Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 131

Don't I Know You?

So, on Monday, when I was in getting my hair cut, the following happened:

Big, burly, thirty-something guy starts staring at me.

I smile back.

He says, "Hey, did you use to teach?"

Me" "So, did you go to NHS?"

Him: "Yeah, but you were teaching summer school or home-study or something."

Me: "I only did that for one summer!"

Him: "That's all I took it-- I'm Anderson Cambry!"

Me: "Anderson! That's awesome! How you doing man?"

And what followed was a half an hour of pleasant conversation whereby I caught up with this young man.  He's in security, I know where he works, I'm going to interview the crap out of him for upcoming projects.

Squish sat next to me and smiled the whole time, and when an older gentleman said, "Imagine that-- that guy knows your mommy!" She gave a serene little grin.

"Yeah.  That happens to her all the time."

And it does.

Tonight, Mate and I were in Chili's for important dinner eating purposes, and there was a wait.  I tapped Mate and said, "Look! Isn't that our post office guy?"

Now Mate gives me a ration of crap because I go into the post office and all the people know me.  I've had enough giveaways and know enough people who are out of state to send packages to, that they tell me what the best way to send my stuff is, and they're polite, and we talk. I know who has kids, and how to make the sort of shy German fellow smile (he has a delightful sense of humor, and is always kind, but he's very reserved).  The last time I was in there with Mate, this man-- in his early sixties--chatted at me happily.

They're my people, right?

Anyway, he saw me, and came over and we talked for the whole half-hour before we got our table.

Mate just looked at me and shook his head.  "Once a week?" he asked.

I shrugged.

It does seem to happen to me a lot.

Part of it is that I'm gregarious, and I like talking to people, knowing their stories, being me.

Part of it is that I'm noticeable.  I'm a big girl, my hair is usually bright red with or without the skunk stripe, and I often wear knitwear.

And part of it is that I'm approachable.  Eighteen years of teaching gave me the "I sweartagod I don't bite!" smile.

And part of it is that I just sort of know people.  I mean, in Disneyland a teacher from my old school came to chat.

And it's cool.

It makes me feel like I'm home wherever I go.

And I always (don't judge me!) harbor a secret hope (it's so douche-matic!) that someday, someone will recognize me from my promo-pic, and will want me to sign a book or a placemat or a napkin or something.

Sh… don't tell.  It'll jinx it.

I like to think it'll happen.

But in the meantime, I'll just enjoy the big surprise of the people who wander into my life and talk to me.  It really is a delightful part of any day!

Success!!!

So, the kids were home from school yesterday.  I took the opportunity to take Squish shopping, and we both got our hair cut (wherein my hair went from long and poofy and unmanageable to slightly less long and poofy and unmanageable) and I generally spent my day doing things I put off for later.  (Including catch a tremendous sale at Bath and Bodyworks, which will leave me eyeballs deep in pleasant smelling body wash for what I hope will be another six months.)

But this morning, the kids went to school, and I was back at my desk, and back to the daily grind.

And the thing is, it's not a bad grind.  I frequently get asked in interviews, "What's your writing day like?"  I'm not sure what people want to hear with that.  Do they want to hear, "Well, I wake up, pump out three hours straight brilliant work, social media for a bit, and then spend my day with my personal trainer and beautify myself up for my next public appearance?"  (Excuse me while I clean up my keyboard-- I spit up water while typing that.)

The fact is, while I am considered mildly successful in my field, my daily grind is much the same as it was when I was teaching.  I spend part of my day getting my kids off to school.  I spend part of my weeks making sure they participate in activities to become useful and talented human beings. I spend part of my day struggling with things like diet and exercise so that I might not become a human solid. I spend part of my day watching television with my kids, so that we can all be in the same room together, comment during the commercials, and occasionally snuggle. I try for one night a week with my Mate, and he makes it a point to go with me when I walk the dogs, so that we might continue to be Mates and not just roomMates, and I cherish those times.  I carry my phone with me, so I can reply to any urgent social media, and I check my e-mail like I breathe: automatically.  I cannot go to the bathroom without a cat, or a dog, or a kid following me to get my attention. Sometimes it's a parade.

But in all of this, there are few of the trappings of success I always imagined-- and we all always imagine when we hear the words "success".  There is no PA to deal with bothersome things like e-mail or guest blog posts or the whopping 60% of accrued e-mail in my G-mail account. (My husband is boggled by this. He doesn't understand things like, "I don't want to get rid of that!"  He says it explains a lot about the house.)  I still have to do my own laundry, pick up my own kids, do my own shopping, and pick up my own dry-cleaning. (Which would be more impressive if I did dry-cleaning more than once or twice a year.)  There is no limo service, and if I was going to hire someone to clean my closets (ala Sex in the City) they would first have to hire a contractor to fix my bathrooms, because after years of bitching about them, they are still death traps.

But I'm not complaining.  In fact, I'm doing the reverse of complaining.

Last year, about this time, I did a truly frightening thing.

I didn't renew my teaching credential.

Yes, the whole "porn" brouhaha had blown over, as had the suffocatingly bigoted political climate that spawned the entire fiasco in the first place.  I suffered a slap on the wrist suspension for what amounted to leaving a note on the board telling the students to be good for the sub. I shit you not-- when all was said and done, letting the student read the story was never mentioned. It all came down to me telling the kids I was in the doghouse and making sure they knew their grades would be held accountable to the sub. That's what I did wrong.

But in spite of all of that, I wasn't going to try to go back to teaching.

I'd been quite spoiled in the three years previous.

Yes, I missed the students. I missed talking about my subject at length. I missed not having my ass spread in measurable increments because I was living a sedentary life instead of actively teaching.

But for three years, I'd taken the kids to school, come back to my desk, and weighed the work on my laptop with an assessing eye. When I needed to turn something in for my publisher, I worked on that. When it was time to blog, I worked on that. When people asked me to blog for them, I used my own judgement for whether or not to accept the work or whether to turn it down. And then I decided what to blog about. I chose whether to visit on social media, and how to promote myself, and what project to write next.

And I haven't done a bad job of it, really.  Yeah, my writing sometimes takes a left turn with projects that appeal to a limited audience, but since those projects sort of feed my writers soul, I'm not gonna whine about that.  That was my decision. Sometimes I social media too much, and sometimes I hide in my writing hole too much, but you now what? I did what I felt I'd be most productive with at the time.

In fact, do you know what I didn't do, during those three years?

I didn't participate in any bitch, wank, and jizz sessions, because A. Those things are unproductive, and B. I got enough of them in the staff room.

I didn't respond to any trolls because A. Those things are unproductive and B. I got enough of them in the staff room.

I didn't listen to anyone who said I was too weird for my opinion to matter because A. That's unproductive and B. I got enough of that in the staff room.

I didn't listen to anyone who ripped me apart and disparaged me and made fun of the things I loved and said my work wasn't good enough because not enough people hated me.  I didn't hate myself for not fitting in.  I stopped being embarrassed that I could actually create the kind of writing I loved to read. I started to trust my judgement for how I spent my time and trust that the decisions I made on my own, without a band of pissy, judgey men who managed to run off every other female in the department telling me my decisions were bad just because they weren't what those men would have done.

Because, you know, those earlier behaviors were unproductive, and I got enough of that in the staff room.

