The Seven Link Challenge:
The wonderful Leah tagged me with the seven-link challenge. I pondered my response but I ask how does a writer pick? I have my favorites, but selecting which seven from ninety-five posts, is a lot like making the ultimate desert isle CD—near impossible. Not to mention the posts not selected will get pissy with me and complain, no doubt torture would ensue. Still, acknowledgement by another requires recognition along with heartfelt thanks. Aside from deciding this, is my oft written about aliment, my right brain domination which dictates my creative pursuits, as well as my aversion to following rules.
Instead, I decided to create a new blog honor and coined it the Lois Lane, aka the 10/20 award. I’ve noticed there are rules associated with awards, and as Michael–author of Thinking In My Head–knows, I dislike rules of any kind. Instead, think pirate’s code—more of a guideline really.
List ten loves and ten hates, followed by a short piece, which includes the use of your loves and hates. Passing along the Lois is optional. Factors to consider, the honor will not go viral on the web and worse, Oprah will not discover you, if you do not pass on or participate. This is your decision to make, so let your conscience be your guide.
Without further ado, the 10/20 Lois Lane:
- The color pink
- Geeks with unusual intelligence
- Un-trendy old-fashioned Bars with comfortable chairs with an undiscovered vocalist
- Avila Beach
- Passionate kisses
- Recorded live concert CD's
- Wearing new clothes on Mondays
- Watching movies
- Passive-aggressive plastic people who are arrogant without reason
- Bad food
- One size fits all
- Not understanding fate or the why of things
- Being sensitive and empathic of others (fine print: amazing trait, but comes with price tag)
- Saying good bye
Lila choked on the smog in Los Angeles every time she drove her pink caddie down the 101. She hated LA almost as much as she disliked the plastic people, bad food, and mind-numbing conversations she'd be forced to have after the interviews that followed the book signings in the bookstores scattered around the City. It's not as if she considered LA a real city with all its one size fits all personalities who were more comfortable spewing lie after lie in the dribble that substituted for a hearty conversation. In LA, it was all chitchat and bullet point conversations in over lit bars with new-age singers who couldn't sing, let alone write a verse of lyrics.
Yeah, she would hate it, but Mimi Sparks, her agent, had threatened her within an inch of a three-consecutive-book deal, that if she didn't get her ass on the road and out of her house in Avila, she'd be ghost writing memoirs for dried and washed-up Hollywood has beens for the rest of her days.
"Lila, I'm not bullshitting you this time. You're hot property in LA these days, take it and run with it now. I promise you your fame won't last. Next year when you're yesterday's news, and no one remembers your name, you and that Birkenstock-wearing-geeky-lover of yours can sit smugly in your pink house watching movies. Until then your ass belongs to me."
"I don’t see what their fascination with me is. It's a book. It’s not the Bible, and I'm not Moses."
"Passionate Kisses, is the next big thing. Julia Roberts didn't hesitate signing the contract. She called me before she finished the book and had me send over the contract. Go with it. You won't ever have to write another thing. You and the rocket scientist genius lover of yours can travel across the globe sipping martinis in bars and listening to those pathetic 'he has done me wrong songs' by those lounge-acts you love, while enjoying your fat bank account and living off the interest you'll be earning for the sale of this one bloody book. "
Mimi had a point. Lila shut up and agreed to be in LA by noon the following day. Leaving Louis behind wasn't easy and filled her with guilt. She hated good-byes, even the little ones. She left him at dawn after a sleepless night. Louis was one of those things she didn't understand. The man road into her life and turned the world she had made for herself upside down and redefined what it meant to be alive. He wasn't her breath, but he made her heart beat. Passionate Kisses came from some hidden part of her that only he had the key too. At first, it had scared the hell out of her, and she ran away, but it was too late. He had already slipped into her bone marrow. It was those things she would never understand so she stopped wondering and slipped in a CD by Mary Chapin Carpenter—one of her cherished singer-songwriters—and braced herself for the days ahead.
The challenge, take the award, link back and ask your readers to do the same.
How do you handle fame?
(Thanks again, Leah. And a side note, if you haven't visited Michael's Thinking in My Head, stop by and visit.)