Sarah Wynde's Blog, page 99
June 9, 2012
Wishing for a marketing department
Book's done, proofed, ready to go -- all I need to do now is write a blurb that works. It is unbelievably hard. I think I'm going to be tweaking this blurb for the next three months. Should it start with Dillon? The book does. Or Sylvie, the way my current blurb has? Including both of them in the blurb without spoilers has so far been completely beyond me. As I yearn for a marketing department, I have to remind myself that back when I did work with a marketing department, I almost always preferred to write the sales copy myself. And in this case, I'm definitely best qualified to do the job. I'm tempted to send out emails to all the people who've already read it, though, and say, 'Um, what's the book about?' just to see what they say.
...And I think I just published it. Wow, Amazon has made it easy. No more Mobipocket creator, meta data, building a table of contents -- you upload the Word doc, they turn it into a book for you. Not that I've seen the book yet. It's still publishing. But by tomorrow morning, I bet it'll be up there.
We used to hit a big gong to celebrate sending a book to the printer. Everyone in the company stood up in their cubicles and cheered the triumphant team that had just achieved a little miracle. Somehow hitting Save just doesn't have the same oomph. I think I'll go set off some fireworks.
...And I think I just published it. Wow, Amazon has made it easy. No more Mobipocket creator, meta data, building a table of contents -- you upload the Word doc, they turn it into a book for you. Not that I've seen the book yet. It's still publishing. But by tomorrow morning, I bet it'll be up there.
We used to hit a big gong to celebrate sending a book to the printer. Everyone in the company stood up in their cubicles and cheered the triumphant team that had just achieved a little miracle. Somehow hitting Save just doesn't have the same oomph. I think I'll go set off some fireworks.
June 3, 2012
Excerpt of A Gift of Thought
In the spirit of "flip the book open and see what it sounds like," here's a short excerpt from Chapter Six of A Gift of Thought, which will be released June 12th.
Stop reading here if you hate all spoilers! (Also if you object to curse words that start with the letter "B")
**********************
She forced all of her weight against him, but her feet were already slipping on the smooth asphalt. “You shouldn’t get near strange women in parking lots,” she said. “You never know what they might do.” The words came out more breathless than she would have liked, and she tried to steal a glance at the ground. If she let him go, could she get the bag and retrieve whatever he’d been holding?
No, she decided regretfully. He was too close, she wouldn’t have enough time. Choke hold? No, the bastard was too big. And too tough.
She felt the snap more then heard it, but his scream of rage would have been heard halfway down the street if there’d been anyone around. Damn. She dropped his arm and then quickly kicked her bag and whatever was beneath it under the car as she danced backwards and dropped into a combat stance.
Had the break even registered with him? He turned to face her, his arm dangling limply at his side. Pale skin, hair in a buzz cut so short it was almost shaved, probably 280 pounds of muscle. She was noting the details automatically, hoping she’d need them for a police report later.
This guy was big, fast, and too hopped up on steroids or something else to care much about pain. Her best bet was to get help. And fast.
Ty was going to kill her for being so over-confident.
“Now I’m gonna kill ya, bitch.”
Okay, Ty would have to get in line.
**************************
Last line revised courtesy of a wonderful beta reader, Mike Kent. Thanks, Mike!
Stop reading here if you hate all spoilers! (Also if you object to curse words that start with the letter "B")
**********************
She forced all of her weight against him, but her feet were already slipping on the smooth asphalt. “You shouldn’t get near strange women in parking lots,” she said. “You never know what they might do.” The words came out more breathless than she would have liked, and she tried to steal a glance at the ground. If she let him go, could she get the bag and retrieve whatever he’d been holding?
No, she decided regretfully. He was too close, she wouldn’t have enough time. Choke hold? No, the bastard was too big. And too tough.
She felt the snap more then heard it, but his scream of rage would have been heard halfway down the street if there’d been anyone around. Damn. She dropped his arm and then quickly kicked her bag and whatever was beneath it under the car as she danced backwards and dropped into a combat stance.
Had the break even registered with him? He turned to face her, his arm dangling limply at his side. Pale skin, hair in a buzz cut so short it was almost shaved, probably 280 pounds of muscle. She was noting the details automatically, hoping she’d need them for a police report later.
This guy was big, fast, and too hopped up on steroids or something else to care much about pain. Her best bet was to get help. And fast.
