Yarning to Write

Godspeed, Brave Traveler

2012-02-17T23:39:00.000-08:00

Okay... so, we're going on vacation. Yes, you heard me. It's February, and my kids' school has something called "President's Week"-- no, I don't understand it either. It's a week off and it's not Spring Break--seriously! I'm not making this up!

So we're going to San Diego. Because it's by the sea and we could get the time share (I don't know--I think Mate sacrificed some sort of small animal under the full moon, because I was starting to think the time share was a myth again.) Anyway, Big T can't come with, and I've stocked the freezer with Hungry Man dinners for him, but other than that?

Yeah. Chicken's friend, Stevy is coming with us, and... well...

We're leaving at 8:00 am.

So, wish me well. I've got a post for a new release scheduled for Thursday morning, and I'll try to send random pictures for random things in the meantime... but...

Wish us well! We're off to see the fish!

Valentines Day Stories

2012-02-16T07:55:00.000-08:00

I don't know if I have yet written a Valentines Day scene.

I know that in Bound, when Cory is celebrating/mourning the day she actually looked up and saw Adrian in the gas station, Bracken panics for a minute, because he thinks he forgot Valentines Day, and Cory is like, "Yeah, no, doesn't matter." I'm pretty sure that none of my characters have had a make-or-break scene during Valentines day. The reason for this is sort of simple, and can be summed up by the shortbread story. (For those of you who have heard this before, forgive me--I posted it to my yahoo group, m/mmarvelous --feel free to look it up on yahoo and join by the way-- and folks seemed to like it, so I thought I'd go into it more here:-)

So here it is. The shortbread story--because, I baked shortbread for Mate this Valentines day and the thing is, Mate and I have a history with shortbread:

Twenty-five years ago (yes, people years not dog years, why do you ask?) Mate and I were dating. We both worked at McDonalds (yup, heard that right too) and, well, he didn't really want to be dating me. I was sort of a blowback from the fact that we'd both had our hearts stomped on by different people and had consoled ourselves at Denny's until two in the morning, until I thought, "Hey, this guy is MUCH cooler than the schmuck I thought I liked!" and he went, "Well, hell, she's willing to kiss me, I guess." Anyway, he was my FIRST BOYFRIEND, and I had him for VALENTINES DAY and OMG was I going to do the romantic gesture.

So I baked him Scottish shortbread at a friend's house. And as I was baking, I started to spike a fever. 103 degrees, no shit. So I had to call in for work. Remember-- where we both worked? And then, although my friends BEGGED me to just wait until the next day, I HAD to drive thirty miles to give them to him. At work.

I almost got fired. Seriously. If friends at worked hadn't told the manager that I looked like shit, I would have gotten fired. (I actually DID get fired from that job later, for refusing to wear my hat, but that's another story.)

Anyway, and Mate, my darling Mate, took one look at that feverish devotion and did the wise thing--ran like hell. Broke up with me the next day. No shit.

Now later I (in Mary's words) culled him from the herd and made him mine with the cunning use of depression weight loss, puppy dog eyes, and a skillful application of stalking, but that was my first Valentines Day, with Mate.

Now there've been twenty-five since, right? Some awesome (Monday's--yes, Monday's, because the restaurant wasn't crowded, that's why!) and some not so awesome (It's what?) but I guess it all goes back to that first one--inflated expectations and unreasonable fear. So last night, I baked him shortbread, even though it was a day early, and we went to the movies. It was sort of atonement, really, for that first day. This was no muss, no fuss, no thousand dollar gift, no omg this is THE DAY pressure. We had a really nice time.

And as for Mate's gift to me? Flowers (they're pretty!) and a toilet seat. I'm the only one who uses our bathroom, really (don't ask me why--but if you ever see a big news headline that reads "Fat Woman Crashes Through Floor of Bathroom", do me a favor and don't look at the picture. Please) and the toilet seat in that bathroom was cut to shreds. He was sort of hurt, really--took me six trips to the bathroom before I realized that it was MUCH more comfortable now--but when I finally got it? I was suitably appreciative. Home improvement ain't no small schizz in our house--we both hates it, and a new toilet seat? Dude--that's big smooch mojo, really.

So there you go. The shortbread story. Valentines Day with Mate and I. I think the internet summed it up best with this tweet right here:

Shit My Dad Says: "Valentine's day is bullshit. Our DNA demands we fuck each other, so if you need a holiday to talk your wife into screwing
you, it's over."

So that's it-- Valentines day-- but I do think there is something to be added here. All of my children were early for one holiday and conceived around another. Example? Big T is two weeks early for Christmas--which means he was conceived around Spring Break. Chicken was a week early for mine and Mate's birthdays--which means she was conceived around Christmas. Squish was early for Easter, which means she was conceived around our anniversary. There you go. And Zoomboy? Well, Zoomoboy was early for Thanksgiving. His birthday's on November 15th. You do the math.

By the way-- I'm writing a story to this song. It's heartrendingly beautiful:

Real Teachers Never Stop Teaching

2012-02-12T22:41:00.000-08:00

About three weeks ago, I was surprised to see that my alter ego--the one who used to teach in the really difficult school district with people who were not necessarily kind to anyone who stood out--was called a pornographer in the press by an administrator she had never met. He was taking credit for ridding his school district of all the evil teachers. She was one.

I was not amused.

None of it was true--not his presentation of himself as sort of a bureaucratic John Wayne (because dudes, anyone who was my confidant in this matter at all would tell you that all they had to do to get rid of me was to LET ME COME BACK so I could quit instead of be fired!), not his presentation of my work as pornography (the fact that it is NOT is well covered material, both legally and morally!), and not his insinuation that I "had students read" pornography as some sort of assignment. (And if Monty Python hadn't done a first rate send up of that idea, believe me, I'd jump in and have my fun.) It was all crap, and he got to bluster to the press and I got to sit there and think, "Really?"

Now, of course my FIRST inclination (and I'm always better off when I ignore these) was to spray bomb "LIBELOUS PIGFUCKING BUREAUCRAT" on his car--and while that's still a fantasy I'll use to entertain myself, I don't suggest anyone else actually perpetrate that particular vandalism either. (And, unlike what this man said about ME, this epithet is true, as long as you understand that the word "pigfucking" is used an intensifier, and not an actual description of how the upper echelon powerless administrator who lies in print spends his spare time.) Anyway, I sat back, let things take their course, and allowed the universe to present me with an alternative idea.

As it turns out, my deep and abiding (and oft-tested) faith that "karma works" kicked in here. No, bird shit didn't peel his paint job, nobody caught secret tape of him having a drug-fueled gang-bang with monkeys and rent boys, and there were no mysterious accidents involving his nether limbs and farm equipment. It seems that he's going to have to wait for his own sign that libelous bureaucrats are NOT awarded 72 virgins and a Cadillac Coupe deVille upon departure from this mortal coil--this sign was all mine.

And it was beautiful. Meet Matty. He and his beloved, Brad, have kept up a lovely blog chronicling young love in a country that's rather unfriendly to their particular brand of it, and they are witty, charming, and just about as old as Mate and I were when we embarked on OUR adventures. Matty got to blog about unlikely heroes--and what he said about my work and what it meant to him made me cry--as the libelous pigfucking bureaucrat did not, actually. Nothing the crumbling clay fist of faux-power had to say about me or to me--whether it was on a public forum or in private-- actually MEANS anything to me, in any sense of the word. But what this articulate, poetic kid had to say? That meant the world.

Karma works. Libelous pigfucking bureaucrats are going to live small, circumscribed lives, where the shit they spew into the either is the only thing they get to see, smell, or taste, and all of their world will be colored by their ignorance. They will never know the beauty of seeing that something they have done has LITERALLY made the world a better place--they will only know the drudgery of pretending they have that sort of power at all. I'm going to take moments like Matty's blog post, and letters that people--wounded and torn people--have written to me about how good writing--sometimes MY writing--heals. These moments are going to reassure me that no matter what libelous bureaucrats have to say about me, I will continue to teach--and teach things of importance, and not just what looks good on a bubble test--for probably the rest of my life.

Karma is a beautiful thing.

NEXT TIME????????

2012-02-09T10:05:00.000-08:00

Okay-- So Chicken is learning how to drive. It's not pretty.

"Chicken, you ready to drive to school today?"

"No."

"Seriously-- your instructor is going to be here Saturday. You up for it?"

"No."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Dammit, get in the car. I know you know how to back out."

"Fine."

"See, that's not so... okay, slow down, slow to stop... ungh... good. Now go forward. A little BUT NOT TOO faster good. Now slow to a stop. Now go forward. Good. We're turning left here. Now get in the left lane. Now slow to a stop STOP there's a car there."

"I could SEE that, mom!"

"Right. Yeah. My bad. Okay. Now slide into the outside left turn lane here. Good. Now stay on the OUTside... good. Good. Don't want to cut that too close."

"I hate being on the inside lane."

"Good. Good. Wait, wasn't that the turn for the back way to your school?"

"You didn't tell me to take it!"

"But you know how to... I just thought... never mind. Okay. Left hand turn lane here. Inside."

"I hate inside turns."

I swallow. She does. She sucks at them. Everytime she's made one, she's threatened the island in the middle or the person in the inside left turn of the oncoming lane. I look at the traffic--our light JUST turned red, so we've got some time.

"Do you want me to drive?"

"YES!"

Beat.

"WELL THEN GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR! WAIT! PUT IT IN PARK FIRST!"

And we run around the car. And run into each other, bounce off, run around each other and then...

"Fuck!!!" She weighs 150, and I weigh twice that--YES she's moved the fucking seat! "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..."

I slide the seat back, get in, shut the door, get belted, get the car out of park, and sit, my heart pounding in my chest, while Chicken dissolves quietly next to me.

"What?" I ask, stepping on the gas as traffic moves.

"We ran into each other! Next time, I'll go around back and you go around front."

My whole world narrows down to two words.

"NEXT TIME??????????????"

God save us if there's a next time.

And speaking of NEXT TIME.

Big T spends most of his time in the back bedroom. We're all used to him doing that. Too used to him doing that.

On Tuesdays, I take Squish to dance, and leave Zoomboy, Chicken, and Big T at the house. Then Mate arrives and takes Chicken to her dance class (in a different place) and Zoomboy does his homework while Big T lurks in the back bedroom.

I got home on Tuesday, and Zoomboy ran out to meet me.

"Is Big T home?" he asked, and my eyes did this: 0.0

"Did he get home after I left?" He'd been late from school.

"No. You left me alone."

"Ohmygod!"

"I did my homework."

My heart is thundering in my ears and my vision is going black.

"You didn't burn the house down!" I say. "You are SUCH a good boy!"

"Mom, we don't even keep any matches! And I didn't cook any food."

"You are such a good boy!" *pound pound pound*

"Yeah. Here mom. Let's write down your phone number, so the next time this happens, I can call you."

"NEXT TIME?????????"

So, I'm sitting and writing, and next to me is the remains of part of my dinner--cucumbers in low fat dressing with bacon-flavored soy bits on them. The dressing is a favorite of the families--Newman's Own Sesame Ginger, and there's a lot left in the bottom of the bowl.

Big T walks by and picks it up. "Mom, can I have this?"

"Uh, sure?"

And he drinks it. DRINKS IT. I can hear his throat working as he gulps it down. He puts the dish in the sink, pleased with himself.

"Next time, I'm going to have to chop up some vegetables to put in it," he says.

Oh Jesus. Next time.

Repressed White People

2012-02-06T23:55:00.000-08:00

Mate's grandmother fell ill this week (i.e., was prescribed the wrong medication for a uti which basically hastened her decline, the signal of which was an event in which she RAN around the house when she hadn't actually WALKED for over a year and talked to invisible cats) and she has entered final stage hospice care. On the one hand, this is a somber event, and Mate is saddened, as are we all. On the other hand? He's watched me do this four other times--and we're repressed white people. We save our grief for our quiet moments in private, and in the meantime, we watch the weirdness that comes with meetings and partings of human beings on and off of this mortal coil. Things such as:

* Mate's grandmother's dementia. His poor mother was trying to explain to the doctors over the phone that this wasn't normal. The doctors finally told her to bring Grandma in, and Grandma was seeing giraffes on the way there. Mate's mother was like, "Uhm, yeah. Not normal. Can we maybe see about this?"

* Mate's grandmother's mantra: "I'm 92 in a week." And there you go. She has seen the finish line, it is 92, and she's at peace with that. As sad as we will be to see her go, we all get that 92 is a perfectly respectable finish line. We're good with that. We hope we make it that far in our own personal races, with as much grace and dignity.

* Our own children, learning the ways of all repressed white people-- the things not to mention. Things such as? "Grandma's going to be 92? That's only 48 years older than you!" and "If you don't get yourself together, mom, we'll go to your funeral too and we'll be very sad." I'm glad that the death of the rat and the cat and a couple of grandparents has given my children a very pragmatic perspective on death--but I really hope they can learn the grave demeanor expected of their fellow repressed white people as they grow. That kind of pragmatism could have my own parents haunt me with their disapproval. Literally.

* Chicken and I still have an active list of songs she's supposed to play at my funeral. I still refuse to see the list she wants played at hers, because if I ever have to play that list, I'll dig her up and kill her twice.

* Texting from friends can be both inconvenient and frickin' hilarious as you attempt not to get maudlin or sad in your conversation with relatives. Example? As Mate and I sat and talked to his Aunt--a very sweet woman with a sense of humor but a deeply religious mien--I realized my best-buddy was texting me picture after picture of hot men in compromising positions as I sat in the lobby of the hospice home. I kept my smirk to myself and told her that we were doing something serious here--but since I'm usually snarky, she thought that I was being mock-serious and not serious serious. Hence, when Mate was showing pictures of the young-uns on my phone, there was another text. Now, when there's a text on my phone and I'm on another app, a banner comes up at the top of the phone, telling you what the text is. Hence, while Mate was showing pictures of Squish and Zoomboy and Chicken and Big T, the banner at the top reading, "You suck!" Mate and I met eyes and tried very hard not to giggle like third graders.

Now, I'm sure someone reading this post will look at it, and think, "These people are incredibly callous and cold!" But the like I said, I've done this before. You don't moan and grieve a long life, well lived, and you don't try to put paid to past difficulties with the soon-to-be deceased. You allow them to pass, and let them know their lives were important to you, and that they will be missed.

It's funny, in a way. I wrote a story for Christmas this year called Puppy, Car, and Snow, in which a mother-in-law is absolutely convinced that her son's boyfriend is not good enough for her. At the end of the story, the two lovers are very publicly committed, and the mother-in-law unbends and welcomes the new member into the family. Now, I've gotten a few bad reviews on this story, because some people seemed to feel that mother-in-law should have been punished. I think those people must have been very young. A long time ago, this woman made me cry--and made me cry a lot. I was not good enough for her grandson, and I never would be, and a thousand sly and painful things were said outside my husband's hearing that made me acutely aware of what a disappointment I was.

But that was a long time ago.

In the intervening time, I've proven myself. My children have grown up kind and respectful and smart and funny, and cognizant of their place in the world and of the people who have come before and of their duty to do something worthwhile in their time on the planet. This woman learned to love me, and I learned to forgive, and I'll grieve her passing. People have been telling me since December that my stories continue to teach, and I hope that the subtle lesson in this story was not lost on everybody. What I said to my husband's grandmother tonight was simple-- a kiss on the cheek (her head is tilted almost parallel with her right shoulder--it can not straighten, to the point where her right lung is crushed in her ribcage and her leg will not work underneath--a kiss on the cheek is an awkward thing) and a promise to tell the kids she said hi. But it was the result of both of us, over the last 18 years, not "punishing" a bad guy, but learning to make the small and subtle adjustments that are required to maintain a functioning family. While we did that, I like to think we truly came to love each other, and I'm proud of that.

So no-- we didn't grieve, we didn't wail, we didn't ask "Why? Oh God, Why must this person who has lived this long and fruitful life leave the world?!" (It always surprises me when people ask this--I should think that anyone who has ever raised a cat or a rat or a hamster or a fish would realize the inevitable truth.) We said we hoped we'd see her later--and we might, because she's feisty!--and then we said goodbye. And we tucked our grief deep in our chests and we took the joy in what we had. Sometimes, being a Repressed White Person isn't such a terrible thing after all.

Riding In Cars With Children

2012-02-03T09:11:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, listening to my family talk is like living in a movie with AWESOME satirical dialog--except you can't rewind and listen to it all over again, no matter how badly you want to. I was going to try to capture some of it here, but, well, forgive me. It was a huge deluge of great and funny kid bits, and unfortunately, I think there maybe be silken, hand dyed snippets of weirdness that are floating around my brain that will never truly become something. It's like being saturated in the potential for something really wondrous... these wonderful moments are just there, on the tip of my brain, ready for the taking, but they get sort of soddened over by the mundane moments that end up here.

* Chicken went to a basketball game with her father and then texted me--she'd seen her Chemistry teacher tending bar, and she was embarrassed. I told her not to be embarrassed for her teacher--be embarrassed for her country.

* Zoomboy got a dictionary from his school today-- one of the cool kind with the illustrations. On the way home from school he looked up human extinction and filled us all in on the gory details. Apparently global warming is a threat. He has not yet looked up zombies or curse words. We're waiting.

* Squish wakes up every morning and comes into the kitchen where I'm working, and thrusts her head under my arm like a cat looking for pets. She looks up at me with her blue eyes scrunched and sleepy above her freckled little cheeks and tells me what she dreamed the night before. I couldn't tell you what she actually dreams-- they're actually very confused--but I could look at her talking forever.

* Big T came home a little nonplused. He's trying to put together a film for film class and was told by his film teacher that he had the general aura of a young Woody Allen. 0.0 You've seen the pictures, folks--YOU tell me how that works.

* My newest addiction has been Words by Post with Mate-- he's been KICKING MY FRICKIN' ASS. So frustrating. The thing is, I always go for the interesting word-- "covey" instead of "convey", when "convey" can be done for six-bajillion points and "covey" is like, ten. I've sort of gotten over that--but I still don't see the strategies he does. I've got the vocabulary, he's got the ability to unscramble letters, which is something I've NEVER had. But television time is fun. I've got my knitting, and my phone, and sometimes my Kindle. ADHD has never been relaxing.

* Mate still wants me to go see a King's game. I still want to stay home and knit. I may have to go-- he's looking so disappointed every time I say now.

* This was spirit week at the grammar school. Yeah, I don't know what they're celebrating--who cares, it's January/February and they're SO glad to be doing something fun. Yesterday was pajama day. Today, we put Squish in her little Victorian Witch's outfit, a shawl, and baby powder in her hair and called her 100 years old. For Zoomboy, today was "crazy hair" day, and Chicken was impressed as I was giving ZB his faux-hawk. "Geez, mom, that's some SPECTACULAR hair glue!" Yeah, well, only the best to subdue my own savage squirrel!

*Every night I sing to the little kids. Some nights they get a bonus track of Death Cab for Cutie's "You'll be loved!" (video to follow) but mostly, it's Patsy Kline's "Dream a little dream" and John Denver's "Sunshine on my shoulder". I get bonus points as a parent if I slip in the cat's name as I'm singing. "Dream a little dream of Steve..." "Sunshine... on my shoulder...makes Steve happy..." I never do it the same way twice, and when I was in her classroom before Christmas, I heard Squish brag about this like it was in the benefit's package of being my kid: "I get one story and two to three songs a night. Uhm-hhm. And sometimes, even ice cream for dessert." I think she probably could have leveraged herself into a better company, but I'm not going to tell her that!

* And finished my anthology story! WOOT! This is going to be a joint venture between myself, Mary Calmes, and Andrew Grey. Andrew was the one who came up with the concept: Something went wrong in the tapestry of the three fates. Then we all took that idea and ran with it. I like my story--it, like my favorite stories, evolved in ways I never thought of. Hacon (does NOT rhyme with bacon--I was surprised!) and Leif are two of my most awkward, formal heroes--but they are also very sweet. I also get to do a little bit of eye-humpin' with Thor and Loki, and, uhm... *swoon*

* And also in the realm of shared projects, I've teamed up with Aleksandr Voinov to write a little novella called Country Mouse. This was fun-- it started out as a dare, mostly, and I've enjoyed working with Aleks very much. I'm editing the story today, and I'll have a better idea for it, but I've got to say, working with someone living in England using google docs? It's a TOTAL RUSH. You just watch the cursor move across the screen and then you pick up where the cursor leaves off and when you're done you're like, "Oh crap! This is COOL!" It's like an intellectual amalgam of shit you wouldn't have thought of adding. I loved it. And I got a virtual tour around London, just WRITING it, which was so much fun! (You guys all KNOW that must have turned my key, right?) So that will be out sometime in March, along with Super Sock Man.

* And I'm going to leave it like that for the moment, and ditch out, leaving a video for your perusal.

So this is "You'll be loved"-- the video was cut from the SPN fandom that likes all the eye-humpin' between Dean and Castiel... got to admit, it gives me a giggle and a tickle myself. And, remember, if nothing else, just hit play and go on with your business and listen to the song:

Bound and Determined...

2012-01-31T23:55:00.000-08:00

I KEEL U DED!!!

Okay-- so I couldn't help notice that my blog posting has fallen off in the last two years. Now, part of it is that I think my blog posts got more pictures--they're a teeny bit more of a production. Go me! And part of it is that all the shit I blogged about at the beginning when it was novel is no longer novel, and, well, I don't want to bore anyone so I don't talk about the farting dog or the baby (who's in Kindergarten--WAAHH!) or those other hella cute things anymore, because, well, there's a little less of them. And part of it is that, well, now that I'm making my living on the computer, blogging as leisure time is a little trickier. I want to get AWAY from the computer, not closer to it, which is hard when all my friends are in the little silver box!

So anyway, in an effort not to let my blogging disappear COMPLETELY, I swore I'd get in 12 blogs for January. My clock says I've got 17 minutes left. But, dammit, blowing it off now, that's a shitty way to start a resolution, right?

And part of it is that Squish and I have been a little bit sick. Sick enough to keep Squish home for two days, sick enough for me to fall asleep when she sits on me--and some of that's wonderful. My cuddle to real life ratio has gone down drastically in the last year, and I've missed it--but that means less time at the computer too--and blogging wasn't the only thing that took a hit today. My story about the three fates and the entwined lives of Thor and Loki has progressed, but not as far as I'd planned. For those of you wondering what the hurry is, if I can get it done soon enough, I can spend a week or so working on Quickening--and I've been in a real Lady Cory place, and I'd love to be able to do that.

So this is it-- an emergency blogpost, peppered with some of the best pretty and weirdest cute that has shown up in my phone in the last week. That ninja bunny? He's kept me laughing for two days! I want him on a T-shirt!

And, as I've got six minutes left, I'll leave you with this quote, just overheard on Leverage as I was listening/writing:

"Why's there a nun's outfit without a nun in it?"
"Rapture!"

For some reason, that just seems sublime to me-- I'm gonna laugh myself to sleep:-)

I was... well trying to, you know...

2012-01-29T16:29:00.000-08:00

This is me, last night. Writing, a scene in which my lovers, Hake and Leif, have a sad, painful fight that tests their relationship and reveals more about their vulnerabilities and insecurities than they ever thought possible. Aaaaaandddd I'm also checking twitter every now and then for updates.

Hm... Rhys just posted a video... okay, I could use a break... and suddenly I'm here:

Gee, Rhys, that's pretty cool!

You like that? I've got more to show you!

No, no-- I'm trying to write Urban Norse Mythology--pretty Korean pop stars aren't going to do it!

But some of these guys are Japanese!

And I laugh, and I'm tempted, and last year this would NOT have been my thing, so, I tag Elizabeth, who sort of turned me on to Korean pop last year, in order to blame her for making me vulnerable to this time suck and suddenly Elizabeth takes me here...

And here:

And, yes... here!

And I try to write beyond this, because it's pretty, but it's NOT Norse Urban Mythology, and in the meantime, Big T has gone to bed, because it was eleven thirty at night, and Mary texts me, and asks me what I'm doing. And I tell her I'm turning down Rebel Without a Cause so I can write, and then we're talking about James Dean and Sal Mineo, and how one was bi and the other was gay, and suddenly I'm here:

And Mary starts talking about if I think THEY'RE hot, I should check out Montgomery Clift, and suddenly I'm here:

And OMG--he's HOT! But he's NOT Norse Urban Mythology, and in the meantime, Rhys has tagged me on Twitter with some more of this:

Which is pretty, and inventive, but I'm TRYING to give Leif some motivation here for being an assclown, and now Elizabeth has told me that I should check out a little bit of this:

And YES they're pretty, but Hake is trying to explain that he's not going anywhere, and I'm telling M ary that the pretty Korean boys are pretty and Mary is telling me that I should write pretty Korean boys for Elizabeth ...

But... but.. but... but...

I AM TRYING TO WRITE A FIGHT SCENE!!!!!

