Suzanne Craig-Whytock's Blog, page 13

Abandonment Issues

Last week, Ken and I decided to watch a new show, based on my dental hygienist Harmony’s suggestions. It’s called Ahsoka and it’s part of the Star Wars universe, and that might make you believe it was going to be a good show, but by halfway through the first episode, I turned to Ken and said, “This is the most stupid show I’ve ever seen.” Why, you ask? Was it the acting? No. Was it the dialogue? No. Was there a plot detail that made absolutely no sense and made me super-angry? Why yes. And what exactly was that ludicrous plot detail in a story that takes place a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, and features people with elephant trunks for ears? It was this, and you can read this without worrying about spoilers:

In the show, one of the main characters has a cat. Well, it’s a cat-like creature that looks KIND OF like a cat but sounds and acts EXACTLY like a cat. When she comes home from her job, she takes a container of kibble out of her cupboard and feeds the cat, and it purrs, and she pets it, and it is VERY OBVIOUSLY her pet cat. But…partway through the episode, she gets into a fight with someone in her home, and she gets hurt, and ends up in a weird hospital. And NO ONE SAYS A WORD ABOUT THE CAT. Not, “should we get your neighbour to check on your cat?” or “do you want me to pop by and feed your cat while you recover in this very white and large hospital room?” Again, no. And then……she decides to go off and join up with the Jedis and she JUST LEAVES. Does she ask anyone to take care of her lovely, purr-y pet cat? NO, SHE DOES NOT AND WE NEVER SEE THAT ADORABLE CAT AGAIN. And it’s so apparent that no one in charge of writing this show has EVER had a pet of any kind because for all of us who DO have pets, we know that the care of your pet is usually topmost on your mind. Ken and I never leave the house without 1) calculating the number of hours that we’ll be gone and ensuring that it’s a reasonable length to leave Atlas alone 2) contacting our neighbour if the number of hours is more than 6 consecutively so she can give him lunch and let him out to pee 3) giving him a cookie and 4) telling him that we’ll be back soon so he won’t worry, as one does. And yes, I know cats are a little more self-sufficient than dogs but still, who the hell just up and leaves their pet house cat to fend for itself while you go off gallivanting around the galaxy and doing additional stupid things that shall not be named here because I promised no spoilers?

At any rate, it was terrible and I became very fixated on the whole cat abandonment plot twist, to the point where I started dreaming that I found a litter of kittens and Ken and I were trying to herd them into a holding area so we could care for them and if you know anything about cats and/or dreams, you’ll know that it was a very difficult and stressful task. So thanks, Ahsoka.

In other news, I’m sorry if this is so rant-y and short but I did one book festival all day yesterday and I’m doing another one all day today, and between having to actually talk to people and sit under a tent all day, I’m exhausted. But I sold a lot of books and promoted the new press, so it was pretty good.

How could you ever forget about something so cute?!

Things That Are Like Other Things

Last night, Ken and I were watching a YouTube video about songwriters that got sued because their songs sounded too much like other songs. And there were a LOT of them. Most of the time, the newer songwriters lost in court and had to pay royalties to the previous songwriters. And it got me thinking about other things that are like things, only I don’t know if anyone ever got sued over any of these:

One Christmas, Ken put something amazing in my stocking. We’ve always given each other stockings full of socks, chocolate, wine, and other small cool stuff, and that year I was excited to receive a pen. That might sound less cool than I’ve made it out to be, but wait! It wasn’t just a pen—it was also a screwdriver, a level, and a ruler. It was, in fact, a “4-In-1 Pen Tool”, and if that isn’t the best thing that is like another thing, I don’t know what is. Now, no matter where I go, I can measure something, check if it’s level, repair it, or write down an interesting fact about it. Because multi-tasking is an art, and things that are like other things are a multi-tasker’s best friend.

Here’s another example–if you’ve been here before, you know that I LOVE gummy vitamins. They’re multi-coloured, taste just like gummy bears, and are the best of both worlds. The first thing I get to do when I get up in the morning, even BEFORE I eat my yogurt, is have some candy. And it was recommended by my doctor! I NEVER used to take vitamins before, on the grounds that they tasted bad (except for Vitamin C tablets, which taste like oranges, or just like the baby aspirin they had when I was a kid. I used to sneak baby aspirin every so often because they were so delicious–I could fall off my bike and bleed half to death because my blood was so thin, but it didn’t hurt at all), and I didn’t really care about thiamine or niacin or dioxin or whatever. But now, I take vitamins every day because it’s fun AND healthy.