Ty was going to kill her for being so over-confident.
“Now I’m gonna kill ya, bitch.”
Okay, Ty would have to get in line.
**************************
Last line revised courtesy of a wonderful beta reader, Mike Kent. Thanks, Mike!
June 2, 2012
Darling dog -- non-dog lovers beware
I just wrote a cranky comment on a blog and actually posted it. I think that makes the second time in a week. I read a blog post recently in which a line said something like, "If you want people to take you seriously, you must..." and my immediate mental reaction was "Why would I want people to take me seriously? Why does that matter?" This is relevant to my cranky comments, because, wow, some of the commentary on self-publishing takes itself really, really, really seriously. And yeah, technically I should be blaming the people behind the commentary, but I think it's just group-think. People read advice and accept it and then articulate it themselves without ever really saying "Why?"
But I did not come here to rant about that. The dog has been amazing me recently -- truly amazing me -- with her cleverness, which is pretty impressive for an eight-year-old dog. I did a really good job of training her not to make noise to get what she wants as a puppy, so she's never whined to go out or barked much. Run-down: noisy dog gets isolated in bathroom. Noisy dog stays isolated until noisy dog has been silent for exactly one minute, at which time the door opens and companion appears, lavish with love and praise. The quick response to silence allows noisy dog to realize that noise is counter-productive and silence is rewarded. Dog becomes quiet dog, especially remarkable for a JRT. Except in the back yard, where dog is allowed to bark freely. So the dog doesn't make noise to get what she wants. Except now she's learned how to make mechanical noise.
She started with the bathtub. She doesn't like still water and never has, so for years, she's hopped in the tub to get a drink. I think she might have started that in a house where the faucet dripped. And she's got me well-trained now, because I usually hear the sound of her claws hitting the porcelain and come turn the water on trickle so she can drink. But I need to hear her when she hits the tub, because if I don't, she's quiet inside it. Lately, though, I've been listening to a lot more music so I don't always hear her. She's figured out how to make the drain plug rattle in the faucet and that's loud enough so that I do hear it.
So she's now learned that I respond to sound. Extension of that: she used to sit and wait patiently at the back door for as long as it took me to notice her and let her outside. Not anymore. The doors are French doors, and on one side, the unused side, there are blinds that reach to the ground. On the other side, the door we actually use to go in and out, no blinds. She sits at the door we use and if I don't pay attention quickly enough, she sticks her nose over, into the blinds, and lifts them up and down to make them rattle. Then she waits at the door again. If I don't respond, she gets more and more energetic with her rattle, making the sound louder and louder. I'm obviously letting her train me, but I'm so impressed by how smart she is to have figured this out after a lifetime of not using noise in this way, and to have managed to extend knowledge gained in one area, ie "if I rattle this metal thing, my person will come and fulfill my wishes" to another area, ie "if I rattle this plastic thing, maybe my person will come here?"
One more story of Zelda cleverness: she has made a connection between the sound of the phone and my preparations to leave the house. Normally, if I am wandering around looking like I might be going somewhere -- hitting the bathroom, picking up my keys, looking for my glasses -- she watches me with interest and a little hope, but not eagerness. And she waits in the living room to see what I might be doing. But when the phone rings and in response I start making preparations to leave the house, she dashes to the back door and waits there. She's realized that those two signals connect to mean a ride in the car to go pick up R wherever he might be.
I think what amazes me about these things is that she's making connections. It's not just that she's learned one piece of information or signal, it's that she's putting signals together to make sense out of larger ideas. She's the only dog I've ever known well, but I think she must be a really smart member of her species.
Also gorgeous and maybe later I'll add a picture to this post to show off how cute she is. At the moment, though, we're sitting outside, and I've got no pictures handy.
But I did not come here to rant about that. The dog has been amazing me recently -- truly amazing me -- with her cleverness, which is pretty impressive for an eight-year-old dog. I did a really good job of training her not to make noise to get what she wants as a puppy, so she's never whined to go out or barked much. Run-down: noisy dog gets isolated in bathroom. Noisy dog stays isolated until noisy dog has been silent for exactly one minute, at which time the door opens and companion appears, lavish with love and praise. The quick response to silence allows noisy dog to realize that noise is counter-productive and silence is rewarded. Dog becomes quiet dog, especially remarkable for a JRT. Except in the back yard, where dog is allowed to bark freely. So the dog doesn't make noise to get what she wants. Except now she's learned how to make mechanical noise.
