Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 97

A Long Ago Lesson

I attended my first convention as a writer about eight and a half years ago. It was SacAnime, and I met all sorts of people there, including Erin Grey (from Buck Rogers) and Will Wheaton, who was exceptionally kind to Big T at the time. We also met the guy who drew and voiced Bugs Bunny for Looney Toons Back in Action-- he gave Squish, who was just a baby, a picture of Bugs that he presented in Bugs's voice. We still have that picture. We got it framed.

And we met the Little Vampire people.

I love these people--I still talk to Rebecca and James over Twitter sometimes--and I enjoy them very much. But I remember that first time, because I was still teaching at the time and Rebecca had been a fifth grade teacher, and she'd left it behind to try to make it selling her comics.

She's had some success--as she should, because ADORABLE--but mostly I remember her husband James, who wore a shirt that said, "Talentless Hanger-Onner" and who apparently helped her put together her stock for display, because he was THAT kind of husband who helped like that.  (this is a good thing, trust me.)

Anyway-- he said it looked like a Michael's store threw up during a tornado.

I've always remembered that description.

Which is funny, because I'm putting together swag packs for my own convention, RT in Las Vegas, and you know something?

My house looks like a Michael's store threw up during a tornado too.

Thanks James and Rebecca. You taught me a lot about what I do for a living right now, which is good. From you guys I have faith that my home shall be safe for man or beast at some point in the future.

It's good to know.

Squishy Sings

A.  We went to see Squishy's district choir presentation tonight, and it was lovely. No, angels didn't weep and the heavens didn't open, but a bunch of grade-schoolers, middle-schoolers, and high-schoolers got to stand on stage and make joyful noise unto the skies. (Okay, it was in a church, but I'm going to lean on the side of music being the Goddess's province, sue me.) Either way, we got to watch Squishy smile as she sang-- and that's not as easy to do as it sounds.

B.  I know it was two days ago, but I love that there is such thing as a World Rat Day. We should ALL have rats and give them cupcakes. Or maybe just have pet rats. They're pretty awesome.

C. You know what's NOT awesome? The damned dog eating her halter. Again. @#$% dog. Seriously-- it would be really damned nice of her if she'd go through halters LESS often than she went through hair cuts. I mean, we might be able to afford the groomers more often if she didn't eat her NECESSARY NECK JEWELRY every other week.

D. These are the socks that were waiting for Chicken when she got home from her surprise visit. You can't see them accurately, but they say "I'm a Fucking Unicorn", and they're pink knee socks, and they make me very happy. As does the fact that I can see the blanket I made Chicken when she was a little kid in the corner of that picture, and she still loves it.

E. On impulse, Chicken has signed up to come be my Vegas monkey in RT. I already have two people she will be at the mercy of, and I'm sort of excited. Just once I want to be able to say, "Hey, look-- there's (insert name of at least fifty different author crushes here). Go buy a book and get it signed for me!"  *happy sigh* This might finally be my chance.

F. Mate came home exhausted from not only going to  Squish's choir presentation but also to his own indoor soccer game (which started at 10:25 at night, btw, when most of the old men involved were probably used to going to bed.)  Anyway, he sat on the couch to watch television and I sat down to watch it with him, but he was tired and out of it, and I just concentrated on my knitting.

Finally I got up and he said, "Work?"

"Yeah, and you don't really know I'm here."

"I knew you were there!"

"Did you know that I maintained a five minute one-sided conversation to which you didn't respond?"

"Yes... wait...no... wait. There is no good answer to that question, is there!"

"No, hon. Bedtime."

G--Tomorrow I give out the Avengers Assemble, I mean Swag Assemble call, and we start Amy's little sweatshop all over again. May the gods of organization be with me, except seriously, if they COULD be with me, where the fuck have they been all my life?

Shut Up and Take Mommy's Money

So, about seeing your youngest turn ten...

"God, Mom-- did you buy her enough dolls?"

"You don't... you don't even understand. She's ten. Just yesterday she was born. And now my baby is ten. And she asked for Monster High dolls. Do you have any idea how long this is going to last?"

"No..."

"Me neither. Hand me the third doll, we may be able to shove it into the birthday bag."

So, about watching your twelve year old suffer from insomnia and nightmares and worry about his state of mind and want something, anything, to make him happy until we get this sorted out...

"I looked, honey, and it wasn't there."

"I know, Mom it's not--"

"I mean your sister and I combed Target, but it wasn't there. I mean, as soon as they stock it, I'll get it, I promise."

"I get it, Mom, did you know--"

"I didn't forget you, even though this weekend is all about yo ur sisters MOMMY STILL LOVES YOU!!!!"

"Mom, it's okay. The Force Awakens isn't even out until Tuesday."

