kate rothwell

Yet another unsolicited admission of human frailty that will probably make life insurance out of reach: More than a week ago, I started an SSRI. I've been on them before and will maybe, some day, try them again. One week ago, I went batshit crazy insane--quietly. I didn't wake anyone up as I lay on the floor counting off half hours until I called 911 to save me from my own brain. "if it's worse in a half hour, I'll call" I didn't call, but I did go off that SSRI cold turkey. Yowza--turns out I don't mind standard depression and panic so much after all. I've never had an experience like that before and I have no interest in having another, ever again. Despair and fear is familiar territory (I imagine it is for almost anyone who makes it to adolescence) this was quite another place and I'd rather not visit again. It's taking a while to recover from the utter lunatic batshirtiness. But today I went to a school event, and I wrote a page that w...

Boy3's hit 11 hard and, like his brothers before him, he wishes to put some distance between me and him. The other two have already come out the other side of this dissing mom stage, so I'm not too worried. Yet I do have some lines he mayn't cross. For instance, I'm not answering to the dog's name and plain "bitch" is right out. I've said he can use my first name, and any variation of mom works, but that's not quite rude enough for him. He needs a name for me that expresses disdain but doesn't cross my line into Trouble. Maybe some word for female parental unit in a language that sounds hostile. FPU has an obscene ring but he might not be taking suggestions from me. Also the boys have been wondering if gay people are turned on by their own bodies. It seemed like a fair question even if it was first raised by a character on a sit-com and caused all the other characters to groan and howl.

laughing at? with? because of corn dog. Appreciating corn dog and anyone else who threatens the boogie men with weapons. Any of you watch the debates? Me neither. However I did read this sort-of transcript and so I know what I missed. Who knew politicians use the word fucktard so often?

For once it really wasn't a "tell me how much you lurve me" moment, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the notes. They're lovely. Thank you. It is a matter of embraaaaaaaaaacing life more and that means getting off the computer more often. All the angst and worry and panic--I'm talking horrible symptoms--and I think they all add up to Turn off the computer and go look at actual members of your own species. Or maybe some other monkeys.

I think it's hard to stop blogging. I'm addicted to blathering to the world blah blah blah. It's fun. But eventually the whole thing peters out, right? And is it better to go with a bang (or even a small pop) and a cheerio or wait until the only person reading the blog was doing a search for "naked monkey sex" (yes really that's what he was looking for. Nasty of me to assume "he") My sister thinks that the phrase there is no growth without pain is bullshit. But I sometimes think the only permanent internal growth can come from pain. Reward is too easy to take for granted and not as memorable as pain. Yeah, I presume the world experiences are all divided into carrot and stick and that's bull. A lot is life just standing around munching the grass waiting for the driver to make up his mind. No carrots, not sticks, just you the mule (or is it an ass in that expression?) and some dull grass. If I wasn't blathering (blah blah blah), and writin...

MMMmmm. cinnamon buns. Boy3 and I made them twice. We still have some downstairs. Okay, back to making lists of what's shiny bright in life.

The thing about writing and publishing (and about blogging and about nearly everything I do, other than cleaning toilets and baking bread) is that my success is entirely dependent on people I've never met and can't affect except with words . . . and my words aren't good enough. Not to mention there are so many words are out there, floating around, more attractively packaged by smarter people. It's getting old. I wish it was spring so I could fret about tomato seedlings instead. The onions didn't cut it. (heh. onion humor. Cut onions. Get it? And you'll have to look up the doggie onion danger** yourself. Oh, never mind. all right. Here. Read. ) Anyway. Even my dreams contain whiny failure motifs: I dreamed I was on the 30 Metrobus from Georgetown, flirting with a man. He laughed his azz off when it became clear I was interested in him, so of course I had to pretend I was just kidding. I got off the bus early just to show I didn't care. It was a long walk. _...

but that's not what's going on around here. That's all moan whine kvetch whimper complain fret rail grumble in other words, nothing new, nothing, nothing new inside or out (except truly outside there's a lot of snow which is a PITA for picking up Aya). One big question on our minds: why are onions bad for dogs or perhaps Alton Brown is full of baloney?

