Author Celise Downs » Miss Snitch Mondays

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July 21, 2008 | Book One, Book Stuff, DA Series, Draven Atreides, Life in General, Miss Snitch Mondays

I had started Miss Snitch Mondays in order to introduce the public to the Draven Atreides series. I began posting the unedited version of Book One in May in honor of its release in April 2009. However, after recently attending a writing class, I realize I still have a lot to learn about writing and being a good writer. I’ll be enrolling in a writing program in September that will take 1-1/2-2yrs to complete. I want the series to be a success and I believe that taking this program will help me to achieve that goal. In light of this recent decision, I’ve pushed back the release date of Book One to April 2010. I still plan to post excerpts (which will end around this time next year) and you will still be able to sign up on the Pre-Order Notification List.

Poe and I reply in unison. I give her a look of disbelief before turning to the man.

“Yeah, okay, that would be a hell no. I don’t do needles. Can I swap it out with something else?” I want to know.

“Sure.” The man stands up, removes a brochure from the stack on the counter and places it in front of me. “Since you’re already getting a facial and a body treatment, you could replace the Acupuncture consultation with another sixty minute consultation. We have six other choices that are the same price. You can choose from any of our Salon Services or get a massage. We have plenty of choices there, too. You have a few minutes. Why don’t you take a seat and browse?” he suggests.

“Thanks,” I say, picking up the brochure and carrying it with me to the chair by the window.

Poe follows and throws herself in the chair next to me.

“You have no sense of adventure,” she says huffily.

“My adventure draws the line at needles,” I retort, reading the massage descriptions. The man’s not kidding. There are fourteen different types of massages to choose from.

“The needles are in sterilized packets, Dray, and are thrown away immediately after use,” Poe points out.

“How wonderful for them,” I reply dryly.

“My Mom says it’s perfectly safe. It’s an alternative form of healing. It works wonders, I hear,” Poe explains.

“Well, you’re obviously not hearing me when I say that I don’t need to feel the alternative wonders of needles. Why don’t we skip the whole needle thing and get our nails done?” I suggest. “At least, that way we can hang together.”

Poe looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Hey, yeah. That sounds cool. But I think I’d rather get a pedicure.”

“I can handle that.”

“Let’s get to it. I want to get started,” Poe says, clapping her hands together and hopping up out of the chair.

I stand up with her and walk over to the counter.

“So, you made a decision?” the woman asks with the same warm smile.

“Yeah, I’m going to get a manicure,” I answer, sliding the brochure across the counter.

“And I’m going to replace the needle thing with a pedicure,” Poe adds.

“Royale or Express?” the woman inquires.

“What’s the difference?” Poe wants to know.

“Express is thirty minutes, Royale is sixty. But with the Royale you get a hand and arm massage and a paraffin dip,” the woman explains.

Poe’s eyes light up. “Ooooh. Is that like the hot wax stuff that you peel off and your hands feel all soft?” she asks in one breath.

The woman laughs and nods. “Yep. That’s the one.”

“I definitely want the Royale Pedicure, then,” Poe says.

“Me, too,” I agree. “But the manicure one.”

“All right, ladies. You’re all set. Here are the keys to your lockers. Go on through the door and Marla will get you started. Enjoy your stay.”

Marla turns out to be a short Phillipino woman with a kind, motherly smile.

“Hello girls. Welcome. Are you ready to get started?” she asks.

Poe and I return her smile. “More than ready,” Poe responds fervently.

Clasping her hands, Marla smiles even wider. “Well, then let me take you back and show you around.”
She steps around the desk and immediately stops in front of a long vanity counter.

“When you are done for the day, you can get ready here. As you can see, we have supplied you with everything you need,” Marla says.

She’s right. The counter is lined with hair dryers, curling irons, smaller magnifying mirrors, hair spray, hair gel, Kleenex and lotion dispensers; There are four modern and uncomfortable-looking wooden stools tucked underneath the counter.

Marla lifts her hand to her left and says, “You will change here. We supply you with robes, slippers and towels.”

Three dressing rooms with slatted wooden doors are standing open to reveal a toilet, slippers on the floor and a robe hanging on a hook.

