Today, we're gonna have a little more fun. Today, I'm giving away a copy of Justine Larbalestier's fabulous and brain-twisting book, LIAR.
You guys, I had such fun reading this book, never knowing what was truth and what wasn't. I've always loved unreliable narrators--they mess with you so! (It makes me want to write one. Okay, not quite yet. But someday.)
So believe me (ha) when I tell you that you want to win this one. But I'm going to make it a little more challenging.
To win this book, you've got to lie to me.
Post in the comments with your best, most outrageous lie. Bonus points for making the lie about somebody in our crazy cast of characters writing/twitter world (*cough* Janet Reid, Suzie Townsend, Joanna Stampfel-Volpe, Sean Ferrell, Bill Cameron, Victoria Schwab, Linda Grimes, etc..., but really anybody you want or anything you want. Make it a good lie.
Tomorrow I'm actually going to judge my favorite lie (extra judges brought in if necessary) and award LIAR to the winner! Contest closes at 8 am tomorrow.
So GO! Lie to me!
UPDATE: THE CONTEST IS CLOSED. Thanks for playing!
23 comments:
Why, *I* could never lie!
But if you want a really entertaining *cough* truth, here you go: I have it on good authority that Bill Cameron will be performing an online striptease, via webcam, in honor of his coming release day for DAY ONE.
(What? It's TRUE.)
I didn't want to say anything, but I am actually married to Sean Ferrell. Yep, we just pretend to be enemies who live in different cities because it's part of an elaborate publicity stunt. Although, I really don't like having to live in Jeff Somers' crawl space as his unpaid intern to keep up appearances during the book tour...
So last Wednesday I went out to eat with Janet Reid and Colleen Lindsay. We decided to go to Perkins, because who doesn't love all-day breakfast? Janet ordered off the lunch menu and got something with fish (sharks do love seafood, you know), and Colleen got a breakfast platter. I got a really, really big omelette with everything on it. It was pretty good.
We had a good long chat about the state of today's publishing world, and I not-so-subtly hinted that I have a few stories that they might be interested in looking at. I'm so tacky sometimes, I know. Sadly, I got shot down. Multiple times. But, hey, it was worth a try, right?
After we ate breakfast, we hit the town. Somewhere along the line, Janet and Colleen got mobbed by rabid fans, and I got shoved down a side alley, where I ran into a mysterious masked guy who called himself "Spiderman." I was about to back away slowly (creepy guys in back alleys always equal trouble), but before I could, something exploded just feet to my left! I screamed and started to run, but the creepy Spiderman dude snatched me up and before I knew it, we were swinging through the air and I was set on a rooftop.
"Get down!" he said. I ducked behind an air conditioning unit and held my breath as some freak dressed in green swooped through the sky riding some sort of glider. Spiderman engaged him in battle, both of them yelling at each other and diving through the air--the green dude on his glider and Spiderman on his webs. I ran into the building and took the elevator back down to ground-level.
In the elevator, I met another guy in tights, and he asked me if I had a quarter or two--he had to go to a phone booth, he said. I tossed him fifty cents and went about my merry way.
After Janet and Colleen ditched the rabid fans and I'd escaped the crazy Spiderman, we went to shop for pianos. At the piano store, I sat down at a big black grand and started to play a song that I had to learn back in piano class. Colleen pushed me off the bench and blocked the piano.
"You suck at piano!" she cried, wiping a spot of blood away from where it trickled from her ear canal. "And life! And because of this, we will never offer to represent you! We can't publish somebody that crappy at music!"
They left me then, in a puddle of broken dreams and bad piano skills, and I began to cry. A few minutes later, a hand pulled me to my feet. I looked up and saw that it was none other than Adolphus, one of the characters from my book!
"You must come with me," he said. "There is trouble in Fictionland!"
I followed him through a swirling portal and found myself inside of my own book. Characters ran everywhere and cried out in confusion. Stray words flew everywhere and several of my beloved characters got stuck in a mire of infodumps and unneeded backstory. Ever the writer, I pulled out my trusty machete and hacked at the bad phrases, destroying them and fixing the prose.