Another John and Marcia, my favorite couple. Meanwhile, I have a bad feeling and it's not just because the house smells of toasted sewage. There's a huge puddle forming in front of our house. Huge. Lake Rothwell. No one else on the block has one.

Laurie tagged me and other people have, too, but she's the latest. That six meme thing. Six Unimportant Facts About Me The rules are: 1. Link back to the person who tagged you. 2. Post the rules on your blog. 3. Share six unimportant things about yourself. 4. Tag six random people at the end of your blog entry. 5. Let the tagged people know by leaving a comment on their blogs. six boring things about me: 1. My house smells bad. Granted, with three teen /pre-teen boys on board, the place never smells like a sweet meadow. Today is particularly gruesome. 2. My dog sneezes and scratches all the time. She's probably in need of exercise. 3. I finished another book the other day (writing it, I mean) and did nothing to celebrate except check my email. I no longer mark milestones--I think it's some sort of superstition. I don't even stop to eat chocolate. 4. Sometimes I can't read new books and just reread the ones on my keeper shelf. I'm going through one of those ph...

It's February vacation week, that random week in the middle of the long winter when the schools close down for no apparent reason. I figure it's the middle of the winter and teachers can't bear another minute of looking for lost boots or snowpants. Today is the other big day in our schedule. The big white trucks are out front. They are in our sewers. They are sending us notices, several, actually: construction notice sanitary sewer rehabilitation and sanitary sewer lining. followed by a long explanation of how great it'll be when they're done. Notices include suggestions on how to respond such as fill the trap on all drains to reduce the likelihood of odors caused by the pipe lining process. In the unlikely event** that you experience this problem, please open windows until the odor disappears. umm. It's February? at the very bottom of all the notice, handwritten in big block letters: PLEASE LEAVE TOILET LIDS DOWN. As soon as I figure out how to put water in a...

watching Wash babble about Zoe's legs is cheering me up a lot.

So I was just looking at Jennifer's page. Forty comments under one author's profile. Twenty-nine for another. I got four ? (Thanks, Sam) For pity's sake, people, go on! Go say something about the weather. Describe your daughter's birthday party. Talk about the worst book you read, as long as it's not one of mine. You can also win some fun stuff. You know you don't want me to launch into yet another self-pity party. You tell yourself, no problem--you can just avoid MY blog, but don't forget I can still come and whine over to yours. I know where many of you live. I'm on the edge, dudes. Two more rejections pushed me close, closer, closest to the Edge of Whine. Yet another full-out whiny rant. Save yourself.

My family is all here and they're switching between Firefly and Mythbusters . I had to leave the room. Those shows do not mesh. Anyway, I'm at two blogs today. I wonder if I can convince Beth either of them are SBDs. I apparently feel my obligation to the universe isn't fulfilled if I don't have an SBD. Kinda like a religion, only without a lot of guidelines on how to lead a virtuous life. Blog one. Firefly and fundraising. Not connected though. Damn, I love Firefly. Blog two. Jennifer's again . I don't know how I rated two days with her. I feel like Jennifer is a gift sent from the gods to rioters, prolly the SBD gods.

Jennifer Y, THE Jennifer Y who is a romance reader extraordinaire, is having a bunch of Zebra types at her blog . I'm up today. She puts a lot of effort into her blog and organized this months ago. I hope it was less like herding cats than I expect.

Up and down. Back and forth. Valentine's Day and ________....

