Kate Rothwell's Blog, page 28
October 11, 2011
stuff
My aunt died last night. Other people, the ones who knew her well, will have more to say and I'll shut up and listen. What I knew is I loved her house and she had the best taste in the family. Unerringly perfect taste. When we were young, her kids talked to her as if she was stupid. When I tried to talk to my mom like that it didn't work.
She wasn't stupid, not by a long shot. After the kids grew up, she went back to law school, became a public defender and was a hot ticket. And then, after she retired, she went to work with kids. Page four of this link has a short interview with her. See? This is a death that diminishes the world.
My life isn't affected much, so no need to express sympathy. Too bad I'll never see her house or clothes again or hear her express her blunt opinions which were sometimes odd, but often held great zingers.
Mostly when I think about her, I think of her house, which shows up in a bunch of my dreams. Most of those dreams are me, sitting with her on the porch facing the ocean, explaining why this time it's not really a dream and I'm really there with her. Usually in the dream, she's fairly grouchy about me being there. Right. If I apparently mourn the house more than the woman, I don't require a pat on the shoulder.
This is the last of my past drifting away, into the ocean vanishing into an impossible to reach horizon. I am just another one of the 99 percent waving from the shore.
October 9, 2011
Top Vac
In a house full of males (four of them), I spend some time trying to lure them into some appreciation of housework. Since I'm uninspired by the work myself, I'm no great shakes at getting them to help without boatloads of whining on all of our parts. But as I vacuumed just now, I realized I've gone about this ALL WRONG.
In fact, the whole world has approached this without the edgy verve and lust that men can give inanimate objects. Time to inject some testosterone into the world of vacs.
I propose that vacuums---henceforth only known as vacs because that sounds sort of like a Three Letter Acronym and we all know how men respond to them--anyway, all vacs must be seen as sleek beauties. They need to be sexxed up. There should be talk about horsepower and the joy of a good run (session?) with the vac.
Someone needs to produce a whole show, a la Top Gear. There's be backlighting, classical music, and slo-mo footage as the Vac of the Week is brought in, and some British guy's voice goes on and on about its features that make it a "monstrous choice" and "the only one out there with [some numbers and random facts thrown in]"
Clearly guys like Mr. Dyson would be the Shits! He'd be an honored pioneer and the studio would feature at least one signed, life-sized poster portraying him standing, arms folded, head back glaring out at the live audience--which would have to include at least a few guys with no shirts (every notice how there are pretty women at the front of the Top Gear crowd?) and sporting tattoos of classical vacs on their upper arms.
The show would consist of segments, including interviews with vacuum crank/experts ("electrolux is the only worthwhile choice") arguing with other crank/experts ("electrolux hasn't produced anything worth looking at since [insert model name, preferably with lots of numbers and some random letters] version in 1976.") It would have to get passionate and insulting. ("Jesus, you'd be better off with a broom, you wanker!") There's be a comic relief as part of the argument, say a clueless guy who doesn't even know how to turn on a vac and has had a cleaning service forever.
There'd be the funny vac-off segment with challenges that a regular vacuum cleaner would never face--maybe a bed of nails--all filmed from a low angle so the machines look like scary-ass destructive devices. We'd realized that all vacs are towering powerful erect growling scary PENISES that would take on anything in their paths and WIN.
Vacs would have to become slightly more dangerous. Maybe gasoline could be introduced? or the really powerful ones could have flames shooting out the back? Only professionals can operate them.
The three guys, regular blokes, would have to build their own vacs, then pretend to be door to door salesmen selling them. And of course there'd be long pretentious essays about the history of vacuums and how far we've come/how we've lost the soul of the first machines--depending on whether it's the old fogey or the young up-and-comer making the argument.
Anyway. That's what I was just planning out because my MP3 player is broken so it was just me and my MACHINE at work.
In fact, the whole world has approached this without the edgy verve and lust that men can give inanimate objects. Time to inject some testosterone into the world of vacs.
I propose that vacuums---henceforth only known as vacs because that sounds sort of like a Three Letter Acronym and we all know how men respond to them--anyway, all vacs must be seen as sleek beauties. They need to be sexxed up. There should be talk about horsepower and the joy of a good run (session?) with the vac.
Someone needs to produce a whole show, a la Top Gear. There's be backlighting, classical music, and slo-mo footage as the Vac of the Week is brought in, and some British guy's voice goes on and on about its features that make it a "monstrous choice" and "the only one out there with [some numbers and random facts thrown in]"
Clearly guys like Mr. Dyson would be the Shits! He'd be an honored pioneer and the studio would feature at least one signed, life-sized poster portraying him standing, arms folded, head back glaring out at the live audience--which would have to include at least a few guys with no shirts (every notice how there are pretty women at the front of the Top Gear crowd?) and sporting tattoos of classical vacs on their upper arms.
The show would consist of segments, including interviews with vacuum crank/experts ("electrolux is the only worthwhile choice") arguing with other crank/experts ("electrolux hasn't produced anything worth looking at since [insert model name, preferably with lots of numbers and some random letters] version in 1976.") It would have to get passionate and insulting. ("Jesus, you'd be better off with a broom, you wanker!") There's be a comic relief as part of the argument, say a clueless guy who doesn't even know how to turn on a vac and has had a cleaning service forever.
There'd be the funny vac-off segment with challenges that a regular vacuum cleaner would never face--maybe a bed of nails--all filmed from a low angle so the machines look like scary-ass destructive devices. We'd realized that all vacs are towering powerful erect growling scary PENISES that would take on anything in their paths and WIN.
Vacs would have to become slightly more dangerous. Maybe gasoline could be introduced? or the really powerful ones could have flames shooting out the back? Only professionals can operate them.
The three guys, regular blokes, would have to build their own vacs, then pretend to be door to door salesmen selling them. And of course there'd be long pretentious essays about the history of vacuums and how far we've come/how we've lost the soul of the first machines--depending on whether it's the old fogey or the young up-and-comer making the argument.
Anyway. That's what I was just planning out because my MP3 player is broken so it was just me and my MACHINE at work.
October 7, 2011
put a sock in it, Rothwell
I was watching the ad for dog food--the one where the dogs wear protest signs around their necks. I clearly don't watch enough television because I paid close attention. There's that sign around some dog's neck that says "Ban by-products" oh, whoa, no, no, no
WTF? Huh? Dogs freaking love by-products. Hey, no, I'm serious here. Give them a choice between a steaming pile of guts and a pile of the green veggies they're showing in that ad and . . . well, damn. Why the hell don't dog owners notice that their dogs are essentially disgusting creatures and perfectly fine that way? How come those people got to force the dogs to abandon by-products when their happiest dreams consist of rolling in partially rotted animal bits?
I was ranting out loud, for God's sake. Complaining to the snoozing dog about an ad for dog food.
That's when I understood I needed to get out of the house, and maybe fetch a life from somewhere.
So now I'm at La Paloma, loading books onto review sites, sighing about my lack of sales, listening into conversations. BUT I AM NOT TALKING TO MYSELF or the dog.
It was a close call.
Some day I'll go too far. A couple of cats, maybe a few packages of cheetos -- either way I would have tipped over some serious edge. I can't count on you online people to fetch me back anymore--you're like the kids. You never write, you never call. It's just me, the dog, and a mute button that doesn't work on the TV remote.
WTF? Huh? Dogs freaking love by-products. Hey, no, I'm serious here. Give them a choice between a steaming pile of guts and a pile of the green veggies they're showing in that ad and . . . well, damn. Why the hell don't dog owners notice that their dogs are essentially disgusting creatures and perfectly fine that way? How come those people got to force the dogs to abandon by-products when their happiest dreams consist of rolling in partially rotted animal bits?
I was ranting out loud, for God's sake. Complaining to the snoozing dog about an ad for dog food.
That's when I understood I needed to get out of the house, and maybe fetch a life from somewhere.
So now I'm at La Paloma, loading books onto review sites, sighing about my lack of sales, listening into conversations. BUT I AM NOT TALKING TO MYSELF or the dog.
It was a close call.
Some day I'll go too far. A couple of cats, maybe a few packages of cheetos -- either way I would have tipped over some serious edge. I can't count on you online people to fetch me back anymore--you're like the kids. You never write, you never call. It's just me, the dog, and a mute button that doesn't work on the TV remote.
October 4, 2011
Check out the interview with me over at All Romance Ebook...
Check out the interview with me over at All Romance Ebooks. My elongated face is my fault. They told me what size they wanted and I didn't check carefully enough. That photo doesn't look like me anyway. It's six years old and it has been a long six years--for my face anyway.
In other news, I missed SBD. I should go visit Rachel's place to talk about Frankie, because I love Frankie but I haven't yet. I read all the Naomi Noviks way too quickly and now my arms are tired from flying around Europe, China and Australia. The battles blended together and Laurence started to get on my nerves (although I think he's finally figured out that he's adhering to a system that will never appreciate him or his best friend. And might not be the best of all possible worlds after all.)
I really should learn to space out books in a series better, but . . . oh well. I eat too fast too.
In other news, I missed SBD. I should go visit Rachel's place to talk about Frankie, because I love Frankie but I haven't yet. I read all the Naomi Noviks way too quickly and now my arms are tired from flying around Europe, China and Australia. The battles blended together and Laurence started to get on my nerves (although I think he's finally figured out that he's adhering to a system that will never appreciate him or his best friend. And might not be the best of all possible worlds after all.)
I really should learn to space out books in a series better, but . . . oh well. I eat too fast too.
October 3, 2011
A human hamster video
from the Vermont wedding. With music! And big, big balls!
movie and games by Andy
movie and games by Andy
October 1, 2011
Open your mouth, gift horse.
A really nice review for Gentleman and Rogue.
Except now I'd like a review or two for Claws on Silk or Seducing Miss Dunaway or some other title.
I'd also like all these people--the ones I begged to come home, the people I missed so much--to stop taking up so much space and air.
AND while I'm working on that sort of yes, yes, no, no thing, I want my present again--the lovely gift that I got for my birthday and then returned because it was too expensive for a toy. (A tablet.)
I swear to god, I don't know if it's harder being me or living with me. I'm currently rife with first world white lady problems. I suppose we should all be grateful I'm not whining about my manicure. (I don't have one so I have to put that subject on hold for now.)
And now that I've finished the Naomi Novik series, I want another book or ten that'll grab me like that. She's going on the list of autobuys none of whom are putting out books at the moment. Briggs? Bourne? Farr? Butler? Harrison? Tick, tick, ladies and gentlemen, my current strong sense of "I Deserve _____ Because I Returned My Gift" is going to dwindle soon. I'd like a few of your books before I turn back into my usual miserly self.
Except now I'd like a review or two for Claws on Silk or Seducing Miss Dunaway or some other title.
I'd also like all these people--the ones I begged to come home, the people I missed so much--to stop taking up so much space and air.
AND while I'm working on that sort of yes, yes, no, no thing, I want my present again--the lovely gift that I got for my birthday and then returned because it was too expensive for a toy. (A tablet.)
I swear to god, I don't know if it's harder being me or living with me. I'm currently rife with first world white lady problems. I suppose we should all be grateful I'm not whining about my manicure. (I don't have one so I have to put that subject on hold for now.)
And now that I've finished the Naomi Novik series, I want another book or ten that'll grab me like that. She's going on the list of autobuys none of whom are putting out books at the moment. Briggs? Bourne? Farr? Butler? Harrison? Tick, tick, ladies and gentlemen, my current strong sense of "I Deserve _____ Because I Returned My Gift" is going to dwindle soon. I'd like a few of your books before I turn back into my usual miserly self.
September 27, 2011
NOT me
Someone contacted me privately to ask if I was the one who had such a hard time with Ellora's Cave. She'd heard from someone else that I had a major beef with them and she wanted the deets.
Huh? No, not me.
Maybe she thought I was unhappy because I asked for the rights back on a book (Thank You, Mrs. M). I wanted the book back because it wasn't selling there. (and okay, I don't think Blush does that well--that is a rumor. A RUMOR. Which is the sort of thing I'm trying to quash here.) And yo, hey, damn--who knows if that story will ever sell anywhere? The book has no sex and an odd structure. It's not YA and it's not plain old adult. It's probably doomed everywhere.
Back to that email. After I read it, I figured I should make a public announcement, and what better place than my blog?
I have no problem with EC. I've liked my editors. I like the fast communication. Every email I've gotten from Raelene is clear and professional. They pay every month. (Not much, but I haven't had a new book there for a long time). When I asked for my rights back, I got them. They reverted 9/26 and I just checked Amazon. Yup, not for sale there any more.
Other issues I've seen muttered about on the internet:
No, business isn't what it used to be and I think they're scrambling to catch up with the whole bizarro changing world of publishing--but who isn't. I can't imagine any publisher is entirely secure about the future or which direction to take. It's just too uncertain.
The stuff about Jaid's personal life -- eh, it's not impacted me. Therefore it is none of my business. That sounds really stuffy doesn't it? I don't mean to come off as superior. I'm probably just as nosy and interested as anyone else, but the point is, it really isn't my business --as in I don't think her personal life has greatly affected with my own experience with them. I admire her for being forthright and standing up for what she believes in.
There. An official statement (basically the response I sent to the person who wrote to me made public).
Here's my PS: Of course I have no idea what goes on day to day there, so my statement's probably worth the paper it's not printed on.
PPS I was first published there in 2005 which is a thousand years in internet.
Huh? No, not me.
Maybe she thought I was unhappy because I asked for the rights back on a book (Thank You, Mrs. M). I wanted the book back because it wasn't selling there. (and okay, I don't think Blush does that well--that is a rumor. A RUMOR. Which is the sort of thing I'm trying to quash here.) And yo, hey, damn--who knows if that story will ever sell anywhere? The book has no sex and an odd structure. It's not YA and it's not plain old adult. It's probably doomed everywhere.
Back to that email. After I read it, I figured I should make a public announcement, and what better place than my blog?
I have no problem with EC. I've liked my editors. I like the fast communication. Every email I've gotten from Raelene is clear and professional. They pay every month. (Not much, but I haven't had a new book there for a long time). When I asked for my rights back, I got them. They reverted 9/26 and I just checked Amazon. Yup, not for sale there any more.
Other issues I've seen muttered about on the internet:
No, business isn't what it used to be and I think they're scrambling to catch up with the whole bizarro changing world of publishing--but who isn't. I can't imagine any publisher is entirely secure about the future or which direction to take. It's just too uncertain.
The stuff about Jaid's personal life -- eh, it's not impacted me. Therefore it is none of my business. That sounds really stuffy doesn't it? I don't mean to come off as superior. I'm probably just as nosy and interested as anyone else, but the point is, it really isn't my business --as in I don't think her personal life has greatly affected with my own experience with them. I admire her for being forthright and standing up for what she believes in.
There. An official statement (basically the response I sent to the person who wrote to me made public).
Here's my PS: Of course I have no idea what goes on day to day there, so my statement's probably worth the paper it's not printed on.
PPS I was first published there in 2005 which is a thousand years in internet.
September 24, 2011
happy birthday to meee; I'm a hundred and threee
Tomorrow, actually. This is a big birthday--not for me so much as for my kid who was born on my birthday, twenty-one years ago. Here's what I always say about my kid and by god it NEVER GETS OLD** because it never is untrue: He
was the best present I ever got and the hardest to unwrap.
I remember holding my little dumpling, that tiny wonton, in the hospital thinking, "when he's a grown-up, at 21, I'll be so old."
I was wrong about two things: he's not a grown up and I'm not old. Old is about 15 years older than I am at this moment and that has been true since I hit 15 or so and felt like an adult.
So this is a big birthday for the kid and the first birthday we're not going to bug him or even see him--I imagine because he plans to get skunked. He requested we not join him for the big day...not in a rude way. Actually he was extremely polite about it, as is proper for a (near) adult.
It's a long shot from the days when we used to celebrate our joint birthday at McDonalds and I felt just a teeny bit sorry for myself for forfeiting my birthday to someone else -- but mostly I felt grownup because I really did feel like he got to get that day and I cheerfully made a cake for him with only his name on it (it helped that my friend would often make me my own birthday cake).
I tried to tell my kid about my dad's big birthday rule. When my father was dealing with infants late at night, he promised each and every bundle of joy that he was going to show up on their 21st birthday and keep them up all damn night, just like they were doing to him, dammit. NO MATTER WHERE THOSE BABIES ENDED UP, HE WAS GOING TO TRACK THEM DOWN. (He had a few kids with colic) I think he had to travel for all of us.
I know he got the oldest of us, my brother, but I'm not sure where--probably Georgia (Dad lived in DC). He went all the way to England to bug my sister, but I don't think he went to Japan to bug my younger brother. He made it all the way to Boston to annoy me and by God, he did. He got drunk and sentimental and embarrassing and then kissed me. PeeeEeewww And then I went home and he went to his hotel so it wasn't all night long. It wasn't horrible, okay? I recovered from the kiss. I'm still trying to figure out how to cope with the sentimentality and phobias I inherited from him -- and resent.
He was a good dad in a lot of ways, don't get me wrong. I could have done without that birthday thing. Anyway, hardly matters now because the dad is gone, the tradition is gone and I'm leaving my own #1 bundle of joy alone this year. But of course I'll be thinking about him and my dad and feeling sappy tomorrow.
I don't think Dad made it for those last two kids of his. That's a real shame.
________
** I do not vouch for my kids' response on that one. They are probably as sick of me saying that as they are of their father saying ".... and that's why you never get hungry at the beach."
was the best present I ever got and the hardest to unwrap.
I remember holding my little dumpling, that tiny wonton, in the hospital thinking, "when he's a grown-up, at 21, I'll be so old."
I was wrong about two things: he's not a grown up and I'm not old. Old is about 15 years older than I am at this moment and that has been true since I hit 15 or so and felt like an adult.
So this is a big birthday for the kid and the first birthday we're not going to bug him or even see him--I imagine because he plans to get skunked. He requested we not join him for the big day...not in a rude way. Actually he was extremely polite about it, as is proper for a (near) adult.
It's a long shot from the days when we used to celebrate our joint birthday at McDonalds and I felt just a teeny bit sorry for myself for forfeiting my birthday to someone else -- but mostly I felt grownup because I really did feel like he got to get that day and I cheerfully made a cake for him with only his name on it (it helped that my friend would often make me my own birthday cake).
I tried to tell my kid about my dad's big birthday rule. When my father was dealing with infants late at night, he promised each and every bundle of joy that he was going to show up on their 21st birthday and keep them up all damn night, just like they were doing to him, dammit. NO MATTER WHERE THOSE BABIES ENDED UP, HE WAS GOING TO TRACK THEM DOWN. (He had a few kids with colic) I think he had to travel for all of us.
I know he got the oldest of us, my brother, but I'm not sure where--probably Georgia (Dad lived in DC). He went all the way to England to bug my sister, but I don't think he went to Japan to bug my younger brother. He made it all the way to Boston to annoy me and by God, he did. He got drunk and sentimental and embarrassing and then kissed me. PeeeEeewww And then I went home and he went to his hotel so it wasn't all night long. It wasn't horrible, okay? I recovered from the kiss. I'm still trying to figure out how to cope with the sentimentality and phobias I inherited from him -- and resent.
He was a good dad in a lot of ways, don't get me wrong. I could have done without that birthday thing. Anyway, hardly matters now because the dad is gone, the tradition is gone and I'm leaving my own #1 bundle of joy alone this year. But of course I'll be thinking about him and my dad and feeling sappy tomorrow.
I don't think Dad made it for those last two kids of his. That's a real shame.
________
** I do not vouch for my kids' response on that one. They are probably as sick of me saying that as they are of their father saying ".... and that's why you never get hungry at the beach."
September 23, 2011
Play Dead, a really late SBD
Harlen Coben should have gone through this book and dealt with the crapola cluttering the pages before selling it to us. He's a fine writer and must see how WTF it is. Cliches mixed with purple telling-not-showing, bizarro POV shifts, yada yada yada. Is he really that blind to his own prose? I hope I'm not that out of it when it come to my own books--I suspect I am but wowwee. We're not talking about me. We're talking about a guy who makes a gazillion bucks on some well-written prose. This does not fit that bill. Who convinced him this was a good idea? A money-hungry agent?
The over-the-top plot is kind of a hoot. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Motivation of the main character? Dumb. The constant mentions of (big bosomed)
beauty o' the ladies annoyed the hell of me. But mostly what got to me was the language. Ugh. Dude.
If I'd
gotten this as a self-published freebie I would be indignant.
On the other hand, it's fun to see how far Coben has come. I bet the now-competent Coben opened up the file containing this book, read a few pages went OMG and closed it again, unable to face a full reread.
I do not get why people love the damn thing over at Amazon.
The over-the-top plot is kind of a hoot. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Motivation of the main character? Dumb. The constant mentions of (big bosomed)
beauty o' the ladies annoyed the hell of me. But mostly what got to me was the language. Ugh. Dude.
If I'd
gotten this as a self-published freebie I would be indignant.
On the other hand, it's fun to see how far Coben has come. I bet the now-competent Coben opened up the file containing this book, read a few pages went OMG and closed it again, unable to face a full reread.
I do not get why people love the damn thing over at Amazon.
