Meet The Grass Haired Girl

Sometimes being a hero sucks.

Hi everyone,

I haven’t done a post in awhile now, but I just had to let you know about the debut novel of my husband, writer Ryu Cope, called The Grass Haired Girl.

It starts off with twelve year old Cody Stone – a lonely kid living in the boring Midwest.

Cody wants to be a hero, but according to all the books he’s ever read, heroes are always some kind of “Chosen One.” They are never scrawny losers living in small farming communities with angry divorced parents.

Until now.

When there is a strange power outage at Cody’s favorite place in Angusville – an Eighties retro video game arcade called the Steel Castle – he passes out and wakes up, hours later, in a nearby park.

As he races home in a panic because he never finished all his chores and his abusive father is due home any minute, Cody has no idea that his life is about to change forever – During the blackout at the arcade two strange beings from another realm crossed over into Angusville, one evil and one good.

And they are both looking for Cody.

Check it out on Amazon.

Love is patient. Love is kind. (Wtf?) Part 1

A lot of people know that quote from Corinthians in the Bible. It’s a popular, and comfortable, way of looking at love. As such, it’s often recited at weddings where everyone smiles and nods. Every time I hear this definition of love it makes me think of a soft, cozy shawl.

However …

I’ve been working on my protagonist’s character profile this week, and it’s gotten me to thinking about love; because even though my novel is a sci-fi horror adventure in an urban setting, it’s also a love story.

Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are. I’ve never been interested in love stories, or romance (because, Duh, I mostly write horror. See my short story “Mercy Street” elsewhere on this blog), but there you are. This story wants to be told, and for some unknown reason, it’s picked me to tell it.

Consequently, I had to do some hard thinking on the subject of love. Like, what is it, where does it come from, and is there a cream available to get rid of it?

So the first thing that popped into my head is the idea that we have absolutely no control over love. It chooses you. You are love’s bitch. You don’t get to decide who to love, or when you’re going to fall in love, or where you’re going to be when it happens, or even when it will happen.

Love is basically a cosmic clown car careening around the corner just as you step off the curb. Wham!

 

 

 

 

 

 

In that regard, love remind me a lot of death. Or life.

At the same time, though, love often seems like a weapon wielded by some divine, hilarious prankster god, right? Because once love sets its sights on you it’s just like having one of those hellish Covenant plasma grenades attached to your body — no amount of running around and screaming will fix it. You are fucked.

That’s it for today.

Meanwhile, I’d love to hear your thoughts on love — please tell me in the comments down below. Thanks!