GC has always meant a lot to me. It was the first college I attended after high school. Sadly, I’d never heard of it until my bff Red Kim (‘cause we know how many Kim’s are in my life- so they all require monikers) wanted to do a road trip during Spring Break to visit campuses. It was the first one we went to, but the one that I liked the best. It’s a beautiful school and it ended up being one of the most influential schools on my life. And for those who don’t know, I attended a total of six different colleges and universities over the years (UGA, Millsaps, GSU, MSU and Emory for one semester). Out of all the ones I attended, GC has always been my favorite.

While at GC, I was the junior editor for their paper The Colonnade I don’t know if anyone remembers the national publicity back when someone entered a side of beef in the Miss America contest (that was me, LOL). It was a campaign we staged at the Colonnade. Ironically, Red Kim was first runner-up that year and I swear I didn’t know she was in it when we entered the beef. I would never, ever have done it had I known she was in it- I love her too much. It was actually a protest against the overly stringent rules which were ridiculous at the time and not against the candidates.

Anyway, I was music director and then general manager of the school’s radio station for three years. It was there I began Terrorist Radio- a punk show I did from midnight to 4 AM. I was also a Resident Advisor at Wells, Adams and Terrell Halls– and on the first day of registration when we opened the halls, I would wear a loud and tacky Hawaiian shirt so that new students could remember and find me if they needed help (now you know where Nick gets that part of his character from).

Oh and we used to do paranormal investigations and seances in Sanford, Atkinson, Russell, Lanier and Ennis. And I worked for Milledgeville Update which was the school’s TV station. The best part of it all? I met my hubby in Atkinson Hall in a sociology class, and he proposed to me on the steps of the building.

But not everything was always rosy… Twice I was called before the dean because my student loan checks hadn’t come in (I had to work three jobs to pay for school which explains the above, and had no extra cash), and they were going to toss me out for lack of payment. To their eternal credit, though, they worked out a plan for me to make small payments until the check came in, which I then promptly paid the balance with. It was a rare kindness I have never forgotten.

Back to happy thoughts- I remember, I used to meet hubby in the library to study. It was there that I would research writing markets and publishers to submit to (the web wasn’t here quite yet and the internet was mostly libraries and government). I owe eternal gratitude to the wonderful GC librarians who spent hours helping me locate info and borrow books from other libraries (inter-library loan is still one of my fave terms). I also worked in that library as one of my many jobs.

One of the neatest things in the library though, was that it housed the Special Collections Exhibits. It was a magical room that had manuscripts and memorabilia, and in particular Flannery O’Connor who had been a student there, had her own section of the room. While I attended GC, I was published in the Peacock’s Feet which is their literary journal named in her honor and it still is one of my proudest achievements. Dr. Ferrell was extremely particular about what she let into it.

I also worked as an English peer tutor. Yeah, I really did have a lot of jobs and it was there I honed my ability to function with no sleep at all. Something that has definitely served me well in my life.

Anyway, I can’t count how many times, I’d go to that room and stare in awe, wondering what it would be like to have something I wrote be considered good enough that a university would want to archive and feature it. And GC has now done me that esteemed honor, too. I get misty-eyed every time I think about it! It’s an amazing feeling. Thank you, GCSU! Words honestly fail me and we know how often that happens :) You’ll probably need a crowbar to pry the smile off my face. Not that it’s going anywhere soon. I am so humbled and touched.

They’re holding the ceremony this weekend and unfortunately, I can’t go :( But I’m hoping to get down there soon so that I can meet with the library staff and they can tour me around the updated facilities which are much larger nowadays (the computer lab used to be in the basement of Atkinson when I was there and you had to sign up on the list and wait for hours to get one). Both GC and I have come a very long way, and that school will always hold a very special place in my heart.

Oh, but hang on… I do need to mention one other thing. They have the year I left wrong, LOL. I actually left GC in 1990. Hmmm… But that’s all right, I will definitely forgive them :) Heaven knows, I’m queen of the typos myself. I would never smite someone else for something I’m sure my CE’s have gone gray over.

I now have this page bookmarked just so I know I’m not dreaming and that it’s real gcsu.edu/alumni/alumniachievement.htm .

