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March 31, 2005
Betty The Beauty
From Michelle, A Propos of Absolutely Nothing
Last night as Oh Patient One and I were chatting, and as I was opening a bottle of wine, he noticed that I was wrestling with the bottle because the corkscrew now only has one arm.
It used to be a two-armed corkscrew. You know the kind I mean--you rotate the curly metal bit into the cork, then when it's totally in the cork you push downwards on the two arms of the two-armed corkscrew, and then Hey Presto, out comes the cork.
The reason it only has one arm is because...
...I accidentally broke off the other arm.
"Um, I accidentally broke it," I told him.
"Another one?" he asked, smiling at me, because apart from the fact that he is kind and would never try to suggest that I am just a bit clumsy (I am), this is the second corkscrew I have broken in the last three months.
"Yes," I nodded. "But it's okay. It kind of works with just one arm."
And as Oh Patient One looked at me, and as I looked at him, we suddenly fell around the kitchen laughing our heads off...
What on earth does this have to do with the price of bread, I hear you asking? Well, we were reminded of something...
Betty The Beauty
In my books 32AA and Call Waiting, Emma and Jack have a sweet little dog called Betty The Beauty. She's not beautiful in the conventional sense (although she is to Emma and Jack). She's a bit short with a body like a barrel, and her fur is a bit tufty and sticks out everywhere. Plus, she only has three legs...
But it's okay, because she can manage with only three legs.
Now, why the insane, rolling-on-kitchen-floor laughter?
See, the inspiriation for Betty came from my parents telling me about a friend of theirs who had a dog with three legs, on account of being bitten by another dog. This really touched me--I felt sorry for the poor thing, but so happy it had a good and loving home.
Anyway, sometime later I met the actual dog.
I was rather surprized (but in a good kind of way, obviously) because it had four legs. Not missing a leg at all.
When I asked my mother about it, she said, "Oh, no--I never said it only had three legs. It got bitten on the leg by another dog, and it nearly lost its leg. But the vet managed to save it."
Goodness knows how I managed to get the wrong end of the proverbial stick, but mebbe it was for the best!
Michelle, who really did see a three-legged dog with its human shortly after 32AA was published
Posted by Michelle at 12:06 PM | Comments (3)
March 28, 2005
Magpies!
From Michelle, being just a bit superstitious...
Yes, I know it's silly to be superstitious but what can I say? It's a hard habit to break years of being indoctrinated by folklore.
When I spill salt I always throw a bit over each shoulder with the corresponding opposite hand (to cover all bases). I never walk under ladders. And, of course, when I see a solitary magpie (which is supposed to bring sorrow) I always take my friend Lyn's advice to avoid bringing disaster on me and mine...
I say "Hello Mr Magpie, how's your wife?" Even if the magpie is female (because the difference between a male and female magpie is hard to spot).
I have no idea if it works, but it makes me feel better to say it!
Here's that poem about magpies:
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl
And four for a boy,
Five for silver
And six for gold,
Seven for a secret never to be told...
By the way, a pair of magpies are building a nest in the tree just a few yards from my balcony. I am pinning my hopes on them having either 3 or 4 babies so that they total five or six (see above poem for reasons why).!
I'll keep you posted on my luck (and the baby birds).
Michelle :-)
Posted by Michelle at 1:01 PM | Comments (0)
March 27, 2005
I Really Do Love My Kids, But...
...this weekend, my husband and I had the unexpected pleasure of getting to be home for almost three days (53 hours to be exact) with no children! My daughter went on a retreat with a group she belongs to, and my son was invited to spend the weekend at the Jersey shore with a friend. This came as a surprise on Friday, because though we knew they’d be gone, we hadn’t put it together that they’d be gone at the same time. This has been a form of liberation that only comes about during one month in the summer when they’re both at summer camp, and let me tell you, we really did enjoy having the apartment to ourselves. For those of you who read my post last week – shame on you for what's going through your mind! I’m talking about dinner at a restaurant Friday night and staying up late watching a Biography special on The Bee Gees.
