kate rothwell

I felt sort of sad about abandoning the blog so I'm coming back to say hi and I'll blog again. And if you're a marriage counselor, don't write a book about staying married. Hubris will demand your marriage immediately crumble. I recently met yet another (the fourth!!!) counselor going through that. Margaret's friend was doing that way back in the 60s. She went on a radio show to promote her book. The host said, "so how long have you been married?" and when she said, "actually I'm going through a break-up." The host ended the interview. Done. Finis. Dead air time...or the next guest. Here's my Staying Married secret: don't focus on the big stuff or the little stuff. So don't focus, unless you're in a good mood. Also marry someone who you like even more than you love. There. I've doomed my marriage. Now I have to go write at La Paloma. After all, I'll need to support myself now on.

It's been a reader's life around here. Lots of summer sort of reading: Robin Hobb, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Cashore. Now I'm listening to Catherine Schine's The Three Weissmanns of Westport. It's based on Sense and Sensibility. I have no idea if I'd enjoy it so much otherwise. I really can't tell if it's a good book or it's just a good take on a great book. So far it's entertaining and has those moments of cleverness that make Austen fun. There's a lot of telling (vs showing) along with the same kind of dry omniscient voice that we're not allowed to use in regular romance any more. In this case it's all fine. Also. You missed pie. We had four but now there's none left. Today I switch back into a writer.

But first I have to rouse enthusiasm for my own stuff, right? And I better wait a day or two to write any contemporaries because I know I'll sound just like SEP.

I got tired of my old header ("random, occasionally about writing and getting published") because I don't seem to write about writing or publishing much these days. And the word random is used too often and used wrong. It's not "nauseous" or "hopefully" but edging into their territory. I'm getting used to the eerie computer voice on my Kindle. I started listening to it when I got a batch of books I wanted to read but was in a multi-tasking mood. It's the same odd computer voice that'll read to you with Word. I was listening to a book that had a hero named Cal and I thought how sweet it was that people called him California and then realized only happened at the end of a sentence. Whoops. Speaking of Kindle (tangent, see?) Did you see that the Amazon bestselling Kindle list is going to split? Freebies and pay-for books are going to be put into different categories. Makes sense. Back to the story I'm writing with Bonnie. I'm doi...

that last entry seemed to be all snarly about the romance when it should have been about the great reader. I only emphasized the crappiness of the book because if it had been merely been meh, then the gusto, the pure joy of the reader's work would be less heroic. I love my new computer, thanks for asking, except the mouse seems travel a lot and ends up landing any which way all over the place so when I write stories without paying attention there are strange paragraphs inserted into words. like this bit of gobbledygoop I just wrote: Three dogs came hurtling from nowhere--silent shaggy creatures that threw themselves on Miguel. His dogs were always well behaved ater came gushing out, and without the thumps or air hisses of a system that had been off for a while. well maybe it was funnier in the manuscript. Yeah, that's it.

I stopped listening to another purely awful romance. (no names, even if she is one of the famous people who couldn't care less what a blogger thinks of 'em) I realized the only reason I'd lasted as long as I had was the reader. He's an Englishman (or just does the accent well) and seems to love the stuff he's reading--and almost makes the recycled, tired garbage of a book worth the time. Almost. He can manage the most drealy lines or the hottest scenes with gusto. And his female voices are great. ** I kept wondering what he thought of the dreck he read so happily. I started listening for signs of a curled lip or scorn. Nope, he sounded thoroughly involved. Totally into one of the stupidest stories ever--and not just mind-dulling plot makes me cringe but the purple prose. Yeah. Also. WTF? Did she really just say that about the dude's love-weapon? Readers like that give me new respect for good actors. They can do that stuff with a straight face. They face the ...

Is there a disease in which a symptom is hearing the same song over and over? How about one where some layer below your skin itches? Scratching does nothing. And then there's the bizarre behaviors. Like how you have to do things but just don't do them? A serious avoidance must mean some kind of pathological syndrome. And then there's this symptom: heading down Route 91 when you need Route 84. More than once you do this. Two days in a row you find yourself on the wrong highway. Two days in a row you get on the wrong highway. Those last two? Brain cancer, I bet.