After Fictionland was set straight, I went home and watched the news. The anchorman reported several uninteresting things, and wrapped up the news bit by saying something about free waffles at BEA. I turned off the television and went to bed, where I promptly dreamt of flying spiders, talking pianos, and agents telling me that I sucked at life.
I also had a dream that my mother shook me awake and told me that I'd forgotten to take my meds again. I'm always forgetting to do that. Whoops!
;)
According to an unimpeachable source on the internet (this post) Linda Grimes once applied for a job as a research assistant on a long-range, horizontal medical study. When she arrived for her interview, however, she discovered she'd misread the job title. It wasn't "Schnoz Evaluator," but rather, "Schlong Evaluator." Unruffled, she told the interviewer, "I can handle this."
Word verficiation (NOT kidding): bonor
Snort! (Especially on the word verification.)
I don't know if this is the *best* lie, but it's one I still feel guilty about today (20+ years later!). I left the water on in the sink and flooded the basement bathroom. The carpet stank for years!I'm pretty sure I never confessed to my parents.
When I first met Linda Grimes, I asked her what the secret to hooking an agent was. She mulled that over for a moment and said, "Really, you don't need to know how to put a sentence or two together. You just have to pass the agent's test." Then, she went on to tell me that if I wanted an agent as great as hers, I had to make a pilgrimage across the ocean to a land swathed in green. Once there, I would be acosted by highwaymen who would make me eat mutton and brussel sprouts. When that torture was complete, they would lead me to a stone, smelling suspiciously of urine that I must kiss--she specified the need for tongue in this kiss. Then, and only then would the agent even consider allowing me to QUERY her. OY.
Wait. That's not the truth? Bad Linda! Bad!
I guess it's time to come clean. I'm a closet fangirl. I admit it. I love Justin Bieber. Is it bad for a 30-something writer to moon over prepubescent warblings, bad hair, and YouTube videos? If so, then I'm a bad girl.
I might have gotten past it, but Colleen Lindsay encouraged me. We once spent hours online, watching Bieber sing out his heart and giggling like schoolgirls. And then we wrote haikus.
Wow, glad I got that off my chest!
I hate reading.
Shhh. Don't tell anyone, but I heard Patrick Alan has already peed in his new pool. Sure, he SAID it was to warm the water up a little, but I think he was just too lazy to walk to the bathroom.
I have it on good authority that Scott Roche @spiritualtramp is not a troll at all, but an Ogre!
Oh wait, I'm supposed to tell lies...
I'm a human being and not a troll spying on the human beings to determine if their worthy of knowing the real truth behind things...
Oh wait lies... must think lies....
Tee Morris is not and has never been a goblin or caught gnawing on the bones of defeated writers/podcasters. There is no photographic and/or video evidence supporting his non-human nature. Absolutely none.
Oh yes I almost forgot to add that Wikipedia widely believed to be full of lies is in fact 100% accurate and true.
You see a decade ago, a collection of wizards known as the Distractors got together and cast a powerful spell - perhaps the most powerful one this century. Anyway this spell - I can't tell you the name, as I was not there spying on them from behind the giant wooden Monkey that stood on the altar - made it so that only the most honest and accurate of individuals - politicians would ever be able to post ANYthing on Wikipedia or it's numerous spin off sites.
The casting of the spell took almost two solid weeks with only breaks for the local news (Heroes) and news of the continuing rescue mission (LOST/Survivor). This caused several complaints as a few wanted to watch reality tv (Oprah/Ellen/Letterman) instead of shows more based in reality (Supernatural/Vampire Diaries/Springer). Thankfully these disputes were quickly handled and the casting could continue without interference or interruption. At no point did this ritual involve dressing like Donald Trump, attaching a Jay Leno chin, or a Vanessa Williams forehead, strutting around like chickens before engaging in what can only be described as an orgy as performed by lobotomized puppets.
