Tawna Fenske's Blog, page 12

On souvenirs, poop jokes, and regrets

The kickoff of the Crazy 8s
Author tour in Baker City, OR.Friday night's first stop on the Crazy 8s Author Tour went phenomenally well. Pretty much.

My gamble of calling audience members perverts and sexual deviants to kick off my talk about stereotypes in the romance genre produced the desired laughter. My jokes about hating another Crazy 8s author because his book wasn't released yet fell a bit flat.

No matter, there are more tour stops coming up, and I have a few more opportunities to pull my head out of my butt  improve my approach.

The best thing about signing on for a multi-stop book tour spanning far-reaching corners of Oregon is the chance to explore areas of the state I've never visited. This is a hard concept for people in smaller states to grasp. You can drive across many east coast states in a couple hours. To cross from the Oregon coast to the eastern border of the state would take you about nine hours and nearly 500 miles of driving.

Though I've lived in Oregon for most of my 38 years, I had never spent time exploring the northeast part of the state. The Crazy 8s stop in Baker City was the perfect opportunity to see areas like Wallowa Lake on the fringes of the state's largest wilderness area, and Hell's Canyon, the deepest gorge in North America (don't think I missed a single opportunity to make deep gorge jokes).

The new theater chair in our home office
My gentleman friend and I stopped in charming small towns along the way, pausing to explore antique shops and quirky little art boutiques. In one shop, we discovered a seat that had been rescued from an old theater and lovingly restored by an artist. My gentleman friend – who has a master's degree in theater – was smitten. He'd always wanted to own an antique theater chair, but this wasn't a splurge he'd budgeted into trip planning.

"You know the number one thing I've learned about traveling over the years?" I asked.

He smiled. "Check to be sure you aren't in someone's driveway when you pull off on a deserted gravel road to get frisky in the car?"

I splurged on a memento of my own.
Earrings made from real pennies
stamped with the word "lucky."
One penny is from 1997, the year
I moved to Bend, Oregon.
The other is from 2006 – the year my
gentleman friend moved here."Right," I said. "That too. But one thing I've learned is that you never walk out of a shop after purchasing a travel memento and think, 'I wish I hadn't bought that.' But if you leave to think about the purchase and end up forgetting, you'll always, always regret not buying that souvenir."

It's absolutely true, and the reason nearly every piece of artwork in my house has some special meaning from a trip I've taken. It's also true of life in general. I'm a whole lot more likely to regret the things I don't do than the things I do do.

And now I've gone and ruined this post doo-doo humor.

Do you find your regrets tend to center more around things you haven't done than things you've done? When it comes to travel, do you ever regret souvenirs you don't purchase, or are you the sort to go crazy with the credit card in cute little shops? Please share!

Oh, and for the record, not every travel memento I bring home costs money or requires purchase in a shop. My gentleman friend's casually-snapped photo of me wading in Wallowa Lake will be taking my breath away for years to come.

Is that an eggplant in your pants, or are you happy to see me?

