Yesterday was uneventful. We didn't leave the hotel. Not once. I made it as far as the ice machine once...Ciara didn't make it past the threshold of our room. Fortunately we can see TONS from our window. We can see all the fireworks and fun stuff from Treasure Island (can't see the ship but we saw it today so that's okay)...We get to see the Volcano from the Mirage (our hotel) and tonight we are going to see the only other thing I have really wanted to see: the fountains at the Bellagio.
Today we ventured out into the world. First thing we did was we watched travel channel barbeque paradise as we got dressed so we had lunch at the BB King Blues Club and had some gooooooood barbeque pulled pork sandwiches. By the way, if you ever go there and if you like dil pickles, you have GOT to have the fried pickles. They were literally TO.DIE.FOR. After we ate we set out seeking the Stratosphere. It was a lot farther than I originally thought, but after a LONG time we finally made it. I kind of enjoyed the walk though because we literally got to see everything at the north end of the strip. I think I enjoyed it more than Ciara anyway.... We stood in line for a while and then we got to go up into the observation deck. We took lots of pictures to prove that we left the room. Tonight we are going to watch idol and then go see the fountains and then tomorrow we head home. We've been having such a good time just hanging out and doing the things we found interesting...even if that does mean sitting in our room watching Spice World with the blackout curtains shut in the middle of the day.
Well, I'll say goodbye for now. I'm gonna rest up and read for a little bit. I'm a little tired from all the excitement today. It doesn't sound like much but trust me, if you were here you might feel a little bit differently.
-Mattie
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Private: Chapter 1
Okay. I know I'm always bugging you all to read this book. But here is a way to sample the first chapter of the first book without making you do any extra work. Here is the 1st chapter of the 1st book in the Private Series by Kate Brian. To view the PDF version, go to http://www.privatenovels.com/images/pdf/private_ch1.pdf
Where I come from everything is gray. The bland, square strip malls. The water in the lake at the center of town. Even the sunlight has amurky quality.We barely get spring and we never get autumn. The leaves fall off the sickly trees early each September before the even have a chance to change, tumbling down on the shingled roofs of the standard-issue houses, each one exactly the same as the last. If you want to see beauty in Croton, Pennsylvania, you’ve got to sit in your ten-by-ten bedroom in your boring split-level house and close your eyes. You have to use your imagination. Some girls see themselves walking red carpets with movie star boyfriends while flashbulbs pop. Others, I’m sure, go the princess route, conjuring up diamonds and tiaras and knights on white horses. All I imagined my entire ninth grade year was this: Easton Academy. How I found myself there, in the place of my daydreams, while the rest of my classmates were entering the dank dreariness of Croton High, I still am not totally sure. Something to do with my soccer and lacrosse skills, my grades, the stellar recommendation of outgoing Easton senior Felicia Reynolds (my brother Scott’s older, cooler ex), and I think a little bit of begging on my father’s part. But at this point, I didn’t care. I was there, and this place was everything I had dreamed it would be. As my dad drove our dented Subaru through the sunny streets of Easton, Connecticut, it was all I could do to keep from pressing my nose to the dog-slobbered window. The shops here had colorful cloth awnings and windows that gleamed. The streetlamps were the old-fashioned kind that were electric now, but had once been lit by a guy on a horse toting a pole and a flame. Potted plants hung from these lamps, bursting with bright red flowers, still dripping from a recent dousing with a garden hose. Even the sidewalks were pretty; neat and lined with brick, topped by towering oak trees. Beneath the shade of these trees, a pair of girls my age chatted their way out of a boutique called Sweet Nothings, swinging clear bags stacked with neatly folded sweaters and skirts. As out-of-place as I felt in my worn Lee jeans and my blue T-shirt, I had never wanted to live anywheremore than I wanted to live here, in Easton. I couldn’t believe that very soon I actually would. I felt something warminsidemy chest. Something I had felt less and less over the last few years since my mother’s accident. I recognized it dimly as hope. Easton Academy is accessible by a small two-lane road, which winds up from town into the hills above. A small wooden sign on a short stone base marks the entrance to the school. EASTON ACADEMY
ESTABLISHED 1858 it reads in faded letters. The sign is obscured by the low branch of a birch tree, as if to convey that if you belong here, you know where you were going and if you do not, they aren’t going to great lengths to help you find your way.