And that got me thinking about: First, things that are like other things that make me happy, and next: the things that SHOULD be like other things that would make me even happier:

1) One of my all-time favourite things which is like another thing is ‘Pants That Are Pajamas’. After working from home during the pandemic, I accrued several pairs of these. Some people call them ‘Yoga Pants’ but I don’t do yoga, unless you count a vigorous stretch to grab a wine glass from the cupboard. And if you’re still working remotely, ‘Pants That Are Pajamas’ allow you to easily transition from Business Casual to Nightwear with very little effort at all.

2) If you’ve ever flown, you know that your seat cushion turns into a flotation device. Which begs the question (which I think I heard first from Jerry Seinfeld) ‘why doesn’t the plane just turn into a cruise ship if it lands in the water?’ I know this is totally possible, because my next favourite thing which is like another thing is a bus that turns into a boat. We went on a bus tour in Ottawa a few years ago, and after we’d driven around for a while looking at the Parliament buildings and whatnot, the driver suddenly announced that we would also be cruising the harbour. Then we drove down a ramp, STRAIGHT INTO THE RIVER. I was totally freaking, but Ken was like, “Don’t worry–the wheels turn into propellers and there’s a ring underneath that inflates.” I responded very calmly with “Liar! We’re going to drown!” and Ken said, “They ADVERTISED this. Why are you acting all surprised? Don’t you remember?”, but I reminded HIM that first, I thought they meant we would get OFF the bus and get ON a boat, and second, I may or may not have been enjoying a very nice Sauvignon Blanc the previous evening when he pulled out the brochure and was waving it around, saying, “Ooh, this will be fun.” But you know what? Once I got used to the idea that my bus was now a boat, and the bus driver was now a sea captain and I could refer to him as ‘Skipper’, I really enjoyed the whole experience. Kate, of course, remained calm throughout the entire tour. Or maybe she was bored. Mainly because the tour consisted of just looking at buildings. But still, the Bus-Boat was very cool.

3) Canes that become swords. Okay, technically, they don’t BECOME swords, they just have swords in them. It would be awesome to be hobbling around, all decrepit-like, then suddenly whip out that sword like a superspy ninja when the need arose. I also love canes that double as flasks for alcohol, because who DOESN’T want to crack that bad boy open when no one’s looking? It would have made my Bus-Boat trip a hell of a lot more interesting once we were on the water, that’s for sure.

4) Sporks. This is two handy things in one–a spoon and a fork. Take it one step further by sharpening the plastic edge, and you have a sporfe: a spoon, fork, and knife all in one, which I just invented. Actually, this might have already been invented, most likely by a prisoner, who stole a spoon from the canteen and turned it into a weapon to shank his cellmate with first, then ate the guy’s pie and ice cream after. Wow, that got dark kind of quick for a fun plastic utensil.

5) Closed Captioning. This allows you to watch TV and read at the same time, so all those people who think reading is a more intellectual pursuit than Netflix can get stuffed.

Okay, so I’ve listed some things that are already like other things, so here are some ideas about things that I WISH were other things:

1) An exercise machine that is also a bar. Many years ago, I had a recumbent cycle, and I used to pour a big glass of wine, turn on the TV, and cycle for a few kilometres. It was hardly like exercising AT ALL, and I broke even on the calories.

2) A bookshelf that is a door. I’ve been bugging Ken about this for a while now, trying to get him to think of a place in our house where we could put a bookshelf that is, in reality, the door to a secret room. There are a couple of spots where we could do it, but Ken thinks it would be really complicated to build. What a baby. I mean, I’m no engineer, but I do have a 4-In-1 pen, and I think it’s definitely possible.

3) A pen with a Tide White Stick on the other end. This is great for people like me, who are fairly clumsy and wave pens around for emphasis, inevitably getting ink on their clothes. But see, with my invention, all you’d have to do is flip the thing around, erase that blob, and you’re good to go. Combine it with the 4-In-1 Pen and you wouldn’t be able to keep them on store shelves—they’d be snapped up faster than a recumbent cycle with a built-in wine fridge.

Ultimately, I am the QUEEN of multi-tasking. Whether it’s eating, drinking, working out, or just relaxing, I’ve got a pen for that.

Pearl(y White)s of Wisdom

On Thursday, I had to go to the dentist for a check-up. Like most people, it’s not something I enjoy, especially since my favourite hygienist, Harmony, only works Monday to Wednesday and our schedules don’t line up anymore. Two visits ago, my new hygienist claimed to be a former Olympic-level figure skater (I looked her up but couldn’t find her listed on any Canadian team at any point in time), and despite the fact that we had never met before, she insisted on spending the entire appointment regaling me with the tales of abuse that caused her to leave the sport and gave her PTSD. Then, at the end of the appointment, she told me that fluoride was poison, and she could recommend several “documentaries” that had uncovered the insidious and evil fluoride conspiracy.  The next time I went, in February, I had a different hygienist who was only slightly better, in that she said ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to me throughout the entire appointment. But at the end she gave me extra floss, which was nice, and did NOT try to push any bizarre conspiracy theories about the world of dentistry. I showed up for my appointment on Thursday, fearing the worst and hoping for the best, when a familiar face came around the corner to call me in.

