Kate Rothwell's Blog, page 20
June 13, 2012
rerun season in SBD land
I miss SBD so I want to write one. But honestly, I'm going through a reread-fest. It feels right and I wonder if that's because of the way I was raised. Back In The Day, when summer rolled around, television stopped showing anything new and anyone who needed a fix would watch old stuff. Since that's not true anymore, I have to find repeats where I can.
I've been well trained.
Speaking of training, I don't think our new dog is as well-trained as she should be and I might have to look for help. I've had dogs before but those were normal sized creatures--at least thirty-five pounds. Heck, our old dog is almost 80 pounds. This thing is 7 lbs at most. When I hold food over her head to get her to sit, she rears up on her hind legs and bounces like a rabbit--it's her one trick. When I try to push her rump down for sitting, she skitters away, scared that I'll try to pick her up. (She's not crazy about that.)
So what's left to do? I guess not bothering to teach her to sit. From my towering perspective, Molly the Dog standing and Molly T.D. sitting isn't very different. Just like the jumping up issue doesn't bother me. Not like it would with larger dogs. If Sooz did that rearing up trick and bounced, the house would shake.
Okay, time to reread this Mary Balogh.
I've been well trained.
Speaking of training, I don't think our new dog is as well-trained as she should be and I might have to look for help. I've had dogs before but those were normal sized creatures--at least thirty-five pounds. Heck, our old dog is almost 80 pounds. This thing is 7 lbs at most. When I hold food over her head to get her to sit, she rears up on her hind legs and bounces like a rabbit--it's her one trick. When I try to push her rump down for sitting, she skitters away, scared that I'll try to pick her up. (She's not crazy about that.)
So what's left to do? I guess not bothering to teach her to sit. From my towering perspective, Molly the Dog standing and Molly T.D. sitting isn't very different. Just like the jumping up issue doesn't bother me. Not like it would with larger dogs. If Sooz did that rearing up trick and bounced, the house would shake.
Okay, time to reread this Mary Balogh.
June 9, 2012
Goodbye Phillip
I really don't come around here much. I'm not sure why that is--I don't pay attention to the traffic. Okay, enough of that, let's go to why I'm here today.
Here's a story. I'm not sure I can get the whole thing on this blog. It's about 16,000 words long. I wrote this for the m/m group over at Goodreads. I think there are 149 other stories over there, or will be eventually. We get a photo and a prompt (written by someone else in the group) and write a story based on both.
Here's the thing--you have to join the group to read the stories. I'm allowed to post my story elsewhere (duh, it's my story) but in the meantime, here's part of it.
The prompt and photo I picked:
free story, yup.
STORY PROMPT: (written by Urbanista, a goodreads member)
I must have been on a new papa
high! Whatever made me think I could prepare a gourmet christening
dinner for our new baby girl? I hope he comes back with the christening
cake soon--why is he calling me now? it's getting late…hey babe! what do
you mean my baby craziness is freaking you out? what do you mean you
need some 'me' time?? what do you mean you're at the airport??
MY STORY: Goodbye Phillip
STEFAN
Phillip hung up. The goddamn coward.
Stefan was a fabulous multitasker, which meant he could
stand and listen to the dial tone, panic, jiggle the baby on his shoulder,
stare into the steam rising from the reduction he was making for the pasta’s
sauce—and he could scream, very, very quietly. His life might have come
crashing down, but there was no point in startling Emily.
Airport. Airport. Planes. Some of Phillip’s words came to
Stefan through the fog of shock, and he realized his lover was off on a damned
plane, bound for the Caribbean Islands. Probably the very resort where they’d
met during that hot, glorious vacation four years ago.
Shit.
Emily twisted and rooted at Stefan’s shoulder, making small
grunts. Double shit. She’d soon want a bottle.
The world was ending. His life had flipped upside-down. And
the baby needed to be fed. No, wait, this was good. Taking care of Emily’s
needs brought him back to what mattered.
He turned off every single burner until he remembered he’d
need one for the formula. As he warmed the bottle, he made idiotic hushing
sounds that seemed to help him a little, but the baby not at all.
Emily’s wriggles and grunts turned into full rage. She and
Stefan wept together as they stood waiting for the formula to warm.
He was sort of surprised to discover he cried right along
with her. Because what wasn’t particularly surprising: Phillip taking off. He’d
been drifting away for a while, starting about the time he and Stefan moved in
together. Stefan supposed he wasn’t the first fool to think a baby could save a
relationship.
“It’s not your fault,” he told Emily. “He blames you, but
don’t listen to him.”
He tested the bottle and carried it and her over to the big
rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen. She whimpered and her misery seemed
like a kick in his guts.
They settled, and he felt her relief in her loosening
muscles as she hungrily sucked. Maybe
Phillip had taken off for a good reason, he thought as Emily’s little fingers
curled around his thumb. Yeah, and maybe Phillip was an asshole.
“Can you believe it? He’s immature. That’s it. All that ‘You
don’t pay attention to me. You want her more than you want us.’ Us was
supposed to be all three of us. Dickhead,” Stefan said.
Emily stared up as if she found him fascinating. Her round
green eyes seemed so bright they shone and the way the cowlick of fine hair at
the top of her head pointed straight up just about killed him. He sighed with
the pleasure of looking at her.
"Don’t take his abandonment personally, doll-face. He
hated it when I paid too much attention to other people, not just you. Although
I have to admit, it’s true, baby girl, you do require more care than many
people. Hey, now, now, that’s absolutely fine, and exactly what you baby-types are
supposed to do. Don’t feel bad. Yes, you do need lots and lots and lots of
attention, you little sweet sweetie-pie.” Stefan usually made an effort to
speak to her as if she was a person, but damned if he didn’t lapse into baby
talk.
She blinked and stopped sucking for a second. Her mouth went
slack as she studied his face, and her lips curled up. Not gas. Not a passing
grimace. A real honest-to-god smile, complete with milk dribbling from between
toothless gums.
“Look at you! You are the smartest baby in the whole world! Hey,
look at that smile!” Stefan called and then remembered there was no one who’d
hear.
Phillip had left them, and once he took off he didn’t look
back. Stefan’s heart hurt even while he grinned down at their baby. His baby
now. Wow, she had a gorgeous smile.
There was no one to tell. Except, uh oh—that wasn’t true.
The guests were going to show up in an hour. The ceremony would take place soon
after that. Too late to put this off, and so the party would go on despite the
fact that Phillip had flown away from them.