My father turned the car under the iron and brick archway and I was sucked in. Hard. Here were buildings of brick and stone, topped by shingled roofs and spires, tradition and pride oozing
from every dated cornerstone. Here were ancient, weathered, arched doorways, thick wooden doors on iron hinges, cobblestone walks lined by neat beds of flowers. Here were pristine playing
fields of bright green grass and gleaming white lines. Everything I saw was perfect. Nothing reminded me of home. “Reed, you’re the navigator. Where do I go?” my father asked.
Easton’s orientationmap had become a sweaty, crumpled ball in my hand. I flattened it overmy thigh as if I hadn’tmemorized it ten times over. “Make a right by the fountain,” I told him, trying to sound much calmer than I felt. “The sophomore girls’ dorm is the
last one on the circle.” We drove by a matching set of convertibleMercedes. A girl with
blond hair stood idly by while a man—her father? her butler?— unloaded a huge set of Louis Vuitton luggage onto the curb.My dad whistled. “These people sure know how to live,” he said, and I was instantly irritated by his awe, even though I felt it myself. He
ducked his head so he could see up to the top of the clock tower, which I knew from my many hours of paging through the Easton catalog marked the ancient library. What I wanted to say was, “Da-a-ad!”What I said was, “I know.” He would be gone soon, and if I snapped at him I would regret it later when I was alone in this strange, picture-book place. Besides,
I had a feeling that girls like the one we had just seen never said things like “Da-a-ad!” Outside the three imposing dorms that stood around the circle at themidpoint of the hill, families kissed and hugged and checked that everyone had everything they needed. Boys in khakis and white
shirts kicked arround a soccer ball, their blazers tossed aside, their cheeks blotched and ruddy. A pair of stern-looking teachers stood near the dry stone fountain, nodding as they spoke toward each other’s ears. Girls with shimmering hair compared schedules, laughing and pointing and whispering behind their hands. I stared at the girls, wondering if by tomorrow I would know
them. Wondering if any of them would be my friends. I had never had many girlfriends. Or any, actually. I was a loner by necessity—keeping people away from my house and my mother and therefore myself. Plus there was the fact that I wasn’t interested in the things most girls seemed to be interested in—clothes and gossip and Us Weekly. Back home I was always more comfortable around guys. Guys didn’t feel the need to ask questions, to check out your room and
your house and know all the intimate details of your life. So I mostly hung out with Scott and his friends, especially Adam Robinson, whom I had dated all summer and who would be a senior at Croton High this year. I guess the fact that I had broken up with him and come here, thereby not being the first sophomore girl ever to have a senior boyfriend driving her to school on the first day, would be just another thing that would mystify the girls in my grade.
Of course, they were easily mystified. I hoped it would be different here. It knew it would be. Look at it. How could it not be? My dad brought the car to a stop at the curb between a gold Land Rover and a black limousine. I stared up at the ivy-covered walls of Bradwell, the sophomore dormthat would bemy home for the next year. Some of the windows were already open, raining down music on the students and parents. Pink curtains hung in one room and inside a girl with jet-black curls moved back and forth, placing things, making it hers. “Well, here we are,” my dad said. There was a pause. “You sure about this, kiddo?” Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. In all the months that my parents had argued aboutmy coming to Easton,my father was the only person in my entire family who had never expressed a moment of
doubt. Even Scott, whose idea it had been for me to follow Felicia here in the first place—she had come for her junior and senior years, finishing up last spring before heading off toDartmouth and, undoubtedly, glory—had balked when he saw the tremendous
tuition. But my dad had been on board fully from day one. He had sent in my lacrosse and soccer tapes. He had spent hours on the phone with the financial aid department. And all the while he had constantly reassured me that I was going to “knock ’em dead.” I looked into my dad’s eyes, exactly the same blue as my own, and I knew he didn’t doubt whether I couldmake it here.He doubted whether he could make it back home. Images of pill vials flashed in my mind. Little white and blue tablets spilled across a waterring stained night table. A bin full of empty liquor bottles and crumpled tissues. My mother, wiry and pale, grousing about her pain, about
how everything bad happened to her and none of us cared, tearing me down, tearing Scott down, telling us all we were worthless just to make us feel as miserable as she did. Scott had already made his escape—he had packed up and gone off to Penn State last week. Now it would be just Dad and my mother in that tiny little house. The thought depressed me. “I don’t have to go here,” I said, even though the very idea that he might agree with me made me physically ill. To see this place, feel what it was all about, and then have it all taken away within the
span of fiveminutes would be painful enough to killme, I was sure. “We can go home right now. Just say the word.” My dad’s face softened into a smile. “Yeah, right,” he said. “Like
I would really do that. But I appreciate the offer.” I grinned sadly. “No problem.” “I love you, kiddo,” he said. I already knew that. Gettingme into this school and out of that hellhole was about themost obvious display of love any parent could have produced. He was pretty much my hero. “Love you, too, Dad.” And then he huggedme and I cried and before I knew it, we were saying goodbye.
