250...

Not that it's a real milestone, but if you count my old blog (and I do, since I only changed addresses because the shitstuffers in my AP class were making nasty comments that I had to edit out...) but today marks my 250'th post.

I'm sure there's a grammar nazi out there who will point out that this means my 1000th typo...nothin' but love for ya, whoever you are.

(Not you wonderful people who comment and whom I love...*insert Peter Lorre creepiness here* You're my friends...)

And now, if that weirdo, sleep-deprived introduction didn't scare everybody off, I have a fun story that will.

So, today, this one kid that my fellow administrators and I have labeled a complete-fucking-psychopath runs into my classroom, and I breathe a sigh of relief. You see, I've pinched this nerve in my shoulder, right? And this kid smells so much like pot, that for one blissful moment of contact-high, I'm not in screaming pain. But of course, this has a downside, because I need to alert administration--which I do, via e-mail. And security comes and gets him. End of story? Nope--this is where Point of View becomes REALLY important, boys and girls, because from the point of view of the administrators, this is where things get interesting.

Apparently this kid had a total drug-induced meltdown that started with him trying to attack our (young, blond, female) administrator through our other (older, balder, wiser, ex-policeman) administrator in order to get his phone back because he didn't want us to alert his dealer. I mean mother--at least 'mother' was the person the administration was trying to get a hold of anyway, but we suspect that nobody loses their nut with that much force unless lawyers, drugs, or moneys are involved. It ended with three large men sitting on him in a three point restraint and the choice between Juvenile hall and Juvenile Hall--where, if he lived in Oregon, he might be graced with Roxie's presence, but he's not that lucky and she is much luckier, so hopefully he gets Brunhilda-the-many-warted-bitch-goddess-whip-wielder to proctor his G.E.D. If he can still spell it after the brain-cell holocaust that he apparently perpetrated today.

Sheesh, people... and of course, once he left, my shoulder started to hurt again. But then, that was all about me, wasn't it?

Anyway...I'm going home. I went on a roll after my last post and wrote ten pages that felt (to me at least, at the moment) lyrical. They'll probably smell like rat droppings in two weeks when I'm revising them, but I don't think so. I've got about five or six pages to go, and then I scream and do the monkey in the kitchen at two a.m., and then I start from the beginning and comb down.

Of course, I need to share a bowl of ice cream with the liepchin first...and that's the best part. (AFter the Motrin, that is. Stomach problems be damned, I need some pain relief and I need it NOW!!!)

Waiting...

I saw the yarn harlot's post yesterday (and, might I add, DAMN apple for hiding the darned link key) and it was about how she just powers on through the end of a book or a project and gets it done.

An admirable way of approaching things--I love her for it. (That and for her unabashed gloating over the damnd squirrel--I laughed my ass off, and cheered a victory for all yarn-loving folk that could be heard in Toronto I'm sure!)

Anyway, unlike Steph, I tend to have a sweet period of...well... waiting.

I put off the end. I don't want it to end. I mean it's silly, because I've got at least two weeks of reading and revising before it's even close to sending off to all you folks who want to see it... (Roxie? Needletart? Lady in Red? You all still out there and game?) And then it's not like I don't repeat that last process when I get the manuscript back, but...

But I really love these people, I really love the way part I ends. I'm really proud of this book--unlike my Little Goddess books, which often seemed to write themselves, this one was set in another world and every word was sweat and blood and the result is a woven tapestry of words that feels like the one woven by one of those Celtic godesses (Orddu? Orwen? Orgoch? I forget which one wove...) because every scene is the holy mesh of divine spirit and rent flesh...(gees. I rhymed on accident...I think it's teaching Beowulf--I'm reading it out loud and I found myself explaining the damned story in four beat rhythm. It was pretty cool, actually. )

Anyway, I want to be able to write this last bit in one big chunk so I can get it all down perfectly.

You've probably all figured out that finding big chunks of time in my house is a little like finding a diamond in the bottom of one of my kids' five hundred toyboxes. It's totally possible that such a thing exists, but my approach to finding it is moslty bewilderment and exhaustion, and that's not a very scientific methodology.

And I'm okay with that. My characters are simply enduring that moment of breathless suspense that happens before the very best things in life.

PLease let this one not suck.

Ladybug fall down and go boom!

Okay--really, I have nothing to post about today.

I told the folks at work about the interview and (with the exception of the Lady in Red who has my eternal adoration) they were so excited that they...

