kate rothwell

Anyone wonder where I went? Me, too. Okay never mind all that personal crap. Look at this thing Aya sent us. If you've ever spent any time around sheep, it's bound to have an effect on you. Yes, it was a real movie. The preview was more than enough, thanks (I especially like the guy smoking a cigarette.) I was accosted by sheep in the Lake District once. I...I don't like to talk about it. They made off with our lunch.

Totally random. No theme here except maybe hitting the hot markets? Take what you want--feel free to give me a small percentage of the gajillion bucks you make. 1. Past Lives Repression inspired by Doug and Microsoar : Two co-workers fall in love, but must overcome the obstacles of their past lives. One was Cleopatra and the other was Osbert Mudgrubber. At last Osbert finds true happiness with a tax accountant who was a dill pickle in a previous incarnation. 2. The Ghost and Mr. Muir. A gay remake of the old classic. 3. Mansfield Sensibility. A gay remix of Mansfield Park and Sense and Sensibility. Marianne and Fanny set up house together. Fanny learns to unbend. Marianne learns to be self effacing. (note to possible authors: yes! rewrites of dead author's characters AND gay-nitude are all the rage these days. Write that bestseller) 4. Oliver In Bondage . Come on, you know that Oliver Reed as Sikes in Oliver! was hot, hot, hot. Just have to tone him down a bit, give him a pla...

Mysteries with a twist are coming back. I know about a cleaning lady who solves mysteries, a whole bunch of mysteries with recipes. Mostly lots of funky professions. Here's a twist you can have--but you have to put in a heartfelt dedication to me when you write it: Someone on The Other Side who solves mysteries for murder victims who can't figure out who did them in and why. Ghost detective. Whaddaya think? Go ahead. I'm not writing it.

I wrote a kos thing about some Bush Supporters and now I can't make changes. I'm so used to going in and monkeying with my bad grammar and typos. Yuck. Anyway, I say that for some people, no longer supporting our president might be more painful than cognitive dissonance. Of course they wouldn't shift their approval rating. Oh. I can make changes. I was hitting the wrong button. But now it's off the front page, so never mind.

The good: They amuse themselves easily. The bad: They have all next week off.

I had a chance to interview GWB. I was so angry with him I couldn't speak correctly so he eventually made a smart-ass comment and got up and left.

Aya's response to the my post about kids' songs: I rebuked the "Ring around the rosy" song? Huh? I have the file of you singing the nuthouse song, if you'd like an MP3 or wave file of it.* I think I ended up tracing the nuthouse song back to a 1926 parlor song called “The Lunatic’s Lullaby,” created by Leslie Moore, Johnny Tucker & Edgar Leslie. Say the word and I'll send the parlour-song lyrics to you... Or a condensed version of my research on children's songs, for that matter.*** So the Ring Around The Rosy thing might have been my imagination. We'll get back to you on it after she does some more research. Snopes isn't on the case. We have to dig deeper. Aya (who's visiting) suggests starting with mudcat.org site, which looks like a lovely time-waster. Random lyric look up! ___________________________ * No, Thanks. ***Yes, please.

Check out Aya's page above. She's and artist and does film things, too, like the one of our thanksgiving. ** Her mom, Junko, is way talented, too. Nan's pots on my shelves, Junko's paintings/drawings on my walls. Sometimes even Nan's pots in Junko's paintings. Go ahead, envy me. (this isn't mine. It's just a Nan Pot in Junko Drawing example. ) __________ ** I show up in the first few shots and now and then and I'd just like to point out that I'm now 32 lbs lighter.

The blogosphere has been the power behind the rise and fall of politicians. Some blogs' writing and images can leave a reader as wrung out and/or mezmerized as the best award-winning books out there. And now . . . . . . it can get Kris Starr (erotic romance writer and all-around cutie-pie) near-nekkid in below-zero weather. KS, in a pink bikini. You ask: Why should I pay for that ? The question should be: Why not? The answer to question two, of course, is that it's hopelessly silly, probably demeaning and there are far worthier causes out there for your hard-earned money. question three: But when has that ever stopped the power of us bloggers? Feel the mighty blog force! See Kris's body covered with goosebumps! Eventually, maybe.