She started with the bathtub. She doesn't like still water and never has, so for years, she's hopped in the tub to get a drink. I think she might have started that in a house where the faucet dripped. And she's got me well-trained now, because I usually hear the sound of her claws hitting the porcelain and come turn the water on trickle so she can drink. But I need to hear her when she hits the tub, because if I don't, she's quiet inside it. Lately, though, I've been listening to a lot more music so I don't always hear her. She's figured out how to make the drain plug rattle in the faucet and that's loud enough so that I do hear it.
So she's now learned that I respond to sound. Extension of that: she used to sit and wait patiently at the back door for as long as it took me to notice her and let her outside. Not anymore. The doors are French doors, and on one side, the unused side, there are blinds that reach to the ground. On the other side, the door we actually use to go in and out, no blinds. She sits at the door we use and if I don't pay attention quickly enough, she sticks her nose over, into the blinds, and lifts them up and down to make them rattle. Then she waits at the door again. If I don't respond, she gets more and more energetic with her rattle, making the sound louder and louder. I'm obviously letting her train me, but I'm so impressed by how smart she is to have figured this out after a lifetime of not using noise in this way, and to have managed to extend knowledge gained in one area, ie "if I rattle this metal thing, my person will come and fulfill my wishes" to another area, ie "if I rattle this plastic thing, maybe my person will come here?"
One more story of Zelda cleverness: she has made a connection between the sound of the phone and my preparations to leave the house. Normally, if I am wandering around looking like I might be going somewhere -- hitting the bathroom, picking up my keys, looking for my glasses -- she watches me with interest and a little hope, but not eagerness. And she waits in the living room to see what I might be doing. But when the phone rings and in response I start making preparations to leave the house, she dashes to the back door and waits there. She's realized that those two signals connect to mean a ride in the car to go pick up R wherever he might be.
I think what amazes me about these things is that she's making connections. It's not just that she's learned one piece of information or signal, it's that she's putting signals together to make sense out of larger ideas. She's the only dog I've ever known well, but I think she must be a really smart member of her species.
Also gorgeous and maybe later I'll add a picture to this post to show off how cute she is. At the moment, though, we're sitting outside, and I've got no pictures handy.
June 1, 2012
Revised Cover
Barring the unforeseen -- which is always sort of risky, but we can assume -- A Gift of Thought should have no problem making my mental June 12th publication date.I suppose I'm nervous about that barring the unforeseen, now. I'm still in the midst of edits and revisions, but I'm having fun with them. I spent a while today giving Dillon a little more attitude in one chapter. I might even have gone so far as to give him an eye roll. By the time I was done, I was more charmed by him than ever and that's saying a lot, because I love Dillon.
Apart from the people who read it on fictionpress, another ten people are reading it now. Based on past experience, I might get feedback from three or four, five at most. I'll go with whatever I have by next Tuesday, but I've made some terrific changes already, so I'm definitely not feeling as if I need to wait for reader commentary to publish.
Good thing, too. I glanced at my traffic stats on fictionpress today (as I took the story down) and over 630 people had supposedly read the last chapter. Exactly three had bothered to take the time to say something nice. Three. I'd figure that if you made the effort to go to the last chapter, you probably read the preceding 80,000 words so the fact that 627 people had spent hours reading but didn't care enough even to say 'thanks for the free read' was...disheartening, I guess.
Writing is fun, but before I started putting the words on paper, I was perfectly happy making up the stories in my head and it was a whole lot easier. The only reason for me to put the words on paper is to share them with other people, and the only reason to share them is if other people enjoy them. It's tough not to view silence as apathy.
Ah, well. Maybe Natalya's story will just live in my head for a while.
May 31, 2012
Cover design for Thought
Powerpoint is making me a little crazy today. For some reason, when I save my file as a jpg, it's reducing the quality by too much. But the settings shouldn't be the problem. This image had appropriate dimensions, but it doesn't anymore and I don't know why.
May 22, 2012
Pain and whining
I came back from Michelle's memorial service with a cold that has just been impossible to kick. Family pressure finally pushed me to the doctor after about five weeks, when R refused to see The Avengers with me because he said that I'd cough too much and Dad offered to pay for the doctor's visit and K tempted me by reminding me that doctors sometimes prescribe cough syrup with codeine in it. The doctor put me on antibiotics and from my response to them, I'd guess that I did have a sinus infection. But a week after the antibiotics ended, I'm still stuffed up, still coughing (although not nearly as badly) and still sneezing. In my non-medically trained opinion, that's allergies.