Which was a very emotional show, I might mention, because not only did I re-live my Saturday Night Fever mania, but I also realized that the Bee Gees were really nice guys who gave millions to Unicef and had cute accents. (Then, at the very end of the show, they mentioned that one of them, Maurice, died very soon after the documentary was made, and I found that incredibly depressing, having just gotten to know him and like him.) TV can suck in that way.
The big event of the weekend, however, was Saturday night. We took a taxi down to see the new Woody Allen movie Melinda and Melinda. We were late, and it was in a small theater, and it was Saturday night in New York on the Upper West Side, so we were afraid it would be sold out. There was a line of about fifteen people when we got there. A nice looking man immediately came up to us and offered to sell us two tickets for that performance. We looked at the tickets. They seemed to be legitimate. They had the right date, time, movie name... I asked why he was selling them. He said, “My friends aren’t coming.” My husband paid him $20 for the tickets. I was making skeptical faces but kept quiet because I didn’t want to seem suspicious and unfriendly. Plus, time was of the essence. We rushed down to the theater. (This one is underground, you have to take an escalator down.) I thought, this is the most dramatic moment of the entire evening. Are these tickets real?
My husband gave them to the ticket taker, who didn’t look at them for more than two seconds before he called over the manager. The manager looked at them and told us they were fakes. Xeroxes! I looked at my husband. I was still silent, but my face was screaming, “You idiot!”
The manager took us aside. I have to say, he never accused us of anything. He asked us how we got them. We tried to describe the man. The manager said this had happened before. He said that if we wanted to see the movie, we had to go buy tickets. He also wanted us to look out front to see if the man was still there.
Like he’d be waiting around waiting to see if we got caught...
So we rushed back upstairs. The man was not there. We got back in line. The woman in the booth said it was sold out. The manager told her to sell us tickets anyway. We were sure we’d end up in the front row. We were amazed the manager even trusted us so much! We ran back down. And then, at the last minute, the manager even offered to refund us the original $20.00. I ran in and got two good seats (making about five people move down so we could get two seats together) while the manager got my husband the money. My husband rushed in. The movie started.
We made it! Happy ending. The movie was only okay, but it sure made Manhattan look beautiful – like the kind of place that would never have a guy selling xeroxes of movie tickets to unsuspecting parents enjoying a childfree weekend.
And, speaking of endings (how’s that for a segue?) it seems that this is my last week blogging with the literary chicks. My month is up! I want to give a huge, gigantic thanks to Michelle, Lani, and Alesia for letting me be their guest this month. I love it that you asked me. I feel honored, I really do. OH. One other thing. Very important. Lani informs me that there is a winner for the drawing for THE ART OF UNDRESSING and that is... drum roll please... Heather McCutcheon! Yay! And I finally got my author copies this week, so I can put one right in the mail. I hope you enjoy it, Heather!
By All! See ya ‘round in cyberspace...
Posted by at 10:27 PM | Comments (1)
March 26, 2005
Sweetness is 6 Today!
Lani, healthy again...
Well, thank God I'm feeling better, because today is going to be a busy day. I have exactly 3.5 seconds to blog before we run off to a birthday breakfast for Sweetness, who is 6 today, and who has decided she wants to a grown-up for her birthday. Oh, and to go to Robot City. Both of which take a little oomph out of the bike she's getting but tra-la-la, I'm not paying attention. I'm just excited about getting the home movie of her with the big foam banana hat on her head.
So, that said, I want to say CONGRATULATIONS to my fellow dual-RITA nominee, the luminous Ms. Alesia Holliday, and THANK YOU to the lovely and talented Ms. Michelle Cunnah, who would have been nominated right there with us if she hadn't been moving halfway across the world when the entry deadline hit. And thanks also to everyone who has e-mailed, called, and sent smoke signals of congratulations. It's really a thrill to be nominated, and I'm touched beyond belief, and still a little stunned.
Gotta run! Thanks again!
Posted by Lani at 7:13 AM | Comments (2)
March 25, 2005
Exciting News!
Alesia and Lani rock!!!
It's official! and absolutely true!!
They might be a bit shy to tell you this, but as their Number One Fan I don't have any such reservations...