Boy 1's English assignment: write a bad love poem. This took him minutes and minutes to create, so be nice. I hope the formating on that second to last (my favorite) verse shoes up. ...er, shows up, too. Happy Valentine's Day. The Split Personality Sonnet Oh most Beloved and Adored, I hang upon your every word, And when thine lips do part I listen, As out from your mouth words do glisten And as you rant and spew forth drivel, I sit and sob and quickly shrivel, For your harpy’s screech pierces my ears, So I must down twelve cans of beers And when your heavenly visage appears Before my eyes I’m moved to tears At your hygiene and your devotion As deep and dark as the blue ocean O the very thought of you Makes the sky seem far less blue You are ugly and stupid and cheap You molded, putrid, rotting heap Ah Cupid’s arrow hath struck home The seeds of Love planted in my loam I sit and wait beside my phone To hear your beautiful du...

The pressure cooker: It makes me nervous and that's why I love using it. wheeze wheeze blip blip wheeze blip . Ooo, it's an adventure. How I make our staple bread : I boil a couple of peeled potatoes then let them cool in their water some. IN the mixer's bowl, I mix two tablespoons yeast in one cup warm potato water. Along with some sugar. Maybe 1/4 cup or more. Meantime I heat up two cups milk with a slab of butter in the microwave. I go into another room and forget about it all. I return to find a buttery surface on congealing milk in microwave (some of it on the microwave floor because the milk's boiled over), and yeast in water frothing and foaming in mixer bowl. I smoosh the potatos into the milk stuff, add some dry milk powder (extra protein) and oil (because I usually haven't put in enough butter) to the milk/potato mix, and then, if it's cool enough, I add a couple of eggs because the kids eat a lot of bread and I figure protein! PROTEIN! Plus wheat ger...

I'm reading an excellent Golden Heart entry. I want to finish reading this book and it's so good, I know I will soon. There . See? It's not all whine all the time.

You know that old wheeze about how you can tell the true nature of a person by how they treat The Help? So okay what about this one: You can tell how humane editors and agents are by how they treat the uninteresting people who submit to them.** No one should expect personalized rejections. These people are busy and don't have a lot of time to send along reasons why they don't want our stuff. I'm happy when they do, don't get me wrong. But these days? I'm grateful for a simple goddamn rejection. There are a whole bunch who Don't Even Bother. They can't bring themselves to do these simple steps: 1, hit return. 2. type "sorry not for me" 3, hit send. Yes, yes, YES, I know they don't ask for the damned queries. (although it could be argued that the words "will read unsolicited queries" is sort of asking for 'em.) The professionals aren't responsible for the thousands of people they aren't going to work with who contact them. ...

I needed a rush of sap and what better way to get that than Christmas stories? Romance plus Christmas = sugar with sugar on top and a healthy sprinkle of sugar. I was in the mood and had just read something worthwhile and therefore depressing. But oh, Lordy, it turns out I should look at the copyright page and not just the publication date of 2007. It happened again. Even though other people warned us about this, I got suckered. They slap together some old stories and call it something new. Every last one had be published previously Damn you publishers! Damn you for not buying my manuscripts! and Damn you for not buying new stuff from the authors I want to read! I spit on your new covers--which, incidentally, are just as wretched as the old ones--designed to deceive us and I say faugh upon your cheap selves for recycling stories. ** The only way to regain my trust and forgiveness: Buy one or more of my historical manuscripts. I got quite a collection of those unpubbed puppies now. Yo,...

"Hey," the boy said when I turned on the car radi o. "I've heard this song. It's all about Rommel's march, huh. ' I've led some raids down in Africa .'" He claims he was being a smart ass, a definite possibility. But you have to love mondegreens. They're often better than the real thing.

My middle boy is fifteen today. I'm making this cake for him again. It's just as absurd as it was last year. His gifts that are in the mail didn't show up, but my author copies of the dragon anthology did. I'm not giving him that for his birthday even if he wanted it, which he so very much doesn't.

