kate rothwell

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...

This time we got Uncle Andrew and Cousin Brian with us. That's an improvement. but still....ugh

Now I'm in for it. The axe is going the other way, old biddy! eeeiiiiiieeee I'm doomed because I am old and horrible! My opinions are worth shit because I don't know readers! Why am I so stupid that I get so worked up about a pair of tights? Why do I feel I have the right to put my horrible interpretation on the costumes? WHY did god let me be born so terribly conservative I shouldn't be allowed to live (Okay that last? Sheer exaggeration.) My main whine: Why do I get Teh Hate like Marianne and Liz and not the sales like Marianne and Liz? Yah well, everyone gets worked up and now everything I ever wrote about this will haunt me until I'm dead, dead, dead rotting in the grave or I turn off the computer for a couple of days. From now until Monday, I'll only open emails from Emily or Debs. ( UPDATE: Don't send me any emails unless you've actually read what I've written on the subject -- and not what someone else has apparently written about me. Did yo...

1. our 11 year old van is cranky and due to blow up someday. Isn't tomorrow Friday the 13th? 2. kids won't agree on what tape to listen to, ever. Never. Ever. Even when they all want to hear the same thing, they won't agree on principle. 3. someone stole our portable TV/VHS tape player a few years back. 4. someone usually gets carsick. 5. that someone is usually me. 6. and a kid. 7. and, if he makes any gross sounds, the kid next to him. 8. Poor Mike has to fight his instinct to be like Mitt Romney. Not with the dog jammed up on the roof, but with the "we're not stopping except for gas, no matter what, hold it in" thing. 9. we don't have Uncle Andrew coming along this time. We hope he'll be there next time, the lucky, lucky man. 10. no dog this time, so no excuse to stop and go for a walk. (attention burglars. The big nasty dog is going to have a big nasty dog sitter staying with her. They will both be eating all the Eggo waffles from the freezer down...

I'm sitting at the dining room table, trying to write. I'm playing with a ruler instead. Inspired by Beth, I just measured my hair. one bit was 37" long, another 34". The hair I yanked out was only 23" Back to plotting.

crappity! Crap! I can't find the rug Fatima made that I borrowed to take pictures of to put on the website. . . . Did one of you steal it? Well? I promise, I won't be mad if you confess now. Guh!