In addition there is no forthcoming dvd and blu-ray of this ritual that will be selling for only 4 easy payments of $19.99 + your firstborn son for shipping.
Nor should you stay tuned to www.twitter.com/JSterlingS for details...
In a recently declassified document, it was learned that, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, the launch button in a missile silo was pushed. The missile failed to fire because the door was stuck shut when Farmer Flanders parked his harvester on top of the silo lid.
It's true. I peed in my pool. The whole truth is I ONLY pee in my pool. I no longer use those outdated 'toilets'. Last time I traveled, I held my pee for 3 days until I could return to pee in my pool. I once peed in a hotel pool, but it wasn't the same.
Also, I am in a marriage triangle with Bill Cameron and Sean Ferrell. I am married to Bill. Bill is married to Sean. Sean is married to me. Or something like that. You know how these marriage triangles work.
If I win, I will donate my dimples to science.
Ours is a complex love, Patrick.
I work at the Buy More. At least, I did before it exploded. Suzie's on my team. I haven't told her yet that I'm taking the mission in Paris. 3800 sq ft flat in the 1st, unlimited budget for "maintaining spoiled, wealthy American heiress image," Aston Martins for each member of the team plus minions galore. Pack your bags, Suz.
I get a phone call. It is from my bff, Lena and it is the night before her wedding. She asks me why I am not attending. I am her bff. Jane, my other bff, sits across from me. In between, is a table of food, a remote control with Jane's finger on the pause button, and of course, two drinks. Tom Hank's picture is frozen on the flat screen.
"I'm sorry. There was an accident. My cat died." I sniff.
My cat, Natty, glares at me from his comfortable position on the cat bed across the room. Jane snorts and covers her mouth with both hands as she falls sideways onto the couch. I glare at my bff, Jane.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know. But this is my wedding!" Lena cajoles.
Your SECOND wedding, I think quietly, to another loser!
"It's just too much to bear!" I cry and make a lump of emotion sound good over the phone. Jane leaves the room. I can hear her laugh after the pop of another cork. Just what my bff needs--more champaigne. "I'm just going to stay home and think about Natty." I don't know what I am going to do if Lena ever decides to come and visit me from Colorado. Maybe have Natty stay at some fancy pet hotel that weekend! I say goodbye, hang up the phone, and Jane begins to peal into a deep belly laugh. We return to Sleepless In Seattle, our box of tissues, and our wealth of food.
Bill, you lie!
Our love is like a simple fire, burning in the flames, snuffed like a little ember, on a cold snowy summer afternoon, just before midnight, with a candle, hot with wax that's cool to the touch, glowing in the moonlight, like your eyes, and my tongue, and a rabbit, furry like Sean's smouldering touch.
That is how simple our love is. Or something like that.
I really wish Janet Reid would stop dreaming about me.
See, that's a good lie. I don't mind that she dreams about me every night at all.
Thanks Susan. I'll e-mail you. I was glad for the contest. I had no idea how many authors are at BEA. I'll e-mail you my address.
By day, I am a writer. But not even my agent knows the truth...
By night, I am Scarlet Whisper, Librarian/Rock Star/International Jewel Thief.
Scarlet is always lucky in the stacks.
Scarlet always rocks a face melting guitar solo.
Scarlet always gets the diamond.
And...Scarlet Whisper always refers to herself in third person.
Susan Adrian has compiled a nude calendar featuring notable people from her writing/twitter world. Highlights include: Miss January—Janet Reid swigging gin while ringing in the new year, Mr. March—Jeffrey Somers with his pussy cats, Miss May—Suzie Townsend and her puppies frolicking through a spring meadow, Mr. June—a sweaty Bill Cameron showing off Skin, and Mr. December—a snow-covered Sean Ferrell looking NUMB. Get yours! On sale now!
Patrick, I've always see our love as three guys peeing into the fire due to all the beer. And then we cross the streams...
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