They are both finalists in the Romance Writers of America's RITA contest (think OSCARs of the romance and women's fiction world).
To get a nomination is HUGE, MEGA, WONDERFUL! This is a big deal!
So let's hear three cheers for our gals!
Michelle, cracking out the champagne xx
Posted by Michelle at 4:24 PM | Comments (1)
March 24, 2005
Flessenlikker!
From Michelle, scraping the bottom of the barrel...
So there I was in a typical Dutch store, casuallly minding my own business as I had a good browse, when I came across something I'd not seen before--the flessenlikker!
No, this flat-shaped, spatula-like device has nothing whatsover to do with licking flesh, as the the word may suggest...
It is, in fact, a bottle scraper!
You know that last bit of ketchup in the bottom of the bottle that you just can't get to? Well, the flessenlikker is just the handy tool you need to scrape out the dregs of the dregs. Of course, it doesn't just work on ketchup bottles but on a whole variety of jars and such. I was so impressed that I immediately bought one! I'll let you know how it goes, but it would certainly solve the dilemma of what to buy everyone for Christmas 2005!
And on the way home I was very impressed again by something else Dutch.
Picture this: cyclist on bicycle with the requisite luggage/shopping/passenger on board. Using one hand to manoevre the cycle around a corner, and the other hand to chat to a pal on his cell phone, he slowed down and changed gears (which are located on the handlebars) with his foot!
Now that is what I call multitasking!
I feel a Yoga moment coming over me. After all, how else will I ever be limber enough to change bike gears with my foot?
Michelle, attempting to sit on computer chair in Lotus position :-)
Posted by Michelle at 6:11 AM | Comments (0)
March 23, 2005
TFTWND
Lani, acronymically challenged...
Okay. Day 8 of The Flu That Would Not Die. This is what happens when Moms get sick. It lasts forever because we always have to take care of everyone else, who are all healthy, by the way. A typical interaction in my household...
KID: Mommy. I want a sandwich.
ME: Gee. I'd like to breathe again.
KID: Mommy. I said I was hungry.
ME: Sorry. Didn't hear you. I was transfixed by the white light.
KID:
ME: Peanut butter and jelly okay?
Hence, TFTWND...
... which stands for The Flu That Would Not Die, and my use of the acronym (that is what they're called, right? There isn't some fancy internet abbreviation for it?) shows that I've been on the internet just a hair past way to friggin' long.
The funny thing? I don't even like internet acronyms. But I use 'em. They've snuck into my vocabulary in the same insidious manner as "totally" and "psyched" did in the eighties, and now that they're there, I find myself using them without thinking. I have, however, been able to avoid using "U" for "you" and "R" for "are" and any number-letter combination ala "Sk8r". My standards may be minimal, but they're there.
You know, I never would have suspected how much of my adult life would be spent trying to read e-mail like it was a vanity license plate. I spent an entire year wondering what YMMV* meant. So now I use them, all the time, just to make up all the time I spent scratching my head going, "What the hell does ROFLMAO** stand for?" I'm still behind the curve. As soon as I think I have a grip, a new one shows up. It's a whole new language, and quite frankly, I was having enough trouble with the original one, thankyouverymuch. I still haven't mastered the difference in usage between "affect" and "effect"*** and now I'm supposed to know what random configurations of initials are supposed to stand for? Does no one remember how annoying the kid from "Sleepless in Seattle" was?
AN.****
* Your Mileage May Vary. You're welcome.
** Rolling On The Floor Laughing My Ass Off. For when LOL just won't do...
*** Don't bother trying to explain. I'll just screw it up. Brain's too old to get it now.
**** Apparently Not.
Posted by Lani at 8:18 AM | Comments (3)
March 22, 2005
Wedding anniversaries and Karma
Alesia, celebrating 9 years of marriage
Tomorrow is my ninth wedding anniversary. Nine whole years. Before Navy Guy, my longest relationship was with my dog. PJ’s in doggie heaven, now, but the marriage is going strong. Here’s the thing – when Judd first asked me out, I said No!
It’s not that he wasn’t totally hot – he was (and still is!). It’s not that he wasn’t brilliant and wonderful and kind and funny – he was (and still is!). It’s that I thought I didn’t want to get married.
