You know that feeling where your pants are falling down and you think your underwear might come with them and you're in public and then…
A. That just happened to me, because my hands were full and the pants were the ones that don't fit and so were the underwear and that's a bad idea.
B. That's the exact feeling I got when I was preparing Monday's blog post. I kept thinking, "Oh no, I'm going to forget one, I'm going to forget one…"
And then I DID!
So this is a belated *Kermit Flail, and it's for a writer I have been wanting to read for a while-- in a genre I haven't seen from him yet! John Inman is known for books like Shy! and The Poodle Apocalypse, and both of those are known for their comedy. But John's next endeavor comes from DSP Publications, which is all about the serious genre fiction and not quite so much about the romance or the m/m--which makes the fact that it's a mystery/suspense/thriller just oh so very delicious. I very much look forward to seeing this book take on the mystery genre, because the blurb sounds decadent, and any man who can write a story titled The Poodle Apocalypse has got to be able to pen one hell of a story. Everybody give it up for Mr. John Inman with Willow Man!!! YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!
By John Inman
With memories of his childhood bombarding him from every angle, Woody must accept the fact that his old enemy, Willow Man, was not just a figment of childish imagination.
With his friends at his side, now all grown up just like he is, Woody goes to battle with the killer that stole his childhood lover. Woody also learns Willow Man has been busy while he was away, destroying even more of Woody's past. And in the midst of all this drama, Woody is stunned to find himself falling in love—something he never thought he would do again.
As kids, Woody and his friends could not stop the killer who lived in the canyon where they played. As adults, they might just have a chance.
Or will they?
Amazon sale link: http://www.amazon.com/Willow-
Man-John-Inman-ebook/dp/ B00RG3MMVO/ref=zg_bs_ 7588836011_30
I felt so bad when I realized what I'd done, by the way-- but Mr. Inman graciously said that next-day (or, in this case, next blog) service would be okay with him. A good egg, Mr. Inman-- I'm so hoping this book explodes off the frickin' charts. (And yes. Bought my copy. Will I have time to read it? Mmmm… but I have the HOPE that I will have time to read it. Hope is everything, right?)
And as for us at home?
Well, I've been sort of eyeballs deep in work, including three projects I didn't push myself to complete over winter break, when the kids were home and I got NO time to myself, and are now jumping up in my face like jack-in-the-boxes going "HEY! HELLO! YOU'RE FRICKIN' LATE!" to which I respond "AUUUUUUGHHHHHHH!!!! Why would you DO that?" and continue to work on the OTHER late thing that was absorbing my interest before the fuckin' jack-in-the-box.
But Chicken is only here for a couple more days, and I have spent some time watching television and movies with my family, and the following happened the other night and we're still laughing about it.
The dogs sit with me as I watch television. Yes, it makes knitting more difficult than necessary, but I soldier on. They usually fall into the gap between my ass and the chair, Johnnie on the bottom and Goeffie (who weights a whole four pounds right now) on the top. The other night, after a long, cold, walk, Johnnie wormed his way out and onto the ground, leaving Geoffie to fall into the black hole right behind my behind. Squish came over ask if she could hold Geoffie, and I reached behind me and handed Geoffie over, and Chicken almost fell out of her chair laughing.
"Oh my God, mom! It was like you pulled a puppy out of your ass!"
So for the last three days, we've been looking at each other and saying, "Hey Chicken! Watch me pull a puppy out of my ass!"
|(Chicken drew this for me.)|
And then falling out of our chairs laughing because we have little teeny brains.
Then there was this--I posted an article about how hard it was to get research and details down, especially when you're not predisposed to notice details anyway. *Sheepishly raises hand*. For the most part, people took the article in the spirit for which it was intended-- that we'd never stop trying to get things right, but that we had to forgive ourselves for basic human error or we'd never keep writing. But one of the commenters sort of, well, latched onto a detail and I thought I should explain.
No. I have not eaten with my family at my kitchen table for around five years--ever since the writing got really involved. My computer is here, the printer, the scanner, basically my office is here. For some gatherings, I clean off my office, put all my stuff on one chair, and put chips, dip, and parts of a potluck on the table--but the fact remains, all the stuff that was on the table is on a chair, and we still can't gather round to eat.
We eat in the living room, which does explain why my children sometime have the table manners of Chimpanzees on Sugar Day at the zoo.
I have a friend-- Roxie-- at Sannasbag.blogspot.com -- who routinely sets a beautiful table with personalized china and napkins with individual napkin rings, each setting gleaned from garage sales and estate sales, and she shows pictures.
They are so lovely-- so gracious. I admire them to the depths of my soul.
Most especially because they are a thing that I have no brain for (I have, as you may have noticed, a very little brain.) I am so grateful to people like Roxie who can continue to show the world what grace and beauty are like, even in something so simple-- and so taken for granted-- as a table setting.
I am not that person.
I am, in fact, the person who almost wet myself when Chicken came in having just completed this hat as a present for a friend. "See mom, it's… oh my God! It looks like a penis!"
Well, not when it's on. When it's on, it looks just like the had Double Dee from Ed, Edd, and Eddie had, which is exactly what she was going for. Good job, Chicken!
And that's where I'll sign off-- it's been a rough transition back to school, the kids have been late every day but one so far, and the puppy has decided that every day is crap day! (We have no idea where she craps, either, until we step in it. Puppies-- there's a reason they're lumped in with snips and snails, that's for sure.) I am finally getting work done-- but unfortunately, very little of it is fiction.
But when I am writing fiction?
I'm writing Quickening. So, you know.