So, yes. I think I've found success.  It's not income (although I'm humbly grateful for the ability to put my children through college and to go to conventions where I get to meet fans and fellow authors) and it's not visibility.  And it's not limos or PA's or BMW's or new shoes every week (which I don't have) or a chance to go to a play more than once every five years (which I do).  It's not even the occasional pedicure.

It's the ability to trust myself. It's the ability to stand free of the soul-rotting Greek Chorus of "You can't!" and "Different is bad!" and "Kindness is weakness!" and "Being mean is being strong!"and "Don't work outside the herd!" that made sitting with my students so much easier than sitting with my peers.  It's independence and self-acceptance, and a genuine joy in the thing I do, and a belief that it matters to people, and that it makes a positive difference in the world.

So, it's a little scary, answering that question, "What does your average day look like?".  Sometimes, my average day looks like I'm staring into space and computer surfing a lot. But after nearly four and a half years of choosing my own adventure on a daily basis, I can honestly say, I am choosing wisely.  Even if a particular book doesn't do smashingly, it was my decision to write it how I wrote it, and my work gave me joy, so I am choosing well.

Maybe, just maybe, I got this.

Cover Reveal: The Tales of the Curious Cookbook

Hey all!

So, last year at RT, Marie Sexton, Amber Kell, Mary Calmes, RJ Scott and I sat down and had a giggly conversation about, "Hey-- let's make an anthology together!"

And we did.

Each one of us wrote a novella about, of all things, a curious cookbook of which only five copies were made. Each copy was passed down and sideways through the families, and there was something… special about this cookbook.  Here-- this is the blurb for the collective paperback, and it explains it all:

It’s called comfort food for a reason.
Not much is known about the cookbook, except that years ago, the mysterious Granny B collected a set of magical recipes and wrote them down. Over the years, each book has been modified, corrected, added to, and passed down through the generations to accumulate its own unique history. The secrets behind these very special recipes are about to find their way into new hands and new lives, just when they’re needed the most.

Food created out of love casts a spell all its own, but Granny B’s recipes add a little something extra. Thiscurious cookbook holds not only delicious food, but also the secrets of love, trust, and healing, and it’s about to work its magic once again.
So that's the premise each of us took-- and ran with.  

Now, the books in the banner are in order to how they're going to be released--in e-book-- in April, starting with RJ's on April 1st, and then mine on the 8th, and Marie's on the 13th, Amber's on the 20th, and Mary's on the 27th.  You'll be able to buy the novellas separately, but in case you're a lover of the printed book, they will be available anthologized together in paperback form, under Tales of the Curious Cookbook.  

And, uh, for the record?  Everybody's story is AWESOME. 


Here's the blurb for mine:

Emmett Gant was planning to tell his father something really important one Sunday morning—but his father passed away first. Now, nearly three years later, Emmett can't seem to clear up who he should be with—the girl with the apple cheeks and the awesome family or his snarky neighbor, Keegan, who never sees his family but who makes Emmett really happy just by coming over to chat.
Emmett needs clarity.
Fortunately for Emmett, his best friend’s mom has a cookbook that promises to give Emmett insight and good food, and Emmett is intrigued.  After the cookbook follows him home, Emmett and Keegan decide to make the recipe “For Clarity” and what ensues is both very clear—and a little surprising, especially to Emmett's girlfriend.  Emmett is going to have to think hard about his past and the really important thing he forgot to tell his father if he wants to get the recipe for love just right.
I love this story. It's got a dash of sad, a helping of sugar, and it hearkens back to an unfortunate moment in my own cooking history when I swear to God, I made beet porridge.  
And it tasted delicious. 
So there you go-- ta-da! My cover has been revealed!
Now, if you'd like to see what everybody else has to say about this little venture, don't forget to check out Marie Sexton, RJ Scott, Amber Kell, and Mary Calmes-- cause we're all doing this together, cause that's how it started.
And boy, I hope you enjoy the stories-- because I have to tell you, I sure did enjoy the project!  (Do you notice that my icon is a cat and not food? That's because I can't cook for crap! Putting food on my picture felt like a big lie-- enjoy the stories, but replicate my recipes at your own risk!)
Amy

Technical Difficulties

So in the past month, we have had the following mechanical things go kablooey: the washing machine, the car, my iPod, Chicken's laptop, Mate's old phone.  The refrigerator, the drier, and the bathroom plumbing are hanging on by a thread, and you know? That was bad enough.

But when I got the new Odyssey, it hit me: Cars--and most machines-- have become a lot fucking smarter in the past decade.  My car is smarter than me now-- mostly-- and occasionally we butt heads on certain matters, such as whether it's polite to interrupt someone in a perfectly restful driving coma with a phone call from a telephone vendor.  (No. However, Cortana is a whore and has no shame.)  And, as the car and I are having our disputes, and my car is threatening to either drive itself or sell itself off to someone who is not as apparently inept as I am,  it has occurred to me that I am either A. Not particularly savvy, technology wise, or B. Fucking cursed.

I mean, I have a car and a phone and a tablet and a faithful laptop, but every day something shows up to either amaze me or piss me off.

My family thinks this is hilarious--and I have to tell you, I am fast becoming the toast of the technology helplines in a variety of fields.  Heh heh… yeah.  You probably think I'm kidding.  The following conversations (or something close to them) have occurred in the past week between myself and the nice people at…

Cortana (also known as "The Odyssey" but since whenever I get in the car that heifer takes demonic possession over the car's computer and bluetooth system, we're just going with Cortana here, Kk?):

You have received a text from Ma-ree Cal-mess. Would you like to answer it, or ignore?

Me: Answer it.

Cortana: It says, 'You should tweet the sale Naomi just posted on Dream Readers too.' Would you like me to reply?

Me: Reply

Me: 'What sale?'

Cortana: Should I text back, 'White sails?' or would you like to add more, change it, or cancel.

Me: Change it.

Cortana: Sure.  (And don't you just love how condescending that is. Sure? Like, you know, it's MY fault, but she'll help me out with it.)  What would you like it to say?

Me: WHAT. SALE.

Cortana: Would you like me to text 'What sale?' to Ma-ree Cal-mess?

Me: Text.

Cortana: Sure.  You have a text from Ma-ree Cal-mess. Would you like me to read it or ignore it?

Me: Read it.

Cortana: It says 'Dreamraisers'. Would you like to reply?

Me: Yes-- say, 'Is it the one for Beneath the Stain? And should I put it on the blog? What is Dream Readers?' (Notice how I now speak Cortana, right?)

Cortana: Would you like me to text, 'Is it beneath the stains or put on the log with the dream reekers?'

Me: o.o

Cortana: Would you like me to cancel?

(Kids in the back, laughing their asses off.)

Me: No, Cortana. Send it.

Cortana: Sure.

-- SEE?  Not just me, right? That heifer led me down the garden path, and right when I was thinking I was going to have a good conversation, BLAMMO. The "Are you texting from Mars or Lars?" text.  Uhm hm… not my fault, right?

But that's only the beginning.

So, I've joined the dreaded WW, and, since I just sort of kited off last time and never came back, and they've got this whole e-tool thing that I barely understand, their website took exception to me trying to log on at all.

