Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 152

Oh, the Places You'll Go

Poppy Dennison, lovely as always.Okay-- so  not so long ago, I actually wrote a pretty filthy parody to that story-- you can find it here if you like, but suffice it to say that when you change the name to Oh, the Orifices You'll Go, no good can come of it.  (Okay. That's a whole other pun.  Go there if you must.)

But this last week, in Chicago, I've been thrilled to go other places, and, I've also been thrilled to, in some instances, stay put.  It's another one of those cases where there's almost too much to talk about to even make any sense.

Andrew and Paul--
Shopping with a difference!One of the best things about conferences and conventions, of course, is meeting people who do the same thing you do and getting to talk about that voodoo that you doo.  (As my parents said when they met Andrew Grey, they were finally convinced that I'd been working with real people and not imaginary friends for the last nearly four years.  That was reassuring.)  I'm lucky enough to not only know but also adore and worship the staff at Dreamspinner, so I got to see and hug and generally be a nuisance to all of them as well, and this meant that my happiness in this lovely city was not contingent upon exploring it any more.

Considering the fact that it's been trying to kill us all dead, I think that was an excellent headspace to be in!

You can't see it, but that's snow. And there's snow here too.Seriously-- the weather has been a factor.  The storms that have flooded much of the midwest were making arrivals difficult and iffy, and the number of people who have arrived late after eight or ten hours of layovers and redirects has been boggling.  Of course what really boggles me is that they've all come in with a tired smile on their faces, as happy to be here as I am.  I work with some pretty awesome people, you know that?  (That didn't stop us all from hugging the holy hell out of Ariel Tachna when she walked in after a ten hour redirect to St. Louis-- I've never seen someone who needed a hug, and a hot shower, and something to eat, in any order, so much in my life!)

Snow.  In April.  I'm  not even
 playing.And once the weather behaved (HA!  As IF!  We had sunshine yesterday-- I texted Mate about it, and he sent back, We had that once last week.  I wonder if they only get it once a week.)  But once the weather behaved, people got to go out and explore the city.  Actually, I explored the city a little more, with Andrew, cover artist Paul Richmond, his fiancé Dennis, and Harmony Ink dominatrix Nessa Warrin.  I'm not much of an Armani Exchange shopper myself, but watching the men in action with Nessa made me want to drag them all to a Catherine's and say, "Hey.  Be honest.  Is this thing as flattering to fat women as they keep saying it is?"

It was a fun day, and I got to see the Trib building up close and personal, which is something I'd missed when I'd been on the trolley tours with Mate and the kids.

Elizabeth, being fabulous.Of course the conference actually started, and there was only good things after that.  I write for a wonderful, professional, visionary company--I'm not going to lie.  There were seminars on maximizing your internet presence which, for the new folks, would be invaluable.  There was a seminar on how to write sex scenes (which I missed, alas) and a seminar on what constitutes a YA book.  (Surprisingly enough, lack of sex was not part of it.  This makes me want to jump up and down and stick my tongue out to certain education professionals in a certain district in California, but I'm way too Zen for that.)

There were states of the state addresses which, again, makes me think my company has its shit together in amazing ways.  The translation program and the audio book program are both boggling and visionary.  The attention to detail, the quality of staff--I'm so proud to write for these people.  You have no idea.

Knitting?  But of course! Paul dressed as Amazing.But, as much fun as it has been, I couldn't make it without my knitting.  I managed to finish a pair of fingerless gloves right when my old pair disappeared, which is great, because Madison Parker and I went wandering after dinner.  For the record, it was 37 degrees F, and I was wearing my alpaca cape and my fingerless gloves, and Madison was wearing the Daria coat (thank you, Chicken, I'll think of it that way always) and my King's hat, and we had one of those stunning nights out that can only happen by accident.  We wandered in a couple directions, crossed the river, and I showed her the Tribune building and told her everything I'd learned about Chicago.  Since she was a late arrival, and is going to leave this morning, this was her one chance to explore the city, and I got to be her guide.  It was sort of amazing and awesome, and she was excellent company.

And we came back to the hotel, and found Paul Richmond, like this.  He and Dennis were going to go to a drag show, but Dennis was under the weather, so he took the drag show to Dennis.

I think this is sort of awesome.  It's one of the things that makes me so glad to be here.  How could you not be thrilled to know people like this?

But still, tomorrow, I go home.  I am more than ready.  But it's been a lovely trip.

Oh Jebus, are you still THERE?

Yes, yes I am, and I'm still having fun!



 (Could you have taken a WORSE panorama shot of the skyline from the Field Museum, Amy?  No.  No, I don't think I could have, unless it just showed sky, why do you ask?)

Okay-- LOTS to say-- I'm not even going to try to make it coherent.  Just gonna blurt out whatever comes to mind.

*  Monday we took the kids to Navy Pier and Skydeck-- twas a lot of fun. First we took a trolly to Navy Pier and looked around.  Andrew Grey met us there, and we did the Ferris Wheel and the stained glass museum and an Italian place for lunch and Mate took the kids to the Children's Museum while I took Andrew back to the stained glass museum because he hadn't seen it and we took a bus and walked four blocks to Skydeck, and then walked to the train station and took a train to the pizza place and then another one back to the Congress Plaza hotel.  I just talked to a Chicago native who said we did more public transportation in one day than she did in YEARS of residency.  I told her I just spent two days hiding in my hotel room, recovering.

*  Mate had a lot of fun on Skydeck-- that was awesome.  Zoomboy completely exhausted himself, and Squish took things in stride.  We were talking about how Squish could be the New York Nine Year Old. She just walked in a straight line, kept an appropriate distance, and didn't freak out, not once, in the crowds.  Zoomboy on the other hand?  That kid needs space, or his elbows are gonna hurt someone!

