kate rothwell

writing: why yes, I am writing books, thank you. I got my characters out of the soup conversation, into the actual soup and now they're cleaning up the mess. I'm not sure about my soupy orgies though. Hey, guess what. Bet you can't guess. Give up? I actually witnessed an orgy, long ago. I sat and read a magazine in the room with the orgy-participants. It had started as a small party and ended up something more. I didn't want to join in but I didn't want to be thought a rude prude and leave the small apartment. So I really did sit, drinking rum with a magazine on my nearly naked lap (I'd gotten to the point of nearly undressing) and tried to pretend that magazine (I have no idea what it was but I suspect it was some Art Monthly thing) was the most fascinating bit of literature, ever. I wonder how I managed to survive those years when I didn't want to have anyone think badly of me. What a lot of work and what nice people I met back then because if I'd met...

Summer is in this anthology (that dragon story over on the right) and the paper version is up at Amazon. or if you want to go to the publisher, here.

It's those pesky plot and character things--they keep sucking up all the words and getting in the way of sexxx. I keep forgetting that's Summer's hot, and I have to go back in and spread seeds of awareness and arousal and tension and blah blah blah. If characters can't actually toss off their clothes and get at it, then maybe I'll have to add flashbacks to hot and heavy scenes when characters are out and about in public. Interspersing loaded moments into a conversation about soup. Yo, it's important soup, okay? But honestly, poor Summer can't remember to maintain tension. My current story is about 60K in and I realize no one's had a single thought of sex or bodies for twenty pages. Twenty whole pages--ten of those without sensuality, even! Even the non-Summer stuff doesn't go that long without a wink or a nudge or a pant or something. I can only do so much with the layering (larding, one might call it). Someone better get turned on or this will nev...

Message from Debra Durham of Dark Eden Press ************ ****** I don't often share much personal stuff about myself or what is going on with me, so I never thought I would be coming to any of you with this but sometimes life comes at you and you have to deal with it, and this is one of those times for me. I could beat around the bush here but that's not me. You deserve the truth even if it is painful for me to talk about. I have found out recently, very recently, that my cancer has returned. For those of you who do not know, this is my 6th time around with this in a little over 10 years. It started as cervical cancer 10 years ago and each time has gotten worse and spread to other places. I will be starting chemotherapy and radiation treatments shortly and as I have been through these same treatments twice already, I can honestly say it isn't pretty. After discussing the issues and options with Susan and Billi, and then Gretchen and Brenda, it was decided for a few reason...

I just listened to the Alchemist's Daughter and it's grown on me. Too bad I'm in a whiney mood so I'll probably end up going on and on about what I didn't like. Yeah, well. It's in first person, and as Linda I always says that can be like being stuck in a car with someone talking on and on about herself. This was definitely a clueless narrator. Emily was supposed to be naive, though, and that helps the integrity of the book. We get other, more balanced people talking at her, like her nurse, so, duh, it's not like we're supposed to believe our unreliable narrator. But because Emily sees people through a lens that's sort of flat, the people end up being ....not very complicated. Yo, stick-ish figures are okay if there's an emotional pull, but I didn't get it. Oh, except for her dad. I grew very fond of him and felt that emotional awwwww that romance is supposed to give the reader. Her charming, horrible husband just turns horrible (at least he...

I've been getting worse with crowds and I decided the best thing to do is to avoid passive audience events. Time to get out and actually do things with other people. Running! Running with peeps! So I signed up to train for a 5K and today was our first meeting. Sixty people showed up, big surprise for the organizers who were thinking maybe twenty at most. Almost all women--apparently we women don't like to exercise alone. We were divided into three groups: all running, running and walking and all walking. I picked the middle bunch, running and walking, but it turned out I was exactly between the big group of runners and big group of runner/walkers. Not in a group after all. Ah well, it was exercise and I didn't trip on anyone else's heels.

I have a new agent and she's a new agent--as in her agency hasn't sold a book, yet, but she's been in the business for a while elsewhere so it's not like she's brand new. Okay, I sent back the contract and we're getting started with our business of being agent and writer. I was fine with that. But then one of my dream agents wrote back at last and said, oops, yeah, I'm interested in representing you. Sorry I took so long to respond. Dream agent. A woman I've admired for years. Friends have said dump the newbie! Go with the dream agent! Nope, not gonna. I signed a contract. But I'm going to say waily waily waily a bit and crivens . And if this newbie doesn't sell in a few months.....then.... then.... I'll hang around a few more months. This is publishing for god's sake. No one moves fast until everything moves all at once. ach, damn. And then I'll remind myself that not so long ago I was in despair of ever selling a manuscript or ge...