Said not a blessed thing. You know, it's a good thing I get my strokes elsewhere, because these guys have like a mission to destroy the self esteem of anyone with two x chromosomes and a creative mind. There's probably a special, boring place in hell where all they do is argue about is sports reserved for these people alone, but I don't think they'd recognize it as evil, so it's absolutely perfect as an afterlife--I guess the Goddess is merciful after all. I don't know--I think I'd get more props if I changed oil for Jiffy Lube or something. You'd think English teachers (I mean, *teachers*, for sweet Triane's sake--our JOB is to praise people so that they keep trying at worthwhile attempts at communication) would have more to say about that interview than, "Homoerotica, huh?"

Okay, rant over. My little pity party is breaking up and I can go on with my regular scheduled yarning about wool...

I'm starting the knitting club tomorrow--today I brought four children's sweaters in to brag--including the FO I just finished--a little pastel sweater from Yarn Girl's Kid's Knits (the 0-3 year old book). I did it in this thick/thin cotton yarn and once I get the buttons on, it will make a very nice mid-season sweater. Of course, I improvised the pattern and didn't stripe it and added a hood...but mostly it was Julie and Jordana's idea, and I likes it. I don't know how big a turn-out I'll get, but I did buy 9 sets of those ittle bittle needles from Red-Heart to, well, basically give away, and I'm raiding my yarn stash for the really colorful stuff again. (I need mate's help getting this out of the garage...) and basically, I'm ready to spend my Tuesday lunches running around like a headless chicken, frustrating teenagers w/the attention span of a spaz-weasel and hoping that at least one in ten take. It's something to hope for, anyway.

And in the children department? Ladybug fell down one step at the babysitters--apparently she was just one step up and just fell flat on her face. Her upper lip has it's own zip-code now, and if it's still that big when she's three, we're picking out names and setting up a bank-account. That didn't stop her from partying down, though--she still climbed on top of my yarn boxes and danced the monkey all night tonight, amusing the family to no end. Damn...she's the child that the song 'Personality' was written for.

Lookit Lookit Lookit!

Okay--I'll admit it--I'm really excited about this. Floyd, the guy who gave the interview gave me a VERY helpful list of things to look for while I'm proofreading...I mean, I'm so grateful to him, I may have to knit him something. And I'd like to seriously thank my buddy at work who took that picture in the last ten minutes of lunch for no other reason than that I asked him to. And I'd like to thank whoever first said that last answer I gave--it's been bothering me, because I submitted the interview and thought, "Wait...have I heard that before? Did I get that from somewhere? It seems familiar...but I can't place it, and now it feels like I thought of it." But other than that, I'm pretty sure the rest of the answers are all me. As long as I wasn't taken over by aliens.

Anyway--here it is... and suddenly, my links are gone. I just looked up to add the link...and...crap. All gone. Here--I'll give you guys the url, and then, when I figure out how to link it, I'll make it easier for you.

iuniversebookreviews.blogspot.com

Anyway, it's the closest thing to famous I'll ever be.

Several questions...

I NEVER EVER want answered...

* Why was it necessary this morning for the world to stop spinning on it's axis, annihilate itself and disintegrate into powder when I took a bite of my son's 'apple' (it was a nectarine) after he said he didn't want it?

* How many times have my children exposed my boobs to the world by pulling on the front of my shirt?

* What are my students thinking when I crack a joke I know is hilarious, and they don't even crack a smile?

* What did my husband mean this morning, when the baby started crying, and he sat up in bed and said, "What time is it?" "It's 4:15." "That's the end of Dean." I mean, who is Dean, and why did the baby waking up in the morning kill him? The world will never know.

* Was it the new pants or the new underwear that caused the atomic wedgie that added two inches to my height on Tuesday?

* What is that crackling sound when I move my neck just...OUCH!...so...

* If I keep losing hair at this rate, how long until the bald patches show?

* Exactly how many proofreading gaffes are in my first book? (Floyd, the guy who reviewed me on his blog and is getting set to do so again, actually counts them. I begged him to never, ever, ever ever tell me that number ever.)

* How bad IS that head shot of me going to look on Floyd's blog?

* And, the number one question I never want answered is: Exactly what was Ladybug doing in the cat box when the Cave Troll came running out screaming, "Mama, Ladybug's playing in the cat-poo-oop!"

Punky little wemons...

