Recently on Plain Vanilla

Thursday, December 31, 2009

A Look Towards 2010!

My Dear Reader,

Here's a peek at what I've been up to recently:






That's roughly half of the screenplay I've written for a new web series called Drive Me Crazy. It's just a thing my friends and I are doing for fun, you know; no big deal. I saved the funny parts for later. See you in 2010!

Regards, best wishes, and silliness,

-Cecily Jane

Thursday, December 24, 2009

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

My Dear Reader,

Tomorrow is December 25th, which is traditionally overflowing with three of my favorite things: music, family, and Jesus. Yup.

So, I'd like to take this time to thank you for reading this year! We had some great times, didn't we? I think so.

Have a very merry Christmas, and I'll see you in 2010!

Regards, best wishes, and Jesus,

-Cecily Jane

P. S. Speaking of family, my cousins are awesome. They are also on national television.



(Courtney is singing lead, Katie is to her left with glasses. You can buy their stuff here.)


Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Meeting Celebrities

My Dear Reader,

Am I the only one who shies away from meeting famous people? Like, I prefer to avoid it, if possible?

I'm probably weird for being this way, but I think that celebrities, famous people, should just stay on the computer screen. Even if I really, really like them. Even if I'm a rabid fan and I've watched every episode twenty times. I'd just prefer it if there was still a piece of glass in-between us, if you don't mind.

There is this awesome community theater that I liked to go to when I used to live in Utah. The shows were, for amateurs, fantastic. At the end of every show, they have this tradition where all of the actors stand, in costume, by the door so they can talk to you as you leave. Most people love it. I, however, find it horribly, horribly awkward.

I don't really know why I feel this way. I guess part of it is the fact that I honestly believe that anything any famous person does while they're off-camera/stage is absolutely none of my business. Do I absolutely love Captain Kathryn Janeway? Yes. Do I need to know what Kate Mulgrew ate for breakfast? No. I mean, if she really wants to tell me, I'll listen. But, you know, that's her thing.

Part of it is probably that I want to protect the idea in my head of who they really are.

Another part is that I tend to be extremely awkward in those kind of situations. I always tell myself that they're human and that they occasionally throw up,* like the rest of us, but then I meet them and I'm like, "I saw them! They do exist!" I've been star struck by people in a student play, so I'm pretty sure I'd be hopeless in front of someone big. I'd just come off as some kind of idiot.

The only exception I made to this was when I met Orson Scott Card. I hadn't read any of his books at the time (I have since, and so should you), but I had this idea that he was a writer, and I wanted to be a writer, so maybe being in his presence for a short time would open up a psychic portal in which everything I would ever need to know about authorship would be transported directly into my brain. That didn't exactly happen, but it ended up being an okay experience. I wasn't a fan yet, so I didn't have a mental image to shatter, and I think I handled myself pretty well. I don't think it was the greatest experience of my life, but I respect the man.

So, you know, I'm a big fan of a lot of people. They don't need to meet me, though. I'm perfectly happy being a drop in the bucket of fans, faceless and indistinguishable. I don't need to write fan letters, or put my hand out for them to touch. Getting an autograph might be cool, but you know, not necessary. I guess I just prefer to meet people when I'm on an equal basis.

So, all I'm really trying to say is that I'm just waiting until I'm just as famous. Watch out, Kate!

(Just kidding.)

Regards, best wishes, and fandom,

-Cecily Jane

*I use this example because it's impossible to be intimidated by someone who is throwing up. Just imagine what you would do if you ran into Abraham Lincoln throwing up, for example:

Running into Abraham Lincoln normally: awe inspiring!

Running into Abe throwing up: ummmmm, can I get you a napkin, buddy? You've got just a little chunk right there on your beard . . . uh, yeah. I think I just heard my friends call me; I'll go see if they need me. Way over there. Yeah, see ya. Good luck with . . . that.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

What Would You Do with $1 Million?

My Dear Reader,

Sometimes, I just wish that I would open the website to my bank account one day and find that there was an extra million dollars sitting happily in my balance.

Just once. I don't think that's unreasonable, do you?

You never know. There could be some eccentric billionaire out there who, just to pass the time, works part-time as a bank teller. He could be an older man, grandpa age, and what frizzy white hair he has left could like to stick up around the crown of his head. He might also have a thing for sweater vests that his aunt used to knit for him.

Actually, I think he's starting to remind me of my college physics professor. The one who once told me that he was better at dating rocks than women. He was a really, really nice guy.