*  Zoomboy, in fact, had several meltdowns that day.  By the end of the day, he was DONE, and we owe Andrew big time for calming him down on the WAY CROWDED commuter train to the place we met for dinner.  Mate got separated to the other side of the car, and Andrew just anchored an arm around the kid's chest and told him to hang on.  Seriously, calmed him down.

*  One of his other meltdowns resulted in a bit of psychological warfare I'm particularly proud of.  Squish had gotten her sweater wet at the Children's museum, and was walking around in a long-sleeved T-shirt.  We gave her the green umbrella when we were out in the rain to keep her from getting too cold.  ZB FREAKED, he wanted that umbrella so bad.  So after Skydeck, I went through the souvenir line and bought a new Chicago umbrella-- and gave it to Squish.  And yes, I gave him the green umbrella.  Somehow, it was just not as special and he learned an important lesson about getting what you want.

*  I had a very high school moment when we met Andrew at the pier.  My parents got there first, and when I saw them talking, I thought, "Oh no!  What are mom and dad telling my friend about me!!!"  But they got along very well-- Andrew loved my folks, and they said he was the nicest man.  Again, it's amazing how that whole high school thing never goes away.  It was even better when Mate said he was awesome too.  *beam*



*  Everybody left Tuesday morning, and I got this text from Chicken as I was packing:

Mom, can I borrow your old green coat?  I want to cosplay Daria from the 90's.

To which I replied:

I"m still wearing it.

And she said:

No!  The old green one, with the inside like a checkerboard!

And I sent her the above picture of the wrecked hotel room and the green coat, front and center.

I'm still wearing it!

Oh.  Okay.  Nevermind.


That's okay-- you can have it.  I think it's time I bought a new one.


 *  And while we were at the Skydeck, I got a call from Big T-- he said he'd gone and gotten Squish her late birthday present, the one thing she wanted most.  Mate and the kids arrived home, and there it was.

I think she loves it, don't you?


*  And after they all left, I switched hotels.  It's funny, I see Chicagoans jay walk all the frickin' time.  But on a two-mile cab ride, I swear my driver almost killed three pedestrians.  I'm NEVER jaywalking in Chicago, I swear!

 *  And that leaves me here!  But  not by myself by a longshot.  I had lunch today with Sue from Chicago, and I loved getting a chance to talk to her-- my heavens, what a charming, pleasant, fun person!  I couldn't have asked for a better lunch time companion.

And in addition?  Well, I need to get pictures-- Elizabeth North, Connie Bailey, Nikki Bennet, Andrew Grey, Lynn West, Nessa Warrin, Shannon, Julyssa, Paul Richmond, and Julianne Bentley-- people I love and never see enough of, and they were all there, at one dinner, and I was so very happy.

*  But Chicago is not always kind-- Ariel, Tammi, Catt-- sorry we missed you at dinner.  The weather drove a lot of people to St. Louis for a little while, and that sucked.  When they finally got here, they were WAY ready for their hotel rooms.  Let's just say the rain was beautiful from the outside, but not always practical from an aeronautical perspective.

The conference starts tomorrow-- I'm looking forward to meeting all my fellow DSP authors!  I really cannot wait!

*  Wait!  I almost forgot the best moment--

When we were on the trolley to the Navy Pier, our guide was a particularly young, handsome, and charming man.  Squish kept saying, "You look familiar to me.  Where have I seen you before?"  Before we got off the trolley, she said, "Wait!  I have it!  I saw you in my dreams!"

And while the poor, flustered young man recovered from getting a come on line from a seven year old, Mate and I looked at each other and said, "We are in SO much FRICKIN' trouble!"

So much.  It can't even be measured.  Dude.

Squish takes Chicago

Okay-- so we got out of the house which was awesome.  Seriously-- my parents were almost late, and then Mate forgot the tickets to the ball game and then we LITERALLY walked through security, up to our gate, and into line.  If they'd had to pat me down for my maxi-pad again, like they did before my LAST flight, I wouldn't have made it.

*whew*

The flight was relatively sweet after that.  I sat with Squish, and we came out of the low cloud ceiling practically on top of the landing strip, and after we bumped for a minute, Squish said, quite loudly, "That was, US, landing!"

Well, she got a good laugh out of the people in the airplane, and that's the truth!

We arrived and walked around a bit--a long bit, and I came to love Grant Park, even in the chilly drizzle.  I sort of love Chicago.  While it has the energy and vibrancy of Manhattan, it is not, in fact, and island.  There is a distance across the the streets and while the wind has been fierce and cold, it is not, as of yet, malicious.  Punky and aggressive, yes, but downright pugnacious?  No.  I'm not getting that feeling.  You gotta be tough to contend with it, but not brutal.  Of course, it's spring--I'm sure the wind is taking it easy on us at the moment-- we only had a few snow flurries today and I feel almost welcome.

Of course getting dressed for the cold weather (I mean, it's colder here in April than it was most of the winter in Citrus Heights) is a bit of a challenge.  Yesterday morning, Squish was getting dressed in as many winter clothes as she could manage.  "I feel very comfortable," she assured us as she was putting on her clothes.  I should hope so.

And when we went to the baseball game yesterday, I think the kids felt differently about the wind.  It was cold--I mean... holy fuck was it cold.  I bought souvenirs-- I bought a souvenir hat, two pairs of souvenir gloves, and a souvenir blanket.  No, I'm not planning to convert to being a Cubs fan-- we just hadn't brought that stuff with us and the kids were gonna frickin' DIE sitting in the 40 degree weather.  But it was funny.  As the game was wrapping it up, San Francisco (who had a surprising number of fans in the stands--go Giants!) tied the game up in the top of the ninth.  I was DEVASTATED.  I mean, I'd been a good sport, I'd actually followed the game, I'd eaten a hot dog, I'd sat in the cold--hell, I even started rooting for the Cubs, because I was getting a distinctly Sacramento Kings vibe from that much loyal desperation.