So, we're taking the Cave Troll to the State Fair today after work--he has to tumble across mats with a puzzled look on his face proving, once and for all, that kids think the world is random and adults have done nothing to change their minds. His and Chicken's dance/gym teacher get the kids into the fair every year--this year, the two kids are performing on separate days. It would actually be kind of neat, if it wasn't shaping up to 105 degrees today--we'll be able to meet at the fair with just the little kids and look around, and then watch the Cave Troll get thrown around on gym mats on a stage and then look around again. And then go home soon, because the hot, sticky, tired children will be making us crazy and we all have work/daycare tomorrow. But I'll get to go around to the knitting/crocheting exhibits and go, "I could never do that..." and that's always good for the old morale!!!

Speaking of which...Floyd (aka Tabitha) the guy who reviewed VULNERABLE on his blog is doing an author interview--and I was feeling pretty good about it. His questions were fun and I didn't feel like too much of a big ol' doophus... and then he hit me with the kicker. A photo. I need a freakin' photo...and really, the only time I let myself be near a camera aimed in my direction is when I'm with the children who helped me grace myself with the body I bear like a grizzly! I mean...it would be fun and all, to just show me, engulfed by children, surrounded by my pretty ones...but the article is on me, and not my funky little demons--but who am I going to get to stand in front of me and hide my double chin?

Is this a woman thing only? I've got to wonder... I know that pretty people seem to have an attraction to cameras...but is it only mid-year model women with a few spare tires and junk in the trunk who scorn the camera like a Luddite who thinks it's after our souls? I mean, are our punky little insecurities keeping us from the glamour shots we neither want nor think we deserve?

I don't know. I do know that after the fair, and after washing the children who go to the fair and tossing them into bed like a goofy salad, I am going to have to search my photo archives for a picture of me that doesn't make me yack.

It's a good thing we don't take the little kids on the rides--my stomach is bound to be weak.

Vocabulary...

Okay... today's lesson is vocabulary. You give me the word (stop talking to her), the part of speech (please sit down), the synonym (spit out that gum), and the sentence (eyes front). I will help by giving (did I say sit down?) examples:

incipient: adj. new or beginning (nascent)
Yes, nascent is a real word...do you need an example for incipient? OKay--my baby girl's incipient language still tells us what her personality is like. It's true--when I get to the babysitters, she grabs my hand and says, "Mama...lesss goooooo...." Yup. Incipient. It means beginning. Next word.

commiserate: v. to show sorrow or support for (empathize)
An example, you say? Okay--my older children, ages 14 and 12 are going to get home from school today and tell me about how hard their teachers are, and how they have no friends, and I'm going to 'commiserate'--I'm going to tell them how much I sympathize.

Do we have time for a few more? We might if you all stop talking, yes we might! The next word is 'narrative'.

narrative: n. a story, real of fictional, told in more or less chronological order.
So this example is the Cave Troll's. This weekend he went down a water slide into a pool of water that was more like a puddle, and when he came up he slipped. I hauled him out, but he was really scared, and this morning he told me a narrative of it. He said, "I went down the slide...but I fell. And the water got in my eyes. And you pulled me out. And it was skeeeeerrrry." And I thought it was a pretty good 'narrative' for such a little guy.

okay... one more word. The word is 'thwart'.
Thwart: verb to hinder or stop (foil)
An example of thwart would be when my baby tries to use the lap top and the whole family jumps in to 'thwart' her. Or when my older kids try to get five minutes alone, and the little ones run into their rooms to be with their favorite people and 'thwart' their attempt for alone time. Or when I'm trying gamely to lead you guys into a productive adult hood, and you think I'm hard on you because I don't like kids, and you try to 'thwart' me. Or when I'm dying to finish writing my book, and all these responsibilities of adulthood are here to 'thwart' my dreams or...Oh. I guess you're right. That should be good for examples for 'thwart'. What's our next word?

Anyone?

Finishings...

First of all, I got this quiz from Tama, our beloved Mother of Chaos, and thought I'd share:

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	7.7
Mind:	6.6
Body:	5.5
Spirit:	7.6
Friends/Family:	8
Love:	9.1
Finance:	8.5
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Apparently my 'Love' score was EMBARRASSINGLY high...they asked for my advice in that area--and I didn't want to say, "We're Hal and Lois from Malcolm in the Middle--we forsake all other areas of our life in favor of a good back rub and a chance to spend time together." It just seemed like the mystery was better than the truth, you think? But the best part was the mildly average intelligence..."Aha!" I thought, "This here could be the root of all my problems!"

Anyway, about the blog title:

*I am half a sock away from a pair of Monkey socks.
* I am a sleeve and a hood away from an easy wash, no stress cardigan for Ladybug.
* I am a toe away from the first sock of my 'Chicken toes' design.
* I am 30 or so pages away from finishing Part I of BITTERMOON. It will be almost as long as BOUND.

