the guilty parties holding up Operation Settle4NovemberFirst . I have evil on the brain. Imagine what my (already notoriously crazy) dreams are like! Upon the advice of my beloved Crit Group, I have been trying to scary up my bad guys. But there is a distracting inner whisper and I am starting to question how far I really want to push in this direction.  It is a fantasy novel, but there is a fine line between evil scary and EEEEV-ILL funny.  Which got me thinking... What are the necessary elements in a villain cocktail?  Classic Evil-Tini Recipe 1 Part Bitters to the Core 1 Part Anger Management Issues Muddle Reality with Twisted Past Squeeze of Lemon (Directly Into Wound)  Shake Violently And just how much can you tinker with the basic recipe before you go from refreshing variation to cough medicine? Utrøst's Evil-Tini Recipe 1 Part Bitters to the Core

Having readers with mad crafting skills is a definite bonus. It's a strange and wonderful experience to be gifted with a tangible interpretation of something that once existed only in your own mind.  I consider them (and their creators) to be amongst my greatest treasures. My friends The Henrys made this beauty, inspired by a cup and saucer in this excerpt. ** From Our Barney Google Line.... Charlie held up a hand, asking Pavel to wait. Scrambling onto the kitchen counter to reach the highest cupboard, Charlie gingerly retrieved a tiny tea cup and saucer. They were both black and covered with googlie eyes, and the pupils jiggled a bit when Charlie tapped the cup against the saucer in three sets of three before rinsing it in the sink. “How did you even remember where that was?” Virgil hadn’t seen the tiny dishes for years. It had been a part of Viv’s collection of Odd Little Kitchen Things. When the twins were younger, she had often brought them out to be admired.

I get until midnight-right?   I am 11 pages from reaching the end of the third and final edit. I will need my head lamp and some snacks, because it's a little murky down there. Apparently in the excitement to write "THE END" and the eagerness to start on book two, someone got little harsh and cliffhangery.  Tsk tsk.  Everyone know that a satisfying ending needs must be. It's the literary equivalent of an after meal espresso and square of dark chocolate. Deceptively simple, but perfectly rich. You want to leave fondly reminiscing over the quality of the meal, not giving in to the pressing need to find your fat pants. After I master that simple little task (snort) I will dose my badguy with that evil juice I have been brewing for some time.  I believe I will be able to do these things before the clock strikes Oct 2. Ah the good old days! Then I will shout "technicalvictory!" and claim my mini-self-prize......a manipedi! (This has been a surprisi

T he place was dead as a windshield. She gave the bar top another pointless mirror polish and then she felt it. After all these years she could still sense when The Season began, not in her loins or her blood, but an echo deep in the lacuna of her exoskeleton. She lit a smoke, taking a satisfied gander at her retirement plan. She was long past fertile and now she had a different kind of vault to fill. This little hole-in-the-wall had been just the ticket. It was stocked and ready. Soon it would be crawling with every young bug in the city hopped up on hormones and grass clippings, filling the air with a miasma of pheromones thick enough to choke a lady cockroach and definitely turn one on. With oscitated jaws and frisky antennas, bugs would buy her booze and rub legs across the table until it was time to get to the propagating. Inevitably there would be one lone fellow left moping after the last pair skittered out. She’d eat him; head first this year. Some call it

Today has been all about getting my house cleaned up before my next round of jobs kick in, but wanted to post a little sumpin. I have a major cybercrush on Chuck Wendig at terribleminds (shhh - don't tell) and I took his Friday Flash Fiction challenge.  One story in three sentences.  Here's mine. “A place for everything,” she croaked, lurching to her feet in a swirl of cat and hair. Brushing the crumbs from her chin and clutching the new treasure, she made her way down the narrow path, straightening the newest tower of phone books and tucking stray receipts back into bundles until she reached the bread boxes. “This is your place,” she whispered, nestling the tender crust in amongst its hard and moldy brothers. Clearly influenced by my fall cleaning, though (despite what my husband thinks) I am not a hoarder. So back to my Friday clean-a-thon.  On a final note, here are some things I found in my office today:  3 lost earrings, one wolf's ear, a foam pear, a beade