BTW, the first building in the photo is where I met my hubby, and where my group used to meet to start our paranormal investigations. One of the resident halls I lived in is just two buildings down and Red Kim lived in the one next door (Bell). Hubby proposed right there on those steps while I was sitting on the upper ledge where the lamp post is now.

THANK YOU, GCSU!!

First, I can’t tell you how excited I am. This is going to be E-P-I-C. We couldn’t be in better hands for the this- I promise you. I haven’t seen the script yet, but I did get a copy of the treatment. Tom really outdid himself (I did get a peek at his upcoming Stronghold script OMG!! I can’t wait to see that movie. It’s going to be amazing, too. Medieval zombies?! What more could I ask for?). The best part is that Tom gets it in a way you won’t believe. He truly understands the characters and has an eye for the drama and humor.

And the ending…

We all gasped when we read it. You are going to LOVE it! I can’t imagine any DH or CON fan not adoring this. I promise. Tom has really remained very faithful to the characters and story. We also discussed the DH TV series and who the best POV character would be for it. I don’t won’t to let too much out of the bag, but I will say this…

OOOOOOOO!!!!!

It’s going to be great. Again, I can’t imagine any fan not absolutely loving this. Imagine seeing the Peltiers and Sanctuary live (along with Ash and all the DH). Ileen and Lawrence really wowed me with their ideas and suggestions. And yes, we discussed casting and they suggested names that I feel will be incredible assets should we be able to get them. Actors I know can more than carry those parts. But I don’t want to say anything more lest I jinx something.

That being said, here’s one teaser. The actor they want for Acheron… yes, he’s tall and he’s everything- E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G- you dream of Ash being. Finger-crossed we can have him as Ash.

We are moving forward with everything and I will let all of you know as soon as I have more details. I can’t wait to share more!

Hugs!

It also includes the following letter from Sherri:

In the book, Infamous, a classmate terrorizes fellow students by spreading lies and posting a site that exposes everyone’s secrets. Brynna is the first and primary victim. Because of those lies, she is still, a full year later, having to deal with the fall-out. With the help of Nick and LaShonda, she finds a courage she didn’t know she had and she ends up writing the manifesto for the ABB. It’s excerpted here so that it can hopefully help those who are going through a bad time. Please feel free to share this.

If you’re the person in need, please hang in there. Believe me, no one knows your pain more than I do. I know what it’s like to be a kid who has no haven. To wake up every single day, praying that your whole life is nothing but one long nightmare and that today, you’re finally going to see that none of it was true… Only to be slapped in the face, literally and figuratively, the minute you open your eyes. I know the pain of not being able to tell anyone. That fear. That horror. The part of you that dies a little every day while you bleed internally and silently where no one can see. I know what it is to walk the halls of a school and be mocked for things that you can’t help: Your dark broken teeth that haven’t been fixed. Teeth that were shattered when you were hit in the mouth with a glass Coke bottle. Your unfashionable hand-me-downs that don’t fit. To graduate in a borrowed dress that is beige and not white because it was all you could get. To not have your diploma right away because you couldn’t afford the fee, or a class ring. Not even invitations for graduation. To sit in class every day while your stomach rumbles and gnaws, and to swallow air because you’re starving and you don’t have money for lunch, and breakfast is something you only see on TV.

My family situation was bad. The kids at school were worse, but some of the things that stung most were from teachers who mocked me, too. As a young woman and child, I kept thinking, “Why can’t you just leave me alone? Can’t you tell how much pain I’m in? Can none of you see that I’m barely hanging on?”

But then, I was good at hiding my pain. I had to be in order to survive. Let no one in. Trust none. Any information about you, can and will be used to torment you more.

I still believe it doesn’t have to be like that. When I was in eighth grade, my lifelong best friend (who became my friend because I fought a bully who was picking on her), asked me if I was afraid to have children. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll abuse them, too?” I was horrified. “I could never make a child of mine feel like this,” I assured her. “I wouldn’t do this to my worst enemy.” And I’ve lived my life by those words.

I wish I could say my bullies ended with my school days, but they didn’t. I was penniless and homeless a few years ago and I saw a side to people that I wish to this day I was still ignorant of. But through it all, I refused to let those “haters” turn me into one of them. I will not be that person. I will not lash out and I refuse to live their horrid life. As Socrates said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” I don’t know what demons drive them to their cruelty, and I’m grateful that I don’t. Even though I’ve seen it firsthand, I don’t understand how anyone can laugh while they hurt another. How someone can take pride in their cruelty.