Why hadn’t the bastard waited until tomorrow? Phillip knew
how much work Stefan had put into the christening and how important it was to
him…and, okay, that had to be exactly why he hadn’t waited.
Stefan hauled in a deep breath and stared around the
kitchen. He’d done a pretty good job of preparing, so the only things left were
the sauce and the cake.
Yeah, but the cake wasn’t going to happen.
Shit-shit-shit. He should have made it himself. He should
never have moved in with Phillip. He should never have pushed to make a family.
If Stefan hadn’t found Mellady at the food co-op, Phillip would still be here,
but that was a worthless thought. Meeting Mellady meant they got Emily, and
getting that baby was the best deal Stefan had ever struck.
“You’re worth it, but what the fu—I mean what are we going
to do, Emily?” She sucked at the bottle and absently squeezed his finger. “Okay,
yes, honey, you’re right. No panicking. No regrets. We’ll do this minute by
minute here. That’s how we’ll live life. You’re good at that. Any advice?”
Her eyes began to close as she headed toward milk stupor. No
helpful advice from Emily. So he gave the answer for her. “Live in the now, Dad. And at this moment we need that cake.” He
considered calling Cat, his ex-roomie, but she would demand to hear all the
details about Phillip and then explain again that Stefan should have listened
to her. He hated it when she was right. And he didn’t have time to talk.
He made a list of everything left to do. He’d shove Emily
into a front pack and get it all done. No time to get the cake, so he would
have to pick up the order tomorrow. He’d put it in the freezer where it would
be a reverse wedding cake, a constant reminder of Phillip and his assholiness.
Stefan wrestled with a lump of baby and the snuggly, got her
in place, and went back to work. And of course, multitasker Stefan could obsess
over Phillip as he chopped.
Maybe it was his fault Phillip left. Maybe Stefan could have
toned down some of the baby craziness. He could have stopped trying to force
Phillip to take an interest in baby clothes. Or he could have made this
celebration a little less of an event.
They could have gotten a few pizzas, invited a couple of
friends. But why not go fancy now and then?
Stefan loved a good party. He loved having a baby. And damn,
he didn’t mind adjusting his life to fit a partner. He’d let Phillip move the
damned billiards table into the family room along with the massive media
center.
Stefan had made compromises. He did nearly all the cooking
and cleaning after the baby arrived. Sometimes he’d felt as if he’d been
negotiating with a parent: I promise to
clean up after the puppy if we get one. That should have been a hint. Emily
had been his baby, not truly theirs. Except that Phillip had said more than
once that he wanted a baby and a family.
So maybe it wasn’t the party or Stefan’s enthusiasm for
their new little one that made Phillip pack his bags and go. He simply didn’t
love Stefan.
What a bastard.
The fact that pure rage poured through Stefan had to be a
good sign, right? Wasn’t he supposed to feel brokenhearted? Instead, he wanted
to kick Phillip in the balls and tell him he was a coward and an idiot. “You
and I are a great package,” Stefan told the sleeping baby. “Especially since
you’ll learn to sleep through the night any time now, right? We made a deal on
that one.”
He took several long breaths and focused on the
here-and-now. The house was gorgeous. The afternoon sunlight filled the kitchen
as he finished the sauce, assembled the salad dressing and the topping for the
last finger food. The plates and cutlery were already arranged on the
well-ironed linen cloth in the dining room.
He hadn’t gotten wine or beer for Phillip’s sake. If Phillip
was heading back to that island, chances were he’d be soused within twenty-four
hours. Three years of sobriety down the tubes. Poor guy. For the first time,
Stefan felt a moment’s pity for his partner—ex-partner. No, he liked being
angry better and reverted to growling about Phillip.
The doorbell rang.
Mellady waited on the mat--early again. Three months ago she’d
had Emily a week early. Spiky haired and skinny now, she jigged up and down on
the balls of her feet as she waited.
A tall guy stood behind her. She hadn’t had a boyfriend when
she had given birth.
She hadn’t kept in touch, but she’d wanted to know what was
going on with the baby so Stefan had sent an invite. This would be the first
time she’d see the baby since the birth.
Stefan hesitated before opening the door. Maybe inviting her
had been a really bad idea—even before Phillip had fled the scene.
She smiled at the man behind her and Stefan thought she
looked happy. Nice to know she’d gotten on with her life. She looked good, tanned
and together, even with her patched jeans and purposefully ripped poet shirt.
And wow, she lucked out on the man department.
Stefan let them. She bounced across the threshold, kissed
him on the cheek and gave Emily a tiny pat on the back. After a long pause, the
boyfriend followed. He was well-dressed and at least ten years older than
Mellady, about Stefan’s age. He scowled at Stefan, then stared pointedly at his
chest where Emily slept. Uh-oh. A potentially homophobic boyfriend.
Worse, he looked vaguely familiar with the dark hair, slight
indentation in the chin and the green eyes. Stefan’s gut clenched as he figured
out who he resembled. Was this Emily’s father? Mellady said the father wasn’t
in the picture.
Stefan tamped down the panic and gave Mellady a sideways hug
while sending up a prayer: please, no. Don’t let this be the father here to make
a stink. Stefan considered excusing himself to run off and call the lawyer
before saying hello to this new guest.
GREG
Having a mother like China, Greg knew from crazy, but Mellady
had recently proved she could break the standard of ridiculous previously set
by their mother.
He’d been in the US for a week and flew west the day after
he’d gotten the email from their oldest sister Jeenie. He’d gone to Mellady’s
dorm immediately.
She led him into the tiny room and made him sit down before
she confirmed the story he’d heard. “Yeah. While you were gone over a whole
year, I had a baby. I didn’t want to tell you or you’d just get on a plane and
give me shit.”
He jumped to his feet. “You’re damned right I would. But I’d
have helped, and--”
“You always moaned about Mom having too many babies too
young. I got pregnant by accident, but I’m telling you, I get what she meant. I
liked having a tiny life inside me too. I love it.”
He groaned and covered his face with both hands, and she
slapped his hand. “I’m not dumb enough to keep a baby. It was kinda hard for a
few weeks but I’m just fine now. The family I gave her to is just wonderful.
You’ll love them.”
He should have known the way she’d emphasized love
that she had something in mind. “You’ll come with me and meet her,” she said.
“Who?”
“The baby, of course. She’s so precious.”
Then how could you give her away, he wanted to ask
again but didn’t, because giving that child away was the one sane thing Mellady
had done in the last year or so. He chewed on his lip and examined his happy, eighteen-year-old
sister. She seemed fine. But the weight of worry for her lay inside him, as it
always had.
“What did Jeff say?”
“Why would he have anything to say?”
“Wasn’t he the father?”
Of course he wasn’t. Mellady hadn’t told him about that
breakup either during Skype sessions or emails. The father was a guy she’d
picked up in a goddamn bar.
“I didn’t mean to get pregnant, but it was wonderful. I felt
one with the earth.” He tuned out the rest of her babbling and tried to remove
the rock in his chest, the one composed of guilt and sorrow. He had a niece he’d
never meet, hadn’t even known about. He
tuned back in when she mentioned again how it had been hard to say goodbye to
the squalling baby. “But I’m fine. I promise.”
His sister had gone through the whole thing without him. He
pulled her into a hug and she let him for a few heartbeats.
Mellady pushed him away and said, “But seriously, now that
you’re back in the US, you can come to her celebration party.”
“Her what?” Hippies, he thought. She’d given the baby to New
Age hippies.
“They’re dedicating her, and I’m invited.”
“You are?”
“Sure. I’m telling you, you’ll love the family. Come with
me. You know you want to.”
He did.
***
Here is the rest (I think. If you click on this, you'll be taken to a PDF in dropbox. Let me know if this doesn't work!)
Here's a story. I'm not sure I can get the whole thing on this blog. It's about 16,000 words long. I wrote this for the m/m group over at Goodreads. I think there are 149 other stories over there, or will be eventually. We get a photo and a prompt (written by someone else in the group) and write a story based on both.
Here's the thing--you have to join the group to read the stories. I'm allowed to post my story elsewhere (duh, it's my story) but in the meantime, here's part of it.
The prompt and photo I picked:
free story, yup.
STORY PROMPT: (written by Urbanista, a goodreads member)
I must have been on a new papa
high! Whatever made me think I could prepare a gourmet christening
dinner for our new baby girl? I hope he comes back with the christening
cake soon--why is he calling me now? it's getting late…hey babe! what do
you mean my baby craziness is freaking you out? what do you mean you
need some 'me' time?? what do you mean you're at the airport??
MY STORY: Goodbye Phillip
STEFAN
Phillip hung up. The goddamn coward.
Stefan was a fabulous multitasker, which meant he could
stand and listen to the dial tone, panic, jiggle the baby on his shoulder,
stare into the steam rising from the reduction he was making for the pasta’s
sauce—and he could scream, very, very quietly. His life might have come
crashing down, but there was no point in startling Emily.
Airport. Airport. Planes. Some of Phillip’s words came to
Stefan through the fog of shock, and he realized his lover was off on a damned
plane, bound for the Caribbean Islands. Probably the very resort where they’d
met during that hot, glorious vacation four years ago.
Shit.
Emily twisted and rooted at Stefan’s shoulder, making small
grunts. Double shit. She’d soon want a bottle.
The world was ending. His life had flipped upside-down. And
the baby needed to be fed. No, wait, this was good. Taking care of Emily’s
needs brought him back to what mattered.
He turned off every single burner until he remembered he’d
need one for the formula. As he warmed the bottle, he made idiotic hushing
sounds that seemed to help him a little, but the baby not at all.
Emily’s wriggles and grunts turned into full rage. She and
Stefan wept together as they stood waiting for the formula to warm.
He was sort of surprised to discover he cried right along
with her. Because what wasn’t particularly surprising: Phillip taking off. He’d
been drifting away for a while, starting about the time he and Stefan moved in
together. Stefan supposed he wasn’t the first fool to think a baby could save a
relationship.
“It’s not your fault,” he told Emily. “He blames you, but
don’t listen to him.”
He tested the bottle and carried it and her over to the big
rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen. She whimpered and her misery seemed
like a kick in his guts.
They settled, and he felt her relief in her loosening
muscles as she hungrily sucked. Maybe
Phillip had taken off for a good reason, he thought as Emily’s little fingers
curled around his thumb. Yeah, and maybe Phillip was an asshole.
“Can you believe it? He’s immature. That’s it. All that ‘You
don’t pay attention to me. You want her more than you want us.’ Us was
supposed to be all three of us. Dickhead,” Stefan said.
Emily stared up as if she found him fascinating. Her round
green eyes seemed so bright they shone and the way the cowlick of fine hair at
the top of her head pointed straight up just about killed him. He sighed with
the pleasure of looking at her.
"Don’t take his abandonment personally, doll-face. He
hated it when I paid too much attention to other people, not just you. Although
I have to admit, it’s true, baby girl, you do require more care than many
people. Hey, now, now, that’s absolutely fine, and exactly what you baby-types are
supposed to do. Don’t feel bad. Yes, you do need lots and lots and lots of
attention, you little sweet sweetie-pie.” Stefan usually made an effort to
speak to her as if she was a person, but damned if he didn’t lapse into baby
talk.
She blinked and stopped sucking for a second. Her mouth went
slack as she studied his face, and her lips curled up. Not gas. Not a passing
grimace. A real honest-to-god smile, complete with milk dribbling from between
toothless gums.
“Look at you! You are the smartest baby in the whole world! Hey,
look at that smile!” Stefan called and then remembered there was no one who’d
hear.
Phillip had left them, and once he took off he didn’t look
back. Stefan’s heart hurt even while he grinned down at their baby. His baby
now. Wow, she had a gorgeous smile.
There was no one to tell. Except, uh oh—that wasn’t true.
The guests were going to show up in an hour. The ceremony would take place soon
after that. Too late to put this off, and so the party would go on despite the
fact that Phillip had flown away from them.
Why hadn’t the bastard waited until tomorrow? Phillip knew
how much work Stefan had put into the christening and how important it was to
him…and, okay, that had to be exactly why he hadn’t waited.
Stefan hauled in a deep breath and stared around the
kitchen. He’d done a pretty good job of preparing, so the only things left were
the sauce and the cake.
Yeah, but the cake wasn’t going to happen.
Shit-shit-shit. He should have made it himself. He should
never have moved in with Phillip. He should never have pushed to make a family.
If Stefan hadn’t found Mellady at the food co-op, Phillip would still be here,
but that was a worthless thought. Meeting Mellady meant they got Emily, and
getting that baby was the best deal Stefan had ever struck.
“You’re worth it, but what the fu—I mean what are we going
to do, Emily?” She sucked at the bottle and absently squeezed his finger. “Okay,
yes, honey, you’re right. No panicking. No regrets. We’ll do this minute by
minute here. That’s how we’ll live life. You’re good at that. Any advice?”
Her eyes began to close as she headed toward milk stupor. No
helpful advice from Emily. So he gave the answer for her. “Live in the now, Dad. And at this moment we need that cake.” He
considered calling Cat, his ex-roomie, but she would demand to hear all the
details about Phillip and then explain again that Stefan should have listened
to her. He hated it when she was right. And he didn’t have time to talk.
He made a list of everything left to do. He’d shove Emily
into a front pack and get it all done. No time to get the cake, so he would
have to pick up the order tomorrow. He’d put it in the freezer where it would
be a reverse wedding cake, a constant reminder of Phillip and his assholiness.
Stefan wrestled with a lump of baby and the snuggly, got her
in place, and went back to work. And of course, multitasker Stefan could obsess
over Phillip as he chopped.
Maybe it was his fault Phillip left. Maybe Stefan could have
toned down some of the baby craziness. He could have stopped trying to force
Phillip to take an interest in baby clothes. Or he could have made this
celebration a little less of an event.
They could have gotten a few pizzas, invited a couple of
friends. But why not go fancy now and then?
Stefan loved a good party. He loved having a baby. And damn,
he didn’t mind adjusting his life to fit a partner. He’d let Phillip move the
damned billiards table into the family room along with the massive media
center.
Stefan had made compromises. He did nearly all the cooking
and cleaning after the baby arrived. Sometimes he’d felt as if he’d been
negotiating with a parent: I promise to
clean up after the puppy if we get one. That should have been a hint. Emily
had been his baby, not truly theirs. Except that Phillip had said more than
once that he wanted a baby and a family.
So maybe it wasn’t the party or Stefan’s enthusiasm for
their new little one that made Phillip pack his bags and go. He simply didn’t
love Stefan.
What a bastard.
The fact that pure rage poured through Stefan had to be a
good sign, right? Wasn’t he supposed to feel brokenhearted? Instead, he wanted
to kick Phillip in the balls and tell him he was a coward and an idiot. “You
and I are a great package,” Stefan told the sleeping baby. “Especially since
you’ll learn to sleep through the night any time now, right? We made a deal on
that one.”
He took several long breaths and focused on the
here-and-now. The house was gorgeous. The afternoon sunlight filled the kitchen
as he finished the sauce, assembled the salad dressing and the topping for the
last finger food. The plates and cutlery were already arranged on the
well-ironed linen cloth in the dining room.
He hadn’t gotten wine or beer for Phillip’s sake. If Phillip
was heading back to that island, chances were he’d be soused within twenty-four
hours. Three years of sobriety down the tubes. Poor guy. For the first time,
Stefan felt a moment’s pity for his partner—ex-partner. No, he liked being
angry better and reverted to growling about Phillip.
The doorbell rang.
Mellady waited on the mat--early again. Three months ago she’d
had Emily a week early. Spiky haired and skinny now, she jigged up and down on
the balls of her feet as she waited.
A tall guy stood behind her. She hadn’t had a boyfriend when
she had given birth.
She hadn’t kept in touch, but she’d wanted to know what was
going on with the baby so Stefan had sent an invite. This would be the first
time she’d see the baby since the birth.
Stefan hesitated before opening the door. Maybe inviting her
had been a really bad idea—even before Phillip had fled the scene.
She smiled at the man behind her and Stefan thought she
looked happy. Nice to know she’d gotten on with her life. She looked good, tanned
and together, even with her patched jeans and purposefully ripped poet shirt.
And wow, she lucked out on the man department.
Stefan let them. She bounced across the threshold, kissed
him on the cheek and gave Emily a tiny pat on the back. After a long pause, the
boyfriend followed. He was well-dressed and at least ten years older than
Mellady, about Stefan’s age. He scowled at Stefan, then stared pointedly at his
chest where Emily slept. Uh-oh. A potentially homophobic boyfriend.
Worse, he looked vaguely familiar with the dark hair, slight
indentation in the chin and the green eyes. Stefan’s gut clenched as he figured
out who he resembled. Was this Emily’s father? Mellady said the father wasn’t
in the picture.
Stefan tamped down the panic and gave Mellady a sideways hug
while sending up a prayer: please, no. Don’t let this be the father here to make
a stink. Stefan considered excusing himself to run off and call the lawyer
before saying hello to this new guest.
GREG
Having a mother like China, Greg knew from crazy, but Mellady
had recently proved she could break the standard of ridiculous previously set
by their mother.
He’d been in the US for a week and flew west the day after
he’d gotten the email from their oldest sister Jeenie. He’d gone to Mellady’s
dorm immediately.
She led him into the tiny room and made him sit down before
she confirmed the story he’d heard. “Yeah. While you were gone over a whole
year, I had a baby. I didn’t want to tell you or you’d just get on a plane and
give me shit.”
He jumped to his feet. “You’re damned right I would. But I’d
have helped, and--”
“You always moaned about Mom having too many babies too
young. I got pregnant by accident, but I’m telling you, I get what she meant. I
liked having a tiny life inside me too. I love it.”
He groaned and covered his face with both hands, and she
slapped his hand. “I’m not dumb enough to keep a baby. It was kinda hard for a
few weeks but I’m just fine now. The family I gave her to is just wonderful.
You’ll love them.”
He should have known the way she’d emphasized love
that she had something in mind. “You’ll come with me and meet her,” she said.
“Who?”
“The baby, of course. She’s so precious.”
Then how could you give her away, he wanted to ask
again but didn’t, because giving that child away was the one sane thing Mellady
had done in the last year or so. He chewed on his lip and examined his happy, eighteen-year-old
sister. She seemed fine. But the weight of worry for her lay inside him, as it
always had.
“What did Jeff say?”
“Why would he have anything to say?”
“Wasn’t he the father?”
Of course he wasn’t. Mellady hadn’t told him about that
breakup either during Skype sessions or emails. The father was a guy she’d
picked up in a goddamn bar.
“I didn’t mean to get pregnant, but it was wonderful. I felt
one with the earth.” He tuned out the rest of her babbling and tried to remove
the rock in his chest, the one composed of guilt and sorrow. He had a niece he’d
never meet, hadn’t even known about. He
tuned back in when she mentioned again how it had been hard to say goodbye to
the squalling baby. “But I’m fine. I promise.”
His sister had gone through the whole thing without him. He
pulled her into a hug and she let him for a few heartbeats.
Mellady pushed him away and said, “But seriously, now that
you’re back in the US, you can come to her celebration party.”
“Her what?” Hippies, he thought. She’d given the baby to New
Age hippies.
“They’re dedicating her, and I’m invited.”
“You are?”
“Sure. I’m telling you, you’ll love the family. Come with
me. You know you want to.”
He did.
***
Here is the rest (I think. If you click on this, you'll be taken to a PDF in dropbox. Let me know if this doesn't work!)
May 30, 2012
Kinda nice
More than once I've met someone and have thought "wow, I have nothing in common with this person and no interest in getting to know them." Not aggressively anti-those-particular-people, just no connection.
And at least three times I've known the person was destined to never be a pal, I've been entirely wrong and I've ended up with three very good friends.
Come to think of it, at least once someone I really like now first had to move from a "ugh, no way do I want to get to know this person." to yay, friend!
First impressions can be bogus.
That's all. No biggie, just something I was thinking about. I like remembering how wrong I was in those particular situations.
And at least three times I've known the person was destined to never be a pal, I've been entirely wrong and I've ended up with three very good friends.
Come to think of it, at least once someone I really like now first had to move from a "ugh, no way do I want to get to know this person." to yay, friend!
First impressions can be bogus.
That's all. No biggie, just something I was thinking about. I like remembering how wrong I was in those particular situations.
May 23, 2012
I'm over at Hero and Heartbreakers
I wrote about the internet as the Regency Ton. I think I should have used shorter paragraphs.
The best part of those Regency novels--at least the ones written a couple centuries later--is the cant. So much more fun to say someone is "top of the trees" rather than "a hot shit."
Although hot shit isn't half-bad, come to think of it.
Today I went to one of those stores that has changing stock all the time, Marshall's. I found a display of tiny dog clothes that would fit our new tiny dog. I had to fight the urge to buy the little snow suit for next winter. Not only is she a yapping dog, I am turning into a yappy dog owner. EEEK
The best part of those Regency novels--at least the ones written a couple centuries later--is the cant. So much more fun to say someone is "top of the trees" rather than "a hot shit."
Although hot shit isn't half-bad, come to think of it.
Today I went to one of those stores that has changing stock all the time, Marshall's. I found a display of tiny dog clothes that would fit our new tiny dog. I had to fight the urge to buy the little snow suit for next winter. Not only is she a yapping dog, I am turning into a yappy dog owner. EEEK
May 21, 2012
Writing exercise
not T's card, but the same scene, basically
T sent me a postcard from England: On the front is a photo from Polesden Lacey in Surrey, picturing a charming Venetian well-head in the rose garden.
On the back:
write a short story 1000-5000 words (or longer) incorporating
1. the scene on this postcard
2. an adventurer/traveler
2 a quote from John Donne:
For love all love of other sites controls.
And makes one little room an everywhere.
My answer is after the jump.
Toni's Card Prompt (this is not a romance, that's for sure)
The sky remained a clear and endless blue during their second visit to Surrey. Phillipa rather wished the rain was pouring down so
she could retreat to the library and read. Instead, Simon had insisted they
take this stroll through the garden. Almost at once they began to bicker. Again.
This squabble--the very last one, she suddenly knew--was her fault.
Simon liked to recite poetry when he felt sentimental and he’d just finished
with a couplet from Donne. She ought to have given an appreciative sigh but
instead she said, “What does a little room have to do with this? It’s a
garden.”
She leaned close to a blossom and gave a worried sniff. Not
that it had any scent. The modern craze for form and beauty had left scent
behind. She straightened and gazed out over the flowers. “And the roses have
some sort of blight, I’m afraid.”
“You have no poetry in your soul,” he scolded. “How can
anyone feel anything but pure joy at this sight? Have you ever seen such
blossoms?”
“Yes, I have seen better here, Simon. They were so much
healthier last year, and I wish I could figure out what has hit the garden this
year.”
“It isn’t your concern and I’m certain the National Trust will have the problem well in hand soon. Shall we finish our tour?”
“No.” She stopped in the middle of the pale roses, near the
well-head. “No, I’m afraid I’d rather
not, Simon.”
“What has ruffled your feathers, Philley-bird?”
That infinitely annoying nick-name. “I am not a bird and I have no feathers and--”
“Ah, ah! More proof you have no poetry and--”
“None. You’re right about that.” She pulled in a deep breath
and before she could think too hard she continued, “And I think it best if we
part ways.”
“All right. Fine," he said with weary patience. "I’ll see you back at the hotel for tea.”
“No, you don’t understand. I mean part ways permanently.”
Simon took a step back as if she’d shoved him. For some
reason she had imagined he’d simply nod and agree. There seemed to be real pain on
his handsome, angular face. For a moment she remembered why she’d fallen in
love with him a year earlier. Stay the course, she warned herself. Something
deep and reckless had been uncovered inside her over the last few minutes and
it must be allowed to sweep through her life. She’d clean up and reassemble
what she could when she returned home. Alone.
He cleared his throat the way he always did when angry. That
was good. The anguish in his blue eyes had been replaced by anger. “Philley, you’re right. I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, but I am sorry. I doubt that helps, Simon. But
I’m done. That’s all.”
He folded his arms
over his carefully ironed button-down shirt and stared at her. “You’ve never
done anything like this before.”
“No,” she agreed.
“I mean with any man. You’ve never dumped a man before. Why
am I so lucky?”
She was rather shocked he knew this about her. She’d told
him, of course, but she hadn’t supposed he’d been paying attention when she
said that men always had walked away from her. She shifted from foot to foot,
remembering the pain she’d felt when Charlie had left her. The year-long
mourning after Johan blighted her life rather like the fungus had hit these
blossoms. Her thoughts strayed to the flowers again. Could it be some sort of
rust?
“Phillipa. I love you.”
That phrase had never been uttered between them. She held
back her snort. “No you don’t. You just
don’t want me to take off.” Like a Philley-bird she thought and imagined it
gawky, long-legged and red-haired like herself. Rather like an ugly flamingo. See,
she almost told him, I am capable of flights of fancy.
“I love you,” he said and the indignation had drained from
him again. She wished it would come back.
She concentrated on the roses and tried to ignore the fact
that instead of walking away, he moved closer to her, so close she could smell
the cheap scent of the hotel soap on his skin.
“I love you and perhaps I didn’t say anything because I
hadn’t known how much until this minute.” A little louder he said, “I wish
you’d look at me. Really look at me.”
She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to obey him on last time, and she looked at the cut he’d made on his cheek that morning had a little scab. His
patrician nose would soon have hair growing out of it, like his father and he
already laughed like the old man. His eyes would go blurry and his hair gray,
so the lovely contrast of dark hair and blue eyes would be lost.
She looked at his neck with the visible adam’s apple that had
once fascinated and attracted her and now made her wonder how he could possibly
swallow.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He ran a hand through his thinning dark hair and shook his
head. Without another word, he turned and walked away swiftly, no doubt
fighting the urge to look back and see if she watched.
She did watch, of course. Simon never looked back at her and
she felt a sudden surge of affection at his strength, at the way he strode along the
grassy paths, surefooted, upright and brave, facing forward. Perhaps she might
give it another chance. . . But first she wanted to pluck a few petals on the
sly and take them with her to the library to see if she could identify the blight that
had hit the roses.
May 16, 2012
a question for fiction writers
I've always had vivid, often memorable dreams. Sometimes, when I try to recall a memory of a place, I'll pull up something about a dream that took place there and have to remind myself that it was my brain, not my true experience, that conjured that aspect of the place.
I don't mean plots of dreams stick with me (sometimes they do, but not often. Usually when I write down a plot of a dream it makes sense for a while but when I read it as soon as a few weeks later I'll think WTF? Huh? ) it's more sensations or bits of them that stick as strongly as true memory. I can recall the feel of flying almost as clearly as I can remember what it's like to stand with my feet sinking into sand when the edge of waves wash over them.
Anyway, I wonder if this is part of the brain of a fiction writer? I'd look this up, but I'm lazy. Not enough sleep. Too many dreams.
I don't mean plots of dreams stick with me (sometimes they do, but not often. Usually when I write down a plot of a dream it makes sense for a while but when I read it as soon as a few weeks later I'll think WTF? Huh? ) it's more sensations or bits of them that stick as strongly as true memory. I can recall the feel of flying almost as clearly as I can remember what it's like to stand with my feet sinking into sand when the edge of waves wash over them.
Anyway, I wonder if this is part of the brain of a fiction writer? I'd look this up, but I'm lazy. Not enough sleep. Too many dreams.
May 14, 2012
REQUIRED ARTICLE, the second
See "writing these is not a choice time, boys" explanation in middle boy's contribution. ("Ted" who did not appear in the middle boy's play also did his mother's day tribute as well, but it's not going to end up on the blog. But let me just point out that it's sweet, cute and I love it too.)
ARTICLE I- TEMPORAL NATURE OF AGREEMENT'S BINDING
The AGREEMENT OF MOTHERHOOD to be made between the FIRST
PARTY and the SECOND PARTY is to begin on INSERT DATE HERE and to conclude
until one such party shall deem it necessary to renege the contract. For
further contractual bindings of both parties, see various and sundry other
forms to be provided by a legitimate LEGAL CONSULTANT
ARTICLE II- THE INITIAL CONTACT (PRE-NATAL) PERIOD AND
SYNCHRONOUS LEASE OF THE SECOND PARTY
It is agreed upon by the FIRST PARTY shall give access to
the SECOND PARTY, freely and without expectation of recompense, all blood,
nutrients, genetic material, mucous, housing etc., for a period no more than
NINE MONTHS during which time the SECOND PARTY will, by his/her undersignature
here, agree to GIVE AN OCCASIONAL KICK to indicate that he is present. This
period of mutual codependency shall be known as the PREGNANCY, and shall expire
upon natural expulsion of the SECOND PARTY, or unless OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES call
for OTHER PROCEDURES to be elucidated by a designated pre-natal/immediate
post-natal specialist.
ARTICLE III- INITIAL POST-NATAL ACCORDS
After such time as PREGNANCY shall end and the SECOND
PARTY'S lease shall expire and he shall be expelled from the WOMB, he will cry
and scream for a period of no less than A FUCKING BILLION GODDAMN YEARS, during
which period the FIRST PARTY (and any parties attached to the FIRST PARTY via
legal binding matrimonial or otherwise) will acquire approximately TWO HOURS of
sleep a night. During this period the FIRST PARTY agrees to provide all amenities
deemed by a relevant authority to the SECOND PARTY'S welfare and, if deemed
necessary by the FIRST PARTY or any part connected with the FIRST PARTY, any
sort of recreational/leisure amenities deemed appropriate to the
SECOND PARTY'S felicity or mental, physical, or emotional development. This
period is from hereinafter referred to as the DEVELOPMENTAL PERIOD
ARTICLE IV- ACCORDS POST-DEVELOPMENTAL PERIOD AND LIMITS
OF THIS CONTRACT
As the FIRST PARTY shall fulfill all terms and conditions
elucidated in ARTICLE II and ARTICLE III (see above) in respect to both the
SECOND PARTY or any number of SUBSEQUENT PARTY'S (n, n+1, n+2... n+x),
so shall the second party, after a period of time NOT EXCEEDING the time
tentatively outlined (though not explicitly stated due to lack of
empirical/accurately evaluative evidence) in ARTICLE I (see above), the SECOND
PARTY shall assume responsibilities deemed necessary by the FIRST
PARTY. The SECOND PARTY shall possess minimal say in these assumed
responsibilities to the extent that he can COMPLAIN or THREATEN TO RUN AWAY TO
THE CIRCUS. The FIRST PARTY'S rights in regards the SECOND PARTY
extrinsic to the legal bindings of THIS CONTRACT are elucidated in FORM
24875B-c6.
ARTICLE V- CONCERNING THE ANNUAL RECOGNITION OF THE SECOND
(2ND) SUNDAY IN THE MONTH OF MAY
If the FIRST PARTY acts in compliance with the duties
outlined in ARTICLES II through IV, then the SECOND PARTY is (among other
duties elucidated on FORM 24876-d2) obligated through their signature to be
signed under this contractual obligation in some way recognize the noble
efforts of the FIRST PARTY via a TOKEN(S) of some sort.