Along the way, though, with the ferocious cough, I developed a pain in my right side. Pulled muscle, in my ever-so-competent, non-medically trained opinion. And yeah, it was weird that a month later, it still hurt to take a deep breath, but muscles are slow to heal. But yesterday, while swimming, I dived down to the bottom of the pool to try to retrieve a basketball.
If I hadn't been underwater, I would have screamed. For a second, I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it out of the pool. I spent the next hour sitting very still, waiting for the pain to stop and breathing shallowly. I actually watched the Neil Gaiman commencement speech that's been making the rounds during that hour and when he made me laugh, I followed it up with a whimper. In my not-so-competent, non-medically-trained opinion, I have a cracked rib. This makes me want to say lots and lots and lots of bad words.
On the pain scale of 1-10, the pain used to be ... maybe an inconsistent 4. In the right position, it didn't bother me at all, but if I did something like take a deep breath, it was annoying enough to stop me in my tracks. Now, sitting perfectly still, pillow against my back, it's a 5. When I move the wrong way, it's about an 7. Last night, it was lie in bed and weep pain. I suppose the only positive side is that I'm finally rewarded for not having used all the pain pills from my dental surgery of five years ago.
I'm not sure why I felt the need to whine about this on my blog. Maybe it's because I really wanted to write a lot of A Gift of Thought today and I'm not sure that's going to happen. But at least I can tell myself that I wrote something, even if it's just a whine.
Along the way, though, with the ferocious cough, I developed a pain in my right side. Pulled muscle, in my ever-so-competent, non-medically trained opinion. And yeah, it was weird that a month later, it still hurt to take a deep breath, but muscles are slow to heal. But yesterday, while swimming, I dived down to the bottom of the pool to try to retrieve a basketball.
If I hadn't been underwater, I would have screamed. For a second, I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it out of the pool. I spent the next hour sitting very still, waiting for the pain to stop and breathing shallowly. I actually watched the Neil Gaiman commencement speech that's been making the rounds during that hour and when he made me laugh, I followed it up with a whimper. In my not-so-competent, non-medically-trained opinion, I have a cracked rib. This makes me want to say lots and lots and lots of bad words.
On the pain scale of 1-10, the pain used to be ... maybe an inconsistent 4. In the right position, it didn't bother me at all, but if I did something like take a deep breath, it was annoying enough to stop me in my tracks. Now, sitting perfectly still, pillow against my back, it's a 5. When I move the wrong way, it's about an 7. Last night, it was lie in bed and weep pain. I suppose the only positive side is that I'm finally rewarded for not having used all the pain pills from my dental surgery of five years ago.
I'm not sure why I felt the need to whine about this on my blog. Maybe it's because I really wanted to write a lot of A Gift of Thought today and I'm not sure that's going to happen. But at least I can tell myself that I wrote something, even if it's just a whine.
May 16, 2012
Better Days Ahead
On May 28th last year, R and I were on the way to the grocery store, when I said, "Is that a dog?" It was a dog. A white Jack Russell terrier that had been so recently hit by a car that it was still in the middle of the road, still moving. I turned the car around, drove back, and sat with the dog for the seconds it had left before it died. It looked at me, saw me, then its eyes glazed over. I brought the body home and buried it in the back yard. We never made it to the grocery store.
The next day, I went back to that neighborhood, looked for signs. Every telephone pole had one. I called the owner. The dog was Hugo. 14 years old. And Jay, his owner, needed to see him. So I dug the dog back up and Jay came and took his body away.
Exactly two weeks later, Karen called with the news about a "suspicious nodule." Over the next nine months, Mom died, Malcolm died, Sharon died, Michelle died.
Yesterday, R and I were on the way to the store, when R said, "Is that a dog?" It was a dog. A Yorkie in the middle of a busy road. I stopped the car immediately, annoying the people behind me. R got out of the car, annoying the people ahead of us, and managed to scare the dog off the road. I pulled over and together the two of us herded the dog back into a safer place, and started trying doors. The owners were in the second house we tried and very happy to get their dog safely back. They hadn't even realized he was missing yet.