Nine years, three states, and two kids later, here we are. Still in love. Still dancing to the radio. Still hugging each other when one of us comes home, even from the grocery store.
Tonight, I gave him an early anniversary card. Spent about 20 minutes picking the perfect one out of the hundreds of Hallmark specials at the store. He opened it, read it, and gave me the weirdest look. I said, “What?”
Navy Guy: Did you read my card?
Me: No, why?
Navy Guy: Go read it.
Me: Why?
Navy Guy: Just go read it.
You’ve probably guessed it by now. It was the same card. The SAME EXACT CARD. Out of all the millions of cards available (and we got them at TWO DIFFERENT STORES!). When we got done cracking up, we just looked at each other and smiled. Nine years, three states (soon to be four) and two kids later, we’re still madly in love. It’s karma, or fate, or just astonishingly good luck.
When people ask me why all my books have happy endings, I’m going to tell them about that card.
Hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 11:00 PM | Comments (0)
March 21, 2005
Goats, More Trams, and More About TV!
From Michelle, in Rotterdam, where Spring has finally sprung...
Yes, it's true, Spring is springing around Rotterdam at the moment. The sun is shining and it's warm enough not to wear a big coat, although I have no idea how to gauge the temperature because it's measured differently here (although I have finally managed to translate pounds into kilos--success!).
Without further ado, here's more about some of my favorite ups and downs...
Goats
There's still time to win one in my current contest over here. Yes, it's true! A real goat (but I promise it will go straight to the family who need it, and not to your address personally
More Trams
Yes, the Trouble with Trams continues. Remember when I did this and then I did that? Well, today when Teenager #2 got home from school he was exhausted. Apparently there is some major work being done on the line and because it has been diverted from its usual route, it didn't go anywhere near where he was expecting it to go, so he had quite a long walk home...
So it's a good job that the weather is getting warmer, because it would appear that we're going to be spending a lot of time either (a) walking, or (b) cycling.
More About TV
As some of you know I've had various problems getting the TV service sorted out, because I blogged about it at length here and here. Well, developments have developed...
See, the television provider is (so it would seem, if we're interpreting the complicated letter correctly) is improving the quality of its customer's reception, so it has done something clever to finetune the channels.
So anyway, this happened about a week ago, and apart from the fact that all the TV stations are now to be found on different channel numbers, we seem to have lost quite a lot of TV stations.
Guess what this means? Firstly, I MISSED THE FOURTH EPISODE OF DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES because yes, it was on one of the stations that disappeared. And secondly--yes, I am just going to have to get a grip, pick up the phone, dial the 0900 number and spend a day listening to piped music at my own expense... (TEN EUROCENTS PER MINUTE!)
Hurrah for progress!
Michelle
Posted by Michelle at 12:05 PM | Comments (2)
March 20, 2005
Am I Really Doing This?
From Stephanie, March's Guest Literary Chick!
As research for a novel I'm planning on writing, I'm taking a stand-up comedy class. At first I kind of fooled myself that I'd just sit in the back and take notes and watch everyone else go through the process. But by the end of the first class, I realized that I really should write up some material. Then I realized that I really should do the performance we're all supposed to do when the class ends in a few weeks.Then I realized that instead of reading from some note cards, I really should try to memorize what I've written. This performance is in a few weeks, and there will be about 100 people in the audience at this comedy club, and it looks like i really am going to attempt to do this. Now I realize that I really should commit myself to a mental institution.
I'm really, really scared. I'm supposed to stand up on this podium with a microphone in my hand telling jokes! I have never performed, unless you count when I sang with my junior high school choir, where I learned that if you don't know the words to a song, you just mouth "watermelon" over and over and no one can tell. Every time I think about what I've gotten myself into, I get this acidic wave going from my throat down to my belly. Writers should not have to perform. Actually, I have done readings, come to think of it, and that does count as a performance. But at least you have the words right in front of your face. And you don't have the pressure of being funny.