*pant* *pant* *pant* *pant* *pant*

"So," texts Mary, (who is probably laughing her ass off), "Who's fighting?"
"Hake and Leif," I tell her.
"How's that going?"
"Wanna see?"
"Yeah. Gimme a minute."
And I finish it.
"How's that?" I ask.
"Not bad. But now I need the resolution."

And I'm writing again, and the pretty Korean boys are forgotten, and suddenly it's 1:30 in the morning.

So yes--if used carefully, the internet CAN be a source of motivation and inspiration, but it's good to be careful, because I gotta tell you, Zoomboy had a 9:00 a.m. indoor soccer game this morning (they tied!) and right now? My consciousness is ALL about this:

When in doubt... ask Bruce...

2012-01-26T20:42:00.000-08:00

I've had some lovely days to write, and some really productive days doing research. Unfortunately, they don't really equal a whole lot of words written. Suffice it to say I'm plugging along, and that I've had a little lull in the usual rattle and hum, and, well, that doesn't really translate into spectacular blogfodder. So, once again, I'm gonna scattershot it.

* Mary Calmes, my beloved Mary, texted me into complete submission regarding the next WIP. I've posted some examples of her work (in the texting department, that is), and since she betas for me with skill and enthusiasm, those texts carry weight. Even when they're wearing no clothes. (These texts ARE wearing clothes, but... uhm... it's JENSEN, so we can live with that.

* My new, non-porny story is posted now right here, HERE, and in a few days it should have a spot on GoodReads, and if you love it, be sure to go rate it! And I'd REALLY want to thank Jennifer Morris (HappyTwilightFan) for dressing up a picture I took in Monterey and making it look lovely and very relevant to the story. As soon as she puts it up in her blog, I'll post the link, but in the meantime, I want to show off her cover. She made it with a picture I sent her, and her own moon and imagination, and I loves it!:-)

* This out of nowhere: I really love the word "stabby" because it seems to be an amalgam of "crabby" and, of course, the accompanying gesture that can often come of crabbiness. However, my vote is still out on this word's cousins, "hurty", "shooty", "strangle-y" and "poisony".

* Mary (aforementioned, my darling and beloved work wife) and I spent two hours doing research and frantic texts in order for me to write two paragraphs of prose about what my hero does on his job. Speaking of "stabby" and "hurty"... uhm, yeah. Sometimes this job has it's moments of hard work with NOTHING to show for it. If it weren't for Mary, I would probably have made poor Hacon a fast food worker instead of an importer/exporter, and that would have made the story VERY different.

* Oh yeah-- this woman, L.A. Witt said some things I've wanted to say for a very long time. I literally lick her toes in admiration. And I want her frickin' water buffalo.

* And my guy, Chase, is up at Dreamspinner Press. Which is good. Because the WIP that Mary sexted/begged/convinced me to start when I'm done with my wonderful, fun, subtle, complex mythology story with one of the most heinous cases of deus ex machina EVER in a story, is going to be the sequel to Chase's story. I want to write all those other sequels too--but I think Dex and Kane are gonna steal your heart in a passionate, first love sort of way when you're done with Chase. At least I hope so, because they're where my headspace is.

And that's about all... I wish my life was more interesting than that--or at least outside my body. We're going to have some trips coming up, and that's gonna be fun to report--but for now? Off to visit Leif and Hacon, and their interaction with the fates:-)

Oh--and about Bruce? I was waffling today, what should I do with my day? And then I heard this song... and the answer was to write. Because my heart was moved--and that's what you do when your heart is moved.

Decisions, decisions, decisions...

2012-01-24T10:27:00.000-08:00

Okay, Cup o Porn is having their birthday bash this week, and there will be PLENTY of free fiction if you follow the link above. My offering--both humble and completely safe for work (and can you believe that? I'm asked to write for a blog called CUP OF PORN and what do I put out? A legend, with the most oblique sexual descriptions in the history of romance EVER. I'm surprised Marie and Heidi didn't just shoot my fat white ass flat when I sent that in. I'm an idiot. We all know this--and here's proof!) Anyway, When the Sea and Sky Turn to Blood will be out tomorrow, around 11 a.m., CST, and it's free, along with a lot of other nice stuff that people are giving away, so stop by and enjoy! (And, once again, I will remind you that if the picture says NSFW, and you're at work, DON'T GO THERE!) For those of you afraid of falling into the porny land mines (and you should be, because I get stuck there all the time and they blow my productivity to hell while stimulating my creativity at the same time which is very uncomfortable for a woman my age) when the birthday bash is over, I think I'll post this story on my website. It doesn't really have a niche--it is, as Galad once told me, sexy writing (not sexual writing, but writing you do for the sake of art) and not money writing (which is writing you do that's more popular, which often has sex in it!) So, sexy writing goes on the website, writing with sex in it, you have to pay for. There's a lesson in there somewhere, I just know it. Now the thing is, it doesn't mean you don't enjoy writing money writing--it just means you don't get to do off-genre stuff with it, like, say, When the Sea and Sky Turn to Blood, or, Dreams of Terrible Brightness. Money writing can be EXTREMELY soul fulfilling--I mean, for ME, money writing is FUN--joyous, even when it's ripping my heart out and serving it on a platter. But more people also enjoy having THEIR hearts ripped out with it, and boom! You make a little money.

So speaking of sexy writing versus money writing--

I'm trying to decide what to write!

For those of you who doubt me, the thing I'm thinking (ALWAYS) is QUICKENING. I REALLY want to write Quickening. Unfortunately, writing now pays my rent. (Okay, not my rent, or my mortgage or whatever--but it does pay for groceries and utilities and random toys and Easter loot and birthday parties and... you get the idea.) So that makes Quickening sexy writing (God, I hope so!) and so shall remain my dirty little secret writing when no one is looking. So, what do I do write that hordes (okay, dozens!) of people are waiting for so that my family may not starve around Christmas?

Well, I've actually got a lot of choices! I would like very much to write the fourth (and final) installment of Keeping Promise Rock. It promises to be shorter than the others, and a little bit angsty, but will have a big, wonderful climax that will be SO happy ever after, people might even forgive me for putting Deacon's life in danger in Book 3. THAT'S looking like a fun write, and I'm DYING to do it!

I'd also like to write the second (and definitely not final) installment in the weird mystery solving career of Patrick and Whiskey. I have a great title, a great dilemma, and some really wonderful scenes in my head, and THAT'S looking like a fun write, and I'm DYING to do it!

And then there's the steampunk/batman thing I've got going round in my head, with some GREAT complications and this total world building thing going on and THAT'S looking like a fun write, and I'm DYING to do it.

And, although Chase in Shadow hasn't come out, I've got this sequel planned, for one of the side characters--Dex, whom I think everyone is going to adore. Pain--lots of pain--and one of those romances where your friend is where your heart is and you never knew it. THAT'S looking like a fun write, and I'm DYING to do it.

Oh--did I mention Aiden and Jeremy from The Winter Courtship Rituals of Fur Bearing Critters? Yeah-- people want to see the story of the con man and the hometown boy, working at the alpaca fiber farm, and THAT'S looking like a fun write, and I'm DYING to do it.

And there's always my bittersweet dream plans-- Richard Cory and the highland warriors and then there's this guy with a little tiny golden tamarind monkey and plan crashes and undercover detectives and...

Decisions decisions.

I whine a lot about time and deadlines and choices you have to make... but you know what? Decisions like these? Make it all worthwhile:-)

Yanno... stuff!

2012-01-21T23:42:00.000-08:00

I feel bad, subjecting y'all to those hairy shins for so long (although, I must admit, I sorta like a tangle of hairy shins, visually that is!) so I'm going to blog about inconsequential weirdness for a few, and try to find a pretty/shiny picture to distract you. Theryago. Thor (as played by Chris Hemsworth). I liked the movie, I think Kenneth Brannagh really wanted to make it totally epic and succeeded, and i think listening to Chris Hemsworth talk was worth the price of admission. REALLY love his voice--fell in love with him from the moment he played Kirk's dad in the new Star Trek. *swoon*

But anyway...

* This is Hello Kitty, in a rainbow outfit. I dunno why, but I thought she was precious. Forgive me!

* To the right (if blogger/fucker formats right!) are not only a couple of hairy shins, but my two prototype socks (not, repeat NOT the matching socks I knit and whose pattern I documented, which I sent to be photographed) except one of them has been photoshopped to make me look like less like an incompetent moron. I don't think that was the photographer's intention--I think he thought it was sort of cute, and quaint--nana's homemade socks don't match, get it? But I have to say that as sort of a representative of my craft, I was more than a little bit embarrassed. I can live with this picture. In fact, I LIKE this picture--and I hope anyone who tries to follow the pattern in the story can forgive me if the one on the right in the picture doesn't look like the one on the left! I assure you that the socks knit up with only one bit of asymmetry-- the fish eye knit/purl pattern on one sock is in the opposite place on the other. Because I thought it would be cute:-)

Zoomboy greeted me with this, yesterday morning, as he was putting on his shoes: "Mom, I had a nightmare about a gark. Alas, he was more aggressive shark than gentle gorilla." I'm still blinking over that. It was pretty awesome.

Squish got her teeth worked on--and I got my nerves worked on. Squish's birth sign is an Aries, and mine is a Libra, and dealing with my stepmom, (although I admire her and love her a lot!) should have warned me that having an Aries baby was going to be a challenge. It is. She's absolutely sure that her Libran parents are completely full of shit, do not know what they're talking about, have NEVER known what they are talking about, and if she wasn't telling us where to go in the car or why she can have something to drink when she's still dribbling down her front, she would not be able to live with herself. *headdesk* I'm giving her to Chicken during the teen years. That way, we might BOTH survive.

Chicken got accepted into San Diego Institute of the Arts--where she's going to learn computer animation, and get a bachelors degree in science and... well, be away from me, mostly, but I'm so happy for her. She's pictured here in the con-dress my stepmom made for her--it's a French Maid's costume, and she looks adorable--and it's VERY anime, and she's thrilled, both with the costume, and with the acceptance. Of course, both of us are gonna hate that first separation. It's gonna suck, but my baby's going to go make her dreams come true. How awesome is that?

And Big T? Well, bless his heart-- he told us he was taking the bus somewhere today. He didn't tell us it was to a friend who's in cosmetology school and always looking for someone who wants a $5 haircut. He looks awesome--and smaller, because baby, that was a LOT of hair!

And other than that? We went to see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo tonight, and REALLY loved it. I mean REALLY loved it! I got that whole art-shiver thing that happens when media gestalt (that combination of actors, script, cinematography, direction, etc.) REALLY kicks in and makes us shake. Loved it. Parts of it were disturbing (there is one scene in particular that has been well publicized that I won't go into) but much of it was really really brilliant, even the melancholy ending, which I sort of loved.

And in book news? Well, I finished the edit of Super Sock Man--and added a couple of scenes that I thought REALLY added to the original product. One of them was, uhm, REALLY hot, and the other? Well, let's just say that it makes the fade from Super Sock Man to Chase in Shadow just that much more believable. Editing isn't always glamorous, but in this case, I felt the ending REALLY needed work--and then I think I made it work, and I was proud.

Also...

I'm working on a story about the three fates... and the descendent of Thor... and a bike messenger in San Francisco and a workaholic business man. *happy sigh* My job does have it's stresses, true--but I do love my job! 'Night!

So, uhm, what do you think?

2012-01-18T14:16:00.000-08:00

Because, the thing is, the photographer decided to go with the prototypes and not the finished product. So, umm, what do you think?

The depth of my political involvement...

2012-01-16T11:55:00.000-08:00

Okay, so we saw Beauty and the Beast this weekend, and I was surprised.

I mean, like a lot of parents, I've seen it ad infinitum on video, and you think, "I know the story, I'll sleep through this. Knitting. Lots of knitting." But then, the opening chords hit the sound system, and I was hooked. Completely. Just like the first time (well, I slept through some of the dialog--I was sort of exhausted) but every musical number just... God. Is there ever a word for what that does to you? What art does to you when you love it?

And then, the song. Gaston's song. The song that he uses to incite an angry mob, and the lyrics? The things the villain says, that the gullible, simple townspeople BELIEVE? Man, The Simpsons and The Family Guy think they've got a corner on irony, but they've got nothing on a man dying of AIDs in 1991.

"If you're not with us, you're against us!" "We don't like what we don't understand because it scares us!" "For our village and our lives!"

God. It's political rhetoric, it's hysterical ranting, it's the popular guy out to grind his axe in someone else's blood.

It's the 2012 election in a fucking nutshell.

And I haven't talked a lot about it. I mean, for one thing, most of the people reading anything *I* put out would be aware that I think the political candidates for the American Republican party are some of the scariest bunch of potential Nazis this country has seen since Joseph McCarthy. In fact, they're even scarier, because McCarthy did what he did as a very junior senator, with nothing but a briefcase filled with old memos. Romney? Perry? Santorum? These bozos are--oh my God--I... *I* am rendered speechless. Completely speechless. I'm starting to wish I could establish a Google website, like Dan Savage did for Rick Santorum, except, instead of that wonderful, awful definition, I would have the clip of Gaston, leading the villagers to "Kill the beast!" Sure, the people being led don't have enough to feed their families, and they're shit deep in ignorance and depression, but one red flag in front of their eyes and they're off to kill someone who has never tried to harm them and who hasn't impacted on their lives EVER. Which, when you think about it, is EXACTLY what the Republican candidates have been doing to the LGBTQ community for the last year! (Okay-- a lot longer than that but this last year has been in extremus, and I think even Republicans are starting to see it that way.)

I mean, it's a simple idea, isn't it? Howard Ashman, asked to write a song for a bully, out to destroy a rival in a fit of ignorance and rage--of course the things that come out of Gaston's mouth are the same things coming out of the mouths of the ignorant during the height of the AID's crisis. But you'd think we'd learn, wouldn't you? You'd think that twenty years later we wouldn't still be listening to another crop of Disney villains--over the top, dumber than posts, bragging about their ignorance and their bigotry like it's something to be proud of-- but this time with even MORE power to destroy than the ones in 1991.

I swear--truly--sometimes I think it's all part of a big plot. That the Republicans keep us ignorant by cutting our programs for everything from education to the homeless, and then when we're nothing more than screaming, brainless peasants, they lead us to blindly destroy something that actually impacts the lives of very few peasants at all. It's like an instant pudding recipe for instant brainless Nazis, and the fact that no American politician has stood up and called out ANY of these men for actively seeking to OBLITERATE CIVIL RIGHTS FOR NO OTHER REASON THAN BIGOTRY scares me even more. God, forget learning the lessons of WWII-- obviously, that's too esoteric for this bunch. Apparently they're not even smart enough to learn the lessons from Disney!

And that's what scares the shit out of me. It LITERALLY keeps me up at night. Because it's not going to do me any good to think of Romney, Santorum, or Perry as a cartoon villain when the lives of good people that I care about are being destroyed because one of these bozos are leading gullible peasants to the castle to kill the beast.

Poor Howard Ashman. It was such a valuable lesson to leave as a legacy. It was the kind of thing every artist DREAMS of doing before he or she dies--to write something brilliant, and memorable, and worthwhile, something that could change the world.

It should have worked. Gaston should never have been allowed be resurrected, and to rouse the masses again.

So... Close... To... Done...

2012-01-13T13:14:00.000-08:00

My work in progress writing wise is called Sidecar. It's sort of a paean to the '80s/'90's, and I love it a lot. It's not as painful as Keeping Promise Rock, and I tried not to go camp on the details that would take us back to that time period. I remember noticing change, but not participating in trends, and since my characters are up in the Sierra Foothills, I gave them the same sensibility. I hope the effect is subtle--but not... colorless.

And speaking of not colorless...

You may have noticed I got my cover suggestions for Chase in Shadow. Yeah-- they gave me chills too. I went with the one on the top left-- red door, razorblades, guy who looks not quite sane and yet obscenely pretty. I felt like that captured the absolute gut-whopping "Oolf!" of the book, and it still does, even as Chase looks at me accusingly, because I fucked him up in so very many horrible ways. So, that could be my most disturbing cover yet, but I was tempted to go with the one on the right. But, as someone said, "That one looks hopeful!"

This book does have a Happy Ever After-- but the thing behind the red door is NOT hopeful. I went with the hottie and the razorblades instead (although my love of painted covers has not yet dimmed) because the hottie with the razorblades seemed most iconic of suicidal porn star, right? Right.

I also liked the one on the left here, with the red smear--but it didn't quite have the "Oolf" factor. (And something about the pale background left the model's eyes looking not quite so summer-sky blue! Dudes!) And since I was posting pictures, I thought I'd post a picture of the two models who inspired Chase and Tommy, so you could get a look at what inspired me.

Spot on. Almost creepy close, right? And Tommy... Well, let's just say... yeah. Tommy is described as Loki-the-manic-sex-god--and this guy does that for me! Anyway-- so, these are the leads in Chase in Shadow-- and I'm biting my nails until its release.

And in other news? Well, not much, actually. I've been writing a lot--and not just on my own stuff. I recently made the boneheaded move of starting a project with a co-writer (Aleksandr Voinov) as sort of a lark. It was boneheaded because I'm already hyper committed, but I can't regret it because it's been a BLAST. It all started when I pwnd Aleks on Twitter (yeah, even he admitted it was masterful-- it doesn't happen often, I'll savor it!) and someone said, "Write together!" and he said, "Wanna?" And I lost my mind. It's fun-- it's ADDICTING--and that's why I don't think I'll do it often. I've got a whole big bad queue I've got to mind--but damn. A new challenge and a new idea? Always a rush--and Aleks is an AMAZING writer--gritty, erotic, and just damned fun to work with. I'll let you know when that comes out--our tentative title is Country Mouse, but, yanno, subject to change:-)

And I finished my Art Docent presentations this week. I know that Matisse was a wild beast, Rousseau was self taught, and Van Gogh died at 38 and loved color, and the sea. Not bad for a week spent snarling at the family and saying, "Leave me alone I'm trying to work here!"

Oh yeah-- SPN tonight. Last week ended with this song, and it's been haunting me ever since. No one's come up with an actual video yet, but the look on Dean's face? Haunting all on it's own.

Book Shit Goes On...

2012-01-10T21:50:00.000-08:00

Okay-- some interesting thing going on in book land--but first, news from the children:

Does anyone recognize the bucket of boat trash poncho? Still fits but very differently.

Squish: Mom, that's a graveyard.

Me: Yes, it's a cemetery.

Squish: A cemetery is a graveyard. If you keep falling apart, you'll end up in a cemetery, and we'll have to go say goodbye to you. But if you don't fall apart, we won't ever.

Me: 0.0 Yeah. Okay. Sure.

And Zoomboy? He just came out and told me, "Look mom!"

Me: You're wearing Superman pajamas!

ZB: Yeah-- and Finding Nemo underwear!

And THAT folks, is life with the short people;-)

And now, on to book land!

First of all-- I was so reeling from the overwhelming support at goodreads that I forgot to mention this, which is too bad, because it's a real honor, too.

I've been nominated in a couple of categories over at the Paranormal Romance Guild. If you follow THIS LINK you will get to the ballot, and starting January 10th, you can vote. I'm so proud of their good opinion-- I've known the wonderful people at the PRG for nearly five years, and they've been so supportive. If you could go take a look and vote for ANY of the good books you see there, a lot of hard work on their part will be rewarded:-)

Second of all-- take a look at the small writing underneath the title, TALKER. See anything unusual? Yup! Talker is one of the first titles in Dreamspinner's new foreign language line --this is the cover for the Spanish translation, but there will also be French and German, and it's already out in Audiobook (available at amazon.com) and... Gods. Okay, back when I taught AP, I told students that I was counting on them to go out into the world. I was a small time person, in a small school, in a cowtown, but they were bound for great things. If anything I taught them had any wisdom whatsoever, they could take that wisdom out into the world and do wonderful things, and I would be a part of that. So I look at that title, and realize by book is being translated into three languages, and I want to cry, because this is me, going out into the world, to do wonderful things, just like I told them they could accomplish. For the span of a novella, (or three;-) I'm not a small time person, in a small school, in a cow town-- for the span of a novella, I am out in the world, hopefully doing great things. I am so proud.

And the third thing is that I'm a part of this! I wrote a story--pure fantasy, with no (repeat, NO!!!) SWEARING--I know. Someone just fainted. And, of course, my least raunchy story was the one I sent in to Cup-o-Porn. But here's the lowdown on that story and some others written by some AMAZING authors, and we are all a part of it:-0 Check out the Cup-o-porn birthday bash on January 23 to see some free stories-- mine included. (For those of you who like my epic fantasy and not so much my more, umm, explicit stuff? Please keep your eyes closed for most of cup-o-porn. I plan to look all I want, but I don't want anyone to be shocked:-)

Oh yes! And I was part of an interview panel over HERE, and if you're interested in things I've learned about the business of writing, here you go!

And that's about all, folks... whew! Dudes, I don't even have time to whine about my doozy of a day! Sweet dreams!

Amy

Does Anyone Have a Virtual Sherpa?

2012-01-08T07:03:00.000-08:00

So, uhm, the m/m romance group at GoodReads had a ballot for some of their favorite romance reads this year. My, uhm, name might have come up a time or two.

I can not thank the moderators and supporters at GR enough. I'm incredibly honored, ESPECIALLY because the company I'm keeping is so incredibly grand. The other stories and authors on this list were pretty freakin' spectacular. It's as close to the cool kids table as I will ever be--and the cool kids are still way cooler than me. But I'm glad that we got to eat lunch together--it was really quite a meal.

Question 6
Best Story that Should/Must have a Sequel
Something Like Summer by Jay Bell
Clear Water by Amy Lane
The Locker Room by Amy Lane

Question 7
Best Title
Come Unto These Yellow Sands by Josh Lanyon
How to Keep the Love of Your Life (After Mistaking Him for a Serial Killer) by Maureen Willmann
I Love You Asshole! By Amy Lane
Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune
Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela by Felicia Watson

Question 8
Best Tearjerking scene
Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune - The scenes with Bear and the Kid in the bathtub during their ‘earthquakes’.
The Locker Room by Amy Lane - When Xander is throwing up in the bathroom after Chris gets hurt.
Bloodlines by Andrea Speed - The death of Paris.

Question 9
Coming Out (theme)
Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune
The Locker Room by Amy Lane
Breaking Cover by Kaje Harper

Question 11
Best Tear Jerker (theme)
The Locker Room by Amy Lane
Between Sinners and Saints by Marie Sexton
Living Promises by Amy Lane

Question 12
Best Side/Supporting Character
The Kid – Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune
Fly Bait – Clear Water by Amy Lane
Crane – Honored Vow by Mary Calmes

Question 15
Friends to Lovers (theme)
Hot Head by Damon Suede
Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune
The Locker Room by Amy Lane

Question 16
Humorous (theme)
Divide & Conquer by Madeleine Urban and Abigail Roux
Mummy Dearest by Josh Lanyon
Clear Water by Amy Lane

Question 17
Young Adult Characters (theme)
Talker’s Redemption by Amy Lane
Something Like Summer by Jay Bell
Bridges by MJ O’Shea

Question 21
Best Sex Scene
Hot Head by Damon Suede - The couch scene.
Clear Water by Amy Lane - First time together for Whiskey and Patrick.
Bayou Dreams by Lynn Lorenz - Scott claiming his mate.

Question 22
Best First Time
The Locker Room by Amy Lane
Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela by Felicia Watson
Wanting by Piper Vaughn

Question 26
Favorite All Time M/M Series
Fatal Shadows by Josh Lanyon - Adrien English Mystery Series
Cut & Run by Madeleine Urban and Abigail Roux - Cut & Run
Keeping Promise Rock by Amy Lane - Promises
Promises by Marie Sexton - Coda Books

Gay/Out For You (theme)
Hot Head by Damon Suede
Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune
The Locker Room by Amy Lane

Question 28
Favorite All Time M/M Romance Book
Keeping Promise Rock by Amy Lane
Zero at the Bone by Jane Seville
Bareback by Chris Owen

Question 29
Favorite All Time M/M Author
Josh Lanyon
Amy Lane
Mary Calmes

Question 34
SciFi/Futuristic/Post Apocalyptic (genre)
A Solid Core of Alpha by Amy Lane
18% Gray by Anne Tenino
Grown Men by Damon Suede
Kidnapped by Megan Derr
Out of the Woods by Syd McGinley

Question 36
Long 250 pages or 100K words (book)
Divide & Conquer by Madeleine Urban and Abigail Roux
Between Sinners and Saints by Marie Sexton
A Solid Core of Alpha by Amy Lane

Question 37
Best World Created A Solid Core of Alpha by Amy Lane
Dance in the Dark by Megan Derr
18% Gray by Anne Tenino
Hell’s Pawn by Jay Bell

Question 40
Most Surprising/Unique Plot Device
A Solid Core of Alpha by Amy Lane
Static by LA Witt
Hell’s Pawn by Jay Bell

I have to pee, it must be morning...