Now, the new points system is baffling to me, but last time, I depended on the calculator on my web dash, and I was planning to do the same thing this time-- except it's not showing up.  And I've had a moderate breakfast, and a moderate lunch, but if I don't start writing down my menu, I'm going to forget I've eaten at all and try to make up for lost time. (You think this doesn't happen? LOOK AT ME and find another explanation!) And I need a snack. Like, need some protein, because my little Patrick-ADHD brain is spinning at frog speed, and is about to jump the track.

And the 20 minute conversation with tech support went something like this:

Tech support: Okay, so I'm going to try something here… *five minutes of tapping*

Me: (Internally) Bird! STring! Spot on the ceiling! Dog! Dog! Dog! Aw… doggie… scratch the doggie… pretty doggie… love the--

Tech support: Okay, try it now.

Me: "What? Oh, wait. There you are."

Tech support: "You found the screen?"

Me: "No, literally-- there you are. I forgot what we were doing.  Wait. No. I've got it now. No. It's not working."

Tech support: "Okay. Okay, fine. Here, let me try this."  *five minutes of typing*

Me: (internally) Brush! Paper towels! Do we need paper towels? Will my concern for the environment be cheapened if I buy paper towels?  Is it worse to buy paper towels and recycle than it is to buy cloth towels and accidentally use the one you were using to wipe something off the floor as a hot pad for your husband's soup? Wait-- have I ever actually done that, or did I catch it in time?

Tech support: "Okay. I think we have it now. Log in again."

Me: "We're still doing this?"

Tech support: "Yes dear-- it should only take a second."

Me: "Okay, trying… wait wait wait… YESSSSSSSS!!!!!! YES YES YES YES YES!!!"

Tech support: "It's working?"

Me: "Sweet!"

Tech support: "You're funny!"

Me: "Funny? I'm starving! I need a snack and if I didn't log it in, I was going to eat a pound of chocolate and call it good!"

Tech support: "Don't do that?"

Me: "Nom nom nom… iths a rithe cake n hummuth, I thwear…"


-- So you see?  Me and tech support?  We get along, yo?  Which is good. Because there are even more sensitive moments for tech support than Weight Watchers. Like, uhm, say, when you're trying to log into Corbin Fisher.  For my non-porn watching friends, let's just say there's a lot of sweaty naked things going on at this website. For my straight male friends (not sure I have any) just stay away. You'll sleep better at night.

Now, for those of you who don't follow me a lot online, you may want to know that I often work with a Chiwhowhat and a Shitzu napping in my sweatshirt. It's important. I swear.

Tech Support: How can I help you?

Me: I could have sworn I updated this credit card.

Tech support: We're sorry, Amy, you told us that card expired on 8/14.

Me: Oh! That's my bad-- it should say 17, not 14. But now we have another problem.

Tech support: What's that?

Me: You're not supposed to know I'm Amy. I should have another screen name, right?

Now, what follows is a long and involved conversation that I enjoyed very much--although by the time we were done, I was no longer in the mood for porn.  We talked about the website update (it's very pretty) and how much better it was than the old format and how there was a website for tech support and how I should upload Yosemite on my Mac…

Wait, I should what?

Tech Support: Yes-- your model mac would work much better with Yosemite.

Me: I don't even know what model Mac I'm working with. It's old. YOu know that?

Tech Support: Yes, Amy-- I also know that you could view us better if you used Chrome or Firefox instead of Safari.

Me:  That's totally scary.  Quick-- how many dogs do I have in my shirt?

Tech Support: Uh, one?

Me: HA! TWO!  Oh thank God-- I was never gonna watch porn again.

-- So there you go. My adventures in tech support-- the good, the bad, and the absurd.  And here I was, writing this blog, when I get a text from Chicken about her broken laptop.  She needed cheering up.

Chicken: I've been crying all day.

Me: No worries.  Don't cry.

Chicken: No worries?

Me: Save your tears for when we sell your little brother.

Chicken: heh heh heh heh

Me: And the dog.

Chicken: heh

Me: I'm sorry-- did you text dad?

Chicken: He hasn't gotten back to me.

Me: He's busy taking Zoomboy shoe shopping. Do you know how big your brother's feet are?

Chicken: How big?

Me: Mens 8 1/2.

Chicken: No way. I can't wear his shoes anymore.

Me: You didn't want to wear his shoes anyway. He has freakishly shaped frog-feet.

Chicken: Heh heh heh…

Me:  And watch out-- at least one of your children will have freaky frog-spread whacked little piggies too.

Chicken: NOOOOOOOO!!!

Me: All the better for stepping into two different piles of puppy poop.  I swear, if you point that dog's ass and squeeze her in the middle, you could decorate a shit cupcake.

Chicken: heh heh heh heh

-- And there you have it. I can't make my car behave, document my calories, or watch a decent episode of porn, and I've passed it on to my kids.

But at least we know how to laugh about it!

Knitting Squishy, Blogging injuries, and Mummy Dog attacks!

 A short post tonight, but hopefully a fun one.

First of all, I"m proud to announce that Squishy has learned to knit!  Huzzah!

She posed for the camera all on her own, and I love the shot--also, it showcases her brand new hat in all its rainbow glory :-)  We have since added a bright red pom-pom to the top, and she is working on a pair of fingerless mittens all on her own-- can I say proud again?  Yup.  Doing that.  Also, I am absurdly *wipes tear* touched by the image of my two daughters working side by side with knitting.  I can say I gave them that :-)

Speaking of which, Chicken has gone back to her new apartment far away from everything without an hour of public transportation.  Mate keeps trying to remind me that I took the bus from San Carlos to Daly City during a period of time when Daly City was scary as hell, but I seem to recall more maturity on our part at that point.  Mate says I'm imagining things, but no. I'm sure she's too young to be on her own. What's the going age these days-- 25? 30?  Yeah.  Then.  Then I won't worry, okay?  But that worry aside, I do very much like her hair.

Anyway-- on to blogging injuries and mummy dogs.

So, it's safe to say that I'm a big girl.  I mean, a BIG girl.  And for the last week I've been fighting a couple of deadlines-- editing, yes, but also guest blogs etc., and when I get really into a groove, I lean forward in my chair and put my toes behind me, which puts an enormous amount of strain on my achilles tendon.

Which, after three days of no sleep and doing that barefoot resulted in… well, a lot of frickin' pain.  And a fever.  So I woke up last night, teeth chattering, barely able to walk to the bathroom, and soaked in sweat from pain.  I tried to go back to sleep, but the dogs were screwing around, and one of them landed on my ankle one too many times, so I shoved the biggest one off the bed.  Where he stayed.

About a half-an-hour later, I couldn't take it anymore.  I use Motrin sparingly because, in fact, it makes my intestines bleed (TMI, I'm sorry-- also, yes. I'm falling apart) but I couldn't go on like this.  I asked a very patient, caring mate to go get me some Motrin and water, and he did-- leaving me in the dark, because who likes to laser-bolt their eyes.

So I took the Motrin, and as Mate and I made ourselves comfy once more, I realized Johnnie hadn't gotten back on the bed, and I felt bad.  I called him up, and we heard him jump, and his feet scrabble up, and then he fell back down.

What in the hell?

I called him again.

He did the same thing-- back feet and front feet scrabbling, and then he fell down.

He did that a few more times, and Mate was like, "Is he hurt?"  (Cue guilt.  Oh God! One moment of irritation and I killed the frickin' dog!)

