Weird Day

you are violet #EE82EE

Your dominant hues are red and blue. You're confident and like showing people new ideas. You play well with others and can be very influential if you want to be. Your saturation level is lower than average - You don't stress out over things and don't understand people who do. Finishing projects may sometimes be a challenge, but you schedule time as you see fit and the important things all happen in the end, even if not everyone sees your grand master plan. Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

Okay-- according to my 'color quiz' my saturation level is 'lower than other people's' and since I'm to the teeth and eyeballs with my own children (yes, the ones I so adored not two days ago) I'm wondering if I'm not more of a screaming yellow than a soft violet.

Okay, SOMEONE went back and read back blog issues, and there was a discussion, and eventually I thought that this should be said aloud: My curmudgeonly and grumpy colleague who appeared to be a complete shit last week was actually kidding. He wasn't wearing his kidding face--I couldn't tell. I've said before that this guy and I interact more like family than like professionals (possibly because I'm not all that professional, even when I'm on my best behavior.) Anyway--big brother apologized and little sister stopped sticking her tongue out at him, and now he's the bestest bestest big brother in all the world. And he promises that if we're all nice to him and don't jump on him with sharp and pointy claws, he may actually comment... someday. I told him we'd fawn upon his exalted presence like dogs fawn on hamburger. We shall see.

About work--one of my students came up to me and started talking about the books HE is writing. I LOVE creative kids. I sometimes feel like I do what I do, just to have conversations like the one I had with this kid--he started telling me all about his plot and his characters and asking me if it hurt to kill people off and if sometimes your people did things you didn't plan on and all I could think of was, "Now THIS kid deserves to be the next Stephen King--without the drug addiction and horrific life-changing accident, of course!" Damn, I wish I had time to start up the Creative Writing class again. (Yet another thing the last guy in charge stole from me. Fucker.) Another kid--a Little Goddess fan--came bounding in to me. I know that she reads yaoi, so I didn't feel like some sort of freak-pimp-porn-pusher when I said, "Hey--I just published a story on my web..."

"Oh yeah. I read it. It ROCKED!!!" And she was so excited--she REALLY loved it. So Jack and Teague are, so far, looking as though they'll get some more play. I'm thinking when I'm about 1/2 done with RAMPANT, I'll take a break and write the next installment. I love these guys--Teague especially, I think. I love the 'Wounded Warrior' (doesn't everyone?) and Teague is so very Alpha in his damaged, self-protective little heart. LOVE him. (Okay, does that mean I'm in love with myself? I hope not--then I'd have to stop writing, because me in person? Just not that interesting.)

Okay--speaking of interesting. I need something interesting to put on a black T-shirt to wear to the signing. So far, I've got "Back off! The man-gods are MINE!" (Cory) and....that's about it. I need a quote from one of the characters that totally catches people's attention, so I can put the list of books on the back. Since I'm not going to get all kitted out (you know, like Anne Rice) I'm thinking the black T-shirt and black jeans is the way to go. (Although I'm toying with the idea of punking out my hair--just sayin'.) Anyway, if you can think of anything Amy Lane-ish (or Cory-verse-ish) to put on a T-shirt, let me know!

And since I don't want to discuss irritating offspring, that's about all I've got. That, and in the first 12 pages of RAMPANT, the following analogy was used: "I fell from the sky like lead shit from a helium duck." Oh baby, I'm back!

Half-Assed Hash

I actually made a dish we called 'Half-assed hash this weekend'-- and since today is going to be totally random, I thought I'd start off with the recipe.

*** Half-Assed Hash:

Ingredients: 1 bag of frozen tater tots, 1 small bag of shredded cheese, 6-8 hot dogs or smoked sausages, chopped up.

Brown the tater-tots on a cookie sheet, throw them onto a skillet with hot-dog pieces and bag of cheese. Stir until it is unrecognizable. Serves six, barely, with some help from other shit from the fridge.

Peoples, white trash ain't an income, it's a state of mind--and anyone on a diet should run now and jump on a scale. Odds are good you gained three pounds just from reading that list of ingredients.


***Ladybug

Ladybug got a hold of a an entire cup of chicken bullion cubes tonight while she was in the bathtub. She wasn't just bathing, she was marinating.


***Ladybug

Ladybug has discovered that not only does she have a voice, she can boss us around. She will crawl into my lap and give me orders, like 'Feed me," "Watch la la la", or "Tickle me". Most of the time we do what she says--it's sort of the same thing we do with the cats. If we don't do what they want, they will sit on our face and whine until we do.