So, about kicking my oldest out of the minivan every morning so he can catch the city bus to school and work...

"I'm getting coffee, do you want anything?"

"No."

"Orange juice?"

"No."

"Those little tangerine things?"

"Mom!"

"I'm just asking."

"Okay, orange juice."

"Awesome."

So, about coming out of the shower and thinking that Chicken was home this weekend and I loved her and missed her and I wanted her to stay forever and ever, and then, after getting dressed, I open the door and she's right outside...

"Mom, can I have some money for lunch with my friend?"

"Here, here's the cash in my wallet, and my credit cards, and the check I haven't deposited and here's daddy's passcode and--"

"Mom, it's twenty-bucks for Panera."

"SHUT UP AND TAKE MOMMY 'S MONEY!!!"

Kermit Flail--April 2016

 YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!

I just had to put that out there first.

I made it through St. Patrick's Day, Easter, and Squish's birthday and only barely dropped a dozen balls in the process.  Y'all, in a week I'm going to be heading for Romantic Times, Las Vegas with my friend Kim Fielding, and I only NOW have enough time to concentrate on my schedule for that day and wonder, Dear God! What in the seven hells have I done!!!

Anyway-- I made it through the weekend with only one... okay, two.... okay, three major breakdowns.

Three, in three days? That's not bad, right?

But Squish and Zoomboy are in bed, exhausted. Big T is feeling reasonably happy because we had Chinese food tonight. And Chicken is zooming overhead as I type, and she has plans to move back to our area at the end of May. For the moment, we have peace, and I can celebrate all of the people who, when I sent out a giant "EEEEEEEEK!!!  I'VE TOTALLY FORGOTTEN KERMIT FLAIL--WHO'S GOT STUFF TO POST!!!!" were complete rockstars and ponied up.

Thanks guys-- and seriously-- congratulations! Ariel, Cody, Rick, Jaime, August-- I have met ALL OF YOU in person--and I adore you all. To be able to share your work with as many people as possible? It's a real honor.

And also, toward the end, I have another surprise. I do not actually know this author, but one of my readers has a father who just wrote the murder mystery. She was so excited--and proud of her pops--that she asked if I'd include her father's book. Dudes-- of COURSE I would. Because that's just awesome daughterhood right there.

So there you go--good luck with your new releases, guys--I want to read ALL THE BOOKS--and I'm just so glad to at least be able to feature them here :-)


 Enjoy everybody-- we've got some FANTASTIC stuff this week!  (Oh... and Selfie... is that out this month? Yeah. That's out this month. Uh... it's gotten some nice press, too ;-)






The Kitchen Boy
by August Li 
Kitchen servant Yoli is one of only three men who know a carefully guarded secret about High Commander Koehen, the brilliant general who united their lands against a common invader. The enemy wants that secret, and they are willing to use either kindness or cruelty to obtain it.



Yoli must decide if his loyalties lie with the commander, who has shown him more affection than anyone in Yoli’s life, or with his own best interests. High Commander Koehen’s attention is capricious at best—he summons Yoli only when it is convenient for him, and Yoli knows there’s little hope of a future together. Is a glimmer of a hope for love worth sacrificing a chance for prosperity beyond his wildest dreams?



Buy At Dreamspinner Press






At Your Service (in English and French)

by Ariel Tachna 


When Anthony Mercer walked into Au cœur du terroir, he was looking for good food and a pleasant evening spent with a friend. He never expected to meet—and sleep with—Paul Delescluse, a waiter at the restaurant. After spending a magical week together in Paris, Anthony must return to his life in North Carolina, while Paul remains in France.

Despite the distance and the lack of promises between them—Paul wants sex, not a relationship—Paul and Anthony forge a solid friendship. Then Anthony’s job takes him back to Paris, this time to stay. Paul is thrilled to have him back, but Anthony has a harder choice: be another of Paul’s conquests or fight for the relationship he knows they could have, if only Paul would believe it.


Buy At Dreamspinner Press




Unstable Stud

by  Ariel Tachna


Horses were his passion, until he laid eyes on his boss.


Eighteen months ago, tragedy struck Bywater Farm when a riding accident killed Clay Hunter’s lover and traumatized his prize horse, King of Hearts. Clay and King lingered in limbo, surviving but not really living, until a breath of fresh air in the form of Luke Davis, a new groom in the stud barn, revives them both.


When a fall from King’s back sends Luke to the emergency room, Clay watches the shaky foundation of their budding relationship tumble down. Can Clay really love a jockey again, or will his fear of losing another man he loves keep them apart for good?