“Harmony!” I exclaimed, overjoyed. She had switched days last week for some reason and, lucky me, I would get to spend my time in the chair discussing new favourite shows to binge-watch because we have the exact same taste in TV, plus she has excellent timing when it comes to asking a question and then letting me answer without slicing open my gums with her pick. It was just like old times, and at the end of the appointment, I actually felt relaxed. And then I discovered we had another thing in common:

Me: I heard Dr. Morton is going to retire soon.
Harmony: He’s getting there.
Me: He’s been my dentist for a really long time. Can you tell from my chart how long?
Harmony: Hang on…looks like your first appointment was in 2009.
Me: Wow! So like 24 years?
Harmony: Uh huh.

Then there was a long pause while I, and most likely you, dear reader, re-did the mental calculation that led to my pronouncement.

Me: Wait…no, I think that’s only 13 years. I’m so bad at math.
Harmony: Me too. That’s why I just said Uh huh, and went along with you. But 13 sounds correct.

And yes, at some point after the conversation, while I was shopping for a new outfit for my book launch for The Devil You Know which was taking place later that night, I realized that 13 years was also completely wrong, and that Harmony was either being very nice to me, or she was indeed as bad at math as me. Regardless, she will always be my favourite hygienist.

The book launch went really well, by the way. Here’s a picture of me wearing my new outfit:

In other news, here’s the cover reveal for the DarkWinter Press inaugural publication, The basement on Biella: a poetry collection by Bill Garvey. Bill is a brilliant poet who divides his time between Toronto and Nova Scotia, and DarkWinter is so happy to be publishing this collection! I had a moment of nervous excitement right before I hit ‘publish’ and now it’s available for Kindle pre-order! The paperback will be released most likely the beginning of next week, but if you’re interested in the Kindle version, order now and it will land in your e-reader on Monday! Here’s the link and the front cover:

“Orange” You Glad The Rock Tumbler Is Done?

First, an update. The rock tumbler has finally stopped its machinations. It hasn’t been quite a week yet since I added the last grit, but we’ve lost power twice in the meantime, which kicks the tumbler off until we restart it, and honestly, I don’t have the patience to wait 5 more days. I took the rocks out and rinsed them in a colander and I think they look really beautiful, although at least half of them are a LOT smaller than they started out to be, and some of the smaller ones have disappeared completely, which I suppose is only natural, or unnatural I suppose, since it’s really an accelerated process, and finally, a lot of them, unexpectedly, are ORANGE. I got a lot of fantastic ideas from the comments in my last post, including using broken vintage wine goblets to make “sea glass”, so that’s next on the agenda if the weather continues charming. Well, it was charming today, but’s it’s been a shitstorm of a week weather-wise here. The west half of the country, which is usually soaking wet, is burning, and in my part of the world, it’s been raining non-stop. Ken and I were looking at videos of Atlas from August two years ago, and the front lawn was crispy and brown; this August, it’s as lush and green. But here are the “fruits” of my labours:

At any rate, I don’t have anything else specific to focus on this week, so here are a few vignettes:

1) I had to work yesterday at the antique market because they were short-staffed. As I went by a booth that sells mostly lamps, I saw a family of four standing in it, surrounded by the lamps. The father was smelling his fingers, and as I watched, he offered them to his wife, who also smelled them somewhat appraisingly and furrowed her brow. Then it was the oldest child’s turn—he pointed at one of the lamps questioningly, and then the dad shrugged. Did I ask what they were doing? No, I DID NOT. Did I go back later and smell the lamps myself? Also, NO, I DID NOT. There are some things you’re better off not knowing.

2) Last week, I was on Facebook Marketplace and I saw this ad:

And I have several things to say about this. First, Jacquie Butler is a strange name for a cat, but I kind of like it, like I can imagine being upstairs and wanting your cat to come and snuggle you and calling out, “Jacquie—get your sweet little Butt-ler up here!”. Second, I’m very impressed that Jacquie the cat has not only mastered the use of a computer keyboard but has her own private messaging service AND a private income. And finally, if you know anything at all about cats, this ad makes total sense. Every cat I’ve ever known has loved boxes and will sit in them whenever the opportunity arises. And not just boxes—I read once that if you created a square on your floor with painter’s tape and your cat saw it, your cat would immediately come over and sit inside the square. I didn’t believe it until we tried it, and our cat at the time, Raven, ran over without any hesitation and sat right in the middle of it. I’ll bet Jacquie would do the same thing, given her penchant for boxes and all.