Can everybody see why I love the knitting? Can they? Because here's the thing...I did not start out to make Monkey socks and end up making a Monkey sweater, now did I? I didn't start out with enough yarn for a cardigan and end up with an afghan--oh now, definitely negatively did I not! I am going to end up with a cardigan--it might be a little bigger than I'd planned, but children grow, and it will end as I began, and so I am happy.

But this book... It was meant to be a quickie, you know? I'll just whip out this little story that I've had boiling in the back of my mind forever, and dedicate it to my children and it will be a fun little break from my poor little Goddess who just got married and needs a little R&R.

I am such a goddess-forsaken, brain-bedighted, pith-pated melonhead. And I mean that in the most self-deprecating of ways.

I have fallen in love with my characters, and fallen in love with the appalling choices they have to make and fallen in love with the people who love them and...and dammit, I want to get back to the Cory-verse, because she has some shit to take care of and I'm sort of instrumental that way...but...

But I suck at finishing my knitting. I get better at it--my ends get better woven in, i remember to get to all of them, not just the ones that announce their presence with trumpets, and I block every project now, and not just the ones I'm trying to fix the small irritating problems on. I mean, I finish almost EVERY project.... (Seriously--counting my crocheting years, I can actually count on the fingers of one hand the projects I have simply ERASED off my craft log...I don't frog things into oblivion, I just forsake them and pretend they never lived. that's sort of a shitty thing to do to a project that has been nothing but faithful to you, so I try to do it as little as possible. But as for my finishing TECHNIQUE...well, those of you who have read VULNERABLE know that it needs work. Those of you who have read WOUNDED and BOUND know that I've been working on it. And I don't want to let it slide...and BITTERMOON must be finished properly. So this is what I'm going to do.

Finish part 1. Call it BITTERMOON PART 1: TRIANE'S SON ASCENDING and send it off to my proofreaders. Begin BITTERMOON PART 2: TRIANE'S SON REIGNING immediately. When it is done, send if toff to the proofreaders. (Goddess, I love you guys...) While they're proofreading 2, I'm revising 1. While 1 starts the publishing process, I'm revising 2. The two books will be released about six to twelve weeks apart.

And then Cory and I can have a long ladies weekend and catch up...she doesn't know it yet, but she's been very very busy.


(Next post will have so me children in it--so you remember I have them:-)

Traffic...

THanks for the pep-talk, everybody--seriously, you all know I couldn't do it w/out you!!! But yesterday's post was a little self-indulgent, so I'm going to ponder the vagaries of traffic for a moment...

Tuesday--Left the house at 7:25, encountered a couple of slow downs and got to work at 8:20. This was a little later than I wanted--I'm planning to have a full prep period this year, so I want to get to work around 8:00. (I have a prep period for 1st period--I don't see kids until almost 9:00.)

Wednesday--Left the house at 7:15. Encounter two accidents, a downed traffic light and a drive through back-up of epic proportions. Arrive at work at 8:45.

Thursday--Ladybug and Cave Troll NEEEEEEEEED me this morning, are cuddling and clingy and I can't bear to make them move any faster than absolutely necessary. Leave the house at 7:40, encounter NO TRAFFIC, NO SLOW DOWNS, and NO ACCIDENTS. Arrive at work at 8:20.

Can I just say that Sacratomato traffic sucks ass-scented rocks? Yeah. That's what I"m saying.

*sigh*

It's funny, how something stupid can prey on your mind...

School's going okay--I guess I've got the same number of shitheads, I'm just more pissed off about jumping on them. I've already written my first referral, and I followed the bullshit train and made parent contact, and I have a tardy log started, and really, I'm ready to kick ass and take names. I may survive my chosen vocation after all.

I have a new laptop now!!! I can't write on it until we get it loaded with Microsoft Word:-( :-( :-( I don't know how to convey my total appreciation to my husband for getting me a laptop when the old one just dropped a mother board and barfed--and he even managed to save my files, so I can access pictures (some of them) and iTunes (sort of) on my Mac Notebook. I mean--Mate is wonderful--how can you argue with that? But I'm 30 pages away from finishing part I of BITTERMOON. It will be about 675 pages, and then I can start the revision process that makes it actually readable, and then I'll send it out... (You know who you are...) But I don't get Word for two weeks, and my story is boiling inside of me...it's sort of clausterphobic and I don't know how to dea. It's like being intellectually constipated...everything you need to finish the job is all gathered in the right place...I just have no where to put it. So I will eventually celebrate my wonderful, white, spiffy-looking computer, but right now it's a very abstract joy.