Marla raises her right arm and gestures down the hall. “Here’s the steam room and the showers. The jacuzzi is at the end of the hall. You are more than welcome to use these as well.”

Poe and I peer down the hall and see four tiled shower stalls with frosted glass doors. The burbling sounds of water can be heard from the jacuzzi, tucked away in a corner by the window.

“Please change now and I will show you where you can place your things,” Marla says.

Poe makes a sound of glee and heads for one of the dressing rooms. I laugh and close myself in the one next to her. I can feel Poe’s excitement and, for the first time in almost a year, I feel it, too. The ivory robe is baby soft with deep pockets and falls to mid-calf. The matching slippers are just as soft, making me curl my toes inside them. Both items are embossed with a family crest. Whether it’s real or just for show, I don’t know, but I have no doubt they’re made of good quality material. I roll up my clothes and stuff my shoes in my tote bag.

“Oh my God, these are so soft,” Poe gushes, rubbing her hands up and down the sides of the robe. “What is this, like, cashmere or something?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, but I have a serious love jones for the slippers,” I comment, scrunching my toes up again.

Poe laughs. “I know. Gosh, this is fantastic. I wish I could do this every week,” she says with a wistful sigh.

“It gets old pretty quick,” I say without thinking, then promptly wish I can take the words back.

“Like you would know,” Poe scoffs, quickly running a brush through her hair before shoving it in her voluminous purse.

I nervously fumble with my belt, feeling my face flush at my verbal mistake. I feel as though my heart is about to beat itself from my chest.

“Yeah, well, I can imagine. I mean, there’s only so much stuff you can do,” I comment, trying to sound casual.

“This place has a lot of stuff. It would probably take over a month to try it all.”

I nod. “Yeah, no kidding.” I almost faint in relief when Marla comes around the corner and smiles at us.

“Come this way, ladies, and I will show you the lockers,” she instructs.

~ Get to know Draven beyond the book by checking out her blog.

~ Sign up for the мебеликомпютри втора употребаDA Book One Pre-Order Notification List below

Posted by Celise @ 8:00 am | Criticisms

July 14, 2008 | Book One, Book Stuff, DA Series, Draven Atreides, Life in General, Miss Snitch Mondays

“Why would I not care?” comes the affronted response. “I care about all my clients. But you are not just a client to me, sweetling. You understand this?”

“Yeah. Understood, Chief.”

“All right, well, you will be careful?”

“Of course.”

“You will check in on time tomorrow night?”

“Yes, sir,” I say with a laugh.

“Do not forget…”

“Lock the doors, check the windows, set the alarm,” I recite. “I won’t forget.”

A sigh reaches my ears, but I can hear the smile in it.

“We will expect you on Sunday,” comes the gentle reminder.

“I’ll be there.”

“Well then, good night, sweetling.”

“Good night, Chief.”

Still smiling, I put the phone to one side and continue to type.

Oh Snap! He remembered! How coolio is that? I can feel that Evening Tea kickin’ in. Or it could be just the late hour. Corny as it may sound, after an evening of shopping with your best friend–yawn, yawn (for the shopping, not the best friend)–for an outfit that you really didn’t need in the first place, drinking a hot mug of tea on a cool night wrapped in your comfy robe is heaven to me. Party Girl informed me today that we’re going to be spending a few hours at the spa tomorrow. What a nice New Life Anniversary present. This should be interesting.

Question of the Day: Do other people have New Life anniversaries?

I log out of my journal and close the Internet connection. Getting up, I go to the bathroom, open the cabinet beneath the sink and pull a Tampax box out from behind a bucket and cleaning supplies. Going back to the desk, I sit down, open the box and dump out the small portable disk saver that I bought for my laptop. Plugging it in, I access the Portable E drive and click on the only file folder saved there: CASE #1: JEAN-PIERRE DU’LAC.

There had been no fanfare the day I received my first case. No file folder stamped CLASSFIED in big red letters. No manila envelope delivered by courier. No one on the other end calling me by my code name when I answer the phone (probably because I have no code name). No faceless voice giving me the scoop through an intercom box. No recorded message that would self-destruct in five seconds. It had arrived peacefully, like a sunrise, during my weekly visit with Ty.