2012-01-05T09:20:00.000-08:00

LOLOL...

Okay, now that I'm done laughing at my own joke, I shall give you a brief report. Basically? The kids are back at school and I am writing myself STUPID. STUPID I tell you-- I am sleep deprived, cranky, and irrational, and the dragon is riding my back so hard I've got bloody stripes down my flesh. (heh heh heh... see? Purple prose in a blog... TOLDYA I wasn't sane!)

Anyway, I was a good mommy all winter break-- I only wrote when no one was around to SEE me working, and most of my down time was knitting time anyway, so I could sit and watch Christmas specials and go see lights and make Christmas baskets etc. etc. , which meant I didn't get a lot of work DONE! And as much as I needed it, as much as I loved the time with my family... well, I was blowing off a deadline. I'm proud that I was able to set it aside and be mommy, and love it with 100% of my heart... but now?

Now I's gotsta write my little heart out. And I have been. But staying up until two in the morning and getting up at 6:30 (because all the soda/water/vitamin water I drank at 1:30 to stay up has hit the fan and I have to pee like no racehorse in history!) And, well, the inevitable has happened. I'm a widdo-bit stoned on sleep deprivation, and am about two hours from sitting in a corner and giggling to myself, and then writing another chapter of absolute driveling nonsense in the same way I talk for HOURS if there was someone here to talk back to me. (Mate has gotten to the point where he recognizes this. If I crawl into bed at two a.m. and am suddenly all hot to talk about laundry, finances, and child-rearing, sometimes he has to say, "Shut up, Amy, and go to sleep," or we will BOTH be sleep deprived, and that's no fun at all. He doesn't get the giggles for one, and if neither of us is rational, we tend to yell at each other about stupid stuff and then get all sad when we're done.)

But Sidecar is coming along nicely. It's a period piece (too recent to be an historical) about the 80's... now, everyone knows about the hair and the music, but some of this has made me research shit. When did we stop air-popping popcorn and start microwaving it? When did Pert get big? (At least '86, because Mate used it in his hair and it smelled SO good!) How much did gas cost? What did guys do with their hair after the mullet grew out? How did guys look sexy in the early nineties when they were suddenly wearing oversized plaid flannel? How would a guy who likes mostly rock 'n' roll seduce a George Michael/Madonna fan into electric guitar?

So I've had fun playing with that--but it still feels detail thin.

So, what's YOUR favorite 80's/2012 time warp? What details would YOU add, if you were writing Joe and Casey's story? Because, although the end is in sight, there's still a bit of a journey, and I want this to be so textured, you can smell the Pert! Let me know-- I'll love to hear ideas!

And in the meantime? I'm gonna go lie down and pet Steve and giggle to myself until I sleep:-)

Whew! Now that THAT'S over with...

2012-01-02T13:13:00.000-08:00

I'm ready to start a new year!

I didn't make a lot of New Year's resolutions-- mostly the whole "gonna lose weight" thing, blah blah blah... I WOULD like to read everybody's blogs more-- I miss that. You're my friends and I feel I've been neglecting you. Unfortunately, I make that resolution when there's kids in the house--people, I've got to tell you, the older they get, the more they talk, the less likely I am to, I don't know, have two brain cells fire in sequence without an interruption!

I have to admit. This weekend, I just gave up. I gave up on getting work done (which, paradoxically, is when I got a LOT of it done--go figure!) I gave up on knitting, I just... I dunno. I sat on the chair and fell asleep a lot. Got some knitting done, and, well, I guess the kids are calling it "chillaxing", and it seems sort of new fangled and, *yawn* full of sleeping, but I gotta say, it was oddly refreshing too!

Although, I have to admit... "napping" on the chair with kids on my lap has changed tone in the last couple of years. For one thing, the kids have become a lot more active. Nothing is LESS restful than sitting on a chair while two grade schoolers initiate a cold war of bickering, and then follow it up with hand-infantry and full-metal squirming, complete with lethal ass-bones and the occasional boob-popping jab with the elbow. Be that as it may, it did not stop me from waking up yesterday with Squish on my lap, telling Richard Dreyfuss why he was living his life wrong to end up in that shark cage in the ocean.

"You need to get out of that cage because you should NOT be there. That is a BAD place to be, and that shark will get you. You need to get on the boat, because sharks don't go there." *snicker* The rest of the movie really WAS a surprise to her, and I'm ashamed to say, I was so out of it, I let her see it. by then, Zoomboy was on the other side of me, and she took the bossing to a whole new level.

"You need to look away, because this is icky. I can watch, because I don't get nightmares, but you get scared. Look away now--good. Eww. The shark bit him and he's bleeding now."

And, of course, by this time, I was fully awake and laughing my ass off.

Another thing that has made this vacation not quite so restful is that Chicken has her driver's permit, Goddess save us all. We spent an hour yesterday doing three point turns, which was good (although if I hadn't had my knitting, I would have been carsick) and she was...

Okay. I"m sure my nearest and dearest will tell you I was a worse driver when I was her age--but that is only because my nearest and dearest were of the "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR, A SIGN FROM GOD!!!?" school of teaching driving, and I am more from the "A panicked driver is a driver who will dart into an oncoming lane because it suddenly seems like the right thing to do!" school of driving. So, while I endeavor not to panic, Chicken endeavors not to ACT panicked, while in the meantime, her voice has risen an octave, her game-face is locked on, and she's telling me how totally calm she is.

*headdesk*

Yeah. I seem to remember telling her father he was going to teach her. He seemed to have a good philosophy, too,--it involved him eating a cookie while she drove. I liked that. I think he should do more of that-- just sayin'! (Besides-- he's the one who will be less impacted by the cookie eating. Again, sayin'...)

But generally? I'm feeling a little more refreshed than I was two weeks ago, and a little more positive--and a little more certain that once the kids are back in school, I will DEFINITELY be on the write path. No, that's not a misspelling... writing with them in the house has become a near impossibility. I foresee a lot of me with my laptop at McDonalds over the summer. Yay team!

And in the meantime? Thank you everybody-- thank you so very very much. Everyone who left comments, both here and at goodreads.com -- you were supportive and wonderful and really really awesome. I'm starting the New Year VERY clean, VERY shiny, and with VERY much promise. Thank you. You all helped that happen.

Amy

Things I didn't count on

2011-12-30T00:33:00.000-08:00

Okay-- we're supposed to say goodbye to the old year before saying hello to the new, right? Well, I've had this piece actually WRITTEN UP for over a month. I didn't publish it at first because the whole thing wasn't wrapped up, and then I didn't publish it because I'd put out the other things with fewer details, and I was sick of talking about it by then. But this was still in my archives, and it was still a significant part of my year.

I still don't want to talk about it. It dominated my thoughts for so very long. But I didn't want to delete this post either. It was just hanging out in the back of the post closet, like luggage. So I'm going to toss out the old--clear the air, as much as I possibly can (because some shit is still listed under confidential, and I'll honor that) and then when I talk about this event in the past tense, folks will know what happened. Those of you who have been here for a long haul already know what my writing has cost me, and how much of everything--joy, pain, anger, whatever--lies behind the words, "Yeah, I used to teach."

* I didn't count on homophobia being so rampant in my community.

* I didn't count on being pulled out of my classroom and put under investigation from my school district after one parent complaint about their student reading Truth in the Dark and Litha's Constant Whim in October of last year.

* I didn't count on the powers that be taking one look at the book, seeing two male leads, and calling it porn.

* I didn't count on having two lawyers assigned to me to help me get my job back.

* I didn't count on the whole process taking over 14 months.

* I didn't count on lapsing into depression when a chance to go back into the classroom was cruelly jerked away from me last November.

* I didn't count on yanking myself back to the here and now with the help of aqua-aerobics and the world's most supportive Mate.

* I didn't count on missing a job that had caused me so much misery quite so badly.

* I didn't count on stupid things triggering a big, aching hole in my chest. (The sob-fest I had over the graduation event of The Suite Life of Zach and Cody was not one of my finer moments.)

* I didn't count on the district spending a WHOLE lot of money investigating every move documented in my blog for the last five years to see if they had anything to fire me with.

* I didn't count on looking at my past blogs and realizing how very alienated I felt from my profession.

* I didn't count on the investigator looking at my past logs and not finding anything at all that was actually a fireable offense--not even calling my past principal a vainglorious prickweenie and a festering cockroach turd.

* I didn't count on how hard it would be to let go of my identity as a teacher, even over the course of fourteen months.

* I didn't count on the feeling of freedom I would get when faced with the prospects of making my living on the merit of my writing alone.

* I didn't count on my lawyer telling me I had an EXTREMELY defensible case, if I chose to pursue it.

* I didn't count on the little part of me that wanted to fight like hell for my job just so I could quit on my own terms.

* I didn't count on Mate feeling the same way.

* In spite of that last one, I didn't count on being so very ready to walk away, when the time came to settle.

* I didn't count on losing my emotional nut anyway, when I made the decision. (In the parking lot of Safeway, of all things.)

* I didn't count on my classroom being used as a storehouse when I came to pick up my stuff.

* I didn't count on my dread of getting my things being not EVEN as fucked up as the event itself.

* I didn't count on my crazy friend Wendy trying to take EVERYTHING out of the room, even shit that had no practical purpose, while I was trying grimly to sort the stuff that was mine from the stuff that had been thrown into the room for the sheer fuckery of it.

* I didn't count on not seeing anyone I knew when I went back. I didn't count on not being able to say goodbye.

* I didn't count on screaming to the lyrics of Bleed It Out as we finished packing up.

* I didn't count on ever being able to type this up, and know it was done.

* I didn't count on facing the demise of a career I loved with quite this much peace.

The Good Week

2011-12-28T09:09:00.001-08:00

So, we went to Mate's mom's and grandma's yesterday, and exchanged gifts. Ours was mostly fudge and a washcloth, theirs was mostly See's candy. But it was a family meeting for Christmas, and that's always lovely. The sky was amazing on the way home--I love that stark contrast between the oak trees and the great beyond, so I tried to capture it on my crappy camera and was reminded of my first book cover, Vulnerable. Mate took that picture in some of the same country, and I love it, and I love this picture (bad resolution and all) as well.

And this is an Air Swimmer. It's one of Zoomboy's presents from Santa-- It's sort of amazing, actually. It's a remote controlled balloon. You press the button and this giant fin, painstakingly attached to the balloon's pointed arse, waves slowly back and forth and the big shark thing moves down the hall. You press another button, and that weight thing yoiu see moves up and down, and the shark can go lower or higher on command. DUDE! Coolest present EVER!

Squish, on the other hand, got lots and lots of Barbies-- but her reaction to them was priceless. "Look, Mom! I got a pink car! With HUMANS in the front!"

So Barbies are now "humans"--and humans are surprised!

My present--unanticipated, mind you-- was an HD radio. I was not expecting it. It seems that Mate, seeing me deal with my little portable speaker/iPod assembly, was full of both mortification and pity, and felt the need to rectify that wrong. The result is a new car stereo so magical, it makes my crappy old speakers sound decent, and it has an iPod jack. I love it--and so does Mate, who drives my car when we go out as a family. My present to him was a new shirt and a copy of Mel Brooks doing his 2000 year old man bit-- something Mate was both surprised at and happy for, but that leaves me feeling, once again, a little bit "special" in the gifting department. Ah, well.

And this is my family on Christmas Eve. The kids had just opened their ONE present for the evening, and they all picked the present from each other--which they are modeling. They made each other so happy--and that, in turn, made Mate and I ecstatic.

And now, it's about getting back to work--albeit in a leisurely, "I can quit when there's a good movie on" sort of way. We visit Sam's family today-- I should finish the socks I started working on for Sam's mom. And I'm back in aqua classes--mostly because if I don't go, I can't move, my neck and shoulders hurt so bad!

So this is the good week-- the relaxing, take Chicken shopping and driving sort of week. (Her first driving lesson from a professional left her profoundly scarred and sobbing on the bed. God save us from young drivers!) The sleep in and let the kids sit on my lap sort of week. My favorite part of Christmas, when our house is messy, our hearts full, and when we can play with our Air Swimmers and small humans in peace:-)

Hark the Herald Angels Sing...

2011-12-24T10:17:00.000-08:00

Me: Some people believe that God had a woman on earth give birth to his son.

Squish: Then she would be the Goddess mommy, right?

Me: Absofrickinlutely.

*****

Zoomboy: Let's play the end-letter game. I'll start. TigeR.

Me: ReallY?

Zoomboy: Yes!

*****

Me: Chicken, if I call my phone will you go get it?

Chicken: Yeah, sure. *listens for ring tone* There it is. Under your ten piles of crap.

Me: You had any doubts.

*****

Me, while Mate is driving us down a BUSY URBAN road we probably drive three times a week: Ostrich.

Mate: Emu?

Me: NO! There is a FUCKING OSTRICH on that bare spot of land beyond those trees. And about six zillion pigs.

Mate: Wow. Go figure.

Me: Zoomboy tried to tell me about it a couple of weeks ago. I thought he was just riffing on jungle animals. My bad.

*****

Chicken: Here's your phone!

Me: What did you do to it?

Chicken: Made it Japanese.

Me: Christmas Yaoi. How festive!

Chicken: But of course. And you're welcome.

*****

Zoomboy, holding up Steve the girl cat to Chiquita the girl dog: Hello, dog. Here is the cat you slept with!

Me (to myself): I have no idea what that means, but I bet the dog is really confused.

*****

Big T, outside in the 50 degree weather in shorts and zorries, washing the pickup truck Mate has helped my father fix up for him: But if I was wearing cold weather clothes they'd just get wet when I washed the car.

Me: But you don't even have your PERMIT, why does the car need to be clean?

*****

Me (over the phone, in front of the store): Okay, so I need to buy vegetable oil. What else.

Chicken: Nuts.

Me: So vegetable oil and nuts for the fudge.

Chicken: Yes.

Me: Vegetable oil and nuts for the fudge.

Chicken (snickering): Yes.

Me: Fudge nuts.

Chicken: STOP!

Me: Vegetable oil and nuts for the fudge, vegetable oil and nuts for the fudge, vegetable oil and nuts for the fudge... my God, there's just no way to say that without it sounding dirty, is there?

Chicken (laughing uncontrollably): No... oh God... no...

*****

Mate (after tasting peanut butter fudge he's made): Oh God, that's good.

Me: Can I have a piece?

Mate: A piece is too much. This has to be doled out in shavings.

*****

Squish (after wrapping up a candle we have on the mantlepiece in paper towels, wrapping paper, and an entire container of tape): Do you want to open your present mom?

*****

Me (to my editor after turning in a project): Okay-- I can't do anything else until after Christmas. Unless you can think of a way for me to knit with my hands while typing with my toes.

*****

Me (texting to my "work wife" Mary): Sorry I dropped the conversation. Mate was busy asking me about my online girlfriend and then tickling me until I screamed.

Mary: My husband says the same thing about you.

*****
Chicken's best friend, after spending two hours in the car with us, looking for Christmas lights: Thank you--I had a lot of fun!

Me: Really?

Best friend: Really-- I love your family!

Me, to Mate and Chicken, after she's walked in: I have no idea why.

Chicken: Me neither, but she keeps asking to come back.

*****

May your holidays be merry and your Christmas/Solstice/Hanukkah be especially bright, and may you feel as blessed as I am by my family and friends, both online and IRL. I know I cannot count my blessings, because there are just too many to count.

Love and peace and wishes warm,

Amy

Writing Wrap Up

2011-12-22T09:08:00.000-08:00

Okay-- I've been sort of a big blog slut this last month. I mean seriously-- there is NO place I haven't been. Want proof?

Paranormal Paradigms

Tales From the Writing Cave

Chaos in the Moonlight

Stumbling Over Chaos (This is a contest for Puppy, Car, and Snow)

See!!!! I'm like Barbie! That bitch is EVERYWHERE during Christmas!

Anyway, as you can see by my lovely little medallion up there, I've also been nominated in the M/M Romance Member's Choice Awards--and I'm really proud. Now, I'm not sure if you can vote in this if you're not a member, so let me know--but I think the link will get you to the ballot survey.

All that, and my folks are taking the kids today, so Mate and I will get a chance to wrap presents-- HUZZAH!

And *whew* I still need to write a chapter and finish my Christmas knitting. I'll be back with a Christmas post and some cheer and all-- I just thought some of this stuff should be shared:-)

Oh yeah-- and Puppy, Car, and Snow is out on amazon.com and ARe as well! Wheee!!!

Puppy, Car, Snow, and Squish

2011-12-20T10:01:00.000-08:00

Oh my Goddess-- you KNOW it's been a big week when I almost miss my own book release. Seriously-- I almost completely forgot! Puppy, Car, and Snow is coming out, and besides really loving the simplicity and charm of the cover, I'm sort of pleased by the story as a whole. It was a request, actually, and I'm always sort of thrilled to do those! Elizabeth, my publisher at Dreamspinner, really sort of loved my first guys. Jace and Quent from Gambling Men have their own novel coming out in May, and that's a WHOLE other story, but Ryan and Scotty, who also showed up in the Curious Anthology in the short story, "Shirt", were also favorites. Yeah, they got their own story in Phonebook, but Elizabeth wanted to see more of them, and she wanted to see them for Christmas. (She's done this with a couple of authors, I think-- Mary Calmes and Isabelle Rowan and Andrew Grey, that I know of for certain.)

Anyway, Elizabeth asked, and I wrote, and because Ryan and Scotty have always been about finding the greatest joys in the simplest things, I kept the title--and the theme--simple. My guys are having Christmas with Ryan's family. Ryan's mother is the disapproving sort. Let the games begin! For those of you interested, do read the excerpt that you can find when you follow the link-- it's short, hot, and, features a giant luggage-eating not-poodle. How can you go wrong?

And this is Squish, after her photo appointment with the big guy in the red suit. She's telling me what she wants for Christmas, and none of it sounds remotely like what Mate and I got when we were in the pink aisle at Toys R'Us. I hope general pink will do for her--when it comes to specific pink, I'm thinking we've just failed Christmas.

And this is my santa and his elf. She looks really demonic in this picture. She, umm, sort of is in real life too--but in the cute, you want to just squeeze those little cheeks way!

And this is the two of them in line, charming the holy bejeebus socks out of everybody. Okay--maybe just me, but my holy bejeebus socks were nowhere in sight by the time I turned them loose with their older siblings in what must have been the shortest shopping trip in history. The mall was almost empty, and I think we spent a grand total, Santa and all, of an hour and a half there, and that included pretzels and Icees when they were done. Holy crapgasm, batman-- best shopping trip EVER!

And this is Chicken, because this outfit? Is awesome sauce, plain and simple. Don't mind the scowling--she doesn't recognize her own awesomeness. Makes her grumpy. And that manic bit of pre-cut foam? That is practically the closest thing you can find to a model these days-- it's Santa's Ski Lodge, (although we've been calling it Santa's Little Sweatshop all week, in honor of our time with our Christmas cards, which were, as always, a family endeavor!)

And Squish... making sure her elf is intact. She should have no worries-- she's elfish at it's best:-)

Bad Blogger!

2011-12-17T08:00:00.000-08:00

Okay-- so I went back and realized I had blogged APPALLINGLY few times in the last two weeks--blogger's guilt-- IT'S REAL!

Anyway-- yesterday was a big day for Squish. She had a tea party--something she has been excited about for TWO WEEKS, and I was invited. Of course, I didn't realize I was invited to volunteer, but that was fine. I served the kindergartners finger sandwiches and cookies and hot chocolate, and Mate brought them cookies (too many rich cookies--I was relieved when the teacher said, "Oh, I'm taking THESE to the staff room!" because that was thirty pounds of fat I SO didn't need!) Anyway, after we served the cookies (and I almost screwed up my back forever and for good by serving on a teeny-tiny counter made for five year olds!) there was entertainment. They all stood up and sang for us, and I loved it. Yes--in politically correct California, they sang Christmas songs, and my pagan heart was remarkably unruffled. They were wonderful, and Rudolph the Red-nose Reindeer has never sounded more disorganized--or better.

So after that, we went home, had a frozen burrito, and then got ready for her NEXT performance, her dance performance with her class. The dance was held at a local community center, and she acquitted Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas Song... well, with heart. Her heart was definitely in it. And she DEFINITELY knew the move to "I still want a hula-hoop!" and that's always a good stopping place.

So it was a big day for Squish-- but she wasn't the only one with a big week. Zoomboy got two academic awards--and I have to tell you, not a lot of kids get those. He got one award for actual achievement, and the other award for being an all around good kid in the classroom. My pictures of that were even worse than the picture of Squish dancing, and that's sort of where I draw the line, but suffice it to say he was extremely sober for the entire presentation--but very happy to see me at the school.

Chicken was called by a recruiter for an art school-- a family phone call as it were, and took the first steps in applying for financial aid (for which Mate and I will be indebted all our lives!) Anyway--the fun part (according to Chicken) was knowing that Mate and I were texting questions to each other while we were listening to the recruiters. Of course watching Chicken get quietly excited about the possibility of going away to school was also a plus. Mate and I had to work our way through school--a lot of people we know have had to work their way through school, and that's awesome. The idea that people can do that is awesome. But if we could give this education to Chicken--wow. I'd just be so proud. She's worked so hard--I would so love to see her have a future that started with all those high hopes. And then Mate and I would have nine years to rest, relax, and save for the next genius kid, because Zoomboy isn't going to be letting his future languish!

And Big T turned nineteen. We took him to sushi (Zoomboy hated it!) but everyone else enjoyed the hell out of it. Mate and I got all the sashimi on the platter because we were the only one's crazy about raw fish, and Big T and Chicken loved the roll with the deep fried shrimp in the middle. (Unsophisticated sushi. Yup.) But it was awesome, we loved it, and I want more! And T was grateful for his presents--mostly winter clothes--but I've promised him a hat and a scarf that match and are lovely after Christmas. When he was in the fifth grade I crocheted him a "fish scarf"-- a series of fish motifs that interlocked. The scarf is bright red, blue and yellow, and made in acrylic yarn, and T hated it until he hit high school when suddenly it had a funky appeal. Anyway, he's requested something more grown up, and I'm making him the Noro scarf, with a matching hat--because it's bright in an appealing Dr. Who way, but it's also a little more grown up. And it will keep him warm.

So this week promises to be crazy--and I actually have knitting to do! (I know, you all thought I forgot Christmas knitting--nope!) And a Christmas release on Wednesday. And blurbs to write. And more shopping to do. And a house to clean. And someday, someday soon, I'll have to explain how I came to lose my job over loaning a couple of books to some kids who could handle it.

But not today. Today, Zoomboy is begging for a cuddle, and it's been a helluva week. I figure he's due:-)

We all know I can't count anyway

2011-12-14T16:24:00.000-08:00

On the tenth day before Christmas, my true love gave to me...

Chicken's second permit test
A trip to the tree farm
Another frickin' edit
Ten more blurbs a-writing
Two college recruitment meetings
A day of Christmas shopping
One lost Clifford Journal
My oldest' son's birthday
A trip to buy his present
A family sushi dinner
A postponed trip to the vets
Four tired kids,

Three school presentations

Two dentist appointments

A trip to Zoomboy's doctor

And office party that went from house to house...

And THAT ladies and gentlemen, is why I haven't blogged so much...

Catch you this weekend, when I can collapse, cry and breathe!

Amy out!

(And I'll leave you with this, a gift from Roxie in the past)

No Snow...

2011-12-11T17:57:00.001-08:00

AOkay-- first things first. Last night, Mate and I went to a traveling Christmas Party. A bunch of people in the same neighborhood walked from house to house and drank a lot. (I drank a lot of water. It was COLD, and I was having more fun watching the drunk people walk, really. Anyway, in one house, there was a chinchilla. I shit you not.

And the rest of this? This is Christmas tree hunting. Here, we have hunted and felled the mighty Christmas tree. Zoomboy is taking his turn here--but his older brother did the bulk of the work.

And here? We have a tree with a Santa hat. Considering the fact that Zoomboy has been wearing that hat since December 1st, the tree didn't have much of a chance.

Zoomboy and Very Big T say hello. Zoomboy espouses the attributes of the perfect tree.

This morning, as I was getting out hats for Squish, she almost picked the Hello Kitty hat. Then this one came out, and she jumped on it, because, in her words, "It looks really great with my glasses!"

That's Squish-- fashion forward:-)

And this? This is just an overview of Snowy Peaks Christmas Tree Farm, which, for those who are curious, is deep in the heart of Green's Hill country. It's almost to Sugarpine, which means Jack and Teague could have been nosing about anywhere the dogs were not. (They were everywhere--a Christmas Tree Farm is a dog's happy place!)

And doesn't every kid need a dorky picture of a kid in a Santa hat in his archives? Cause, umm, we've got Zoomboy COVERED!

