Knitting

So, still a little sick.

But one of the few real benefits to being sick is that when I sit down in front of the TV to knit, I don't get as distracted--and you can see here I've made some headway on the Wild Teasel. (The actual pattern name. Woot! I used a pattern!)

And the thing is, I'm almost halfway through both yarn skeins, and it's occurring the me that there's not going to be enough yarn.

Now, if you could only see my house, you'd realize I am SURROUNDED by yarn. But none of it is a gradient sock-weight yarn in those two exact and distinct different color combinations which means I had to ORDER more yarn so I could finish this project.

Which sounds ridiculous, right?

Except look at the thing below. No, I don't know why the variegated is pooling differently on the left--I only just realized that now. I think what happened was my gauge loosened up just a tad, and suddenly the pooling pattern got cattywampus, but I'm not an exact enough knitter to rip out weeks of work.

Now, you may wonder how I know the gauge loosened--and here's the thing. I had three skeins of yarn: angsty orange and paranormal purple. The plan was to put the variegated in between, and the orange would start out at a point, get longer on one side, then the variegated would continue in a straight line along the back, and then the purple would decrease along the same side, and I'd have a standard triangle shawl without the arrow pointing to my ass because that's not my thing.

But the purple didn't make it to the end.

Not even a little to the end.

I'm going to need like, a third of a skein.

And because my thing is variegated hand paints and I have no stores of plain colored sock yarn--oh, wait. I do.

DOESN'T HAVE THAT PURPLE.

Not even close.

It's got orange, but it's not the orange i need, now is it.

So yes. Had to order more purple.

So I'm in a house full of yarn and if WEBS doesn't get its ass in gear, I'm going to have two shawls in time out not because I didn't want to finish them but because--get this--I NEEDED MORE YARN.

The irony here is crushing--but I'm the only one who can't breathe cause I'm laughing so damned hard.

When Squish and ZoomBoy were the Cave Troll and Ladybug

 So, we had some lost years of photos, a transition period between the old-fashioned camera, the electronic camera, and the ever-present, ever-handy smart-phone.

Now, I'm pretty sure these electronic camera pictures-- I remember the ritual of plugging it into my computer every time I blogged, and I'd been blogging for  a few months by this point. Squish looks about a year old, and I started when she was around two weeks.

I was feeling a little blue today-- post-book-release sadness, I guess. I don't know why--I usually know going in what my results will be, this was no exception. I guess my defenses were a little low from being sick this weekend and that little bit of letdown still took me by surprise. That and the kids are getting older--and much more independent (and, right now, both of them are sick!) and... well, did I mention the letdown?

Anyway-- Mate found these in his camera last night and they proved just the antidote for the "whoa is me" blues.

Notice Squish (who was Ladybug on the blog at the time) is doing the "Hail Jesus!" thing with her little squirter! And ZoomBoy is still built exactly the same. Like Calvin from  Calvin and Hobbes but with a little pot belly.

This was back when we kept the lawn a lawn and we had a big dog (she's in some of the other pictures, but Chicken is in those, and we have an agreement not to show those pictures anymore.) Anyway-- this moment is so bright and shiny, and lovely, I had to share.

By the way--for everybody who reviewed String Boys-- thank you. Your support means the world to me, and I'm so glad you enjoyed it !

String Boys is Live!

Seth Arnold learned at an early age that two things in life could make his soul soar—his violin and Kelly Cruz. In Seth’s uncertain childhood, the kindness of the Cruz family, especially Kelly and his brother, Matty, gave Seth the stability to make his violin sing with the purest sound and opened a world of possibility beyond his home in Sacramento.

Kelly Cruz has loved Seth forever, but he knows Seth’s talents shouldn’t be hidden, not when the world is waiting. Encouraging Seth to follow his music might break Kelly’s heart, but he is determined to see the violin set Seth’s soul free. When their world is devastated by a violent sexual assault and Matty’s prejudices turn him from a brother to an enemy, Seth and Kelly’s future becomes uncertain.

Seth can’t come home and Kelly can’t leave, but they are held together by a love that they clutch with both hands.

Seth and Kelly are young and the world is wide—the only thing they know for certain is they’ll follow their heartstrings to each other’s arms whenever time and fate allow. And pray that one day they can follow that string to forever… before it slices their hearts in two.

Buy at Amazon

Buy at Dreamspinner Press

I'll be honest. I'm not sure if I'll write another book like String Boys.