Tell me how did the Red Army Choir and Leningrad Cowboys fly under my radar? The hair? Who thought of the hair? And the wowza silly shoes? The Soviet RED ARMY CHOIR? Seriously, someone passed out after a long night (consisting of too much vodka and some kinda capitalist food--say KFC) and dreamed up this band combination. When I was a kid, the Soviet Army Choir came to the Kennedy Center. The schmaltzy harmonies and songs like Meadowland [performed here by the Spotnicks, another seriously important group I missed] would get any ten-year-old, right? It made me want to turn commie. Just like the Beach Boys and the US Army and/or Navy band got me all choked up every 4th of July. Their rendition of Delilah is ... it's just...wow. But I can only paste Sweet Home Alabama here.

~warning, not for the easily grossed~ Mmmm, salad out at a restaurant! Crunch crunch....pituoee--hey what's that weird bone-like thing? First thought: Omigod, is that....that a tooth ? Second thought: How gross! I sure hope it's not someone else's tooth in MY salad. Third thought: Wait, maybe I actually do hope it's someone else's tooth in my salad. Fourth thought: Please let it be someone else's tooth in my salad. It wasn't. Hey, at least it doesn't hurt.

Note the ball count: 10,000

YIKES! Karen's page is suspended. I suspect it's related to the fact that she published a whole kinda dull document from NCP's publisher--a letter that had been posted on a private loop and clearly labeled "not for public consumption" No surprises why it had given that label. It was nothing a businessperson would want outsiders to read. Or really, insiders. Or really, anyone. (Speaking as someone who tends to write first, think later, even I have to wonder why'd she write it at all?) Although selfishly speaking I'm glad to find out anything I can about every publisher out there, it's actually sort of reassuring that even in yahoo or other closed groups, privacy rules hold some power, after all. We'll have to fall back to the standard old-fashioned methods for sheer dootbrainedness to leak to the public--back to rumor an d innuendo. Heck, if it was good enough for our ancestors! Update: Okay now three people have told me that Karen's server do...

My Samhain editor said she was "thrilled to offer me a contract." Can you beat that with a stick? Answer: no way. I'm signing the contract just because I wanted to be able to write that in my blog...well for other reasons, too. But honestly. Thrilled to offer me a contract. Jeepers. * * * * Today's green for the obvious reason. Alas, this is the first year I didn't have a kid running around frantically looking for a bit 'o green to wear to school. They're all grown up, practically. I get to go unashamedly green in here because my granny was Anna Morrison McCann. (We'll just pass lightly over the fact that she was actually Orange Irish.) Never met the woman. She died when my da was a wee laddie of four. Okay how about this--I earned the green font because I worked at an Irish owned bar in Boston (Donny Hammond was the owner. And an Irish bar in Boston is more Irish than any in Ireland. Maybe even than some in New York). That's where I learned...

Shannon Stacey, Charlene Teglia and Summer Devon: LOOK what's available for pre-order! No cover even yet. That's what I'm looking forward to. See, Shannon? I remembered this time! :-d

I'm convinced my August 14th holiday in particular is pure marketing genius, and I wonder why no one at Hallmark thought of something like this. Beef-scented, edible cards.

1. Hey, I like the BOBs, Corn Dog! (see comments in previous thread if you wonder what the hell I'm talking about.) I've even voted in them previous years.** In fact, you should be up for one. And so should doug and elsewhere and hula doula and bettie and tumperkin and sam and everyone else I read and admire. If I had any gumption, I'd go nominate you all (okay, maybe I won't nominate you, CD, after the comment, though I do think you should get some kind of this is a Great Blog award) . 2. Today I'm over at Hitting the Hotspot, inventing love holidays. I was inspired by today, which, as you know, is Steak and Blowjob day Oh, 3.14...it's also Pi day! Happy pi day! I'm rather smitten with my November 14 idea and might make up some cards for it. The October plan has the potential for even sicker and sadder results than Festivus. 3. Yes, the evidence is in. After getting a BOB nomination and a really nice letter from an editor, Kate is now strutting around l...

sick boyz as far as the eye can see. Yesterday I had two sickies, today all of them were home. Only one has stomachy stuff on top of the other symptoms and he seems able to cope on his own, for the first time. The trouble is that after the Advil kicks in, they can move around far too easily. And they believed they're entitled to get to Do Things. Having a fever, they explain, means they're truly sick, not just staying home from school to be lazy. If they're capable of moving, they should be allowed to play on the wii all day. Since there were three of them home from school and only one of me (feverish, snarling, sore throaty and headachy), they win. The wii is on. And the rumors are true, I hear. Super Smash brothers is teh boss. The boys have been waiting for it since 2003, seriously, that's what they told me. It's a brand new game and if we had those old fashioned thermometers, I'd be suspicious. . . As it was, when I took temps, I stood over them and watched...