And the game was TIED.  As Mate said to Zoomboy-- there ARE no tie games in baseball.

Oh FUCK, you mean, I might have to sit in this weather forEVER?  So, at the bottom of the ninth, I was standing there in my Kings hat and my Cubs gloves, in front of my children under their Cubs blanket, screaming my ASS off for the Cubs to score, goddammit score, so we could get out of the frickin' cold!  (Look at the picture, people.  Squish is UNDER HER COAT-- too cold to poke her head out!)

And Chicago DID!  And they WON!  And complete strangers were high-fiving me because THEY THOUGHT I WAS A CUBS FAN!

I high-fived them back and let them keep their illusions.  I mean, hell-- they were nice enough to not boo my husband and parents in their Giants hats--I figure it was the least I could do.

So we went to deep dish pizza for the SECOND night in a row after that.  Honestly, I can see why Chicagoans are known for their high-carb comfort food-- it's only survival here, right?  But when we got back to our hotel room, I was hormonal, tired, footsore, bloated, crampy, and, well, fruitlessly obsessing about the critic who called me everything but racist for DARING to write a black character in America who was not heroically rising above his oppression but was, in fact, a bit bitter.  (Do NOT get me started on the racism implicit in the belief that I can write all of the flawed white men that I want, but that if I write a flawed man of color I am doing something wrong.  NOTHING makes a person angrier than being told he or she has no right to be angry when there is injustice all around him or her.  Ask any woman who was told to get out of the staff room if she couldn't take a joke, and you will hear EXACTLY what I mean.  No WONDER Terrell was pissed off, that's all I'm saying.)  Anyway, I think normally I could have taken a deep breath and let it go, but I DID mention the crampy, hormonal, footsore, bloated, and so far from my home, right?

I needed chocolate.  I did, and I went down to visit the gift store before it closed to get some.

It closed early.

I asked the bellman how close the nearest chocolate for purchase was, and I was told it was two blocks away.

I looked down at my feet in their flip-flops and my body in my sweater, no coat, no scarf, no hat, no gloves, and almost cried.

The bellman said, "What's your room number, sweetheart.  I'll see what I can do."

And then I almost cried for kindness.

So Mary got a text at almost eleven o'clock at night.  "How much should I tip this guy?"

Her response?  "A LOT!"

So I tipped him a LOT and he gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I hope he had a VERY GOOD night because he about saved my life and the life of my children to boot.

Anyway, this morning it was snow flurries, and, yes, we were the crazy tourists who sat on top of the double decker bus in the snow.   Remember that alpaca cape with the hood?  I think today was the day it was made for, even though I finished it in the middle of June and thought I was crazy.  But by the third snow-flurry my husband and I were done, and we went downstairs and then got off at Portrello's which is awesome.   We got back on a different tour trolley, where, we realized, if it was dreamt of, created, fixed, or painted, it ALL started in Chicago.  The Ferris Wheel?  Chicago.  Walt Disney?  Chicago.  The hot dog?  Oh yeah-- that wasn't Vienna, that was Chicago.  It became sort of a giggle trigger for us-- that and Upper Whacker and Lower Whacker... heeeee!!!  (Yeah, we're juvenile, so what?)

But, finally, the tour was done, and we were exactly where we wanted to be:  at the art museum.

We enjoyed ourselves, and the kids remembered a LOT but even Squish has her limits:  Mom, can we go somewhere there isn't so many naked people?  Which is how we left the Picasso exhibit to go see the Impressionists, and that was okay too.

So, this is Chicago, part one.  I think you'll agree, Squish stole the show!

Oh, and for those of you who follow me on Twitter, it was my FATHER who gave me shit about buying chocolate when I had a basket full of maxi pads.  He's normally a very nice man-- but, well, Jesus, my stepmom should be nominated for sainthood sometimes.

Oh, and Did I Mention the Trip to Chicago?

Leaving on Thursday, and I need to... oh, crap...

Do the laundry, bring the sweaters, how cold is it going to be there?  Lessee... the kids are gonna be there for five days, they'll need ten of everything how many is that?  Is that even possible?  Oh CRAP! Do they need the
ir own SHAMPOO?  I'll buy them EACH shampoo.  Twice.  And toothpaste.  Toothbrushes.  Do they have their own?  BUY IT ANYWAY!

And I'll pack for them, and then I'll pack for me... how long am I going to be there?  Where am I going?  Can I wash stuff?  Hotels let you wash stuff, right?  HOLY CRAP, WHAT IF I CAN'T WASH STUFF?

And what will I wear?  Will I wear jeans and T-shirts?  What about night?  WHAT ARE MY PEOPLE DOING AT NIGHT?  Will my family eat out?  Oh no.  We never discussed that.  What if we don't eat out?  What if I bring a fuckton of dresses and no one eats out?  Oh holy shit... IT'S A WHOLE OTHER SEASON THERE!!!

And I'm there for how long?  Lessee... coming home on Monday night.  Oh Jesus-- I REALLY have a 38 minute layover at eleven o'clock on Monday night?  IN LAX?  I LOATHE that airport!  The one place on the planet you are guaranteed to NOT find a maxipad at eleven o'clock at night.  Fuck.  I'd better pack maxipads.  Do we have any?  When was the last time I needed them?  CURSE YOU IRREGULAR MENSTRUAL CYCLE, I MIGHT NEED MAXIPADS!