3) And while I was browsing Marketplace, I saw this ad for a free computer:

My only thought was this: Are they still together, and he’s going to give away her Macbook without telling her? Also, why would you not at least try to get your money back? Macbooks are way too expensive for revenge giveaways. And was she cheating with another man, or did she cheat on a diet, like she ate the birthday cake after she promised to cut down on calories? I’m torn—I kind of want to know the whole back story, while at the same time, I don’t want to know the whole back story. Somehow though, I think his wife is better off without either him or the computer. Maybe she was the one who posted the laughing emoji response.

I also have to work today, so let’s hope there’s no more lamp-smelling shenanigans. Wish me luck.

DarkWinter Wednesdays: Special Announcement!

Well, it’s been a wild ride since we launched DarkWinter Press on June 28th this year. We’ve read through a huge stack of wonderful submissions, and now we’re thrilled to announce our upcoming catalogue for Fall 2023 and Spring 2024!

Coming This Fall 2023

The Dogcatcher by Sean Carlin

This occult horror/dark comedy in the spirit of Shaun of the Dead, Carlin’s debut novel, begins with a series of savage killings. Something monstrous lurks in the woods of Upstate New York, putting the idyllic Finger Lakes community of Cornault on edge.

Investigating the wildlife attacks is beleaguered Animal Control Officer Frank Antony. Misunderstood by his father, the mayor of Cornault, mistreated by his brother, chief of staff at City Hall, and mischaracterized as “the dogcatcher” by the newspaper’s op-ed columnist, Frank commands no one’s respect. Even his earnestly loyal sidekick, Animal Care Technician Steve “Waff” Pollywaffle, is too hopelessly irresponsible to ever be counted on when Frank truly needs him.

With the assistance of a world-weary forensic veterinarian at the university, Jessica Bartendale, Frank and Waff must deal with the deadly predator-at-large before it’s too late.

The basement on Biella by Bill Garvey

The basement on Biella is a poetry collection that emanates from a blue-collar town in Massachusetts,
travels to New Hampshire, the Midwest, Nova Scotia, and finally, Toronto. Bill Garvey’s poetry captures
moments which celebrate the wonder of familial relationships, find solace in death, and explore the
torment of mental illness. The basement on Biella is a chronicle of Garvey’s experiences that resonates
beyond his personal world.

Twenty-Four-Hour Shift: Dark Tales from on and off the Clock by Cecilia Kennedy

Punch in your timecard to begin the shift. The twenty-four dark tales of short fiction in this
collection explore the unsettling things that might linger on and off the clock. Here, you’ll find
short stories of work-related haunts and happenings, from the truly sinister (a human-vending
machine restaurant), to horror-comedy (a photo shoot with possessed bunnies). But in the hours
in between, it can’t be forgotten that the roles played as parents, co-workers, and friends are no
ordinary side hustle. That work never ends. And the work shift? Well, that’s the thing that makes
you peek over your shoulder and ask, “What just moved?” But you have to clock in to find out.

Coming this Spring 2024

The Roach Family and Other Stories by Cindy Matthews

Taking place in Canada, the deeply flawed characters in The Roach Family and Other Stories share one thing in common: they strive to fit in. A malingering mother pays an agonizing visit to her ex-husband, his boyfriend, the narrator, and a tank of hissing roaches. A first-time mother blunders upon self-doubt and finger-pointing after leaving her infant behind at a support group meeting. A previously voiceless child discovers he can communicate. Organizers of a writers’ festival determine that food allergies do matter. A
grieving mother uses unconventional means to appease her sorrow.

Where Sands Run Finest by Vikki C.

Where Sands Run Finest is a lyrical tribute to the liminal landscapes of time, memory, reveries, spirituality and the human condition. Foregrounding the author’s life experiences through an aesthetic and defamiliarized lens, the collection’s forty-eight poems serve as an artistic awakening to themes of identity, heritage, generational trauma, motherhood, love, loss and existential querying. From life’s transient halcyon moments through to the complexities of the metaphysical, the narrative captures the lexicon of time’s delicate rhythms within the human experience. Hence, the title ‘Where Sands Run Finest’ embodies both the “temporal hourglass” and an awareness of time in “otherworlds” born of cosmic, esoteric and subconscious realms.

Words On The Page by Zary Fekete

In the not-too-distant future, a malicious Artificial Intelligence bot has overrun its protocol and is flooding the web with malicious content. Dr. McCaffery, Director of Net Scour, has developed a revolutionary new web-scouring technology which uses the written literature of the world against the AI. The procedure? Reading books. Newly hired Net Scour agent Zach is trained to read, and the more he reads the more power he, and agents like him, can use to fight against the AI.