Buy At Dreamspinner Press

Like You've Never Been Hurt
by Jaime Samms 

Series Blurb: To dance is to put one’s heart and soul on display for the world to see and judge. Conrad, Peridot, and Cobalt always knew this. For years, this small group of men has danced in and out of the spotlight and one another’s lives. Now, settling in one place, one studio, they all have to find a place on the stage—or behind the scenes—and find the even greater strength to once more dance like no one is watching. To love like they’ve never been hurt before. But most of all, to live their lives like they have found their heaven, both in the music and in the eyes of those who love them.


Book Blurb: About to lose the only thing he ever loved, Adam Pittaluga is at a crossroads in a dancing career that has hardly begun. He has always wanted to be a ballet dancer, but now that it’s impossible, he turns to Peridot for comfort. Peridot has been rebuilding his life after losing his ability to dance professionally, his marriage, and very nearly his daughter. He has a lot of reasons to be leery of starting something new, especially with a man as young as Adam.


Adam and Peridot have to believe that starting again can lead to love and success and that sometimes, the strength needed to love like you’ve never been hurt can be borrowed from unexpected places for a while. But ultimately, they must find it inside themselves to be each other’s happy ending.


Buy At Dreamspinner Press





Big Love
by Rick R. Reed
Teacher Dane Bernard is a gentle giant, loved by all at Summitville High School. He has a beautiful wife, two kids, and an easy rapport with staff and students alike. But Dane has a secret, one he expects to keep hidden for the rest of his life—he’s gay.



But when he loses his wife, Dane finally confronts his attraction to men. And a new teacher, Seth Wolcott, immediately catches his eye. Seth himself is starting over, licking his wounds from a breakup. The last thing Seth wants is another relationship—but when he spies Dane on his first day at Summitville High, his attraction is immediate and electric.



As the two men enter into a dance of discovery and new love, they’re called upon to come to the aid of bullied gay student Truman Reid. Truman is out and proud, which not everyone at his small-town high school approves of. As the two men work to help Truman ignore the bullies and love himself without reservation, they all learn life-changing lessons about coming out, coming to terms, acceptance, heartbreak, and falling in love.

Amazon Kindle


Tharros
by C. Kennedy

Θάρρος

Thárros. Greek. Meaning courage

Courage. n. /ˈkərij/

1. The ability to do something that frightens one.

2. Strength in the face of fear, pain, or grief.

~*~

Courage is resistance to fear,

mastery of fear,

not the absence of fear. ~Mark Twain



High school senior Michael Sattler leads a charmed life. Almost. He has great friends, parents who love him just the way he is, and he was a champion hurdler until someone took out his knee when they kidnapped his boyfriend. Yet, Michael is determined to make the USATF tryouts in spite of his injuries.



Christy Castle is Michael’s entire world. Healing from years of abuse, his abduction by a predator has left him hiding a new secret as he tries to start his life again. Together, Michael and Christy work to recover from their wounds in time to make prom and graduate high school. To complicate matters, Christy is astonished to learn a fellow victim from his native Greece has survived. Christy will stop at nothing to bring him to the US to keep him safe.



But the prosecution of Christy’s kidnapper looms large in their futures and the struggle to return to normal only worsens. Christy's past continues to haunt them and, when the prosecution turns ugly and Christy’s new life is torn apart, only their unrelenting courage and determination can save them from the nightmare that threatens to destroy their future together.



Harmony Ink/Dreamspinner Press, Amazon US,
Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Omni Lit/All Romance eBooks!


















Murder on the Roadshow

by Rudy Franchi

MURDER ON THE ROADSHOW introduces Carlo Parigi, the latest entrant in mystery fiction's Accidental Detective genre. Carlo is a rogueish New York collectibles dealer who wangles his way onto the new TV show, Antiques On The Road.

At the show's first stop, Carlo finds a rare and valuable movie poster. On his way to being taped, he also finds the dead body of a guest. This sets in motion a swirl of events with Carlo as a suspect, forced to try and solve the murder. It also unleashes a cascade of strange and dangerous characters, chief among them his fellow appraisers whose forced smiles reveal pearly teeth.

Carlo does dozens of brief but info-filled appraisals. Plus he reveals a number of trade secrets: how to really buy low and sell high; why the vast majority of movie star signed photos are worthless and exactly what is the notorious "box call."

Author Rudy Franchi was a collectibles appraiser on the PBS series Antiques Roadshow from the program’s first season in 1997 through 2011, when he retired to spend less time with his family and more time writing and running his appraisal business, posterappraisal.com.
Buy at Amazon



Selfie
by Amy LaneOne year ago, actor Connor Montgomery lost the love of his life to a drunk driver. But what’s worse for Connor is what he still has: a lifetime of secrets born of hiding his relationship from the glare of Hollywood. Unable to let go of the world he and Vinnie shared, Connor films a drunken YouTube confession on the anniversary of Vinnie’s death.