I was gushing to a friend the other day about a salad I’d tried at a local restaurant.
“It was really good,” I said. “It had zucchini and artichoke hearts and roasted berenjena and the best balsamic dressing.”
There was a long pause. “Roasted what?”
I hit the rewind button in my brain and scrolled back through my statement.
“Eggplant,” I muttered. “Not berenjena, eggplant.”  It’s a mistake I’ve made more than once. I’m a native English speaker, born and raised in the United States.
But I studied Spanish from ages 13-23, and after college graduation, I lived in Venezuela for five months teaching English. During those five months, I grew increasingly experimental in my cooking. Each day on the walk home from work, I’d hit the produce stand and select some unfamiliar fruit or veggie. Then I’d scurry home and figure out how to prepare it.
It was my first real introduction to eggplant, which is how I came to know this funny, bruised-looking veggie by its Spanish name – berenjena (pronounced “bare-en-HAY-na,” in case you’re wondering).
It’s been more than fifteen years—not to mention endless exposure to this purple produce in grocery stores, restaurants, and that one unfortunate incident with the Vaseline and pliers—but I still can’t reprogram my brain to remember the English word for eggplant.
It’s a good reminder to me as a writer. I recently started reading a new book, and the heroine kicked off some of the early chapters with narrative that struck me as immature, whiny, and entitled. I’m sure the author has grand plans for a growth arc that will rehab her to something less obnoxious, but I can’t shake my initial, negative impression of the character.
Why yes, I did just make a jump from purple nightshade vegetables to whiny bitches. You still with me?
First impressions are powerful things. The word or attitude filtering through your brain when something new is introduced will be tough to change later. A writer may think, “I’ve got 350 pages to make you like him,” but the truth is, you only have a handful. Maybe ten or twenty pages before your reader chucks the book at the wall and wanders off to find a more satisfying way to occupy her time. 
Perhaps something involving purple produce.
Can you think of any instances where you’ve formed an early impression of something that you couldn’t shake later? Any occasions when you learned a word or phrase a certain way, and never quite fixed it in your brain even after you learned an alternative? Please share!
And is anyone else craving eggplant parmesan now?
CONGRATULATIONS!Congrats to Lesleen for winning the signed copy of Linda Grimes’s debut novel, In a Fix. Shoot your snail mail address to me at tawnafenske at yahoo dot com and I’ll get that out to you right away.

Pimpin' my agency sistah, yo (and giving away a signed copy of her debut book!)

Several years ago before I ever had a book deal, my amazing agent Michelle Wolfson  mentioned in casual conversation that she'd just signed a new client.

"I think you two would really hit it off," Michelle said. "You have similar writing styles and a similar sense of humor."

And I thought to myself (with all the maturity of a spoiled six-year-old who's just been informed she's getting a new baby sister) "but you already have ME! Why do you need another?"

Eventually though, I connected with Linda Grimes in the Twitterverse and blogosphere and we ended up meeting in person when I took a trip to the oposite side of the country.

Obviously, we hated each other:

OK, so WonderAgent Michelle was right. Linda and I adore each other. Well, I adore Linda. It's possible she's only tolerating me because she thinks I have access to good wine and dirty movies, but that's a fine basis for a friendship as far as I'm concerned.

The similarities in our writing and our sense of humor means we're well-suited as critique partners, which is how I knew even before her debut novel, In A Fix , hit shelves last week that it's a hilariously fantabulous book.

Here's a blurb:

Snagging a marriage proposal for her client while on an all-expenses-paid vacation should be a simple job for Ciel Halligan, aura adaptor extraordinaire. A kind of human chameleon, she's able to take on her clients' appearances and slip seamlessly into their lives, solving any sticky problems they don't want to deal with themselves. No fuss, no muss. Big paycheck.

This particular assignment is pretty enjoyable...that is, until Ciel's island resort bungalow is blown to smithereens and her client's about-to-be-fiancé is snatched by modern-day Vikings. For some reason, Ciel begins to suspect that getting the ring is going to be a tad more difficult than originally anticipated.

Going from romance to rescue requires some serious gear-shifting, as well as a little backup. Her best friend, Billy, and Mark, the CIA agent she's been crushing on for years—both skilled adaptors—step in to help, but their priority is, annoyingly, keeping her safe. Before long, Ciel is dedicating more energy to escaping their watchful eyes than she is to saving her client's intended.

Suddenly, facing down a horde of Vikings feels like the least of her problems.

I'll be honest, I'm not generally a fan of stories with heavy paranormal elements. That's actually one reason I love this book. There's nothing heavy about it – it's just good, whimsical, entertaining FUN. I love that in a book (go figure).

And even though I've already read In A Fix several times throughout the critique process, I couldn't wait to hustle down to my local indie bookstore, Between the Covers, to buy a copy of the book.




Since I was squealing like a little girl in all my excitement, the store owner suggested I might like a photo in one of the shop's kiddie chairs. I was a little afraid my butt might get stuck, but I rarely let that stop me from doing anything.
If you want to squeal with excitement of your very own, I encourage you to go out now and acquire a copy. Here are some helpful online shopping links:
AmazonBarnes and NoblePowell's BooksIndie BoundBooks-A-MillionThe Book DepositoryWant a chance to win a signed copy? Linda has graciously agreed to sign mine and mail it along to one lucky winner. Just answer a simple question in the comments: If you could take on someone else's identity for a day, who would you be an what would you do? 