And now to the little thing that's sort of pissing me off. I'm in the employee lunch room, and a colleague I don't normally get to talk to starts asking me about the books--I'm pleasantly embarrassed. I answer her questions, and she's interested, and I'm terribly flattered, and then suddenly the same asshole who was reading my 2nd book out loud in the staff room last year looks directly at me and shouts "VAMPIRE BLOW JOB." To which I look at him and say, "What?" Because, quite frankly, I can't believe my new department head (who has, in all other ways, been extremely professional, self-actualized, and surprisingly nurturing for a guy who claims not to have any of that crap in him at all) has just become, in one stupid locker room moment, such a total and complete fuckhead. He laughs and says, "That's the way to get her attention," to the person next to him, and I turn to the woman I'm talking to and we roll our eyes.

And secretly, in the part of me that only emerges to be interviewed in the shower by a shampoo bottle with John Stewart's hair-do, I want to kick ass. No, not HIS ass, just kick ass. I want my books to soar, to get picked up and sold in every fucking Wal-Mart and Target from here to Bumfuck Egypt and it's cousin, South of Fucking Yemen, and I WANT that interview with the REAL John Stewart, because deep in my petty, pissed off, wrinkled little heart, I want to RELISH the giant ***TWOP*** of this guy's head popping out of his ass when he realizes that doing that to something that's important to somebody isn't fucking cute.

*sigh* Isn't it funny how little stuff we're not ready for can really get us down.

Already better...

Just a quick post, because, hullo, I realized it had been a couple of days but...

I went to my friend's wedding reception Saturday--it was up in the hills, and I think that if I didn't like the contrast so much of the terrain divide in Forresthill, I would have put Green's hill in Grass Valley, where my friend now lives, because it is twisty, turny, and secretive, with lots of roads on which two may meet but only one shall pass. (It's a good thing Green didn't put his hill there, though, because Cory would have to puke her way home all the time, and really, who wants to read about that?) Anyway, it's very pretty, and the house was really awesome, and I was really sad because, above the sign-in picture (which was of the actual very private, very lovely ceremony that happened a week earlier) was a note that said my friend's father had passed away a few days after the wedding. I don't know how my friend managed it, but I would have been a total disaster. But then, with something that huge, 'our tears have not yet brewed'--she will have a long time to miss her father, and only a brief time to celebrate the beginning of something wonderful, and I can see why the 'don't talk about it, we're trying to hold it together' sign was posted. I hope that when all has settled, my friend remembers it as a happy day--I do.

And school has started. I was getting the kids dressed this morning, and Mate came in and saw me in my skirt and said, "Damn! YOu're really seeing kids today, aren't you? I mean, you've been telling me all week but it just hit me that you're at work!"

Yes, my darling, I'm at work. It was really weird-- I remember a lot of these same kids from last year, and I gave a little speech about how they didn't really see my A-Game last year. They won't actually see it this year, either--really, the only teachers who get to play their A-game are the ones with no kids (or at least none at home) and a spouse who works too much or no spouse at all. (Which means I'll get about ten years before I retire to play my A-game, provided I don't get picked up by Roc or Tor first!) Anyway, it seemed like a good year--what was really positive (at least in my opinion) was that we changed grading programs, and although we didn't get a hands-on workshop (and we're expected to pick our way through our own tutorial...thanks a lot, Prickweenies, that's GREAT!) I did manage to figure out how to take role today. I'm lucky--the program is profoundly user friendly.

But I miss the babies--as a going-back-to-school gift, Ladybug had a fever this morning, and I can't tell you how thrilled I was to pump the little-bit up w/drugs and bail on her, because I CAN'T be absent today, and since Mate has to be with the older kids for their own back-to-school activities this week, he can't really another day off either. So, I'm feeling guilty and unhappy...

But I remember last year, and as my 6th period screeched their way into my class,I could barely speak. I had no copies made for them and I remember sitting at my desk for about six minutes, completely glassy eyed from exhaustion and from the hopelessness that was already my 5th period, even before the dust had cleared. I was beaten before I started.

Today, my 6th period (Juniors) walked out the door, and a lot of my 5th period problem kids were there, but they were on their best behavior, and I was very positive, and when they filed out, I was still standing.

See--it's already better.

The Prickweenie Parade Moves to Modesto...

Okay--this week has been so schizophrenic in character that I was about a kitten's whisker from writing like, five short posts, bam bam bam like the machine gun I've never heard in real life.

