kate rothwell

but apparently other people don't. I was afraid of that.* You have to wonder how people who get huge numbers of stinky reviews for their first book ever manage to keep going. I’m fairly demoralized with two bad reviews and I can’t imagine how it would feel if this was my only book. We authors tell each other not to check Amazon or Goodreads, and that's good advice -- just because it’s too much work to get back to normal operating speed after being slapped in the face with a bad review. Yes, yes, such an overdramatic response, but any author can tell you--that's how it feels. Really. It's the feeling, the internal authorial response, that contains the greatest quantity of suckage. The fact of a bad review is out in the world hardly matters. Much. Anyone is allowed to leave bad reviews, for Pete’s sake. I resent my own inability to ignore it. I hate how it entirely unfloats my boat. I get swamped and there are no life vests onboard. (“May day! May day!”) Authors wi...

Yesterday, as I did my quarterly whine**, I tried to think of actual actions I regret, careerwise.  There are a few lost opportunities, stories that could have used more work, dumb moves, that kind of thing. But I only got a true pang of regret when I remembered the guy I interviewed about 20 years ago. Back then, I worked for local magazines and newspapers (one of which still exists wowee). I wrote free-lance until I got a job as an editor. I wrote dozens? hundreds? of articles during my feature article years. I interviewed all sorts of people--bee-keepers, collectors, athletes, politicians, movers-and-shakers, bankers, acrobats, a real cowboy, Billy Ripken, artists, actors, writers, chicken farmers, crooks, Other Women, home-schoolers, police officers, judges, lawyers.... Regrets. Right. When I think about all those interviews, two stand out: one with a woman lived in Frederick in the 1940s and another with a man who'd stormed Normandy during D-Day. I was supposed to writ...

Let's get the promo out of the way. The SAMMIES are happening and my Summer Devon book, Unnatural Calamities , is up for best ebook cover and best ebook. You should vote for here: THE VOTING LINK! There are a lot of really good books up on that list. I had a hard time deciding who else to vote for. But I did pick Sandy Blair because she's a sweetie-pie. Too many great books to choose so I went with the fabu one by the doll-faced sweetie-pie.  In other news: my book that I tried to make free with a coupon is now just plain free . Here's the link at Smashwords .  It's over at All Romance Ebooks too, but it's not free at Amazon yet. Why am I making it free? Because the newsletter I wrote turned into so much gibberish that the special code to make it free was gone. Also because I'm following the herd. Everyone seems to make books free and just as the books are catching on, they zip over and jack up the price to a buck or so. This ebook world is one wild and w...

Dear Person to whom I Babble: I don't know who you are yet, but some unfortunate is going to come across me after I've self medicated and she's going to say hello and that'll be it. I'm not sure what the topic will be but I will talk. A lot. Let me just say now that I'm sorry and all the opinions I expressed aren't really my own. It's the lemon sour speaking. Seriously what will I get from this conference? Time to hang with friends, yup. And the chance to hear that editors and agents are looking for fresh new voices. No, really? I'm supposed to make new friends (influential important friends preferably....) but that's not likely to happen. When you look like you're as desperate as the ancient mariner, people try to veer away from you. He's coming off years of crazy on the becalmed sea with a dead albatross. I don't have good excuse except I hate crowds and have forgotten how to interact with adult humans. Why am I going? I should reme...

Probably if it's done by Tim Minchin or a good comic. Or maybe an emo indie band that makes listeners feel as if its despair is the pain of the universe and isn't just first world angst. Most of my whining is preschool resentment of what I have to do next. I wonder what percentage of the grownup population gets that feeling that they'd rather do anything but [ blank ] at the very moment they should most be [ blanking ]? Blank can equal "stop drinking" "exercise" "go to work" "get the hell out of bed" "drink enough water" I suppose blank can reach all the way to "stay alive." I'm not at that whatthehell point, thank you. Have been before, will again, I'm sure, but not right now. I've just noticed in the past that one of the first things to go at the start of the whine and rinse cycles are the stories and uh oh, the pleasure is sliding away. And the sad thing is that even though I now have pleasant stripe...

1. The theme from Arthur is jammed in my head. Thanks a lot, Ryan. Your video is cute, but the song! THE SONG. 2. This is the biggie for me: a semi-possible offer from a dreamy fabu publisher is not going to happen. 3. Christmas. I'm getting worse at that holiday, or rather the season. I should have been trained in it better. 4. Rain, rain, more rain. 5. The house smells like an old damp ex-fire because the old fire went out. 6. Nekkid trees. 7. In the rain. Except my husband just told me out of the blue that he loves me, so okay. And also someone invented Pandora so I can drive out Christopher Cross. Currently my "Old White Guys" station is playing Steely Dan and Bruuuuuuuuce is up next. Another also? If there is some scurrying and hue and crying going on in the internettty world or politics or publishing, I'm not there. I've checked out. Unless you know something about it....and it's potentially interesting? Well? Hmm? Anyone? Gossip?

I swear to god I have an anti-muse living in my head. Shannon Stacey often interviews her muse, maybe I could serve an eviction notice on the anti-muse. me: dude, go away am: you and what army will make me? And by the way? Your face! [odd that he sounds a lot like one of my kids--pick a kid, any kid] me: Hey, maybe this will banish you. I have here an email from my agent who says she loves the first few chapters of this story and wants to see more. am: so? what makes you think I'm gonna shut up enough to let you write LALALALALALALALALALALALA and by the way? She's just one person. What does she know. This story is stupid . me: [ whimpering. ] What will it take? am: Bribe me and maybe I'll go away. I accept promises of chocolate and procrastination. me : please, please, just let me finish this scene. I've been stuck on this scene for hours. am: only if you immediately twitter afterwards. Make it about politics so you lose more readers. And by the way? Have you noti...

Usually this happens with weather. "Warm enough for ya?" Today's issue? Just guess. No really, go ahead. It won't be hard. First person asks me . My response: Yeah! Sure did! I voted. YAY! Second online nagging me: Yes! I did it. Third nudge : Okay, yes. I did. Fourth: Yeah. Fifth: [shrug] Sixth: It's not really your business. Seventh: Fuck off. Ready to be done. Ready to think about something, anything, other than this election. I didn't even get a sticker so I can't get my coffee or ice cream. Although now it looks like Starbucks is in trouble with that. Go on, all you slackers. You can get your free coffee too .

I swear to god, there's something about autumn that gives me the pip. I used to think it's because this is when most of my family/friend deaths have occurred but now I think it has to do with something chemical because that's how I think these days. Everyone's a big sack o'chemicals. That's enough to give anyone an outlook lower than a toad's knee. But in the autumn I'm peeled, totally raw. I thought when you get older, it's harder to get all jittery and sad because you have experience and know what's going on. Yeah, but it's experience in getting jittery and sad, dude. The most unlikely things send me into a decline. The sight of an nearly wrecked swing-set in someone's back yard. A nicely carved pumpkin sagging a bit. An empty popcorn bag in a pile of leaves. In fact I'd say just about anything that has the air of being abandoned and near its end. WTF? If those images showed up in some post-modern short story, I'd give the write...

I chugged along on a story. 60 pages in five days, moving along beautifully. The story, the characters poured out of my fingers. And then I got a rejection. It's a great rejection, considerate, thoughtful--complimentary even. But still, when I sit down today, the steam for the other story is gone. I'm 13,000 words into this dreck, and there' s no sex, not even tension. Yo, you write smut, get to work on something that'll sell. This is barely a romance and it's nothing else, either. Who cares about these people? It starts out with such a whiner. Jeeeez louise, It's never going to sell. What's the point. Omigod, just go get another job. Today I hate writing. Tomorrow I think I'll go back to the standard operating middle and just work. Back to the formerly rapidly-arriving story. It's one I started about two years ago. Starts out with a self pitying passive heroine--kind of like me today--but she does improve after this bit which I posted once upon a ...

I'm trying to be like PBW, but when I read really GOOD free reads, all I can think is 1. damn, damn, damn, I should be paying for this. 2. if something this good is free, then what chance do I have with the stuff I'm writing and I want people to pay for. 3. what's wrong with this that it's free. 4. there's nothing wrong with this and it shouldn't be free. 5. at least charge me a dollar or two. Let me assuage the guilt that you put so much work into something I'm getting for FREE. ....and all of this takes away from my pleasure at finding a great read that I didn't pay for. Right now I'm reading Exiles Burn and I was only a few pages in when I started doing my list from 1-5. I saw the poser cover and had great hopes the book would suck and I could avoid the guilt and fretting, but no. So far, it's excellent. Damn.

The second graduation did include the "today is not an ending but a beginning" line. Mike called it, which means he wins a million dollars but only if he comments below and since he doesn't read this blog, he's gonna remain dirt poor and never even know what he's lost. Such a shame. I've had insomnia for a couple of weeks now. I fall asleep and then wake up about two and that's about it. Chronic insomnia can have some advantages. When one finally dozes off between 5-7 am, the dreams are beyond amazing. I remember that from the newborn stage of parenting. Last night I was thinking about a stalled story as I tried to go to sleep again. I dozed off and the plot showed up in a technicolor dream with a great solution. Unfortunately it means that the story no longer qualifies as a romance, but maybe it's time to move to something new. I got a perfect ending in my sleep or what passes for sleep these days. and that's positively biblical. Joseph, right? ...

The sad thing is I had the time, just not the inclination to blog. Because ummmmmmmmm errrrrrr. Um. Yeah. I think it's the assemblies, the award ceremonies and the concerts. Especially that last. This is the endless concert time of year... Four big ones that go on for hours and hours and hours. Seriously, the one tonight will start at 7 and go past ten. Tomorrow night, 6:30-9:30. And they will feature violins. I like the little concerts and the plays. But the big ones mid-year and end-year that feature every group in a very large school or even the whole school system and that has tout ensemble playing the national anthem and God Bless America at least twice. .... Oh. Shit, No. I go all blank and hazy when we sit in those badly designed, hot and overcrowded auditoriums. And one by one, the music teachers tell us how special our kids are and how wonderful we are to give our kids the gift of music in this very special school system and now can I just get a round of applause for som...

So how long does a DTaP innoculation hurt? That link says only a few days. . . but sheesh, it's been a few days and owwie (and my family doesn't want to hear it any more). Revenge for all those times I didn't give my infants pain-killer after their vaccines, poor punkins.

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,...

Oh, damn. This phrase at tumperkin's place "fierce authors" caught my eye. It's a great phrase and I nodded along and I agree. Impassioned, fierce. That's what readers want. That booming back-beat sort of music--nothing wispy--directed and intense that moves your belly. Stories with boiling hot action, anger, hunger...intensity. I'm reading those books and I can feel that word fierce in everything, from the plots, characters to word choices. That isn't me or my writing. At my very best, I approach EF Benson's pace. There are only so many slots for the wispy stuff. Please, fate, don't make me have to go back to writing magazine articles again. I really like writing fiction.

So I've been selling socks for my ladies for five years. You'd think by now we'd have the basic communication down. Words like big, little . Yes, we manage. And they may have never learned the English words for colors but I can fake enough Bosnian for colors so we get by. But the word CUFF is still not there. I had an internet order from a wonderful person and the only thing she wanted was 24 pairs of CUFFED socks. Not booties, socks. Socks with CUFFS as show on that page I linked to above. Simple, eh? I made the mistake of trying to do this over the phone instead of drawing little pictures....silly silly silly Kate. Five years (actually ten) of miscommunication should have taught me something. I went to pick up my order to ship it off just now. 24 pairs of booties. So. Anyone want to buy a pair of booties? $12 a pair plus shipping?** Also, because I felt so bad, I picked up a couple of rugs and some bags. I haven't paid for any of it yet, but eventually all thes...

My webpages are stagnant. I can't remember how to play with them and nothing's changed for months. If I mess around, it's here, on myspace or in my facebook account that I got to annoy my boys. But I paid to have nice designs made! I like my damn pages. So I suppose they're the online equivalent of a print book. Just floating around the web, talking about events that happened years ago no reference to the present or future. Dinosaurs. Occasionally someone signs up for a Kate Rothwell newsletter and then sends back a "take me off the list" note when I send out a Summer Devon bit of news. I really should update the prices of the socks. I wish I'd managed to load pictures of the latest couple of covers. No, I'm not actually just sitting here in the dark, don't mind me, I'll be fine. I've had gracious offers from blog readers to actually help me. The trouble is they won't take pay, the bassets, and there are only so many socks they're w...

1. What is it with you authors? I give you a perfectly easy way to publicize your books and you don't send me your lists. Who's organizing your lives? Hire a publicist! And if she's any good, send me her address. 2. Who's idea was it to have ice fall out of the sky? it makes no sense, people. Rain, sure. Snow if you must. But what's with the tippity tappity of ice? Unnatural. 3. Why is it as soon as I decide I have a great system in place (one hour of writing, ten minutes activity) I undermine my system and blog hop? 4. Hey, kid, how many times do you have to play Hier Kommt Alex ? Don't you think that's enough? And what kind of name is Die Toten Hosen (the Dead Trousers)? 5. Who left the chocolate cake where I could find it? 6. Who left the remote on the couch so that when the kid sat on it, the batteries ran down? 7. Even with "Heir Kommt Alex" blaring on Guitar Hero 3, why do I have a Christmas carol blaring in my head. Granted at least it...

I see people have been using that phrase in the UK for years, but I first encountered it in Who Stole My Blackberry . It's especially good when heard as a book on tape and Mahtin Short ** Lukes burbles the words and nonwords over and over. I wanted a useful curse a couple of hours ago because I blew out my back by having a coughing fit and because that's got to be even dumber than the time I killed myself by bending over to pick up a lettuce leaf. fucketty fuck. Hmmm, best method is a big build up with final burst of emphatic obscenity at the end: fuck FUCK FUCK FUCKETTY FUCK ! if you're going to have a potty mouth, don't be namby pamby about it. ___________ ** NO, Martin Short is so not Martin Lukes. I blame the drugs.