I was just looking over my outline for The View from the Wonderland Asylum and it occurred to me that I’m doing just what I had set out to do. I took the world created by Lewis Carroll and twisted it and turned it until it became what it is–dark, poignant, real.

I’m pleased with my work, so far. Now if only I could finish tweaking this outline, so I could get on that synopsis. (I’m half-way there…just a few more chapters…)

Something’s got hold of me lately. Not self doubt, but something else. Wonderland is vastly different than Vlad’s world. I can’t help but wonder if it will be as well received. And it doesn’t help that this book is lacking that sarcastic wit, that pun-loving prose that Eighth Grade Bites will be known for. Wonderland is wholly dark and without even a smidge of humor so far, so I imagine that’s partially to blame for my mood.

Maybe I need to rethink that.

Action, scary situations, and adventure are great, but without an occasional smirk, they may be too much to bear. After all, do I ever have a day without humor in it? No. So why should Dillon?

I don’t know. I need to think about it more and find out what’s missing.

I must be losing my mind, minions. For some sick, masochistic, twisted reason, I volunteered to write a synopsis of Wonderland for my agent.

I know! What’s WRONG with me?? Apparently the doctors need to tighten the buckles on my pretty coat that snaps in the back, because I’m horrible at writing synopses. Fortunately, I have the world’s most understanding, wonderful, fabulous agent there is to have, and I’m sure it’ll all work out fine. I’m actually stupidly excited about it, so there’s further proof that Auntie Heather has slipped even further off the deep end.

I’m also happy to share that last night I completed a rough version of a detailed outline for Wonderland (little notes to myself about just what the heck I’m writing) and, happy happy joy joy, I know how it all ends. BIG relief there.

I can’t recall whether or not I blogged about this, but my wonderful editor emailed a couple of weeks ago and asked if I had any thoughts on cover art for Eighth Grade Bites that she could pass on to the art department. Well, you know me, I have thoughts on everything. So I made up a little Word File, typed up my thoughts, included some examples and sent it on. Well, happily, she liked what I sent and said she’d pass it on. No promises, but it would be way cool if they used any of my ideas. Of course, they are brilliant artists and I am a lowly author, so really, what do I know about cover design? I can’t wait to see what brilliant artwork they come up with!

And now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you minions go out and pre-order a book. The fabulous Ally Carter’s I’d Tell You I Love You But Then I’d Have To Kill You is due to be released on May 1st!

Sorry for the distinct absence of, well, me. Auntie Heather has been immersing herself in all things Wonderland lately and, for a moment, she forgot that she has minions to chatter with. But I’m back to semi-sanity now, with news from the other side of the looking-glass.

Friday night it occurred to me that Dillon had no real reason to climb through that mirror…and even less reason to stay in Wonderland and figure out who’s telling the truth about why Wonderland is the wasteland it has become–Alice or Cheshire? So I thought about it all weekend, the whowhatwherewhenwhyhow of it all, and I came up with a few possibilities. Yesterday I started working those possibilities into a detailed chapter by chapter outline. I’m pretty pleased with what I have so far, even though I’ve only managed to map out the first four chapters.

The challenge with Wonderland has been giving Dillon the power to move the story. What I had written prior to my Question Fest is good and will likely stay in one form or another, but Dillon wasn’t driving the story. He was reacting to what Cheshire and Alice were doing…and this story isn’t about them. It’s about Dillon. So now that Dillon and I have an understanding of his motives, we can move forward, finish that outline, and dive back into Wonderland together.

As for Vlad…he’s enjoying his nap, and would be thrilled to remind you all that he should be making his debut come late Summer of 2007.

Today I’m catching up on blogs and feeling very anti-my-own-blog today. I’m not sure why, but I’m betting I have a case of Spring Fever—an ailment that can only be cured by lots of time in the sunshine, preferably with warm grass under my bare feet. But sadly, there is no grass to be found beneath my desk, and I doubt any will grow there anytime soon. So for now, Dillon and I (and the ever-present Vlad, who’s currently snoozing in the back of my skull) will have to accept this limitation and be content that at least the sun is shining through the window. Because until I get a laptop (Come on, advance check!), I’m chained to one spot.

Wonderland is going wonderfully. (Ha! No surprise there!) It seems Dillon and I have found our groove. I’m currently working on a scene that involves him and Alice. It’s probably one of the oddest chapters I’ve had to write—in that here’s where things get really messy. Not messy gory, but messy screwy. Anyhoo, the pace is picking up and, factoring in revisions for Eighth Grade Bites, I wager I’ll have Wonderland ready to go by the 4th of July. (and that’s being uber generous)

I’m currently reading The Gunslinger—first book of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. (Thanks, Jackie!) It’s good…but strange. I’m not a big fan of cowboys, so I’m finding myself repeating my mantra of “trust the author”. I know Mr. King won’t steer me wrong, and I really am enjoying it. It’s just an odd world, where I feel a little lost. Once I get a grip on what’s going on, I’m sure I’ll love it.