And this is a picture of my folks, Squish in their wake, starting off on the great Christmas Tree Hunt... it was a splendid adventure!

Rainbow Awards

2011-12-08T11:52:00.001-08:00

Heya! Yes-- the last post was pretty bleak, and there's not much I can do about that. Many of you know that I've been on leave from my job for the last fifteen months, and you know why. You know why I'm so adamant that my work is not porn, and why I believe romance--all romance, gay, straight, and in between--is a real, integral part of life. You know why I think that writing is vital to humanity as a whole. In October of 2010, I came home in the middle of the day facing the very real possibility that I would never teach (at my old site at the very least) again. I told my husband that it boiled down to someone looking at Truth in the Dark--easily one of the most beautiful things I've ever written-- and upon seeing two male leads, pronouncing the work porn.

And Mate said the one thing I've always treasured. He said, "Well, at least it was something important."

Yes, it was important. It still is important. So Tuesday night, I cleaned out my classroom--and it was hard. The place had been used as a storehouse for six months, and it hurt, there's no two ways about it. But it's done, and I"ll post about it soon (have had the post, in fact, written for a week, ever since we knew about the resolution to the matter) but in the meantime, yesterday, the winners of the Rainbow Awards came out. Now, normally, I'm not all jumpy and squeally about awards. I'm more quietly pleased--and always, always, very grateful, and very flattered. But, well, the timing was just very very good.

A Solid Core of Alpha took second in science fiction.
Hammer and Air took honorable mention in fantasy.
Living Promises took honorable mention in contemporary.

And Amy Lane as an author was given an honorable mention here.

So here I am, up against the best of the best in my genre--and I'm not doing half bad. And what I'm doing is important. And no, folks, not even a little bit, is it porn.

So, my friend and I were cleaning out my classroom, and I had my iPod plugged into a little speaker--I wasn't kidding about the soundtrack, those were some of the songs that showed up, and, me being me, they helped. And this one was the last one, playing as I wrote the note on the board and picked up the last box. And I still love it. Will always love it. But it's always going to mean that moment to me, and I'm always going to be bleeding it out.

Bleed it Out

2011-12-06T22:49:00.001-08:00

So, I had to do something really unpleasant today, something that hurt hella bad. And I don't feel like writing about it, but I do have a soundtrack. I tried to post it with youtube.com, but none of the links plugged in--I'll just list it here.

Bleed it Out--Linkin' Park
Requiem for a Dream--from the soundtrack
March of the Cambreadth--Heather Dale
Faint--Linkin' Park
Numb--Linkin' Park
Last to Die--Bruce Springsteen
Seeds--Bruce Springsteen
Gone Away--Offspring
The Kids Aren't Alright--Offspring
Let it Rock--Kevin Rudolph
I Hate Everyone--Ok-Go
Let it Die--Foo Fighters
Home--Foo Fighters
Hometown--Bowling for Soup
Mad World--Gary Jules
14 Years--Guns'n'Roses

That last one. Yeah.

Critter Snark

2011-12-03T08:34:00.001-08:00

Okay-- I'll admit it. Sometimes, I look forward to Saturday Snark because really? My real life just isn't that interesting.

The little kids are cute: Squish is sleeping with my old teddy bear and a couple of sock monkeys--she drags them from the bunk bed to our own bed in the middle of the night, and the effect is charming.

Zoomboy keeps telling bad jokes: What's ice cream's favorite day? SUNday! (Get it? Because there's ice cream sundaes, and it's sunday--it's a homophone mom, two words that sound the same but are spelled different and have different meanings. That's why it's funny.)

Chicken is both growing up and not--we made it all the way to the DMV yesterday for her permit test, only to discover she'd forgotten some of her paperwork. She cried all the way home. I told her at least she didn't fail anything but paperwork, and hell--the entire family has practically invented such a thing as a paperwork handicap. She should be proud. She looked cute in them genes.

Big T is looking for a job--in a haphazard, random, awkward way worthy of any slacking college student still living with his parents. He's still a good boy--he's just a good boy with too much time on his hands, and a terrible case of jealousy for not beating his little sister to the driver's permit stage.

And Mate bought me a new computer for Christmas. No, not on it yet--that whole "transfer files" thing seems to be causing him oodles of trouble. But it's so pretty, it looks like it's made of stars.

There's more--but I can't post about it yet. I'll let you all know--for one thing, there's some news on something that's been going on for a long time, that I've kept off the blog. It's sort of big and painful--but I can't quite talk about it yet. (Nothing bad about the family, or the writing--so, really, something we can live with. NO need to panic. Really.) You'll know it when you see it, 'kay?

And in the meantime--here's my Saturday snark for Marie Sexton's blog. It's from The Winter Mating Rituals of Fur-Bearing Critters again--and it's one of the many times Crawford's minimalist way of speaking takes us by surprise:

“The sheep nibbles,” was what Ben said. He held up a sleeve that was alittle sodden and had bits of grass on it. “Do the other things, the llamas—”

“Alpacas.”

“Yeah, do they nibble like sheep?”

Craw frowned. “No. The girls will spit if they don’twant to be mated, but then, wouldn’t blame them.”

Ben blinked and then opened his eyes really wide. “I don’t… God. Don’t tellme what that looks like.”

Craw thought about it, his eyes moving restlessly onthe road as he tried to figure out if there was any other way for thelong-necked, long-legged critters to go. “It looks like two alpacas fucking,mostly,” he said apologetically. “Of course, sometimes, the boy can’t get hisboy parts past the girl’s furry ass, and he needs a little help, so then itlooks like two alpacas fucking while their handler’s giving the one on top ahandjob.”

He looked sideways as Ben’s giggles took over the car.“Well, I didn’t say it was a picnic for the handlers.”

And that was it. Ben, the pretty man he’d been tryingto impress, was leaning back in the seat of his truck, poinging like popcorn inan old metal pan, and laughing so hard there were tears tracking down thebeginning creases at the corners of his eyes.

Apparently the alpacas weren’t the only ones who hadmade a fucking impression.

The Winter Mating Rituals of Fur-Bearing Criters

2011-12-01T08:22:00.001-08:00

*snicker* Yup. That is REALLY the name.

The Winter Mating Rituals of Fur-Bearing Critters is out today on Dreamspinner's site (soon to be followed, I think, by amazon.com, Allromanceebooks.com, and all of the usual suspects.)

This is my third Dreamspinner Press Advent Calendar work-- the first one was If I Must, a story about two roommates and their cat, Manky Bastard, and I was surprised (stunned! shocked! flabbergasted!) by how many people wanted to read something light and sweet and fun for the holidays. In keeping with this, I made last year's story (Christmas With Danny Fit) sweet too. Danny Fit had a few moments of melancholy, of sadness, though, as did If I Must--and as much as I loved those moments, I REALLY wanted to do something light for this year. So MUCH of my work this year has been painful, dark, angsty--I wanted something that would make people laugh, and laugh hard, and feel like falling in love didn't have to hurt quite so bad.

I think I succeeded with Fur-Bearing Critters. Rance Crawford is a fun guy--he's grumpy, and says some of THE most inappropriate things at VERY appropriate times. He's awkward and more than a little shy, and dislikes having his routine boggled.

But he very much likes Ben McCutcheon. The problem is, Rance and Ben are (as far as Rance knows) the ONLY mating pair of their sort in the entire town. Rance would like it--REALLY like it--if Ben realized that this was NOT the only reason for Rance to come sniffing around Ben's little acre. Rance likes Ben SPECIFICALLY, and not just as a critter emitting the right smells and sporting the right equipment. The way Rance goes about to show Ben that he is specifically enchanting would do a knitter proud.

This story comes with a free pattern at the end--it's something most of us could figure out how to make, really, but it's fun, and, honestly, I hope people like it because I think it scared the mail-lady when I was taking the thing's picture. (It had to be done outside in the sun or my camera would have screwed it up, and I had it up on my car, and... well, you sorta gotta see the item to know why the mail lady now avoids me.) It's fun, writing patterns, but I have the feeling I suck at it, so let's see how many angry knitters e-mail me because the scrot sac of the free cock-cozy pattern seems a little dodgy.

My one hope (and since I've released a lot of light stuff in the wake of a lot of DARK stuff, this is a worry with a lot of my stuff lately) is that people see the heart in this one, along with the humor. Thinking you're the only half of a mating pair is about the loneliest way for a critter to be. His wistfulness when he sees Ben and thinks he's pretty--that's a lot of longing for one guy and a lot of alpacas. I hope that's appealing too.

The Muppet Movie

2011-11-29T19:33:00.001-08:00

First of all, we had a lovely Thanksgiving. All three of them. They were excellent-- there was laughter, and food, and more food, and mom even cooked and generally? Everything you expect. But the night before Thanksgiving we went to see The Muppets, and that's the thing that's sort of sticking in my head.

The next day, we went to Thanksgiving the First--the one at my Auntie's house up in Newcastle. It's a great place--around twelve acres of autumn-greened land full of brush, hills, granite rocks, and goats. My aunt and her boyfriend are crazy about goats--it's one of the things I love about them.

So, for once I got to stick around a while and actually TALK to this family. Usually, I run up, drop my mom off, hug everyone and run away. This time, we stayed. This time I talked to my aunt's boyfriend's daughter-in-law, whom I adore, and we made plans to watch movies and knit together-- see? SCORE! This time I also talked to my other aunt, the one who made me crazy a couple of years back, and we had a really nice conversation.

One of the things that came up was The Muppet Movie--the original, including this specific memory. Now, I'm not sure if I've blogged this memory before. I might have--I might not have. But I'm going to reblog it again.

I saw the Muppet Movie in Junior High, over winter break. My parents took us to this cheap theatre--the last run special, right? At one point it showed old horror movies from the 50's for a dime--sort of a throwback place. Anyway, the movie had been out for a while, and I was still excited to see it because I'd LOVED the show, and imagine my surprise when my best friend, Cherie Smith, was there.

Cherie was awesome. For one thing, her parents smoked pot just like mine (yes, it was the late 70's, why do you ask?) and neither of us had to lie about what our parents did to relax. Trust me, in junior high? This is a big deal. She had this aMAzing singing voice--we were both in choir, and we really loved to sing, but she was much better than I was. She had braces, which I thought was really glamorous, although she was counting the days until they came off, and she had started her period, which to us girls in 7th grade who had all read Are You There God, It's Me Margaret, also equated glamour. I'd told Cherie everything in my callow little heart, and I like to think she had done the same.

So Cherie and I got to watch The Muppet Movie together--she had a sore throat, and was a little sick, but other than that, we had a really good time. She loved the music-- we both wanted to sing those songs. The Rainbow Connection? That was a good song. That did everything a song should do--it made us yearn to talk to a green frog in the swampland of Florida--we were sure he knew exactly what it was like to be chubby, unpopular girls in the middle of the Nor-Cal cultural desert.

Cherie and I sat in the same group in English and homeroom. There were four of us, and on Monday morning after school started, I was surprised to see that she wasn't there. The other girls and I were puzzled--I got to tell them that we'd seen each other at the movies, and then homeroom started and then the principal wandered in. He was a lovely man who actually still employed spanking, but only did it to kids he thought would really benefit from someone giving enough of a damn to say, "Hey, kid, you're screwing up. Own up, take your punishment, and then we'll talk about how to fix your life." To this day, a friend of my stepbrother's say that all the good things from his life--wife, kids, steady job--came from getting his ass paddled by the broad, graying man that we all both loved and feared.

We didn't fear him today. Today, he was crying. Grownups NEVER cried in the '70's--especially in small schools with a combined 7th and 8th grade class of 80, maybe. It just wasn't done.

But today was different, because today he had to tell us that a kid he'd known since she was in Kindergarten had passed away from a bizarre form of pneumonia, and that's how I found out my best friend died.

I kept it together--everyone told me that I should go to the office and call my parents, but they weren't losing it and I wasn't either. Besides, after the nurse called my dad in the fourth grade because my eyes had swollen up from poison oak, he had made it absolutely clear that he was never to be called from work again unless I was near death. I was fine. By best friend, not so much, but I could still breathe, so I kept it together and let my folks work in peace. I got home in the quiet of the house and lost it, and when I was done, got up and started my chores. I told my parents when they got home, and my dad gave me a hug, and then he and my stepmom exchanged a look over my head. I'll never forget the nature of that look. It was the look of complete and utter loss--they could deal with sprained ankles, deceased pets, and crazy ex-husbands and wives. They could deal with my step-brother getting busted for pot and getting a call from the library saying I wanted to read books too old for me, and my little sister tattling on us if we looked at her cross-eyed. They could not deal with a best friend who had died. (As it turned out, this was practice--a few months later, this happened to my dad. But that's another story.)

A few months later, Toxic Shock Syndrome became big news, and someone went back to look blood tests, and put two and two together, and Cherie became an official victim of a bizarre little health scare that most people have forgotten now.

The next year, our choir got to go away to a collaborative junior high choir--we performed songs from the Muppet Movie.

So, I finished telling this story as we sat by the fire and just talked, and I apologized for how grim it was. Chicken was apologetic. "Mom, that's AWFUL." It was Mate who looked the saddest.

"You've heard this story," I said, trying to lighten the moment.

"Yeah, but I didn't hear that it was related to The Muppet Movie. Actually, it explains a LOT about your writing."

And it does. It explains the absurd mixed up with the tragic, the circular nature of irony, and a belief that no character in the story is EVER safe from the powers that be. It explains the solid belief that all things in the world are random. It explains why weird shit drops from the universe on my character's heads, and why nobody is safe from anything that happens in the news and why grief will always be a part of joy, and death shall forever remain a part of life. It explains why the most heartbreaking moments are always coupled with innocence, and why innocence is never truly lost--only misplaced for a while. It explains why I can't write characters who hold grudges, and THE BIG MISUNDERSTANDING plots don't last long. It explains why my characters get together and stay together in the firm belief that anything can happen to a loved one, so wasting time screwing around with dumb shit is not in the cards.

And it explains why I'll always love the Muppets, and why the song Rainbow Connection (which, just to hammer the point home, thank you cruel universe, we played to stunning applause in band in my senior year) will always bring me to tears.

Upcoming Release Snark

2011-11-26T07:57:00.001-08:00

Okay, so I have two upcoming releases in December. I'll talk about Fur-Bearing Critters next week--it's part of the Advent Calendar, and it's really hella cute. I also have (sort of by request) this one here. This couple is Ryan and Scott, and they were the couple from the Curious Anthology story, Shirt, as well as the stand-alone story, Phonebook. (Phonebook is still available from Dreamspinner Press.) Anyway, Elizabeth asked me to write them a Christmas novella, because they're sort of adorable, and seriously hot! Anyway, Puppy, Car, and Snow is sort of a family story. Scotty and Ryan are snowed in with Ryan's family for Christmas, and while most of Ryan's family is okay with the gay, they're NOT okay with Scott! Ryan spends his family vacation defending his lover from his mother--and mothers can be just BRUTAL--we all know that! (I know I will be. Seriously. Brutal.) Anyway, the cover art is lovely (THANK YOU, ANNE CAIN!!!!!!) and I hope you like the snark!

For Saturday Snark at Marie Sexton's: From Puppy, Car, and Snow

Oh God. Ryan wasn’t wearing any sleep shorts or any underwear…. Oh God.He totally meant business, and Scott’s hard on went from limp biscuit to pornstar in one brush of his fingers on Ryan’s bare hip.

“Do you still have a headache?” Ryan whispered furiously, and Scottcringed. The only really bad thing about that lie was a boyfriend who mighthold back on sex because of it.

“That depends. What’s your mother doing?”

“Hanging upside down in her cave, I think. Why?”
Scott giggled a little andfumbled for the waistband of his sleep shorts. “Because if she’s in her cave,my headache just got cured,” he said truthfully.

And then there's this! Talker's Graduation is up for book of the week over at Whipped Cream Reviews this week. If you've got a half a second, go on over and vote for me! (Pretty please?)

And other than that? Well, two Thanksgivings down, and one to go! I'll get back to you on Monday with deets about tomorrow's--it's the big one at my parents house, so that should be interesting! So, big Thanksgiving wrap up on Monday, but for today? I finished Gambling Men, am in editing for Chase in Shadow, and am going to ditch out on this glamorous life in front of my computer and go watch Up with my family! Ciau!

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T08:30:00.001-08:00

From my crazy family to yours.

Working like a bondsman...

2011-11-21T09:16:00.001-08:00

Okay-- first of all, does everybody know what that means? That it refers back to the time when the country was using indentured bondsmen (and women) to do all the hard shit, people who had literally bartered years of their lives in return for passage and room and board? I used it in a work, and the editor was puzzled, then I asked Mate and Chicken, and they said, "But Mom! Who would get that?" and I thought that maybe I'd run it by you all!

Anyway, lots of recovery going on here at the Lane Crapmansion-- Mom's recovering from the bug and wondering whether or not to go to aqua classes, the kids are recovering from school for a week, the dog is recovering from, ohmygod!, not having food for almost six hours! (The dog is spoiled, why do you ask?)

But I'm pleased to say that, aside from a lingering headache and the stamina of a kitten, I'm almost done with the flu! Yay! Alas, I seemed to have given it to everyone else. Boo!

But that does not mean that we have done nothing this weekend--nay, indeed! (If I'm gonna say 'working like a bondman, I'm gonna go full-balls archaic, ya think?) Anyway... where to start where to start where to start...

First of all, Zoomboy had his last soccer game of the year. We lost (is everybody surprised? Me neither.) The good news is, all of the little boys still want to play the game, and that's a victory and a half, lemme tell you. Anyway, Zoomboy's big deal so far has been extreme dot-to-dots. That's between 500-1000 dots-- and, Zoomboy worked three in a row until his neck cricked. Mate and Chicken and I all went "Awwww..." and then I remembered something a friend told me. Scorpios and Libras get along FANTASTICALLY on the karmic wheel--something about how Scorpios make us Libras all liquid and happy inside. SAGITTARIUS (Big T's sign) on the other hand, does NOT get along with Scorpios--which explains SO MUCH about our family dynamic. Zoomboy does something, Mate, Chicken and I all go "Awwwww." Big T goes "Arrggghhhh!!!" It's the way we work.

In other kid news, Chicken also had her last seasonal game. (She still has a couple of tournaments.) She got her official sweatshirt last night, and I had to laugh. She has a number of Latina teammates, and her coach, a longtime friend and fellow soccer mom, is also Mexican. Chicken's coach has heard me screaming "Run, Chicken, run!" for more than ten years. I didn't realize Chicken's team had picked up on this, until I saw her sweatshirt. On the back, it said, "Pollitos". Yup. Little Chicken. I was so proud.

And Squish? Squish had this to say this morning;

"So this boy in my class told me that if I said (whispered) Bloody Mary in the bathroom, she would appear in the mirror. It scared me so much I forgot to wipe and almost ran out with my pants down!"

"Well, sweetie, you need to ignore what those icky boys tell you, okay?"

"Nicholas isn't icky mom! He's clean!"

"So Nicholas is okay?"

"He could be the boy I'm going to marry, but I don't know. I like Terrence better."

Yeah. That whole conversation gives me the knee-shaking palm sweats. You?

Oh yeah... and the cover?

So, this book I've submitted, Chase in Shadow... it's, umm... tense. And painful. And I used as my inspiration a couple of models from a GLBT related industry. The picture is of "Travis"-- but to me, he'll always be "Tommy"--and that picture is SO much like Tommy that, as soon as it hit the net, I had to show you. Someday I may find a picture of "Chase" for you, but, umm, I'm sort of holding out for one with his clothes on. You'll all be more comfortable that way.

Saturday Snark Again

2011-11-19T07:05:00.001-08:00

It's once again time for Saturday Snark on Marie Sexton's blog, and for the first time I KEENLY felt the lack of my old hard drive, because I had the cover art for this book on it, and I REALLY liked the cover art for Making Promises. Mikhail looked JUST as adorable, snarky, and arrogant on that cover as I imagined him in real life, and I treasure that. Anyway, so no cover art--and, in this clip, no Mikhail, because part of the lovely match up was that Shane could be just as snarky as his little Russian cohort, and I love that.

(I'm feeling better, thank you all of your concern--today is Zoomboy's last soccer day, and I'll be out there on the field for him and Chicken, and that'll probably zap me of all strength for the day, but I'll be there! Oh-- and the picture? A friend sent me the picture, and I thought it was lovely.)

Anyway-- on with the snark!

They tookShane’s car. Kimmy sat in back because Kurt held the seat of the two-doorforward for her and said, “Here ya go, babe.” Then he refused to wear a seatbelt because it might crush his cape.

If it hadn’tmeant hurting his baby, Shane might have hit a tree as they were driving(providing he could find one in Gilroy) just to watch the guy go flying throughthe window.

Thequestions about money were incessant—how much he’d gotten from the settlement,where he kept it. His response of “in a bundle in my sock drawer” made Kimmygiggle, and Kurt ended up telling her to cut it out, the men were talking.Shane started wondering about how much bodywork would really cost. He was, asKurt kept pointing out, financially loaded.

When hefound Shane unresponsive about the money, Kurt started talking shit aboutMikhail, and Shane actually had to watch his breathing as red spots danced infront of his eyes.

“I didn’tknow you were queer, bro—if I had, I would have warned you off the little dude.He’s sort of a man-slut, you know? Never met a Faire hook-up he didn’t like?”

I don’t do seasons, only days. Yeah, Shane knew. He also knew—with acop’s bone-deep instinct—that there was a reason for that, but he wasn’t goingto discuss Mikhail’s sex life with this guy.

“You know, Ithink you only get to use the word ‘queer’ if you actually swing that way,” waswhat he did say. “Or if a queer person likes you as a friend.”

Kurt hadlaughed. “Well, it’s a good thing you and me are tight, my man, am I right?”

“No.”

Kurt laughedsome more, and Shane patted his steering wheel sadly. He really did like thiscar. And Kimmy might get hurt in the accident as well. But it was oh-so-tempting.

“Shane’sbi,” Kimmy said unexpectedly from the back, and Shane caught her eyes in themirror and smiled.

“This istrue,” he said, as though encouraging a child. The Kimmy who had squealed thatmorning when she saw him seemed to be in hiding. So was the brutally honestKimmy who had talked about being an addict and wanting a family. This Kimmy wasa frightened Kimmy, and she was huddling in the back of the car as thoughsaying “boo” was going to get her kicked onto the pavement and into the middleof nowhere. (Was this really the main road to Gilroy proper? Shane had seenmore metropolitan thoroughfares in the middle of the Canadian wilderness.)

“I thoughtyou were really brave, Shaney,” she said now, casting a furtive glance at Kurt.“You took a chance on someone. Even if it didn’t pay off, you… you know. Youcan find someone who won’t be a cowardly weasel….”

“Oh come offit, Kim!” Kurt said dismissively. “The guy was only being smart. You’ve got tolook out for yourself, right—shit! Why’d you do that?”

“Squirrel,”Shane said with a straight face. Kurt had slid across the seat and smacked hishead on the window when Shane swerved, and now he was putting his seat belt onwith something approaching zeal.

“I saw ittoo,” Kimmy said seriously, but she met Shane’s dry glance in the rearview withtwinkling eyes.

(Oh, hey-- I've been guilty of guest blogging, and you can find a couple of my articles here and here too!)

Pure Concentrated Eevoll

2011-11-17T06:18:00.001-08:00

Okay, so this is the time of year when the grade school petrie dish overruns with nasty squiggly little rhinovirus and other ghoulies, and, well, I'm afraid that petrie dish just exploded in my head.

And my lungs.

And my sinuses.

And generally any part of my body that has to function on a regular basis to keep me alive.

Blargh.

Oddly enough, it's been GREAT for the writing. No going to the gym (and now my feet are acting up again) and no fussing with that silly "cooking, cleaning, and shopping" thing (not that I cleaned anyway)--just me, huddling at my computer, telling the world to go the fuck away because mommy feels like death, warmed over, with a side of dog crap and phlegm on it's own special plate.

Fun times at the Lane crapmansion, that's for sure. (By the way? Ny-Quil, Day-Quil, anything from the "Quil" famill--does provide for some very vivid, very disturbing dreams. I almost coughed myself to death last night in an effort not to have to take medicine so I wouldn't have to have those dreams. Effort failed--all I achieved was two hours of extreme discomfort, and a medicine schedule that leaves me up an hour earlier than I might otherwise be. I repeat. Blargh.)

Anyway, I had parent/teacher conferences on Monday for Squish and Zoomboy--and I'm still wildly in love with their school, and bitterly, painfully furious with the idea that my kids are in classrooms with thirty-one other students. That's fucking insane, anything over twenty-five is just madness--but their teachers are such good people, and are so warm. Zoomboy is... well, frighteningly bright. His teachers both agree--they say he's too quiet, but, just like Chicken, since he's not quiet with ME, I can live with "needs to communicate more at school." But he's solidly over grade level in reading and all of the accompanying skills--and he's SUCH a good boy. I want him in a GATE class, only because that will give him a peer group, pretty much for life.