I think the best part is that I had made a wrong turn -- yes, on the way to the store, I made a wrong turn, this is why I get lost so easily -- and we should never have been on that street at all. I know that it's a meaningless coincidence, but it feels like a sign of better things to come.
And even if not, we get to know that a dog is safe at home tonight because this time, we were there in time.
The next day, I went back to that neighborhood, looked for signs. Every telephone pole had one. I called the owner. The dog was Hugo. 14 years old. And Jay, his owner, needed to see him. So I dug the dog back up and Jay came and took his body away.
Exactly two weeks later, Karen called with the news about a "suspicious nodule." Over the next nine months, Mom died, Malcolm died, Sharon died, Michelle died.
Yesterday, R and I were on the way to the store, when R said, "Is that a dog?" It was a dog. A Yorkie in the middle of a busy road. I stopped the car immediately, annoying the people behind me. R got out of the car, annoying the people ahead of us, and managed to scare the dog off the road. I pulled over and together the two of us herded the dog back into a safer place, and started trying doors. The owners were in the second house we tried and very happy to get their dog safely back. They hadn't even realized he was missing yet.
I think the best part is that I had made a wrong turn -- yes, on the way to the store, I made a wrong turn, this is why I get lost so easily -- and we should never have been on that street at all. I know that it's a meaningless coincidence, but it feels like a sign of better things to come.
And even if not, we get to know that a dog is safe at home tonight because this time, we were there in time.
May 15, 2012
Memories
Just finished one of the close to last chapters of A Gift of Thought and oh, it amused me. I needed that today, too, because I'm dreading the rest of the day.
We're celebrating my birthday tonight. I managed to get out of it on the real day, quite beautifully, by being completely sick with the illness that's lasted now for approximately six weeks. Yay, me. Unfortunately, I'm not sick enough now to get out of it again. But I dread it. It's so horrible when people do something really nice for you -- or that they think will be really nice -- and you have to pretend that yes, it's really nice when actually it's not at all.
My dad was delighted to get reservations for us at The California Grill. It's been my favorite restaurant at Disney for years. You can watch the fireworks over the Magic Kingdom from the windows -- it's a beautiful view. I don't know how many times we've eaten there -- seven? Eight? We've had Christmas dinner there. I celebrated my fortieth birthday there. I ate sushi there twenty years ago, shocking my parents who had missed my evolution from incredibly-picky-eater-of-almost-nothing. It's a place rich with memories. Rich with them. And now I'm going to be there with my dad and his girlfriend and the rest of the family and he really just doesn't understand how desperately I miss my mom. Karen does. So she and I will sit there and pretend like mad that everything is fine and all is lovely and life is grand and it's just swell that Dad's in love and meanwhile, underneath it all, we will both know that there is a hole there that is never going to be filled
Never.
Gah.
But the chapter I wrote today made me laugh.
We're celebrating my birthday tonight. I managed to get out of it on the real day, quite beautifully, by being completely sick with the illness that's lasted now for approximately six weeks. Yay, me. Unfortunately, I'm not sick enough now to get out of it again. But I dread it. It's so horrible when people do something really nice for you -- or that they think will be really nice -- and you have to pretend that yes, it's really nice when actually it's not at all.
My dad was delighted to get reservations for us at The California Grill. It's been my favorite restaurant at Disney for years. You can watch the fireworks over the Magic Kingdom from the windows -- it's a beautiful view. I don't know how many times we've eaten there -- seven? Eight? We've had Christmas dinner there. I celebrated my fortieth birthday there. I ate sushi there twenty years ago, shocking my parents who had missed my evolution from incredibly-picky-eater-of-almost-nothing. It's a place rich with memories. Rich with them. And now I'm going to be there with my dad and his girlfriend and the rest of the family and he really just doesn't understand how desperately I miss my mom. Karen does. So she and I will sit there and pretend like mad that everything is fine and all is lovely and life is grand and it's just swell that Dad's in love and meanwhile, underneath it all, we will both know that there is a hole there that is never going to be filled
Never.
Gah.
But the chapter I wrote today made me laugh.
May 13, 2012
Dedications
I wrote this months ago. Not sure why it never posted or why I never posted it. Maybe because it struck me as cowardly? But today I like it -- it was a great reminder of things I've been forgetting -- so I'm posting it.