*pant pant pant*

Okay.  Okay.  Leaving Big T here to fend for himself.  He's a big boy.  He can eat.  He knows how to cook.  He can...YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MANY FROZEN PEPPERONI PIZZAS!!!  Okay.  Calming down.  Getting him his favorite vitamin waters, because Mommy is deserting her first born.  And the dog.  Oh no, THE DOG!  He'll be devastated.  He'll think I'm leaving him forever.  He'll think I'm deserting him.  I can't leave for ten minutes without him thinking I'm deserting him.  Must make up for lost time right now-- COME HERE YOU LITTLE BOOBY HAMSTER AND TAKE UP SEMI-PERMANENT RESIDENCE IN MY SHIRT!  But don't nibble.  It's rude.

Do the kids have enough to keep them busy?  Have we found both iPods?  Stuffed animals for everyone?  OH DAMMIT!  WHERE THE HELL IS DARTH PLUSH?  Books.  Do we have enough books, way there, way back, they both get occupation carry ons and their luggage carry ons and... @.@.

Okay.  I'm freaking out.  I'm freaking out.  I need to work.  I can work.  I've got an edit in the box.  Oh God.  It's the other half of Forever Promised.  THIS BOOK WILL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH!  *can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe*  Okay.  It's halfway done.  I just need to finish the other 65K and write 15K to finish Kitsch before I leave in thirty-six hours.  I can do that, right?  Right?  RIGHT?  OH WHO THE FUCK AM I KIDDING!  NOBODY CAN DO THAT WHILE THEY'RE DOING LAUNDRY PACKING AND MAKING PLANS FOR A MANI-PEDI AND A TRIP TO THE GYM!!! *pant*  Okay.  Chill.  MUST chill.  Chilling.  Zen.  There will be wi-fi.  Mate understands that I need to work a little.  He'll let me... oh no.

It's not just Mate and the kids.  It's my parents. My parents already think I'm a douchebag for checking my e-mail on my phone and texting my daughter.  My father thinks I'm a whore because Locker Room sold well.  My parents will never understand.  I'll have to work under the covers at night like some sort of porny-dealing pervert.  I'M NOT READY FOR A NON-WORKING VACATION!

It's okay.... Swear... it's okay.  All good.  Zen.  Family will leave, and I'll have two days before the conference.  Two days in my own hotel room.  I can catch up then.  Oh my God.  My family is LEAVING WITHOUT ME?  Without me?  Leaving me behind in an alien city?  No kids?  No husband?  *gets a little teary*  It'll be okay.  *wibble*  I'll have friends.  *quiver*  I mean, some of the people at the DSP conference will be happy to see me, right?  *brightens*  Right?  That's true!  I mean, if nothing else, I need to talk to people about RT... oh no... oh no... oh holy crap... because... I'm getting home from the DSP thing and I've got seven days home and then I'm leaving for Kansas City...

I'M LEAVING FOR KANSAS CITY ON APRIL 30TH!!!

I'M LEAVING FOR RT ON APRIL 30TH, and I WON'T BE HERE TO MAIL MY SHIT TO THE HOTEL!!!!  Plus, I'm getting my colon scoped on April 24th, so, well, there goes two days.

Oh fuck.  Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck...

I need to box my shit so Mate can send it after he gets back from Chicago.  Yeah.  That's the ticket.  I can box it, and Mate can send it, and...

Some of it's not getting here for another week.  *sob*  I'm going to have to leave shipping my shit go Mate.  *whimper*

And then there's going to be laundry.

And did I mention the 16K I need to write?  Wait, what are the kids wearing?  Can Big T walk the dog three times a day?  OH MY GOD!  WHAT'S FOR DINNER!

*sob*  Please Goddess, let it all just happen.  *whimper*

Either that, or send me copious amounts of Teen Wolf Fan-fic, so I don't have to think about it.  Erm... Chicken?  Ashlyn?  Mary... I NEED YOU!!!!

***

We interrupt this complete freak out to let you know Amy Lane has had dinner and done laundry, and that NO ONE is to send her fanfic of any sort until she gets Promises and Kitsch done.  Please.  Think of the children.  No one can wear baby shampoo for five days straight.

Turkeys in the Rain, Turkeys in the Street...

Lots and lots of turkeys, that I have yet to meet!

A scarf done for Big T, and some mitts working for Squish,
Really, I've got knitting and as much yarn as you could wish!

Squish's birthday dinner went off without a hitch--
Not yarn for her, but Chinese food!  As much as you could wish.

And then we saw the King' lose-- no surprise really there,
What's surprising is my Mate--who still has the energy to care!

So dinner first, then cake, then game,
 and thanks to all the folks who came!
Auntie Wendy, Uncle Chris,
 Grandpa Pete, Grandma Janis,
 Grandma Bobbie, and all of us--
a birthday party without much fuss.
And a Squish who was happy with the rest of us!








But tired kids-- that is the truth,
 and Thursday started with kids all droopy.
 And the dog had trouble with his morning poopy.

But I got lots of pictures of the morning turkeys,
who didn't seem to mind that their street was all... well, rainy.  (Sorry... lost the mojo there for a minute.)

But now the day is really sunny, and the turkeys on the street are funny,
I love to watch them walk around like they own our little town,

I love to watch them kind of strut

I love to watch them flaunt their stuff!

And get their feathers in a ruffle and their puffy chests a-fluffle!

In the rain or in the sun, I love to watch those turkeys run!

But through all this, I think I'll miss
 the tiny baby who was my Squish--
It can be argued, boy and how!
 That seven is a big girl now!

And she says such grown-up things
 about dogs and movies and bunnies and kings.
I asked her if she had regrets
About how big her party DIDN'T get.
"No, mom, I still like my birthday plan,
I believe we should continue on."
And on and on and on she goes
Saying stuff that's proved she's grown.
And on and on and on she grows
Leaving behind the baby I have known.
But oh, what a woman she'll be
And I know we're waiting, we long to see
The amazing things my Squish will do.
But I bet you miss her as a baby too.
I know I do-- and that is true.

