kate rothwell

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 apartment...

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!

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 a real c...

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.

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.

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 pictures....

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.