And Squish? Squish did what we figured she would. We spent part of the summer trying to work on her skills, and she was blowing us off and shining us on. We gave up, figuring that once she had a peer group and an actual authority figure, she would start to thrive, and we were right. She started out with low skills, but has now sort of taken off. By the end of the year, she might have some of the highest skills in the class--and the teacher is, as always, charmed by her. She stayed home with me yesterday--she wasn't really sick, but she spent an hour on my lap playing tic-tac-toe, and I was, once again, charmed by her. It seems to be the thing to do.

And in other news?

Well, I've sort of "officially" won NanoWrimo--I find this to be sort of funny. Nano requires 50K in a month, and yes, I've written 50 K this month--32K finishing up a story called Chase in Shadow, a story so exquisitely painful that I wish I could recommend valium with every read. Horrible, hideous, angsty, excruciating... and yet I had to write it, and Chase and Tommy, the two leads? Ye gods. Someone called my characters "deliciously flawed"--and that's Chase and Tommy in a nutshell. Flawed, in pain, seeking solace in and furious with each other--it's a complicated personal dance in a complicated, personal hell. God, I hope people like it.

And the other thing I've been writing? Well, does anyone remember the Gambling Men stories? Jace and Quent? The first things, really, that Dreamspinner ever accepted from me? Yeah, well, the second story, after the Curious anthology, was called Raising the Stakes, and it was the last thing Dreamspinner PUBLISHED about these guys, but not the last thing I WROTE. When I was done with the final short story in what amounted to being a complete plot arc, I had 29K. So Elizabeth, my publisher, and Lynn, my editor, sort of cajoled/prodded/insisted that I take that 29K and expand it to a full novel length. Now, all of the stories were written from Quent's point of view, and I figured that the best way to double the verbiage would be to look at things from Jace's pov. So here I have a complete plot arc, all I have to do is fill in the blanks from the other character--sort of.

Because that other character has his own background, and Quent has his own background and basically? It's another complicated dance, and a bit of skill stretching I haven't done since Vulnerable. I'm hoping I've got the chops for it now, because one of the flaws in Vulnerable is that people could spot (without knowing what it was) the division between where Vulnerable started as a short story and then was expanded into a novel. I want this to be seamless, I want the Jace to sound like he was there in my head all along, and I DON'T want to lose that hot, visceral, fuck-or-die immediacy from the first stories.

So, I've written 18K on this one, for a total of 46K in Gambling Men, and that means I've written 50 THOUSAND words this month--and still haven't finished my project. (Okay--so I finished ONE project--I'm not sure how that counts.)

Anyway, in general? I'm writing. I'm producing books. I'm sick, the kids are great, and the cat is pure, concentrated evil. To quote our vet: "We'd be happier if Steve was a little less, umm, fluffy."

Us: "So would we, but she's unlivable when there's no kibble on the table, and she eats the dog food for fun."

Vet: "Eats the dog food?"

Us: "Yup."

Vet: "Cats don't usually do that."

Us: "Most cats aren't Steve."

True, so true.

It Didn't All Happen At The Zoo

2011-11-14T10:06:00.001-08:00

Zoomboy turns eight on Tuesday, but this weekend was his "party day." Last year we did the Chuck E. Cheese thing--but I didn't want to do that this year. For one thing, it's expensive, and for another? Zoomboy really only has a few good friends. He relates to one or two kids really well, but is lost in a group. I'm like this, and so is his father, and I fervently believe that this is OKAY. One of Zoomboy's best birthdays ever simply had his family. He got one really awesome toy and spent two hours playing with it under the kitchen table. When I said we could have a birthday day with is best friend and his little sister, he was ecstatic. We went to the zoo and saw a movie and then came home for pizza, more playing, and cake and ice cream--and he was pretty damned excited about that--can you tell?

Anyway, so this was the zoo--and I'm sorry about the fingerprint on the camera when I took these--it seems that playing Angry Birds on the phone requires greasy fingers in all sorts of places you would not imagine they need to be!

Anyway, so this was only really part of the Birthday. While I was shepherding kids through lands of primates, big cats, and reptiles (ZB's friend's favorite place!) The rest of the family was doing this:

Okay, so it looks like they were making a big fat mess in our living room. But they weren't--well, they were, but they weren't JUST making a big fat mess. See, that big fat mess in our living room (which is still there by the way) USED to be a big, fat, mess in the KID'S room--and that's rough. Lots of toys, no place to play--and it wasn't the kids' fault really. Their room is REALLY REALLY small. In fact, Squish's bed (which she never slept in because it was covered in stuffed animals) was really her converted crib. So there was this room, and all of these books and all of these toys, and no place really for two little kids who can actually play quietly and amuse themselves if they're just given a little space. So, while I was taking the kids out to play, Mate and the big kids were providing a little space.

I know--it still looks messy--and we still have to sort the toys in the living room and get rid of a lot of them. But this? This is a start. It's an assembled bunked, and the kids will get to pick some stuffed animals to go on top, and a bin of toys a piece to go in the spaces between. But the one thing we're not getting rid of (and you can only guess at it) is the big lovely rug full of space for them to play on when they need to. It's amazing how often we forget that space is a gift. And this year, it was our gift to Zoomboy--who was also appreciative of the bunk bed. Cause he thinks it's cool--and so does Squish, who gets the bottom bunk all to herself. (She needs a bed to herself--her typical sleep position is one we call the "fainting starfish"--draw that picture in your head and ask yourself if you really want to be anywhere near that when it snores. And yes, she snores. The other night she fell asleep on her father's lap and competed with the dog. Mate said, "Oh listen--she's just like her mother." plllbbbttt.)

And speaking of Squish? After we dropped Zoomboy's friend off (he spent the night--another first, because for the first time we had room!) we went and got new shoes for the kids. Zoomboy got your basic model tennis shoe--the strap is different and so is the velcro, but boy's tennis shoes haven't really changed in function in the last sixty years.

Squish's shoes on the other hand... She saw these across the store. The toes light up. She put them on and said, "Do I look good?"

I'm just lucky she still asks. This morning I started singing "These Boots Are Made for Walking" by RoseAnne Cash, and she strutted around the kitchen. Don't mess with a girl in sparkly toed boots--it's a truism!

So anyway-- that was my weekend, and I'm exhausted. But pleased. My children have a place to play--and my family worked toward a worthy goal, and Zoomboy is eight. I'm so proud.

A Little Blather With Your Snark

2011-11-12T07:07:00.001-08:00

Hey Guys-- sorry I've been so out of the loop! The kids had two days off--and that doesn't go as easily as it used to, and seriously--catching up on two weekends away in such quick succession-- wow. WILL catch up with everyone's blogs tomorrow--I miss you all, and you know it! Uhm, Zoomboy's birthday is on Tuesday, but today is The Big Sam Day--and I will be VERY busy (soccer game, zoo, movie, come home and cook pizza... *whew*) but I thought I could stop by and offer some snark from Shakespeare (which is doing pretty well--I hope everyone is enjoying it!) I had a hard time picking a snarky place-- James and Rafi pretty much banter through the whole book, and Rafael is unmerciful about giving James a hard time! (Sometimes in the best of ways, but not here:-) And don't forget to check out the other snarky snippets that you can find Here!

James whimpered and would have banged his foreheadagainst the steering wheel, but the light turned green.

“You’re just evil. Evil sex on legs. I should pullover and let you out at the nearest strip mall or I’ll be spoiled for all otherunderwear models forever.”

Rafael’s chuckle made his balls stop dancing. There wasno room to dance when his cock took up the entire dance floor in his pants. “Yougot a long line of underwear models in your bed, Jimmy-Jack, or are you sayin’I’ll ruin your stroke mags for life?”

James scowled. “Do I look like I’ve got a long line of underwear models in my bed? I’vegot a long line of underwear models on my computer.They love me. They’re always hard, always there, and they don’t take offand leave me for married sugar daddies whofinally leapt out of the closet and left their wives. I don’t need real, but Ido need faithful. I’m okay, really. I’m fine.”

“Oh, daddy, you may be fine, but you’re miles awayfrom okay.”

James made a face. “And please don’t call me ‘daddy’.”

“I could call you ‘papi’—how’s that?”

“It means ‘daddy’ in Spanish, doesn’t it.” He didn’teven have to ask the question. He knew from the way Rafael chuckled that it wasjust one more way to yank his chain.

“Of course it does. You’re too easy.”

It's Not Shakespeare

2011-11-09T06:41:00.000-08:00

It's Not Shakespeare is out!

Of course, I wrote my best post for this Monday, mostly because I was waxing rhapsodic and going all verklempt about Mate (as I should!) but I thought I'd give it a little introduction today as well.

See, the thing is, I wrote REALLY intense for a while. (For the record, I've gone back to intense again for the last month... wow. Pain. Oh the frickin' emotional pain!) And then, for shits and giggles, my publisher sent me this picture--and it was SOOO cute. Did you see the doggie? Did everybody see the doggie? Nice doggie! Good doggie! Good Marlowe--isn't he adorable? Oh yeah.

I mean, how could you write angst for that dog?

You can't. You write humor. You write fun. You write two guys who were made for each other, even if one of them doesn't believe that really happens in just a couple of weeks of REALLY good sex. You have soul mates who don't get maudlin, best friends who will love each other forever, a partnership based on kindness, humor, and love.

I adore these guys. And the fact that the name of the dog is Marlowe, after Christopher Marlowe, and that it discusses my whole take on whether or not Shakespeare wrote his own plays (I think he did) right when the movie Anonymous is about to come out--well, that was just zeitgeist, I think.

I hope you all like it--and I have to say, I hope you all take advantage of it. I've got this and a couple of novellas coming out (two in December, one in February) and then my next release is going to be all angst and razorblades--and don't think I'm kidding about that. Enjoy the hell out of this. We all know my work isn't always angst-free!

In news? Well, I took my gimpy self, along with my crazy friend Wendy (whose love life is imploding--I won't give you details, but God, am I grateful for Mate!) and we went and bought a bunk bed for Zoomboy. Now the PLAN is this-- Zoomboy has a birthday day on Saturday (Actual birthday, November 15th) and after soccer, we go home, get him changed, and go pick up his friend, Sam. Then we take Zoomboy and Sam to the zoo, and then to the movies, and then we pick up an ice cream cake, and then we pick up some pizza and then we get home...

To where Mate and the big kids have cleaned out the little kids room and installed the bunk bed. There will be a small "play with me" present on top of the bunk bed, but mostly? It's a bunk bed and a sleepover with his best friend. And we're hoping that's enough to satisfy Zoomboy's bright and yet simple soul.

(And the gimpy part came in when my crazy friend Wendy and I were lifting shit. Her back is shot, and my wrist and shoulder supported no weight whatsoever. Sad. So sad.)

Oh-- and from the files of random-- Zoomboy and Squish's school had a cookie dough sale. I bought enough dough for both of them, but I only put it on Zoomboy's order form, because, well, I was filling it out in the office on the last possible day, why do you ask? Anyway--Zoomboy got this prize for selling cookie dough. I told them that the prize is both of theirs, and you know what? At first I thought it was like, something you could get out of a cereal box, and then?

Okay, it's this top--you know, crank it down on the little twister thingy, release, and it spins? Except when it spins there's a laser light show and sound effects.

*awe* Best. Prize. Ever.

Writer Down!

2011-11-07T09:23:00.000-08:00

Okay, not at the moment. At the moment, writer up! Writer well rested! Writer not in too much pain!

But Friday night, after a day on the con floor at Bascon, I was texting and walking, when it is a well known fact that I have problems doing EITHER of those actions well independently, and I was also talking to my companion, Julianne.

And then I was falling. And then I was on the ground, while Julianne said, "Okay. You're down. Hang out there for a while. Take stock. Make sure you're okay. I've got time."

For the record? In case you ever see a large woman take a fall, I personally prefer this approach. Why? Because it gave me time to assess all my owies, decide they wouldn't kill me, and then get up without crying. Anyway, I got up, thought, "Everything hurts," and then reassured my companion that I would be okay and saw her off to her car.

Then I went up to my hotel room, stopped off at the ice machine, and cursed the fucking hotel because there was no ice. I sat down to write, took two advil, dozed off snoring over my computer, and then got up really early in the morning because A. my wrist and shoulder hurt, and B. I needed to get a move on on my frickin' manuscript. (Since I was alone in a hotel room, I figured I should make some hay--and I did!)

Anyway, so the next day? Went worse. I slammed my pinky in the bathroom stall because I was grabbing with the wrong hand, the ace bandage I'd cadged from the cute-n-useless at the front desk kept making my shawl shed, and, horror of horrors on a business trip, I got a badly timed, bitchy, overbearing visit from everyone's least favorite Aunt Flo.

Mate was supposed to show up Saturday night. And he did.

Have you ever been so happy to see someone that you almost cry? I have. When we lost Chicken at the San Francisco zoo when she was seven--yup. When we lost Zoomboy at a VERY busy Monterey Aquarium a couple of years ago. There were tears. When I was in a car accident about ten years ago, I was BEGGING for a phone (with my neck in a stationary brace) so I could call Mate and let him know I was okay. Suddenly he was looming over me saying "Why do you need a phone?" I almost cried.

I turned around and he was walking into the restaurant, still in his coaches outfit, wet from the rain, and I almost cried. It had nothing to do with the romantic evening we'd planned and everything to do with having an owie day... just an owie fucking day, and he drove three hours in the rain because I had an owie fucking day. And I honest to Goddess teared up.

So I don't have a picture of the book coming out on Wednesday--I will on Wednesday because I'll be on my regular computer then--but it's called It's Not Shakespeare. And I don't write Shakespeare, right? I've never had pretensions to writing Shakespeare. But I write romance, and I'm really proud of that. When I'm writing a couple, I want to write a couple that, after nearly 25 years together, when one of them shows up after an owie day, the other one gets a little verklempt. Because to me, that's romance, and that makes me happy, and I went the rest of the world to, for just a minute, be that happy.

Because that's what Mate does for me:-)

Scary

2011-11-02T15:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, so Halloween was VERY fun. Chicken's coach relented at the last possible moment, and Chicken got to wear her steampunk outfit--self assembled from various Renaissance Faires and anime festivals. Of course because I'm an idiot, I didn't get a picture, which was a real shame, because she was charming.

Her friend came over, and they gave out candy while Mate and I took the short people out on their annual Halloween death march, so called because although our neighborhood isn't very long and we by no means covered all of it, they were, of course, whining us to death by the time we were done canvassing for sweets. It was okay--we had a couple of scary houses (one of which sent Squish squealing down the walk shrieking "Too scary! Too scary! I'm too young! I can't go there!") and some pretty pretty decorations which Squish was very apt to comment on, to the great delight of those being voluntarily mugged for sugar.

Zoomboy was dressed as the Grim Reaper-- he tried to get away with just gesturing with his scythe, but eventually he realized that went against his basic politeness and unbent enough to wish people a happy Halloween, and to thank them. Squish had no such prohibitions built into her costume. None at all.

"Oh my!" exclaimed one nice mugging victim. "You two are so scary!"

"I am not scary," Squish told her reasonably. "I have no scariness in my life. I'm cute!"

"Omigod! You certainly are!"

"Thank you. I AM cute. Have a Happy Halloween!"

And then, as she was marching away with her ill-gotten gains, she ran into another mother who was LOSING IT, laughing on the street as she waited for her own kids to get back.

"I AM cute!" Squish protested, hurt, I guess, by the woman's laughter.

"Oh honey I believe you," the woman cackled, "she sure wasn't talking to ME!"

And thus, Squish.

And in other odd news? We won a random pair of Foo Fighters tickets last night and for those of you who have not heard The Foo Fighters, I give you the following video of you know who, done to one of their biggest songs:

Anyway, I LOVE the Foo Fighters. Adore them. That song I just posted? That's Chase and Tommy's song, from my current WIP that I've been keeping VERY VERY close to my vest, because writing it is like mixing different flavors of pain. So, yeah. Love them. Adore them. And they were playing with Cage The Elephant. Again, let me present you with a sample:

And so what did Mate and I do, in our young and funky middle-aged-ness?

We gave the tickets to Big T and his friend.

We felt so old. We did--but there were a couple of things going on there. The first--and perhaps the most important, is that as much as I ADORE the Foo Fighters, the person who brought their first CD into this house was Big T. Big T loves music like I love music, like it lives in his soul. And it just didn't seem right for us to leave him home. Now Mate would have gone with me, but he didn't want to go with Big T, and I would have gone with Mate, but, seriously-- he's almost nineteen. Doesn't he get to watch his own concerts? We did. Mate and I spent a considerable amount of our disposable income on concerts when we were nineteen. Isn't there some cachet in the concerts you've attended? Don't you get to wax lyrical about music that throbs in your blood?

And I have a deadline, and it's riding my ass. And Mate was really tired. And I've got a business trip this weekend. And Mate was going to join me on Saturday night because it's a night away from the kids. And we would feel guilty leaving everybody on a weeknight. And just this once, we ceded our youth card to our teenaged son.

He came home luminous, and we're proud:-) As my friend told me, it was a very karmically pure thing to do--and don't we need more of those?

*sigh* Yeah--but someday soon, I'd like another kick ass concert to make my old bones dance.

You'll never guess what day it is!!!

2011-10-31T08:59:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, Big T carved that pumpkin this weekend--I was so pleased, especially since we'd sort of agreed that we weren't getting real pumpkins this year. Mate had carved some fake ones last year, and they're sweet and sort of goofy and everything, and really, isn't that the purpose of fake pumpkins? But then I went out for milk and dogwood, and... and... it was five dollars. FIVE DOLLARS! And it was huge and gorgeous and the kids were decorating the front of the house and...

And it's beautiful. The short people helped gut it, and Big T spent hours on it, and I'm so pleased. For one thing, whenever I tried to do this, moons and moons ago, the results were less than spectacular. So there you go. Bargain basement pumpkin, department store results!

And other than that? We know what day it is! Don't forget to click the gargoyle icon Here! if you want to read a free Halloween story. The story features James and Rafi, from It's Not Shakespeare and I was very pleased, because the free shorts get taken down tomorrow, but I asked (in time!) and they're going to put the freebie at the end of the novella e-book, and so you can read it if you miss it for free.

And other than that? I'll try to take pictures of the short people--they should be adorkable! And Chicken was dressed steampunk this morning-- she looked fanTASTIC which is nice, because she's got soccer practice tonight, and will miss out on much of the festivities. (We're very depressed about this. Her team lost what should have been a slam dunk this weekend. Coach was not pleased. Halloween was cancelled for the U19 girls team... very sad.) And in the meantime...

Happy Halloween!

A Little Snark from Alpha

2011-10-29T11:04:00.000-07:00

In honor of Marie Sexton's Saturday Snark, I'm going to do a little bit of snark from A Solid Core of Alpha. Now, Alpha does not have a whole lot of light moments--but this one is is a doozy. C.J. and his sister Cassie have had a rough day of watching Anderson's life unspool via holographic recordings, and now Cassie's husband has come to collect his wayward wife.

"Bad day?" Marshall asked as he came into C.J.'s quarters. He didn't sound particularly surprised, but he did raise his eyebrows when Cassie started to sniffle.

"Remember the ice-piss lizards?" she asked, sounding forlorn.

"Yeah, sweetheart. How could I forget the ice-piss lizards?" He took both her hands in his and pulled her up and into his long arms.

"I miss the ice-piss lizards," Cassie bemoaned, her voice muffled in her husband's chest. "I really fucking miss the ice-piss lizards. Could we have another shipment of ice-piss lizards, just for me?"

Marshall rubbed her arms and looked over her head to meet C.J.'s gaze helplessly.

"Really bad day," he said softly, and C.J. nodded.

Woh shit!

2011-10-27T08:36:00.000-07:00

Okay, lots happening here, but not much to report. Let's start with the big thing, and the reason that last post was up there for four days, and that is that my MacBook, my beloved MacBook, had an operating system aneurism and is currently being resuscitated and put down simultaneously in an effort for Mate to recapture at least the pictures and documents on my hard drive before we cash it in and go get a new computer. I'm depressed. Some of you may remember when Squish was a wee flipper--maybe 18 months old, and she watered my pc and then sat on it to make it grow. Mate had to rescue Bitter Moon II in its ENTIRETY-- all 250 THOUSAND words of it then, and I haven't been so close to passing out since I was in labor with Zoomboy. I'm trying REALLY hard not to freak out on Mate. He's been working on this for THREE DAYS, and, yanno, it's not like his job just gives out money for free. He sort of has other things to worry about. In the meantime I'm on this ickle-biddy prototype laptop, the same one I took to Vancouver. The good news is I've got a back up computer at all, and that IS good news. The bad news is not only that the internet on it is hella frickin' slow, it's also that the Word program is REALLY FUCKING UNSTABLE and I spent two day losing maybe 1500 words of Chase and Chance because if I got up for any length of time, it did not autosave, and there was no recursive memory when it decided to go dark, and, well, I was just fucked. I've gotten better at remembering to save shit when I get up to go to the bathroom or let the dog out or get a glass of milk or something, but it's making me fucking crazy, and I'm making a heroic fucking effort here not to sob on Mate and wail, "I WANT MY MAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCC..." But that's not fair to him, either. *sigh* The good news is, we will probably be able to afford a new computer at the end of the month. The bad news would be if I couldn't save any of my hard drive--oh my God... the pictures of the kids! FUCK!--and that would make me cry. Lots. Fucking buckets. You have no idea. (Oh SHIT! Just remembered that all my cover art is on THE OLD HARD DRIVE! GoddessDAMMIT!)

So, well, that's why I haven't posted. (And I don't even want to TRY pictures on this thing. *shudder* Oh God. The fucking horror.)

Now on to other things.

* Last night was Squish's soccer banquet. If I could do pictures I would post Mate giving Squish her trophy. He was very cute--and all of the parents were saying he had the patience of a saint. I said, "You just haven't seen him clean house yet, that's all." But seriously-- there were two kids, twins, whose father died last year of leukemia, and they loved Mate so much. Mom is at a loss--she also has two teenaged girls, and they would get the kids to the field and the kids would just FLOP on the sidelines. Mate had to CARRY the little girl onto the field and point her in the right direction to get her to play. The little boy would sleep--just sleep--on the sidelines unless Mate propped him up and aimed him somewhere and said "Get it get it!" And in the meantime there was another little boy--he was three maybe four years old--who would sit on Mate's foot and cling to his leg through most of the games. Another little girl was a butterfly-- literally, through the last game she flitted from corner to corner of the field, flapping her hands. The ball was immaterial. And I told all the parents that Mate's only criteria for a successful season was kids who wanted to come back and play again. They all said that their kids would miss him a lot, but that they still wanted to play soccer, and I was so proud. He is SUCH a good man.

* The banquet was held at Chuck E. Cheese. Zoomboy played his tokens with great ingenuity and had enough tickets at the end to buy a whoopie cushion. Our worlds may never be the same.

* Yesterday Squish was putting her shoe on and it slipped off and she said, "Dammit!" "What did you say?" Mate asked and she looked at him from under lowered brows. "I don't want to tell you," she said honestly. Mate scowled. "Well, you need to do what Chicken does--only swear in front of mom!"

* And still Big T has no drivers license. My brain is freezing up at the boggleness of it all.

* Chicken too.

* Don't know if I mentioned this one--if I repeat, just smack me in the head with a wet fish. Chicken has a crush at school--he's in her discussion group in English and she was discussing Brave New World with her group and she came home all excited. (This is the part you may have heard before.) "Mom, mom! Collin (not real name!) said "orgy" today!"

Well, they have since moved on from Brave New World to The Awakening. "So, Chicken, has Collin said anything cool lately?"

"Yeah. Today he said 'lesbian'. TWICE. It was AWESOME!"

Gotta love Chicken. Her latest creative endeavor features a psychiatrist for the superheroes. The creativity is highly entertaining!

And that's all--I've got to run to the bathroom, and frankly I'm afraid the blogpost is gonna disappear if I don't press 'Publish'. Pray for my hard drive, folks--I'll miss the hell out of those pictures...

So, you guys know how I love archetypes, right? Well, I had a sudden thought about an archetype, and I may have to look this one up. We seem to be trending in a new way, toward the villain who remakes himself into an average guy. We could call this one a satiric archetype, but I don't know--one of the hallmarks of the satiric archetype is often that, for all of his exposure to the big wide world, he learns nothing, and we, the audience, are left to make the conclusions.

No Pictures, Only Con-Stories

2011-10-23T20:47:00.000-07:00

First of all, you guys are awesomesauce with the quotes-- that was soooo MUCH FUN. We'll have to do it again sometime--or lines from songs or titles from songs or lines from books or... ooooohhhh... The possibilities are endless!