We'll choose one commenter at 5 p.m. PST Wednesday, Sept. 12 and he or she will win a signed copy of d In A Fix .

Trust me, it's worth playing for.

On struggles, sacrifice, and drinking wine while being groped

I love concerts more than drinking wine  being groped  drinking wine while being groped

I love concerts a lot.

For a pair of tickets to see a performer I really admire, I'd gladly give up drinking wine  being groped  drinking wine while being groped  my morning mug of tea.

Last Saturday I had the pleasure of seeing Brandi Carlile live for the first time. I've attended hundreds of concerts in my 38 years on the planet, so you know it's a big deal when I say this one made my top five list.

Brandi charmed me not only with her passion and musical talent, but with the stories she told between songs. Stories about struggling to make it as an artist. About the roller coaster of creative successes and failures. About what it's like to perform at outdoor venues in the summertime and finally, finally be the one standing onstage when the sun goes down.

I wish I'd written down the precise words she spoke about the things people are willing to give up to chase their dreams, but I was too busy drinking wine  being groped  drinking wine while being groped  enjoying the music.

But it struck a chord with me anyway. And it got me thinking about how many artists have that thread running through their words. Shawn Mullins is another one of my favorite performers, and though he's from the South, I've had the pleasure of seeing him several times in Oregon. He often opens with a song titled, "Twin Rocks, Oregon" about a chance meeting with a transient man offering a unique perspective on life.

 

The lyrics that always sock me in the gut are these ones:

I told him I, too, had been travelin' around 
Living out of my van from town to town 
Playing for tips and whatever records I could move
I said, "I don't reckon I'll be making it big 
It's hard to get rich off a tour of coffeehouse gigs."
He said, "yeah, but ain't it a blessin' to do what you wanna do?"

I've thought more than once about having those last few words tattooed on my arm, particularly during the post-divorce struggles of this past year.

I make it a policy not to share specifics of money when it comes to my life as an author, but I don't think it will surprise you to learn I don't travel around on book tour in a pink Leer jet with shirtless male flight attendants groping me while I drink wine offering me in-flight magazines. Until last week, I drove a 15-year-old car with a dented bumper and a cracked windshield. Nearly every stitch of clothing I own comes from thrift stores, and my annual expenditure for haircuts & styling is under $100.

In the years before I had a book deal, I worked full-time in marketing & communications earning surprisingly good money. I was laid off just weeks before my agent landed me my three-book romantic comedy deal with Sourceobooks, and when I went job-hunting after that, I opted to find a part-time job that allowed me more time for writing.

The pay cut stung, and it stung a lot harder when I suddenly found myself single with a mortgage to pay. Over and over, I asked myself if I'd be smart to swap those extra writing days for the paycheck of a full-time job.

That might have been the smart thing to do, but it wasn't what I chose. Even though I knew it meant a lot of life changes – taking in housemates to pay the mortgage, eventually selling the house – I was willing to make sacrifices to give myself the time I knew I needed to pursue this writing career as wholeheartedly as I could.

Will that choice pay off?

If you mean will I eventually acquire that pink Leer jet with shirtless male flight attendants groping me while I drink wine offering me in-flight magazines, I can assure you it probably won't.

But that was never the payoff I expected anyway.

The thing I want most from my writing career is to wake up every morning knowing I'm doing what I want to do. Maybe not every moment of the day, and Lord knows there have been moments I wanted to stuff my laptop in the neighbor's septic tank and set fire to it.

But certainly I spend the bulk of my waking hours thinking I'm damn lucky to have the opportunities I've been given as an author. The fact that I've made a few sacrifices to achieve that only serves as a reminder how much I truly want to spend my time doing what I've chosen to do.

What are your thoughts on the subject? What struggles and sacrifices are you willing to endure to reach your goals? Please share.

I'll be over here drinking wine  being groped  drinking wine while being groped  working on my next novel.

A tasty spam sandwich for Labor Day

While I'm delighted to see comments of any sort on my blog posts, I'll admit there are some that entertain me more than others.

Alas, these are the ones readers rarely see, since Blogger has a rather aggressive filter for spam comments.

Some of the comments popping up this holiday weekend lead me to believe the spammers are laboring hard on Labor Day Weekend. In honor of their devoted work, creativity, and diligence, I'd like to share a few of their literary masterpieces:

Comment on my post "Does this book tour make my butt look big?"

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 My thoughts exactly.

Some of the spam comments offer valuable, unsolicited advice I've found helpful in my day-to-day routine.

Comment on my post "On topless bike riding and other things that shape an author's perspective"

Make eye drops one of your essential beauty supplies. A little trick to getting a great sharp point is to put them in the refrigerator or freezer 10 minutes before you are going to sharpen them. Small changes can often provide a significant impact to your beauty.

I can't count the number of times I've wished for sharper eye drops. I plan to put this into practice at once.

Sometimes, spammers are generous enough to offer kind words or compliments about my blog.

Comment on my post "Wild monkey sex" 

Whаt's up to all, how is the whole thing, I think every one is getting more from this web site, and your views are fastidious in favor of new people.

Why thank you!

And thank you to all of you for reading. Have you seen anything interesting in your spam filter lately? Please share!

And happy Labor Day to all.

Does this book tour make my butt look big?

I sat down yesterday with my calendar to find a date that might work for a short road trip with my gentleman friend.

It soon dawned on me that my schedule is jam-packed with author-related travel in the coming month.

Then it dawned on me that I probably ought to let readers know about it in case you'd like to attend any of the events. That seems like a better idea than dragging strangers into the venue by their hair and tickling them until they either pee or agree to stick around and listen to me talk.

A few months ago, I was asked to be part of something called The Crazy Eights Author Tour. Actually, I saw the word "crazy" and said "I'm in" before I had any idea what I was being asked to do. For those who care about the details, here's a blurb for the tour:

The Crazy 8s Author Tour is the brainchild of author George Wright. His idea? A group of Oregon writers will celebrate the written word throughout the state. The result? 8 Towns, 8 Bookstores, 8 Events, and 28 amazing authors.

Did you see that? They called me amazing. Well, not just me. I guess there are other authors involved, including:
Alison ClementAnne Jennings ParisApril HenryBarbara RobertsBill CameronBrian DoyleEliot TreichelEllen WaterstonGeorge Byron Wright,  Gina OchsnerJames Bernard FrostJane KirkpatrickKaren Spears ZachariasLauren KesslerLinda CrewMolly GlossNaseem RakhaPhillip MargolinR. Gregory NokesRobert DugoniRobin CodyRon LovellRuth Tenzer FeldmanSarahlee LawrenceSid MillerTawna FenskeUrsula K. Le GuinWilliam L. SullivanWe aren't all going to be in the same place at the same time, which is unfortunate since I'd love to just follow Bill Cameron all over the state in hopes of having some of his awesomeness rub off on me.

Note to self: When sharing your fondness for male authors, try to avoid using the phrase "rub off on me."

So back to the tour.

Here are the dates and locations I'll be visiting:

Betty’s Books in Baker City, Sept. 14


The Crazy 8s Author Tour opens at Betty’s Books in historic Baker City, Oregon. Appearing will be Ruth Tenzer Feldman, Tawna Fenske, Gina Ochsner, Anne Jennings Paris, Eliot Treichel, Ellen Waterston, Karen Spears Zacharias, Anna Keesey, and George Byron Wright.

Cannon Beach Book Company, Sept. 22 With Haystack Rock as our backdrop, we visit the Cannon Beach Book Company, which celebrated its 30th anniversary in 2010. Appearing will be Ruth Tenzer Feldman, Tawna Fenske, James Bernard Frost, Lauren Kessler, Sid Miller, Barbara Roberts, Karen Spears Zacharias, R. Gregory Nokes, and George Byron Wright. 

Paulina Springs Books in Redmond, Sept. 28
  Stop number three on the Crazy 8s Author Tour is in lovely Central Oregon at Paulina Springs Books in Redmond. Appearing will be Ruth Tenzer Feldman, Tawna Fenske, Sarahlee Lawrence, Naseem Rakha, Anna Keesey, Ellen Waterston, Karen Spears Zacharias and George Byron Wright.