***Cave Troll

The Cave Troll has been going to Kindergarten. Every day, he comes home, and we ask him about school. Everyday he gives us the potato face, and we can only tell from minute changes in his behavior (a willingness to read, for example, or the ability to count to 20) that he is not actually watching television for four hours on the government's dime. Today, Big T asked him for the umpteenth time, "How was school, Cave Troll."

"Would you stop saying that?" Came the response. Apparently, in this case, silence is support.

***Big T

We were watching the last hour of LotR:RotK the other day, and Big T was holding Ladybug. He likes to lecture during movies--probably because I've been explaining them to him since he was very small--and he was lecturing to her for twenty-minutes straight. Until I realized that she hadn't been saying a word in her defense. It was because he'd bored her to sleep. It's that English Teacher gene--what can I say?

***Chicken

Keeps threatening to tell her friends that I write gay porn for a living. Little shit.

***Mate

Brushed his teeth for no other reason than to kiss me goodnight. I'll keep him.

***Book News

Thanks, Kenda!!!!
People really seem to like it!!!!
And Roxie, it's on it's way!!!!
And this is where I'm going to be signing books in a couple of weeks, providing iUniverse gets it's ass in gear and sends me some FUCKING BOOKS!!!!!

Okay now--Bitter Moon II is going to Roxie, coming back to me, and then going out to Bonnie. Holy Goddess, Merciful God, let it not suck.

*whew* And that's all folks!

Jack and Teague are Go!

I repeat, Jack and Teague are a GO!

Please check out YEARNING: A GREEN'S HILL NOVELLA FEATURING JACK AND TEAGUE on the website--and let me know if you like it!!!!

It's not procrastinating, it's blogging!

Okay--my foot hurts--not that this is a reason for blogging instead of working on my list of book to-dos but I thought I'd mention it. My fasci-whatsis sprung a plantarr-somethingus and sitting at the table to type is just not as much fun as it usually is.

Anyway, on my roster for today? I print out Bitter Moon II to send to Roxie and Needletart--huzzah!!! huzzah!!! HUZZAHHHH!!!! I'm really looking forward to having someone else read this--I'm sincerely hoping it doesn't suck... in fact, I have a bone deep feeling it might actually rock, just a little, but I don't want to be prideful about it, so I'm not going to mention it again. Tomorrow, I send it to them (along with some gift yarn of appreciation:-) and hope that they enjoy it. I will NOT mention the stomach torsioning anxiety that accompanies this act, because if they don't enjoy it, that puts them in a TERRIBLE place of having to tell me gently that my prayers have failed and it sucks. I will accept their words gracefully (don't I always?) but I worry. You know that. I always worry.

My children's child-care lady (my former student) is embarking on a second career as financial advisor and so she came by today with her teacher and made Mate and I feel completely inadequate about our money-management skills. What can I say, people, I've got my retirement in yarn? I mean, it's funny to US, but I'm not sure if the rest of the world gets it, you know?

And as for the children--The Cave Troll had his first soccer game yesterday, and I sweartadog, it was funnier than Monk! Seriously--Cave Troll was like Ferdinand the Bull. "You want me to look over there? But the sun is over there. Can I look at this clump of grass instead? No? Why not? You want me to come in? No? You want me to chase the ball? That ball? That ball going into the goal? Oh--was that bad? What do you mean guard the goal? I don't understand this thing called 'guard' that you are talking about. Can't I just chase the ball? I CAN? Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy...let me chase the ball! What do you mean kick it? Weren't those other kids doing that? You know--the ones in the other uniforms? I mean, kicking it away from them would be rude, wouldn't it? No? Oh-wait. The ball's in front of me now. Should I kick it? Really? Okay. They're all looking at me. Should I kick it again? Well...if you insist. They're still looking at me...should I do it again? Oh. Okay--everybody's chasing me now. That's good. Now they can kick it--I was getting tired..."

And so on. The fact that he runs like a guy in a Tinkerbell suit doesn't help. (Okay, my original analogy was WAYYYYY more offensive than that--but his elbows are up around his ears and his wrists and hands are flapping all around--YOU tell me what he runs like!) I mean, seriously--high comedy, at it's finest.

And as for Ladybug--she finally got her nap yesterday. She would have gotten one today, but the Cave Troll was being a Big Butt about it, so they're a couple of spazznados, ripping up the universe with their tiredness--fun times!