This is obviously pimping, but it's also an homage to a sister in a useful trade. Nan's been a potter for decades. She started when I was a kid--she's older than me. Way older. Yup, yessirree. Back then, I liked her work, but didn't love it. Her stuff wasn't frou-frou enough for me. It was solid--salt-glazing does that to a pot--and functional, not dainty. Now I can see that it's way better than dainty-pretty. Nan pots' lines are elegant, like the best haute couture styles. Except I couldn't afford Chanel** and I get most of my Nan pots as presents. A Nan handle fits my hand perfectly. Her mugs are a perfect weight and the way the rim of the mug feels against my mouth. . .I'm thoroughly spoiled when it comes to coffee. (not to mention the fact that I request mugs that finally hold enough coffee) I will open the dishwasher and pull out and wash a Nan mug if there are only mass-produced cups on the shelves.**** Nan pitchers pour well. Nan teapots have ...

Ann listened to GWB. I didn't. She sent me this email. Pimpage = Nan tomorrow, Ann today. G.W. Bush gave a press conference today and (at minute 40:55) he said this: "...Let's put it this way.... Money ...Trumps... (um)... Peace... Sometimes... heh." Now you can sport this presidential Valentine on a t-shirt, a mug, a hoodie, and more! http://www.cafepress.com/bushval This shamelessly promotional, liberal email brought to you with the genuine hope that you're having a great Valentine's Day! @~~ (note to Ann: I want a bumpersticker to cover the spot where I backed into another car.) EDITED . . .Oh, ah, well. there's the context, as pointed out here. BUSH: It's an interesting question. One of the problems, not specifically on this issue, just in general, that - let's put it this way: Money trumps peace, sometimes. In other words, commercial interests are very powerful interests throughout the world. And part of the issue in convincing people to p...

1. The expert has spoken: My husband has been diagnosed as a "whackbutt." That's Dr K M-T, addressing the fact that Mike headed off to work even though the world is composed of ice, snow and wind. 2. The proper response to the weather: A fire in the fireplace and no intention of leaving the house unless it's to get more wood. The boys and I are sane. 3. Poetry corner: Nose as long as a telephone wire--it could be a reference to the Pinocchio syndrome. I do like Beth's version. Anyone else have more variations of the lines to liar liar pants on fire? Do you know that thing about how "Ring around the Rosy" is about the plague? Not so, says Aya who was taking a course in that sort of thing at BU. Talk about shattered dreams. We're going to have to get her to guest blog and blast all of our favorite stories about childhood ditties. Aya owes us. We sang the nuthouse song to her ** as well as our mother's favorite Wobbly lullabies,*** and she might...

Liar Liar, pants on fire Nose as long as a telephone wire. I put in that last line because it always struck me as odd. Telephone wire? Anyway, The blondesense blog has a link to a Times article to a new English law Hotels, restaurants and online shops that post glowing reviews about themselves under false identities could face criminal prosecution under new rules that come into force next year.Businesses which write fake blog entries or create whole websites purporting to be from customers will fall foul of a European directive banning them from “falsely representing oneself as a consumer”. From December 31, when the change becomes law in the UK, they can be named and shamed by trading standards or taken to court. The Times has learnt that the new regulations also will apply to authors who praise their own books under a fake identity on websites such as Amazon. read the rest here. . About time. Regular papers are required to mark advertisements. . um, aren't they? (I should know th...

It's promo time again! Come buy a book! The event is from 1-3 pm, 2/11/07 Come and hang out with Arianna Hart, Bianca D'Arc, Linda Gayle, Marie Roy and me . For directions, click on the link above You don't really have to buy a book. You can just wave at us. According to the webpage, I'm going to be Summer Devon. I guess that means I should wear make-up.

I blogged over at romance unleashed . I like the other writer's essay better--I've been stuck in crank mode for a while now. A happy woman jumping up and down at the gym yesterday was on about how we "choose our moods." I think soon I'll " choose to stop being a pill ." Of course I have no idea what I'll choose instead. Aggressive go-getter ? Meek ray of sunshine? Thoughtful philosopher ? What persona should I wear tomorrow? I think I'll aim for Of Course I'm a Very Popular Author, You Sil ly ** for Sunday. I'm part of a group book-signing then , unless I choose the currently popular sick as a dog mode. _______ ** Hey, you can't believe everything you read.

hey, no point in doing a Thursday Thirteen. It's Friday. I've been doing the real life thing far too much lately. Sick people, birthday boys. We have another today (BB, not sick person, thank the lord) and I made his cake last night. Thing is, he wants his best friend, who's got celiac disease? syndrome? to have some cake too, so no box mixes allowed. Here's the recipe I used. 1 lb chocolate, bittersweet 1 cup strong coffee 2 cups sugar 1 lb butter melt the above, then add 8 beaten eggs. Bake at 255 for almost two hours. Result = a honking big chocolate brick that throws several pounds onto anyone who even looks at it. I'm going to make a fluffy sort of mousse event, pour it onto the cake (I have a tin foil collar), let it sit for a while, then cover the whole mess with genache.