Here's a sample from my "material." It's takes a long time to get to the "punchline." I'm saying that because I can imagine everyone reading along and going, this isn't funny... Maybe it's not funny, even when you do get to the "punchline." Who, me? Insecure? God, I'll be glad when this class is over...
You know how they keep saying married couples aren't having sex anymore? They use the word "epidemic." Like it's a disease. The thing is, there's always an excuse. There's always an excuse not to have sex. Especially when you have kids. Sex is impossible with kids around. When they're babies, and breastfeeding, they're sleeping in the room with you, that's a real sex killer. Then, when they're toddlers and they're finally sleeping in their own room, you're so happy to get a good night's sleep, sex can wait. Then when they're pre-pubescent, they're having nightmares, they're back in your room again. I'm someone who can't have sex if I know my children are awake in the apartment. I feel like they'll put their ear to the door and then go commit suicide. Now my daughter is a teenager. She stays up so late, it's impossible to outlast her. Of course, eventually, the kids move out. You finally have the apartment to yourself. So you can't use the kids as an excuse anymore. That's why so many marriages break up after the kids move out. You need another excuse. You can't make love... you aren't married anymore!
Okay, maybe it's funnier when I say it out loud.
Posted by at 11:46 PM | Comments (1)
March 19, 2005
Fabulous
Lani, looking for the white light...
So, let me just say. Last week, I was hit with a bronchial thing. Thursday, a 24-hour stomach bug. And yesterday, the day I *finally* thought I was going to get better?
Sinus infection. Apparently, my immune system has gone south for the winter. I hope it's having a lovely time sipping Mai Tai's on the beach.
Maybe the bastard will send me a postcard.
Nevertheless, here I am to say Happy Saturday to anyone kind enough to drop by. I have to say, I love what you're wearing. And have you done something with your hair? It's fabulous, darling, fabulous.
Speaking of fabulous, I'm going to share something with you that I wrote for the back of Ex and The Single Girl, which is being released this fall as part of the new Warner 5-Spot line, but they didn't want it because it was too long. In their defense, they did say "Just five bullet points. Really short." It's just that, when you're as verbose as I am, really short means a minimum of 750 words. So, I wrote another one for them which was significantly shorter, and now I have a blog, so all's well that ends well. Without further ado, here ya go. If you know anyone who's been recently dumped, feel free to forward the link!
So. You've been dumped. I shall not state the obvious - that you're too good for him, he didn't deserve you, it's his loss, he was starting to go bald anyway and his earning potential was way too low - because you knew all that stuff when you were dating him and if you didn't care then, you don't care now. And I'm sure there were good things about him, things you'll miss, because you're a smart girl and you liked him for a reason. But now that you've had a day or two to wallow, it's time to dust off and get back on that horse because I'm telling you, honey - in two months' time you're going to be wondering what you were doing with that guy in the first place. Now here's what you do...
1. Mani/Pedi, baby. Gather the girlfriends and head downtown. It's time for some pampering. Added bonus: it is physically impossible to be depressed when you've got all ten toes painted a different color. Trust me. I know whereof I speak.
2. Use the word "fabulous" twice a day. I know. It sounds really stupid, but there is some serious therapeutic value to letting a little silly slip into your vocabulary. Say it in earnest, say it with a touch of irony and sarcasm, but say it. It's one of those words that just comes packaged in a smile. Try it. You'll see.
3. Embrace Transitional Man. There's something to be said for Transitional Man. He's cute. He's funny. He's got that big T on his chest. He's temporary and he knows he's temporary which is fine by him because he's got commitment issues anyway, so there are no points off your karma for letting him buy you a dinner or two. Everybody plays, everybody wins.
4. Do all the things you can't do with a boyfriend. Take off for a weekend with the girls. Spend the evening eating Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Therapy ice cream while watching the pile of cheesy romantic comedy DVDs you keep under your bed. Read your favorite book again. Whatever you do, make sure it's exactly what you want to do exactly when you want to do it. Luxuriate in your autonomy.
5. Forgive him. He may be an idiot who didn't know a good thing when he had it, but carrying all that anger makes you a hunchback. Let it go. You've got better things to do, sweets, and there's someone out there waiting for you to get over your ex so you can do them with him. Tick tock, babe. The next phase of your life is waiting for you, and it's gonna be fabulous, darling.