Thankfully, the video was silent—a familiar state for Connor—so his secret is still safe. He needs a fresh start, and a new role on the hit TV show Wolf’s Landing might be just that.

The move to Bluewater Bay may also mean a second chance in the form of his studio-assigned assistant. Noah Dakers sees through Connor’s facades more quickly than Connor could imagine. Noah’s quiet strength and sarcastic companionship offers Connor a chance at love that Hollywood’s closet has never allowed. But to accept it, Connor must let Vinnie go and learn to live again.- See more at: http://www.riptidepublishing.com/titl...
Buy at Riptide

Kirkus 
Publisher's Weekly 

April 2nd :-)

Chicken plays while I go shopping
for Squishie at Target.Okay, so April 1st isn't always my favorite.

Because besides Squishie's due date, I'd never had an April Fools joke I'd been really excited about. My older son loves them, and my husband wishes he was better at them, but, as Kaje Harper said earlier today, they always felt like sort of a betrayal of trust.  I mean, I DID have a couple of AP students convince me that one of them had gotten knocked up over Christmas vacation--they took me outside and conferenced with me all sober like, and given how many baby blankets I made for actual students back then, I bought it, hook, line and sinker. I actually told them both "Fuck you ALL and the horse you rode in on!" when they broke character and called bullshit, and in a way, that was fun, because the whole class was in on it.  It was a GROUP thing, and since this was the class that gave me a truly spectacular shower gift when they found out I was having Zoomboy in the Fall, I think we all loved each other enough for it to be okay.

But I still wasn't excited about the day.

Ten years ago, I went into labor on the evening of March 31st. Four days of almost constant labor later--and of child raising, trips to Target, trips to Chipotle, walking around the block, writing Bound, and probably being FUCKING INSANE-- I gave birth to Squishie. She weighed 10 lbs--I said WHILE PUSHING that it was like passing a can of Crisco.

But I have to admit the results were better.

Anyway-- that was favorite April Fools joke. "April Fools! She's gonna be born on the THIRD!"

By the way, I had to tell this story in court.

The day we got home with Squishie--the fourth--my parents arrived to take Big T and Chicken to Hawaii. Yes, Mate, Zoomboy and I were supposed to go, but seven months earlier my stepmom and I had the following conversation:

Stepmom: Hey, we'd like to take you to Hawaii in the beginning of April-- our treat!

Me: Hawaii? At the beginning of April? That's... *sob*  Awesome!

Stepmom: It will be--what was your news?

You can guess the rest.

Anyway--between getting the kids ready for Hawaii, getting the house ready for Squishie, and being insane for four days before I passed a can of Crisco, I forgot I was supposed to go in on the seventh for a traffic ticket.

I went in a month later to plead down the failure to appear.  I brought Squishie as visual proof.

"So, I understand you didn't get home until the fourth of April--were their any extenuating circumstances or complications that would have kept you out of the courtroom on the seventh?"

"You mean besides the four days of labor?"

All the women up in front of the courtroom snickered, and the judge reluctantly smiled--and took $200 off my FTA. That worked for me, actually.  I got the ticket making a California stop two blocks from home, with Big T in the passenger's seat as I took him to his wrestling match. The officer stopped me and I was fine. He said he was going back to write up the ticket and I had a big old hormone surge and fell THE FUCK APART. By the time he got back to me, I was sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe and Big T looked like he wanted to crawl out of the minivan using his butt-cheeks alone.

The policeman was like, "You're making me feel really bad about this!"  and I was like, "I"m SOOOORRRRRRRREEEEEEEE..."  I should have been like, "You SHOULLLLLLLDDDDD BEEEEEE..." But that didn't occur to me.

So yeah. Didn't want to add an entire $300 to that bullshit.

Anyway-- all this leads me to today. This morning actually.

Last night I was feeling one of those disheartening moments-- sad and sort of stressed. Anybody who read my blogpost, you've got a decent idea that between work and family this month, I've been stretched to the limits.

Well, this morning, after I'd dropped Squishie off to school, Mate texted me: Came home to work before my quarterly. 

Me: Yay! I need to walk the dogs. 

Because that's what we do. Anyway, I grabbed the dogs from the car, stuck my head in the door and said, "Hey, do you want to walk the dogs with me?"

And Chicken--San Diego Chicken, my older daughter whom I miss and love and worry about--that Chicken-- walked around the corner and said, "Yeah!"

They'd been planning it since  February, when she decided she needed to see us BECAUSE, and made plans for Squishie's birthday.

I have to say, as far as surprises go? April Fools pranks?

It was one of the best.

So, if I disappear a little this weekend, it's because Squishie is having a birthday party, and Chicken is here to celebrate.  And SURPRISE! I'm going to take advantage of having my kids here while I've got 'em.

It's the SpongeBob backpack all over again

Ouch!

Okay-- so I missed my postal deadline, I almost forgot to order Squish's cake, the house is a mess, little girls are arriving Saturday, and I have a week after that before the car needs to be packed, my hair, face, and nails need to be done, and I'm driving to Vegas.

OH fuck.

I need to get the car checked out so the AC doesn't die in the middle of the desert.

ZOMG--AND I NEED GAS TOMORROW!

And this fucking edit is ginormous.  Like, four different voices chiming in on my work. I think in the end it will be worth it but atm, it's consuming my life, and my consciousness.

And I need to get Squish's birthday present.

And remember to get Zoomboy a copy of The Force Awakens because he's such a good sport.

And... oh God.

There's something.

I know there is.

A vet appointment, the dog's flea treatment, a pile of cat crap somewhere, piles of laundry, do I need nylons again?

I remember last year at this point Mate yelled at me for spending money and I was like, "Do you have any idea what I'm DOING in the span of three weeks?"

Ditto.

And I don't even have an answer because he's been predictably busy and I haven't been able to bounce anything off of him.

Anyway--Squish's birthday party is on Saturday--and the last thing she said to me was, "You know, Mommy? I still like Monster High."

So, I need to make this one good. I need to make it count. Because she's ten, and she's heading for her teen years at warp speed, and right now she's so happy--God, I don't want to let her down.

Anyway, so tonight I remembered to order the cake tomorrow and had a panic attack because I almost forgot it entirely.

I'm still panicking. Can you tell?

Back-- WAY back--nine or ten years ago-- I wrote this freaked out, panicky post about how I forgot the kids' SpongeBob backpack when I dropped them off at daycare. I didn't realize that it was during the sixth week of school (yes--that sixth week, during which a hangnail becomes armageddon and armageddon becomes an excuse to flunk English, the fifth grade, or Kindergarten) and how dropping that one ball was the lynchpin of the entire Rupe Goldberg Machine that was my life at the time.

A lot of people were really reassuring, and then I realized, "Oh. This is the sixth week."

I'm starting to suspect the same thing here, only, "Oh, it's a week before RT and you've been dealing with kid-thing after kid thing and they haven't let up."

Which means I'll feel better tomorrow.

But right now, I'm going to bed so I can obsess about how I'm ruining my children's childhood one dropped ball at a time.

Ain't Technology Grand

So, tonight I've got two moments.

Moment 1: We pulled into the driveway and, of course, the first sound to greet us was the dogs. They were barking their heads off.

"So, Zoomboy," I said with a  yawn (it was my nap time), "Do you want we should go put them out of their misery?"

"Sure. Should we pet them gangland style or execution style?"

heh heh heh-- clever, that one!

And Moment 2:

So, we were supposed to post our swag to the different rooms at RT this year. For those NOT sending stuff, it is supposed to get there by Friday, with a code on it for each room, and if the code is wrong, or if it got there late, it would cost us $100 to bail our stuff out from the holding company to give away our swag.

Well, I've been a little busy with the family thing these last two weeks--and the sick thing, but mostly there was St. Patrick's Day and Easter, and this weekend there's Squish's birthday and housecleaning and when all of that was done THEN I was going to concentrate on RT.

And it just hit me, like LAST NIGHT that the deadline was coming up, and then I had a thought about getting all the shit sent, and then this morning I started printing stuff out so I could make my plan about what went where and then it hit me that my printing order wouldn't be here until Friday and then I asked anyway to see if I posted tomorrow, would it get there Friday, just so I could do a couple of boxes and...

And fuck it.

I"m going to have to haul all that shit to my hotel, assemble it all, and then haul it down to the appropriate sites (I understand it's half a mile from our rooms to the convention floor, and I'll probably get lost because it's a fucking casino, DAMMIT) and dude.

The first thing I'm going to do after Squishie's party guests go home on Sunday is go buy one of those milk-crate carts--one of the light kinds that collapses? (The second thing I'm going to do is go buy some new dresses. Because.)

Anyway-- the thought of the milk crate thing took me back-- twenty-four years ago, actually.

So, my first teaching job was a substitute teaching job in the Grant district during the golden years--as in, the years where the cops would sweep the junior high quads before school in order to make prostitution and drug busts of the 12 year old students. No. Not kidding. It was in the news--and I saw it in person.  This substitute teaching job lasted well into my first pregnancy. It ended around six months along. A kid threw a chair at me, I called security, and the principal walked him back into the classroom and said, "The kid says he's sorry," and I sheltered my unborn baby and thought, "Fuck. This."