Dr. McCaffery also has a secret: his daughter, a young woman named Julie. She possesses a unique literary mind; she is the greatest threat against the AI and is the main bulwark of protection for the web. Because of her literary power, the AI has attacked her, and now she can only survive by living in a secure inner chamber in the center of the agency.

Zach and Julie’s fates are intertwined and the future of the web is dependent on the literary power which builds as they grow closer together. 

We hope you’re as excited as we are about these awesome authors and titles. There are a couple more still in the works with contracts about to be signed, so we’ll keep you posted, but stay tuned for cover reveals very soon!

On The Rocks

When my brother and I were kids, we had a rock tumbler. It was a messy, noisy contraption and I don’t remember if we ever got any decent rocks from it—I just remember dirty water spilling everywhere, and then I never saw it again, which was fine by me. When Kate was little, she, like most small children, loved shiny rocks and would pick up ‘special’ ones from beaches, driveways, gravel pathways, literally anywhere rocks could be found (and when I say ‘most children’ I also mean adults because I’ve been known over the course of decades to randomly slip a pretty stone in my pocket). By the time she was in middle school, Kate had amassed quite a collection and we even had a special shelf for her to display her treasures on. So I bought another rock tumbler. It wasn’t a very expensive one and that soon became obvious, as it created a stunning wall of sound that could be heard all over the house. You may or may not know that I suffer from misophonia (another fun offshoot of OCD), and the racket and my anxiety were so bad that at the end of the first cycle, I gave up. “We’ll get a better rock tumbler,” I said, my ears still ringing.

I didn’t bother for a long time, almost as long as it takes a rock tumbler to actually create smooth, shiny gemstones, then a couple of years ago, I saw a very expensive National Geographic model on Facebook Marketplace but the person selling it was asking a very cheap price (I wonder why?) It came with all the rocks, extra grit, and all kind of accessories, and it promised that the rubberized barrel made it “very quiet”. That was a LIE. We set it up in our back family room, and while it wasn’t as loud as the previous model, I could still hear it rumbling and grumbling all day from anywhere on the main floor. I persevered though (mostly because Ken put a sound-dampening cardboard box over it), and eventually got some very nice rocks that I made into necklaces, and I gave them to people while quoting Jean Jaques Rousseau: The sacrifice which costs us nothing is worth nothing. And the people who received the necklaces looked at me the way you can imagine they looked when I said that, but I think they appreciated the gift.

At any rate, I put the rock tumbler away for a bit. Then Ken, who gets that I have a real issue with loud noises, promised that in the spring, we could put it outside in the new workshop he built for me where I wouldn’t have to listen to it, and that was a great plan except because the rock tumbler was in storage in his workshop, I forgot about it. Until 6 weeks ago, when I was going through my stuff outside and I found it in a corner. And I haven’t told you about this for over 6 weeks, because that’s almost the amount of time it takes to polish a bunch of damn rocks in the tumbler, and there’s only one more week left before I have pretty, shiny jewels! I’m on the last grit now, and they keep looking smoother and smoother, and the best part is that because it’s outside, I can only faintly hear the tumbler if I’m in the back yard, and it’s just background noise along with the birds and wind and whatnot. Everything’s going so well that I spent half an hour on Saturday browsing Amazon for more rock kits, and come Christmas time, everyone’s getting a necklace, and this time, all I have to say is, “I made this for you.”

In other news, I still suck at math. Last week at work, I rang through a customer’s purchases, entered the amount of cash he gave me, then proceeded to start gathering up his change:

Customer (holds out more money): Would it help if I gave you $1.10?
Me: (stares blankly, frozen in horror)
Customer: I said, would it help if I gave you $1.10?
Me: It won’t NOW!
My 27-Year-Old Boss: Suzanne, do you need me to do some math for you?
Me (whispers sadly): Yes.

I’m lucky I’m surrounded by people who understand me so well.

And 2 huge thank yous: First to D. Wallace Peach at Myths Of The Mirror for her terrific review of my humour book What Any Normal Person Would Do and second to Paul Brookes at The Wombwell Rainbow for his lovely review of my newest short story collection At The End Of It All!