But I'm tired and the Cave Troll needs to be settled and tucked in, and I should go out walking, 10:00 or no 10:00 so I'll try to be coherent as I can. (Which is hard, since my eldest insists on babbling at me about crap-all because he hasn't had an adult to talk to all day, and I've had nothing but...)

Whew...lessee...

We picked out new shoes for Ladybug--it was actually really cute...I'm going for the all-purpose white leather sandals and she toddles out on her chubby little gams and comes back with pink Dora-the-Explorer jelly shoes. And as she tries to squeeze her white-leather-princess sandals into the size 10 pink jellies, one thing becomes clear: We are not leaving that store happily unless her fat little feet are encased in hyperglow pink plastic. Fortunately, the size closest to hers was only 1/2 a size big...and she will hunt those things down with as much determnation as she hunts the kitten in order to not leave the house unless she has shoes on like her big brother. By the way--they accessorize well with the cat scratches across her soft little cheeks...Dennis Quaid has an ear infection, and is not as tolerant as he usually is of intrusive little people. Poor kitty.

And yesterday...some of you got a rather rushed e-mail from me, looking for resources pointing to the idea that knitting helps you concentrate. (Goddess smiles on Needletart for coming up with a Perri Klaas essay--academic Ph.D's are often intimidated by real doctors because real doctors can actually do real things with all of their real brains...don't get me started on the absolute common sense void that is the upper echelon District Office in 9/10's of the school districts out there...) I mean, YOU know it and I know it, but a friend of mine was crocheting during her mandatory bullshit meeting before school started (every school has one)and although her principal had walked up to her and talked pleasantly about her project before the bullshit began, but after the meeting, they called her up (literally called her from their office, across campus) and told her that they thought she had been criminally rude by working on her project during the meeting.

My friend was in tears--and I was pissed for her. It would have been one thing if her admin had said something low key when they had been talking earlier--I mean, I would have objected, of course, but calling her up was just so passive-aggressively PISSY. So I wrote her a letter w/all my ammunition so she could pass it on to her admin if she felt like a fight (I hope not--she's a good person and I'm a loose cannon and I don't want to instigate her when I live here and she lives in Modesto and I can't go stand between her and the big-bad prickweenies), and I walked into my own administrative bullshit meeting swinging my little sock bags like fully loaded .45's at a gangland gold grill convention and...

And in the middle of the bullshit meeting, one of the few administrators that I haven't called a prickweenie (by my count, there are now two out of like, 25 that haven't ended up on the pw list...) comes up to me and pats me on the shoulder. "I love looking out and seeing you knit--it's comforting, like we can't be doing that bad if Amy Lane is still knitting..."

And suddenly I wondered how all of the prickweenie vibes managed to ripple out to Modesto instead of staying centered here in Sacramento, but I was awfully glad they did.

In other news... (did I not mention that this was a schizophrenic week?)

I still haven't written the e-mail to that lady who has my book but wants me to cut 28 pages out of it if she deigns to read it before October... I don't know how to now, and I've gotten such conflicting advice that I think I'll just wait for rejection and keep on keeping on. I guess, if nothing else, it will be good for the old ego to know that I was even being considered. And it will give me some optimistic waiting time while I start looking for the e-mail address for Roc or Tor or Penguin or something like that so I can take another piss-in-the-wind longshot.

However, as much fun as hoping for rejection is, I must say the box I got from my buddy David in Texas was much more fun. David had a chance to go to a Romance Writers conference for literacy...and he got me some serious swag!! I got a bag with book logos on it, and a signed copy of a Kelley ARmstrong book (Exit STrategies) and a signed copy of Sunny's book--the one in which the ending sounds suspiciously familiar... (Adrian, anybody?) which means I have to read it...of course now I have NO time, and I've just devoted my time to Guy Gavriel Kay's Ysabel and I'm so in love with his prose style--I can't possibly drop it for revenge purposes, it would negate the spirit in which I write. (Besides, Sora already told me that it was very similar, and I don't know if I want to get mad...no energy for it and writing too...)

And in the school front? I need to work this weekend--you know, the weekend where my friend's wedding reception is going to dominate my whole weekend... I'm giving the whole 'gymnastics' thing to Mate, I think, and getting in a couple of hours...and then hoping I can accomplish every thing else on Monday morning. HA! But, either way, I'm looking forward to a better year than last year... if nothing else, THAT student (as a friend of mine who worked with her in an entirely different capacity and still loathed and feared her put it) has graduated. Fanbloodyfuckingtastic--that at least is behind me...

And here's hoping for more better fun and schizophrenic weeks in the future.

Really?