Posted by Lani at 9:40 AM | Comments (1)
March 16, 2005
Blogging and Mommy Guilt
Alesia, from "Where's my freaking suitcase" central...
OK, I missed Tuesday because I'm in that scary child thing known as "Mommy has to go to New York, so I must get so sick I must go to doctor and be forced to ingest scary antibiotics." Back next week, but in the meantime, check out my March 17th post on Writing and Mommy Guilt at Romancing The Blog . . .
hugs,
Alesia, off to buy a coat for the frozen tundra, er NYC
Posted by Alesia at 6:01 PM | Comments (1)
Those Butts
Lani, the Kirstie Alley of the Literary World...
Well, the butt obsession in my house continues. I went to pick up the kids at the sitter the other day, and the sitter said that Sweetness came up to her and complained, "My butt keeps following me around!"
The sitter looked at her, trying not to laugh, and said, "You know, I have that exact same problem!"
To which Sweetness shook her head in commiseration and said, "Those butts."
Speaking of which, I fear I'm at that time of year when the size of my own butt becomes an issue. I'm not one of those women who's too nuts about body image. I'm a curvy girl, and for the most part, that's okay. I told my class of Young Beautiful College Students that they were to always be wary of men who couldn't go bald and women who couldn't gain weight. It shows a marked lack of self-confidence, and that way lies madness. But when my curves develop their own curves, I start to get concerned.
Choppy Thought: I'm watching the Care Bears Movie right now. They're just too happy and, well, caring. I know they're for kids, but yeesh. I'm about one "All you need is a friend!" from falling into a diabetic coma. I really want to see a couple of them get into a fistfight or something. That doesn't say anything good about me, does it?
Okay, so the butt thing. I'm not gonna follow a diet, because they're just useless. Low-carb, no carb, no fat, all grapefruit, all liquid, all gastrointestinal distress all the time, blah blah blah. Nor am I going to buy the Dr. Phil book. I like the man, I really do, and I think he's right. I'm sure there are emotional reasons why I eat the way I do, but I prefer to live my life in the dark. Makes things more interesting.
So here's the plan. Simple lifestyle changes.
64 ounces of water a day. Every day. I will also need to increase the amount of toilet paper I buy by about a factor of 3. Bright side - it will remind me why I don't want to become pregnant again.
Breakfast every day. This is my biggest challenge. It's the only meal I'm not hungry for, but according to Oprah and gym teachers everywhere, it's the most important. We shall see.
Choppy Thought: Yesterday, I made the mistake of purchasing Dora The Explorer Band-Aids while shopping with Sweetness and Light. Suddenly, they're both lepers, body parts falling off and in desperate need of a Dora Band-Aid to make things right again. My favorite? Light, the 3yo, sticks out her (pristine and uninjured) middle finger and waves it in my face. "I have a boo-boo on my favorite finger!" I had to deduct ten parenting karma points when I instructed her to go to the livingroom and "show Daddy your favorite finger." But it was worth it.
Nothing after 7pm. Apparently, that little pang of hunger at night? That's your body burning fuel. You're apparently supposed to be hungry at night. The cure? Drink water. Yeah. I'll let you know how this one goes.
Choppy Thought: Apparently, nobody cares like a bear. Oh. God. Save. Me. Where's a syringe of insulin when you need it?
Add to that a No Fast Food, No Junk Food With The Exception of Chocolate Because Chocolate is Not Junk rule, and we'll see what happens. I'll add the exercise when the weather gets better. One small, jiggly-butted step at a time. Then, hopefully, by this time next year, my butt will still be following me around, but not at quite such a large distance from the rest of my body.
Wish me luck.
Stupid butt.
Posted by Lani at 8:07 AM | Comments (4)
March 14, 2005
Monday, Monday...
From Michelle in Rotterdam, the biggest, hugest port in Europe...
Same old, same old Monday for me...
1. Get up at 7 am so can get Teenager #1 out of bed, push him into shower and then on his way to school (bribes work really well).