Today was practicum. For a counselor-in-training, this is the make-it-or-break-it moment. Am I actually going to be able to help people or am I going to screw up? We've had the rules of confidentiality drilled into us from day one, but I don't think it's breaking confidentiality to say that one of my future clients tried to commit suicide a few months ago. Am I going to be able to help him or is this going to be one of my worst nightmares come true? (I initially wrote worst nightmare and then I realized that homicidal trumps suicidal...but still...)
Oddly enough--or perhaps not so oddly--Felicia Day's end of 2010 blog post popped back into my head. Specifically the improv will save your life point. Even more specifically, ignoring the voice that says "that won't work, no one does it like that." I don't know if that's as relevant to counseling as it was to writing, but in the moment, it was so comforting.It reminded me to trust my instincts, to have faith in my intuition.
And that made me really want to tell her so.
But...that felt weird. Too weird to do. And yet, why? She seems like a pretty nice person. She wrote something that mattered to me in a way far beyond sense. The delegation part, not so much, that's meaningless at the moment. But the improv and the anxiety and the patience and the self-awareness--all of those words, for whatever reason, hit a trigger and stayed with me. So much so that it's a year later and it still matters.
I wrote the dedication to A Gift of Ghosts on a whim almost. Most people dedicate their first book--if they dedicate it at all--to family members. To the loving spouse, the supportive parents, the delightful children. I do have a delightful child but honestly, he deserves no credit. He thinks I should play more WOW and write less (presumably because I was more fun when I was playing more WOW but also because he doesn't like it when I read him lines of dialog and say, "would you say it that way?" Yeah, you didn't think that 15-year-old voice was all me, did you?) And I also have/had supportive parents, although...okay, not going there at the moment.
Not the point, anyway.
The point is, I didn't spend a ton of time thinking out the dedication of the book. I wrote it on an impulse and I didn't really think that anyone would ever see it. And hey, I wrote a quarter of a million words of Eureka fan fiction, it's not as if I picked some random television show to dedicate a book to. I think maybe I earned my right to dedicate a book to Eureka. But why do I feel so defensive about this? I'm honestly not sure...but I think it's because right now, today, tonight, I want Felicia Day to know that something she said mattered. And the only way to make that happen is to tell her so. And somehow that feels ridiculously scary. Even more so than posting the book to Amazon did.
But this is the dedication of A Gift of Ghosts.
A quirky dedication for a quirky book: this book is dedicated to the creators, cast, and crew of the (wonderful, amazing, incredibly fun, tragically cancelled) television show Eureka, for first inspiring my creativity and then annoying me so much that I was forced into originality. And in particular, to Felicia Day, for this blog post: http://feliciaday.com/blog/five-things-about-2010, and for making geeky girls cool.
Today was practicum. For a counselor-in-training, this is the make-it-or-break-it moment. Am I actually going to be able to help people or am I going to screw up? We've had the rules of confidentiality drilled into us from day one, but I don't think it's breaking confidentiality to say that one of my future clients tried to commit suicide a few months ago. Am I going to be able to help him or is this going to be one of my worst nightmares come true? (I initially wrote worst nightmare and then I realized that homicidal trumps suicidal...but still...)
Oddly enough--or perhaps not so oddly--Felicia Day's end of 2010 blog post popped back into my head. Specifically the improv will save your life point. Even more specifically, ignoring the voice that says "that won't work, no one does it like that." I don't know if that's as relevant to counseling as it was to writing, but in the moment, it was so comforting.It reminded me to trust my instincts, to have faith in my intuition.
And that made me really want to tell her so.
But...that felt weird. Too weird to do. And yet, why? She seems like a pretty nice person. She wrote something that mattered to me in a way far beyond sense. The delegation part, not so much, that's meaningless at the moment. But the improv and the anxiety and the patience and the self-awareness--all of those words, for whatever reason, hit a trigger and stayed with me. So much so that it's a year later and it still matters.
I wrote the dedication to A Gift of Ghosts on a whim almost. Most people dedicate their first book--if they dedicate it at all--to family members. To the loving spouse, the supportive parents, the delightful children. I do have a delightful child but honestly, he deserves no credit. He thinks I should play more WOW and write less (presumably because I was more fun when I was playing more WOW but also because he doesn't like it when I read him lines of dialog and say, "would you say it that way?" Yeah, you didn't think that 15-year-old voice was all me, did you?) And I also have/had supportive parents, although...okay, not going there at the moment.
