Yes, another Wednesday has come in which I have little to say, but much to pass on. So, for your enjoyment…

An interesting side-by-side comparison of how The Hunger Games and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo movies stack up as adaptations.

Beware the Fairy Ring: first post on Spellbound Scribes, a group blog of paranormal writers, which shall feature yours truly! Meanwhile, fellow Scribe Adriana Ryan asks bloggers if they’ve ever considered a joint blog.

That’s What She Really Said: one geek chick’s reinterpretation of that annoying joke none of us can get out of our heads. (Yes, this post is a bit too computery for me, too, but it’s still an awesome thing to do.)

Cristin Terrill writes about the things we latch onto that will make everything magical and perfect. For me, it’s “after the wedding.” After the wedding, I will write more and send out queries and learn guitar and probably lose weight, too late.

Finally, I got tagged by the Lucky 7 meme by Nikki McCormack.  Here are the rules of the game:

1. Go to page 77 of your current MS/WIP (If you don’t yet have 77 pages of your current work in progress completed, just choose the first seven sentences.)
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines, sentences, or paragraphs, and post them as they’re written.
4. Tag 7 authors, and let them know.

I’m pretty sure this meme has struck EVERYONE I KNOW by now, but if you’re reading this and haven’t been tagged, consider yourself one of my lucky seven.

So, without further ado, seven sentences from page 77 of Shaken. (And just for the record, since my laptop is in the shop–sob–I had to download my own book to give you these seven sentences.)

Still, this is an emergency.

Armed with my vodka, a cappuccino, and the optimistic gesture of a box of condoms, I step back onto the sidewalk. I feel absurdly better, like I’ve taken control of my life, and everything will be fantastic after I finish this one cup of coffee and fix myself a fresh martini. Some caffeine, a drink, and an evening with Tom, and I’ll conquer this case, no problem.

Almost excited, I start to hurry past the alley where bums usually convene on
weeknights, but something I glimpse from the corner of my eye makes me stop. Midway down the alley, someone is sprawled, spread-eagle, across the ground, about two feet from a dumpster. He isn’t moving. A fleeting vision of my date with Tom dances through my head, and I sigh.

Wow, that read like the blurb from the first page inside the cover that mystery novels sometimes have, didn’t it?

Finally, a giggle for all the Hunger Games fans: