Showing posts from 2006

more better promo

If snark isn't your bag, check out this amazing video Michelle Pillow made for the book. Oooo. Those bodies! OOOoooo She sent me the html but it seemed to hate my blog, so sorry, link only.

Win a Copy of Taming Him!

Kylie inspired me, so she gets the first entry to this FABULOUS CONTEST I love the cover but I love snark just as much. Tell me what those people on that cover are saying (with no reflection of actual content of book) The best entrant wins his or her own copy of this great Ellora's Cave/Pocket anthology! an example : " listen, you keep those spike heels outta my groin, honey, and I won't dislocate your kneecap with my super-strong fingers." Kylie's entry: " You know,... a dab of clear polish will stop that run, baby." Contest ends ummmmmmm Tuesday, January 9th, which I think is the official release day of the book (it's already available). You have to be 18 or older to enter. Enter in the comments below! UPDATE: no limit to the number of entries per person. Since I don't have a warning on this site, better make it PG13. Heh. So far I think we're safe. . . some are mighty hot but safe! UPDATE TWO: I'm getting some grea
Oh boy! I just got a notice from Amazon -- Taming Him is shipping. (I wonder if we'll get any author copies?) No way the cover fits "Perfection," the story I wrote. I can't wait to read Kimberly Dean and Michelle Pillow's stories to see which story it illustrates. lissen, you keep those spike heels outta my groin, honey, and I won't dislocate your kneecap with my super-strong fingers. Hey, I love the cover. It's entirely unapologetic.

enough with the dream gunk

this is post 666! mwhahahaha. Appropriate number because the adults in this house caved to the dark side this year. After years of resistance, we surrendered. . . We bought a gaming console--a Wii for the offspring. (yo, I've only played that one game.) Boy two, on my left, tallest offspring points out that boy one (on far right) only looks taller because he's standing on one of those mini-trampoline things. To continue our tour of this photo, if you look at the tree, you'll see the duct tape of decor (grey circle) and the 1983 bagel. I'm wearing my father's Christmas vest. He got it from a friend and hated it and gave it to me. Or I stole it? I can't remember. It's the cheesiest, happiest vest ever with real shiny pearly things sewn onto it for snow flakes. Also for the first time in recorded history, the boys and I made a gingerbread house that did not fall down. I get kits and the goddamn houses never stand up for more than a few seconds. This

Personal blessings--long, dull Moment Of Truth

Listen, you might want to skip this one. It's dull, but I promised Margaret I'd get the details down--she's one of the rare people in the world who likes to read about dreams. But this dream was one of those gifts (from the subconscious, I suppose?) of existence. Won't translate into the real world as so why bother trying? Because it's always good to recall the fact that these are part of one's life. Actually my favorite life's gift wasn't a dream; it was a moment when I was about 13 years old. Spring in Washington, DC which is a blessing in itself. No city I know does spring better. Anyway, I sat by an open window and a dog barked and a bird's wings rustled and a phone rang --okay, okay, things liked this happened, I can't remember exactly what they were--and for a moment or maybe even several moments, I was part of the whole thing, a piece of the whole, the whole was a piece of me. I read the same thing in that damn Herman Hesse book a few ye

and congratulations to Summer

Bronwyn said congrats to Summer for being nominated for a CAPA and I said, "silly Bron, I wasn't nominated." I knew I hadn't been nominated because I checked the list a couple of times. I did see a lot of friends who had been: Alexis Fleming, Sandy Blair, Laura Hamby, Bobbie Cole, Shannon Stacey, Arianna Hart (twice) and other people I bet I missed. Apparently the brain fog is dense** because there's a Summer Book after all, Invisible Touch . Ha! Congratulations to me and everyone else, too. _________________ ** although in my own defense, it is a long list!

ho ho ho SBD cartoon edition and dreams

Boy3 and I are lying around in bed watching our cartoons and thank goodness Dexter is coming on because we've seen two treacly and absolutely Bizarre Christmas cartoon short movies in a row. These shows are kind of like the two singing Christmas trees my good friend L has given me (and I've lent back to her). They were designed by space aliens who've been exposed to years of Christmas from afar and think they know the props and characters but not really. And omigod, these shows that feature dogs and bad guys and elves are musicals, too. No, I'm sorry. Mr. Magoo as Scrooge is totally wierd. Back to Dexter vs. Santa Claus. And yes, it is even farther removed. It's written by space aliens who only watched the space aliens' productions. But that's what we like about Dexter. He's shaving Santa! And there's Dad! And we learned that Christmas is all about The Presents. Now that's a space alien production that works. And now Jimmy Neutron is saving C

speaking of which, did you know

This week or last was some kind of International Delurker Week. Megan asked people for their favorite numbers and colors. I'll ask what's your least favorite number or color ? My answers: 9 because I stank at the 9s timestable and everyone insisted it was the easiest and puce because the word is ewww and it is actually the color of flea's blood. Or maybe that means it's my favorite color. Sometimes.

and another thing. . .

I miss Wenlock. What is it with writers who decide to have lives and careers? I mean it--people like Stephen and Nonnie St. George (sob) should be given grants to write whatever they want and whenever they're in the mood.

snivel redux

huh. I don't usually interpret silence**, but for some reason, I wanna know what it means that no one's left messages under the pictures of me and the dog. I was expecting something along the lines of . . . "Kate, what's with the bags under the eyes? Get some rest, woman." "Dude, have you considered getting a manicure, an d get one of those workout hand thingies guys use in B movies to look tough?" "Where's your dog's face?" In other news, I got a great present for the kids but I won't say what it is because they might still check this blog. And Samhain is having a sale until December 24 . You can buy ebooks at ummm [runs over to check] fifteen percent off the regular price! No reviews of my latest book yet. No notes to Summer about how it isn't up to the standards of [previous title] or how it could have used [interesting plot twist]. Usually by now I have a couple of nice and/or peculiar emails. My first theory: it

faster'n the pony express, maybe

Wow. Telecommunications in the 21st century! I got a cell phone with a camera a few weeks back. I started messing around, taking and sending pictures to my email address. I figured I didn't know what I was doing because I didn't get the pictures. They arrived this morning. The only ones that aren't blurry messes feature me with dog. I was trying to show: 1. How much shinier dog fur is than my hair. ( we both got the shine treatment ) 2. The spot where my wedding ring left a dent (extra bonus feature--dog nose upper left)
I think I missed an important notice about life and writing. I got left behind. I'm feeling like one of those people who walk up to nearly every conversation and interrupt with "huh? what?" and everyone waits for her to go away so they can talk again. And to complete the self-pity portrait, I have to go microwave my version of Beth's wilson. The good news is we all survived last night's concert. Only three more to go. Oh and I did get saag paneer for supper so life can't be all that bad.

Thursday Thirteen FAQ

These really are the most frequently asked-of-me questions. 1. Where do you get your ideas? (Jodi just asked me this yesterday!) I get most of my ideas about three blocks south and west of my house. When I'm having trouble with a plot, I go for a walk and something usually comes to me. 2. Who's your agent? Emily Sylvan Kim. I love her. I hope some day to make us both lots of money. (aw, jeez, I hope I didn't jinx anything by writing that.) 3. What does Hilary Sares like? Nice heroes. If I knew more details than that, I'd probably write the book she absolutely had to buy. 4. I have an idea for a book. It's a great idea but I don't want to write it myself. Can you? Or do you know anyone who will write it for me? No, thank you for thinking of me though. Check these people out. 5. What kind of money to you make? Not much and I never know from month to month. Sometimes I get surprised by a check for a foreign sale. Not any more and never often enough.

more blog hopping

I've been visiting writing blogs and found the latest kerfuffle described over at Sybil's. I'd never heard of Godwin's law and I like it. I also read a bunch of FAQs at authors' blogs and I can't help noticing that none of the FAQs are questions I'd want to ask (I probably would anyway). Here's a sample of a few standard questions: Where were you born? What inspired you to become a writer? Who are your favorite authors? That kind of thing. My questions would probably be . . .well, if anything were fair game I might ask: Have you ever been involved in an online discussion in which you compared your opponent to terrorists or nazis?

House in 12 seconds

disclaimer: I love Hugh Laurie and the show is great fun even if it did give boy 3 nightmares for weeks. A link to House, every episode. Really.


Ta Da! It's RELEASE DAY for a SUMMER DEVON e-book, Revealing Skills ! Go! buy! read! Enter the contest at end of e-book! Get another book! And good chocolate! So, over at Bam's a while back there was a discussion about the cover. Do you think the cover model looks like Natalie Imbruglia, Anna Paquin, Tori Amos or Geena Davis?

window shrink wrapping 101

motivation: 80-year-old drafty house with bad windows. Outside temps below 20 F with high winds seem to be oozing into the house. Why look! The curtains are moving. ingredients: special sheets of plastic (clear) double-sided sticky tape, approx 1/2" wide, endless length, with white plastic paper on one side so it's usuable. action: Put sticky tape down so that it runs along all four sides of window pane with no gaps. The trick is to make sure the whole window, including as much of the ledge as possible, is covered. The sheet of plastic will prove to not be large enough and you'll have to reapply the tape. Pull off protective white top layer on tape, accidentally detaching the tape from window. Try to reattach tape to wood and not your fingers, then pick out dog hair that gets caught on now-exposed, twisted sticky tape. Take big sheet of plastic and try to attach it to sticky tape. Fail. Pull it off and try again, only this time using a new, unripped piece of plasti

Kvetching and Moaning

Two concerts down, four more to go. GODDDDamn, I hate concert season. The sweet voices? Love them. My kids? Love them too. The rest? I hate concert season. The parking-three-blocks-away-on-a-cold-night, the orchestra's endless pieces, the band's endless pieces, the singers (not endless, because those voices are so lovely, even doing horrible holiday medleys and singalong Rudolph), the national anthem (wtf?) and occasionally, the Fruited Plain song. Wartime made this township particularly patriotic. Each section punctuated by the announcements from administrators about how wonderful the teachers are. Teachers announcing how wonderful the school system is, how supportive the school administration is, how wonderful our kids are, how wonderful we are for driving our kids in to practice. We are to give ourselves a round of applause for being so wonderful. The concerts last, no kidding, a few hours. Yes, the teachers, the school, the kids are wonderful. It's just the concerts


Here's one way to tell the difference between me and Nora Roberts. I'll bet you a dollar that when cold weather comes around, she doesn't shrink wrap her windows. Actually I find it a relaxing process, and the hair dryer scares the bejeebers out of the dog. heh. Damn, my great graphic won't load. * * * * Remember the pedophile? And the letters sent home to every elementary and middle school family in town? That didn't take long. On December 5th, outraged residents assemble with tar and feathers. . .nah. It's the 21st century. We just shove guys like that out of town. Somebody Else's Problem. Kind of a relief it wasn't worse--I imagine it's exactly the outcome the police and the superintendent hoped for ( in the article the super said he "felt a moral mandate" to send out the letter). We don't truck to none o' that particularly nasty criminal kind 'round here. We got Wild Oats and Whole Foods in this town! And boutiques

Lyvvie's meme

another meme and it's another list. They're good things, lists, and memes keep me from having to think about what to write. This one is tough: Six Weird Things about Me is hard because I know I'm utterly normal. Does that count as number one? But I am, dammit. 1. I'm the absolute most normal person on this planet. On a scale of 1-10, I'm 5. On "yes, maybe, no," I'm maybe. On "strongly approve, somewhat approve, no opinion, somewhat disapprove, strongly disapprove" I'm somewhat approve to somewhat disapprove on bad days. On the color wheel, I'm between cerulean blue and cobalt, sky blue but not at sunset or sunrise and not on a cloudless day. Not a blue that anyone would remark upon unless there've been days of rain. The kind of sky that takes up a lot of space. (I still need to lose weight) 2. I used to have rituals that made no sense. I'd walk around a particular building twice before going in, and if the door I used was

stolen from Shannon

A holiday meme. 1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? both, but not together. I think? Hmm. Maybe I'll try that. . 2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Until last year he just shoved everything under the tree and then the husband asked boy aged 8 if he wanted to help. Oops. BA8 hadn't known the truth. Whoowee were the other two kids pissed off at us. They'd done a careful job maintaining the myth. 3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? We have white and only on the tree. We like to see lights that are colored on everyone else's house. We love the huge blow up things in front of our neighbors' houses. Love. Them. 4. Do you hang mistletoe? No. Dog would eat the berries I bet. 5. When do you put your decorations up? Sometime nearish Christmas. When we are bored one day, usually on a weekend. 6. What is your favorite holiday dish? Mary's sweet potatoes, but that's for Thanksgiving. We don't do a big meal at Christmas. It used to be

Helpful Hint

If you're going to listen to a book on CD on your computer, make sure you've turned off your audio player's music scramble. It's pitiful how many tracks had played before I figured out there was a problem.

SBD, generic edition

Jeez. I'm in a bad mood--I'm not selling anything, and I want to sell books to publishers, dammit. So I feel like bitching, but other than that. . .hmmm. . . the whine isn't flowing freely as usual. How about a sex kvetch? I read yet another book where sex was the only bond between the hero and heroine. Lots of hot, creamy (god, I hate the cream. The heroines all have flipping yeast infections. Goop shouldn't be pure cream all the time, y'all) sex. No shared humor, no knowing glances other than the "I want you NOW" kind. I'm frickkin sick of one track minds. Tension is fun, but it's not the only reason to exist. Okay, that's an old, used up SBD. Everyone's talking about that. How about Stephanie Plum? Have I moaned about her before? That'll make a nice change of bitch pace. Just as I was ready to call it a day on Evanovich's character, Evanovich got the message. Plum is no longer TSTL. She has matured. She's better at h
remember my indignant carryings-on about the note sent home from school? I emailed the principal and every member of the school board. It turned out to be a letter sent to all the middle school parents, too, so the principal wasn't to blame. I never got a single response from any of them. Not a word. Every time I email someone inside the school system I don't get an answer. Teachers, administrators--doesn't matter. They never ever respond. And no, I know what you're thinking, I'm not a crank. My friend L, who is also not a crank, also doesn't get responses from them. Bah.

okay, so anyone tell me how to make a search within blogger?

I keep making reference to my promo post and then have to go back and back to find it. Plus I mean, there are other posts I like. Recipes. The three pussies and a cock post . Those sorts of things. Anyone want to tell a noob like me what to do? I've looked and can't find it. Clueless one. UPDATE: Bad news--The comment from Beth confirms it's true; I can't find my ass with both hands. Um, Kate? At the top of your blog - I'm looking at it right now - is a dark blue navigation bar. There's a little box to type in. Next to the little box, it says SEARCH THIS BLOG". If you type something into there and click the "search this blog" button, you get your results. Good news--We went to the library and they have every episode of "Firefly."

peacock without much conviction

Another hair post! How boring--I am vain about my hair. It's not my fault, I tell you. When I wear it down and brush it, a rare event, people tell me how gorgeous it is. They ooh and ahh . . . Of course it's a nice, innocuous compliment about appearance. Can't exactly say to someone "Wow, your breasts look great today. Get a new bra?" The hair doesn't just attract compliments. I've been told I'm too old to have long hair, which naturally made me rethink the haircut I'd been planning to get. If it's not exposing lots of skin, then any fashion labeled too old is just silly, thank you. (If it is exposing lots of skin, a fashion is probably too silly for most of the population, young and old.) If I wanted to, I'd even claim the right to wear Mary Hartman puffed sleeves--and that tells you how old I really am. PPPffth on any who say we can't, shouldn't, mustn't. Back to the hair. Since I'm into passing the buck, allow me to ad


We're watching a CD we got from the library-- Firefly --and we're liking it. How come this didn't get big? Huh? It's very cool. UPDATE: The boys are using their precious screen time to watch it AGAIN. And it's actually holding up. Love the little touches like the Chinese influence and the music. . .and the adaptation of all the old west stereotypes. I say it's a crime that shows like Trump's Apprentice thrive and this goes pppppppppfffff I feel like I do when I discover a new author on par with Loretta Chase. UPDATE 2: The tense lawman and hostage scene and Mal, walking onto the ship, ends it without breaking stride and then tosses the body overboard. Omigod. That is fantastic. It's better than that Indiana Jones and the pistol moment. And Wash with the Dinosaurs. "We shall call this land. . .'This Land'" What were those Fox types thinking? Cancellation of this show is an even more egregious offence than the fact that they give B


This gist of this post made me roll my eyes until I got a serious headache. Why? Because I'm willing to bet my next huge contract that the writer would have the same response I would: If I wrote a book and two different publishers said they wanted it--an ebook publisher and a NYC publisher--I'd go for the print NYC publisher. And this despite a lot of factors: I love the ebook people I deal with, the ebook process overall is more personal (they care about my input on covers! wow!), I think ebooks will be huge[r] soon, and I don't have a bee up my butt about the whole thing--that is, I don't have a need for the validation of being in print. I'm willing to think about my career in long-term and I think publishers like Samhain are the future, but my family wants money and except in rare cases (some EC writers, I hear?), the NYC publisher gives an author more money and more recognition and that's a seriously important bottom line for people who want to be profe

Thursday Thirteen -- People I've Slept With

heh. That title ought to bring in readers. No one calls or writes any more. . . 1. My mother. She wouldn't let me into her bed, but would come sit on mine. And then sort of lean over. And then collapse and fall asleep. I'd cover her up with my little pink blanket in the hopes that she'd stay the rest of the night. She never did. 2. Boy One. A major kicker. He wrapped the sheets around his legs too. He's been banned for a long time. 3. Boy Two. A moaner. And he complained about my breath in the morning. Jeez. He and boy one haven't been in the bed for years. 4. Boy Three. Still sneaks in occasionally. I wake up and there he is. Not a kicker or moaner so I don't even notice him until I wake up. Actually all three lounge on the bed when there's something good on late-night television. I tend to fall asleep teetering on the very edge of the bed. . .so does that count? 5. Sue B. The night she revealed to me that she was gay, we shared the only bed in my ap

Note To Leslie

Woman, you are losing your touch. Your email: "did you mail the coat?" My answer: "I went to the post office yesterday." I waited and yet I never got the expected follow-up email of: "I didn't ask if you went to the post office. I asked if you mailed the coat." The answer would have been no, I didn't mail it because I forgot the damned thing. . . . I did mail it today. And this slip from you, of all people!

nearly but not quite kilgore trout

I got my Dutch translations from Hilary. I love this cover. LovVvVe it. I'm not as certain I love the inside because I don't speak the language. If anyone wants a copy, I have an extra, even after I sent copies to my puzzled relatives. You have to promise to read it and tell me what it's about. The story is set in New York City and Minnesota. Heh. Except, okay, maybe somewhere in Minnesota looks like that landscape? I've been there and recall a lot of flat countryside and rolling hills. . . .but it is a big-ish sort of a state. Now the hard-copy I'm longing to own, that I pray I will someday get in the mail, is the Portuguese version of Somebody to Love . I've only seen a small thumbnail photo of it online. That book has a clinch cover! A real one! In a meadow with mountains in the background! The beauty of this is: 1. The entire story is set in lower Manhattan, New York City. 2. From the moment I set to work trying to get published in romance, I wanted

Why I Need a Boss, Part IV

Someone needs to push me in a single direction because I'm all over the place, working on two books at once, both at the same stage of first draft. Bad planning, baaaaaaaad rabbit brain. One is a fluff-o-la historical (not much sex) and one is a Half-Breed Space Aliens Taking over the world (sex! yes indeedy! uh oh, potential "too much external plot for a romance" alert. And yet no idea what's going to happen). Neither genre is particularly popular just now, the agent hasn't said anything about either book, so there's no sense of urgency. I think I'll flip a coin to decide which I should work on today. Oh, I forgot the semi-paranormal-fluffy Summer novella. She's selling--to the ebook world, at any rate. I can do that instead. Also first draft, but short. hippity hop.

Nan, you're right about the 'rents

Mom went to Russia right after the war in 1945, the family friend Margaret says. The big celebratory parades were just about over. Mom and Margaret worked in the same office in the embassy. Mom interpreted the statistics of reports about agriculture and industry and Margaret translated newspaper stories from Russian. They discussed art and literature and went dancing. Margaret was in Moscow during the war, though, so maybe I mixed the two women's versions? Dad was there during the war, too, and Margaret got sick of stories about his wonderful new wife--until she met her.

vegrandis desiderium or pusillus luctus

That's what the free on-line Latin translator thingy says is small regrets or tiny sorrow. I wanted something pompous-sounding, proper grammar be damned. Here are some of v.d. or p.l.: 1. That someone taught the youngest boy the real lyrics to the Human League song. He thought it was: Don't chew on me, baybay Don't chew on me, girl It fit our lives when he first heard it--our dog chewed every thing. I say there should be more songs about bad dogs and fewer songs about pathetic people begging for sex. 2. A larger pusillus luctus -- grande pusillus luctus? that we don't live closer to Leslie. And that Eric left his coat here. In the mail any minute, I swear. 3. That my hair isn't shinier after all that trouble. I took a picture with my new camera phone, but I can't seem to send the picture to myself. In it, the dog obviously has shinier, silkier hair than me. 4. That even though I've read the instructions to the new phone, I can't seem to send

I'm really still AWOL

My visitors are either raking the neighbor's leaves** or visiting a step-mother, so I sneaked--snuck?--into my office (also known as the guest room) and wrote about contract hunting season over at Romance Unleashed. I love having these visitors, and I'm not just writing that because Leslie reads my blog. Heh. ________________________________________ **we know how to show our out-of-town guests a good time! I can only hope he doesn't get covered with dog shit for the long ride back to Maryland tomorrow.

what do you think?

Yesterday my kid came home with a sealed envelope. Very important! he said. You have to read this! It was a single piece of paper. On one side, a note from the principal: This morning we were notified by the superintendent's office of a serious situation in our community of which you should be aware. The police department notified the superintendent of a registered sex offender who resides at [address, complete with apartment number]. His name is [full name] and he was born May 22, 1934. The notice is on the back of this letter and you can call Detective Dawn Lascari if you want more info. The person involved is not wanted or subject to any criminal investigation. The rest of the letter is all about talking about " Stranger Danger " and how we do the Three R's: Run, Remember and Report. Finishing with . . Let us know at school if you have a particular concern or need some guidance in speaking with your child. We are all partners in protecting the safety of our c

some writers!

Some writers get on my last nerve with all their promo. I can't think of names right now, honestly, but even if I could, I wouldn't say anything because of Glass House Syndrome. Other writers? They get on my second-to-last-nerve because they don't tell me any thing about their books. Linda Gayle , I'm talking to YOU! This is someone I write to at least once a week. I mean I know all about her cats, her kids, her writing etc. She knows far more than enough about every blessed chapter of every one of my blessed books. I run crying to her all the blessed time. Lucky for me, she's a nice person. If she's tired of it yet, I haven't heard. But that's not all I haven't heard. The biddy . Tonight's exchange: Kate to Linda: I've been on the lookout for your cover . Got one yet? Linda to Kate: The cover was on the cover of the last RT, and there was a spread in the middle - did you see that? On the cover of RT? And she didn't say anyth

ta da

Here's the cover for the e-book (Samhain, aimless) coming out next month. It's practically full length and it's a Summer book. I have a contest at the end of the book. I'm thinking I'll give away more than just another book. Cover by Vanessa Hawthorne.
The way I see it, the new OJ book is the absolute opposite of that A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. OJ said it's fiction, but it's probably mostly a memoir. Frey said it's a memoir, but it's definitely mostly fiction. As far as I'm concerned, the new OJ book has plenty in common with that Frey book. I'll be damned before I buy either book. And I base my opinion of the books on the behavior of the authors rather than the writing. If someone forced me to choose between them, I'd buy that Frey book.


I'm going to go give a talk about research in Glastonbury, CT. Want to come? It's at 11 am today. This is what the web page says I'm going to talk about: Topic: Researching information to make your novels factually and historically accurate which isn't really what I'm going to talk about at all . I do research to make the people and scenes better drawn, easier to see. Unique. I'm rotten at scene-setting so I look for anything that'll help. The "factually and historically accurate" is way, way less important to me than making the book feel like there's a there there or that the people aren't just a bunch of valley girls shoved back in time. OR, If I'm writing about valley girls (damn, do they still exist?) that I don't screw them up and make them sound like a bunch of 40-something women. I do research to write a better book not to make it more Accurate. Bah. If I wanted accurate, I'd write articles again, and I don't w

trivial matters re: my bod

I'm getting an MRI on monday and had to get my wedding ring sawed off yesterday. Fun process to watch. My ring finger remains very oddly shaped--like a Victorian lady who always wears corsets, my finger's shape has been altered by the ring. A skinny waist where the ring was, pudge above. Coolio. The skin is pale and sensitive and delighted to be out in the air again. Hey I've worn that thing for [jeebus!] 21 years. The finger-altering thing happens to skinny types. My husband, who's about the same weight he was when we married, also has the Victorian waist thing happening on his finger. His ring is stuck, too. Neither one of us could get away with lying about the marriage thing even after we get our rings sawed off. Okay, there's always the "newly divorced" schtick. Or a really dark bar. . . * * * * I've lost almost 20 pounds since September--still have plenty more to go. Most of it was intentionally lost. I've been using http://www.calorie.

in case you missed this.

The best interview to come out of the election season that just ended. The two voice-over artists who do nasty ads for politics. The nursery rhymes, the world liberal . . . changed. Forever. [now do it ironically. Okay, how about light negative] * * * * another thing for the to-do list: You should also check out a circus story's epilogue at Suisan's.

how did this end up there?

The British Job Forum lists my blog. If you go down the page you'll find it. I think someone's grab-and-display-whatsit-tool is broken. Not all Rothwell blogs list employment possibilities in Ross-on-Wye. Uh oh. That city name might be a bad thing to actually write out here. Maybe I should start up another nickname contest for female sexual organs to get myself banned? I wouldn't want anyone wandering over here looking for a job. UPDATED: Donald, maybe we'll make something available for you.

several hours later. . .

I think my hair looks absolutely the same. Maybe slightly less frizzy? Bah.

hair emergency

I blame vanity and the coupon--I only buy funky hair stuff when there's a coupon. I bought some sort of Shiney Hair by Clariol. It's not a dye so I figured it wasn't a big deal with the poisons. Whoops, it must be chock full of toxic chemicals because they insist you wear gloves and do the junior chemistry thing with two bottles (with the warning: don't store the two mixed substances in a closed container or it'll explode, dammit, on the instructions) Even before you mix the stuff, you don gloves. It's that scary. The big cheery sheet warns you not to let the gunk touch ANYTHING. I have long hair, down to my butt. I didn't want my gunk-encased hair touching anything like skin or clothing (or the dog who wanted to help me with this project. She wants to help me with every project) so I got a Stop and Shop plastic bag to cover my head during the ten minutes of waiting for the Shiny effect. Very clever, eh? I planned to use the bag later on to dispose of a

brained (ow)

Due to wine consumed at a party, I had two very vivid dreams last night. In the first, I met with a group of philosophers (either philosophers or writers or both, maybe) and we discussed something astounding and essentially TRUTHFUL. I know we had amazing revelations--I have no idea what we concluded. In the second dream I brought home a cute leetle kitten, and my husband stomped on it. On purpose. Guess which dream has stuck with me all day?
It's 60 degrees in November. Freaky. The boys have the day off and will ignore the bright sunshine and balmy weather unless I shove them outside. As usual there're various authors behaving badly and authors behaving badly about the first authors behaving badly. Here's one link but it's everywhere and old news anyway. notes to myself [to be filed under "obvious yet important"] : 1. Most train wrecks happen when someone gets mad or hurt. 2. Cultivate polite indifference or humor. Be Wylie or Daisy. 3. Self-righteousness doesn't work. Mmmm, feels so good though. 4. It's v. important to ignore this true fact: train wreck blog/exchanges are more interesting than the usual sort of blog entry. 5. If you do want to wade in, it's important, as ferfe says, to learn to duck. Why yes, Abby did just link to me so, yes, it looks odd that I'm linking to her. But her meta-kerfuffle is so perfect --and it fits the subject. * * * * I spent yesterday

the winner

Over the 40-something years I've been hauling around my body, I've hated parts of it now and then. Sometimes it's a matter of vanity; usually the hatred arises because of some kind of discomfort. For sheer loathing, nothing beats the stomach. We are rarely friends. Bet you thought a post labeled winner was about the Democrats' return to power in Congress. okay. . . Boo yah! Dems won!

another reminder

don't forget to wish Lyn Cash a Happy Birthday.
It's election day! Yaaaah! This means something wonderful to me. Something. . .that fills my heart with pure joy: I don't have to make--or receive--another GOTV ** call for TWO YEARS! Kate faints with relief. I blogged about politics at Romance Unleashed. Talk about inappropriate subject matter. I hope I don't get booted out of the RU Club. _______________________________ ** get out the goddamn vote

Unrelated Stuff and SBD

1. Last History bushwa. Doug and Lovelysalome were right. Blue-eyed, blonde Ma was from the tribe--a long line of Jews. Her parents came from two different shtetls in one of those areas that is sometimes Poland and sometimes Hungary. She apparently looked echte Deutsche and rather Third Reich which caused her some trouble. Right after WWII, she was in Germany (she and Dad spent most of the war in Russia, working for the US of A--which later got them blacklisted, of course). She was constantly and rudely asked for her ID papers by occupying soldiers. She said she startled a fair number of American soldiers by responding in unaccented English. And no, I don't think any of her European relatives survived. 2. You know how people are always kvetching about other writers' behavior? Well, occasionally complaining? How about "an author behaving graciously to another author" story? Last month Sandy Blair gave away one of my books in a contest--to introduce people to my

walking chickens

We're celebrating! We have us an award winning teacher! When Mike picks a celebratory meal, it's always chicken wings. Yippee! Bring on the Clausties and the bar-be-que! It's a rocking house tonight. Actually, the celebration (such as it was) is over. The kids are watching Sponge Bob and I'm wishing I hadn't eaten seven wings. Mike's in his office. No doubt he's watching himself and wondering why he did the butt waggle in the video. He claims he has no idea. If you want to see all the Inspirational Profs at work and in interviews, there's a video of the contenders here. Hmm. Only seems to want to play in Windows media. Strange background music--I noticed because I've watched it a couple of times. Go Michael! woo! woo!

today I can put up pix

see? dead people, aka mom and dad. Both were first generation American. Guessing game time: One was Irish/English (with a mother named Anna McCann, for pity's sake). The other was Eastern European Jew, generations back, with rabbis infesting the family. Which was which? This is one of those photos you get from a booth . . . photomatic, I think they're called? I love those things. I should post more. I have one I found on the street. It's of a couple kissing--one of the four frame type. I think it had fallen out of someone's trash. I have some great four-photo ones of me and my kids jammed into a booth--usually someone's crying. Here's another picture of the parents for the Guess The Heritage game. I never saw them doing canoodling like this. Never, ever. They were in their mid-40s by the time I came along. I was a "Hey, I thought I was finished with that!" baby. Hmm. No more dead people pix on this computer. Too bad. Somewhere in my life is a picture

Thursday Thirteen--people who are dead

This entry is NOT morbid, dammit. Stupid blogger's not working right -- I had such nice photos of dead people to upload. I'm talking before, not after pics. Heh. You want gross, check out Doug's slug sex play.... sometimes cutting-edge sex ideas cut edges that were better left untouched. Eeww, I'm gonna have bad images stuck in my brain for way too long. a discussion about that movie... N., a Mother On the Playground: You can't wish the president was dead. Me: No, no. I don't wish he was dead so don't go calling the CIA on me, okay? I wouldn't mourn much if he died but I guess I wouldn't cheer. I don't believe in the death penalty for anyone. N,MOP: But still. Not getting upset when a president is assassinated is wrong. Murder is not the way to change government. Me: Yeah, good point. How about if I said that there are a lot of other people whose deaths would diminish the world more? That okay? N,MOP: Oh, yeah. That I agree with one hundr

my friend S. M.

I took two Bosnians to the hospital to visit a third, S., one of my favorite refugees, who just had her forty-second birthday. She's in the ICU and we have no idea what's wrong with her. We lied to the ICU people, telling them that one of the other ladies was her cousin so we could get in--but the nurse didn't seem completely taken in by the lie. She wouldn't tell us anything other than S had slightly improved this morning. God. She must have been horrible before today then. While we were there, she opened her eyes, but I don't think anyone's home. The ladies spoke to her in Bosnian and she didn't respond. Here's the part that has stuck with me since the visit. For the first time in the five years I've known her, today I noticed two things: 1. Her eyes are gorgeous. Big, blue and, right now, blank as can be. 2. She didn't have a look of pain. And here's the thing: she must have had one for all the time I've known her. I had always th
Best tee-shirt of the day: Every time you see a rainbow, God is having gay sex.


I measure brain activity by rodent power, and yes, I know rabbits aren't rodents but some other family, I think. But close enough, okay? Gerbil brain --when your brain can't get off a subject and it runs on the wheel, thinking of nothing else. Rabbit brain --when your brain hippetty-hops from subject to subject and you bounce around the house or the internet not finishing projects or check your email every few minutes. Dormouse brain --see "Alice in Wonderland." Today = bunny brain and I can't write two sentences in a row. I went outside to rake leaves, thought of a sentence! came back inside, found a chewed up mess the dog made, cleaned up the mess, forgot why I'd come inside, made more coffee, checked the email, remembered I needed to go find the Halloween decorations in the basement and why don't I do a load of laundry while I'm there......blah blah blah, hop hop hop. What would be a useful and productive rodent? Maybe a hamster busy stuffing i

SBD random rant

I'm listening to a book on tape--an Ann Perry mystery. The book is driving me nuts. I sort of like the characters--they're occasionally predictable, but I don't mind that. I like the fact that, though they're not simplistic, these people are filled to the brim with integrity, strength, honesty yadda yadda. Nice change from the reality of ambiguous people in the real world. I don't even mind the POV errors I keep noticing. Or the obvious mistakes the characters make. EXCEPT I don't think I can listen to the whole thing because, even though the main characters are dandy, the author's driving me nuts. She has them all, every last one of them, closing their eyes and visiting the past when she needs to get in some backstory. They get so lost in their thoughts they are all startled when someone speaks and pulls them forward. Oops, just escaped to the vivid past which has more scent, sight, sound than this particular moment. Uh UH, girl friend. Once, twice okay,

everyone else gets the good mail

Sometimes when I read other writers' blogs, I get sorta jealous at all the attention they get. I'm poison ivy green about this note Tod Goldberg got. That's some tasty hate mail. Not as good as Tod's response, but the crack about the middle school girl really hit home for me. Maybe someday I can get someone threatening me with a lawyer for no particular reason too. [found by way of Karen.]

yes, of course you're sick of Rush's Michael J Fox remarks

But read this article anyway. I mean EDS is scary and I think the guy is right. Rush is insufferable a sufferer. [article found at corrente while I was looking for their smoked brisket recipe. ]