2. Make beds.
3. Do laundry.
4. Go to supermarket to buy luxury items such as bread and milk.
5. Get self dressed up in real grown-up clothes and grown-up makeup (rather than spend day in pajamas and no makeup whatsoever) and swan off to swanky top-notch launch of biggest container ship in The Entire World...
It's absolutely true!
Today, Oh Patient One and I attended the naming ceremony and launch of Royal P&O Nedlloyd's new baby--the Biggest Container Ship Currently In the World--The MONDRIAAN.
It was totally gorgeous and wonderful.
Apart from real grown-up clothes and makeup, it also featured Inge de Bruijn, a two-time Dutch Olympic gold medallist and National Heroine, the Mayor of Rotterdam, the Olympic Flame, fireworks, and a bottle of champagne being smashed against the side of the MONDRIAAN in time honored fashion. And also featured the MONDRIAAN herself (ships are always girls, so it seems).
It also featured a fab brass band (courtesy of the Dutch Royal Airforce Band--absolutely fabulous), champagne also to drink rather than smash, and a slap-up super lunch at the Cruise Terminal, Rotterdam.
And a wonderful time was had by me (and everyone else).
Michelle, crashing back to earth and pajamas tomorrow, tomorrow...
PS. A social studies teacher once told Teenager #1 and her entire Sophomore class that Rotterdam was in Germany. Sorry, social studies teacher, but Rotterdam is definitely in the Netherlands. Go look at your atlas...
Posted by Michelle at 2:34 PM | Comments (3)
March 13, 2005
Putting it out there
From Stephanie, March's Guest Literary Chick!
Oh my god, it's almost 11:00 and I haven't done my blog! I have to give props (as they say)(they do say that, right?) to all the bloggers out there who are able to keep up with their blogging. I'm finding out what a true challenge it is and this is only my third shot. This is the thing. Blogs are incredibly public. Everything you say goes OUT THERE. You can't hide behind your fiction. Though... come to think of it... does Lani really have kids named Sweetness and Light? (See her previous post.) This has been on my mind a lot recently. Not the names of Lani's children, though I would like that clarified. But the concept of hiding behind fiction. And not hiding. I started teaching my writing class last week, and it came up right away. Is it okay to use your life?What if it makes your husband want to kill you? Can we use actual conversations? I encouraged everyone to use their lives for material. I certainly dip in there now and then. I love it when novelists do. There's nothing I like better than to read a novel, and then read the author's biography, and then piece together what they used from their real life. Well, there might be some things I like better... but anyway (please excuse me, it is now past 11:00 and my husband is snoring over there) the thing is... you can't be a slave to what actually happened. If you're a slave to it, and just try to recreate events as they occurred, it just won't work. There won't be a story there. Also, if you are taking from your own life, it can be that much harder to have the perspective you need to turn it into fiction. That's why, if I'm using myself, I always find it much easier to draw on long past events, or aspects of myself that are no longer like me because I've changed so much as a person and wouldn't do THAT anymore.
And then of course there's always those husbands to worry about. And ex-boyfriends. And mothers. And children. And things can get sensitive, and feelings can get hurt. So, yes, you've got to transform it. It's not truly fiction until that husband character isn't your husband and the main character isn't you. Because you REALLY don't want to reveal something about yourself that you don't want anyone to know! Then you'd have to sue yourself. Or at the very least stop talking to yourself. (And stop thinking to yourself?) Hopefully, you would make up with yourself eventually, though. Okay. Time for bed. I hope I didn't reveal something about myself that I'll regret when I look at this tomorrow after a good night's sleep. Maybe I should just say I NEVER use myself, and leave it at that…
Posted by at 11:27 PM | Comments (3)
March Giveaway!
Hey, everyone! Now that you've gotten to know Stephanie a bit, be sure to sign up for her giveaway of one signed copy of The Art of Undressing! Just send an e-mail with your NAME and ADDRESS to giveaway@literarychicks.com and you'll be entered to win! Then check back on Sunday, March 27th, for Stephanie's farewell blog announcing the winner!
And now, please click for Da Rules...
1. One entry per person. That's it. You can send e-mails to us as much as you want, but all duplicates will be deleted. Sorry.
