It's Me. Your Babe. Alina.
July 29 at 3:00 PM
Who is that sizzling hot babe? None other than Alina Puscau. I could definitely see her as a dark elf in my novels.
Check out her debut music video "When You Leave."
Just in case you're wondering what this is or who I am, allow me to explain...
I am S.E. Gordon, an aspiring fantasy author with a keen interest in the world of fae (faeries) and grumpy old men (geezers). Presently I'm swimming in a sea of text and have no idea what I've gotten myself into. Please check back often as new dribble is added daily and you don't want to miss a single drop.
Who is that sizzling hot babe? None other than Alina Puscau. I could definitely see her as a dark elf in my novels.
Check out her debut music video "When You Leave."
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Photo by Ligia Gordon
So I'd had enough. Enough of the miserable 9 to 5. Enough of headstrong managers breathing down my back.
Just simply enough.
Truth is, I've always wanted to strike out on my own. To start my own business, be my own boss. And rather than just earning a wage and eking by, I wanted to do something I loved; something that I was truly passionate about.
My writing.
After all this time, I realize that there were only two things holding me back: money and fear. I'd put enough aside to pay the bills for the next few months; surely I wouldn't let myself get in the way.
But it is scary. Very scary.
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It had been twenty long, painful years since I had a geography lesson; and there she was, laying there before me in all her glory--Jakarta, Indonesia. Certainly I knew this one; I'd been there before. But I thought they called it Malaysia or Micronesia. So damn confused. What did you expect? I had a freakin high school education.
I opened the book and flipped through the pages. It was thick, probably five hundred pages in all. Damn, I hated books. Perhaps they had it on tape, or better yet, DVD. I jumped online and Googled it, but no one had ever heard of the damn thing. Even worse, it didn't have a bar code or ISBN. I broke out my reading glasses. Guess I'd have to do this the old fashioned way.
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Photo by Sam Mugraby (Photos8.com)
Only a few minutes had gone by and already sweat poured down my brow. Had he gone left or right? It was impossible to tell. I'd always regretted choosing left over right, so it was right all the way. I plodded along, twisting and turning with the intricacies of the corridor, unable to catch a glimpse of my reluctant donor. The muscles in my lower back tightened as I wormed up and over a narrow pass. My breathing became more frequent as I barreled down the silver passage. I had to find Harold Fritz fast; otherwise it might be my heart on the chopping block.
I paused near a crack in the ventilation shaft and exhaled, a faint breeze teasing me from below.
"Excuse me, do you know where I can find Director Cahill?" came a voice.
"Sorry sir, he's not in at the moment," came another.
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Photo by Elisa Xyz
A little bummed right now that my entry for Writer's Digest Your Story #27 wasn't one of the finalists.
Here's the original prompt:
Start your story with: "I never would have purchased this house if I'd known that..." End it with: "That's why tomorrow I'm setting it on fire."
And here's my entry:
By S.E. Gordon
I never would have purchased this house if I'd known that a goblin lived in it. The agent promised that the plush pad on the outskirts of Westchester was devoid of crime and vermin. In a sense he was right, but nothing could have prepared me for the creature that skulked these hollow walls.
One morning while I showered the water turned piping hot. Hopelessly I fumbled with the knobs as the inferno scalded me. The downpour abruptly turned ice cold before dwindling to a trickle. With a head full of suds I proceeded to the cellar, cursing all the way. At first I thought the broken pipe was a byproduct of the ancient plumbing, but when the second and third replacements also snapped in two, I realized I was up against something else entirely.
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Photo by Teodoro S Gruhl
If you find yourself at the end of the day without accomplishing all you'd hoped, try a five-minute blast. What exactly do I mean by a five-minute blast? It's a short exercise where you blast through a small window of time without stopping, pouring all of your effort into one specific thing. This can be a scene from a book, a character sketch or notes about a particular setting. In short, it can be whatever you want it to be; just be sure to choose something that will give you a measurable amount of success.
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Based on a photo by montereypubliclibrary (Flickr.com)
The blond behemoth tossed me through the full-length window and stormed inside. I'd already shot him twice but he was too jacked up on heroine to notice. I would have loved to ask what happened to his clothes, but I was too busy spitting out teeth and glass. At least he wasn't armed, that much I knew for sure.
After talking to Scourge the night before, I felt the sudden urge to check out the local library, even though it was a good twenty minutes out of the way. Next thing I knew I was a punching bag for Jean Claude Van Chippendale. As I lay there counting ceiling tiles I wondered if I'd landed in the middle of some crazy episode of Jerry Springer.
The reject from muscle beach stomped over, striking me again and again and then hurling me through the Arts and Recreation section. After letting him kick the crap out of me for several minutes, I finally wizened up and slipped in a well-placed kick to the groin. He did not even flinch. Things were about to get a whole lot messier.
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