I’m also playing F.E.A.R. It’s pretty high on the creepy scale, but not nearly as scary as I’d like. I’m thinking of revisiting some Silent Hill or even Thief 3…there are some excellent asylum scenes in there I’d love to relive. But for now, I’m going to finish reading blogs, drop by Backspace, and head back into Wonderland.

I’ve been asked of some of the things I write, “But won’t that scare kids?”

Yes. That’s the whole point.

I’m dumbfounded at the bleaching of America sometimes, how everything is about shielding our children from anything controversial, scary, or dark. Quite frankly, it drives me crazy and ticks me off. Growing up is a strange and, at times, terrifying experience, filled with many speedbumps, ghosts, and goblins. If a book can provide a bit of escapism into a world where the scary stuff goes beyond anything they might encounter at Aunt Sally’s house…well, then I say its served its purpose. Besides…kids are smart.

They know the difference between real and unreal, but are still blessed with the fantastic ability to lose themselves in their imagination long enough to experience something different than their day to day. Most adults have lost that. The other day at the park, I overheard a little girl ask her daddy if he’d be a cowboy and she could be the cowgirl. Her dad shook his head and told her he was too big to play. It was sad.

And that, my minions, is why I refuse to grow up. Adults can be so boring, so cemented in reality that they can’t let go of all the grown up stuff long enough to immerse themselves in make-believe.

You can’t stop playing. You can’t stop pretending. That’s what makes life truly magical.

As for scary vs. too scary, I think that growing up where trolls live under bridges, where wolves dress like grandmothers and gobble up unsuspecting girls, where green-faced witches are melted with water…well, I think I turned out okay after being exposed to all that. And I think the kids of today will be too.

After a gruelling morning, I’ve decided to take a little Heather time away from phone calls and people and anything resembling responsibility, and sit down to plan my garden for the year. Now, some of you might recall that I have a brown thumb, but I’ll add a caveat to that–outside, my thumb can be quite green. And this year, I’m planting something I’ve longed to have for many years. A gothic garden.

Oh yes. Moonflowers, BellaDonna, Mandrake, Foxglove, Snapdragons, blood-red roses, hollyhock, and more. I’m giddy.

Well…as giddy as I get.

So, since my mind is playing hooky from anything remotely writing or publishing related, I’ll bid you adieu.

Go outside, minions. That’s an order.

It’s been an odd few days, minions–filled to the brim with the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I’m feeling rather hermitesque after reading a book that reminded me so much of myself in high school. Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson. The main character was strikingly, terrifyingly ME. It hurt to read. Certain phrases I still use today, the habit of nicknaming people, the yard help with her dad, art class, spanish class, the convenient (but obnoxious) friendship with Heather (and that name…my name), different thought processes she goes through, being the outcast. There are many more specific details that made me jokingly wonder aloud whether Laurie Halse Anderson sat behind me in one class or another. It depressed the hell out of me. But I loved it. It was a wonderful book. (and there were differences between Melinda and I…for one, her big, dark secret is entirely different than my own)

I also read The Burn Journals by Brent Runyan. And, as it was housed with Teen Fiction at the library, I had no idea it was a memoir until I read the Acknowledgements at the end. Incredible story, but very, very sad.

I need to maybe not read two depressing books in one weekend. Ya think?

Beyond that, there’s been little writing in the way of Wonderland. I’m not stuck or anything. I’m being lazy. I figure I’ve earned a little laziness, so here it is. I’m not pressuring myself on wordcount. I’m just enjoying the story as it comes. And if it doesn’t…well, something else will.

Until then, I’m going to go read something uplifting.

Preferably with a lot of gore.

The horror continues down in NOLA, folks. As an eye-opener, I give you an inspired list from Poppy Z. Brite’s LiveJournal:

Occasionally I’m asked by friends Not From Here, “New Orleans is better now, right? You had Mardi Gras!” or “Are you doing OK?” or some variation. Sometimes, particularly if they’re contemplating a visit, I even try to reassure them: it’s very possible to have a good, safe time here; the French Quarter is fine; lots of restaurants and bars are open. In truth, though, New Orleans and most of its inhabitants are very much Not OK. I present to you a baker’s dozen facts about life in the city seven months after the storm. Some are large, some small. I think many of them will surprise you.