So, when they had interviews at the San Juan district--a district that had its shit slightly more together--I thought, "Well, I can go in for an interview and practice my interview skills, but I"m seven months along. Who's going to hire me?"

Apparently the woman interviewing me didn't notice the seven month baby bump--and I called attention to it too. When asked if I could help with after school activities I pointed actively to the Big T in my stomach and said, "No, I don't think so. I"m going to have other things claiming my attention after school for the next two years."

But they hired me anyway, because they were stupid, and I know this because I pulled up that first day to get shown to my classroom, and I was told by the principal, "OH my God. We didn't realize you were pregnant. You have four classrooms."

Yeah.

So, the first thing I bought was a luggage cart--one of the little collapsible dollies they used to have before the suitcases had wheels. I bungee corded a milk crate to this, bought a file box to stack on top of the milk crate, and bungee corded my teacher's edition on top of the file box.

I hauled that thing to four different classrooms--and before someone says, "It could be worse," my prep period was between the two classes I had in the same room, and the room was needed for another class. So, yes, I hauled my entire life around the school between EVERY CLASS.

After my first job review--the one that happens after the principal comes in and watches you teach--I was sitting in the conference room waiting for my principal to come grade me and I heard the following conversation:

"OH my God-- she's huge."

"Yeah-- the district's pissed, too."

"Well they should be. Why'd she even interview like that?"

"I have no idea. But they want her gone at the end of the semester."

"Well, it's her own fault."

And that was when the secretary realized I was in the room with the open door and heard everything. And then the principal arrived.  Awkward.

But I still had to haul that shit around for the next five weeks.

Anyway-- I still remember when I walked up to my principal, Friday the week before my due date, and said, "I'm sorry. I know I was going to teach until I gave birth but I can't. I just can't." She was so disgusted with me for not making it one more week.

Big T was born an hour after his due date had passed. I lost my mucus plug the Wednesday after I bailed, and I think that was probably a close call. I remember stopping in the middle of a class once, and along with twenty students I watched as Big T did a barrel roll in my stomach, head for ass.  One of the kids went, "She is going to have that kid RIGHT HERE."

But for the most part, they were very sweet.

Nobody offered to haul my thirty pounds of classroom for me though-- I had to do that my damned self.

So anyway--I'm going to buy myself one of those collapsible milk crate/dolly things now, one of the lightweight ones that requires no bungee cords, and I'm a little nostalgic.

Or is that bitter?

Either way, I know I'll be thinking, "This thing is GREAT--where the fuck was it 24 years ago?????" the entire time I'm hauling it through a Vegas Casino.

Random Thoughts About Volunteer Work

Okay-- I am eyeballs deep in an edit, and I almost forgot to blog! So it's going to be a short one, kay?

*  Two weeks ago, before Spring Break I served as Art Docent in my daughter's classroom again. I was doing trains--Currier & Ives,  Monet, Grandma Moses and a few other artists--and we had equipment difficulties. In an effort to give the kids something to do, I played Arlo Guthrie singing The Train They Call the City of New Orleans --and I sang along with it. (Sorry, kids--hope there was no permanent scarring there.)  And I asked the kids to guess what pictures we were going to look at from the song.

And they did.

And then we learned about paintings of trains.

And some of those kids were humming the song on their way out.

And even though I have no time and I'm exhausted and behind several deadlines and omg we have soccer AGAIN... I'm really glad I did that.  IT feels important.

*  ON Saturday before Easter, Mate, the kids, and I went to Rusch Park--Mate has a soccer booth there. Mostly all he does is pass out fliers so people know our city has a soccer team at all.

Now, seven years ago when Mate first started coaching, it costs around $250 to sign each kid up, and uniforms were around $75. If this sounds expensive--and we were up to our eyeballs in fundraising as well-- that's because the board was crooked and taking kickbacks and sucking the bank account dry. The fundraising was going in their pockets and the parents just ponied up the rest.

Mate's been on the board four four years, because he was so angry and wanted something to change.  This Saturday at Rusch Park as 2/3 of our family is passing out fliers, a father came up to us and asked about scholarships for soccer. Mate said we had some programs, but that they had quite some time to sign up--and then he pointed to the registration and uniform costs. Registration is less than half what it was seven years ago. Uniforms are $25, not including shoes and shin guards.

The father looked at the pricing and said, "We can do that!" and the little girl next to him just glowed.

And when we got home I told Mate, "You did that. You and everyone on the new board--you did that. You wanted a better place for kids to go and you made it happen and that kid and a bunch of others can play because of you."  And it sounds corny, but it's true.

That good people can make the world a better place.

It's important to remember sometimes--because sometimes the world can feel chaotic and painful and unjust.  But sometimes we make it better.