Finally he made it up onto the bed, and thud/rolled his way over to us.

He was wrapped in an entire fleece blanket.  One of the old ones.  The edging had become separated from the blanket itself, and he had gotten wrapped inside-- probably on the ground after I pushed him off the bed.  And then, when I called, he jumped on the bed mummified in an entire adult sized blanket.

And I had to laugh-- I still felt like shit, and omg, poor baby, we'd been calling him and he came, when only his front feet could work and maybe his nose because he'd been swaddled in the blanket…


But on the other hand… MUMMY DOG!!!!

*still giggling*

And that's it for now-- I actually need to write some fiction.  I know-- someday I'll do that as a profession!

A Little More *flail* And Place Setting for Zero!

Hey all--
You know that feeling where your pants are falling down and you think your underwear might come with them and you're in public and then…
THEY DO!!!???
Yeah, well, 
A. That just happened to me, because my hands were full and the pants were the ones that don't fit and so were the underwear and that's a bad idea.
And 
B. That's the exact feeling I got when I was preparing Monday's blog post.  I kept thinking, "Oh no, I'm going to forget one, I'm going to forget one…"
And then I DID!
So this is a belated *Kermit Flail, and it's for a writer I have been wanting to read for a while-- in a genre I haven't seen from him yet!  John Inman is known for books like Shy! and The Poodle Apocalypse,  and both of those are known for their comedy.  But John's next endeavor comes from DSP Publications, which is all about the serious genre fiction and not quite so much about the romance or the m/m--which makes the fact that it's a mystery/suspense/thriller just oh so very delicious.  I very much look forward to seeing this book take on the mystery genre, because the blurb sounds decadent, and any man who can write a story titled The Poodle Apocalypse has got to be able to pen one hell of a story.  Everybody give it up for Mr. John Inman with Willow Man!!!  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!
***
WILLOW MAN
By John Inman
Woody Stiles has sung his country songs in every city on the map. His life is one long road trip in a never-ending quest for fame and fortune. But when his agent books him into a club in his hometown, a place he swore he would never set foot again, Woody comes face to face with a few old demons. One in particular.
With memories of his childhood bombarding him from every angle, Woody must accept the fact that his old enemy, Willow Man, was not just a figment of childish imagination.   
With his friends at his side, now all grown up just like he is, Woody goes to battle with the killer that stole his childhood lover. Woody also learns Willow Man has been busy while he was away, destroying even more of Woody's past. And in the midst of all this drama, Woody is stunned to find himself falling in love—something he never thought he would do again.
As kids, Woody and his friends could not stop the killer who lived in the canyon where they played.  As adults, they might just have a chance.
Or will they?
*******
DSPP sale link:  http://www.dsppublications.com/books/willow-man-by-john-inman-43-b
Amazon sale link:  http://www.amazon.com/Willow-Man-John-Inman-ebook/dp/B00RG3MMVO/ref=zg_bs_7588836011_30
****wipes brow*  
Phew.
I felt so bad when I realized what I'd done, by the way-- but Mr. Inman graciously said that next-day (or, in this case, next blog) service would be okay with him.  A good egg, Mr. Inman-- I'm so hoping this book explodes off the frickin' charts.  (And yes. Bought my copy. Will I have time to read it?  Mmmm… but I have the HOPE that I will have time to read it. Hope is everything, right?)
And as for us at home?
Well, I've been sort of eyeballs deep in work, including three projects I didn't push myself to complete over winter break, when the kids were home and I got NO time to myself, and are now jumping up in my face like jack-in-the-boxes going "HEY! HELLO! YOU'RE FRICKIN' LATE!"  to which I respond "AUUUUUUGHHHHHHH!!!! Why would you DO that?"  and continue to work on the OTHER late thing that was absorbing my interest before the fuckin' jack-in-the-box. 
But Chicken is only here for a couple  more days, and I have spent some time watching television and movies with my family, and the following happened the other night and we're still laughing about it.
The dogs sit with me  as I watch television. Yes, it makes knitting more difficult than necessary, but I soldier on.  They usually fall into the gap between my ass and the chair, Johnnie on the bottom and Goeffie (who weights a whole four pounds right now) on the top.  The other night, after a long, cold, walk, Johnnie wormed his way out and onto the ground, leaving Geoffie to fall into the black hole right behind my behind.  Squish came over ask if she could hold Geoffie, and I reached behind me and handed Geoffie over, and Chicken almost fell out of her chair laughing.
"Oh my God, mom! It was like you pulled a puppy out of your ass!"
So for the last three days, we've been looking at each other and saying, "Hey Chicken! Watch me pull a puppy out of my ass!"
(Chicken drew this for me.)And then falling out of our chairs laughing because we have little teeny brains.
Then there was this--I posted an article about how hard it was to get research and details down, especially when you're not predisposed to notice details anyway.  *Sheepishly raises hand*.  For the most part, people took the article in the spirit for which it was intended-- that we'd never stop trying to get things right, but that we had to forgive ourselves for basic human error or we'd never keep writing.  But one of the commenters sort of, well, latched onto a detail and I thought I should explain.
No.  I have not eaten a family at my kitchen table for around five years--ever since the writing got really involved.  My computer is here, the printer, the scanner, basically my office is here.  For some gatherings, I clean off my office, put all my stuff on one chair, and put chips, dip, and parts of a potluck on the table--but the fact remains, all the stuff that was on the table is on a chair, and we still can't gather round to eat.  
We eat in the living room, which does explain why my children sometime have the table manners of Chimpanzees on Sugar Day at the zoo.
I have a friend-- Roxie-- at Sannasbag.blogspot.com -- who routinely sets a beautiful table with personalized china and napkins with individual napkin rings, each setting gleaned from garage sales and estate sales, and she shows pictures. 
They are so lovely-- so gracious.  I admire them to the depths of my soul.
Most especially because they are a thing that I have no brain for (I have, as you may have noticed, a very little brain.)  I am so grateful to people like Roxie who can continue to show the world what grace and beauty are like, even in something so simple-- and so taken for granted-- as a table setting.
I am not that person.
I am, in fact, the person who almost wet myself when Chicken came in having just completed this hat as a present for a friend.  "See mom, it's… oh my God! It looks like a penis!"
Well, not when it's on.  When it's on, it looks just like the had Double Dee from Ed, Edd, and Eddie had, which is exactly what she was going for.  Good job, Chicken!
And that's where I'll sign off-- it's been a rough transition back to school, the kids have been late every day but one so far, and the puppy has decided that every day is crap day!  (We have no idea where she craps, either, until we step in it.  Puppies-- there's a reason they're lumped in with snips and snails, that's for sure.)  I am finally getting work done-- but unfortunately, very little of it is fiction.  
But when I am writing fiction?
I'm writing Quickening.  So, you know.
There's that.

*Kermit Flail* Monday, January!