First, this is why I love Bam Second, whining continues. I have to go to a school meeting in about ten minutes--High School. Last night I had to go to Middle School for a meeting. I hated school then, I hate school now. Teachers I generally like now, except 80.4 percent of the middle school teachers. These days it's the huge warehouse place I hate. I swear I have to carry a paper bag and wear a rubber band on my wrist. I keep having to go into classrooms because teachers want me to participate in my children's education. I do! I do! Here's how I do it: 1. I lie . I tell them homework is important. 2. I omit the truth. I don't tell them how much I hate(d) school. Not often, anyway. And almost never in front of their father. 3. I make them go on beautiful days . Even though I want to yank them from class and play. Today's meeting is all about Boy1's Beautiful Future. The guidance counselor is going to tell me the boy should go to a "good" college becau...

1. Plague-house report: Mike the husband was the next victim. Every time anyone ventures near the bedroom or bathroom where he's hiding, he says go away! save yourself! wash your hands! in bleach! stop breathing until you get downstairs! Get away while you can! 2. Shhh, I'm hunting editors and/or agents . I need them for this contest. It used to be easy to line up the suckers editors. They rarely said no. Now no one's returning my notes or phone calls. Not even Hilary, who has hidden herself away. . . My own agent said no, thanks. Too many contests? Too many manuscripts? Worrisome, eh? I'm worried and not just because I'm neurotic about my own career. 3. Golly, I've gotten sick of erotic stuff. I'm particularly tired of envelope-pushing for the sake of getting envelopes pushed: the butt plugs and spankings and menages and spikey hemii-penii. And no doubt you thought cream-filled slits (sounds like a dessert) were bad enough. I was reading a story thi...

We have stomach flu in our house which means everything will smell like bleach for days--I'm paranoid--and we're all waiting and waiting and waiting. . .who's going to be walloped next? The one victim (boy3) has taken up residence in our bed with his bucket. Since there's no room, I've moved into his bed. It's cleaned up. Smells like bleach. I don't feel like a bad mother for abandoning him. I spent the day and most of last night with him. Tag, Mike's It, again. From here I can hear the sounds of Orson Scott Card's Empire. The boys got the audiobook on the last trip to the library. It sounds horribly like the headlines gone nutz as written by an extreme conservative who is wistfully waiting for the next shoe to drop. I can't listen and not just because I'm not up for fiction about Al Queda. Terrists terrists terrists. It's kind of fun hearing him mention D.C. locations I know well, even if most of them are sort of standard tourist locati...

Sometimes I know when something in one of my stories is off. This is boring, says the inner muse. It's putting me to sleep. That's about as much as the muse with share with me, though. Usually I'm not sure what the problem is and I almost never come up with a fix right away. Today I saw the problem and knew how to fix it before I drank coffee this morning. First up: boy shuffling, exercise and then I'll fix the novel's problem and make the plot scream with ecstasy, even though it's not one of those stories. How did I manage to see/solve it with so little effort? No flipping clue. Yo, I'm elated when I pinpoint a problem. Self editing is not a strong point so I don't often see there is one, much less where it is or what to do. I need crit partners. How do you root out and destroy bad stuff in your writing? Reading aloud? Crit Partners? Letting the work sit for a while and pretending you've never read it? Following Author X's Guide to Self Editing...

Oh Lordy, the store is gone .. Here are other things that do--or don't, but should--choke me up: 1. I used to pass a high school (years ago we're talking) when the buses left to haul the kids home, and the sight of all those big yellow buses just made me feel all choked up, the way some people feel when they see the flag. A kind of proud to be a part of it thing. Now I have kids who ride those buses, and my only reaction when I see the big yellow line is, "crap. I have to wait forever." No more snivelling. 2. Kiss of the Spiderwoman . For some reason that movie reduced me to such a puddle, I had to wait to leave the theater until long after the credits. That kind of total melt down never happened before with a movie and hasn't since. 3. Ch arlotte's Web . The book. My husband had never read it so I read it aloud to him when we went on a trip. We got to the end and he had to pull over because we were both snuffling. He wouldn't admit it, though. 4. Casablan...

My youngest is. . . (God, how did this happen?) ten today. Jesus. Also coming soon: the talented one in my family.