My computer's down, really? Not MY computer...my computer is always so reliable...my computer never dies. I mean, I'm a writer, for sweet Goddess' sake--and a teacher! I have lesson plans to revise, and I only got 250 pages done this summer, including the 12 units (A's all around) that I took between the hours of 10 p.m. and 1 a.m.. I mean, if my computer (or it's power supply, which my fever dream seems to indicate) were down right now, less than a week before school, well, then, I would just have to pitch a fit and weep...

Me? Pitch a fit? Nahhhh...me? Because my computer, the electronic heart that pumps the creativity through my veins broke down?

SOMEBODY must be hallucinating.


(Okay, all that aside, I have two book things I need to bring up...

1. I fully plan to take people up on their offers to read through my rough draft--but part I is a good fifty pages from being done. (It's really long--part 1 alone is going to be as long as BOUND...If I wasn't so hell bent on finishing BITTER MOON by February so I can have RAMPANT out next year, I'd do it in two sections, but I miss Cory and everybody else misses Cory, and I want BITTER MOON, all of it, out of my blood in one painful chunk, like an unholy gallstone.)

2. There's an amazon.com discussion about who we would cast as our 'leading man'--I've never been able to cast The LIttle Goddess Series to my satisfaction. I was wondering, for those of you who both read the books and stalk the blogs (there's a few of you--I treasure you guys, you know that, right?) who would you cast as Adrian, Green, Cory, Bracken, Arturo, Grace, et al?

Just curious...
Amy Lane

Somebody made me socks!!!

I so do not have pictures of this...I really am the worst photospot in the blogosphere...I will have to post pictures tomorrow...

Anyway, Roxie remembered my birthday very early and send me an embarrassment of riches in the world's most adorable notions box--including four skeins of some sort of fluffy white yarn that has 'hat' written all over it in invisible ink and, as I said, SOCKS!!! And after making socks for everybody and their obnoxious sister all year, somebody made me a very clever pair of tube socks (they are ribbing all around--so warm and cuddly...and the colors just ROCK!!!) which is probably the only pair of handmade socks on the planet that will fit my fat, flat, 4xpreggers feet. Roxie rocks...thanks darlin'--tomorrow there will be pictures. (Or the next day...hopefully when you're back from your trip...)

And now eclectic weirdness from the Lane fortress of domestic bliss:

1. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but my daughter told her teacher last year that she couldn't bring 'mom's books' to school because they were too trashy. "You mean trashier than the ones you bring now?" Her teacher asked, a little appalled. And to that end, the movie is coming out for one of my favorite series that I CAN NOT GET MY KIDS TO READ. (I need to read it again, actually, because it's been so long I've forgotten everything but that haunting resonance I had when I read it. Remembering plot might be nice.) So, THE DARK IS RISING is coming out this fall...and I'm so excited I could just about wee.

2. For anyone who read the Harlot's last post--the one about getting panties thrown at her when she was on stage (in a good, all in fun, I was rolling off my chair sort of way) I am currently revising my gauge for my own famous-osity. I was answering an, uhm, (Goddess, don't strike me down in the name of humility for saying this) fan e-mail from my web site (I get about two a week. I am inordinately pleased about this. Don't tell anyone--it's embarrassing.) when my oldest son said, "Mom, are you famous?" I laughed and said, "No, son, with the type of books I write, you know I'll be famous when the religious right pickets my house with torches and pitchforks." Now that Steph has gotten panties thrown at her, I think I need to find another hyperbolic phrase, because torches and pitchforks scare me.

3. I start school a week from tomorrow. If I wasn't on a big fucking river in Egypt, I might be freaked out, in tears, and totally pissed at how fast the last eight weeks have gone. As it is, whenever Ladybug does something cute, I burst into tears. This does not make me a very merry house companion. Mate is glad to be going back to work on Tuesday.

4. We went to a party last night--you know, where grown-ups are? It was actually great--the people had kids, they hired a bounce house, and, as is the case with everybody you visit, their toys are SOOOOOOOO MUCH COOLER than your own. We left the big kids home and my little kids actually left us alone while we talked to grown-ups until about ten o'clock, at which time, the cave troll came up and said, "Mom, we have to go home now. NOW, Mom. We have to go home, NOW." I mean, he is the boss, right? Mate's phone conversation with T as we drove home was pretty damned funny too--it seems that T couldn't think of a what we could have been doing until 10:00 at night. "We were talking," Mate said. "No--just talking. No...we were talking. I swear to God, T--, we were just freaking talking!!!" I'm not sure what sort of post teen-aged shenanigans T was envisioning, but the idea of grown people having nothing better to do than chat was totally blowing his mind.