See everyone is outraged about the moral question. I just wanna know what the hell do you GET for 5k an hour? I mean at those prices, I'd want something life-saving or at least life-altering. If I'm going for purely decadent, how about an operation that allowed me to eat chocolate without consequences? If not life-altering, then for sure I'd want to get more than a couple of hot-babe induced cums. At those prices she should at least be cleaning his clocks and his house and maybe balancing his checkbook and .... oops.... wife shit. and also, come to think of it, hard to manage in a single hour by even the best professional.

Did you know she's been dead almost 19 years? Some of us are likely feeling sorta old about now.

in this very blog entry! I wrote this: I'm taken aback by this public slap down by an editor. I think if the editor addressed it to writer wannabes, then sure, the snark tone works. But the people who work for her? In public? Did I mention in public? The one time I did mention a particular publisher in this very not-very-widely-read blog, and slightly whined, I think I did a good job of disguising who I was talking about. I still got in trouble. I think that the hand slap I got in response was probably justified. What about me, now, writing about this? I sure as hell wouldn't if I worked for them. Yet now I'm suddenly feeling meta and looking in mirrors: What's ruder? Being rude or pointing out a rude act? Aha! aka, the UPDATE : you can discover--along with Sam-- Kate is a MAJOR GOOBER. Yes, the editor is making fun of herself. And you know what? This is such an example of bad, bad Kate that I'm so tempted to delete. The thing is I didn't read it right th...

It's much easier to write snark than moving, heartfelt stuff, ya know? So today's snarky list is for the standard erotic romance. Yes, I've done a list like this before but I forgot a few elements. And I can only hope the boys are bored with the blog and won't read this entry. I've read a lot of erotic romance for a contest lately (I KNOW, I know...I did swear off those babies, but this one is almost it, really) and so I'm writing this with some authority. The up-and-coming [snicker, she said coming] rioters prove I'm right-- To Write this Erotic Stuff, there must to be at least six of these elements present: 1. Size matters--golly, yes it does. He must be the Very Largest, beyond her experience, and she must quake before the mighty maleness and wonder if it will fit. 2. There will be electrical charges between them when they first touch. Jolting. Surging. Zapping. 3. She will produce cream, or juice or slick feminine fluids and we will read about them. ...

Even minus papa smurf and occasional bizarre sound effect, this remains something other than else. I mean, totally hip , daddy-o. It's true what they say: you haven't lived until you've watched Raymond Burr ask , What gives with the squares? Lucky, lucky us. We own that Perry Mason dvd. Don't beg--you can't have it, and slobbery, desperate begging is unbecoming.

I had nothing to say but it's my day to post over there. Amazing how easy it is to find something newsworthy to put up...took less than a few minutes of hunting and then I was off and babbling for a couple of paragraphs about that study that points out that men who help with housework get more sex. Major, major duh. Here are some other studies coming our way: Dogs that are brushed shed less. People who drink too much coffee get the jitters. Heavy grey clouds often contain rain. Here's real breaking headline news: My boy who just took the driving test passed. Oh. Golly. Oh, my gosh. Oh. Heavens. Shit. Wow.

1. The underlying pathos of a life lived on the edge of madness. The whole horrifying view of the human condition is displayed in this website, featuring Jon all by himself. Garfield the cat, minus G the C. 2. So what do you think of the little signature tags writers put under their names? It's all the rage. I expect there must be many workshops held on how to write damn things. Remember the big deal a couple o' years ago? Suddenly we all had to learn how to write high concept taglines for manuscripts? Now you have to do it for your whole self. Everything you write. Silly summing up if you ask me, which you didn't. I like the six lines defining us but that's fun. This is just advertising and that's always eye-rolling. Except the first one I remember seeing was "Get in bed with [author's name here], everyone else does." I really like that one. It's funny and catchy and if I had half a brain, I'd remember who she was. updated to add : of cour...

actually it's for me. She listens to the arguments and issues and stuff...? And I just like the snark.

Stolen from Doug and he stole it from Salon. Sum up your lives in six words — no more, no less . Here's some of what Doug adds: This could have been mine: Too much hair, then not enough. I want to kick this guy’s ass: Found my path. Walked it fearlessly. I love the honesty of this next one. And, yes, it works for me, too. Frankly, it is all about me . The ones I come up with reflect a puzzled life. I figure that's what happens when you grow up in a family of smarty-pants and/or overachievers and then marry a smarty-pants overachiever and raise three s-p/oas. I'm always the last to know. at Doug's mine was: Huh? What? You say something? more reflections of my life: Urine by toilets, only I care. The dog and I need exercise. here's a cheery one for a change. I write smut; it's usually fun. Here's my boy2's all in all, an okay life Your turn. Leave them below or at Doug's or anywhere. Everywhere tiny pictures of your whole life. Kind of cool.