Oh, and in other news...

We had a lovely day yesterday--of which I took ZERO photos.  Yes, you heard that right.  ZERO photos.  No, I don't know what was wrong with me... it was just so nice to talk and laugh that this time, I let Mate get the photos, and he'll get them to me when he's ready.   In the meantime, we've got the uber-cute, as Squish models what I'm calling "The Poppy Hat".  Of course, part of the name comes from the bright red, and part of it comes from the fact that it's for an author named Poppy!  Poppy Dennison asked me if I could make her something, anything-- uhm, for the record, you never know what I'm going to do when you ask that.  Andrew Grey ended up with fingerless mitts in a one-of-a-kind color mixture, and, well, Poppy ended up with this.  
I'm sort of proud of it-- it's a lace mesh beret, and if anyone's interested, I'll post the pattern on another day.  
In book news, I should mention that tomorrow, I'm posting my Amy's Lane column on what to look for in a blurb.  Again, for those of you who aren't in the RRW, I'll be cross-posting this at my website, and it will show up here!  (This whole synergistic posting thing boggles me.  It's SO hard to decide where to put shit!)  Anyway, so that's going up, and that will be cool, and you should read it and let your mind and your life be enriched by my glorious enlightenment.  *smirk*  Okay, just read and try not to laugh.   And there's that!
Now we're getting to the anecdote portion of our program, which is both a little scary and a little funny.  Are we prepared?  Okay, good.  Here goes. 
So, Thursday night, the little kids were asleep, and the household was coming to rest, and I was sitting down to write.  Can you imagine the scene?  Fat mom in her pajamas, kids zoning on their electronics, Mate, disappearing down the hall to take off his pants in the totally non-sexy dad way.  
Suddenly, there's a pounding on the door.  
I open the door (a little) and there's a young Hispanic man there with a long pony-tail, pressed white T-shirt and big cargo shorts.  He's saying, "Open the door!  He's gonna jump me!"
"Who's gonna jump you?"
"That guy!  He thinks I jacked his stuff!"
And then I look over toward my cars, and I see a flashlight, and then another young man--also Hispanic, with a shaved head and tattoos-- rushing toward my door.  
The guy in front of me has a knife.  
I slam the door, shoot the deadbolt, and scream, "Chicken!  Call the fucking cops!"
And Chicken does.  And so do I.  (By the way, I think there was a wrinkle in the space time continuum, because it took me roughly six-hundred years to unplug my phone and make the emergency call.  Did anyone else feel that?)  
Anyway, Big T leaned against the door while sounds of a scuffle ensued, complete with sounds of screaming and "OPEN THE DOOR!  PLEASE!  OPEN THE DOOR!"
Chicken and I both herd the little kids out of their room and into Chicken's room (because their room was close to the window) and 911 picked up on my phone.  
"What did the young man look like?  What kind of knife?"
"Early twenties, Hispanic/Native American, long ponytail, white T-shirt, blue cargo pants.  Knife was four inches long, double bladed, about the size of a paring knife, black handle."
"Wow, you know your knives!"
"I know my details."
"Are you on the porch now?"  
"No, I'm in the hallway."
"Can you see anything from there?"
"No, but they can't see me either?"
And, in the meantime, the noise has stopped, and Mate has emerged from the back bedroom with pants.  Because, you know, you can't fight the forces of evil without pants, and the police arrived and took my statement.  (Sort of.  A guy came and talked to me, and another guy hung back on the porch and looked up at the defunct wasps nest in the corner of our wall and overhang and breathed through his mouth.  I was not impressed.  Local po po, go figure.)
Anyway-the two young men vanished (pretty much as soon as I called 911) and we shut our doors and windows and settled down (HA) to go to sleep.  (We looked like this for most of the night:  0.0)  
The next morning, T and I both remembered seeing these guys wandering around together on their bicycles, and what I thought (and I sort of got this idea when it was happening) was that these guys were trying to get into our house.  And in the meantime, my older kids revealed what kind of idiot they REALLY think I am:  
"Gee, mom.  You surprised me.  We expected you to let them in!"  
Oi!  
As.  Fucking.  If.  
Yeah.  Not sleeping with the doors open for a while!
Anyway-- don't forget, I'll be on Amy's Lane tomorrow, and I was on Mrs. Condit's last week with an interview between Mikhail and Crick!    And now you know.  If you don't hear from me, send the cops.  But not the local po-po-- send someone GOOD.  

Sunny Day...

Okay... So the logic runs like this...

Squish's birthday is next week, right?  And we're going to have a small family party next week, and go eat at Wongs and have ice cream cake (note to self:  must not forget ice cream cake) and then take Squish to a King's game, where she'll see her name on the board.

But she wanted to go to Build-a-Bear with her sister, and since it's easier to have a party for little kids on break, we thought we'd have a party at Build-a-Bear with a couple of kids--not huge, mind you, just a few, but, well, where to meet up?

The house was out of the question.  There was not enough time to clean the house.  Twice.  In the same week.

Crap.

So, the itinerary went like this:  Meet at the park for quick meal of finger sandwiches ("Finger sandwiches, mom?  I LOVE finger sandwiches!"  I don't know why, but cut a PB&J into tiny pieces, and you're a god.  Free parenting tip.  From me.  Finger sandwiches) Goldfish crackers and juice boxes, then caravan to the Build-a-Bear place which was about 1/2 an hour away, then, after they had built their bears, take them to ice cream (it turned out to be frozen yogurt since the Ben & Jerry's I'd been thinking about had actually MOVED.  Thank Goddess for fro-yo, that's all I'm saying.)

And that, folks, was birthday party one.