There you have it Folks. for more information you can go to www.privatenovels.com and again, to view the PDF verson go to http://www.privatenovels.com/images/pdf/private_ch1.pdf
Where I come from everything is gray. The bland, square strip malls. The water in the lake at the center of town. Even the sunlight has amurky quality.We barely get spring and we never get autumn. The leaves fall off the sickly trees early each September before the even have a chance to change, tumbling down on the shingled roofs of the standard-issue houses, each one exactly the same as the last. If you want to see beauty in Croton, Pennsylvania, you’ve got to sit in your ten-by-ten bedroom in your boring split-level house and close your eyes. You have to use your imagination. Some girls see themselves walking red carpets with movie star boyfriends while flashbulbs pop. Others, I’m sure, go the princess route, conjuring up diamonds and tiaras and knights on white horses. All I imagined my entire ninth grade year was this: Easton Academy. How I found myself there, in the place of my daydreams, while the rest of my classmates were entering the dank dreariness of Croton High, I still am not totally sure. Something to do with my soccer and lacrosse skills, my grades, the stellar recommendation of outgoing Easton senior Felicia Reynolds (my brother Scott’s older, cooler ex), and I think a little bit of begging on my father’s part. But at this point, I didn’t care. I was there, and this place was everything I had dreamed it would be. As my dad drove our dented Subaru through the sunny streets of Easton, Connecticut, it was all I could do to keep from pressing my nose to the dog-slobbered window. The shops here had colorful cloth awnings and windows that gleamed. The streetlamps were the old-fashioned kind that were electric now, but had once been lit by a guy on a horse toting a pole and a flame. Potted plants hung from these lamps, bursting with bright red flowers, still dripping from a recent dousing with a garden hose. Even the sidewalks were pretty; neat and lined with brick, topped by towering oak trees. Beneath the shade of these trees, a pair of girls my age chatted their way out of a boutique called Sweet Nothings, swinging clear bags stacked with neatly folded sweaters and skirts. As out-of-place as I felt in my worn Lee jeans and my blue T-shirt, I had never wanted to live anywheremore than I wanted to live here, in Easton. I couldn’t believe that very soon I actually would. I felt something warminsidemy chest. Something I had felt less and less over the last few years since my mother’s accident. I recognized it dimly as hope. Easton Academy is accessible by a small two-lane road, which winds up from town into the hills above. A small wooden sign on a short stone base marks the entrance to the school. EASTON ACADEMY
ESTABLISHED 1858 it reads in faded letters. The sign is obscured by the low branch of a birch tree, as if to convey that if you belong here, you know where you were going and if you do not, they aren’t going to great lengths to help you find your way.
My father turned the car under the iron and brick archway and I was sucked in. Hard. Here were buildings of brick and stone, topped by shingled roofs and spires, tradition and pride oozing
from every dated cornerstone. Here were ancient, weathered, arched doorways, thick wooden doors on iron hinges, cobblestone walks lined by neat beds of flowers. Here were pristine playing
fields of bright green grass and gleaming white lines. Everything I saw was perfect. Nothing reminded me of home. “Reed, you’re the navigator. Where do I go?” my father asked.