So this fictional billionaire, whose name could only be Cornelius Figgs, has this little quirky habit: when things at the bank are slow, he likes to pick a random twenty-four-year-old and stuff a million dollars in her bank account. Then he laughs to himself in a way that only a cute, eccentric old man can. And then he has to take a nap.

Why do I want a million dollars, you ask? Well, there are a thousand things I could do with it. The first thing I would do is buy a house and a car. They don't have to be too spiffy, just mine. Then, who knows what I'd do with the rest. I've said before that I'd probably give most of it away. This week, I was thinking that I might just open a bakery as well.

This decision was precipitated by the week I spent house sitting for my aunt and uncle, who now own a small coffee shop. While I was working for them, they let me get anything I wanted out of their shop for free. I could really get used to that, you know? Pastries, doughnuts, cupcakes, cookies, all baked by an expert who has recipes so good that when the State Department gets a taste, they decide to send some of my baked goods to Iran, causing a chain reaction that eventually leads to world peace.

Yup, I'm pretty sure that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad would love my hypothetical pastries.

Some days, I'd help in the kitchen, my face coated in flour in a way that makes me ten times as adorable. Other days, I'd be at the counter, receiving praise, adoration, and marriage proposals from people as they order. Sometimes, I'd just take a scone and some hot chocolate into the corner and write a story inspired by my patrons.

Yeah, I think I'd like that.

So, Gentle Reader, what would you do with one million dollars, should good old Cornelius decide to make a contribution to your bank account? Would you go into the movie business? Go to college forever? Buy a boat and sail all over the world?* Move next to the Jonas Brothers?** Bribe someone to leave politics?*** Type a bunch of sentences with asterisks?****

Please leave your fantasies in the comments section. And if you happen to see Cornelius, please point him in my direction.


Regards, best wishes, and a healthily wild imagination,

-Cecily Jane

*Jonathan, if you're reading this, sorry for stealing your fantasy. It's a really cool one.

**You know who you are. I, for one, wouldn't.

***If I had to choose, I'd pick Nancy Pelosi. She scares me. She's pretty rich, though, so I don't think a million would be enough!

****Oh wait, that's free. HA!

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Novel Excerpt: Joining Red Squad

My Dear Reader,


Sorry that this is a bit late. I had a hard time trying to find something to show you, but I ended up choosing this because it will give you a real taste of what this story is about. The main speaker in this excerpt is one Admiral Alexander Chapman. He, along with his brother, Professor Angus Chapman, is trying to resurrect a special cadet training group (Red Squad) that had previously been banned because of scandal. In this scene, Admiral Chapman is addressing a number of advanced students whom he has hand-picked to try out for the team.



“We stand here today in full view of the Golden Gate Bridge for a reason. This structure, as many of you are aware, is more than a way for people to get across the bay: it's a symbol of Starfleet's heritage. Starfleet, as an organization that has been around longer even than the mighty Federation of Planets, was built by our intellectual and cultural ancestors, and their ancestors built this bridge. A marvel of its time, it has withstood the test of time better than its designers dreamed. The Golden Gate Bridge, an icon of an age, was all but destroyed in our conflict with the Dominion. Slowly, it will have to be rebuilt, piece by piece, until it is restored to its former glory. Starfleet has a similar fate. Starfleet will also have to be rebuilt with young people like yourselves. You are each here because Professor Chapman and I have reviewed your Academy applications and believe that you could be an integral part of this rebirth. Together, we will form a team that will train the best the Academy has to offer so that they, in turn, will have the skills to serve in Starfleet to the best of their ability. This team, this agent of renewal, will be called 'Red Squad.'”



Red Squad? That was why she was there? A chill ran down Carlotta's spine at the thought. There was a lot to learn when you were waiting tables so close to Starfleet Headquarters—she had heard all the rumors, and she knew most of them were true. She had a sudden urge to just turn and run away, but she decided instead to stay and listen. The bridge that Admiral Chapman had talked about had belonged to her, in the way it belonged to everyone in the Bay. The admiral had talked about intellectual ancestors, but she was the direct descendant of some of the original workers. The blood that built that bridge was now in her veins, and it seemed to speak to her as if carrying the voices of the dead. Her ancestors had built this city, and some had even had a hand in building Starfleet. It was her inherited responsibility to keep their legacy in tact. So, even though her instincts told her to flee, she decided to stay. She would listen to this man, and if he told the truth, she would give him a chance.