ARTICLE v.1- CONCERNING THE TOKEN
The order of preference of the sensual medium of the TOKEN
(S)is to be (listed in order of preference): written (visual), spoken (aural),
topical, tasted (oral), or nasal. In regards the number and nature of this
TOKEN(S), the SECOND PARTY is contractually obligated by their
undersigned signature to provide minimal ONE (1) TOKEN(S) corresponding to the
sensual medium of written (visual), spoken (aural), and topical. Optional
TOKEN(S) may be supplied corresponding to the tasted (oral) or nasal sensual
media. The nature of these TOKEN(S) must be LOVING and GRATEFUL in recognition
of the contractually obligated duties fulfilled by the FIRST PARTY in regards
the SECOND PARTY outlined above (See ARTICLES II-IV). If the FIRST PARTY deems
the presented tokens corresponding to the first three categories of
sensual media insufficiently LOVING and GRATEFUL, please refer to FORM
24878-a1.
ARTICLE v.2- CONCERNING THE JUDGMENT BY THE FIRST PARTY
OF THE SENSUAL MEDIA TOKEN(S) AS "LOVING" OR "GRATEFUL"
The nature of the proffered tokens as embodying
the articles LOVING and GRATEFUL shall be the express right of the FIRST PARTY.
Reference may be made via appeal by the SECOND PARTY by their filling out FORM
24878-a2, to be read over by the legal consultant of both parties in the event
the SECOND PARTY opts to appeal the judgement of the FIRST PARTY concerning the
TOKEN(S)
THEREFOR
ARTICLE 6- HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY
The SECOND PARTY, in recognition of the fulfillment of
ARTICLES II through IV, and in recognition of the contractually bound duties
bestowed upon him in all sub-articles of ARTICLE V, and in recognition of the
legally binding nature of the relationship between the FIRST PARTY and the
SECOND PARTY alluded to and temporally bound in ARTICLE I (for more information
on the nature of this relationship consult the pertinent forms to be provided
by a LEGAL CONSULTANT), will hereafter express, via a token corresponding to
the sensual medium of written (visual), his wishes that the FIRST PARTY
experience all due JOY and MATERNAL BLISS endowed upon her via her fulfillment
of all duties elucidated and alluded to in the above articles.
Happy Mother's Day!
May 13, 2012
AS IS REQUIRED
Traditions! The breakfast in bed is no longer delivered (by the off-spring, anyway), the big spring-cleaning not an all-day event--however the homemade card is essential and nonnegotiable. This is one of this year's cards.
The Battle of
Mother’s Day
Cast of
Characters
MOTHER: Matron of the Mavis clan
and harried homeowner
ANDERS: Wicked malformed
eldest child of MOTHER
ALDUS: Middle child; he is a
paragon
TED:Does not appear in
this manuscript
THE
LATE BUDDHA: A deceased,
saintly figure
Scene The Mavis
family room
Time Midday
ACT I
Scene 1
ANDERS is sitting on
the couch, being wicked and malformed. Enter from the kitchen up. right MOTHER,
looking very nice.
MOTHER
Anders: Do you know
what day it is today?
ANDERS
Today is
Be-Ungrateful-and-Unreasonably-Spiteful-to-my-Superior-and-Attractive-Family
Day, known also as Every Day.
MOTHER
Anders, that is wrong.
You are as stupid and empty-headed as you are wicked and malformed. Today is
MOTHER'S DAY.
ANDERS
Is it MOTHER'S DAY? I
was too busy not bearing you grandchildren and festering in my own various
discharges to notice.
MOTHER
It is.
ANDERS
Ah.
MOTHER
Have you made the
prerequisite Mother's Day Card I badgered you (quite justifiably and while
looking very nice) into making? Like your saintly brother, Aldus? Or Ted, who
will not be appearing in this scene?
ANDERS
I did not. I was too
busy touching Aldus without his first providing express permission and dirtying
his clothes due to the thin mucous membrane which at all times coats me.
MOTHER
Well, well. Get on top
of that, Anders.
ANDERS
I shall not. I am
scanning this planet.
MOTHER
O you are a very
ungrateful, wicked, and malformed child. Not like your brother, Aldus. Here he
comes now.
ALDUS enters from
KITCHEN, being exemplary. He is on his way to visit the PRESIDENT and also
EMERIL LAGASSE.
ALDUS
Hello, Mother and
brother. I am on my way to meeting with the PRESIDENT and EMERIL LAGASSE to
discuss preparations for the upcoming gala held in mother's honor, in the Torch
of the Statue of Liberty. In Hawaii. The LATE BUDDHA will also be present.
ANDERS
Aldus, I direct my
impotent rage at you.
ALDUS
Oh geez, then I had
better exit soon. Mother, there will be Leis at the party as well as a young
& attractive Clint Eastwood, not that you would do anything with him as you
are a good and caring wife/mother. But still. FATHER is not appearing in this
scene either.
MOTHER
Thanks a big bunch.
ALDUS
It is the least I could
do for you emitting me from your genitals 19 years ago. Farewell!
He exits,
pirouetting to avoid feces thrown at him from ANDERS
MOTHER
Now, Anders. Are you
going to help clean the house?
ANDERS
No, as I am a smelly
gaylord.
MOTHER
And you are not going
to make a card? If you do neither thing I shall have no recourse other than to
beat you to death with this copy of David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest
in a clever ironic metaphor for something.
ANDERS
I will not write you a
card, either.
MOTHER
Then I will beat you to
death.
SHE does. ALDUS
reenters, with THE LATE BUDDHA.
ALDUS
Although the death of
my brother was justified, I mourn for him still because I am that big of a
person.
MOTHER
Don't worry about him.
Let's have lemon cake.
ALDUS.
O.K.
THE LATE BUDDHA
performs funeral rites for ANDERS, then a BERGAMASK DANCE to scattered
applause.
Exeunt Omnes.
The Battle of
Mother’s Day
Cast of
Characters
MOTHER: Matron of the Mavis clan
and harried homeowner
ANDERS: Wicked malformed
eldest child of MOTHER
ALDUS: Middle child; he is a
paragon
TED:Does not appear in
this manuscript
THE
LATE BUDDHA: A deceased,
saintly figure
Scene The Mavis
family room
Time Midday
ACT I
Scene 1
ANDERS is sitting on
the couch, being wicked and malformed. Enter from the kitchen up. right MOTHER,
looking very nice.