Easton’s orientationmap had become a sweaty, crumpled ball in my hand. I flattened it overmy thigh as if I hadn’tmemorized it ten times over. “Make a right by the fountain,” I told him, trying to sound much calmer than I felt. “The sophomore girls’ dorm is the
last one on the circle.” We drove by a matching set of convertibleMercedes. A girl with
blond hair stood idly by while a man—her father? her butler?— unloaded a huge set of Louis Vuitton luggage onto the curb.My dad whistled. “These people sure know how to live,” he said, and I was instantly irritated by his awe, even though I felt it myself. He
ducked his head so he could see up to the top of the clock tower, which I knew from my many hours of paging through the Easton catalog marked the ancient library. What I wanted to say was, “Da-a-ad!”What I said was, “I know.” He would be gone soon, and if I snapped at him I would regret it later when I was alone in this strange, picture-book place. Besides,
I had a feeling that girls like the one we had just seen never said things like “Da-a-ad!” Outside the three imposing dorms that stood around the circle at themidpoint of the hill, families kissed and hugged and checked that everyone had everything they needed. Boys in khakis and white
shirts kicked arround a soccer ball, their blazers tossed aside, their cheeks blotched and ruddy. A pair of stern-looking teachers stood near the dry stone fountain, nodding as they spoke toward each other’s ears. Girls with shimmering hair compared schedules, laughing and pointing and whispering behind their hands. I stared at the girls, wondering if by tomorrow I would know
them. Wondering if any of them would be my friends. I had never had many girlfriends. Or any, actually. I was a loner by necessity—keeping people away from my house and my mother and therefore myself. Plus there was the fact that I wasn’t interested in the things most girls seemed to be interested in—clothes and gossip and Us Weekly. Back home I was always more comfortable around guys. Guys didn’t feel the need to ask questions, to check out your room and
your house and know all the intimate details of your life. So I mostly hung out with Scott and his friends, especially Adam Robinson, whom I had dated all summer and who would be a senior at Croton High this year. I guess the fact that I had broken up with him and come here, thereby not being the first sophomore girl ever to have a senior boyfriend driving her to school on the first day, would be just another thing that would mystify the girls in my grade.
Of course, they were easily mystified. I hoped it would be different here. It knew it would be. Look at it. How could it not be? My dad brought the car to a stop at the curb between a gold Land Rover and a black limousine. I stared up at the ivy-covered walls of Bradwell, the sophomore dormthat would bemy home for the next year. Some of the windows were already open, raining down music on the students and parents. Pink curtains hung in one room and inside a girl with jet-black curls moved back and forth, placing things, making it hers. “Well, here we are,” my dad said. There was a pause. “You sure about this, kiddo?” Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. In all the months that my parents had argued aboutmy coming to Easton,my father was the only person in my entire family who had never expressed a moment of
doubt. Even Scott, whose idea it had been for me to follow Felicia here in the first place—she had come for her junior and senior years, finishing up last spring before heading off toDartmouth and, undoubtedly, glory—had balked when he saw the tremendous
tuition. But my dad had been on board fully from day one. He had sent in my lacrosse and soccer tapes. He had spent hours on the phone with the financial aid department. And all the while he had constantly reassured me that I was going to “knock ’em dead.” I looked into my dad’s eyes, exactly the same blue as my own, and I knew he didn’t doubt whether I couldmake it here.He doubted whether he could make it back home. Images of pill vials flashed in my mind. Little white and blue tablets spilled across a waterring stained night table. A bin full of empty liquor bottles and crumpled tissues. My mother, wiry and pale, grousing about her pain, about
how everything bad happened to her and none of us cared, tearing me down, tearing Scott down, telling us all we were worthless just to make us feel as miserable as she did. Scott had already made his escape—he had packed up and gone off to Penn State last week. Now it would be just Dad and my mother in that tiny little house. The thought depressed me. “I don’t have to go here,” I said, even though the very idea that he might agree with me made me physically ill. To see this place, feel what it was all about, and then have it all taken away within the
span of fiveminutes would be painful enough to killme, I was sure. “We can go home right now. Just say the word.” My dad’s face softened into a smile. “Yeah, right,” he said. “Like
I would really do that. But I appreciate the offer.” I grinned sadly. “No problem.” “I love you, kiddo,” he said. I already knew that. Gettingme into this school and out of that hellhole was about themost obvious display of love any parent could have produced. He was pretty much my hero. “Love you, too, Dad.” And then he huggedme and I cried and before I knew it, we were saying goodbye.
There you have it Folks. for more information you can go to www.privatenovels.com and again, to view the PDF verson go to http://www.privatenovels.com/images/pdf/private_ch1.pdf
Las Vegas: Day 2 and part of day 3.