And otherwise? We're tired. We're tired and it's the end of week 1 for them, and week 2 for me, and I know it's going to get worse but... but we survive, don't we? We always do! I've got an entire paragraph of Rampant written--this is a big breakthrough, because once I have the first couple of pages down, I can do my 'filler time' writing. It's getting that first little bit on the big white page that's always daunting, so those of you excited about the next LG book can rejoice! And I'm going to post the Teague and Jack story on the website this weekend--can I get another HUZZAH? Amen:-)

Oh yes-- as long as iUniverse gets off their fat asses and sends me my umpteen copies of my books, I have a book signing with The Guilded Bat at a Horror Convention in September. But more about that later okay?

(*coyly*) Bye...

DUDES!!!!

CHECK THIS OUT!!!!!

And on a lighter note...

First of all--thank you. Your good wishes, your response to my last post was beautiful. There really are no words for that situation--you all made me feel like my words weren't too lame.

Second of all--I've got 10 minutes to see if I can download some Disney photos--cross your fingers!

And, while I'm waiting to see if THAT will happen...

OMG--people, I'm so overwhelmed. Would you like to see my schedule? It might help to show you why my posts are about to become the definition of random:

Get up at 6:00 a.m. Check e-mail, get ready, leave house by 7:10. (No cutting that first hour of school anymore!)
Leave school at 12:30, get home at 1. When I get home, Mate has picked Cave Troll up from school, and he is puttering around at home after lunch.
(Everyday BUT Thursday) put kids down for nap at 1:30. Wake them up at 2:45. On Thursday, we leave at 1:30 to go get Chicken because she has a short day. Every other day, we go get Chicken as soon as I can herd the fish out to the car. Get home at 3:30.
M/W--Take Cave Troll to soccer practice at 5:00. Stay there for practice. On Wednesdays, Mate will be taking Chicken to dance on this same day. Between 6:30 and 9:30--rustle up some grub, clean maybe the kitchen sort of, give baths to the short people, talk to everyone all the time while I'm trying to write and if I'm lucky, take a walk. Ten O'clock, sit at computer and work. 11:00--sneak to the television to watch a Cold Case re-run and knit. Fall asleep at 11:10, get up to shower at 11:30, get to bed at 12:00. Repeat for the day.
T/Th--Take Chicken to soccer practice at 5:00. Get home, do fuck-all, take Big T to karate at 6:15. Chicken walks home from practice.
Friday--Cave Troll has a soccer game at 6:00.
Saturday--Chicken has a soccer game sometime before 2:00 p.m. The Cave Troll and Ladybug have gymnastics at 9:30 a.m.
Sunday--Clean house? Are you shitting me? I'm fucking sleeping!

Seriously--I'm worried about the writing--that hour after school was really wonderful--if I can't get the kids to take a nap when they're supposed to (and so far, Ladybug is on a nap strike. She's turned into a totally different child, and not in a good way, either) my writing is going to totally take a hit and I'm trying not to spend precious energy panicking. I'm ready to print out BMoon II and send it out--FINALLY and the Jack & Teague story is ready to put up on the website. I've got my finger poised over the keyboard to start writing RAMPANT--and I'm worried that it will be done in the Spring like I thought it would be, and I'm disappointed beyond words.

*sigh* I'm also sleep deprived and I haven't had a day of rest in three weeks. All this angst might be gone after a good nap--someone let me know where they sell those, because we're fresh out!

(One picture posted--yippee!!! Maybe you'll get to see the trip one pic at a time!)

I forget just why...

Lament

Listen, children:
Your father is dead.
From his old coats
I'll make you little jackets;
I'll make you little trousers
From his old pants.
There'll be in his pockets
Things he used to put there,
Keys and pennies
Covered with tobacco;
Dan shall have the pennies
To save in his bank;
Anne shall have the keys
To make a pretty noise with.
Life must go on,
And the dead be forgotten;
Life must go on,
Though good men die;
Anne, eat your breakfast;
Dan, take your medicine;
Life must go on;
I forget just why.

Edna St. Vincent Millay



When I was in seventh grade, my best friend was Cheri Smith. We both got good grades and loved reading and and singing and had sleepovers and talked on the phone forever and read the same books and both despaired of ever being thin enough. She had the most beautiful voice. She also wanted her braces to come off more than I wanted my period, and since my body was just as immature as my mind, that wasn't happening soon. She'd already started her period, and I was horribly jealous.

The Christmas break during seventh grade was pretty awesome. She stayed the night one night--how wonderful! The Friday before we went back to school, we met at the cheap theaters by accident, because our parents had independently decided to see see the Muppet Show while it was still at the cheap theatres. She had a sore throat that night, but we loved the Muppet Show anyway, and laughed and laughed and wanted to sing all of the songs because they were wonderful.

That Monday she had died of Toxic Shock Syndrome, and I was devastated. She was buried with her braces still on her teeth.