Omg omg omg!  I'm literally pee pee dancing in excitement!  
You guys!  People actually wanted to be on *kermit flail*  this month!  I mean, they've wanted to be on other months, but this month, people got really excited in quantity.  We have some awesome authors this January, with some books that I have just languishing on my Kindle, screaming, "Read me, dammit! I look AMAZING!"  Not only that, but I get to announce a new con-- one in Germany.  Okay, okay-- I don't get to go, but it's in Germany, and y'all know Europe just cranks my key.  Oh!  Not only that, but the I have my own release coming out--the fourth book in the Johnnies series, Black John, and that's down at the bottom, and I'm sort of excited about it!
So, you know, it's a big month book wise, and we're starting out with one of the books burning in my Kindle the hottest.  Elizah J. Davis is the victim of having amused the holy hell out of me one giddy evening in Portland, and one lovely lunch in Atlanta.  She's funny, and she doesn't do angst, and sometimes, that's exactly what I need in a story sometimes.  So everybody give it up and give it a hurrah for Making Nice by Elizah J. Davis-- YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA!!!
Making Nice
by Elizah J. Davis


Twins Blake and Bianca Dunlap have always been there for each other, ready to lend support and make sacrifices. Blake can't imagine a bigger sacrifice than getting along with Bianca's fiancé, Matt. However, Matt turns out to be more than the meathead Blake had dismissed him as, but Matt's best friend, Ryan Everett, is a different story. Ryan seems intent on being an insufferable jerk as often as possible. The fact that Blake is undeniably attracted to Ryan only makes the whole situation more annoying. 

Since they'll all be stuck together for the long haul, Blake is determined to make nice. Unfortunately he overshoots, and he and Ryan end up on much friendlier terms than Blake intended. While he and Ryan agree there's no harm in having a strings-free fling, that changes when Matt and Bianca find out about it. As more complications arise, Blake and Ryan become more determined to do what it takes to avoid letting them down. But the only way to ensure getting through a joyous wedding and avoid the questions neither of them want to answer is to convince everyone it's something more.DSP EbookDSP PaperbackAReAmazon
:-)

We were all sad when Sid left his blog Love Bytes, but since he left it in Dani's capable hands, and did it to write, I think we can forgive him.  His newest offering is Let it Go, and it looks amazing and enjoyable.  Our world is full of diversity, and let's give it up to Sid for celebrating it with love!  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!
LET IT GO
by Sid Love
 "Everyone tells me to stay away from him. But if only I knew how to resist him…"

Goa isn’t supposed to be on Damon O'Neil's list of places to stay while working in India. It's merely a substitute for his planned trip to visit his sister in Paris for Christmas and the New Year. His boss had other ideas. He's sent Damon to carry out urgent upgrades to the company's offshore units and Damon can't say no.

When Damon encounters an extra-spicy curry, a handsome Indian guy named Virat comes to his rescue. Damon is instantly smitten with his looks, and especially with his cute smile. But Damon soon realizes he is very much out of his league when Virat introduces his new wife.

However, there might just be a chance Virat isn’t all he pretends to be …
BUY LINKS:AmazonAmazon UKARe
:-)
Sue Brown first read me when she reviewed The Green's Hill Werewolves for Torquere, and I first read her when I read The Night Porter, which I loved.  (Max! Max! You should have gone to him!)  And in the meantime we chatted and I realized she's funny, smart, and she writes a lovely character.  I'm so excited to get to pimp her here on Kermit Flail, and this sweet little holiday story sounds absolutely scrumptious!

BELLS & BALLS
by Sue Brown
 Rob Barker had plans for his weekend and they didn’t involve struggling through the pre-Christmas crowds with the five-year-old niece he barely knows. Left with no choice, he grudgingly takes Pearl to see the sights of London but, instead of following the list his sister-in-law gives him, Rob takes her to With A Kick, an ice-cream shop with a difference.

His plan is foiled when he discovers With A Kick is closed for a private children's party, but the owners kindly let Pearl join in. Rob’s mood improves considerably as he watches Father Christmas hand out presents. Not only is Santa a hot red-head under the beard, he is also one of his rugby team-mates, Mick, a man Rob has always lusted after. After Mick confesses a mutual interest, he agrees to meet Rob at With A Kick’s evening party—where there are definitely no kids - or girls - allowed.
BUY LINKS:AmazonAmazon UKARe
:-)
Oh my word-- Carole Cummings.  I met her nearly three years ago at a Dreamspinner Press conference, and I adored her.  She and Eden Winters were… well, charming. Funny. And just the loveliest, loveliest, most amazing women. Strong--that too. I have had Carole's Wolf's Own books in my Kindle for nearly two years now, and every time I look at them I think, "I cannot imagine that woman writing a book I didn't love!"  I'm almost afraid to start them, truth be told, because I am so squirrel brained when reading, I'm afraid my brain will squirrel and I'll miss something amazing. I'm waiting for a moment when I have some peace and some reading time and I can savor every word she writes.  When I found out her books were being re-released with Dreamspinner Press Productions, into the full-blown fantasy milieu, I thought, "Of course!  Of course she'd write something far reaching and magical!"  
I'm so honored to have her book on my blog.  
Let's hear it for Carole Cummings, people-- YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!


WOLF'S-OWN, BOOK TWO: WEREGILD
by Carole Cummings

The amorality of gods makes it hard to tell ‘bad’ from ‘good’ and ‘right’ from ‘wrong’. Fen doesn’t care. All Fen cares about is saving his family, and he’ll risk anything and anyone that gets in his way. Including his own soul.

No longer willing to wait for the machinations of the gods’ minions, Fen accepts the trade Malick has offered and together they set out to rescue Fen’s family and kill the man Fen has loved for years. With the Ancestors still screaming in his head, and with the duplicity and manipulations whirling around him, Fen finds it harder and harder to do without the silence Malick can offer him.

Malick has his own reasons to hand over everything Fen wants, and equally compelling reasons to withhold everything Fen needs. Over his head, and timing as bad as ever, Malick must devise a way to do his god’s bidding without breaking his god’s laws—and keep Fen sane and on Malick’s side in the bargain.
Amazon
DSP Publications
:-)

Rick R. Reed is a legend in the M/M community. He wrote gay protagonists before it was fashionable, and made a name for himself in the horror genre when the only place you could buy books with LGBTQ characters was in independent bookshops in certain neighborhoods of the big city.  He's one of those names we whisper among ourselves in awe, and I'm afraid every time I meet him in person I'm an awkward ball of awkwardness, because he's Rick R. Reed!  The fact that he knows my name and wanted to be on my blog made me do the cabbage patch in my kitchen.  (My dogs were confused about this--but I figured he'd get a kick out of knowing that, because I know his husband brings their dog to travel.  I cannot be alone in dancing in my kitchen and confusing he heck out of my dog ;-)
So everybody welcome Rick, and what looks to be a very original story, with a protagonist who is not eighteen and ripped (and we need more of those!) and a book I am so jealous of, because it seems, on the whole, a very cool and poignant idea--everybody give it up for Rick R. Reed!!!! YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAAYAAYYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!
Blink
by
Rick R. Reed
Life can change in the blink of an eye. That's a truth Andy Slater learns as a young man in 1982, taking the Chicago 'L' to work every morning. Andy's life is laid out before him: a good job, marriage to his female college sweetheart, and the white picket fence existence he believes in. But when he sees Carlos Castillo for the first time, Carlos’s dark eyes and Latin appeal mesmerize him. Fate continues to throw them together until the two finally agree to meet up. At Andy’s apartment, the pent-up passion of both young men is ignited, but is snuffed out by an inopportune and poorly-timed phone call.