So, uhm, some of you might question the wisdom of planning TWO birthday parties on either side of Easter.

*piffle*  I say! *PIFFLE!*  Why SHOULDN'T I execute two birthdays  and an Easter Bunny while I'm trying to make a gazunga deadlines!  (Speaking of which, I've moved one back a little, thank Bob, but still.  Not catching up.)  With kids in the house who need attention and amusement, and for me to be caught up on every pop culture reference that they have, in their leisure time, been able to absorb.

Anyway-- so, yeah.  It's been a full an amazing break--for the kids-- and a sort of juggling act for mom. (What's for dinner tonight, Mom?  No, seriously.  We're starving.  What's for dinner?)

But in the meantime, we had a lovely time in the park and some very nice kids got some, well, very varied stuffed animals.  (Our names ranged from Darth Plush to Sir Mints-a-lot to Soft to Spike to Thorin to Cookie.  Seriously-- that's an eclectic bunch of bears from an eclectic bunch of kids, right?)  The only thing was missing was the little dog, but Big T said that he was happy to have Jonnies company.

So, it was a good day, and a good week, and seriously, Mate and I are going to need a day to nap when school starts and Chicken goes home.





Oh-- and this is just sort of a random kid story.  Squish got one of those Rapunzel dolls last year for Christmas, the ones that are three feet tall?  Anyway, she was fun for a while, but, you know, eventually the fun wore off, and the creepy started to sink in.  So Squish was ready to put her in the garage.

I had her put the doll in the hall, and it was one of those mom things:  Guys, could you put this in the garage?

And they completely ignored me and kept putting it back in her room.

Well, this morning, Squish had a mom moment.  She LITERALLY had a nuclear meltdown during which she turned into me right before our very eyes.

"Could you move my doll?  Could you please move my doll?  Because I keep putting her in the hall," gesture, "and she's SUPPOSED to end up in the garage," chin wobble, "but she keeps ending up back in my ROOOOOOOOMMM!!!" WAIL.  Her eyes teared up and everything, and her sister and I just watched her, trying not to laugh.

"God, Mom," said Chicken.  "That was the best impression of you losing it that I've ever seen."

So, well, good.  There we go.  Mini-me, it's a fact!

And wait-- here we go:  Morning turkeys.  You can hear their wing feathers dragging on the pavement when they're all ruffled up like this.

New Releases and More Family Hilarity

Okay-- I'm going to start with the family hilarity before I continue. I know some folks only read for the family stuff, right?

Anyway-- Mate and I did a little impromptu Easter shopping the other night, and forgot to take the stuff out for the next day.  When the kids noticed the candy in the car, I made something up about favors for Squish's birthday (which I had to back up by buying other stuff-- go me!) but I texted Mate first in a bit of a panic.  My text was, well, less than circumspect:

Oh fuck!  We blew the Easter Bunny!

I'm reasonably sure the Easter Bunny was more than a little surprised.

And the other hilarious thing happened just when I sat down to blog.  Chicken noticed that Zoomboy's underwear (which is pretty much his house uniform when there is no school) had seen better days.  Actually, that pair had seen better days when Zoomboy was in preschool, and now?  Well... they were shorts without a seat.  It look like he broke wind and blew out a hole.  When we told him to go change out of his peekaboo briefs so we could throw them away, he stripped naked in the middle of the living room, and all of us girls screamed for him to put his naked butt back into some boxers.  I swear, he's one of the guys from The Big Bang theory in the making.

Also, we went and got hair cuts.  Squish sat up and started talking to her hair stylists like an old pro.  "My name is Squish.  That's my big sister.  I'm a red-head like her.  Tomorrow is my birthday.  My friend Sophie is coming, and my brother's friend Sam.  We're going to Build-a-bear..."

Dudes.  I'm not playing.  She spilled her life story.  This girl is ready for the beauty parlor, no question!

Anyway...

Let's move on to Bolt-Hole.  

Okay, when Mate and I had just moved in (almost exACTly twenty-five years ago) we worked at T.G.I.Fridays.  It paid the rent (barely) and paid for school (with the help of credit cards) and I worked there until I got pregnant and Mate worked there until he got his paid internship at Intel.

Restaurant work is funny.

For one thing, it's HARD on the body-- and unless you master the ways of not beating the crap out of yourself, or work in a place with a slightly slower pace than your average chain restaurant, it really is better for the young.  And because of the pace--uber fast, uber urgent-- it really can seem to suck up your life through a straw.  I know a lot of my mangers had drug problems which stemmed from making the twelve hour days.  Dealing with irate customers (who are often being unreasonable--let's face it!) without ever really being able to be honest with them is sort of the optimum grooming ground for used car salesmen, and those of us who tend to wear our hearts on our sleeves end up fired.  (*cough*  Not that I was ever... oh hell, who am I fooling.    We all know I was fired for rudeness.  But if I'd known I was going to get fired for not sucking up enough, I would have told that flaming twat what I really thought of her!)  Very often, the only reason people don't quit isn't the money, and it's not pride in their jobs, although pride in honest work is always a plus.  No, the reason people don't quit is because the co-worker who just ran a ramekin of ranch dressing to that flaming twat on table twenty-three is your friend, and you'd help your friend through thick and thin, through poor tips and rich twits, and your friend will do the same for you.

It's amazing how tight, how immediate, how permanent, those restaurant friendships seem.  Restaurant friends become roommates, become bridesmaids, become husbands... or, you know.  They're never heard from again.

Because there are no guarantees, right?  Very often, the people working in restaurant work are working toward something, and once they get there?  Bye bye baby!