Meet Me In Paris

I’m very sad right now, because last night I was surfing Facebook Marketplace in bed and I saw a Paris painting for sale for only $35. My heart leapt and I showed it to Ken. “Look!” I said. “It’s so beautiful!” and then under my breath I whispered, “I really just love it”, hoping beyond all hope that Ken would spring into action and offer to take me there in the morning to buy it. That didn’t happen mostly because Ken looked at it, kind of confused, and then went back to sleep. Which is probably a good thing, because I currently have very many many paintings of Paris. You may or may not know that for a long time, I’ve been obsessed with vintage paintings of Paris. You also may or may not have seen the type I’m referring to, the impressionistic ones that look really drippy and weird from up close, but from far away begin to resemble a street full of shops and cafes, with people strolling along, and the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe in the background. I adore them—they’re not expensive and whenever I’m feeling down, I look at one and imagine myself wandering down a rainy Paris rue, and it makes me feel better. The problem is, Ken hates them:

Me: Ooh, look! A Paris painting!
Ken: You already have 16 of the damn things. No more!
Me: But this one would be perfect for my bathroom…

So now, if I see one, I have to promise I’m only buying it to resell it. Which I’ve done a couple of times, but apparently there aren’t many other people as obsessed with Paris paintings as I am, because they tend to sit in my antiques booth for a while. But last weekend, I was in the midst of rearranging furniture in the hope of turning the alcove in our bedroom into a “reading nook”, when it suddenly occurred to me that a Paris painting was exactly what the nook needed, and I knew exactly where to find one. In fact, a painting of the perfect size had been languishing in my booth for several months and I was planning on going there last Sunday afternoon to put some fresh stock in. “This is perfect,” I thought to myself. “I’ll bring it home with me.”

When I arrived, my boss greeted me enthusiastically at the door. “Guess what!” he exclaimed jovially. “You just sold those two Paris paintings, you know, the ones that have been here for months. Literally half an hour ago—you just missed it!”

“No!” I gasped. He looked confused, both of us being in the “selling of things” business, so I had to explain my lack of excitement.

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll find another one.”

The very next day, I did. And it broke my heart.

I was at Goodwill, a charity shop, after work on Monday to drop off some odds and ends from the alcove mentioned above. I was helping the girl unload my car, when suddenly a man sauntered past us through the parking lot. He was CARRYING A PARIS PAINTING. And it was a beautiful one, in an antique frame. I could see the Arc de Triomphe from where I stood, stunned and speechless, box of knick knacks in hand. I cannot accurately convey the sense of horror I felt as I watched him get in his car and drive away, knowing that if I’d been there half an hour earlier AGAIN, the painting would have been mine.

And because I’m a grown-ass woman, I didn’t cry, although I badly wanted to. No, I did what any normal person would do—I called Ken:

Me: The universe hates me! I just missed out on a gorgeous Paris painting by like half an hour!
Ken: Hahahahaha!
Me: Why are you laughing?!

I tell you all of this not to elicit sympathy—in fact, you’re probably thinking Ken was right to laugh, and I really don’t need another painting of a city I’ve never been to—but that’s not the point. The point is, in fact, that the universe is taunting me, and I don’t know why.

Here are some thoughts:

1. The universe hates me.
2. The universe hates Paris.
3. The universe agrees with Ken that I have enough paintings of Paris.
4. The universe doesn’t care about me at all, and things are just random.

But then, the next day, I happened to glance up and realized that in an obscure corner of my office, there was a small Paris painting hanging there, and wouldn’t it be better placed in the new reading nook than tucked away in a spot where Ken can’t see it? See, I’m nothing if not thoughtful, and maybe the universe loves me after all. And if Ken really loved me too, he’d take me to Paris–or at least take me to the city where that $35 Paris painting is waiting…

In other news, things have been incredibly busy around here, what with the Writer-In-Residence role and the launch of the new press. I’ve already signed six authors–3 for the fall and 3 for the spring–and I’ll be making an announcement about that on August 16 so stay tuned!

(Update: Ken read this and because he’s awesome, he immediately said, “If you want the painting so much, we can get it tomorrow.” So later today, it will be mine…mwah hah hah!)

All The Wascally Wabbits

If you’re around the same age as me, or even older or younger, you may be familiar with “Bunnykins” china. This is a pattern made by Royal Doulton featuring adorable anthropomorphized rabbits and it’s been a staple of baby showers, christening gifts, and Christmas presents for decades. I had a Bunnykins bowl, mug, and plate when I was a child, and my daughter also had one. Even today, they’re still popular and I sell a lot of them at the antique market. The other day, I was offered a really good deal on a box of Bunnykins china—plates, bowls, mugs, and egg cups—and I couldn’t say no. I brought the box home and started to unpack it, showing each piece to Ken, until he looked at one carefully and his brow furrowed:

Ken: What the hell is going on HERE?
Me: What are you talking about? It was a really good deal.
Ken: Not that. What are these rabbits DOING?!

It was in that moment that I realized two things. First, that I had never actually looked closely at the rabbits on the china, and second, that the rabbits on the china are INSANE. On one plate, the mother rabbit, who’s dressed like a character from Little House on the Prairie, is apparently trying to hang wallpaper (?) and she’s being swarmed by an assortment of lagamorphic “helpers” who are systematically destroying both the wallpaper and the room she’s trying to redecorate. One bunny has dumped a bucket of paste on another’s head, there’s ripping and tearing and randomly, and a mouse is running away with one of the rolls.