Second of all--Yaoi-Con? Total blast. I was probably too loud and to obnoxious and too loopy personally-- but I had the bestest time. Of course, the older I get, the more I realize that time is precious and that there is NEVER enough time to do the things that just fill us manic-frickin'-glee, so I'm going to list the things I wish I had more time to do:

* Wish I had more time to look at Jo Chen's amazing artwork. I had a hell of a time picking a picture to post to show you guys who Jo Chen was because A. Her art is all gorgeous, no lie, and B. I didn't want to post ANYTHING without her permission. The picture I picked is of an art book, and I posted a link to amazon.com, because she's the illustrator of the Buffy graphic novels and comic books (Season 8 and Season 9) and I figured that this way it was free publicity and not pirating a picture for my own uses. Suffice it to say? My family adores this artist, and in person, she is demure and humble, and I just want to ooze into a puddle at her feet and say ZOMG, YOU ARE SO INSPIRING!

* Wish I had more time to talk to Mary. Mary Calmes, my darling, my dearest, my most adored and beloved friend who kept me awake until three in the morning two nights running so we could talk until one of us (me) simply stopped in mid sentence and committed to four hours of sleep-- there was not enough time. We need a week. Preferably in Hawaii. Just because. I love you, my dear--there is not enough time.

* Wish I had more time for Andrew Grey to grab me by the hand and haul me off on surprise errands to see his banners or watch his panel (Ask The Gay Boys!) or visit the art room, or to talk to Andrew's husband, Dom, oh he with the subtle sense of humor!

* Wish I had more time for Ariel Tachna and Nicki Bennett and Julianne to talk about any damned thing, because simply being in the same room with them makes me very very very happy.

* Wish I had more time to chat with Lori Toland who brought me her lovely lovely Royal Bee organic face cream and who has a Cheddar cat who looks much like my Steve.

* Wish I had more time to look at the happy, creative, joyful kids (and adults!) in their beautiful costumes who were there for the pure enthusiasm of sharing something they loved.

* Wish I had more time to write Andrew jokes--while Mary tells me that NO ONE should EVER repeat those jokes in ANY company whatsoever!

* Wish I had more time to talk to all of the other wonderful, amazing, fun, sympathetic, and warm people who also write for Dreamspinner.

* Wish that somehow I could sandwich all that time in to sleep.

It was an awesome weekend. And now? I need to cram my art docent homework before I sleep!

Say Anything

2011-10-20T17:24:00.000-07:00

You guys remember that movie? It's Cameron Crowe, and he's awesomeness on awesometoast with awesomesauce... we adore him here at Chez Lane, and that iconic moment with John Cusack standing with the stereo in front of Ione Skye's house while Peter Gabriel blares from the speakers can move me to tears on any day--and not just because the movie came out while Mate and I were on our honeymoon at the tender age of twenty-one, either.

And there are SO many good quotes from that one--you know, those quotes that can be used as shorthand in any given situation when you're with someone who loves the same movies for the same reasons you do? Sometimes, when our words come short and our hearts need to speak, a quote from a beloved movie can save us from that horrible muteness, where our mouths are open and our hearts are screaming and nothing is coming out, right? Even for good moments, that's a bad thing--and one crack from a movie, and suddenly we can talk again. It's magic.

I'm going to yaoi-con tomorrow-- my ability to blog may be impaired by extreme business and attempt to lose myself from an industrial sized crapfest the likes of which I shan't bore you with, and I figured, hey, if I'm going to leave you with the same post to look at for five days (because Monday and Tuesday are BOOKED SOLID after I get back) I should at least leave you with something you can interact with differently everyday. So I'm going to list my favorite movie quotes and invite you to do the same. Which quotes do you love because, no matter what the day, they manage to be the perfect words with the perfect sentiment no matter what the day or time? Feel free to share! (btw--I'm pulling these out of my head--I'm sure I'll mangle a few of them, but then, our favorite quotes are often mangled. The fact that they can bend to our wishes is what makes them ours!)

"Well I said what I thought I meant but I didn't mean what I said." Say Anything

"Got nothin' better to do on the lake today Major?" The Last of the Mohicans

"Merciful Heaven, I have spent my life dreaming of many things. Dying like this was not among them." The Thirteenth Warrior

"I may drink neither the fermentation of wheat, nor of grape." "HONEY! Mead is fermented HONEY!" The Thirteenth Warrior

"Little brother, it is beginning!" The Thirteenth Warrior

"For all that we have not said that we ought to have said, for all that we have not done that we ought to have done, we beg thee Allah for forgiveness." The Thirteenth Warrior

"I think I've had about enough of running today, boy." The Thirteenth Warrior

"I was naked for a day. You will be naked for eternity!" A Knight's Tale

"Someday you and I are going to have a serious disagreement!" The Last of the Mohicans

"Shiny. Let's be bad guys!" Serenity

"I am a leaf in the wind!" Serenity

"Well yeah that noise is bad, but as you get better you hear less of it." Say Anything

"Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?" "Because what I'm interested in is right here." Last of the Mohicans

"Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever!" The Thirteenth Warrior

"I love you, man!" The Italian Job

"I HAD a BAD exPERIENCE!" The Italian Job

"There's slow traffic, stalled traffic, and slityerwrist traffic." The Italian Job

"It's a dreadful cockup and bad chance, but you're the love of my goddamned life!" Love Actually

"There was more than one lobster at the birth of Christ?" Love Actually

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" Dirty Dancing

"Madness is like gravity-- all it needs is a little push!" The Dark Knight

"You lose focus in this job and someone gets hurt." Ocean's Eleven

"Ted Nugent called: he wants his shirt back." Ocean's Eleven

"How's your wife?" "Pregnant again." "Yeah, well, it happens." Ocean's Eleven

"I think that's it, unless you think we need another guy. You think we need another guy? We need another guy." Ocean's Eleven

"I ain't had anything twixt my nethers that ain't run on batteries in more than a year!" Serenity

"Eatin' a man's face? When'd that get fun?" Serenity

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." (I don't need to tell you guys this one... it's almost unfair putting it in!)

And I just did this for over twenty minutes and discovered I could probably go on forever... but then, where would be the fun for you? Make 'em good, and lurkers? Come out of lurkdom and help me out! What are YOUR favorite lines!

Sky Sperm

2011-10-18T10:04:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I was walking from my car this morning and I felt a drop on my face. I looked up to see if I'd been targeted by a seagull and while there was no such offending animal, I looked up into the sky and saw? I don't know. The sky was this gorgeous Autumn blue-- you know that color that's so deep in October it's like the exact shade of a good man's soul? Anyway, floating across it was... I'm not sure. Giant spiderwebs? Nylon fake spiderwebs released at three-thousand feet? Something. Something white and floaty and dreamy, but moving with purpose on a wind current with a focus like an arrow. No pictures--because I had to wear my sunglasses to see it and I was pretty sure it was beyond the camera phone--but, it was sort of surreal, and very pretty. Random sky sperm, I guess, just waiting for my attention.

So, anyway, I've been in a situation where my integrity is being questioned. When I've relayed some of these questions to friends and loved ones, the universal response from them has been, "Do these people even KNOW YOU?" My response has been, "Uhm, no. Not really." But the result of this questioning is that I have been doing the introspection thing this last week, and have thought that I should compile a list of traits about myself that I know to be true. Weird thing about Libras-- with us, absolutely nothing is certain.

* I try with every breath to tell the truth and to acknowledge (at least to myself) when I am not and WHY I am not.

* I suck at lying--I feel guilty about pretty much everything, so I ALWAYS look guilty, even when I'm not. Trying to add REAL guilt here (even if it's just about what someone's birthday present is) just does not make for a good poker face.

* I try to have the best of intentions.

* But I acknowledge my own pettiness.

* I believe fiction can change the world.

* But only if the world is taught how to read it right.

* I believe that acknowledging our humanity is the only way we have to improve it.

* I have a rather pixilated and often inappropriate sense of humor.

* I would like to think of myself as the type of person who speaks out against indignities and injustice. Unfortunately I know that, just like the rest of the world, I am sometimes scared, and these opportunities pass me by.

* I believe that substance abuse is harmful--but it's also forgivable to an extent. I also believe I will never really be a substance abuser. Object lessons from our childhood are not soon forgotten.

* I believe that sex is part of being human, and denying this only makes it "dirty." Once we make it "dirty", we make being human "dirty"--and that is inexcusable.

* I believe that the moments we spend with most people are fleeting--but that they can make an impression.

* I believe housework is a luxury but creativity is a necessity.

* I believe in trying to make the world a better place.

* I believe that everyone is given a different gift to help do this.

* I believe that if you follow your passion, the money will come.

* I believe that you NEVER have enough money to get married or have children. That's why you do it anyway, work hard, and be grateful for your people and not so much for your things.

* I believe a different version exists of me from day to day.

* I believe in integrity--but know that it's hard to achieve.

* This is why I idolize my husband, because his integrity never ever wavers.

* I believe I am not worthy of all of the wonderful things in my life.

* But I believe I try my hardest to be so, and maybe the Goddess really does give points for trying.

* I believe in the God and the Goddess and also Jeff, god of biscuits and his life partner, Ned. I believe in a higher power, and different facets of a higher power and the idea that if we need a human construct to make that more relatable to our widdo human brains, then that's fine. As long as we don't try to tell someone else that our construct is more important or more valid than anyone else's, that's fine. Anything beyond that lies madness-- witness the world.

* I believe that art is humanity's highest achievement.

* I believe that love is humanity's highest achievement.

* I believe perseverance is humanity's highest achievement.

* I believe that music is humanity's highest achievement.

* I believe the most egregious sin is intolerance for benign things.

* I believe the second most egregious sin is never questioning your own actions or reality.

... and I believe I have to run to water aerobics, so I'm gonna leave this list partially finished. I'll let you know if I think of anything else next post:-)

ZB the Reaper and SquishWitch!

2011-10-16T11:07:00.000-07:00

So we went to the Halloween store yesterday, and guess what happened? Well, mostly some shit jumped into my bag and some shit jumped out of my wallet, and then we came home and our children went from being simply mild-mannered ankle biters, and became Zoomboy the Reaper and Squish-witch! This whole thing was pretty damed awesome. It's funny-- I write Urban Fantasy, I live for movies like Coraline and The Nightmare Before Christmas, but I always forget what a rush Halloween is for kids. My kids, apparently, felt a wee bit ghoulish this year. Squish, as adorable as she wants, keeps asking me to buy rubber snakes so we can tie them in with her hair and she can be Medusa the Witch.

Squish was very specific about how she wanted her Halloween. We had to have graveyard headstones (check!) and a giant spiderweb (check!) and spiders to go in the fake spiderweb (check!). We strewed the fake spiderweb over our porch posts (perhaps pictures later) and the kids set up the graveyard underneath the spiderweb and the whole time Big T and I were doing the spiderweb I kept looking at my insect friendly porch eave and thinking, "Okay, how many REAL spiders are going to set up house in this shit before Halloween has come and gone?" I'm think that's the reason those companies stay in business. I for one am NOT going to reuse that product! I may not even reuse the fake spiders, because after two years in front of my porch, who's gonna be able to tell the difference?

All in all? Fun stuff--and, may I add, brought to us by a "bye" week in soccer-- neither Zoomboy or Chicken had games yesterday. God it was awesome. It gave me a brief, tantalizing glimpse of life AFTER soccer season. Ahhhhh...

As it is, Squish's last game is next Friday and I'll be at Yaoi-Con, so I'll miss it. I'm sort of sad about missing it, but DUDES-- Yaoi-Con? YAOI-CON? I'll be meeting SO many people, and I have to admit, I'm a sucker for working the floor. I get such a kick out of catching people's eyes when they're trying to walk away because they don't want to spend anymore money but our stuff looks SOOOOO interesting. Yeah, it makes me a sadist. So? Anyway, Squish's last game is next week, but Zoomboy and Chicken have almost a month to go after that, and, well, I think no one's going to be permanently injured if I miss a couple of games.

As it was, I came home an worked on my newest... oh gods... I want to write a sequel to Clear Water or It's Not Shakespeare or If I Must, JUST because they're happy books, and this one? Fricking ouch. I don't know why I do this to myself. Why? Why? I'm perfectly capable of writing humor and stuff that doesn't just rip out my heart, but no. I've got to write shit like Chase and Chance which leaves my heart bleeding on the frickin' table and makes me have to put myself in the place of people I would KILL not to have to be.

And that's about all. (Okay-- honestly? The frickin internet is going in and out and I want to wrap this up and push send before people start assuming I've died or something because it's been so long since my last post!)

But I will leave you with this, because I thought it was HYSTERICAL!

Chicken brought her friend, Stivie, to go Halloween shopping with us and, as usual, Stivie sat in the back of the car. Now I adore Stivie, and I'm glad Chicken hangs out with her, but I didn't realize how comfortable she is with us until I went to the McDonald's Drive Thru.

"Stivie-- I'm going to McDonald's can I get you--"

"A cookie, definitely. I'd love a cookie!"

Well, I guess she really DOES enjoy our family-- she pretty much read my mind.

And of course, my kids adore her too. Zoomboy, in fact, spent the entire time telling her about his favorite television, and I overheard this little gem as I was driving, and I will leave you with it because I laughed my ass off:

"I love Phineas and Ferb in the Second Dimension! Seriously! That movie changed my life!"

0.0--well, can't fault his taste!

Meander Left, Meander Right

2011-10-13T11:19:00.000-07:00

Okay, so seriously? I've got nothin'.

I've said it before--a thousand times--the most intense stuff can be going on inside my head but on the outside? It's just a woman typing in a kitchen that looks like a bomb blew up in it. You're not looking at her thinking, "Oooh... there typeth the seeds of greatness!" You're thinking, "Jesus, heifer! Get off your ass and CLEAN SOMETHING!" And, well, I've got deadlines and cleaning something ain't in the cards. (The teenagers, however, have started ducking me when we're in the house together. No, no, this mama didn't raise no fools!)

In various news, I attended Art Docent training, and the general gist was to make my portfolio presentations shorter and to skip some of the stuff in the curriculum, and to make the art project as complicated as their little minds/hands/whatever can make it. At least, that was the input from the trainer--who, as the daughter of the woman who created the program approached the whole thing from, shall we say, a certain slant?

I, on the other hand, was all on the teacher's side: It has to fit inside the timeline, and it has to leave them feeling as though they've accomplished something and it has to tie in with the portfolio. Let the modifications begin! It doesn't matter-- I'm looking forward to setting the date for teaching the next unit, and I'm looking forward to doing fun stuff with little kids. Huzzah! Tomorrow, I'm going to catch the first hour of an inservice showing what the different grades actually DO when they do art projects, and that should help too. This is a different age, a different venue, a different focus from what I'm used to--but it's also a challenge, and I'm enjoying it very much.

Big T told me today he wanted his birthday to be something small-- going out to dinner--and nothing too big. He's going to be NINETEEN after all, and it's REALLY not that important. God, I love him. I may love him more when he has a job, but maybe not--he really has so much that is awesome inside him.

Chicken is stressing out over college applications and college essays--which she should, because that whole "funding the college" thing is still up in the air. We're rooting for a private college with lots of scholarships. She's rooting for San Francisco State, and I have to say that although I only attended for one year, I'm sort of hoping for that too. I want my Chicken to live by the sea. I can picture her there, happy, and since I'll be deprived of my Chicken here, she'd BETTER be happy someplace else. This morning she whined good-naturedly about "I don't wanna brush my hair!" So I brushed it and put it up in a hearty French braid, and I was, once again, her hero. Little things. Don't know how I've been a parent this long without realizing it's really the little things!

Speaking of Little Things, this is Sam Day! On Thursdays, the kids get out early, so I let them walk to their friend Sam's house. One of the benefits to knowing Sam is knowing his mother, whom I would cheerfully classify as one of the top five nicest people on pretty much any planet sporting human life. I'm not joking about this. She's sweet, she's kind, she believes in a messy house and happy children, and for some reason, she likes me. I pretty much melt when I see her--she's a big hugger, and I love to hug back. Seriously. Very often I tend to gravitate to people with sharp and ironic senses of humor--but I'm finding now that sometimes that irony can be corrosive when taken in large quantities. My last peer group was (and our vocation tended to make us all like this) almost unconditionally bitter and critical. In this past year I've discovered a real love for kindness and faithful goodwill. I think I'll still keep my own sense of irony--but I like to think that it's a better tool when tempered with gentleness, and hanging out with Sam's mom is the way to go here. That, and she has a really delightful sense of humor and she likes to laugh. So, there you go. For us, Thursday is Sam Day--and honestly, I think my kids get as much out of Sam Day as they get out of soccer, and that's pretty cool.

Everything is Prettier in the Rain

2011-10-10T23:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we spent the day doing the birthday thang (I did that on purpose 'cause I'm cool, yanno!) with my real mom and my grandma. We brought the pizza, the ice cream cake, a present, and my mom over to my grandma's and celebrated birthdays. Everyone keeps telling me what a good daughter I am when I do this, but I always feel like such a slacker, because it only happens between 4-6 times a year. I'm a mediocre daughter--but I guess I have good intentions.

Talker's Graduation is still coming out on Wednesday-- and I will be at Cup-O-Porn blogging on Wednesday to celebrate. Mostly I'll be talking about my own backyard, which is why (even though the picture is mostly my neighbor's house from my driveway, with a glimpse of our out of control rose bushes in the corner around the pavement) I thought the picture was singularly appropriate.

And anyone who lives in Nor Cal will tell you that today was the day the weatherman LIED LIKE A FRICKIN' RUG! It was supposed to maybe shower this afternoon around four in the afternoon. Instead, it rained like Noah finished the boat from about nine in the morning to five thirty in the evening... imagine our surprise! But soccer practice was canceled and it was lovely--came home, gave everyone a snack, cooked some warm soup-like-food substance, and read to the kids so that we all did not, once again, fail homework. Geez, I feel old at the end of soccer season-- days like this make me feel younger. (The smell in the air too-- I wasn't lying. Everything IS prettier when it rains.)

And really, that's all I've got. I think I'm still recovering--the weekend was long, and even though the games were not nearly as awful, there were still three of them, and we lost all three, and really? I'm just excited that Squish's last game will be on the twenty-first! (Zoomboy and Chicken have another month to go... *sigh*) Of course, I'll miss Squish's last game because I'll be in San Francisco, and considering how much I adore the team parents, this is sort of disappointing. I'm REALLY HOPING the weather will hold on the fourteenth, because it'll be the last time we get to do the woo-woo tunnel together, and, well, I'll be a little sentimental.

And other than that? Oh yeah... my bumpy thingies. I had a doc appointment because my elbows, knees, and tattoos all developed subcutaneous bumpy thingies. (Yeah, that's a technical term, swear!) Anyway, I now have some steroid ointment for my bumpy thingies, and, I have to admit, after dealing with having holes punched in my flesh in the name of the freaky-skeery word "biopsy", being told that steroid ointment was pretty much all that it would take? Well, huzzah! Now I just need to apply the ointment so the icky-subcutaneous-bumpy-thingies can go the hell away! And now I am officially mortified from sharing TMI on the internet. Allow me to go hide in shame! (As. The Hell. If.)

But I am going to go work, because, once again, I have set me up some impossible deadlines. I do recognize that I am in charge of pushing these back--but they were set up at these times for a couple of reasons, and I hate to let my publisher down.

Also, *tee-hee* my Advent Calendar is up and my adorable alpaca is making me giggle. Everyone needs something to make them giggle...

And that's why I saved this story for last.

Okay, my mother, Alexa (not my stepmom, my bio-mom) is not always as in touch with reality as she might be-- that could be why she's in an open door mental health facility, yeah? Anyway, I send her my books-- every one that comes out in paperback gets sent to her door. Every now and then, I ask her how she has liked them.

"Oh, honey, they're so funny! They're real good. They make me laugh every time."

*cringe* "Oh. Uhm, which one made you laugh, mom? The one with the two characters who are HIV or the one with the guy who watched his entire planet die and then talked to himself for ten years?"

"The one with the gym, honey. It was so funny! They were so upset about getting to play in a gym, and it was just hilarious! What a thing to get upset about!"

*blink* "Awesome, mom. I'm glad you enjoyed the Locker Room."

"Oh, I did. Make sure you keep sending them! They're real good."

And that, folks, is the way to stay humble!

And even MORE book news!

2011-10-07T15:41:00.000-07:00

Okay-- first things first. The first thing is that Talker's Graduation is coming out on Wednesday. This is possibly the last of the series--I know that my publisher (who loves me!) is going to release all three novellas in a complete volume, and in paperback too, and I will be thrilled to hold it in my hands. I also know that these stories--short as they are--have had a peculiar, haunting effect on the people who read them. They are devoured, people love them--but they continuously ask for more. I love that, n a way. There is something so simple about Tate and Brian. Tate is broken, Brian will protect him, and that is the extent of their world. Even in this last installment, in which Brian finds his voice and Talker finds his peace, that dynamic endures. I'm so glad that resonates with people. Sometimes it's the simplest relationships that are truly the most poignant, and I think that's where the heart of these three stories really beats. The world may be complex and terrifying, but the relationship between the two guys is as simple, true, and wholesome as it gets. I hope people love this last book--I hope that like Talker, they find some peace at the end of this, and some joy for the boys' future.

Oh-- and don't forget to enter the contest at Chris's site, Stumbling Over Chaos, to get a free e-book copy of Talker's Graduation. I think there may also be another giveaway at Cup Of Porn next week, and I'll let you know about that one too! (I'm guest blogging over there on Wednesday-- something about setting and why I set everything in my own crappy backyard!)

The next thing in book news is the freebie on the Dreamspinner Press site. If you go to the paperback book page for A Solid Core of Alpha, you will find a Gary the Gargoyle door knocker. Press ol' Gary there, and you will find a little free story of mine. (There are 31 stories placed throughout the website from various authors. You have to look at the authors' products-- ALL OF THEM--to find each story.) It's sort of a little sequel to the story below, It's Not Shakespeare, which comes out in November, but it can be read alone. It actually functions VERY well as a teaser, and it's called, "You Can't Make an Omelet..." I just found out that we're going to add the story to the end of the e-book, which makes me very very happy--but that doesn't mean you shouldn't read it now. For one thing, it's about Halloween, and it gives some very good pointers about how NOT to get your house egged-- always VERY valuable, right? Oh yeah... one more thing...

The Advent Calendar is out. For right now, you can buy all twenty-six of the Advent Calendar stories for a reduced price, and have them added to your e-mail box once a day from the first of December onward, OR you can buy the stories you want. My particular story looks an AWFUL lot like this--except we changed the font. I love this picture--and if you look on "Excerpt" under the Advent Calendar link you will see the blurb and that's fun too. So, well, a whole lot of stuff, right? *whew* Excellent. At least when I say I'm busy, everyone has reason to believe me!

And, well, that's about all in book news! This weekend is another round of... well... everything. Soccer games and family shit and maybe cleaning the house. October is already a quarter of the way over... and it's not showing signs of slowing down!

And in Book News...

2011-10-05T08:45:00.000-07:00

Wow-- talk about shit sneaking up on you!

Becoming is out TODAY--available at Torquere Books and All-Romance e-books and, of course, coming in the next couple of days from amazon.com. (For those of you who are sort of addicted to amazon.com, I will tell you that ARe has better deals, and they do offer stuff in Kindle format--or .prc, if you're looking at the list. I mention this only because I know what it's like to go, "Aw, geez... but I HATE getting out my credit card to buy something." They can set you up to send stuff to your Kindle, and that's sort of cool.)

Anyway, Becoming is the fifth installment in the Jack & Teague & Katy series, aka the Green's Hill Werewolves, and it's one of the most painful. (For those of you along for the ride, you're probably wondering how ANYTHING can be more painful than Changing. Uhm, trust me. The angst only goes deeper.) The thing I really loved about this one is that editing it had me writing on Quickening again, in the dark of the night, because Green and Cory and Bracken really do have some nice moments here. And, of course, Teague...

What can I say? Teague and Jack were (as many of you know) inspired by the guys on Supernatural. But then, as inspirations go, my two guys quickly became something totally and completely different than the seeds of their creation may have indicated, and Teague is a prime example. I'm working on a character now who has layers and layers to his pain, and every time I wonder if I've got the chops to peel another layer, I look at Teague and think, "Oh yeah. I wrote THAT guy--I can do this." Teague is just so complex, so flawed, so noble, so damned damaged and so worth the pain. Yeah--he's my guy. He's my Captain Kirk, bleeding from a stomach wound and captaining the Enterprise through a battle, my Dean Winchester, cracking wise when he's bleeding out, and my Sir Galahad, serving self-lessly and without reservation, all rolled up into one. Every time I read this (and remember--three edits to prep it for publication!) the guy just sort of stabs me in the heart, and oh, how I enjoy the pain.