When I die and face my creator, I want to be able to say that while I might have stumbled and fallen a few times in my life, I never, ever lashed out intentionally at anyone. I don’t want to be one of those bitter old creatures who robbed me of my childhood and innocence. One who, when they died, people applauded. I don’t want anyone to curl their lips when they think of me and to say, “You know dead just ain’t dead enough.” When I die, I want to be like my older brother and have people smile with tears in their eyes and say, “Dang, I really miss her. She was fun. This world just isn’t as bright with her gone.”

Life is hard and there are no guarantees. There have been so many times when I wish I could go back to me in those hours that were so dark and that seemed to be unending and say, “It does get better, Sherri. I promise.” Because back then, I didn’t know for sure. I hoped, but that hope came with a high price as I questioned my intelligence and sanity for believing in something that seemed ludicrous. “After all you’ve been through, girl, how can you have anything left? What kind of stupid can’t let go when it’s obvious this is the best there is? They were right. You ain’t nothing but an ugly waste of space.”

But don’t give up. Don’t give in. Do not listen to them or you when your mind echoes their cruelty. Fight for your life and your happiness. Believe in yourself. You are beautiful and you deserve your dreams. You do, and if you keep going, they will come to you. I have been kicked down so many times and so hard that I swear I have a boot heel permanently pressed into my forehead. You can’t imagine how many people have come at me for no reason whatsoever. Even now, all these years later, I have a hard time sleeping at night. I hear those voices and their hatred. They are the demons that continue to stalk me, but you know what?

They lost. I’m still here. And in spite of them and everything they tried to take from me, I am happy. I have three wonderful sons who mean the world to me- boys who love me, flaws and all. And I have a husband that all the experts and critics told me I couldn’t have. He is a man in every sense of the word and he has held my hand through the worst imaginable nightmares. I am nothing special. Believe me, I know. I come from unbelievable poverty (my childhood home didn’t always have running water or heat or electricity and for most of my life I didn’t have a bed). I was that dyslexic kid who was mocked to the point that as an adult, I won’t do a public reading. It even manifests verbally. Because I was hit in the mouth so much as a child, I had a horrendous lisp that made three different speech teachers tell me that I would never have a job where I had to speak in public. I was mocked for my accent, my heritage, my poverty, my stupidity and my special needs sister. I was ridiculed because the police came to my house so much that I was on a first name basis with the officers.

But this isn’t about me. I only talk about my past now because I don’t want you to give up. No one told me that I had a hope or a chance. I found salvation in fiction. That was the only place where people like me survived and things got better.

Now as an adult, I’ve met plenty of others that no one talks about who don’t just survive. We thrive. We are normal. You can’t look at us and see the scars we hide. But we are here and you will get through this, even though you doubt it right now. A better future is there. I promise you. This is your life. Make it shine. Remember that no one can make you feel inferior without your permission. There are those who will always try to “keep you humble” or think they’re “telling it like it is.” But they’re not. They’re being mean. Resist the urge to return it. Find your inner peace and bask in the knowledge that you are better than that.

The buck stops here and it stops now. We can break the cycle. We must break the cycle.

Raise your fist to the ceiling and shout: I am human and I matter. This is my time and my life. I am beautiful in spite of what you say and think. And if you can’t see that, it’s your loss.

Then blow them a raspberry and remember that you might be down today, but tomorrow is another chance for you to shine and to dance like no one’s watching. Spend your time on the things that matter… making the most of your life. There will never be another person like you ever again.

We will all be remembered by the tracks we leave in the hearts of the people we meet. You can be a light in the darkness or you can be the demon you hate. The choice is yours alone to make. The consequences are yours to face.

As for me, I have seen where that bitterness leads, and it’s a bad, bad end. No happy person attacks another. There’s no need. And there’s no limit on happiness. Believe me, there’s more than enough to go around and I don’t want to hoard it. So if I have to spread something, I want it to be warmth and laughter. And while I may not help everyone, if I can reach that one person like me as a child and young woman who just needs one moment of escape, one tiny word of encouragement, then my life wasn’t the waste they told me it would be. And maybe, just maybe, I’m not that disgusting, stupid, broken buck-toothed dog they called me. Maybe I’m not invisible anymore.

