My Top Five Favorite Bad Movies

I'm coming clean about the bad movies I love. And I'm not talking the type of bad movies that have become cult classics (like Army of Darkness). I'm talking movies that no one I know will even watch with me.

But you know what? I don't care that no one else likes these movies. I watch them alone, and I revel in each viewing. And you probably have some movies you'd be loathe to admit you love, so don't play holier-than-thou.

I should mention that these are just from the movies I own. There are plenty of really bad movies I enjoy that I didn't list because I don't own them and, hence, I don't watch all the time. They may actually beat out some of these titles. Scary thought, isn't it?

Now, without further ado...

#5 — The Count of Monte Cristo

Star: The guy who played Jesus—what was his name?
Plot: A man seeks revenge on those who betrayed him.
Favorite line: "King's to you, Fernand."

TCMC shouldn't really be listed here, because it's not really bad at all. In fact, Nate and Parisa were offended that I even thought to call it bad, and they were quick to point out that they're always up for watching this. But certain people cast aspersions upon me for loving it—sniff—and so it earns slot #5.

#4 — The Truth about Love (aka The Radish Movie)

Star: Jennifer Love Hewitt
Plot: An anonymous Valentine of radish seeds sparks a zany chain of events.
Favorite line: "Take me home and radish me."

The Truth about Love is quirky in the same vein as one of my stories, which is probably why I like it so. My sister says The Radish Movie isn't that bad, but I think she was just being nice to me after bashing The Crab Movie (see below).

#3 — The Scorpion King

Star: The Rock
Plot: A mercenary sets out to kill an evil ruler.
Favorite line: "I've come for the woman... and your head."

Classic Hollywood cheese. You've got to love a movie where there's no pretense of historical accuracy, especially in the costumes and weaponry. Besides, who doesn't love the Rock? (Answer that at your own peril.)

#2 — Eight Legged Freaks

Star: David Arquette
Plot: Giant spiders take over a small town.
Favorite line: "Get back, you eight legged freaks!"

I have a weird fascination with this movie. Sure, it's vastly entertaining in a 50's B horror movie kind of way, but it's all about the humongo spiders. I just can't help watching even if I'm totally grossed out and shrieking the whole time.

#1 — Simply Irresistible (aka The Crab Movie)

Star: Sarah Michelle Gellar
Plot: A down-on-her-luck chef finds magic in the kitchen.
Favorite line: "If the broom fits, ride it."

My sister is always making fun of me for liking Simply Irresistible, but to that I say "Pshaw. Fie on you." I don't understand what's not to love about a magic crab, even if you can sometimes see the strings that move him.

If That's Wrong, I Don't Wanna Be Right

Recently I heard a bestselling author talk about blogs. She said one thing that really struck me: a blog needs to have a purpose to be successful. Or one overarching subject that it focuses on.

So I tried to pinpoint what my blog focused on. Is random insanity a valid theme?

But, heck, do I have to have a point? Is spewing wrong? When you're writing a book, there's always a main goal that you're moving toward. It gets tiring always having a driving purpose—sometimes you've just got to ramble to get it out of your system.

Then I started to wonder if I'm doing my readers a disservice. A lot of people visit my blog (shocking, I know)—am I sending you guys off dissatisfied? Shaking your head, wondering what the heck I was thinking? Am I a huge blogging failure?

My next reaction: to heck with it all—I'm posting what I want to and the rest of the world can jump off the Golden Gate for all I care. Except I do care. Kind of. Some of the time.

Only there's got to be balance: a middle ground where we're all happy. Not that I know that you guys are unhappy—most of you never say anything. (BTW, what's up with that??)

So I'm willing to strike a deal. I'll write my random musings, but if you guys tell me what subjects interest you I'll write about them too. Craft related? Ask me questions and I'll post answers. Personal questions? Ask me and I'll divulge.

I'm being totally for real here. Suggest topics and I'll write about them. Even if it's about David Beckham's left foot.

News Flash

Friday the 25th I'm making a guest blogging appearance on WriteMinded. I don't know what I'm writing about yet. Give me a break—it's days away still. But I assure you that it'll be a good one.

I believe they'll be giving away a basket of Zebra books that day—including a copy of Project Daddy. Don't quote me on that. Check out WriteMinded for details.

Sacrilege

Nate and I stood in my office, staring. Finally he spoke. "It looks as if a truck bound for Barnes & Noble turned over and spilled in here."

I pursed my lips. "It's not as bad as it looks."

He gave me a flat gaze.

"It's not," I insisted. "Actually, it's pretty well organized."

"Love, you have several two-foot stacks of books on the floor that have a more severe lean than the Leaning Tower of Pisa."

Hmm. He was right. "I'll tidy them."

"And those books—" he pointed to a particularly precarious bunch on one shelf "—fall out each time someone walks by. I don't think the bookshelf was meant to be so crammed."

"It's not my fault this house is rickety and the floor shakes like a cold Chihuahua when you walk across it." I surreptitiously straightened the stack in question so they wouldn't topple out and prove his point.

"What color is your futon cover?"

"Huh?" I asked articulately.

"Your futon has so many books covering it that you can't see the cover any more."

I crossed my arms and scowled. "I hate it when you talk to me in your reasonable voice."