The book that follows two lovers from childhood through a troubled beginning to an adulthood where they have earned every good thing.

This book took a lot out of me--I put so much of my soul into it. 

Enough that I'm a little afraid. I mean, people don't like books all the time. And when they don't like something the cruelty on the internet knows no bounds. I know this. I've accepted it as a job hazard. Not every book is for every reader--I believe that with all my soul. 

But a book like this, where you see them as children and follow them to where they're happy--that sticks with you. That becomes a part of you. And no amount of logic or reason can divorce your heart from the things said about that story. 

It's not a healthy way to live, being afraid of what people will say about something like that. It's why romance writers love writing romance-- because they can write happy and even if they throw their heart and soul into happy, it's HAPPY and even the criticism has a different flavor. I've written happy books. When someone dismisses it as fluff, I take that to mean, "Job well done!" because, well, that was my intention. 

But when you write something like this and someone walks all over it, it takes a couple of breaths to recover from the hit.

I'll never stop writing. Mate and I joke about how my retirement plan will be for him to find me collapsed over my keyboard when I can no longer walk. (Mate and I have a sort of dark sense of humor--believe me, this cracks us up because it's true!)  

And I'm sure I'll be writing books that make people cry too. 

But this one ranks right up there with Locker Room, Chase in Shadow, Beneath the Stain, Mourning Heaven, Keeping Promise Rock, Paint it Black, Fish, Under the Rushes and Bobby Green in how many pieces of my heart are sprinkled in the mix, and authors only have so many of those in them to give. 

Never say never. 

I have more experiences, more insight, more people inside my head. Like I said, I'm not giving up writing any time soon.

But this kind of writing, the kind that ties you up in it's tendrils and doesn't let you back down to earth even when it's done, the kind that leaves you with a heartachy hangover for a good two months while you try to write something else--I'm not sure if I can afford to write many more of these.

I really hope you like this one. 

I can't even tell you what it means.

Oh crud!

Yes, I have the crud.

I am loopy and irritable and my head hurts and my ears hurt and I'm on Advil and NyQuil and I'll be super lucky I don't end up typing about purple lizards shopping at the Galleria.

Why is nobody going to bed?

Oh, yeah! Because I did nothing all day but couch and knit and watch Eureka, which I have to say is THE most comforting show when you're sick. It's like chicken soup, which I had Mate make, because literally the ingredients were the only thing I had in the house. What can I say? I was supposed to go shopping this week, but it's been a little busy around here.

Anyway, last night we went to a wedding reception in my parents' backyard, which was lovely-- like truly lovely-- and I sucked it up and took some sudafed and smiled. I love the couple who were celebrating--I've known Kaitlyn since she was a baby and to see her now with a gorgeous family and a kind man--it was really a glorious evening.

But I felt myself get sicker as it progressed, and isn't that a shitty feeling?

You're like, "I'd love to talk to you more but I may need to lay down in bed and stare into space like a stoned iguana--it's not you, it's definitely me. Swear to God it's me. So me." *open and closes mouth like a stoned iguana*

Also, one of the people we met there was one of the mothers from ZoomBoy's old soccer team--the one that Mate coached--and we got to catch up. She was delightful and it was proof that the world is small after all.

Oh!

Also, I woke up in the middle of the night and went, "Holy shit--I have a BLOG TOUR that starts tomorrow and have written NOTHING."

So if you see some REALLY odd posts coming out from various blogs in the next week? Just remember, I was STONED and it was NOT MY FAULT.

And on that note, I"m going to bed.

Oh yes--Kermit Flail next week--First Monday of the month. And String Boys on TUESDAY!!!!!!!!!!

And may your Memorial Day be peaceful and sweet.

Amy

A Very Important Award

So, kids are... inefficient communicators.

ZoomBoy got a note that said he should be at the awards ceremony tonight. "Oh, you're getting an award?"

"I don't know."

"What in?"

"I don't know."

Mate and I had eyeball conversations. "He's getting an award?"

"I don't know."

"What in?"

"I don't know."

But we went, right?

We're thinking, "Well, his grades weren't great, but he's good in English? No. Hm. He did that thing in drama...  But he didn't get a medal. God, whatever. He's getting an award. Yay, ZoomBoy!"

So I told my stepmom. I said, "Yes, you should see him dance, too. He loves being on stage so much--he looks so grown up. It's freaky how disciplined he is with his body when he dances."