On a different piece, a bowl, the same mother rabbit is losing her sh*t because she’s taken her bunnies shopping and they’ve overturned a vegetable cart and are now rioting like an insurrectionist mob. They’re stomping on cabbages, throwing potatoes, and the same random mouse is part of the mayhem AGAIN. And on a mug, there was a scene of the mother and her horde at the butcher’s shop, only the butcher was a pig dressed in an apron and hat, and he was selling her what LOOKED LIKE PORK while her bunny babies destroyed his shop. Exactly what kind of life lessons is Royal Doulton trying to teach young children? Because it seems very subversive and violent and all the people who buy Bunnykins china because “it’s so cute” have obviously never looked closely at it either because I think the person who created these scenes is an anarchist and I’m surprised that none of this china has hidden messages on it like “Rabbits cannot make the revolution. Rabbits can only be the revolution.” Seriously—if you have any of this stuff in your house, take a good long look at it—and then go vandalize something.

Speaking of taking a good long look at something, the other day, I was on Facebook Marketplace and I saw an ad for a “Leather Reclining Couch” that made me look at it for a very long time, mostly because I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, like either the guy was completely unaware that his photos were being used for the ad, or it was the most clever marketing ploy since Royal Doulton created their bunnies with an attitude. 

I call this first picture “Paint Me Like One Of Your French Girls” and it’s a very good example of how you can use this couch in a very suggestive way. The second picture I’ve dubbed “The Thinker” because he’s obviously deep in thought, contemplating how to blow up a space station or whatnot.

And in the last picture, he’s obviously emulating the famous painting by Henry Wallis entitled The Death of Chatterton.

All I know is that the couch is “Pending” which means someone is planning on buying it, and I really hope for their sake that this guy comes with it.

Let Them Eat Cake

If you know anything about me at all, you’ll know I love reality shows. Most of them are about drag queens, but lately, I’ve been watching baking shows because the second season of Is It Cake? just came out. In this show, a group of bakers have to recreate everyday objects out of cake, and sometimes it’s almost impossible to distinguish between the object, like a Doc Marten boot or a turntable, and the cake that looks like it. The bakers use a variety of tricks—edible paper, molding chocolate, fondant and whatnot, because in this show, everything has to be edible. And then sadly, I finished all the episodes and, having no Drag Race shows to watch (by the way, I decided that if I was a drag queen, my name would be Tartan Juicy because I’m part Scottish), I started searching through my channels for something else to fill the void and found the Dr. Seuss Baking Challenge. In this show, the contestants have to create cakes based on the books of Dr. Seuss. It was a lot of fun watching them make Truffula Trees and Grinches, but it got me thinking about other possibilities for baking shows….

1) The Kafka Kitchen

Host: Welcome to The Kafka Kitchen, a show that marries the absurdity of reality with cake! Today, our contestants were challenged to come up with a special dessert that exemplifies The Franz Kafka Thang. I’m here today with our judges, Connie and Hermann, to see who can outcake Kafka! Blue Team, what did you make?
Blue Team Spokesperson: We created a giant cockroach out of a peanut butter swirl cake with a butterscotch ganache, vanilla cream icing, and an orange fondant.
Host: Delicious! What was your secret ingredient?
Blue Team Spokesperson: We were given anise and nihilism.
Host: It looks super-depressing!
Blue Team Spokesperson: Thank you. That means a lot.
Host: Connie and Hermann, what do you think?
Connie: It devastates me.
Hermann: Ja, it is oblivion to me.
Host: Blue Team, you have “metamorphized” into first place!

2) Shakespeare Cake-speare

Host: Welcome to Shakespeare Cake-speare where our contestants must design desserts based on the plays of William Shakespeare. Today’s challenge—Titus Andronicus! I’m here with our judges, Portia and Mercutio, as we try to determine who is the Bard of Baking! Green Team, tell us about your special creation!
Green Team Spokesperson: We made a pie.
Host: Cool! What kind of pie?
Green Team Spokesperson: Meat.
Host: Meat? But it’s supposed to be a dessert…Judges, what do you think?
Portia: It looks very bloody. What kind of meat IS it?
Host: Mercutio? Mercutio? Has anyone seen Mercutio?
Portia: Not since this morning…
Green Team Spokesperson: That’s what he gets for criticizing our scale model Globe Theatre cake. Too many sprinkles, my ass. To be or not to be, Mercutio.