So put on your swan hat and hold your head proud. As my older brother used to tell me, we are all Veterans of a Screwed-up World. No one gets out of life unscarred. But we do reap the seeds that we sow. Bitterness gives a bitter harvest. It takes strength and determination to drive out the snakes and keep the weeds from growing in our garden (they can be insidious and crop up when we least expect them). And though we hate it when it pours, rain makes the wheat grow stronger. So send me your storm and I will dance in the eye of the hurricane and laugh while the wind challenges me. Most of all, I will relish every second of every day I live and use those lemons not only for lemonade, but furniture polish and to scrape the grease off my dishes so that I can wash it down the drain and bid it adieu.

Love and hugs to you, always! May the best day of your past be the worst day in your future.

That kind of sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it? But to all who have served, past and present, thank you so much for your sacrifice and service. And to the families of those who have served, may God bless and keep you, always.

Both my hubby and I were born at Martin Army, Ft. Benning, GA. Both of our fathers were career military, and served multiple wartime tours. My father spent over thirty-four years in. Members of my family have done various stints in the Army, Marines, and Navy, during both peace and wartime.

Hubby and I were originally supposed to get married Nov 18, 1990. We had everything paid and prepped when he was activated for duty Aug 1990 (Desert Storm). That was one of the scariest moments of my life. He was Transportation Corp (stationed at Ft. Eustis) and they’re always the first in. Ironically, I was working as a Civ Contractor at Ft. MacPherson at that time. My father was Infantry and my FIL a combat pilot. Hubby and I ended up eloping in a goat pasture because we didn’t know if he’d be home in time for the planned wedding.

Both hubby and his father went to military colleges. I’m proud to say that there has never been a war for this country that many of my family didn’t fight and bleed in (or in some cases, die), including the current one. I’m even a proud member of the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution), and that membership through both my Native American and European roots.

I remember growing up, my mother had all these photos of me as a baby with notes written on the back. Sherri’s first steps. Sherri’s first real food, etc. It wasn’t until I was older that she told me it was because my father was at war and didn’t get a chance to see me until I was a toddler. Those were the photos she sent to him, hoping he’d get them. Some were sent while he was MIA and it was how she coped. She pretended he was all right and continued to write every week, even though she had no idea where he was or if he was still alive.

She said it was so embarrassing for her because I would latch on to anyone wearing a uniform and ask them if they were my daddy. Since we lived at Ft. Benning, I grabbed on to a lot men, LOL. But all I knew was that my father was a soldier and since I had yet to meet him…

Once my father returned, he used to take me to work with him. Believe it or not, I thought he owned the Army. Since he was a Drill SGT, everyone seemed to do what he told them. And I’d sit in his office cutting out soldier pictures in magazines, making a collage for his wall while his CPL would watch over me. As a kid, I could hear artillery fire at school and at our house all day long. And it was nothing to see helicopters flying low over the school and house. At night, I thought they were UFOs. What can I say? I was a strange kid :)

It’s a hard job they do, and it’s so hard to be a member of the family knowing they’re forever in harm’s way- and not just during war. I’ve lost many family and friends over the years during maneuvers at home. Those who have loved ones as firemen, EMT and police, know what I’m talking about, too. These are the men and women who put their lives second to everyone else’s. They are willing to give their lives to keep us safe and to save us when we’re hurt. My hat is off to every one of you and to all of you who, like I once did, provide support to them, and especially to those who love them. Thank you all. Each and every one of you is a true gem and I hope that not just this day, but all days are filled with happiness and love.

BIG hugs!

The next Dark-Hunter/Dream-Hunter/Were-Hunter book is The Guardian out 11/1/11. And don’t miss Ren’s book, Time Untime out next August.

I’ve spent way too many hours trying to perfect a formula to help all of us. In the end, I’ve decided it’s magic…

Seriously.

I really don’t know how it happens. I always think I know every character going into a book, but they do things that constantly mystify and amaze me. I’ll think that a hero is going to be dark and then he ends up hysterically funny (Caillen, Solin, Fang, Vane, Dev). Or that he’s going to be really, really funny and then he’s dangerous and serious (Dante, Savitar, Lochlan, Wren).