"That's impressive... he's, uh... you know..."

"Made of elbows?"

"Right?"

So, anyway. Mate, me, Squish (because she had a feeling there would be food afterwards and she didn't want takeout), and ZoomBoy. And we're looking at the screen which tells us which kids should walk up in small groups for which awards.

And there's his name.

Sophomore. PE.

Mate and I look at each other. "Really? He's made of elbows! Our kid? I mean... OUR kid?"

But apparently he had a GREAT attitude and worked hard to do what the teacher told him to and only lost two points in March because he was cracking too many jokes.

He was the only 10th grader NOT to piss off his PE teacher, and we couldn't be prouder.

"You like that medal?" we asked.

"Yeah."

"You want to earn another one?"

"Yeah."

"So... about that 2.8 GPA.  Got ANY IDEAS HOW TO FIX THAT?"

"mmmm...aybe...."

Well, it's a start.

It was, after all, a very important award.

Well, We Made it Home!

Of course coming home is always the best part of the trip for me--but seriously, that was some trip.

Chicken and I got there Monday night, found some food, did some chill and fell asleep. Tuesday we were all about the French Quarter, including the ghost tour which was SO worth the money-- our guide was Toast, and he was pretty rocking'.

Wednesday we started out with the Feminist Swearing tour of the quarter, which my friend Kayla gave, and that was spectacular--I want her to write it down-- her stories--and the inimitable craftsmanship that went into telling them, could be a whole cottage industry for her. She's amazing.

So, Wednesday evening, the BookLovers convention started, and Chicken was there as my PA, but that didn't stop us from having loads of fun. While she passed out swag to folks in line and made sure the things got to the place, and oh Glory Hallelujah organized our luggage, the two of us knocked around the French Quarter several times, and we drank coffee and watched movies at night when we were too tired to think and too strung out to fall asleep.

It was wonderful to have a companion.

Anyway--

Book Lovers Convention was very very much fun. The consensus was that the reader events were much more in depth--and a wonderful reader experience. I hope I get invited back next year, but even if I don't, I really do treasure my time there.

If you look through the pictures you'll see some awesome pictures--Bru Baker, Annabeth Albert, Rayna Vause, Damon Suede, Tere Michaels, and Kate McMurray all make featured appearances, as well as the gods of the signing, and a few of yours truly.

Our flight got delayed last night, so we spent about six hours at a hotel and got home this morning around ten--and in spite of a long nap the rest of my day has been sort of a daze. So I may get back to you all with con stories later (maybe not--it's funny how those stories are GREAT to talk about AT the con, but at home they leave people who weren't there with glazed eyes and an intense need to sleep) but I will leave you with a couple of pictures.

The last picture is super dark--it looks like I totally blew off a great chance to take a spooky picture of a haunted cemetery after dark.

Then you realize that some of those bright spots have no light source, and there's a shadow in the middle that keeps changing shape.

Yeah.

The ghost tour was everything and more.

The Eternal Box

Squish had a parent/teacher meeting today--or rather a "Student Led Conference" wherein she showed me all of her work in her classes and what she was most proud of.

She's very clever, and I, of course, am very proud.

But on the way home, Squish said, "Mom, why do you have to call me Squish still."

I said, "Mostly because I still call you that on social media. Because I want to protect you and your brother until you're old enough to be on your own social media."

She nodded. "That's fair. I can deal with Squish."

Her brother said, "And I can deal with being the Eternal Box."

My brain froze.

About three weeks ago, a teacher gave him a big cardboard box for reasons he keeps trying to explain but I am not getting.  It was a prize of some sort. Go figure.

Anyway, ZoomBoy wrote, "The Eternal Box" on the front, and then walked around school wearing the box and saying--in a sepulchral tone that gave him gravity, I suppose--"I am the Eternal Box. Ask me your questions and I will answer."

And people asked him questions.

Now the part of me that still remembers being in high school thinks this is hysterical and awesome and sort of amazing. It's like he's crafted his own sci-fi character out of cardboard and cheek.

The part of me who had that damned box in my car for two weeks as he begged to wear it to soccer games and family gathering wishes we'd left the fireplace intact because I have a suggestion for how to make the damned box not so eternal.