At any rate, I’m sure there are plenty of other authors who would make a great basis for a baking show—can you imagine cakes all inspired by Alice In Wonderland or Lord Of The Rings? Regardless, the only thing I need to know is: Is It Cake?!

In other news, Atlas recently acquired a new toy. We don’t buy him toys very often because a) he has a huge wicker basket of toys already, and b) he will immediately destroy anything not made out of the most durable rubber. But this toy, a type of stuffed character, was a gift from a friend whose dog had passed away, so we reluctantly let him have it under supervision on the balcony only. Every night after dinner, Ken and I go up to our balcony for dessert and now Atlas can’t wait. He’s actually started running to the balcony door any time we go upstairs, and he stands with his nose pressed against the door crying a little because he wants his new toy so badly. It’s very cute and also a little obsessive. The only option is to bake him a cake that LOOKS like his toy, and then he can destroy THAT instead of the toy, which is much healthier because cake and fondant won’t get lodged in his intestines like flannel and micro-fill will. And if he can’t tell the difference, maybe I’ll win a prize…

In other, other news, thanks to everyone who’s purchased and given a review to What Any Normal Person Would Do–last week it was actually sitting at #12 on Amazon Canada’s Best Sellers in Comedy chart! And now I’m hard at work editing manuscripts for the authors I’ve signed for the fall under the DarkWinter Press imprint–I’m sure they’re all going to be bestsellers too!

From Every Angle

A while back, I took out a subscription to a particular country decorating magazine, mostly because they kept emailing me with better and better deals until it finally came out to about $3 an issue—and yes, I mean actual paper magazines, not the online kind. So they started coming in the mail a few months ago, and I’d forgotten how ubiquitous each one of these things can be: every issue features a young couple who hired a designer, a gay couple who didn’t need to hire a designer, recipes I will NEVER make, and the latest in weird decorating trends. I’ve made my peace with the all-white rooms and all-white furniture, the people who never wear shoes, and the copious overuse of figs, but this month’s issue made my skin crawl. Was it full of earwigs? (Fun Fact: When I was very young, my grandmother let me watch an episode of The Twilight Zone—the old black and white version—where a man had an earwig crawl into his ear and it ate through to his brain. I was terrified of earwigs for years, even after I discovered that they’re called earwigs NOT because they crawl into people’s ears, which they never do, but because they infest ears of corn. Still.)  Were all the recipes based on beets and peas? No. It was the newest trend alert: hanging all the artwork on your walls askew. Aside from being the stupidest trend I could possibly think of, even worse than the faux leather wall covering debacle of 2006, I was immediately overcome by intense panic at the mere sight of it. You may remember, particularly because I mention it often and it took up almost a whole chapter of my new book (shameless plug: it’s called What Any Normal Person Would Do, available on Amazon), I have something called Extreme Symmetry Disorder, which normally applies to rugs, but also, in this case, to the artwork on my walls. And while it might seem strange to you, I regularly patrol my house, straightening not only the rugs on my floors but also the artwork on my walls, because while Atlas manages to knock the rugs sideway several times a day, the vibrations of his bounding around also shift the frames of both paintings and photographs, which I am compelled to restore to their proper positions.

And then I had to read this magazine, which featured several different walls of artwork, two of them very much like my own photography-filled breakfast room wall, but instead of them being all delightfully level and perfectly perpendicular to each other, THESE PICTURES HAD BEEN DELIBERATELY KNOCKED ASKEW AS A FASHION STATEMENT.

Who DOES this?! I mean, I can’t be the only person who would go into a house where the pictures are all tilting off into oblivion and have an overwhelming desire to straighten them. Seriously—is this not scraping the bottom of the barrel of decorating trends or what? And what’s next? Should all our rugs be scattered haphazardly around our rooms? Should our objets d’art be randomly grouped in fours and sixes instead of the much more stress-relieving threes and fives? Should the cords on all our lamps face the front where we can SEE THEM?! AM I IN HELL?

At any rate, this issue, according to the latest email exhortation I received, is to be my last, since I have no interest in renewing a subscription to something so ludicrous. I will never cook with beets, I will never decorate in all white, and I especially will NEVER tiltshift my artwork. To quote Captain Jean-Luc Picard, when he was yet again faced with the Borg: “The line must be drawn here!”

In other news, the new literary press is going very well. I have a lot of submissions and I’ve already signed three authors—don’t ask who, because it’s a surprise, at least until I’ve finished editing. But all three are awesome, and their books will be coming out under the DarkWinter Press imprint before the end of the fall. I’m currently in the process of reading more manuscripts to decide on the catalogue for Spring 2024, so if you want to be considered, I’d love to see your work—at least before the end of August, when submissions will be closed until January.

(And now I’m having a mild panic attack because I just realized that one of the candlesticks isn’t straight!)