“Now, I know what some of you are thinking. This idea is not new, nor is the name. In fact, I'm sure that most of you have heard the sad tales of what happened to Red Squad in the past. I assure you, though, that this will not happen again. Red Squad, in hindsight, wasn't a mistake, but it was dangerous. The idea behind it was to take the red cadets—the command-oriented students—and put them in a position where they would get more opportunities to lead. It worked on paper, and for a couple of years, it worked in the field. Once the war started, everything changed. Students from other concentrations were added with the rationale that they would compliment the command students, but this was twisted into the idea that they were a crew unto themselves. Red Squad went rogue—used by a radical for his own ends, the cadets stuffed with enough hubris to make them believe they could act alone. They were put on a ship, made a crew to fight the war on their own, and all but one died. Red Squad was created to breathe new life into the next generation of officers, to give the exceptional students the chance to excel. Instead, their lives were wasted in an ultimately meaningless pursuit. But we need that breath now more than ever. It's not just San Francisco that's being rebuilt—it's the Federation itself. It's the fleet. Each of you has a chance at becoming part of that process.”


The admiral stopped to take a drink of water and give his brother a glance before he continued.


“It's true that we're still going to call it 'Red Squad.' The name hasn't changed, but the meaning has. Those of you who wish to try out for this project will need to understand this new meaning before you apply. Red means much more than command, more than just the true color of this bridge . . . it has a deeper, more primal meaning. It means courage, passion, and for many species,” he nodded at Saraal* as if to admit that she was about to be an exception, “red also is a symbol for the blood of those lost. The cadets that died trying to fight the wrong war—they deserve redemption. All of those who died in the war do. So when you think about joining Red Squad, know that we will be a team stained with the blood of our betters, of those nobler and abler, and that our true mission is to do whatever we can to to honor the lives lost. Many of you knew one of those lives.”


He looked out over the crowd, and saw heads bowed reverently as he invoked memories of the dead, some out of respect, some out of agony. The noticed that the Esposito girl looked especially grim, almost pale.


“As you go through the application process, I want you to think of those who you've lost. I want you to think of what you need to be in order to truly honor them. That drive is what you will need to join Red Squad.”


The admiral finished his speech and sat down, with Professor Chapman seamlessly taking his place.


“Thank you, Admiral,” he nodded to his brother, “Now, for the practical portion of this meeting. In order to be a candidate for Red Squad, you must enroll in my Survival Skills class. You may be aware that this course is normally reserved for second-semester students, so you will need to have special permission in order to enroll. There are thirty spots in the class, given to the most worthy applicants. Out of those thirty, only nine will be chosen for Red Squad. There will be no changes in the number of students allowed in the class, or to the number allowed in Red Squad. In order to request a seat in my class, please fill out this PADD and turn it in to either Admiral Chapman or myself by the end of the day. Dismissed.”



Regards, best wishes, and honor!,


-Cecily Jane


*Saraal is Vulcan. Vulcans have green blood.


Tuesday, December 1, 2009

NaNoWriMo Redemption! Huzzah!

My Dear Reader,

The results are in: I won NaNoWriMo this year! For yay!

It wasn't easy; I slacked off for the first few weeks, so I did the last half of the challenge (25,000 words) in one week. That's what I call intense! So, I hope you will excuse me if this post is a little on the short side. My fingers are a little drained.

Those of you who have been following Plain Vanilla for a while know that this was my third attempt at the 50,000-word challenge. The first year, I nailed it, and I felt like I could do anything. The second year, I failed miserably, and I wondered if the first time I simply had something like beginner's luck. But after proving to myself that I can repeat my success, I've come up with some ideas as to how to win NaNoWriMo next year:
  • Pick a story that you can care about and characters you can fall in love with. If it's not fun, it gets a lot harder.
  • The more pre-writing you do before November 1st, the better. It's easier if you know what's you're going to write before you write it.
  • If your novel requires research, do the research well ahead of time. If you get stuck on the minor details, you can easily get side tracked from your word count.
  • Don't be afraid to just take an inspiration and run with it. If you get an idea for something that's ahead of where you are in the story chronologically, write it down while it's in your head and worry about piecing it together later.
  • If you're having problems writing from the beginning to the end, do snippets at a time. No one says it has to be a single, coherent story.
  • No matter how much planning you've done, allow yourself to explore as you write. One of the most rewarding parts of NaNoWriMo is when, in a frenzy of writing, you discover moreof your characters and story than you had previously imagined.
Well, that's all I've got for today; any more and my keyboard may charge me with abuse. Please excuse me as I bask in the glory of my accomplishment.

Regards, best wishes, and redemption,

-Cecily Jane

P. S. Excerpts of this year's novel are here, here, and here. There may be more to come on Friday!