MOTHER
Anders: Do you know
what day it is today?
ANDERS
Today is
Be-Ungrateful-and-Unreasonably-Spiteful-to-my-Superior-and-Attractive-Family
Day, known also as Every Day.
MOTHER
Anders, that is wrong.
You are as stupid and empty-headed as you are wicked and malformed. Today is
MOTHER'S DAY.
ANDERS
Is it MOTHER'S DAY? I
was too busy not bearing you grandchildren and festering in my own various
discharges to notice.
MOTHER
It is.
ANDERS
Ah.
MOTHER
Have you made the
prerequisite Mother's Day Card I badgered you (quite justifiably and while
looking very nice) into making? Like your saintly brother, Aldus? Or Ted, who
will not be appearing in this scene?
ANDERS
I did not. I was too
busy touching Aldus without his first providing express permission and dirtying
his clothes due to the thin mucous membrane which at all times coats me.
MOTHER
Well, well. Get on top
of that, Anders.
ANDERS
I shall not. I am
scanning this planet.
MOTHER
O you are a very
ungrateful, wicked, and malformed child. Not like your brother, Aldus. Here he
comes now.
ALDUS enters from
KITCHEN, being exemplary. He is on his way to visit the PRESIDENT and also
EMERIL LAGASSE.
ALDUS
Hello, Mother and
brother. I am on my way to meeting with the PRESIDENT and EMERIL LAGASSE to
discuss preparations for the upcoming gala held in mother's honor, in the Torch
of the Statue of Liberty. In Hawaii. The LATE BUDDHA will also be present.
ANDERS
Aldus, I direct my
impotent rage at you.
ALDUS
Oh geez, then I had
better exit soon. Mother, there will be Leis at the party as well as a young
& attractive Clint Eastwood, not that you would do anything with him as you
are a good and caring wife/mother. But still. FATHER is not appearing in this
scene either.
MOTHER
Thanks a big bunch.
ALDUS
It is the least I could
do for you emitting me from your genitals 19 years ago. Farewell!
He exits,
pirouetting to avoid feces thrown at him from ANDERS
MOTHER
Now, Anders. Are you
going to help clean the house?
ANDERS
No, as I am a smelly
gaylord.
MOTHER
And you are not going
to make a card? If you do neither thing I shall have no recourse other than to
beat you to death with this copy of David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest
in a clever ironic metaphor for something.
ANDERS
I will not write you a
card, either.
MOTHER
Then I will beat you to
death.
SHE does. ALDUS
reenters, with THE LATE BUDDHA.
ALDUS
Although the death of
my brother was justified, I mourn for him still because I am that big of a
person.
MOTHER
Don't worry about him.
Let's have lemon cake.
ALDUS.
O.K.
THE LATE BUDDHA
performs funeral rites for ANDERS, then a BERGAMASK DANCE to scattered
applause.
Exeunt Omnes.
May 7, 2012
me! me!
Lookit! An article about me!
Kate Rothwell/Summer Devon, a romance writer, tells how she does it
I do like the fact that at least I share similar work-habits with Kristan "Actually an Extremely Nice Person" Higgans. And we live in the same state.
Don't mind me. I'm in the post-release funk--the kind that comes when the book doesn't immediately climb onto any best-seller list and you realize that this one didn't get there either. This one isn't going to sell like hotcakes and why not? Whose fault is that? Mine. It must be me. This results in a low-grade self-pity that manifests itself in snark and the decision to quit writing forever.
The snark will be gone by the time I finish this post. The decision to quit writing might last a bit longer, at least until tomorrow when I go to Barnes and Noble and Linda rolls her eyes and me and tells me to STFU. (This treatment must be applied in person. I'd ask Mike to do it, but he [with one eye on the bills] asks 'why don't you get another job?' a reasonable question that has me looking and even applying for work every now and then.)
In other news, my oldest graduated from college. No really, I'm not lying. He is that old. So far his gifts on achieving this great milestone are a chocolate cake and letting him sleep in today. I'm thinking the dog (see below) might be mostly his if they bond.
Can't do better than a dog, eh? He suggests naming it Molly, after Molly Bloom, which celebrates his other huge accomplishment: he read all of Ulysses.
Any suggestions for gifts for college graduates--gifts that don't actually cost any money? I can't come up with many either. Maybe I'll do his laundry for him. Once, anyway.
Kate Rothwell/Summer Devon, a romance writer, tells how she does it
I do like the fact that at least I share similar work-habits with Kristan "Actually an Extremely Nice Person" Higgans. And we live in the same state.
Don't mind me. I'm in the post-release funk--the kind that comes when the book doesn't immediately climb onto any best-seller list and you realize that this one didn't get there either. This one isn't going to sell like hotcakes and why not? Whose fault is that? Mine. It must be me. This results in a low-grade self-pity that manifests itself in snark and the decision to quit writing forever.
The snark will be gone by the time I finish this post. The decision to quit writing might last a bit longer, at least until tomorrow when I go to Barnes and Noble and Linda rolls her eyes and me and tells me to STFU. (This treatment must be applied in person. I'd ask Mike to do it, but he [with one eye on the bills] asks 'why don't you get another job?' a reasonable question that has me looking and even applying for work every now and then.)
In other news, my oldest graduated from college. No really, I'm not lying. He is that old. So far his gifts on achieving this great milestone are a chocolate cake and letting him sleep in today. I'm thinking the dog (see below) might be mostly his if they bond.
Can't do better than a dog, eh? He suggests naming it Molly, after Molly Bloom, which celebrates his other huge accomplishment: he read all of Ulysses.
Any suggestions for gifts for college graduates--gifts that don't actually cost any money? I can't come up with many either. Maybe I'll do his laundry for him. Once, anyway.
May 5, 2012
What is she?
our dog on Wednesday
Animal Control Officer Sherry: The coloring and pattern is yorkie.
Me: Her body's kind of long. So maybe dachshund too?
ACOS: I see terrier in her face. Also I'm not sure about the lack of tail.
Me: Corgi?
ACOS: Or she lost it. Who knows what her life's been like. I picked her up in the worst neighborhood in Hartford. She was a stray.
Me: Her eyes are a bit buggy.
ACOS: Hmm. Pom maybe.
Me: or pug? Although she does have elegant legs, so maybe min-pin?
Did we leave out any small breeds besides bishon frise or poodle? They might be in there.