If you live near one of those areas, I'd love it if you came out and said hello. Or if you don't live in one of those areas but you feel like flying across the country so we can have a pillow fight and braid each other's hair after the event, that's cool, too.

Either way, it should be lots of fun.

And, um....kind of exhausting. I'm looking at about  24 hours of round-trip driving between those three sites. Anyone want to volunteer to be my chauffeur? 

On topless bike riding and other things that shape an author's perspective

Whether you read my blog, buy my books, follow me on Twitter, pal around with me on Facebook, or rifle through my trash seeking love-notes I've exchanged with my gentleman friend, one thing is probably pretty apparent – I adore risque comedy and frank, humorous commentary on sex.

Every now and then in an interview or a Facebook comment, someone will ask me, "What do your parents think of what you write?" or "Are you embarrassed to have your parents read naughty scenes in your books?"

I answer quite honestly that my parents are two of my best beta readers, and that my mom cheerfully catches typos in my sex scenes without batting an eyelash. Since she's reluctant to get a Facebook account of her own, I've given Mom the password to mine. She jokingly refers to it as "our Facebook" and reads every word I write (probably cringing each time I post something on the far end of the risque spectrum, and cringing again when she sees her friends "like" the post).

A couple weeks ago, I got an adorable email from my mom that got me thinking about the funny little ways parents shape their children. In some ways, it answers the "what do  your parents think?" question better than I ever could. Here's the note:

Your father and I are just sitting here on the beach.  The fog finally lifted and it's very warm.  I'm reading one of your books and relaxing.  We just happened to hear a father tell a little girl,"you can't take your shirt off, you're a girl." Made me think of another time, when it was my own little girl, wanting to ride her bike without her shirt on.  Sometimes you have to push back the old ways you are raised with/biases, and just let youngsters be themselves.  Your father has always helped me to overcome some of the strong mores that I was raised with.  Maybe that has something to do with your free-wheeling topics on your blog and in your books.
Now this is a pain to type on my cell.

Sent from my iPhone

Yep, that's me. With no shirt. Riding a bike. She's referring to the fact that my six-year-old self noticed all the neighborhood boys playing outside without shirts and saw no reason I shouldn't be allowed to do the same. My parents agreed, not making a big deal of it, except to suggest I might consider donning a top when I headed off to first grade.

The way they handled that says a lot about what awesome parents I have, and also partly explains why I grew up without a lot of the body-image issues that seemed to plague many of my peers. I was never made to feel there was anything shameful about the human body or the things it's capable of (with the possible exception of peeing standing up – that was frowned upon after several misguided attempts).

So to answer the questions about whether my parents are embarrassed by my sexual humor, or whether I'm embarrassed to have them read it – hell no.

I mean heck no.

Sorry, Mom. That's the first time I ever cursed, I swear.

As for the rest of you, what kinds of things did your parents do that shaped who you became as a person or a writer? For better or worse, are there things you can point to that molded your views of the world or yourself? Please share!

Just when you thought the housemates were gone...

Many of you have expressed concern that my recent household move will halt blog posts about the two twenty-something male housemates who've kept us entertained this past year.

Many of you have read my posts about bizarre happenings in my life and left comments along the lines of, "if it were anyone but you telling this story, I'd never believe it's true."

This post is for you.

A couple days after my gentleman friend and I moved into our new house, I was on the floor of my office cursing like a sailor with my skirt hiked up around my waist as I struggled to stuff the futon into its cover.

It would have been better if I'd just written, "I was in my office writing," huh?

So there I was on the floor with my hair and clothing all askew and my sliding door open to my fenced backyard when I heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, Tawna. How's it going?"

I jumped up, straightened my skirt, and squinted into my backyard. There, peering over the fence with matching grins on their faces, were my two former housemates.

"Er, what's up?" I called, tugging at my skirt as I gave the futon a kick for good measure.

"Nothing," one of them yelled. "Just looking at some rooms."