It appears that I have already broken my own blog rules by not posting for an entire week. Nice, Swenson, real nice.  I was imprisoned by an evil sapling? No, no evil sapling to blame. It was writing that kept me from blogging. I have been committed to keeping my Oct 1 deadline to be Done Done with Children of Utrøst.  And boy-howdy is my work cut out for me. The ending is a big hairy mess which needs rewriting. My villain needs a good dose of evil juice, which is currently bubbling on the back burner, still needs a pinch of unicorn blood. And somehow I must trim my word count so it looks good in a bikini. I am all for a good Brazilian, but I think I've already done all the major clearing and will have to get out the tweezers. (Classy-no?) Can all this be done by 10/1/11?  Without resulting in this? Not That Uncommon. You'll be the first to know. A week late. TEN DAYS TO OCTOBER 1!

Just enjoyed a weekend at the Kite Festival in Pacific Beach, WA.  With the sound of the ocean in your ear, plenty of Bloody Mary in your veins, and the gentle sway of the kites all around you, it's basically like spending the weekend inside a tropical fish tank. So. Chill. Let your Frog Flag fly! Did you know there was such a thing as Stunt Kiters? (Try saying that 3x fast without being a dirty bird!) Stunt Kiters, who are real, might just connect on the beach with like-skilled folk they've never met before and spend hours shoulder to shoulder making their kites dance in an impossibly synchronized dance. How?  How? Even up close it doesn't look real. So cool. I just love discovering a new nerd pocket! You know, one of those weird hobby/obsessions/lifestyles that make you say, "That's a thing?" It could be LARPers, adventure racers, urban farmers, part-time zombies, scooter clubs, or rabid collectors of Weird Item X. I love knowing that they'

Here are the rules of the first challenge for the Write Campaign .  Write a short story/ flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open.” If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!   I f you watched the video in my last post you KNOW I took both of the extra challanges.  Nerd power!!! Between The Rock and A Hard Place The door swung open, completing its dramatic arch and return, then slamming closed in her face. So much for slinking in unnoticed. Gingerly she tested the end of her nose, relieved when it did not wheeze like an accordion. The wood grain was quite lovely up close. In the long second before kissing oak, she’d glimpsed him sitting on the white couch surrou

Are you done yet? Um. No.  Well, yes.  But, no. It's a valid question. Truth is there are all kinds of "done" in the writing process: done with the first draft, done with second draft, done with crit group edits, done with rewriting, and capital D - Done. I get pretty excited every time I reached a done. I like celebrations -- there's dancing, hooting, and martini sipping.  So when can I officially say I am Done and sip my martini straight from the pitcher? In my mind Done is when this current WIP is beautified to the point that it can be sent out to agents. Then it becomes the book I am selling and something new will snag the title of WIP.  I am looking forward to that part of the adventure.  My goal is to be Done by October 1.  Will that happen?  Maybe-we will jump in that well when we get to it. It's all pretty clear to me, but it's hard to explain to my interested and supportive friends and family.  I have used many a questionable comparison: wri

Leapin' Liebsters! Feeling kinda sparklie because the dashing T.B. McKenzie over at Magickless has gifted me with an award for bloggers with less than 200 followers.  (He is also under the impression that I am an Aussie - which is totally not true, but makes me feel ultra cool.)  Thanks T.B.! And now a big drum roll for Ms. Saba who I am nominating for her very own Liebster Blog Award in honor of our shared love of Amelia Bedelia. My preferred cover art. Speaking of ultra cool - I thought you all might enjoy this video.  It's a little something put together by one of the theatres I work for - a fun way for the kids to get to know the directors and shows before they audition for the upcoming season.  I am SO EXCITED because this winter I will be directing an adaptation of A Wrinkle In Time one of my favorite books EVER!!  I travel back in time to let my younger nerd have a say.  Good for a giggle. Check it out! 