Flash forward to present day. Andy is alone, having married, divorced, and become the father of a gay son. He’s comfortable but alone and has never forgotten the powerful pull of Carlos’s gaze on the 'L' train. He vows to find him once more, hoping for a second chance. If life can change in the blink of an eye, what will the passage of thirty years do? To find out, Andy begins a search that might lead to heartache and disappointment or a love that will last forever….
Buy eBookBuy paperback
:-)

Okay-- I get super excited about Andrew's books because he actually tells them to me as he's writing them. I can listen to him talk about his next project for hours, because every character is lovingly penned and given life with an affection and enthusiasm that very few writers can rival. This one is special--and (as seems to be a theme) it presents an original protagonist, and a thoughtful attention toward what's real in life and what we need to let go of to be happy.  
Ladies and gentleman, this looks like something special and everybody give it up for Fire and Water by Mr. Andrew Grey!  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!
Fire and Waterby Andrew Grey
Officer Red Markham knows about the ugly side of life after a car accident left him scarred and his parents dead. His job policing the streets of Carlisle, PA, only adds to the ugliness, and lately, drug overdoses have been on the rise. One afternoon, Red is dispatched to the local Y for a drowning accident involving a child. Arriving on site, he finds the boy rescued by lifeguard Terry Baumgartner. Of course, Red isn’t surprised when gorgeous Terry won’t give him and his ugly mug the time of day.

Overhearing one of the officer’s comment about him being shallow opens Terry’s eyes. Maybe he isn’t as kindhearted as he always thought. His friend Julie suggests he help those less fortunate by delivering food to the elderly. On his route he meets outspoken Margie, a woman who says what’s on her mind. Turns out, she’s Officer Red’s aunt.

Red and Terry’s worlds collide as Red tries to track the source of the drugs and protect Terry from an ex-boyfriend who won’t take no for an answer. Together they might discover a chance for more than they expected—if they can see beyond what’s on the surface.
Dreamspinner Press
Amazon
ARe  
:-)

And oh my God.  People, if you've read Rhys Ford's Dirty series, with Cole and Jae, you will be so excited about this one.  This is *waves hands*  Bobby and Ichi's story, and it's the one of the last stories in the Cole McGinnis mysteries, and I've been putting off reading it because I don't want it to end!
So we all know I adore Rhys Ford, because she sends me bunny pictures and helps me with my tech and occasionally bails me out of my own doofishness with nothing more than an "Oh honey…"  but I also adore this series, and I'm SCREAMING in excitement.  Everybody give it up for Rhys ford and Down and Dirty !  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!

Down and Dirty

By Rhys Ford


From the moment former LAPD detective Bobby Dawson spots Ichiro Tokugawa, he knows the man is trouble. And not just because the much younger Japanese inker is hot, complicated, and pushes every one of Bobby’s buttons. No, Ichi is trouble because he’s Cole McGinnis’s younger brother and off-limits in every possible way. And Bobby knows that even before Cole threatens to kill him for looking Ichi’s way. But despite his gut telling him Ichi is bad news, Bobby can’t stop looking… or wanting.
Ichi was never one to play by the rules. Growing up in Japan as his father’s heir, he’d been bound by every rule imaginable until he had enough and walked away from everything to become his own man. Los Angeles was supposed to be a brief pitstop before he moved on, but after connecting with his American half-brothers, it looks like a good city to call home for a while—if it weren’t for Bobby Dawson.
Bobby is definitely a love-them-and-leave-them type, a philosophy Ichi whole-heartedly agrees with. Family was as much of a relationship as Ichi was looking for, but something about the gruff and handsome Bobby Dawson that makes Ichi want more.
Much, much more.
Purchase Down and Dirty at DreamspinnerPress Amazon
:-)

Okay-- I did tell you my own book would be here.  But it's JOHN, from JOHNNIES… And he's dark and dastardly and hurt and brave and he's a sarcastic little shit with a wicked sense of humor and a sort of wandering mind.  I really loved John.  I loved him a lot in this story.  I loved Galen. I loved the way they interacted, all dry and superior, when they were bleeding inside.
So we don't have to give it up Kermit style-- but do keep in mind that this one is out on January 26th.  It's coming, and if you liked even one of the Johnnies books, I don't think you want to miss it.  
Black Johnby Amy Lane John Carey is just out of rehab and dying inside when he gets word that Tory, the guy who loved him and broke him, has removed himself from the world in the most bitter way possible—and left John to clean up his mess.

Forced back to his hometown in Florida, John's craving a hit with every memory when he meets Tory's neighbor. Spacey and judgmental, Galen Henderson has been rotting in his crappy apartment since a motorcycle accident robbed him of his mobility, his looks, and his boyfriend all in one mistake. Galen's been hiding at the bottom of an oxy bottle, but when John shows up, he feels obligated to help wade through the wreckage of Tory's life.

The last thing John needs is another relationship with an addict, and the last thing Galen wants is a conscience. Both of them are shocked when they find that their battered souls can learn from and heal one another. It doesn't hurt that they're both getting a crash course on how growing up and getting past your worst mistakes sure beats the alternative—and that true love is something to fight to keep if your lover is fighting to love you back.
Available for Pre-sale at Dreamspinner

:-)
Okay now-- *whew*  -- that was exciting!
But now I've got a whole different thing to promote!
For those of you across the pond from me, in Europe (and I know there's a lot of you!) we have a new convention, and it's looking pretty sweet!
Folks, this is Marc Fleishhauer from Rainbow Gold Reviews and he's setting up Euro Pride con.  He wants authors and readers alike to come and meet, during Munich's Pride celebrations, and I think it sounds like a fabulous idea.  So if you can be in that area in July, take a look at the registration and description and see if maybe you have a brand new destination!  
And let's give it up for new endeavors and taking life with both hands, shall we?  Everybody give Marc and Euro Pride Con a giant Kermit YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAAYAY!!!


Registration is now open for Euro Pride Con 2015!
What is Euro Pride Con?Euro Pride Con is a gathering of fans of LGBT fiction and media, which will be held over the weekend of July 11/12, 2015 in Munich, Germany. This weekend coincides with the city’s Pride celebrations that attendees will have the option to be a part of!
The convention itself will offer the chance to fans of LGBT fiction to meet authors and publishers, discuss their favourite books, trade ideas, and generally hang out with a group of like-minded people.
In the USA, there’s  several LGBT fiction conventions that run through the year, however there’s only one in the whole of Europe (the brilliant UK GLBT Fiction Meet). Euro Pride Con will bring together writers and readers from all over Europe to get together over one fantastic weekend.
Munich is a beautiful city and a great choice for the first year of the convention. It’s fairly central in Europe and has an international airport. The convention will be held at the Sheraton Arabella Park, a beautiful hotel right in the centre of the city.
What does the schedule look like?We’re still currently hammering out the finer details of the schedule, although we already have guest speakers in RJ Scott and Jay Bell, who’s book Something Like Summer is being adapted into a movie.
At Euro Pride Con we're hoping to offer something slightly different during the day. Instead of front-led panels, we’ll be hosting a series of interactive workshops on a range of different topics. These workshops will be led by any combination of author, reader, reviewer and publisher, which we hope will expose all attendees to a range of different thoughts, opinions, and viewpoints.
If you’d like to be involved in a panel please email us at europridecon@gmail.com – spaces are filling up quick, so don’t wait too long!
The convention will start on Saturday, however, for anyone who arrives in the city early there will be activities planned in the city on Friday afternoon.
RegistrationAttendees at Euro Pride Con have two options:
-       Register as an attendee 
160 Euro SPECIAL PRICE! 150 EURO IF YOU REGISTER BEFORE 31 JANUARY 2015!
Attendees will have access to all workshops and events over the course of the weekend.