You read that right. In a city of 82,000 souls and countless homes with rooms for rent, the two former housemates not only decided to go house-hunting together, but to rent space in the home directly behind us.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

To their credit, they came over before committing to rent and made sure we were OK with the arrangement. We agreed, as long as they both promised we will never come home to find them sacked out on out sofa watching war movies and feeding deep-fried pastrami to the dog.

They agreed.

A few days later, I bumped into one of the housemates in the driveway of our old home. We were both there packing a few last-minute things, and it was the first time we'd spoken alone for ages.

"So I've gotta tell you a funny story," he said. "The day we checked out that house and realized it was right behind you, we explained the whole situation to the woman renting the rooms."

Apparently, their new prospective housemate found the whole thing hysterical. "It's a really quiet neighborhood," she told them, "and a lot of the nearby houses are vacant. And everyone's sleeping with their windows open right now because it's so hot. And I don't want to spread gossip or anything, but a couple nights after those two moved in, I heard them really going at it."

The housemates laughed, and politely changed the subject (or so his story goes).

"After he and I left," the housemate continued as we stood there in our old driveway, "we started talking about whether we wanted to rent those rooms or not. And he says to me, 'it's too bad about Tawna. I guess they're not getting along."

Confused, he asked him to elaborate. The other housemate frowned. "You know. The neighbor said they were really going at it. Fighting and stuff."

It took every ounce of self-control the other housemate possessed for him not to fall to the ground laughing. (This is probably a lie – I'm sure he laughed his ass off).

"I don't think she meant they were fighting," he said slowly. "I think she meant going at it –like going at it?"

It took a few beats for the other housemate to get it.

And it took a few hours for me to stop laughing after I heard this story.

"For the record," I informed him. "We were probably just moving furniture up the stairs. Or playing with the dog. Or watching a movie. Or–"

"How about we just never speak of this again?" he said.

"Agreed."

And how about I give serious consideration to having my windows permanently sealed?

It's official: You guys are sick puppies

So I'm wondering how disturbed we should all be by the fact that my contest for a copy of  Believe it or Not that's been peed on by my cat turned out to be one of the most popular book giveaways I've ever done.

You guys are sick.

Which is generally a compliment around here, so congratulations.

There were a lot of fun reader comments suggesting alternate theories for who peed on the book, and making pleas to receive this fine treasure.

Among my favorites:
Bryan Thomas wrote:Well Maestro looks not only guilty but freaking proud, so I'm going with him. Plus, you know, he's male, so maybe he just didn't go for the romance thing. As for why I deserve it, well, for one, a signed cat peed copy has to be worth something some day, right, and even though I already bought the book, my copy will not help my dogs with their nostalgic missing of our cat who is no longer with us. This way, when they miss the cat, they can smell the book. I won't smell it, but I'll read it and keep it in a place of honor with other pet critiqued books...  Karen Lawson wrote:I entered every give away I could for this book when it first came out and never won it. So, I hesitate to enter, knowing this could be the one I win..... But, Maestro looks guilty, so I'm going with him. As to why I deserve to win - well, I always knew your book was never a piece of shit, so at least the peed version could be worse.... 

Melissa Landers wrote:None of the above.

I think your Gentleman Friend is the culprit! Perhaps all your romance writing has brought out the alpha male in him, and he felt the uncontrollable urge to mark his territory.

::shifts a sideways glance at Tawna's gentleman friend:: 

Michele Shaw wroteMatt the cat looks way guilty to me. It's the eyes. I need this copy because I'm sure some day there will be a museum of some kind for items like this, and then I can be one of those old ladies who is so foo-foo she goes around donating quirky, yet outrageoulsy valuable, items to museums! And, yeah, want the signed copy cuz, ya know, sounds too cool.
I adore all of those responses, and wish I had a peed-on book to offer every one of you. But the response I loved most for the sheer imagination required to construct it is this one:

Aurelia Blue wroteHere's what happened. One (or both) housemates left a dirty sock lying about. Of course he's calling it, "hey, I just took them off to watch TV because that's a given when dudes watch TV. I was totally going to put it back on, but then I forgot, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway because it just disappeared."