Not the point, anyway.
The point is, I didn't spend a ton of time thinking out the dedication of the book. I wrote it on an impulse and I didn't really think that anyone would ever see it. And hey, I wrote a quarter of a million words of Eureka fan fiction, it's not as if I picked some random television show to dedicate a book to. I think maybe I earned my right to dedicate a book to Eureka. But why do I feel so defensive about this? I'm honestly not sure...but I think it's because right now, today, tonight, I want Felicia Day to know that something she said mattered. And the only way to make that happen is to tell her so. And somehow that feels ridiculously scary. Even more so than posting the book to Amazon did.
But this is the dedication of A Gift of Ghosts.
A quirky dedication for a quirky book: this book is dedicated to the creators, cast, and crew of the (wonderful, amazing, incredibly fun, tragically cancelled) television show Eureka, for first inspiring my creativity and then annoying me so much that I was forced into originality. And in particular, to Felicia Day, for this blog post: http://feliciaday.com/blog/five-things-about-2010, and for making geeky girls cool.
Mother's Day
I didn't sleep last night. Really truly didn't sleep. I was still wide-awake at 4:17 at which time I resolutely stopped watching the clock. I was awake by 6:45. The mosquito flying around my room was the most persistent, determined and agile bug I have ever, ever encountered. At 4AM, I decided maybe there was more than one. Maybe there were two. Or five. Or ten. But my bed was not littered with dead mosquito bodies when the room finally got light, so I'm thinking not -- just one seriously hard-working little pest. I actually told it -- yes, out loud -- that I didn't care if it bit me 100 times if it would just stop whining around my ear. It did not listen. I suppose mosquitoes don't really speak English.
Anyway, Mother's Day. I can't remember last year's Mother's Day but I wish we'd done something special. I wish I'd bought my mother flowers and written her a sappy card and cooked her a fancy dinner. I don't think I did. I told a therapist last summer that I didn't think I'd have any regrets: my relationship with my mother was strong and loving and friendly. She was, in so many ways, my closest friend. She was the person I called when I felt good and when I felt bad, or when I needed advice about cooking or cleaning or health or shopping. She was the person I did things with -- Saturday morning garage sales and shopping for clothes or shoes. I talked to her more often and about more than anyone else in my life. But we never did much to celebrate Mother's Day. She knew I loved her and I knew she loved me. I think I felt -- and I think she felt -- that the way we lived was a regular recognition of how important and special our relationship was and that I didn't need one day a year to tell her she was wonderful. But I do regret -- so much -- that I don't have a special memory from last year to make this year more bearable.
My sister's kids sent me chocolate-covered strawberries. My delightful son brought me tea in bed, and an omelet, and a bagel -- not just one breakfast but two. Today, we're going to see The Avengers together -- it's the first time, we've gone to a movie together since . . . ugh, I wanted to say years, but actually, we went to the movies together on the day my mom died. We needed a distraction. I suppose that's what today's movie is, too.
Today would probably be easier if I'd slept last night.
Anyway, Mother's Day. I can't remember last year's Mother's Day but I wish we'd done something special. I wish I'd bought my mother flowers and written her a sappy card and cooked her a fancy dinner. I don't think I did. I told a therapist last summer that I didn't think I'd have any regrets: my relationship with my mother was strong and loving and friendly. She was, in so many ways, my closest friend. She was the person I called when I felt good and when I felt bad, or when I needed advice about cooking or cleaning or health or shopping. She was the person I did things with -- Saturday morning garage sales and shopping for clothes or shoes. I talked to her more often and about more than anyone else in my life. But we never did much to celebrate Mother's Day. She knew I loved her and I knew she loved me. I think I felt -- and I think she felt -- that the way we lived was a regular recognition of how important and special our relationship was and that I didn't need one day a year to tell her she was wonderful. But I do regret -- so much -- that I don't have a special memory from last year to make this year more bearable.
My sister's kids sent me chocolate-covered strawberries. My delightful son brought me tea in bed, and an omelet, and a bagel -- not just one breakfast but two. Today, we're going to see The Avengers together -- it's the first time, we've gone to a movie together since . . . ugh, I wanted to say years, but actually, we went to the movies together on the day my mom died. We needed a distraction. I suppose that's what today's movie is, too.
Today would probably be easier if I'd slept last night.