1. Most of the city is still officially uninhabitable. We and most other current New Orleanians live in what is sometimes known as The Sliver By The River, a section between the Mississippi River and St. Charles Avenue that didn’t flood, as well as in the French Quarter and part of the Faubourg Marigny. In the “uninhabitable sections,” there are hundreds of people living clandestinely in their homes with no lights, power, or (in many cases) drinkable water. They cannot afford generators or the gasoline it takes to run them, or if they have generators, they can only run them for part of the day. They cook on camp stoves and light their homes with candles or oil lamps at night.

2. There is a minimal police presence, and most of it is concentrated in the Sliver. Homes in other parts of the city are still being looted, vandalized, and burned.

3. Many parts of the city have had no trash pickup — either FEMA or municipal — for weeks. Things improved for a while, but now there are nearly as many piles of debris and stinking garbage as there were right after the storm.

4. There are no street lights in many of the “uninhabited” sections, which makes for very dark nights for their residents.

5. Many of the stoplights, including some at large, busy intersections, still don’t work. They have become four-way stops (with small, hard-to-see stop signs propped up near the ground) and there are countless wrecks.

6. There is hardly any medical care in the city. As far as I know, only two hospitals and an emergency facility in the convention center are currently operating. Emergency room patients, even those having serious symptoms like chest pains, routinely wait eight hours or more to be seen by a doctor. We have, I believe, 600 hospital beds in a city whose population is approaching (and may have surpassed) 250,000.

7. Most grocery stores, many drugstores, and countless other important retail establishments are only open until 5, 6, or at best 8:00 PM because of the lack of staffing. This is only an inconvenience for me, but it’s crippling for people who work “normal” hours.

8. The city’s recycling program has been suspended indefinitely. We talk about restoring the wetlands that could buffer us from another storm surge, but every day we throw away tons of recyclables that will end up in the landfills that help poison our wetlands.

9. Cadaver dogs and youth volunteers gutting houses are still finding bodies in the Lower Ninth Ward. Of course these corpses are just skeletons by now — the other day they found a six-year-old girl with an older person, possibly a grandmother, located near her — and they may never be identified. The bodies are hidden under debris piles and collapsed houses. This is in the same section of town that some of the politicians are aching to bulldoze.

10. Thousands of people who lived in public housing were forcibly removed from their homes. It is now being suggested by much of the current power structure, including our very liberal Councilman at Large Oliver Thomas, that they not be allowed back into these homes unless they can prove they had jobs before the storm or are willing to sign up for job training. (Many of you may agree with this, and I did too, sort of, until I really thought about it. Hadn’t they already qualified for the housing? What about the ones who had jobs that don’t exist anymore? How can they find jobs in New Orleans if they don’t live here?)

11. There are still flooded, wrecked, and abandoned cars all over the streets, parked in the neutral grounds, and in many cases partly submerged in the canals out East. Now that it’s campaign time, Mayor Nagin is trying to come up with a solution for this, but he thinks maybe we should wait for FEMA to do it (!!!!!) and he claims the best removal offer he’s gotten so far was “written on the back of a napkin.”

12. Many of the FEMA trailers — you know, the ones costing taxpayers $70,000 each — have been delivered to homeless New Orleanians but cannot be lived in because the city doesn’t have enough people to come out and do electrical inspections, and the trailers need a separate hookup instead of being hooked into the house’s power supply, and a dozen other damn fool things. While these trailers sit empty, there is an easily constructed, far more attractive structure called a “Katrina cottage” that could easily be built all over south Louisiana. It costs about $25,000 less than the flimsy, uncomfortable trailers. FEMA refuses to use it because they’re not allowed to provide permanent housing.

13. A large percentage — I’ve heard figures ranging from 60 to 75% — of current New Orleanians are on some form of antidepressant or anti-anxiety drug. The lines at the pharmacy windows have become a running joke. When a visiting “expert” gave a Power Point presentation on post-traumatic stress disorder recently, the entire audience dissolved into hysterical laughter.

Today is a happy, fantastic, wonderful day. I just received my contracts in the mail!!! And I don’t understand a word. But! Luckily I have an AMAZING agent who will explain everything to me.
In other news, I’m having a fabulous time in Wonderland, and I’m pretty sure the entire thing will be finished and ready for my readers by Labor Day (giving myself some extra time to do the changes I’m CONTRACTED to do on Eighth Grade Bites. You know…because my CONTRACT says so…in the CONTRACT.) Other than that, I’m knee-deep in celebration and bruised from pinching myself so hard.

I still can’t believe I’m being published!