Nate put his arm around my waist, hugged me to him, and asked in his gentlest voice, "Don't you think it might be time to get rid of some of these books?"

I gasped and pulled back. "Sacrilege!"

He tugged me into his arms. "I only meant maybe you could sell some of them back. It'd make moving next weekend easier if we had fewer boxes to take."

I gasped again. "How can you even suggest such a thing?"

"Okay. If you don't want to, it's fine," he said, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

My scowl deepened. "I know your little reindeer games. Don't think you're going to charm me, or lure me into a placid state with your kisses. I'm so on to you."

He just laughed and left me to the chaos.

An hour later I sat on the floor, not sure how he managed to reverse-psychology me into weeding out books to get rid of. But there I was—sorting out the ones I thought I could orphan.

The Outcome

Books to be kept: 1487. Books to sell back: 6.

I think I won. And Nate can't say I never listen to him. Muuwaa-ha-ha.

I Got Frickin' Tagged

Not only did I get tagged—I got tagged by my critique partner Misa Ramirez. I'd not reply, except she'll make my life a living hell. Trust me—she's more than capable.

And then she goes and says I'll have her in stitches. Can we say pressure?

When did you first start blogging and why?

June-ish. Because Misa had been harassing me FOR MONTHS. Plus then my friend Suzie, a marketing and PR genius, said, "And why exactly are you not blogging when you know it'll draw customers back to your site?"

To both of them I say "Fie on you."

What don't you talk about?

Nate and sex—especially at the same time. Because Nate has this delusion that he actually has privacy.

As if.

Are you and your blogging persona the same person?

Ha! I mean, yes, I am so Kate.

How do you use blogging to build friendships?

How the hell can I build friendships when you people don't comment?? And I know you're out there—I'm way more tech savvy than you realize. I know exactly who you are and where you're from. Be scared—be very scared.

Comment. Really. I'm nice. Mostly. Even if it's just to say Hey.

How would you describe your writing style?

My writing style is very serious and austere. I grew up in a convent, you know. The nun lifestyle is what I emulate. I sleep on a stone slab.

To tag...

I tag no one. Why? Because I don't want to. So there. And don't think you can tag me, because I won't play along unless you have some kind of hold over me. Like Misa does (i.e. the critique on my next book).

Andre's Homework

Last week my Kung Fu teacher Andre assigned us homework. For one month, we're practicing

Normally, I would wave my elegant hand at Andre and say "Pshaw to your paltry list! Give me a real challenge." However, this month is anything but normal. I can pretty much foresee how each item on this list is going to give me trouble.

Worry
We're moving on the 19th. To which you say, "Big whup, Kate. Everyone moves occasionally." Very true, but perhaps I failed to mention that we don't exactly have a place to move into yet.

Guilt
I haven't been writing as much as I like to. I feel the story I started three weeks ago poking at me, annoyed that I'm not giving it the attention it deserves. And with moving, it's only going to get worse.

Self-abuse
Authors have an internal mechanism that pipes up with comments like What made you think you could write? You suck. And by the way, the McDonalds down the street has an opening for a fry attendant.. This mechanism is especially active when authors have books due, which in my case is the end of the month. (Hmm... Let's cross-reference this one with Worry as well.)

Drama
Please refer to this post.

There should be another item on this list: frustration. Because after over a decade of studying Kung Fu, wouldn't you think one (translation: me) should be more David Carradine-esque and not be plagued by these things? I'm getting my freaking fifth degree black belt on Saturday—you'd think I'd be more evolved by now.

Oops. I think I committed drama. And maybe a touch of self-abuse.

Okay, all joking aside, I've been paying a little attention to Andre's naggings teachings all these years. I know the key is staying in the moment. Actually, I'm pretty good at that. Except for those moments when I slip.

But you know what? So what if I slip? I'm not going to judge or beat myself up.

Hark and forsooth, the light just came on. That's the point, isn't it? I think I made a breakthrough. Holy cow—this blog actually was good for something.

Romance in Atlanta

Last week I flew to Atlanta to spend a week with 2100 other romance writers. Sound scary? You don't even know the half of it.

Highlights from the week...

At the literacy book signing, Kayla Perrin's three-year-old daughter ended up on my lap with "Signed by the Author" stickers all over her face. When her grandmother told her it was time to leave and to say goodnight, my little friend cuddled closer and said goodnight to her grandmother.

The editor of Virgin books: kind of hot. I wonder how many heroes he inspired.

A certain writer leaned against the tiled wall in the restroom and the wall collapsed. We call her buns of steel now.

The few workshops I went to were very well done, especially the Q&A with Jayne Ann Krentz and Susan Elizabeth Phillips. Oh—PC Cast's young adult talk too. And Meg Cabot's keynote was fantastically funny.

I touched Rita. My new friend Beth Pattillo won the Rita (the equivalent of the Oscars for romance authors) for her book Heavens to Betsy and she let me rub Rita's belly for good luck.

My friends abandoned me one night and I ended up having dinner alone. I went to a sushi restaurant and sat at the bar where I met an amazing couple who reminded me how great it was to be doing what I was meant to do.

I met a Kate Perry fan—a truly wonderful breed of person.