That's all.  Back to the editing hole!

Amy

Scorched Haven--Part 5: Consequences

Okay-- as promised. A hint of our Little Goddess world, and then to bed!  Like I said, I'm editing and it's a tough one. *low whistle* This sure is a a lovely break!

*  *  *

Zeb drove like he was playing a video game-- like crashing the car would have no consequences, and he'd just get another life.

Of course Zeb would be able to survive a car crash at 120 MPH, but Colton, moaning in the backseat and losing blood by the quart load wouldn't be so lucky.

Goddammit!

Green!

He wasn't aware he'd even done the psychic scream thing until Green popped into his head, a cool burst of water in a shaded glen.

Hello, there, my boy. Long time no hear-- we've been worried.

Oh God. He'd been missing for a day--Richie had been dead for a day, and he'd known about a kid named Colton who was now dying in the backseat of this car for less then eight hours.

Richie was killed yesterday at the Grapevine. I got away and got help but... He couldn't make words, could only project a picture of that pretty kid with the strong jaw and long dark hair, bloody and undignified in the backseat.

Oh no.  Green's concern helped a little. It meant he was taking this seriously, didn't it?

He's a good kid, Zeb said, aware that he sounded like he was begging. He helped me, he was worried for his friend, his family. He wanted out of that town so badly, and I told him... I told him... Oh Goddess. The hubris, of thinking that Zeb could rescue Colton the way that Adrian had rescued him. I just wanted to get to Bakersfield, Green. I thought if we could get there, I could get hold of someone, and we could at least get him up to the foothills. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... He was crying. He was driving 120 MPH down Hwy 5 and he was crying. Desperately he wiped his eyes with his wrist and tried to pull his shit together.

He felt disoriented for a moment, and then as though it were more than Green's voice in his head. Oh, oh God-- was Green's entire mind in Zeb's head?

For a moment, Zeb was afraid Green could see all of his insecurities, all of the times he'd felt like a coward and failed. Oh, he'd rather wreck the car than have Green, or Teague, or Lady Cory know that he wasn't worthy of living on the hill. He'd spent three years laying low so nobody knew what a mistake Adrian had made, recruiting him. Three years not getting involved so nobody could see that he didn't count anyway.

And now Green was in his head, and who knew what' he'd see? Oh crap oh crap oh crap-- Zeb's hands were sweating so badly he could barely hold the wheel.

Okay, mate-- I need you to calm down. Bakersfield was a good try, but I want you to aim a little closer here. There's a turnoff coming up--Bracken says you can take back farm roads through Visalia, to Yosemite. Yosemite will be good, Zeb, because we know most of the people there. It hasn't been taken over by the crazy yet, and your friend is going to need some wide open spaces.

He can barely move, Zeb thought, glancing at Colton's almost blue face as he stuttered for breath through what looked to be a river of blood.  He tried to keep the bark of insane laughter inside.

He'll surely be moving after you bite him, right? Now get ready--Bracken says you need to take one of the farm exit coming up. Yerkes, does that ring a bell?

Oh God. That was right... "Fuck!"

With one yank of the wheel, Zeb darted through two lanes of traffic toward the offramp, speeding toward's an intersection about a half-a-mile ahead. In his rearview he saw cherry lights, following him, and he kept his eyes glued to the cross traffic coming down the overpass. Timing. If he could time it before this semi and after this little Toyota, he could hit the two-lane farming road at full speed. Timing... timing... timing....

He skidded around the curve, jumped the light and bolted ahead of the semi.  The oncoming lane was clear so he veered into that and stood on the gas, passing the Toyota and veering back into his own lane with nothing but free air in front of him.

Took the exit, Green, he said meekly to the passenger in his brain.

That a boy. Now in two stretches of trees, you're going to see a tiny road to your left. It leads to a one horse town that should have a gas station.  You'll need to stop there.

For what?

Gas?  

We just got some.

You just squandered most of it going too fast for this car, which, by the way, will fall apart bolt by bolt if you don't give it a rest.

Zeb toned the speed down to 100 MPH and listened guiltily to the doors rattling inside the joins. God, this thing was not sturdy.

And to bite your passenger, dear boy. He's going to die if you don't.

Wait-- wait-- you want me to bring him over? ME?

Zebulon, you trusted this young man with your life. And now we owe him. Of course. Do you think we hold such service lightly?  Now get to the gas station and then see if you can reach me by phone. Tired. 

Green's psychic kiss on Zeb's forehead smelled like wildflowers and rich warm earth, and for a moment Zeb's heart rate slowed down and his adrenaline stopped dumping into his blood stream.

Of course he was tired--he didn't usually project into someone's head long distance--and when he did, it was usually someone he was much more closely connected to, which made the communication easier.