5. On the book front? I have 66 total reviews on amazon.com-- 15 for BOUND, 18 for WOUNDED, and 33 for VULNERABLE. Again, I am inordinately pleased about this. Sombody hit me in the forehead with a dart, my noggin is growing again and I can't seem to keep it inflated to fat-middle-aged-English-teacher-with-the-world's-crappiest-house specifications. I am afraid the god of honor will strike me down if I get too much joy out of my praise. (I am so dying for someone else to read BITTERMOON. I'd better get my ass in gear and finish it, shouldn't I?)

6. I have finished 1 monkey sock and cast on another. As a reward for one finished sock, I cast-on a baby jacket in cotton yarn (which will be great in the fall) that washes and goes and works up at 3 1/4 stitches to the inch. After working on socks all summer and getting the equivalent of two pairs done without any actual pairs to show for it, I needed some instant freaking gratification.

7. And we went to the pet store to adopt a full grown cat for my children--I was going to do the civic duty thing, I really was, and adopt a three corner cat--but she didn't like dogs. And then I was going to adopt Milo, a cat who lost his last home because he was too bouncy. But he was pouting in a corner and wouldn't really introduce himself. And while he was pouting in a corner, this little nondescript gray kitten came up and started making sweet luuuuurrrrrvvv to my fingers, and by the time we could get Milo to even look at us, Henry was somehow attached to my shoulder and Chicken had renamed him 'Gordy' and now he lives in her room. He thinks he's another child. I'm the stupidist parent on the fucking planet, but damn he sure is cute.

Oh yeah--the pictures were taken on vacation--I just posted them, because with the exception of that big heifer in the purple sweatshirt, those are some damned fine looking young people, if I say so myself.

A partial list of things...

That the Cave Troll saw...

A giraffe
A lion
A tiger
Sharks
Bat rays
The ocean
Thomas The Tank Engine
Elephants
Daffy Duck
Sylvester!!!!!
Bugs Bunny
Two different hotel rooms
His sister, next to him, for many many hours...


That we forgot...

Shampoo
Socks for mom
Shoes that fit for Ladybug
My sense of humor the night Mate didn't order enough pizza
My ball winder because the lady at the Carmel yarn shop spazzed out when there were three people at the store and I wanted to start knitting with that new mountain colors NOW...
Bottles and formula (Really? Yes really.)
To throw the nectarines on the counter away before we left. (Yuch.)


That I have to do in the next six days...
Hair cuts for everybody
school supplies for everbody and mama
Candy to throw for mama
Finish the next chapter of BITTERMOON so I'll be done with part 1, which, for the panicked, is twice as long as part 2 will be--it will still be a February releas.
Shoes and clothes for T
Extra snuggling for the little ones--they hate the end of summer.
To watch 'Pooh's Grand Adventure' and sob like an idiot like I do every fucking year.
To send a letter to the nice lady at Imajinn publishing that apologizes for waffling like a complete and utter moron, but that she should probably delete VULNERABLE from her files RIGHT NOW and not (her words) waste her time on my manuscript because (my words) I can not even envision a world in which I would want to edit 28 pages off of my work in order to make it fit her publishing requirements. (For those of you screaming at me and tearing their hair out, the odds of her actually offering me a contract were slim to none, and it's a lot easier to stand up for my artistic integrity if I don't see this year's Christmas money waving itself in front of my nose.)
Laundry. Laundry. Laundry. And some more goddamned laundry.
Gifts for my buddy who is getting married on Saturday--her first husband (whose name is now and forever Fuckhead, FH for short) was a complete, well, you get the picture, and the guy she's with now totally rocks, and her two kids and his one kid will make a beautiful family and I'm so happy for her...I hope Fuckhead wakes up one day and realizes that he was a total asshole, but really, to see her happy, that makes that other thing just a little candy on the icing on the cake.
Write a lesson plan for the first week of school. I've got a good one involving Bowling for Soup and Springsteen... I'm all aflutter.
Print out my transcripts because, Holy Goddess, I'm done with those purple yakshit classes.
Clean the house. (ha ha, hee hee, ha ha hooo... sniff...wipe away tears of hysterical laughter...)
Did I mention the goddamned laundry?
Come up with a main 'house' project, because right now, the world is all socks, and I'm gonna need a break...
Take Cave Troll to Sunsplash
And whatever that other thing was that I totally forgot...

But it's good to be back! I'll be catching up on my blogs over the next few days...hope everyone is in good form!