At the start of the book, Terrell has been working at Papiano's for a number of years, and Colby has been there for a year.  Terrell knows that sometimes, this job is where dreams go to die.  People with journalism degrees or film degrees or sociology degrees-- these people make outstanding restaurant employees.  The hours are flexible, and if they're competent, they can have an extra day a week to continue to work on the job they really wanted, and if they're smart enough to get the degree, they're smart enough to do the job and work with the people.  But eventually, that restaurant job that was only meant to be stop in the road... that becomes the road, and for some folks (I knew quite a lot of them) that's fine.  They're happy.  But for the people who had their whole identity pinned to a dream?

Well, there's a whole lot of bitter bartenders out there.

So at the start of the book, Terrell and Colby are friends-- but Terrell is very much aware of how tenuous that kind of friendship can be.  When Terrell makes the jump, decides to follow Colby into a relationship, it becomes very clear that if the relationship is going to continue, Papiano's is going to be the first thing they leave behind.

But that doesn't mean they can't have a whole lot of fun while they're there!

Bolt-Hole will be available Wednesday, March 27th Dreamspinner Press, Amazon, and All Romance e-books.  If you buy from DSP, you can use PayPal, and they DO send directly to your Kindle, and tomorrow night, I'll put the specific links up from my website--and in the meantime?  Let me know how you like.  I've been reluctant to write an interracial romance--not because I haven't seem them work and thrive, but because of some of the reaction from It's Not Shakespeare.  The critics who read that book and had experienced life from both sides of the fence loved it.  The critics who had only known people from one side were absolutely sure that I'd done the other side a tremendous disservice.  You can, no lie, find back to back interviews claiming that yes, I got the Hispanic community down to the details, but that I was painting repressed white people as a cruel stereotype, OR the exact reverse-- they knew people JUST like James, but I was being offensive with the portrayal of Rafi.

After dealing with that critical mass, I had to wait until a very smart, very human character started talking in my ear before I decided to try another attempt at getting the American race experience right.  Terrell was that guy-- and I love him, a lot.  I just hope that the people reading about him see that I'm drawing from my experience in a racially diverse area, and from my own struggle to put my middle-class white upbringing into context with the kids I taught. By the time I left teaching, it was a no-brainer, but I had a lot of growing up to do in the meantime.  Terrell and Colby's relationship is the result of some of that growing up--and I hope you all love them like I do.

A Chitter Here, a Chatter There

Heya, all!   Okay, I've got two deadlines this weekend, and four children who are in the house and need to be entertained.  Can she survive?  We'll see... we'll definitely see... I have a release on Wednesday (Bolt-Hole, which is available for pre-sale and which I will talk about on Tuesday/Wednesday-- I put up the little header because it looks VERY spring break, and I thought that was fun!) and if you don't hear from me by then?  Send someone to my house, STAT, because I've been shanghai'd into watching Teen Wolf reruns on Netflix and have achieved a knitting coma of epic proportions.  
Anyway, in the meantime, thought I should share some of the family hilarity, since, you know, all of my fledglings are home, and I am thrilled to the base of my tail feathers.  Because things like this happen, mostly:

Zoomboy:  Mom!  Look at this-- it's an extra special book, because it has episodes four, five, and six in it!  They're all together mom!Me:  Yes, that is amazing.  I haven't seen anything like that since you bought episodes one, two, and three all in the same book!Zoomboy:  And look, they've got bookmarks with all of the bounty hunters on them!  Isn't that amazing?  Don't you want me to tell you their names again?
Me:  No.  
Zoomboy:  This one's Greedo, and this one's...
Me, to Mate:  I'd say you did this to him, but I don't think one person alone can shoulder the responsibility. 
Mate:  It takes a nerd village to raise a geek child.
Zoomboy:  I'm a gerd, I like sci-fi, and I'm really smart!Me and Mate:  0.0  We need to get into shape faster.  Middle school is coming and we're going to need to catch up. ***Zoomboy:  Look!  The alpacalypse is here!
***
Me, to random, adorable gymnastics mom:  Hey, could you model these fingerless mitts.  The friend I'm giving them to has really small hands.
Nice gymnastics mom:  I have really small hands.  I'm a really small person.  It's because I'm Chinese. I didn't really have a come back to that, but did I mention she's adorable?  It deserves repeating.  
***Me to Mary:  I don't know what I'm going to do!  This was supposed to be an adorable Christmas story, but it's grown, and it's really more YA than Christmassy.  
Mary:  Well, submit this one to Harmony Ink (Dreamspinner's Young Adult line) and then write another story for Riptide!  (Who sort of contracted this one at the beginning.)
Me:  Seriously-- I've been planning to write this story since the very beginning!  I've got a queue!  I've got deadlines!  What, I'm going to pull 25K of OTHER Christmas story out of my ass?
Mary:  Yeah!  It can be about two guys, see?  Evan and Grayson, and they can have this problem with Grayson's two kids and a swimming pool, and a pet, and they can be--
Me:  Wait a minute.  Is this your story that you're working on right now?
Mary:  Yes--but I'm sort of stuck.  I'll gladly give it to you so you can finish it. 
Me:  Go write your story.  Seriously. 
Mary:  You'd do a great job at it!
Me:  SO WILL YOU!   
***
Me, to Mate, upon seeing this book:  It's awesome to know I'm not the only person going to hell for writing a book.Mate:  Yeah, I really can't figure out if that's blasphemy or religion.
Me:  Let's call it blasphemy and buy Zoomboy some legos! 
***
 Me to Mate:  So, this is Tom Cruise as a rockstar.

Mate:  Yup.

Me:  I like it.  I like it a lot.

Mate:  As long as he keeps singing Def Leppard, I'm a fan.

***

Squish:  Yes, I know my socks match, but sometimes I have a better day if they're both the same length.

***

Squish:  Do you want me to read you the funny part of Frog and Toad again?  When Sophia read this to the class, we all laughed.