And then ZoomBoy got an idea. (Right? We've seen this movie. It doesn't end well.) He wants the Eternal Box to be his senior prank. (Yes, this is in two years, why do you ask?)  He's like, "I"ll put on my box and stand up and preach the word of the box and the entire senior class will put on THEIR boxes and say 'All hail the box!'"

And again, my inner high school student thinks this is GENIUS. I've told other high school students about it and they smirk and nod and say, "Damn, I wish I'd thought of that--that's GENIUS!"

Mate keeps asking him if he hit his head while he was wandering around blind in the box, and he's like, "No, no, I'm fine. I'm the ETERNAL box, right?"

So anyway, ZoomBoy wants to be The Eternal Box in social media and I'm like, "When you can type that yourself--right now ZoomBoy is long and complicated enough."

He's like, "That's fair. But did you tell everybody about The Eternal Box?"

I sigh. "Sure, hon. I'll do that tonight."

We didn't get a picture--but we can get one tomorrow. Because the damned Eternal Box is sure as shit not going anywhere.

A Cure for the Derpies

Today, I was listening to an audiobook as we were waiting for ZoomBoy, and I was engrossed--like, totally engrossed. ZoomBoy jumped in to the car and suddenly sputtered.

"God, Mom, can I throw this out? This tastes awful!"

"Sure, honey-- wait! No-- that's the dog water! Wait--"

"You couldn't have told me before I drank it!"he complained.

"Well I didn't expect you to drink it! Here! Drink this!" I handed him the ice water I bring with me when I pick the kids up--they're always thirsty and so am I.

"Oh no!" he cried. Then, he held his hands to his throat and said in a cartoon voice, "Help me! I want to lick your face! I need to jump up! Who are all these people! I need to bark at them! Why am I not sitting on your lap! No! No! No! Help me! I have the--"

"Derpies!" I laughed, because he was doing a spot on impression of Geoffie if Geoffie could talk.

"I have the Derpies!" he said. "There is no cure!"

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Maybe if I stop and get you a slushy, that would cure the Derpies?"

He perked up and dropped the Geoffie impression. "Sure. Could you also get me some chicken tenders, because I also forgot my meds and I'm starving."

"How about you, Squish--you want a slushy?"

"No, I'd rather have an ice cream instead. Wait--can we get a McFlurry?"

"Yeah, sure. One cure for the Derpies coming up. I had no idea McDonalds was into modern medicine."

So now you know the cure for the Derpies. Also, don't let your kids drink the dog water. It's gross.

The Most Dangerous Part of My Body

So I almost broke the house with my ass this morning.

I was really having a sort of weird day. I was having my morning "meeting"--which I am used to having in long, blissfully uninterrupted private.

I got interrupted three times. Once by a phone call, twice by the pest control guy. The thing with the pest control guy was that he couldn't get close enough to use his organic pet friendly spray on my house--there was a miserable amount of road construction going on outside.

As in, there's a six-foot deep, four-foot-wide trench in front of my driveway, and for the last two days we've had to ask guys to lay down a big iron panel so we can drive out.

Also, they get there at 7:30 which makes them all bastards. ALL. All bastards. Now you know.

So, no pest control today, and my morning meeting was meetus-interuptus and I had to go ask the guys ripping up our road if, uh, I was going to be able to take the dogs to the park.

They said, "Yeah, sure!" and I was like, "Okay then. I'll go in and try to find a bra."

But when I got to the door I realized that I'd closed the locked door behind me. So, yes. I locked myself out of the house.

Anyway, this normally wouldn't be a problem-- the back door slides open and we don't lock it when the animals are going in and out--especially because it's been nice outside. Even with the pet door, we still leave it open a little for some fresh air.

But, uh, remember that pet door?

Well, it's made the entry into the house... smaller.

As in, the KIDS have trouble getting in and out of the back door kind of smaller.

And I had no choice but to squeeze my fat ass into the house via the sliding door. Which I almost took off the rails. I got in--much the same way I managed to use the shower in that Air BnB I stayed in when Andrew, Amelia and I got stranded in Virginia, and let's just say it took some human origami and leave it at that.

But it's true. My ass almost broke the back door. MY ASS ALMOST BROKE MY HOUSE.

I got back inside, and managed to get my act together to take the dogs walking, but my luck was still a little wonky when I got back--I had to park a block away which just sort of wrecked my timeline for making it to aqua zumba.

I guess on the plus side? There's such a thing as aqua zumba, and it was FABULOUS.