-       Register as a featured attendee
170 Euro SPECIAL PRICE! 160 EURO IF YOU REGISTER BEFORE 31 JANUARY 2015!
Featured attendees can be authors, bloggers, cover artists, editors, or anyone who would like to promote themselves and their work over the course of the weekend. Featured attendees will be given a spot at the signing on Sunday, the option to give out “swag”, will be featured on blogs and social media leading up to the event, and can take part in leading any of the workshops (subject to places being available).All tickets include dinner on Saturday and lunch on Sunday.
All payments need to be made in Euros (you can convert the price to your local currency at www.xe.com ). Our preferred method of payment is through PayPal (which will automatically make the payment in Euros) though if you don’t have a PayPal account please email us at europridecon@gmail.com and we can make alternative arrangements.
REGISTER HERE: https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/Z7WHPF6
Staying in MunichThe hotel where the convention is being held is the beautiful Sheraton Arabella Park – http://www.sheratonarabellapark.com/en
However there are other hotels close by, if you’d prefer to stay off-site. If you’d like to make a reservation at the Sheraton, please use the link above, or use this link - http://www.sheratonarabellapark.com/en/contact-starwood- for the phone number to call (depending on where you live!)
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/europridecon/
Forum: Open, but still under construction: http://europridecon.freeforums.net/

Sugar, Skunks, and Sleep Deprivation

*  Skunk nailed us last night. I'm not sure if it was killed, or if it just wandered under our house to check it's plumbing, or maybe it just decided to share the joy, much like Pepe le Pugh.  Honestly, don't much care.  It smelled so bad I couldn't sleep-- and I spent the rest of my morning stabby. And now you know why!

*  I also spent two hours on Berry Jello's couch, knitting, eating ice cream (hence the sugar) and watching Orphan Black while her 70 lb. dog tried to make out with me.  I shit you not-- with tongue.  I sort of adore this goofy ginormous pit bull who thinks she's a Shitzu.  She's like… candy magic in a giant muscular package.  Or like Clopper, but a different breed.  Considering I wrote that story before I met Sula, I think that's sort of cool.

*  I wrote THIS about Black John today and Dani posted it on Love Bytes!

*  The Bells of Times Square is up for Book of the Month at Love Bytes too!

*  Don't forget-- Monday is *Kermit Flail* and I've spent some time begging and we have some amazing people for you coming up.  *does happy dance*  You all will be so surprised!

*  Mate traded his phone in yesterday, because he got nothing else for Christmas, that's why, and because his old one didn't charge anymore, and he sort of needs one.  Anyway, his camera does slow motion.

The puppy, running in slow motion, is enough to make you pee your pants and fall off your chair laughing.

*  I went to Kinko's and made a small spiral bound printed version of Candy Man to give to Darrin, the guy who helped inspire the book. They put tiny bound volumes out in 6x9.  It's sort of adorable--but a lot more expensive than owning a Kindle and reading it that way.

*  And given that I've got *Kermit Flail Monday* to post tomorrow, Imma keep this one short for you, okay?  But don't hold it against me… I'm leaving you with something good…

*  Lights, Camera, Cupid is up for pre-sale on Riptide's website.  This has a short story giving background on secondary character from The Deep of the Sound which will be out in May/June.  It's an anthology of shorts from a number of the awesome, amazing authors writing stories for Bluewater Bay, and I'm really excited about the story inside, and here's a very brief excerpt (unedited, so forgive me!)

Nascha was seventy-one the night he threw the water in his grand-nephew’s face and reduced him to a crying heap on the ground.  Cal lay there, shaking with fever and being slowly crushed to death with caring for two people who would never get better.He wasn’t sure why his age occurred to him then.  It wasn’t like he could remember any other goddamned thing ever. And Jesus wasn’t that a kick in the nads.  A man who prided himself on his memory, who had made a living gambling for the sake of earth and sky! Oh, Bluejay the fucking trickster was having himself a big old fucking party at Nascha’s expense, that was for damned sure.  Nascha pulled himself out of his bitterness and helped Cal up to the couch, toweling his face off and covering him with the blanket.  Cal cried himself weakly into a restless sleep as dawn peered through the window, and Nascha brushed his hair back from his forehead.  He was getting lines there, when he was barely twenty-four, and crows-feet from scowling. Beth! Beth—do something about your son. He’s working too hard!But Beth had been dead for six years, and she’d left Cal and Keir to him, and damn him, his mind was failing him, and it wasn’t fucking fair.  He’d given up everything for his sister’s daughter, and she’d taken him into her home so he’d never have to sacrifice for her again. And now, when he wanted to give her son his life, his mind was failing, and Cal was…Cal whimpered, and his forehead was hot.  Right now he was sick, and tomorrow he’d be tired, and forced to care for his brother who wasn’t pleasant.  Cal had been such a laughing child.  A laughing teenager, too.  But the man who snapped orders to Nascha and Keir like they were wayward children didn’t look like he could laugh anymore.“I wish you could laugh,” Nascha said out loud, his own voice startling him in the decaying house.  He looked around self-consciously at the warping floors, the unpainted walls, the dusty, bent blinds—all that was left of his niece’s dream. God, he’d spent a lot of time in places like this.  Had worked his ass off so Beth would have an education so she wouldn’t have to live like this if she didn’t want to.  And now her son was dying in a rotting house with no hope in his soul.The bitchy thing about old age was that it didn’t know when to give irony a fucking rest.Nascha was used to drifting back and forth through time by now.  After four years of Alzheimer’s, he was lucky he could remember his own name, much less Cal’s, and he had the bone-stripping magic of Exelon to thank for what he could remember, he was well aware.  But this was a deliberate shift to a room like this, with threadbare carpet and dirty walls.
And a big bed with used sheets that were about to get used again…
*TTFN!!!

ZAM's Progressive Dinner Party: Accidentally Awesome

Hey all-- I hope your New Years is warm and sweet (cause I'm freezing my feet off here!) To celebrate New Years, I'm participating in ZA Maxfields Progressive Dinner-- which means you can visit all of the blogs there at the link and see an entire dinner array of blogs!  My blog is not so much a recipe as a way to recover from a failed recipe, but I hope you'll forgive me, because, well, CAKE BALLS!  *dissolves into laughter*  There is a prize at the end if you go to every blog and leave a comment, so sit down, drink something hot and sweet, and enjoy the show :-)