And then there are those who are particularly poignant. The kind who have humor and at the same time, wrench your heart and gut every other time they speak. The ones who have the most tragic of pasts and yet they are trying to be human while not always succeeding. They’re unexpected and unforgettable. Most of all, we women want to wrap them up and keep them safe even though we know they are more than capable of and willing to kill any and everything that crosses their path.

Those characters are a very rare breed. Like lightning hitting a tree in the same spot twice in ten minutes.

But lightning did strike again with The Guardian, which is what got me thinking on it anew. Sometimes it’s just a matter of living with the character so long that you learn all the horrible details of his life (Acheron, Nykyrian, Syn). Other times, they were designed to be walk on characters you planned to kill off (Zarek, Nick), but they turned out to be so vibrant and lethal, yet vulnerable that I was driven to learn as much about them as possible. And in the end, I couldn’t let them go.

Then there are those like Seth who you think you know them going in and yet they surprise you on every page. Every time I went into a scene, I thought I knew how he’d react and he never did what I expected, yet everything he did made total sense for his background, and it stretched him as a character to a level that made him so real I still expect to see him on the street. Nick was/is that way, too. As is Simi. I never know what they will say or do. I just go with it.

The one thing that I think really helped was all the philosophy, history and psychology classes I took in college. More than any English/Lit class, they helped my writing by enabling me to understand humanity. Why we do what we do, and how we form our personalities out of our experiences. In particular, Pavlov, Jung, Camus, Kierkegaard, Hobbes, Maslow, Plato and Rand really honed my skills of delving deep into the psyche. While I don’t always agree with their opinions, that, too, helped as it forced me to analyze why I differed with their conclusions. What it was in my background that made me feel differently.

And that at the core, is what I use when writing. That and my personal belief that while we all follow a set pattern of behavior hardwired by both nature and nurture, there is always an anomaly or quirk that makes no sense given our pasts. Or the hypothesis I used for a paper in a college psych class: Our individual personalities are defined not by our consistencies, but rather by our inconsistencies.

Case in point, I was raised around nothing but Y chromosomes. I played quarterback and running back (though I did get to be a cheerleader for one year- only because my sister feared my male sports tendencies). I can flush a radiator, rebuild a carb, change my own oil and run with the best gearheads out there. I love heavy metal, thrash metal and brain melting punk (among other music genres). I have knocked a Golden Glove champion unconscious (not TKO) in the ring. I worked IT as a programmer and trainer for years. I throw a baseball so hard and accurately that my bud who is a coach for a major SEC university will not toss a ball in the backyard with me. Can out shoot my military trained hubby. As a rule, I can’t stand girl movies- give me horror or a shoot-em-up any day. Collect comics and manga, and do a whole slew of what most people think of as “male” things.

Yet, I, who wore boy hand-me-downs and cleats or combat boots all my young life and who once sported a mohawk, am very girly. VERY girly. I love makeup, high heels (the higher the better) and skirts. The only thing that makes my heart race faster than hearing a V-10, V-12 or Hemi V8, is a designer handbag or shoe sale. Seriously. I can’t stand squealing of any sort, but I love a good purse to carry (I can hear hubby groaning in agreement). And I’m obsessive about my fingernails and toenails. You will never see me without them polished to perfection or with either chipping, unless I’ve been very, very ill. I won’t leave the house without makeup. I live to crochet, cross stitch, quilt, sew, and while I can hammer on the drums, I love to play the flute and violin. Likewise, my Bauhaus or Godsmack is known to be followed by Opera or Grieg or even on occasion Dolly Parton, or Japanese Pop. I love drinking tea out of both skull and crossbone mugs and the cutest little dainty tea cups you’ve ever seen.

And there is a reason for every one of those.

It was by analyzing my own idiosyncracies that I was able to turn that outward and understand what motivated and drove my characters. Those weird quirks that make them real, breathing people. Why Acheron hates to have his neck breathed on and won’t let anyone stand behind him. Why Nykyrian won’t remove his sunglasses and lives to cook. Why Syn loves art and knows so much about medicine even though he’s an assassin. Why Nick still has a part of his soul even though he was born to be absolute evil. Why Seth and Zarek can’t stand to be touched (for different reasons) and why Seth wears war paint… why Seth hates the swallow tattoo on his body- things that make them vulnerable and that contradict what you expect.

Those are the very things that breathe life into the characters. It’s what breathes life into us. It’s why the same tragedy that turns one person into a serial killer, can make their sibling a war hero. Why one person becomes a driven entrepreneur while another, with an identical background, becomes a drug dealer.

The thing I love most about writing is the ability to explore what makes a person choose one life over another. What tiny or major event shaped them into who and what they are, and how events, big and small, can forever change them or make them willing to change and grow as people.

My father was a musician who played guitar, banjo, dulcimer, dobro, and harmonica. From that list, you can tell what kind of music he favored. I know every word to every Hank Williams song ever written :) It was impressed upon my young mind before I could even speak. Whenever I think of my father, the image that always comes to mind is of him sitting at the foot of his bed dressed in his army BDU pants, combat boots tapping/keeping time to whatever he was playing, and a white t-shirt with dogtags hanging down while he played and sang for hours on end.

On weekends, we would often go visit my Uncle Carlos who played even more instruments. They’d sit out front, on the porch while my aunt fed me pound cake. My older brother also played guitar and harmonica. I tried, but I’m naturally left handed and my right is partially paralyzed so while I love to torture a guitar, it’s not my best instrument.

My entire family loved music so it was always playing in the background of everything we did. We had a stereo in every room and since my crib and later bed shared a room with my teenaged siblings, I always slept to the radio.

I started building playlists for books as far back as third grade. Much like a movie, music added to the mood and it helped me to focus on the characters and stories, especially whenever I found a song that really seemed to capture the feeling of the character or book I was working with.

Another reason music is so important to me is that my oldest sister has severe cerebral palsy and is deaf. Trish would scream at the top of her lungs from early morning to the wee hours of the night. The kind of screams that people equate with someone being murdered. She was so loud that as a teen, I couldn’t talk on the phone much with friends because you couldn’t hear over her, even though she was in another room. She’d also pound on the walls. Since Trish never slept much (2 hours if we were lucky), I couldn’t sleep at night for her screaming and pounding. Not until I discovered the wonderful world of headphones. I used to go to bed with the loudest, heaviest metal and punk songs I could find so that they’d drown her out. I love my sister. She’s just really, really loud.

All of that coalesced to create within me a devout respect for music of all kinds. In fifth grade, I mowed lawns to buy a recorder so that I could join the school band. I wanted to play drums, but my mother thought it was a boy’s instrument and refused to allow me to be a percussionist. It was the flute for me (and still is). I played flute for the symphonic band, french horn in the concert band and was the sound tech for our jazz ensemble.

As a young woman, I ended up working soundboards for local bands, working for years and years as a DJ, was the lead guitarist in several bands, but my favorite was working as a music video producer for local Atlanta and Athens bands. I’ve been a music director and station manager for both college and rock stations. It was a lot of fun.

While I worked as a DJ, I’d be in the booth writing the whole time, and it was there that I started producing a true playlist for my books that I’d burn to a CD to take everywhere I went. I still remember when the first generation of MP3 players came out…

Okay, it was in 1997 and I couldn’t afford one, but I really, really wanted to have one. For Christmas 1998, a good friend took mercy on me and gave me a Personal Jukebox that held over 1200 songs and I was in hog heaven with my book playlists (I was working as a web programmer then and was never seen without my Jukebox which I still have). Yeah, it’s a dinosaur, but I still love it.

So naturally, I still do playlists for every book. My hubby and kids always say they can tell when I’m writing a fight scene by what they hear streaming out of my office.

And while I have as many as 200 songs that I put in a book’s playlist (everything from rock, thrash, punk, alternative, country, opera, classical, hip hop to rap), there is always, always the one that really captures the feeling of the book and characters. That one song that even years after I’ve published the book, when I hear it play, takes me right back to what I was doing and thinking as I wrote.