However, I don't think it made my ass even a teeny bit smaller.

We're so damned classy, I can't believe it...

So, Mate took the kids to a special dance practice today so they can perform at the Rivercats stadium this Friday. (For the record, that's the trifecta of things to do this weekend when I'm supposed to be packing. RiverCats Friday, Soccer Saturday, Mother's Day Sunday, pack Sunday night. I thought I'd mention that.)

Anyway--I stayed home and worked, with the door open ever so slightly to let in the fresh air, and the dog parked right in front of the door, polluting said fresh air.

It was horrible. The stench would hit me, I'd look down at the dog, and she'd be looking soulfully back as though *I* was the one who had tried to gas us both.

I complained about it on FB, and as though she could sense me complaining about her, she got up and ran away before I could take a pic of her "look of shame" but I have proof. The family got home about forty-five minutes later and Mate took two steps into the door and said, "Oh my God, who farted?"

IT WAS THAT BAD.

Anyway, bless
Mate, he brought food--Adalberto's carne asada burritos are the best, but they're pretty big, and they're all meat. I cut mine in half to save part for tomorrow, and went to microwave some brussels sprouts to offset all that meat. Of course, we started talking about the dog and her stench-o-rama and as we did so, ZoomBoy laid on the couch and pet her and she clambered all over his body and then made herself comfy in the "gas chamber"-- that spot that forms right under your ass and behind your knees.

"Careful," ZoomBoy warned her. "That's a dangerous place to sit."  And then--because he's a 15 YO boy and can fart on command--ripped one. And another. And a third.

Dog didn't move. Dad laughed. "Are you kidding? She sleeps there next to mom every night--you think you've got game!"

"Yeah," I told him. "I'm afraid you're weak shit--"

He burst out laughing--and breaking more wind--and the dog ran for safety.

And at that moment, Mate says, "Would you stop it? The whole house is starting to smell!"

And at that moment, my brussels sprouts dinged, and ZoomBoy says, "Nope--that's not me. That's mom's chicken farts."  Because I'm the only one who appreciates brussels sprouts apparently, and yes, that is what the family calls them.

"Yeah, that smell is chicken farts," Mate said, judging the air. "You need to get those, before they kill the dogs."

*sigh*

You do realize this is dinner conversation. And the only reason Squish wasn't there to participate was that she got home and fell into bed, right?

Anyway, for the record? The dogs are still trying to kill us, ZoomBoy's gas is worse than mine, and the buttered chicken farts were delicious.

Some Promotions are Good For the Soul

So, I've discovered as I progress that I'm actually not an island. I am, in fact, part of a NUMBER of writing organizations--and I've been blessed.

So two of my groups have promotions going on and I thought I'd talk about them.

The PRG--

The Paranormal Romance Guild is having a membership drive in May--and they're a WONDERFUL organization that supports independent and self-published authors. They review your work, promote it, and generally help the newbie author feel not so alone. And they've been WONDERFULLY supportive of the LGBTQ community--I've watched this group blossom from a few lost souls on amazon.com going, "Wait-- there's got to be another way to promote ourselves besides being on the forums!" to this amazing organization.

So come check out the PARANORMAL ROMANCE GUILD--not just Paranormal, but definitely a group of folks intent on furthering their craft!

The next thing I'd like to promote is the annual Keith Milano Foundation that promotes mental health awareness and suicide prevention. Denise Milano Sprung is an avid reader--and a grieving sister. She has promoted an event for the last several years in which authors give a portion of their proceeds for a specific book to the Keith Milano Foundation for suicide prevention and I've been a part of this every year. This year I'm promoting Bobby Green, because Reg's sister suffers from untreated schizophrenia. For those close to me, you know that V's story comes from my own experiences with family members--right down to some of the most outrageous moments. So Bobby Green is close to my heart--I've ripped open a vein here, and I'd love to have it do some good.






If you'd rather just donate to the source, by all means--VISIT THIS LINK HERE-- and see all of the places that your money goes when you donate. Denise and her husband are good people, and they've worked very hard to combine Denise's passion for romance reading and her desire to see that no other young man has to lose his life to mental illness. They're a force for good, and I'm proud to promote my work to help them.



So there you go!  Two promotions going down this month, one of which can help new writers, and the other of which readers and writers can help!  I'm always surprised when I realize how many people I know--and how many people I"ve cheered on and have been cheered on by in return.

Happy May, everybody!