I REALLY hope you enjoy it as well.

(And family anecdote for the day-- it was a really shitty morning in general. Mom wasn't focusing on all four cylinders, and NOBODY was organized. Anyway, Squish decided it was a day she had to wear something blue, or something close to blue, so the outfit I gave her was fiddled with behind my back, and we didn't have time to fix it. She left the house in a red and black plaid shirt/dress and purple-heart-dotted leggings. And bright neon green Halloween socks. Where's that badge absolving me from the blame for that mess? The "I swear my kid dressed herself!" badge? Because that outfit made my eyes water!)

Really?

2011-10-03T10:10:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's that time of year again when I whine. And what time of year would that be, Amy? Any time? Yes. Any time of the year, I whine. We all know it. Let the whining commence!

'kay. Mate's soccer coaching has had a setback. Not a huge setback, but my husband did lose his temper (in a faintly passive aggressive way that I must completely blame on myself, because I think I taught him this) and the parents who have known him from anywhere from three to ten years all said, "Wow. I've never seen him mad."

I have. We're lucky things weren't worse.

On Friday night (after a series of errands that would make the hardened veteran housewife pale--well, maybe not Julie--she was a Navy wife, the military toughens you up!) we gathered at the soccer park to watch our assorted team of 3, 4, & 5 year old girls and boys face down against the Teutonic Youth Incorporated boys team. Okay, so that wasn't their official title, but most of them were somehow related--you could tell by the blond hair, blue eyes, and bowl hair cuts of at least five of the boys. And yes--they were ALL boys. There was something disheartening about watching our kids--the four year olds that Mate has to coax on the field (or order off of it because they're clinging to his leg), the small, timid boys, the frolicsome, competitive girls, and Squish, team mascot/player, face off against a little line of boys who were, to the one, at LEAST two inches taller than our TALLEST boy.

We got slaughtered. The coach had no idea how to play his kids back, and to top it off, there was that REALLY obnoxious soccer parent screaming for blood with every goal. (And that team made a lot of them. They were all big, all in sync, and all SIX. And did I mention the all boys?)

My two favorite moments of that game? Twice, Squish had the ball roll OVER HER FOOT, then she looked up and saw that massive pack of kids running directly AT HER, and proceeded to scream and bolt in the opposite direction. Twice. Yup, folks, that one has my athletic ability, there is no question about it.

And that was Friday.

Saturday, Mate's birthday, we lost 15-1.

Mate's team this year is young. The U10s needed a coach, and he said he'd do it, but he was bringing Zoomboy (another team mascot/player, don't let the uniform fool you) onto the team. He wanted to coach his own kid. (God knows why. So far, ladybug catching, cloud counting, and dirt exploration have yet to contribute a single goal to that kids four year soccer career.) The team he got was mostly eight year olds and first year players. There is one other kid besides Zoomboy who is into his fourth year in soccer, but I think I've already explained that Zoomboy doesn't really count.

Something weird has happened in the seeding. There is one other team in our division that is as... well, let's say young and inexperienced, and leave it at that. We have yet to play them. We've spent the first four games of the season watching coaches with really excellent players put those players on the bench so our kids could find their own squirrel tails with both hands and not feel like crap as they were getting played into the ground. Mate has been very grateful--and very complimentary of these coaches. "Thanks for not beating the crap out of us, my guys had a good game." He's felt bad--the really good kids aren't getting any playing time, and his team isn't going to win. It's hard--he gets excited during practice because his kids are LEARNING HOW TO PLAY--they're executing plays, they're understanding the game, they're excited about what they're doing--but when they get to the field, they're facing teams who have known what they were doing since they were five years old--which was half their lifetime ago. He's been patiently gritting his teeth, telling his players they're doing a good job and to go out and have fun, and praying they can make it to the time when the teams get re-seeded and his team actually gets to play against other teams of the SAME ability. He doesn't care if they lose 2-0 when they're playing their hearts out. It's when they lose 15-1, and they've given up at the end that kills him.

Well, that's what happened Saturday, while the other coach screamed at his kids to punch up their defense and the other parents screamed for blood with every goal.

And one of his kids-- we still don't know which one--likes to punch kids on the shoulder--it's a "good game" sort of thing. A little boy sort of thing. Mate didn't see it as he was leading the kids through the high fives, but the little boy socked the other kids on the shoulder instead of high fiving while he said "Good game."

He socked the coaches daughter (who played like a champion) on the shoulder, and she cried. The coach came over with the ref, and Mate said, "I'm sorry about that, did you see who did it?" The little girl didn't. Mate said, "I can talk to the team, but I can't call the player out right now unless you saw who did it." The little girl still couldn't name the kid who had socked her in the shoulder, and Mate promised again to talk to the team and try to get an apology, when the other coach--remember, the one who was coaching his players to slaughter us and screaming across the field? That one? Said, "Yeah, coach, you go ahead and talk to your team!"

And Mate said, "Maybe my kids were just pissed because they lost 15-1."

And he turned away and walked off, while his assistant coach talked about how punching was bad and the other coach stared at him like bad sportsmanship starts and ends with the high-fives at the end of the game.

Mate would tell you it's not his finest moment and he's not proud of it. I know he's probably thinking of sixteen other ways he could have handled that moment--hey, I've been there, I know the feeling. But sportsmanship can not simply be a one way street. It cannot just be something shown by the losers when there's dirt all over their faces, it has to be shown by the winners who are helping them up off the ground. (Actually, I hope this is sort of the lesson they're learning in New York and Washington with this whole "Take Over Wall Street" thing--all the non-taxable rich people are the absolute pinnacle of bad sportsmanship, and those of us getting knocked in the dirt are not always going to remember our manners when we're fishing ourselves out.)

Now one of the things that probably made this other coach angry was that the one girl on his team was his daughter, and he felt it very personally when she was disrespected. I wonder if he realized that the little lost soul on the field, the one who kept losing his shoe and didn't know which way to run, was our son, and that he spent the least amount of time on the field as anyone else on our team? Yes, he's our son, but he's also a member of a collective for this moment, and in this case, the collective needs outweighed his need to wander in the mud puddle and lose his shoe. Did the other coach put that together with the fact that, yes, he may want his daughter's team to win, but his team wasn't the only set of little kids on the field, and that sometimes some folks need to sit out so that the collective can benefit? I'm thinking not. I'm thinking that he feels terribly, terribly wronged. But our little boys treated his team respectfully when they were playing--and probably one of them didn't realize the terrible disrespect in that playful sock on the arm. (I'm thinking it was playful-- these aren't the kids that roughhouse when they're at rest, and there's not a lot of competition and violence in them. I can't imagine that they just go around smashing on other kids for the hell of it, because they don't do it during practice.)

What I do know is it took a birthday dinner (my parents took us out), three hours at the computer, one John Wayne movie, a trip to the park and three Buffy episodes for Mate to finally, finally let it go, and when I woke him up this morning, (twenty minutes late) he didn't believe it was Monday. Apparently he lost his entire Sunday to brooding about those two games and how he had failed his teams.

And I'm thinking that to me, he's probably the best coach in creation, because soccer really is just a game to him, and it's all that other stuff that comes first.

Saturday Snark

2011-10-01T07:44:00.000-07:00

Marie Sexton is doing Saturday Snark again, and although I missed it last Saturday (Chicken's b-day) I thought I could make it today before running off into the maelstrom of what is Mate's b-day today:-)

This one's from The Locker Room and it wasn't until I tried to do this that I realized how very many of this book's best moments are tied up with some real sad moments as well:

"Xander!"

Was that in his dream? He couldn't decide for a moment.

"Xander!"

He kept his eyes and his mouth clamped shut and screamed, and then one of the dogs half-whuufed and he was startled into looking into the dark of his room. He flailed for Chris, but Chris wasn't there, but Chris's voice screamed, "Xander!" and suddenly he was bolt upright in bed and wide awake.

"Fuck," he muttered, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. "Oh, Jesus fuck me, Chris?"

"Jesus better not be fucking you, genius--that's my job!"

Chris's voice was faintly disembodied, and Xander turned toward the brightened computer screen to see Chris, in a nice looking hotel room, looking back at him.

"Oh." Suddenly what Chris had said penetrated, and Xander's inner fifth grader (never far from the surface) reared his head, and Xander choked on a smirk. "Oh, geez, Chris, we're going to hell for that!"

"Hey, you swore first!"

Art Begets Art

2011-09-29T18:43:00.000-07:00

Okay, I've said this forever. And ever and ever. And it seems like the simplest of ideas, but very often our politicians or our education systems or whatever don't get it. But it's true. Our art is what is remembered, and Art Begets Art.

I loved being the docent for the Kindergarten and the 3rd grade classes. I learned VERY much about Renoir, Degas, Lautrec, and not telling 3rd graders when an artist dies of alcoholism, no matter WHAT the curriculum says about it being part of the presentation. (Damn Lautrec anyway-- it's not like his name wasn't hilarious as well...)

So I'm proud of being a part of that--and today, when I met Sam and his mother and family (loveliest people ON the planet, bar none!) at the park with my children, I was also pleased that two different children knew me. I was the "art lady" and Zoomboy and Squish were considered VERY lucky.

And then Chicken showed me her project from art (pictured above) which was inspired from this song and this show, and I thought that there is something to be said for passing on this value, that art is important and that our civilization is marked by our art and our literature and by the things that we are passionate about...

And that our idiot politicians can bicker about the rights of man all they want, but the rest of us? We know that responding to art is one thing those morons can NEVER take away.

Uhm, yeah... I don't know where to go with that...

2011-09-27T09:11:00.000-07:00

Okay... Squish was home sick yesterday which was... awkward.

She's apparently accustomed herself to the breakneck cosmopolitan pace of Kindergarten and the simple pleasure of sitting on Mom's lap was reduced to a clingy, whiny mopefest of how bored she was--at the same time she could barely move without seal-coughing loud enough to attract big bull sea-lions from the nearest bay. I was going to send her to school this morning so I didn't kill her (or at least yell at her again!) and also because I'm the art docent today (and tomorrow) and I really sort of don't want to make Mate come home to watch the kids so I can go to their school, because there is just something fundamentally and karmically wrong with that, we all know it!

So, there we were, rooting for her cough to go away and her fever to not return (it didn't) and then, at two o'clock in the morning, Zoomboy did an unexpected thing: He requested permission (I am not lying about this) to throw up.

"What?" I asked, unaware that he had even crawled into bed with us.

"I think I'm going to throw up. Can I go into the bathroom and use the toilet?"

"By all means!" Mate barked, horrified (and not sure if he could race to the end of the hallway in time, as he has during pukies past!)

This morning? He was fine. Seriously. No bullshit fine. Jumped up, went and picked out a shirt for him and a complementing shirt for Squish. We were thrilled. And he gets to be there when I come into his class and talk about Degas and Lautrec and Renoir and Carnival, and then make little paper figures connected with brads to show movement, and I'm really pleased and I really hope I don't foul this up.

And, uhm, speaking of foul.

See, I wrote a story about this object to the right. It's funny. It's cute. Roxie can vouch that the sex is not gratuitous, and that the romantic payoff is worth the abuse of knitwear. And then I put the pattern for the object to the right in the story. And knitted up a sample. And my editor wanted a picture. So there I was, outside, trying to take a picture of the object to the right in front of my house, when the mail lady came by to deliver the mail.

She really had no comeback, explanation, or comprehension when I explained that I had written a pattern and I needed a picture to go with it. She literally didn't know where to go with that.

And there is a sort of war going on for the space on my phone--with three participants trying to outdo the other. See, my friend Mary Calmes who loves me keeps sending me texts full of eye-candy... the picture of my favorite Winchester boys here is only one, and it's really one of the few that might not have some sort of artistic licensing thing to it (because I've been DYING to post the others because they're PRETTY!) and, well, they really do make my day.

And then Chicken realized what was going on, and SHE started sending me pictures that SHE found on line. This demotivator poster cracks me up every time, but trust me-- she finds PLENTY of free pictures of boys kissing, just to crowd up my phone. She and Mary have been having a war--they will randomly send me hot pictures of pretty boys and I will pass them along, but in the meantime, the picture card on my phone is getting FULL!

And then, probably without realizing it, Elizabeth got in on the deal. She sent me some motivating pretties from God-with-a-camera, Dan Skinner, who did the cover for Clear Water, and whose tasteful, non-nekkid pictures just got BANNED FROM FACEBOOK because of the two-guy content. Which is why I put the Dan Skinner picture up top. Because it's beautiful, and, well, I sort of wanted the world to know that there MUCH WORSE THINGS on frickin' Facebook than that.

And also because Elizabeth said it reminded her of Green's Hill. And I miss Green's Hill. Quickening is not coming along quickly at all--I keep having to make way for things that pay the rent, and my Little Goddess is languishing in her pregnancy. I will get there... but in the meantime, it's lovely to have a picture that reminds me of someplace I really love.

And I think that's all... because seriously, I don't really know where to go with that....

Happy Birthday, Chicken

2011-09-25T11:50:00.000-07:00

On Chicken's 17th Birthday we...

1. Picked up her gifrickinnormous birthday cookie
2. Dropped her brother off at the Sac Horror Con
3. Went to a soccer game where her team had no subs
4. Watched Chicken almost score twice and walk off a sprained ankle-- no subs, remember?
5. Sang happy birthday to her and shared the cookie at soccer
6. Went back to join Big T at Sac Horror
7. Met Tad Williams. (SQQQUUUEEEEEE!)
8. Met Nicholas Brennan (SSSSSSSQQQQQQQUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!)
9. Took Chicken's picture. (It's not as beautiful as the moment:-)
10. Got a picture of a swamp monster too.
11. Bought an impossibly beautiful ink and pencil drawing.
12. Got In N Out on the way home because we were STARVING
13. Came home and met Mate & the short people who had spent the day at soccer and sunsplash.
14. Took care of Squish--she was sick.
15. Watched DVR'd television until Chicken reluctantly showered and said goodbye to her beauty parlor straight, soft, & fluffy hair from Senior Portrait day.

16. Agreed that it was a very good day.

Bullet Points

2011-09-23T22:51:00.000-07:00

Someone told me that bullet points were the best invention of the eighties--I'll take their word for it, but I do have to admit they come in handy, especially when there is all sorts of random information someone has to share. To wit:

* Squish has actually PLAYED soccer for her last few practices. Mostly because we told her we wouldn't put her in soccer, and Dad CERTAINLY wouldn't coach if she didn't show some effort. Okay, yeah, it sounds like blackmail, but, well, it worked!

* Chicken got the spa treatment today-- hair, nails, make-up--all so she could have her Senior portraits taken. Funny thing? I told her to wear her black jacquard Chinese lounging jacket, and she did--and I put up her straightened, polished soft and shiny hair in chopsticks and she came into the photo room, and the guy went, "I have to admit, I've never seen this before. What do I do with this?" We were like, "Uhm, give her a book or a pad of paper and a pen!" I think the picture will look lovely, and Chicken overcame her mortification at being pressed, polished, pureed, and generally prodded into the role of being a real girl, and was able to claim some benign rebellion over the entire process which, she is quick to say, was NEVER her idea in the first place.

Me? I'm thinking of paying them to dye my hair next time. Considering how bad I am at it? Hell-- couldn't hurt!

* We forgot Zoomboy's Little Brown Pill for two days running. We have the feeling that once again, Mate and I just flunked homework.

* Big T has survived another week getting under mom's feet. I almost MADE him go up to Oregon to be trained at Roxie's husband's machine shop, but I don't want to sit on his hopes to be a screenwriter.

* Me? I've got a WICKED WIP going on--it's called Chasing Shadows, and I'm going to keep this one close to the vest, just like Alpha, because it threatens to razorblade my heart and let it fall out of my chest and thump-splud on the floor at your feet.

* I've got two releases in October--one for the 5th Jack & Teague and one for the third Talker, called Talker's Graduation.

*Speaking of Talker's Graduation, my publisher told me that they were going to consolidate the three stories and release them in a paperbound volume (YAY!)

* And speaking of Jack & Teague, my editor told me that they REALLY wanted to see some more menage from me--which means more writing in the Cory-verse, which means that even though Quickening is not coming along NEARLY as fast as I hoped, I'll still be in the Cory-verse, which makes me VERY happy.

* And back to me and kids? I've volunteered to be the Art Docent for two of my children's classes. This means I have to put together a presentation and a lesson plan and then cut out and prepare materials and basically? It's a lot of work, and it's due next week, both the Kindergarten AND the third grade presentations. I'm REALLY excited--I think I'll learn a WHOLE lot--and I'm also REALLY nervous, because little kids are SUCH a different kettle of fish. But I think it will be a good thing--even though it will steal some of my writing time that I really can't afford to let go.

A Brief Meditation on Messy

2011-09-21T23:08:00.000-07:00

I went to Squish and Zoomboy's Back To School night tonight--I covered both kids because Mate was doing soccer pictures as Coach. I spoke briefly to both of Zoomboy's teachers--I mentioned his open 504, and that if he happens to miss his meds, they'll know it, but that he very much wants to do well. His social studies teacher agreed, and then said, "Oh, I'm so sorry I made him cry."

"How'd you make him cry?" (She seemed like such a nice woman, too!)

"Well, my cat passed away this week, and I was telling the kids that it made me sad, but that we buried him and now he's part of the earth, and suddenly Zoomboy started to cry, and he told us about Dennis Quaid, your orange cat? And then the little girl next to HIM started to cry, because she remembered when HER cat died, and then the little boy sitting with us started to cry because he remembered when his dog died. I felt so bad. Everyone else went off to recess and we stayed in having a group hug."

"Oh my God!" (Seriously-- I was torn between cracking up and apologizing!) "I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, don't be. It was a really lovely moment. I felt like we'd really shared an experience."

That's why it's okay to be messy. Group hugs, people who hurt with you, a shared experience instead of a lonely one. That's what messy gives you sometimes.

***

And speaking of messy? Squish had a big messy meltdown when she realized that tonight she was supposed to sing the Pizza Hut song to her parents and she missed it because she was getting her soccer picture taken. I helped her feel better by singing it with her... "Pizza Hut, Pizza Hut, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut, McDonalds McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza Hut!" I swear, if it hadn't been 105 degrees, I would have been STARVING.

--And that's it-- a brief moment contemplating messy!

(And this one's for Chicken--who loves this song!)

Further on Up the Road

2011-09-19T09:36:00.000-07:00

Two wheels, will travel!

We were on our way to drop Big T off at my parents on Sunday, when we we saw this weird and ingenious contraption. Look at that! It's a motorcycle with a bicycle rack! Apparently, if it's got two wheels, this guy is obsessed! We thought it was awesome--and let me say, I'm proud of that picture. A phone camera from a moving car... dude!

Can I pet?

Anyway, at my folks house, there are kittens. I only got a picture of one, but there are two babies and a teenaged mama, and my mom is very happy to have kittens in the house again. So were my kids, who, of course, were absolutely sure that they had never petted a kitten, ever. The whole world seems to assume that we got Steve just as fat and happy as she is now, and I assure them that is not the case. If Steve hadn't been a kitten when we got her, she wouldn't keep thinking she could jump places she really can't, and then falling on her fat Steve ass to the general hilarity of all!

And in other news... lemme see lemme see...

Oh yes-- Superheroes!

First of all--there are a lot of superheroes out there. Some of the responses I got here and at goodreads.com made me aware that people are strong and amazing, and I am so impressed with you all. Bringing my kids ice water or juice when I go to pick them up seems sort of pansy assed compared to all the shit you all do. I'm proud to know you.

Second of all-- Saturday Snark! That was fun! Let's do it again! And, of course, if there's a line or a moment you'd like to see in Saturday Snark, let me know. It's funny how many lines I want to throw up there! ("Jesus, Sparky! Stop touching my cat!" or "Yeah, three's a scary number. We don't linger on three." were both runner ups for Saturday.) Anyway, let me know, and maybe it'll make it up and we can help make Marvelous Marie Sexton's latest brainchild a total success.

And as for the title? Well, besides the fact that Season 7 is starting on Friday! (EEEEEEE!!) There is also this sort of melancholy realization that there are folks out there I haven't seen in almost a year, and that I miss them, and our shared purpose. Not all of them, and not every part of what it was we were, but I miss them. Maybe I'll meet them further on up the road.

And KnitTech? This one's for us:-)

Saturday Snark

2011-09-17T07:02:00.000-07:00

Okay, my friend Marie Sexton who has this whole blog-promotion thing down WAY better than I ever will, has this thing called Saturday Snark, where you post your characters saying something snarky. I figure my characters have snark to spare, so I thought I'd participate. Patrick and Whiskey have been making a lot of friends recently, so I figured I'd start there, although I've got some Deacon lines I'd REALLY like to throw in, because he's got some rather hidden snark in there that he doesn't get a lot of credit for. That's okay. I think Marie's going to be doing this for a while.

If you follow the link above, you will find a bunch of other authors, posting THEIR snark, and basically, it's supposed to be a very fun, snarky tour through other people's books! Thanks, Marie, for the opportunity to snark!

So this is Patrick, explaining how Ritalin effects his widdo cortex:

Whiskey shook his head. "Uhm, what's gonna be different about you?"

"With the LBP?" (Little Brown Pill)

"Yeah. what's it do to you?"

Patrick pretended to think. "Well, first I get hella horny, and then I start humping the furniture."

On Being a Superhero

2011-09-16T09:56:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm in the middle of changing Super Sock Man from a short story to a novella, and I realized that part of the story hinges upon the idea of being a superhero.

Donnie puts on the socks (still under construction, by the way) and feels like a confident, sexy, superhero, and, well, in the novella, I sort of run with that in a couple of directions. I mean we all know how I feel about superheroes, right?

But as the rhythm of my life changes--from someone with an outside job to someone with a job at home, from someone with kids at home during the summer to someone with kids at school I've discovered that some of the simplest things, some of the stuff I didn't get a chance to do before because I was so damned busy, makes me feel like a hero.

Now housework is not one of my priorities, and will never be one of my priorities, so don't anyone think I'm going all Martha Stewart on your asses. It's just that getting a chance to serve my family--in a way I haven't before, really--is unexpectedly really frickin' cool. So here's a list of things, in no particular order, that have made me feel like a superhero lately.

* Making lunch for the kids, and putting it in their own, specially chosen lunch boxes.

* Making a sandwich for my teenaged daughter, even though she's been capable and expected of doing this for herself for years.

* Helping Squish do her decorate the paper doll like herself homework over four days early.

* Doing Squish's hair. Today it's in pigtails.

* Letting my kids walk to their friend's house after school once a week.

* Helping my friend's daughter sell cupcakes for her sixth grade trip.

* Helping Chicken read 1984.

* Cleaning off the kitchen table before it collapses from the weight.

* Making plans to fold clothes before the next family vacation.

* Cutting fast food dinners down to one or two a week.

* Easing up on the family's dependence on McDonalds as a whole.

* Giving my college aged son advice on how to get a job.

* Reassuring the dog that in spite of advanced, advanced, advanced, ADVANCED middle aged, she still hasn't lost the ability to strike terror into the heart of the poor guy working on the neighbor's house.

* Designing and knitting a sock for the Super Sock Man story.

* Designing and knitting an, erm, cock sock for my Christmas submission to the Advent Calendar this year.

* Having the car mostly fixed with the exception of needing some matching tires.

* And managing to blog a LOT more in September than I did in August!

So what have you done that makes YOU feel like a superhero lately?

Kids and etc...

2011-09-13T12:41:00.000-07:00

So the other morning, Mate's dad called to update us on his health (a little skeery, but okay for the moment) and Zoomboy came into the kitchen. Mate's dad hasn't seen Zoomboy since... well... four years ago? Five. No, it was five. We've got the picture to prove it.

Anyway, I asked him if he wanted to talk to Zoomboy--because, yanno, a seven year old can almost converse like a real human being. The conversation--which I could only hear part of--went something like this.

Zoomboy: Hello.
Beat.
"Grandpa Bill?"
Beat.
"Dad's dad. Okay."
Beat.
"3rd grade."
Beat.
"Mrs. Hilton."
Beat.
"Yes, soccer."
Beat.
"Yes."
Beat.
"Yes. My dad coaches."
Beat.
"We lost."
Beat.
"Okay. Mom, he says bye."

And I thought to myself, "And that right there ladies and gentlemen is three generations of minimalist communications at work. It's a thing of fuckin' beauty."

***

This morning, after making lunches (and have I told you all that this makes me a hero? Seriously. Had no frickin' idea.) I went in to see Squish putting on her socks. She was still wearing her nightgown and was lying back with her feet in the air, putting one on, then the other, and looking at them with sort of a dreamy admiration.

I hadn't picked out these socks, nor had I picked out her outfit for the day, but there she was, in a pair of mismatched--and I mean COMPLETELY mismatched, one was ankle length, one went to mid-calf, one was purple and snowmen, one was pink and black checkerboard--socks, and her nightgown, looking at me with her little freckled cheeks all scrunched up.