The very best headline ever. No, really. h/t bubblegum tate

So I was on the train going to see my dying Mom, and I'd grabbed a book to read from the stack of TBR. I'd recently discovered Romancelandia but I still was ripping covers off. This cover was absolutely ick. (sorry, Diane) The book, though. Oh, I loved it. I read it, then read it again on the trip back. If you go to conferences, you'll hear a fair number of inspir ing speeches (because rioters are f eeling defensive about the genre. [Screw that]) from writers all about the nurturing quality of romance. They tell stories about letters from fans who talk about how romance helped them through horrid times. Diane Farr would have gotten one of those letters from me if I'd gotten off my lazy ass and written it. And then I found another of her books (Fair Game) and loved it, and then another that I loved. She's on my autobuy list, and every time I make lists of favorites or moaning about Authors who should write more, more, more, she's on them. So okay? Are we g...

mostly before... BEFORE: Turns out it was really hard to to get a picture of all the hair. The mirror and the flash and stuff. And my laptop for the before? Couldn't get far enough away to get the whole picture. So there's the before. AFTER: The laptop works, but I've completely lost interest in taking pictures of myself, so you don't get the huge numbers of shots for the after. Poor you. Also, I think my face is in a bad mood. I didn't sleep a lot last night. If I could just get the hair, that would be good. Later on Thirteen about One of My Favorite Authors , now it's work time.

ANOTHER review of a book that's been out for a long-azz time. This is Perfection , Summer's first book and the second Summer book night owl's reviewed in the last couple of weeks. This one got 5 out of 5 heart rating. And they gave me another pretty little icon thingy. I like it!

--I hate rejections so much that I've stopped checking my email as often. --I now have 28 inches of hair in a plastic bag to donate to locks of love. No, I won't bother with the debit column today. Mark this as a red letter day: I'm kinda sick of whining. and tomorrow.....Oh, hey, tomorrow I'll have one of my Those Writers. We all have Those Writers. For whatever reason the stars line up, the life experiences are matched, time hits the right second. You read a book and you clasp it to your bosom with cries of ecstasy. And then you read another book by the same author and you love it almost as much --or maybe even more. Combined force of reader and writer coming together for a perfect experience. I have had a dozen or so writers like that** (sometimes they come and go depending on the life stage. For instance I think I'm over Salinger.). Anyway, I hounded one of my Those Writers until she said yes. __________ **or more. A dozen romance writers, let's say.

What Tracy MacNish writes about the scary job of writing. and what Laura Kinsale writes in response. Go on, read it. I declare it to be required reading for rioters. I commented then asked TM to dump my fly-buzzing, cheery-but-brainless comments. Sometimes those are fine, but not there.

looks like the wrong team won at the last minute and I have to herd my very sad kiddies off to bed. Wait, they say I gotta let them watch a couple of minutes of puppies to cheer them up. "ooo it's getting nippy out there." Best to watch the puppy bowl with the sound down unless you've had a dose or two of mind-altering drugs. Doug, in previous comments asks: "What's the best ebook for really kinky, raunchy sex?" He claims I know what he likes ... but in truth, I don't know from much KRS. Titles for Doug, anyone?

I finished my 8 RITA books at long last. All 8 were put out by big name publishers. I'm not going to talk about the books because that wouldn't be kosher. But let me just say that to rinse out the flavor between some of those stale, predictable stories and their stale, flat characters, I picked up my computer to read me some Carrie Lofty, Sam Winston, Bonnie Dee and Bettie Sharpe. If I had more print books to go through, I'd probably line up AM Riley, Shiloh Walker....just in case. Okay maybe I should actually draw up a list of my faves some day but that's not the point. Back on track: Get it yet? To make myself read what promised to be a bland print book, I'd promise myself an ebook at the other side. The point at last: I am turning into an ebook snob. Never mind the fact that only a few of those print books were dreary and the others were just fine. The truth is only one was great as the ebooks I read over the same period and none took risks or stuck in my brain...

Varian's finished her post-apocalyptic smut story. After** Phew. ______ ** Mentioned in a footnote here.