It’s been an easy process so far, seeing as how I have two classes with Taffy. Somehow, she manages to bring up the spa in every conversation. The girl is truly talented in that aspect. The human subliminal messenger. Laughable for sure, even as I can picture her as the main star in a B-rate movie with the same title. I read over the notes I started writing six months ago. Dates, times, names, and any info I glean. Under my last post, made just two days before, I type in a new entry:

11 Nov: PD gets invite to Royale Treatment Day Spa Grand Re-Opening on 12 Nov. Will be attending as her guest.

#

It’s a quarter to ten as I pull into the parking lot of the Royale Treatment Day Spa. A few yards inside the main entrance leading to the Camelback Mountain Resort, the spa appears to be hidden in a forest.

“I hear the rooms are really cool. Like you’re not staying at a hotel, but your own cottage,” Poe says, pointing at the small group of buildings to their left.

“Yeah. I checked it out last night on the Internet. Definitely not your average hotel. You get a choice of mountain casitas and these spa casitas right here. They even have six private homes you can rent,” I say, sounding like a travel guide.

Poe tugs on the bill of her hat and bounces on the ball of her feet. “Wow. I should’ve looked’em up on the Net, too. I didn’t think of that. Are the rooms real nice?” she asks.

“Yeah. Real nice. The private houses are, too. They didn’t show the inside, but the outside looked pretty,” I tell her as we begin walking towards the entrance.

“Bet they’re expensive to rent,” Poe remarks, skipping ahead to check out the empty tennis courts.

“Look at where we are. Of course they’re expensive,” I yell out.

The parking lot looks like a foreign car dealership. The three limos lining the back wall are a not so subtle reminder of the type of people that frequent this place.

“Hurry up, would ya? I don’t want to be late,” Poe calls over her shoulder as she runs up the ramp and disappears out of sight around the corner.

I quicken my step, round the corner and see Poe looking up at the canopy of trees and turning in a slow circle.

“God, isn’t this fantastic? It’s like being in a nursery,” she says.

“Yeah. It’s pretty cool,” I agree, catching a glimpse of the gym and the boutique hidden amongst the foliage. “C’mon. Let’s go in.”

The building’s architecture is modern with Asian influence. The lobby is sparse, with just the front desk and two chairs in front of a large window partially covered by two huge brick slabs; a scented candle burns on the end of the check-in counter. To the left is a light wood door with a frosted glass insert labeled MEN. The man and woman behind the counter smile as we approach.

“Hello, and welcome to the Grand Re-Opening of The Royale Treatment Day Spa. Did you receive an invitation?” the woman asks with a kind smile.

“Oh. Yeah,” Poe replies, digging in her purse. She pulls it out and hands in to her.

“And your names?” the man inquires, rolling his chair up to a computer monitor.

“Poe Danziger and Draven Atreides,” Poe states.

He rapidly taps on the keys. “Ah, yes, here we go. Okay, it appears that you both signed up for the sixty minute Dragonfly Facial, a thirty minute Bamboo-Lemongrass Scrub Body Treatment, and a sixty minute Acupuncture consultation. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

~ Get to know Draven beyond the book by checking out her blog.

~ Sign up for the мебеликомпютри втора употребаDA Book One Pre-Order Notification List below

Posted by Celise @ 8:00 am | Criticisms

July 7, 2008 | Book One, Book Stuff, DA Series, Draven Atreides, Life in General, Miss Snitch Mondays, writing workshops

If you’d like to catch up, the Prologue started on May 4th and Chapter One started on June 2nd. This month, you’ll be reading Chapter Two. Enjoy.

CHAPTER TWO

Close to eight o’clock, I drive home after dropping Poe off. I tap my fingers on the wheel to the beat of a Smokey and the Miracles song. Gotta love the oldies. I grew up on Motown and rarely listen to the R&B and alternative stations Ricky and Poe seem to love; but I keep them programmed on my radio for them anyway. Pulling into the parking garage twenty minutes later, I head up to my fourth floor apartment. Closing the door, I hang the keys on a hook near the doorframe and inhale deeply. The faint scent of ocean and lavender wafts under my nose.