She was not my parent or my sibling or my spouse, but the terrible disappointment, the terrible shock of thinking "I had made plans with this person that included tomorrow and now there are no more tomorrows ever," has stayed with me to this day.

I've spent much of my adult life trying to hardy up my soul in order to survive that terrible disappointment should it happen to me again. If Mate was an hour late from work, I prepared myself for his death. If one of the children stopped moving in my womb, I prepared myself for unimaginable loss. If my father coughed during my last visit, I prepared myself for sad news later. Not that I really EXPECTED the worst to happen--I just wanted my soul to have accustomed pathways on which to journey, so I would never, ever again feel same tissue between the world and madness rip into shreds like I did that day I came home from school to an empty house and screamed desolation to the four bare walls.

You can see that in my writing. There is a line from MacBeth, about Malcolm's sainted mother in which she 'died, every day she lived," meaning that she prepared herself for the afterlife and thought about her spirituality, so that death was a somber companion and not a terrible enemy. I've taken that to heart for most of my life. Adrian could never have died if I hadn't wondered what it would be like to survive a terrible loss. Cory and Green could never have continued if I hadn't made plans in my own heart for how I would do the same thing.

Now, flash forward thirty years, and I am still a little shy IRL and I still treasure my flesh and blood friends, but now I have less time for them because I've surrounded myself with family that I treasure above gold and possibly even above my own health and sanity. So the few friends I have--brother, a phone call, an e-mail--it's like Christmas.

There is no analogy for getting a phone call and hearing a friend's voice and expecting Christmas on the other line, and getting a funeral instead.

They had been married almost exactly a year--and he had loved her so very much. I have few memories of Barb's husband--she was busy with him, as I am with my family, but it didn't matter because I was so excited for her. I remember their wedding reception, just scant days after her father passed away, and how he was so very anxious to make sure her friends were comfortable, and how he took care of her--water, food, a smile, a hug. I remember her very best friend's wedding reception--just weeks after her mother passed away. She couldn't dance because she'd injured her foot, but he wrapped his arms around her and they just swayed, and they were so very happy.

It was all going to be good for Barb--she had dealt with so much, and done it so gracefully, and Russell was her most excellent reward.

During their two years together they had made plans for his house in the twisting red-dirt hills of Nor-Cal. Huge plans. Fifteen dumptrucks of dirt and an above ground lap-pool + a master bath with a spa plans.

During the memorial service, everyone marveled at how much they had accomplished. Everyone cringed at the barely framed master bedroom, a horrendous testament to how every plan she'd made in the last two and a half years had included him, and how he was no longer going to be there to see them fulfilled.

The house was overflowing with people, and (cliche of cliches) so much food. And nobody had a single useful thing to say. She wore her husband's shirt--it featured Wallace Shawn from 'The Princess Bride'. It said, 'Inconceivable'.

There was no other word.

Lady in Red and I worked pretty hard all day--we got there early, cleaned the house, took shifts in the kitchen dealing with the plethora of food, and then were part of the clean up. (By this time my feet hurt at an ibuprofin level, so I sat and watched. I'm lame. I admit it.) By the end of the day we were tired, sweaty, angry--Russell's ex-wife sees no reason to keep their son in Barb's life. The cruelty of that decision is un-fucking-imaginable-- and we'd heard the godsawful story of the freak accident that had taken Russ away, twice. It didn't get better--any story that involves a stuck accelerator line, malfunctioning seat-belt and an asshat of a CHP officer who confuses the deceased with a drug-dealer is not going to get prettier or any less horrifying with retelling.

And we were so baffled, so very very baffled on the way home. A world that could do this to good people--inconceivable. There was no lesson to be learned. There was no silver lining. There were no prepared pathways of the heart that could make sense of this and give her strength. There is no truism that will help her get through it. It's going to have to be her and guts and her children. I watched her make her children dinner--'so much food' and they wanted anything that WASN'T on the table. They're it. They are what will get her through. And they're so small, and it's such a terrible burden, and all I could think was, "I couldn't call all week. By the time I got the phone and it was quiet, it was ten o'clock. I was dozing in my chair. My life was too much for me, there was nothing left." She had family and she has friends, but eventually it's going to have to be her shoulders, and they've dealt with so very much.

And maybe someday, it won't seem like too much to carry, but not now.

Wait--I lied. There was one thing I learned from the day. If you are ever in a place where you can choose between dusting the home of the recently deceased and scrubbing the bathrooms, scrub the bathrooms.

Every goddamned picture had Russell and Barb, happy together. It broke my fucking heart.