Yesterday was Day 2 of the Mattie/Ciara Road trip to Las Vegas. We had a short drive so we planned on sleeping in a little and hitting the road. However, time is a funny thing. See, it is daylight savings and I was in a different time zone..but Arizona doesn't do daylight savings...so somehow I ended up waking up at 7 am. I don't know what time that was to anyone else. All I know is my alarm clock said 7. But I got up anyway and took my shower and packed my bags. A little later, Ciara began to wake up and get ready. We should have left earlier than we did. We just sat around waiting because we decided not to leave until 10:30 so we watched crappy TV until then. If we had been smart we would have just left because we ended up in a 2-3 hour line of cars sitting still for 5 miles. There was a police checkpoint at the Hoover Dam. We think they were looking for a criminal because there were patrols going up and down the highway from I-40 to Hoover Dam, some were just driving around, others were on satellite things. Then there was the checkpoint. After the checkpoint was when we began to notice the helicopters going back and forth above our heads. Anywho...that was the only downside to yesterday. After that little adventure we sailed right into Las Vegas, checked into our hotel and haven't left yet. We decided to order food in last night and sleep in this morning. It is noon here now and we have both been awake and talking and watching TV. Now I'm tap tap tapping away on my computer writing this blog, writing conspiracy theories about the book I just finished (everyone needs to read the Private Series by Kate Brian if they are in to Y/A chick lit). I'm also trying to figure out what is going on with the next few books coming out, on facebook, texting several people and basically just driving myself crazy. Half the time I don't know what is going on or what site I am typing into so if an some point I start blabbering on about BLS or kidnapping, please realize I'm just crazy. Ciara fell back asleep. According to her "Vegas doesn't awaken until Dusk" so I guess that's what we are waiting for. I personally wouldn't mind if I never left the hotel. We have such a great view from our room I can see just about everything I need. I think I might watch a movie in just a bit..one of the ones on my laptop though, not one of the movies you pay an arm and a leg for on the hotel TV...if I wanted to spend $15 on a movie I would buy the digital copy from iTunes. I really wish I would have brought A/V cords with me though, because then I could hook up my laptop to the TV and watch movies that way... Oh well. Iguess I'll talk to you tomorrow....unless I get on here later to post stuff about my book! Keep coming back and leave me comments! I love hearing from everyone. Also, if you don't have a blogger account and post an anonymous comment, please please please leave your name so I'll know who all actually reads this thing!
Love, Mattie.
Love, Mattie.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Las Vegas: Day 1
Yesterday Ciara and I left Oklahoma. It was a long long long day in the car, but time passed more quickly than I expected it would. We took turns driving: 6 1/2 hours for each of us. We arrived at our final destination, Flagstaff, AZ at 9:00. That is when things started getting REALLY interesting. See, we got lost. And no matter what anyone tells you, sometimes a situation will present itself where iPhones aren't much help. Like when your dot on GPS doesn't move. But alas, we finally found our hotel. Unfortunately, the hotel we chose was creepy. Now I'm sure this is all in my head but 1st thing: we should have walked out the door when we heard the price was DOUBLE what it was quoted online. Really? But we didn't we went ahead and paid more money because we had already driven all over town trying to find the dang place. So, we go ahead and book the room. But the man at the front desk is majorly creepy. He looked at us funny and that was wierd. The room itself wasn't bad. Although, I have become accustomed to elevators. I didn't really enjoy lugging 3 tons of crap up the stairs. Then, once we got up the stairs and turned to walk down the hall, Ciara and I turned to each other and had the same thought. We both expected to see little twins at the end of the hall like from The Shining. I don't know what gave me that impression but it made us a little bit uneasy. We got to our room, ordered some pizza, got ice and soda and made camp for the evening. By the way. The hand-tossed pizza crust from Dominos Pizza was delicious. I got pepperoni and light sauce. We also ordered online (because no one wanted to suck it up and call). And it was so much fun. Maybe I'm just entertained easily (which is what Ciara keeps telling me) But I got to build my own pizza and track it's progress. Anywho...I really enjoyed it. We also got cheesy bread and it was good too! I highly recommend everyone tries it! I will be using Dominos online for future travel meals! Oh! I forgot to tell everyone the WORST part! As most of you know, I hate hate HATE cold weather. I'm super sensative. SO of course, last night as I was lost and frustrated and tired from driving all day and hungry, it started snowing. SNOWING. But we survived. Today we have a short 4 hour drive into Las Vegas. We are going to stop by the Hoover Dam and from there it should be smooth sailing for a couple of days. I hope to keep everyone posted on all of our adventures (and misadventures). But now it is time to pack up my bags and get the heck out of this town! I'm ready to be done with Arizona! It is messing me up! It is 11:15 at home in OK, 10:15 in Las Vegas, and what my phone says, and 9:15 here in Flagstaff because Arizona doesn't do daylight savings. It is starting to get confusing! Well, talk to you tomorrow!
-Mattie
-Mattie
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