“Home sweet home,” I murmur with a contented sigh.

The Victorian Square apartments on Portland Street had been the last place on my list. There was nothing Victorian about the place, but I had taken an instant liking to the airy spaciousness and hardwood floors. I’d never known how claustrophobic I’d been until I’d seen this apartment. It only has four doors, five if you count the front door. The door-less bedroom leads straight past a door-less closet and right into the living room-slash-family room.

The main color scheme is purple, my favorite color, and the different shades are common throughout. From the Volkswagen Beetle in the parking garage, the dishes in the kitchen, the jewel-toned satin comforter and fishnet canopy in my bedroom, right down to my most prized possession: a dark purple, crushed velour padded chaise lounge with a matching foot stool and tassled pillow. Poe loves it just as much as I do and says that it makes her feel like a queen when she lays on it. It’s my favorite spot to chill out, too.

The complex seems to have its own little community as well. The ground floor houses a yoga studio, a small gym, a reasonably priced restaurant and a deli. It’s also spitting distance from the public library and a movie theater. The clincher, of course, is the best coffee house slash deli in the city: CoolBeans Café, which is on my way to school. I’m a frequent visitor and the girls that work there know me by name. Sweeping aside the beaded curtain leading to my bedroom, I kick off my sneakers, toss my backpack on a corner chair and throw my purchases on the bed. I’m glad I had been able to talk Poe out of “vogueing up”. I normally don’t mind dressing up, but it’s not like we’re going to the Academy Awards. It’s the Grand Re-Opening of a spa, for heaven’s sake. I know from experience if famous people show up, they’re going to look like they just rolled out of bed.
Moving into the kitchen, I take down my teapot, fill it with water, set it on the stove, and turn the knob. Moments later, the teapot whistles. I pull down a large heavy mug, pour the water, and repeatedly dunk a bag of Chamomile tea. Cradling the mug in both hands, I shuffle to my desk, boot up my laptop, pull up my journal and begin to type.

11 November
Reflection
It’s been a while since I’ve written in a diary. June 14th 5:31pm 2003, to be exact. My life of late has definitely been diary-worthy, but I no longer trust writing my thoughts down in a book. Books get lost. Or left behind when you have to leave in a hurry. Not that I really left in a hurry, mind you. There was a little planning, but enuff for me to know the meaning of the word “sacrifice.” I left a lot of things behind two years ago. A purple, fur-lined suede coat. Central Park. The FCFH and their dirty little secret. Chevalier’s the name and human trafficking was there game. Need some factory workers? Call up Derek Chevalier; he’ll get you people that’ll work their fingers to the bone for a meal and a chance to bring another family member to the States. Oh yes, and my name. I left behind my name for the second–and very last–time.

Today. This day. The 11th of November, is the anniversary of my new life. The day I left the nightmare of Olivia Chevalier’s life in New York City and took a seat in the offices of The Agency in Arizona. As Miss Snitch. A new life that’s nothing like the Witness Protection Program, because, well, it’s not. A new life that includes a very important job with a certain company that will deny my existence til their blue in the face. No matter how bad those bamboo shoots under the nails hurt.

I haven’t told Party Girl or GQ about my New Life Anniversary. I hadn’t really planned on it and probably never will. Well, I shouldn’t say never. I’ve only known them a year and circumstances could change. I mean, it’s not like it’s my birthday or anything. I just kinda have to be careful what I say around them because, well, there’s this one little thing–okay two–two little things that they–maybe three–yeah, three little things…sigh. Okay, let’s just say I have some privacy issues that I’m not at liberty to discuss. And Chief probably wouldn’t care because I’m just a client to him. Hang on. I have an incoming call. It’s Chief.

I stop typing to answer my cell phone.

“I was beginning to worry,” says the voice in a low baritone.

“Not enough to send out the cavalry, I hope,” I reply with a grin.

“No. I would have waited at least another half hour. You are late. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. Got caught up in the whole Internet thing,” I explain.