Colton groaned behind him, and some of that calmness seeped into Zeb's voice.

"Okay, kid. We've got a plan."

"Hospital?" Colton managed.

"No, better. Werewolf bite.  You game?"

"No choice," the kid whispered, blood bubbling up between his lips, and fuck if Zeb was going to let him die.

The turnoff was almost invisible, and fuck Bracken for no warning at all.  Zeb saw it and pulled a 90 degree turn in Colton's aging sedan. He managed to hold the thing to the road when by all accounts it should have just popped into a demolition derby style roll, and then he floored the car again.

Zeb, you've got about thirty seconds before he dies.

Zeb checked the rearview for cherry lights, saw none, and hit the brakes, fishtailing to a halt on the dusty side of the road.

Colton was unconscious, the breath bubbling from between his lips coming at gasping intervals, and Zeb didn't even bother to get out of the car or even stop the engine.  He turned in his seat and grabbed the hand resting on Colton's thigh. It sat in his own hand, limp and unresponsive, and he closed his eyes and concentrated on the change.

Just his muzzle changed, a thing he'd practiced out of boredom one day, but had never considered a power or a skill, particularly-- until now.

As soon as he felt his muzzle in the shape of a wolves, he lifted Colton's hand to his mouth and nipped quickly. As soon as he tasted the fresh blood welling through the skin, adding to the copper patina of old blood crusting over Colton's hand, he dropped the hand back onto Colton's thigh and turned around, letting the change slide off his features.

He could only hope now-- and try to get to the gas station before the car rattled apart. Mindful that a functioning car needed doors and a chassis, he lowered his speed to sixty MPH and watched the road ahead.

He didn't even realize he was holding his breath, listening with his super-hearing for a heartbeat, praying to the Goddess herself for help, until he heard Colton's low moan behind him.

He didn't realize he'd said thank you out loud until Colton mumbled weakly, "You're welcome. For what? And I'm hungry again."

He'll live, he said gratefully, hoping Green could hear him.

Good. Now fix your phone.

Well, yeah. One thing at a time.

Here's to you...

So-- no Scorched Haven tonight, because tired. But I'll be editing tomorrow and in desperate need of some fiction writing, so look for it then.

Now, in the last few years, really, I've noted that I've kept more and more of myself and my private life back from online. A lot of this is to protect the people I know in real life, and while it was hard at first, I'm not sorry I've gotten better at discretion--it was a long overdue skill.

But today, as I was talking to friends and family, I was overcome by a surge of admiration for so many people--I wanted to shout out ALL THE PEOPLE--but they would not want to be so shouted. So I'm going to leave you with this:

Here's to Mates who fall in holes while being Easter Bunnies and kids who look for eggs even though they're pretty sure mom and dad hid them.

Here's to Moms who do the holiday thing one more time, because they don't want that last bit of their kids' childhood to disappear.

Here's to Dads who suck up the expense because, dammit, they want to see their kids happy, and moms who budget and make room and pull miracles out of thin air so they don't give Dad an aneurism.

Here's to people who don't celebrate Easter and who put up with the rest of us and our eggs and our bunnies and traditions from our childhoods that we're not quite willing to ditch. (Or who just like the idea that it really is a pagan holiday, masked as a conservative Christian tradition.)

Here's to the people who make Reese's Peanut Butter Cups which get us through.

Here's to people who have lost someone, and who had to endure this day alone.

Here's to young men and women with hearts too sore to people with their families today, who hid away so others didn't see their pain.

Here's to people who've had their lives thrown in upheaval and couldn't possibly do one more goddamned minute in a crowd--but who were grateful for the time they managed.

Here's to playful friends who put up with random jokes and silly pictures because sleep deprivation finally caught up with me and all of my weirdness spilled over into texts and off-color puns.

Here's to the people with minds like labyrinths who found the door today to come out and visit with the rest of us.

Here's to missing friends and family whom we wish were here, just once, sometime in the spring.

Here's to the folks who always host the gatherings who wish their kids would get their shit together so someone else could clean the fucking house.

Here's to exhausted dogs who got to play outside all day, and who brought the rest of us joy.

Here's to Moms who don't usually cook but who cook on holidays and really frickin wish that just one damned Easter we could send out for pizza.

Here's to the whole laughing, crying, screaming, shouting, hiding, hugging, energetic, exhausted lot of us, who try so very hard to brave another turn around the sun, another marker of our mortality, another family gathering, another moment alone or in pain, another moment surrounded by too many people, another moment screaming inside...

Because somewhere in all of the tumult, we all remember, pray for, hope for, dream for, long for, believe in...

Moments of peace and love.

Namaste and Blessed Solstice and Happy Easter

Amy