Now, between you and me, I didn't see how funny this was, but apparently it was class A material for first graders.

***

Chicken:  No, I don't want to see The Hobbit again.  Quite frankly, I've seen some of that fanfic, and I don't wanna imagine Frodo and Thorin doing that.

Me:  Oh for heaven's sake-- skip that fanfic.  Jesus, have I taught you nothing.  

Chicken:  Yeah, but all the Teen Wolf and Johnlock was all read out!  All that was left was the porn!

***

Mate, looking at Chicken's computer:  OKay, have you been to any sites that would have popups?  Vendors?  *drops voice* *looks grim*  Porn?

Chicken (to dad):  No-- I swear, I haven't clicked any popups or enabled any apps.  Or looked at any porn on that computer.  (to me, sotto voce)  I use my friend's computer for that.

***

Big T:  Mom, if you're going to go shopping, can I at least make your shopping list?

Me:  No, you only want to write my shopping list so you'll have less to put away.

Big T:  No, that's not true.  Well, yeah it is, mostly, but still-- you buy too much stuff!

***

Big T:  Here, Chicken-- let me show you this website.  It's awesome.  C'mon--c'mon, you'll like it!

Chicken:  Did you just slap your thighs like you would to Johnnie?

Big T:  Yes, but come here and do it anyway.

Chicken:  I don't like games.

Big T:  Trust me.

Chicken;  I don't like games.

Big T:  You'll like this one.

Me (because T is sounding hurt):  Go ahead, Chicken--you can play this one with Squish.

And that was two hours ago.   They're still playing.  Imagine me patting Big T on the head-- Good boy!

***

And that's about it for the family hook-up-- may all of you enjoy your spring break too!  Next post, Bolt-Hole will be out, and I'll chat about that!

Timesuck Thursday

Okay.  You all have this friend.  Perhaps somedays you ARE this friend. (I know I am!) Somedays, ALL of your friends are this friend.

The friend with the "OMG--READ THIS!" or, "Oh crap-- watch this video!"  The friend with the, "Have you SEEN this show?!!"  or the, "Oh sweet jebus, you MUST read/see/watch/do/fondle/own/tweet/retweet/facebook/link to/rubyournakedskinagainst THIS!"

You KNOW that friend.

The reigning King/Queen of the timesuck.

I am discovering that I know a lOT of these people.  Hell, two posts ago, when I was posting about things that made me happy, I had most of those pictures in my files thanks to them.  I love them all.  I have become them.  I dodge out of writing for a nanosecond, and I spend twelve to thirty minutes in a land I had completely not anticipated.  Sometimes I'm informed or outraged, but most of the time?  I'm amused and entertained.  And then VERY much of the time, I'm behind!

Now I'm not here to judge you if you do this.  I certainly have no plans to reform myself, much less other people.  I'm just in the mood to quantify the timesucks that seem to be thrown my way.  Because it's fun, that's why, and I'm behind, and it's time to blog, and after spending a half an hour giggling over THIS FANFIC that Mary sent me, I figure it's time to put a name to where'dallthetimego!

So here, in random order, are things I obsess about, and that people obsess about sending ME, and that I enjoy the hell out of, even when I'm supposed to be doing something else.

*  Wincest videos-- THIS ONE HERE is my favorite right now. And this one.  And this one too.  But some of you know this about me.  And I've infected YOU with this sickness.

*  LOL cats-- can't get enough of them!

*  Tasteful art pictures of pretty men-- drawn is best, real is fine, no peen, penetration, or general raunch, sweetness preferred.  (There is a one person exception to this rule.  She knows who she is.)

*  Alpacas-- this one isn't my fault.  I published that story about the alpaca rancher/yarn mill owner, and suddenly people are sending them to me.  Real ones, ones in pictures... it's really sort of damned cool.

*  Animals wearing clothes.  This include chickens in capes and cats in gawdawful ugly hats.  I'm pretty sure it's a direct result of the whole knitting series thing, and I'm fine with that.

*  Public typos.  Man, I can NOT get enough of that shit!

*  Fanfic-- Avengers, Johnlock, Wincest, and now, (THANK you, Mary!) Teenwolf.

*  To die for little adorable baby animals.  Rhys, this is you.

*  TED videos.  Thank you, Mate, for making me look not totally trivial!

*  Left-wing propaganda vids.  Thank you, Huffington Post, for keeping it COMPLETELY unbalanced, since, well, we know I like it that way. No. I'm not posting any.  I'm trying to pretend politics don't exist atm.

*  Felicia Day videos that seem particularly relevant to me.  Thank God I adore her-- and her ten-minute you-tube show is HYSTERICAL.

*  Yarn I want to possess, in a totally non-platonic fashion.  This one is my fault.  I've sent a lot of my non-knitting friends the link to the Loopy Ewe, and suddenly they're like, "I want to roll in this color like a naked dragon in a field of wild flowers and medicinal dragon marijuana!"  And I'm like, "Yeah, I can totally see that!"

*  TJ and Amal-- it's my only webcomic, and since I hunger and yearn for it, I think it's best I stay that way.

*  Snarky signs and post its and notepads.  I blame Ashlyn for this link here.

And that's not even the half of it.

And yeah, no sign of going cold turkey any time soon.


But I do have a suggestion for, you know, containing the madness-- and that's sort of why I made this post.  See, I figure, if I'm known for a couple of things, then that's what I'm going to get.  So I keep to myself my yen for dragons, Arthur Rackham, impressionist art, Romantic poetry, repressed Victorian poetry, Walt Whitman, Lord Byron, and Ben Franklin references to bisexuality,  teddy bears, Nathan Fillion, sexy pictures of food, and baby blanket patterns.  I figure that what people aren't sending me is time I have to do real work!