“You are usually very punctual.”

“I know. I got home later than usual,” I say.

“Oh? How was school?”

I shrug. “Oh, y’know, same old, same old. But it’s a good same old, same old. I really like this school.”

“You are not bored?”

“Not yet. I imagine I will be soon enough. Some of these classes are still new to me,” I say, taking a sip of my cooling tea.

“Did you hang out with Poe after school today?”

“Yeah. We went shopping, had dinner.”

A deep chuckle filters through the wires, making me smile.

“I know how much you love to shop,” comes the teasing reply. “What is the special occasion?”

“Spa day. At The Royale Treatment Day Spa. Poe was able to get an invite,” I say.

“That’s significant,” he says after a moments pause.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope you have fun.”

“I think I will. This time. It’ll be different.”

“I agree. So, do you know you have been with me for a year as of today?”

I smile and grip the phone tighter. “Really? I didn’t think you cared.”

~ Get to know Draven beyond the book by checking out her blog.

~ Sign up for the мебеликомпютри втора употребаDA Book One Pre-Order Notification List below

Posted by Celise @ 8:00 am | Criticisms

July 1, 2008 | Book One, Book Stuff, DA Series, Draven Atreides, Life in General, Miss Snitch Mondays, Movie Queue, The 4-1-1 on Me, Weekend Wrap-Up, writing workshops

Saturday, I attended a writing class taught by former university professor and indie pub owner, Pamela Goodfellow of Goodfellow Publishing. She teaches a 3-Level, 8-week program, Crafting the Character-based Novel out of her home. She likes her classrooms smaller nowadays. Needless to say, I’m looking forward to taking the program and her being my editor. Saturday’s session had to do with scenes. I learned so much that I’ve decided to share the highlights with all you writers out there:

1) Get rid of dialogue attributions. These are the words you tag when your characters are talking: she said, she beamed, she laughed, she cried out, she teased, etc. I had no idea those even had a name until I took her class. Unfortunately, I do that a lot. As I’m sure all you other writers out there do, too. Pam says “If you are writing in character, you do not need to use dialogue attributions because the reader already knows who is talking or thinking. To show the reader this you may use action, reaction or emotional responses. You can also set up gestures and tagged responses for the reader to get to know the style of dialogue for each character. It is not easy to do. The simple thing to do is to use and attribution. But, if you want to write in character you must force yourself to learn by never using them.”

2) The 3 stages of human emotional response are visceral (physical), behavioral (instintive and learned response) and chosen (where the story is)

3) Every scene has to have a hook.

4) Use place holders in your scenes. It’s basically explaining something that the reader should already know. Pam says “You use a place holder because you know the reader will understand it; usually a cliché’s or an explanation of something that had happened earlier in the character’s history. If you recognize this in your own work, when you go back to revise and edit, you can take that place holder out and write a scene to set up what you were trying to explain in the original scene. Then when the reader gets to the original scene he/she will already have the information needed and will feel so very smart to understand the emotions of the character he/she has become attached to. It is really a secret to “showing” and not “telling”.”

4) A character cannot have the same emotional curve at the beginning than they do at the end. Emotional Curve is the name given to describe the emotional development of a character throughout the story. For instance, a character who starts out cynical and untrusting of men at the beginning of a story can’t remain like that by the end. It doesn’t have to be a happy ending, but you have to show the character as growing and changing emotionally. Pam says, “It is the emotional changes that make the story real and relevant to the reader.”

One thing she did tell me was that I’d have to change it from present tense to past tense. That’s going to be a lot of work. Good thing I’m up for the challenge. Clearly, I myself need to grow as an author still–and as we all know, learning to be a better writer is a never-ending process–and I look forward to working with her.