"I got my socks on, mom."

"Yeah you do."

"Aren't they pretty?"

Of course they were:-)

***

Also this morning, I walked by Chicken's room. Chicken was rooting on her dresser for something, her back (and backside) to her bed. She was wearing her corduroy pants, and her cat was making sweet, heavenly, tender check&whisker lurve to her ass.

I stopped, and watched as that cat kept rubbing up against her back pockets like she was catnip with a tuna chaser, and said, "Uhm, that cat REALLY loves you."

"Oh God--is Gordie kissing my ass again?" She turned around and scritched him behind the ears. "Yeah, he's my bitch."

When she goes away to school, that cat is never going to leave us alone. Bank on that. I'll be wearing him like a needy gray "where's my human?" necklace. Mark my words.

***

And Big T gets a ride to the bus stop for school twice a week, when I'm on my way to aqua aerobics. This morning, I almost forgot to drop him off. I had to kick him out of the car when we sat at the intersection. He looked at me reprovingly and I said, "Hey, you're eighteen, at least I stopped the car!"

Well, we can't all be sunshine and lollipops, can we?

***

Oh yeah-- Talker's Graduation is out on October 12th. In case that means anything to anybody:-)

Soccer Saturday, and Why I Didn't Kill Anyone

2011-09-11T10:03:00.000-07:00

So yesterday was a soccer day-- and it was MISERABLE. Temperature in the 100'ds, humid, air quality for shit--just gross. So when I got back from taking Chicken to her two ref jobs, I was not surprised to see everybody in shorts going to Zoomboy's game. (Chicken had a game in an hour too--we had to split up, which we don't usually do, because their games overlapped.) I was sort of surprised to see this outfit on Squish.

"Hey," I said, "didn't that used to be a dress?"
"Yeah," said Mate, looking at her grimly.
"That's okay," said Chicken, with the same expression on her face, "I'm pretty sure those used to be shorts, too!"

Well, it made her happy, but it reminded ME that I need to clean out her clothes hamper more often, because that outfit is a lot of things, but FITTING HER BODY is not one of them. So the day was hard--for the soccer players more than the soccer mom, who sat at the sidelines and sucked down water and thought longingly of actually WRITING since, yanno, that is sort of her profession. Actually, though, at Chicken's game, I DID start getting unaccountably bitter. Bitchy. Moody. I mean, more than usual. You know, it's AMAZING what skipping lunch can do for a person? Seriously--if it wasn't for a granola bar in the bottom of my purse, I might have killed someone.

And, of course, my knitting...

This T-shirt (modeled over Chicken's head, actually) a gift from my friend Elizabeth, was waiting for me when we got home at five o'clock. (For those keeping track, that was soccer from 9-5, oh yes it was. Mate guided Zoomboy's team to an enthusiastic loss at 5-2-- seriously. He was expecting to get creamed, and that's not what happened. Zoomboy even kicked the ball once. On purpose. It was in the WRONG DIRECTION, but his intent to help canNOT be doubted.)

But the T-shirt pretty much insured that nobody would die yesterday--I was too busy laughing, and working on my socks for the Super Sock Man story. All good!

Talking Dirty

2011-09-08T16:33:00.000-07:00

Okay-- my friend is on the phone, talking about getting her alpaca fleece sheared and processed, and then finding a spinner to buy it, and seriously-- it's like she's seducing me with fresh, quality critter fur. I WANT TO SPIN THAT! (Okay-- not these critters-- these critters were found on Bing images, and while charming, they do not have the personal appeal of a personal alpaca and it's body hair. Knitters, rally to this-- you know what I'm talking about!)

Anyway, my house is a crapfestive craptastic crapgasm--and buying ONE MORE THING and investing in ONE MORE HOBBY is completely out of the question. But that only makes all her seductive talk about fleece and combining it with Romney and roving that much more of a turn on, yanno?

Anyway...

In other news, I went and ruined Chicken's social life last night. Oh yeah, some people call it back to school night, but yeah. Not the way I do it. I try very hard to make sure EVERY teacher remembers my name. And Chicken spends the rest of the year trying VERY HARD to make sure they forget hers. It's been a good system-- and this is the last year we're seeing it in action. *sigh*

Also, I'd like to thank everyone who made such nice comments about Clear Water. My odd little duck apparently inspired a VERY popular odd little frog--I'm so glad that Patrick was lovable and real to people, and that Whiskey seemed to be the same. (Whiskey is a little foul-mouthed and grump-tacular) at times--I was worried;-)

And seriously--if you want to know how tired my kids are of take-out, check out THIS weirdness. I was trying to get them up this morning (soccer practice last night--they were TIRED!) and when they wouldn't wake up to get their clothes on I had to threaten them with a cafeteria lunch if they didn't dress themselves. It wasn't an idle threat--I didn't have time to dress them while they slept and make their own sandwiches--and I think it surprised them both. *shrugs* pb&j or a ham sandwich--who knew they were magic?

I noticed something very disturbing, btw. I took my son to wait for the bus and watched him--earphones on, iPod blaring--walk toward his bus stop, ignoring the truck he was wandering in front of, and generally clueless as a baby duck. Oh crap. He's eighteen, right? He's 6'5" tall, right? He's got a blackbelt in karate, right? Yup. But that boy still done got some growing to do.

Zoomboy, btw, seems to have sprouted into an actual boy. Sorta blows my mind. And, as promised, girls keep falling into his dimples--see? Sometimes, mama DOES know best!

And Squish? She told a friend's mom that her mom was aMAZing. Why? Because I put Cheetohs in her lunch.

Have I mentioned, life is a widdobit stwange?

Like a sting ray, only smaller...

2011-09-06T11:18:00.000-07:00

We spent the long weekend in Monterey.

We go there as often as we can. Something about the lovely, seventy degree climate, the aquarium (which you can see Zoomboy enjoying with oomph!) and the smell of the sea makes the entire family gazunga scads of happy. Mate, my beloved Mate, who has not really had a vacation out of town that didn't involve work in a LOOONGGG time, was also gazunga scads of happy.

We ate crepes (Squish liked hers with apples and cinnamon),

And went on a whale watching excursion (during which we saw NO whales--but did get a raincheck) and ate clam chowder in bread bowls and ran along the beach (where we saw dolphins offshore. Go figure.)

Mate popped a tire on the car going into a place called Phat Burger, run by two kids who had been best friends since high school, and made THE. BEST. FOOD. EVER. Including sweet potato fries, and garlic fries that lived for hours after eaten. He got the tire fixed while we were running on the beach, and said next time we go there, he'll know how to take that turn. And that we WOULD go there again, because, as I said, BEST. BURGER. EVER.

We saw that rarity of rarities--Big T on a family outing, as well as a photographed smile on Chicken. We spent the nights in a hotel room which slept six, but only had a television in the room with one bed. All six of us crammed onto that one bed to watch the last six episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender, on Nickle-odian, which replayed the whole series for the weekend. Some people might have called that odd. We called it family.

And we got to see Zoomboy in his natural element--where the sea and the sky contend with each other, to see whose roar is the loudest. Even Zoomboy was ready to go home at the end. (He astounded us all on the way home, btw. We got stuck in traffic, and he had to pee in a bottle. Besides making the whole car giggle terribly, he filled a 16 oz water bottle--Mate and I have now sworn NEVER to ask him "Can you hold it?" again. Obviously he CAN hold it--and if the boy's gotta go, he damned well has to go!) Everybody had pink cheeks, sore from laughing at the end of three days.

Waking up this morning to get everyone off to school was hard. But I asked the short people, "Did we have a good time?"

"YES!"

This is my family, having a wonderful time:-)

Clear Water

2011-09-02T08:10:00.001-07:00

I've talked a little bit about my son's diagnosis w/ADHD, and my own realization that I'm lousy with it, and for the most part, it's all good. Zoomboy's little brown pill has made his school life MUCH easier--after one month on it last year, his school test scores (and this is one more reason to abhor that whole process, honestly) went from DNF in his practice runs to almost advanced in the real thing. We're pretty sure he's going to do scary good this year, all thanks to psychiatric science and a little bit of support.

And as for me? I was just lucky that the things I was good at--the environment I could control--just happened to fall in line with what society thought was important too, at the time. I could read and write and folks thought that made me a good kid and didn't realize that that irritating "flakiness" was anything other than me. Being me. I worked with it--it became my schtick. Still is. I'm fine.

But I've run into parents (and mentors) who have been really, completely disdainful about the whole thing. "He doesn't need any frickin' drugs! He's just not trying! He's a screw up!" And watching the transformation in my own son--the confidence he's gotten from knowing that he CAN do these things, and that the little brown pill really HELPS him do these things--I've got to wonder, how's that going to feel after fifteen, sixteen years?

Clear Water is not an angsty story--it's not. I've been calling it "anti-angst", and I mean it. After Locker Room, Living Promises, Alpha, and Talker's Graduation, I wanted something sustained and light, dammit, and tears were NOT an option. I'd also just been subjected to a whole lot of involuntary research into something that looked like it could make a VERY interesting character. And don't ask me where I saw the two-headed frogs. *shakes head*

Now I'm sure some of the voices out there are going to rip poor Patrick apart, claiming that he's either "over the top" or "so immature that nobody would want him". The fact is, Patrick really IS part of that research. Patrick is adult ADHD--rare, but real. Adults with this disorder either A. Find something they are TOTALLY brilliant at, and succeed in really oddball ways, or B. end up unemployed or in prison. A lot of option B is a self-image thing. They've been told they're screwups their entire lives--and they can't seem to keep focused or control their temper, so the world must be right. So people can say what they want about Patrick--I know the truth, and I'm gonna beg them to leave my sweet little frog alone. He's a lot more vulnerable than the world things he is, and a lot smarter too--and that's why he needed Whiskey to save him. Every little frog needs a safe place to huddle when the world gets too busy, right?

So enjoy Clear Water, and my sweet little frog. I loved writing this book. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Desperate Porn-Writing Housewives

2011-08-31T20:45:00.000-07:00

Okay-- I don't write porn, you all know I don't, but it's so much fun to get everyone's attention that way! And, well, it does make the story better.

So I had to give up my work out this morning because the phone repair guy was coming, right? (And if I was a MILF instead of, you know, me, that WOULD be the intro to a porn flick. Also, if my teenaged son wasn't hanging around the house being bored and useful between classes, because the MILF flicks tend to just blow off the whole "must have children" part of that acronym.) Anyway, it was okay, because I was JUST at the end of my Christmas story (due tomorrow) and I got into a real groove, and, well, was writing my ass off!

And it's a short story. And I was at the, erm, climax of the story. And leading to the climax of the climax, mostly, if you know what I mean.

And then the phone guy arrived. At first, the only big deal was my humiliation in letting a complete stranger into THE dirtiest house of all time. Yeah--it's a mess. I'm having cleaning delusions, and I may even get to some of them before we take off on Friday, but in the meantime, I've got the stranger, my house crapgasm, and my complete embarrassment.

Oh yeah. And the dog. The dog was okay with the guy, right up until we hid her when he went into the back yard and then she SAW him walk from the side of the house without seeing how he got there. She almost had a heart attack, and then, as she bayed in the guy's face, she almost shared with him.

We dragged her to the garage, and the poor man then said, "Oh, hey, can I see your modem?"

My son had to show him where our modem was. I had no idea what that piece of equipment on the top of the bookshelf was--and then the nice repairman (ginger hair, freckles, average build, COMPLETELY bomb proof expression) had to root around between the kids' bed and the bookshelf in order to unplug the the damned thing. Oh the dust! Oh the beany babies! Oh the nameless, sticky substances! *shudder*

I couldn't watch. I came in to the kitchen with the crumbs on the tablecloth and sat down to finish my, erm, climactic part of the story. I had to turn the internet off--the DSL was unplugged, remember? And this made the next part that much worse.

There I was, one hero undressing the other, breath was coming in pants and pants were coming off and things were sticking out and things were getting stroked and... uhm...

"I'm sorry, can I use your laptop?"

I looked over my shoulder, and there was my bombproof repairman, looking serenely at my two heroes, about ready to do the two-backed mammal.

"Uhm, yeah! Here! Lemme pull up... oh shit... internet! Yeah! Internet! Lemme pull it (oh crap oh crap!) INTERNET!" Now, while I was saying this, I was holding my hand up in front of my screen and looking greenly over my shoulder at the repairman who didn't know me from any other large woman in a tent-sized Big Dog T-shirt.

He gazed serenely back, and then, oh thank the Goddess, the damned internet came up.

I couldn't look. I wandered restively around the living room, wondering if I should bother picking shit up. I figured no, because I didn't on any OTHER given day, and the fact is, we'd had the DSL for eight years and they're only supposed to last three, so odds were good I wouldn't be seeing this guy again.

He pulled up the internet and had a question for Mate about "firmware" (and given my now pinpoint obsession about what I was writing about, the word made me giggle like you wouldn't BELIEVE) and then gave me back the phone.

"Well, I'm done," he said, and my relief was... well....

"You're DONE? WHEEE! EXCELLENT! FISTBUMP!"

The guy held his fist up for me gamely, and smiled with bemusement when I did the firework-flameout thing with my hand when I was done.

I'm sure he left nodding his head at the weirdness of folks, and me?

I figured that those people who come up with those movie scenarios must live VERY different kinds of lives.

Oh, and for the closing moment of an odd day? We were driving to soccer practice when Squish said, "Oh look! I saw rabbits! They were in somebody's yard, and now I believe in BUNNIES!"

That's a fairly safe thing to believe in, actually--I'm 98% sure they exist.

Poetry, History, and Philosophy

2011-08-28T19:55:00.001-07:00

Poetry is more important than history or philosophy.

Aristotle

This is Andrew and Ariel-- they went to Book Expo of America for my publisher, Dreamspinner, this year, back in May. While they were there, a friend of mine from the Paranormal Romance Guild, another writer, Marianne Morea, saw my name, and said, "I know Amy!" and Andrew and Ariel said, "So do we!" and this picture was taken.

They're holding my titles.

This picture means a lot to me.

Besides the obvious--and most important--thing of finding friends in an industry that is, by nature, isolated, there's that whole "holding my titles" thing.

When I taught high school, I had quotes ALL over my room, including the one by Aristotle, up by the clock. It's got some interesting ramifications.

Back in the day--you know, when Aristotle roamed the earth and everything looked like the Houses of the Holy album cover by Led Zeppelin--poetry didn't strictly refer to the short lyric poem that everyone thinks of today, and it didn't just refer to the big, scary epic poems of Homer or Virgil or even Ovid, either. Back in the day, poetry also referred to the plays, both comic and tragic that were the core of the Greek Theatre (upon which the Renaissance theatre was based, and therefore, much of what we know about theatre now!)

One of Aristotle's crowning achievements was his "manual for writing and understanding fiction", Poetics. Some of his stuff, we take it upon ourselves to ignore--his insistence that a play only cover the span of twenty-four hours, for example, we feel free to wreak havoc with--but that doesn't mean it's not still with us. Some people think that the reason Romeo and Juliet meet, get married, get it on, and get dead, all in the span of a week was that Willy-boy was trying to follow the rules. He ended up breaking the in a big way with a lot of his other works, but remember, R&J was one of his early creations, and he hadn't quite found a way to tell Aristotle to piss off, he had his own voice, by then. The rules of Epic Poetry and the rules of a Tragic Hero and the Satiric Hero (I capitalize these concepts because I love them, and they are my friends) were Aristotle's, so we can all concede, boyfriend knew his shit. And boyfriend's shit was related to poetry. Today, when we're not talking about lyric poetry (which, granted, we hear more in music today, although there are some perfectly magnificent actual poets out there) we're talking epic or historical poems (fiction books) or plays (movies or theatre).

So, while that quote seems to apply just to hearts and flowers and Cavalier poets talking out their peen, what it really is talking about, is fiction.

I had the hardest time getting this idea across to my students.

See, here's the thing. How many of us watch the news and memorize parts of it? Hands up? Anyone? There's just too much to know, isn't there? How many of us have lived through actual warfare? Some of us, I know--there are veterans out there, to whom I am grateful every day--but in actual numbers, compared to the everyday citizen? Not so much.

Now how many of us remember who was the leader of the Department of Defense when the war in Iraq began? How about the Speaker of the House? Which countries are we occupying right now? Who are the leaders there? Do the populations in those countries support us or not? What is our personal philosophy regarding these occupations--do we have it sorted out for each political cause and are we sure we know which political cause is which in the Middle East? (Someone reading this probably has their shit sorted and their deets documented for this one--and I salute you. Hell, I kiss the ground at your bloody feet for it--because every time I try, I get the same mental block that I get when I try to remember which of the cube-like buildings in the Intel complex my husband works in. I don't care if it's the only two story one--they all look the same and my eyes glaze over and I end up driving to the wrong one on principle!)

Now how many of us watched The Green Zone, or The Hurt Locker, or The Messenger and cried, raged, tore our hair out or bit our nails in response to what the characters went through and the basic injustices

That is the difference between History, Philosophy, and Poetry.

History can inform, Philosophy can debate, but Poetry, and Poetry only, can create human beings out of information and opinion and give them life and make us feel for them and make us root for them and make us take their history and philosophy and internalize it and make it ours.

Poetry is the humanizing force behind the other two--and perhaps the most difficult to achieve. The Historian documents, and the Philosopher argues--Poetry does both. Poetry incorporates the time, the place, the pressures, the pain, and using characters, gives the cause voice. It's one thing to hear news reports about "casualties resulting in the fruitless search for weapons of mass destruction"--but unless you were there, you don't see the crushing frustration, anger, confusion, and sheer, stinking rage that come with the blurb on the news, do you? Well, not unless someone turns that situation into poetry.

Pilgrim's Progress, the allegory my daughter was subjected to when she attended parochial school, is all about the Christians turning their histories and philosophies into literature. My daughter may not remember her Bible verses, but you can bet your ass she remembers Pilgrim's Progress--because that is the power of poetry.

I remember, back in the early eighties, I bought a lot of the Harlequin Presents romances, and the Silhouette ones as well. They were short, they were sweet, and I read some of them ad infinitum, even though the heroine was always virginal, the hero was always older, and the girl's virginity seemed to be of paramount importance to the entire transaction of falling in love. In the early nineties, I told Mate that the romances took a shift, and those same once-virginal girls were now divorcing the controlling bastards they'd fallen for when they were nineteen and marrying a guy who wouldn't mind changing diapers once in a while. The times had changed, and so had the romances. By the late nineties, the girls were not just not guarding their virginity like it was plutonium (thank Goddess!) they were also kicking ass, being spies, being Slayers, being tough, being smart, being whatever the fuck they wanted, including stay-at-home mommies if they were so inclined.

That poetry right there--and I know a fuckton of men who would laugh their balls off at the thought--changed the fucking world, and it changed it for the better.

Now, there are writers like me, who write about "non-traditional" families. It's not just the straight men and women getting laid who get to have the happily ever after. Now, the gay men and women get to have theirs too.

Still. Fucking. Poetry. Still important. Still the unstoppable combination of history, philosophy, and humanity to change the goddamned world.

So I'm bringing this up why?

I mean, my actual 'history' this weekend was pretty intense-- we had soccer opening day yesterday, got to watch my daughter officiate her first (three!) games, and watch her father give her "whistle blowing lessons" at the end of the first one because she needed to blow that thing with POWER, right? Got to watch Squish run around in a knot with a bunch of other kids, and got to watch Zoomboy get his pants beat off by ten year olds when he's only seven. Got to come home and be exhausted and knit and stare blankly at the screen and try to write. And that was just yesterday! Today there was Sun Splash, a water park with waterslides, where I went with my family. I wasn't planning to go, because I've got a deadline and the kids were tired, and we were going to chill, but at the last fucking gasp I changed direction and took the little kids with me and my husband and my friend and the big kids, and go we did.

I went to Sun Splash because this morning, I had one of those painful family conversations where you try to tell your parents something and they don't listen, and they tell you that you're wasting your life and your talents and you don't know what the real world is all about. After that conversation I didn't want to sit home and sulk when i should have been writing because I've got a deadline coming and I need to get my ass in gear.

My parents were telling me that writing fiction was not important. I needed to do something "important" with my life, and it would be one thing if I was writing "important" stuff, but what I'm doing isn't "important."

You can't bring Aristotle and Shakespeare and Homer and Virgil and The Hurt Locker and The Green Zone and old Harlequin Romances and Buffy the Vampire Slayer into an argument with your mother. You just can't. She'll accuse you of changing the subject.

She just doesn't get that those things ARE the subject, and that they ARE important, and they ARE changing the world.

Because those things are Poetry. And Poetry is more important than History or Philosophy.

And Poetry (of the modern, fictionalized sort!) is what I write--and what my friends write (waves at Ariel and Andrew)--and it is iron in my blood because I think it drives the world.

And what we do is important.

Apples

2011-08-25T07:52:00.000-07:00

School: day four

*crosses eyes* Okay-- have I mentioned that whole "no such thing as a non-working mother" thing? YIKES! I mean... seriously. YIKES! Last three days have been a NIGHTMARE of run errands--and I'm declaring today a day off of aqua aerobics just so I can get some work done. And in the meantime, there has been children at school... and a curious sense of deja vu.

When Zoomboy started school, his older brother and sister were VERY interested in what he was doing. "How was school, Zoomboy? What are you learning? Do you like school?"

About the twelfth time someone asked him that he burst out with an anguished, "I wish you people would quit asking me that!"

Apparently school was best internalized before he decided to share the deets.

He's good with the deets NOW--can't share enough of them. But it took a long while of him just sort of putting on his potato face (all eyes) and experiencing his world.

So we were a little curious as to what Squish's reaction was going to be.

"Mom! Mom, I didn't say ANYTHING! I let the teacher talk the WHOLE TIME!" *whew* Many thanks for small mercies.

"Mom, I don't have a friend yet. I'm still looking." Well, I give her until she starts talking for THAT to change.

"Mom, we lay down and rest. I like that part." God, so do I!

"Mom, it's hot in the room. There's no cool in there." She's in a room with 30 other Kindergartners and no air conditioning. My rage is palpable, and it's all aimed at NCLB, and the fuckheads who distract the government from their real business by trying to legislate people's love lives and religious beliefs. Did ANYBODY in government attend public school? It should be mandatory that if THEY didn't, they have to send their children there for at least two years. 31 kids, a tiny room, no air conditioning. Un. Fucking. Forgivable.

And then, my absolute favorite to date:

"Mom, why don't we give teacher's apples? Like in the movies?"

"I don't know. Do you want to give your teacher an apple?"

"Yes. She's nice. She deserves a present."

Goddess love my little Squish. She's gonna be just fine.

And in other news...

Chris at Stumbling Over Chaos is having TWO contests. One for A Solid Core of Alpha and one for Clear Water. Stop in and say hi-- Chris is clever, she's got a line on EVERY funny link on the planet (her Friday posts are all about The Linkety) and her two cats rule the world. No, no... I'm serious--she named them Chaos and Mayhem for a reason. And you could win a free e-book, and NOT just mine:-)

And Zoomboy is now back on the lbp. Glory Hallelujia-- and it's funny. I never realized how big a difference it was making, until we tried to get him to TAKE IT. Dude--fifteen minutes of ordering his morning routine around swallowing one little brown pill, and you'll want to give your local pharmaceutical company a big hug, hu-normous co-pay or not!

And Big T needs to either clean my kitchen or get a job. I'm opting for cleaning my kitchen right now, but that never lasts long enough--I'll be opting for getting a job about five minutes after that.

SQUIDTASTIC!

2011-08-22T10:11:00.000-07:00

Forgive the blurry photos-- my camera phone does NOT do well indoors.

Yesterday, Mate took three out of four kids to Six Flags (and me of course) as sort of a last hurrah to summer. It was fun-- we didn't stay too long, mom rode the water ride, the weather was fanTASTic, and Zoomboy was allowed to win (buy) a giant squid hat. Since he's been saying all summer long that he's a tanned squid, the whole family pronounced the hat "SQUIDTASTIC!"

And so he is. This is Zoomboy and my baby, Squish, who has asked that I call her Dollbaby in front of her friends, all dressed up for school. They were so happy--I can only hope Squish has fun-- I don't want her to be sad, I don't want her to have Chicken's self-esteem problems during middle school, but I am aware that her mother is a handicap, and there's not too much I can do about that.

But today they were happy, and I took a picture or two... God, I'm proud and sad at once.

And to mark the proud, sad theme, Big T was in the living room at 9:00, waiting for me to take him to his job, mowing my parents' lawn. "Yeah," he said, "it's weird. No school today for me. There was no school bus waiting."

For the first fall in fifteen years, there is no school bus waiting for him. Or me. Happy and sad indeed.

But look at my children--and remember the happy. They really ARE squidtastic!