For Dance With The Devil, it will always be Matchbox Twenty’s Unwell:

All day starin’ at the ceilin’ makin’ friends with shadows on my wall
All night hearing voices tellin’ me that I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for somethin’
Hold on, feelin’ like I’m headed for a breakdown
And I don’t know why

But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay a while and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be, me

I’m talkin’ to myself in public, dodging glances on the train
And I know, I know they’ve all been talkin’ about me
I can hear them whisper, and it makes me think
There must be somethin’ wrong with me
Out of all the hours thinkin’, somehow I’ve lost my mind

But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay a while and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be

I’ve been talkin’ in my sleep
Pretty soon they’ll come to get me
Yeah, they’re takin’ me away

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay a while and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be yeah, how I used to be

How I used to be
Well, I’m just a little unwell
How I used to be, how I used to be
I’m just a little unwell

Is that not Zarek? I think so :)

My younger brother, Warchild has also helped out by writing songs for specific books and characters. You can always check him out on his site OfficialWarchild.com and Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1209038518.

My ever quest for that one perfect song has led me to discover some great talents over the years. One of my recent ones was offered as a 69 cent download on iTunes and it ended up being the theme for The Guardian. It completely captured the mood and feel of Seth.

Come Home by OneRepulic

Hello world
Hope you’re listening
Forgive me if I’m young
For speaking out of turn
There’s someone I’ve been missing
I think that they could be
The better half of me
They’re in the wrong place trying to make it right
But I’m tired of justifying
So I say you’ll..

[Chorus]
Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there’s a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
So come home
Oh

I get lost in the beauty
Of everything I see
The world ain’t as half as bad
As they paint it to be
If all the sons
If all the daughters
Stopped to take it in
Well hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin
It might start now..Yeah
Well maybe I’m just dreaming out loud
Until then

[Chorus]
Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there’s a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
Ever known
So come home
Oh

Everything I can’t be
Is everything you should be
And that’s why I need you here
Everything I can’t be
Is everything you should be
And that’s why I need you here
So hear this now

Come home
Come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you
For so long
For so long
And right now there’s a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
Ever known
So come home
Come home

And then earlier this morning, I found the perfect song that really captures Darling in Born of Silence. Ironically, it’s a song I’ve heard a thousand times and loved, but it never spoke to me the way it did today.

Creed’s Overcome

“Overcome”

Don’t cry victim to me
Everything we are and used to be
Is buried and gone
Now it’s my turn to speak
It’s my turn to expose and
Release what’s been killing me
I’ll be damned fighting you
It’s impossible, impossible
Say goodbye, with no sympathy

I’m entitled to overcome
Completely stunned and numb
Knock me down, throw me to the floor
There’s no pain I can feel no more
I’m entitled to overcome,
Overcome

Finally see what’s beneath
Everything I am and hope to be
Cannot be lost
I’ll be damned fighting you
You’re impossible, impossible
Say goodbye, with no sympathy

I’m entitled to overcome
Completely stunned and numb
Knock me down, throw me to the floor
There’s no pain I can feel no more
I’m entitled to overcome.

[Break]

Overcome

Overcome

You’ll never know what I was thinking before you came around
Take a step, take a breath, put your guard down
I cannot worry anymore of what you think of me
I may be crazy but I’m buried in your memory

[Solo]

I’m entitled to overcome
Completely stunned and numb
Knock me down, throw me to the floor
There’s no pain I can feel no more (to feel no more)
I’m entitled to overcome (to feel no more)
Completely stunned and numb (to feel no more)
I’m entitled to overcome
Completely stunned and numb
I’m entitled to overcome,

I may be crazy but I’m buried in your memory

Several people have commented on how angry Darling’s playlist is. Once you read the book, you’ll completely understand. Darling, much like Seth in The Guardian, is one of those characters who was caught between a rock and a hard place his entire life. Anyone who has lived that way (and that includes me) knows that there comes a breaking point when you really can’t do it anymore and you have to make a decision. You either relegate yourself to misery for the rest of your life and suck it up as best you can, or you find the strength to push back and stand on your own, no matter the consequences (which can be very harsh).

I’m mad as hell and I’m not taking it anymore. Both Seth and Darling have that moment. But while Seth was put there by the actions of others and against his will, Darling wasn’t. Like the Dark-Hunter Ren, he chose his hell and that makes it all the harder to break out and to reclaim his place in the world. What he’s done has always been to protect others, and when those others betray him one time too many, Darling snaps.

I love the journeys my people take me on. With each book, I learn so much about them and about myself. And I hope if you haven’t perused the playlists on the book pages that you’ll give them a look. Remember that in that handful of songs on the book pages is the “one” song always that captures the book best. See if you can pick it out and if you agree with me.

And don’t forget to visit the Warchild profile.