Saturday night, the hubby and I went to see Wanted. Very. Cool. Movie. We loved it. It even had some supernatural undertones to it, which made it even more interesting. I mean, besides the fact that they were a secret society of assassins, they have this…unusual ability. The hero (James McAvoy) thought he was having anxiety attacks, only to find out it was nothing close. The one thing I’ve discovered lately is that–SPOILER AHEAD–I don’t like it when Morgan Freeman plays the bad guy. I haven’t seen his full repetoire of movies, but this is the third movie (Chain Reaction, Lucky Number Slevin being the first two) in which he’s been the bad guy and I don’t like it. I realize actors and actresses need to mix it up a bit, but he doesn’t appear evil to me. I can’t picture him torturing someone or being the mastermind behind a plot to do harm. Some people have it and some people don’t. He’s one of the people that doesn’t.

On Sunday… (more…)

Technorati Tags: Pamela Goodfellow, Goodfellow Publishing., Crafting the Character-based Novel, Wanted., James McAvoy, Morgan Freeman, Chain Reaction, Lucky Number Slevin

Posted by Celise @ 6:59 pm | Criticisms

June 30, 2008 | Book One, Book Stuff, DA Series, Draven Atreides, Miss Snitch Mondays

From now until the April 17, 2009 release date of A Royale Pain: A Draven Atreides, Teenage FBI novel , I will post the unedited version of this book. Every month will be a different chapter, but since the chapters are so long–and unedited–I will post a few pages every week. Keep in mind that what you’ll be reading is the first draft of Book One, pre-editor and pre-spell check. It’s extremely raw, so there will be spelling errors. Comments and opinions are appreciated and may be taken into consideration during the current revision process. If you would like to order this book at a discount, be sure to get on the DA Book One Pre-Order Notification List at the end of this post.

“Yeah. Pretty neat. I’ll probably buy them the next time I work,” I say, unzipping the skirt and stepping out of it.

“Hey, I saw a tan pair of sweats with that same apple patch on the left leg. You should get those to go with the hoodie. You’d look cute,” Poe suggests, her voice somewhat muffled.

I snort as I unzip the hoodie. “I’ll look like a dork. The Orange Crush sweats will at least look trendy.”

“Oh yeahhh,” Poe drawls in a high-pitched tone. “Either way, you’ll look good. You have the perfect figure for those sweats.”

I glance in the mirror as I pull on my jeans. I pause, one leg in, one leg out, and study my reflection. Vian Chevalier had been all about having the perfect figure. It was the reason I had been placed with The Foster Couple From Hell (The FCFH) three years ago. Vian was half Italian and looked it.

My lighter than olive skin tone had been “perfect”, I had been the “perfect” age, and voila: instant, “perfect” family. On the surface, anyway.

Poe’s “chance of a lifetime” had been a weekly outing for me back then. A weekly outing I had grown to hate within a month. Vian had seen it as a time to bond with her new daughter. Of course, it was hard to bond with your new daughter when you were in separate rooms. Or gossiping with your friends in the waiting area.

Maybe this time it’ll be different. It’s a different time, different state, different person, different spa. Maybe the whole experience will be different with Poe. It’ll be like my first time, but better. For three years, I had been someone I couldn’t relate to, “people like them”. Now, I’m back to being one of the group, “people like us”.

I’ve kept the same mantra in my head since I was a little girl: I am me, a beautiful African Queen. Me. Draven Atreides. Pronounced Dray-ven Uh-tray-deez, I consider this to be a symbol of my individuality every time I hear my name. No one in the world has the same name as me, even though it’s not the one I’d been given at birth.

“Dray?” Poe’s voice startles me with a jerk. “Dray? Are you still there? You didn’t leave me, did you?”

Shaking away thoughts I would rather keep blocked out, I continue to get dressed. “Yeah, no, I, uh, I didn’t leave you. I’m still here.”

“Good, because I think I’m going to get this outfit.”

I barely get my shirt over my head before the curtain is dramatically ripped aside and Poe enters, striking a pose. “This outfit” turns out to be brown suede crochet boots, jeans that look like she patched them up herself, a striped wine-colored dress shirt with a low-waist tie belt, and an olive green corduroy Army uniform cap.

“Very hippie-chick,” I observe. “The boots are definitely you.”

“I agree. Let’s beat a hasty go-go. I’m starving,” says Poe, turning on her heel to head back to her dressing room.

I laugh, stuffing my feet into my sneakers.

“Let’s.”