Accidentally Awesome

Okay—so Mate is actually the recipe follower here.  He’s the maker-of-fudge, the soup-party impresario, the, “Hey, let’s make this!” guy.  And as his candy-making expertise has gained weight in the family mythos, he’s become the King of Following the Recipe in the realm of our family and friends.
So this year, high on the successes of the previous year, wherein we sent fudge to half the people I know in the entire world after Christmas, he decided he was going to make cake-pops.
He had PLANS for the cake-pops.  There was going to be sprinkles and decorations, and they were gonna look like Christmas and omigod and gloryhallelujia! They were gonna be frickin’ amazing cake-pops.
Anyone out there who has ever made cake-pops knows where this is going.
It’s like a zillion step process.
First you bake a cake—yay! Then you let it cool, and mix it with frosting—that’s right, like, mix the cake, with the frosting, crumbling it up and mashing it in your fingers like playdough, and then you make balls.  (Heh heh heh… cake balls! Heh heh heh… yeah. I’m twelve.)  Anyway—after you make the balls, you melt the chocolate and dip the sticks in the chocolate and then poke the balls (heh heh heh) and then put them in the freezer to firm up. (Omigod… this doesn’t get any less dirty!) When the balls are firm and good, you dip them in the chocolate, and then set them out to cool.
Now see, some of you are seeing that this looks relatively simple.
Some of you are seeing all the myriad ways this can go heinously wrong.
Let’s start with the cakes, which did not all cook the same.  The dry one didn’t make good balls, and the wet one made balls that stuck together but also fell apart.  Then move on to the chocolate, which claimed to be microwaveable but was not, and Mate tested this with his mouth because the crumbles didn’t look hot since they weren’t melty, and it turned out that crumbled microwaved chocolate was hotter than the temperature of the sun and he had blisters on his lips!  (Poor guy. He’s giving these desserts to my family, you understand, since he works with a bunch of fitness enthusiasts who don’t allow processed sugar to grace their well-shaped, chiseled, manly lips.) 
So he had to melt new chocolate and then try to stick the balls (nope, still laughing) and then, after they chilled, try to bathe them in the new chocolate while they were bound and determined to fall apart.
Yeah.
It was a disaster.
At the end, he had a tray full of broken balls, half covered in chocolate. 
He saw failure. I saw potential comedy with a candy coating.  I also saw processed sugar gold.
“So, just spread it in a cake pan!” I said, all enthusiasm.
“And then what? Broken cake?”
“No! Then pour the chocolate over it, and serve it with a spatula.  You add some whipped cream or ice cream, and girls will be swarming over it like flies!”
“Flies will be swarming over it like flies. It looks awful.”
“Nom-nom-nom-nom…”  Well, I may have said that. I was definitely salivating though, that I do remember.
So, Christmas arrived.  We gave giant packets of three kinds of fudge to everybody, and felt pretty stupid because my family makes Martha Stewart look like a slacker, and I haven’t actually made anything Christmassy since Mate started making fudge.  And the little tray of cake-ball-cake sat unnoticed in the corner.
Until dessert time.
“What’s this?” my nephew said, looking strapping and handsome at twenty years old.  (This is important—until he hit about sixteen, I could swear he’d look like Dopey for his entire life. That he looks “strapping and handsome” means that it really does get better, and all adolescents should have hope!  His ears even stick out less!)
“That’s failed cake-pops, covered in chocolate,” I said.  (Notice that I called them “cake-pops” because I didn’t want him to launch into some silly adolescent snark about “cake-balls”.  That’s my department.)
His mouth made the little “o” shape associated with extreme anticipation. I think he may have drooled a little. 
“Hold on a second,” he told me.  “Let me get the whipped cream.”
So we sat for about fifteen minutes, and he told me about his life while eating probably half of that sinful, decadent failed dessert. I loved that moment—I don’t get enough of them with my sister’s sons, and it was one of the highlights of my Christmas.
“So, the cake-balls didn’t get all eaten,” Mate said glumly.
“Yeah—Nate ate about half the plate.”
“But not everybody loved them. That sort of sucked.”
“I think that depends on how you look at it,” I said philosophically.  “I think the person who ate half the cake really liked them.”
Mate grunted and shook his head.  “Man, I don’t know if I should try those again or not.”
“Go ahead and try them again,” I said.  “You never know what may happen.”
So, that’s not really a recipe for dessert.  But, it could be a recipe for salvaging a failed dessert, right?  Or even just a lesson that if you mix your cake with the frosting and then add chocolate, there is no bad way to do it. 
Or even just a wish to have a happy holiday, and may your New Year be filled with nothing more serious than a failed chocolate cake-ball, with a dipped stick.  (Buahahahahahahahahaha!!!)
Happy New Year!

Everybody just calm down...

Some fun things to mention after Christmas…

*  Yes, we got a new car.  It's a Honda Odyssey.  The first thing we did was put one of those Supernatural stickers on the back window-- you know, in case of repossession?

* It made cruising for Christmas lights very much more fun than it has been in the past.  And while we expect its first grand hot chocolate spill to happen sometime before the end of the year, it did not happen before Christmas, for which we are grateful.

* Every year, my family plays a white elephant gift exchange game. Throughout the years, buying a funny gift has become a point of honor.  I usually fail miserably.  The kids do better than I do.  Some of the offerings this year included:
       *  A My Little Pony coffee mug and a Hamster Dance ornament (from Squish)
       * A Wubble ball-- not a bubble, just a really big, thin-skinned ball (that's mine!)
       *  A special prank "crib dribbler" box, filled with ginormous candy bars (Mate's idea :-)
       *  A Marvel Trivia Game (Chicken)
       *  An "I'm with Stupid" mug (Big T)
       *  A roll of $100 bill toilet paper with an electric shock pen (from ZB-- who's uncle Matt ended up with it, and was thrilled because he puts that sort of thing on his desk at work. My sister said his coworkers will never forgive ZB, but he's now Matt's favorite relative.)

And, should you think our offerings a bit low-brow, you should know that the gift I drew in the exchange was this:



















Yes, that's right.  A Crazy Cat Lady action figure.  My parents thought this was high comedy.  I wanted the real thing:






* Yes. For those of you who noticed what ZoomBoy was wearing as he modeled the Crazy Cat Lady action figure, that was a home-made, hand-crafted plush fleece-terry Jedi robe that my stepmom sewed just for him, just for Christmas.  He's lived in it for the last three days.  And yes. Everybody wants her to make them one.  But she wants to make herself one first.  They're soooo soft.

*  Now that I have a car, I'm going back to aqua on Monday. So, this meme is only a little true.

 *  Squish has been a wee bit under the weather since Christmas.  You may notice how she spent about 4 hours yesterday:




*  Chicken has admitted to me that as she was putting the Christmas cards in the envelopes, her signatures got, shall we say, a wee bit punchy.  If you got a Christmas card with a signature from Lord Cthulu, I sincerely apologize.  She does not, but she is fired.

*  Until the gym, I shall get all of my exercise walking the dogs.  It's more challenging than one might assume at first.


*  Mate got his friends together and they ordered a big block of Kings tickets, so that we might go in a big group of people.  Usually when he does this, we all go, have a great time, and watch the Kings lose.  Tonight, we watched the Kings win after five minutes of overtime.

It was glorious.

The only bad thing was that ZB brought a cowbell for the 3rd quarter cowbell dance (Yes-- this is a real thing.  On account of us being a cow town, get it?)  and then, his digestive system absolutely had to work during third quarter.

He spent the next hour giving me dirty looks because he'd spent the cowbells dance going poop.  Convincing that kid that it was not my fault took some doing.

In spite of that, we have photographic evidence that he did have a good time.


And that's about all… we've got one more family duty for the holidays, and then we're gonna watch a shitton of movies and catch up on our Supernatural.  Looking forward to it!