Maestro took it because he is your gentleman friend's favorite and thus must reject all other male human presences in your home. He must also reject any object or being that interferes with his time with you, other than of course his special pal, your gentleman friend. But this would include things like books you spent months writing and other cats posing as your pet. I say posing, because he knows HE's your only real pet. So he put the stinky sock in the box and sat back and watched those other two poseur cat pets sniff about. Then he told them it's the new litter box and they laughed. So he took a massive pee on the book and sock not only to show them it was true, but also to count coup on your gentleman friend’s possible rival(s), the housemate(s), but also to give you a little “what for” about spending so much time in front of that blasted keyboard when you could have been petting him. Peeing also demonstrates alpha dominance, so of course Matt the Cat and Blue cat had to whip it out and show their manliness, hence the peed upon book which wasn’t peed on just one of them, therefore none of them, are to blame. The sock is probably buried in the litter box. I can almost guarantee it. A special little “f-you” for the housemate leaving his stench on Alpha Maestro's beautiful den floor. Really this is a house and not a bear pit! ;)

Now as to why I deserve the precious pee book. I have four kids. Three of them started at three different schools this week. Their baby brother is inconsolable. The only respite I get beside the occasional writing day that my fairy-in-law-mother occasionally grants but then expects hard copies of my work for her inspection on completion of the day, is when I sit in a hot bath of rusty water (because my boyLovey forgot to buy softener salt again) soaking in some exotic blend of my best perfume and baby wash (because my daughters decided to make their own bubble bath and wasted all mine, and the perfume, in the effort). I actually tried to download Believe It Or Not last night on my e-reader as my one little guilty pleasure behind the bastion of the bathroom door and found I didn’t have enough money linked to my account to purchase it. Did I mention my special little toy also broke? So yeah, I’ll gladly read your pee copy. Wont bother me a bit. It’ll be right at home in my little world, you don‘t even have to waste a new on me. Although it would be cool to have your autograph on the pee one all the same. Thanks.
Wow. I almost wish I had two peed-on copies of Believe it or Not to offer Aurelia. But one will have to suffice (along with a non-pee copy that I'll happily sign for you). Shoot your snail mail address to me at tawnafenske at yahoo dot com and I'll get that in the mail right away.

Thanks so much to everyone who played. Doesn't it kinda feel like we should all take a shower now?

Er, maybe not together.

Pretty much the worst book giveaway ever

Several months ago, I shared how my pets were obsessed with the giant box of Believe it or Not sent to me by my publisher.


Their obsession eventually waned, and I worked my way through the stockpile of books doing giveaways and promotions.

On the day we moved from our old house to the new one, I peered into the box and discovered one copy remaining.

Unfortunately, someone peed on it.
For the record, it's not saturated or anything. Just lightly drizzled.
The housemates vehemently deny using my book box as a urinal, and I checked all the book's Amazon reviews to make sure no one posted anything like, "this book sucks, so I took a whiz on it."

I don't mean to point fingers here, but I'm pretty sure it was one of the cats. My money is on Maestro, my gentleman friend's favorite among our five felines:
Maestro. Is he the guilty party?
But it's also possible Matt the Cat or Blue Cat committed the offense while jockeying for position in my writing space.
Or was it Blue Cat or Matt the Cat?
No matter, the damage is done. It got me thinking about those weird eBay auctions you see sometimes where someone's selling a piece of gum chewed by Britney Spears, or a Kleenex someone swears Tom Hanks blew his nose in.

So who'd like to own a copy of of Believe it or Not that's been peed on by my cat?

*crickets*

Don't all raise your hands at once.

OK, seriously. Tell me in the comments who you think peed on the book, and why you deserve this very special copy of Believe it or Not .

I'll choose a winner at noon PST on Sunday, August 18. That person will receive the copy of  Believe it or Not that's been ceremoniously anointed by someone in my house, plus one additional, signed copy of the book for your personal use. I'll package the pee copy in a baggie or something to keep it fresh for you, and I'll try not to let it touch the non-pee copy (because obviously we wouldn't want the non-pee copy to taint the pee copy – it might devalue it or something).

Questions? Comments? Suggestions on where I might go to find a qualified mental health professional?

I told you this was pretty much the worst book giveaway ever.