I have been tagged by the lovely Alynza Smith  and now must come up with ten random things about myself that will be interesting but not frighten any of my pretty birdie followers. Then I shall tag four of my new buddies and the fun continues across the internetwebs!  Here it goes. Hee hee - gross! 1.   I prefer plastic utensils for most foods, especially sweet or cold things. (But I can act like a normal person when out in public) 2.  My day job often involves playing dress up and being bossy...perfection. 3.  I collect frogs, but not just any frog I have frog standards. 4.  Whenever I leave a car, the seatbelts are twisted.  Same goes for a room with rugs.  Chaos is my calling card. 5.  Stuffed animals displayed in the back window of a car give me rage. 6.  I grew up in a very small town - there were 20 people in my graduating class. 7.  I love recipes and changing them. 8.  I like pink, but not just everything pink, I have pink standards. 9.  Been running a

Hmm..I probably should have made a bigger deal about the last chapter I posted being the last chapter I am going to post.  Tee hee - silly blogger.  So here is a little reverse fanfare (with added cheese so you will have to like it) Delicious-no? What could possible follow a giant can 'o cheeze? Good question! I have been scooting all over the internwebnets checking out how my fellow Write Campaigners do their thing.  Inspiring. Nerdy. Delightful. As I scoot I have been learning what I do and don't like as a blog reader and filling my brain bucket full of ideas.  I started this blog to share my writing adventures with friends and family and I will keep up with that. For the rest of my birdies, I am thinking book reviews, theatre skills for the writer, and probably some other silliness.  What would you like to see?

CHASE — No Show The waiting was starting to get to her. Chase leaned up against the curved wooden wall of the old wishing well. Stood up by her own twin—nice, real nice. Her butt was falling asleep so she flopped on to her back, stretching her legs up the inside wall of the wishing well. The old structure was perfectly maintained like everything else in Papa V’s garden. She couldn’t see a single cobweb in the triangle of roof above her, and the decorative bucket looked like it might actually be watertight. The wood of the interior was painted gray and smooth as an icicle, yet Chase had managed to get a ginormous sliver embedded in her palm. The dull throb of the intruding wood was a complement to her mood. Growing up, the well had been like a playhouse. Back then she and Charlie had been little enough to fit inside together. Chase hadn’t really thought about the wishing well in years—until this week when it suddenly began starring in her dreams, and she woke up with a feeling that she

Wanted things to look nice around here as I joined the Platform Building Campaign over at Rach Writes . It's a crash course in this whole network and blog world and I thought it would be a great way to jump into the deep end with my hot pink water wings firmly in place. Plus, I get a sweet badge for participating and you know I like that kind of business! So shiny! Now we mingle, play blogging games, and scratch each other's blogs between the ears. As I am used to collaborating with many artists at a time in my day job, this will be a welcomed boost to only collaborating with the voices in my head. Not that they aren't entertaining. Oooo - don't be scared new writer friends. I am just as normal as you. Looking forward to meeting you in my courage zone (smooches to Bob Mayer ) Now I must finish my cow choreography. 

CHARLIE — Secret Ingredients Charlie’s mother leaned in the frame of the kitchen door, lost in some kind of memory. It wasn’t a good one. Her eyes were far away, and her jaw clenched. Sometimes Charlie wondered if his mother had any happy memories. She’d never told them anything about her life before he and Chase were born; it was an extremely touchy subject. The sun slanted through the kitchen window, lighting flames in her red hair. Annika had already pulled and secured the shades in the rest of the house, so it would be ready for his sister when she got home. “Chase will be home soon, don’t forget your shade,” she signed as well as spoke. No one in the family was deaf, but Charlie didn’t speak so they all learned ASL. Annika always liked to keep in practice, she said it made it easier to understand Charlie if her own hands were moving. Charlie gave his mother a look; they both knew he would keep the shade over the sink open until the last minute. “What are you making?” she aske

VIRGIL— Gammal Värd (Seventeen Years Later) Virgil took a deep and stinging drag of his joint. Nothing beat the satisfaction of tasting something home grown. The marinara sauce burbling on the back burner echoed the sentiment. Holding his breath, he nestled Mary between the naked breasts of the mermaid ash tray. With a slow exhale, he waited for the smoke to dissipate, helping it along out the screen door with a lazy wave of the hand. Pulling the rubber band free, Virgil shook his dark pewter streaked hair down around his shoulders. Viv had always liked it long, so he kept it that way. Not as much left on top as on the bottom, but he could still manage a respectable ponytail. Heaven forbid that his grandson smell it in his hair. Though he wasn’t entirely sure why he bothered—Charlie was a bloodhound. And Virgil was a grownup, dammit. He picked up his scissors and headed outside. Dusk settled around the quiet yard with a strange, yellow-tinged heaviness. The huge trees surrounding the b