2. Relatives of any Literary Chick, guest or otherwise, are not eligible. This means you, Fish.
3. If you're under 18, get a parent's permission.
4. Method for choosing the winner: All e-mails will be printed and folded in paper airplane shapes by my two daughters, Sweetness and Light. The one that manages to get through this process without getting torn, bitten, spilled on, stuck to the wall with some mystery substance, or otherwise maimed in that special way children love to maim, will be the winner.
Or, you know, some method equally as random.
5. Winner will also be notified via e-mail within 7 days of announcement, but you know, we thought it'd be cool to be all, "Hey, Congratulations YOU!" on the site. It ain't fifteen minutes of fame, but it's all we got.
On a more serious, but still important note, none of your personal information will be saved after this contest is over. All original e-mails will be deleted, and the printouts subjected to Sweetness and Light's very particular and freakishly uncanny ability to destroy any object past the point of recognition. And also, none of your information will be used for future mailing lists for the Literary Chicks, either. Once this thing is over, we'll be like, "Who are you?" Seriously. But not in a mean, clique-y way...
I'm overexplaining, aren't I? Just rest assured - we hate those bastards, too.
That pretty much covers it! Good luck!
Posted by Lani at 9:32 AM | Comments (2)
March 11, 2005
Friday Writer’s Corner
Alesia, from copyedits central...
I’m in the middle of that very exciting period of every writer’s life known as COPYEDIT HELL. Yes, even I, an admittedly anal former lawyer, get pages back from my publisher all marked up with RED PENCIL. This, in addition to causing near-fatal hyperventilation, makes me feel like I’m reliving my worst nightmares of 8th grade . . .
Copyedits. First thing to remember, is that it’s never as bad as it looks. The majority of all that red pencil is directions to the production staff. Put this line in a separate font. Scene break here. End chapter, begin next. That sort of thing.
Then there are the great and happy reasons we have and love copyeditors. The place where you wrote that Brianna’s eyes were blue in chapter 22, when they were clearly brown in chapter 8. The comma that never, ever should have come between “monkey” and “chandelier.” The place where your keyboard must have hiccupped, because you wrote “thank you you you.”
BUT then there are the dark places. The paths to DOOM AND DESTRUCTION. When your C.E. goes into a frenzy of red-pencil bliss. And tries to edit out your voice. Or your humor. Or CHANGES A WORD IN YOUR DEDICATION. We veteran writers have a response to this:
Just say STET.
Hugs and happy weekend,
Alesia, who is so jazzed to even HAVE a backlist :)
Posted by Alesia at 1:56 PM | Comments (1)
March 10, 2005
Television Land!
Michelle, Addicted to Adverts...
Yes. it's absolutely true. I've become a TV addict solely due to the vastly entertaining nature of the advertisements.
Here are two more, and for once they do not feature either nekkid people or condoms. But they do feature, um, the completely frank, matter-of-fact Dutch approach to bodily functions...
Advert Number #1: A cute little boy of around 4 or 5 is sitting on the toilet. Yes, you read that right. All of a sudden he crinkles up his cute little face with vast distaste and announces, "Dat stinks!" No need to translate what that means! Two seconds later in comes his beaming, beautiful mother with a wonderfully fabulous new air freshener guaranteed to get rid of all unpleasant odors. Sigh.
Advert #2: Very attractive 30something woman. In fact, I thought at first she was advertisng a new skin care product because she looked so great. But in reality she was talking very frankly about, um, intestinal activity (or lack thereof) and how eating a certain yoghurt type of food with added fibre totally sorted her out, and these days she's never constipated.
I have to go now because I can hear the current program on TV finishing which means the adverts will be on soon! Can't wait!
See you soon,
Square-eyed Michelle :-)
Posted by Michelle at 7:34 AM | Comments (0)
March 7, 2005
Cartoons!
Michelle, round-eyed in Rotterdam...
A shorty entry from me today because I'm dashing around like a headless chicken with this and that, but earlier I just happened to be in the living room and there was this cartoon (tekenfilm in Dutch) on the TV, and it was in Dutch being spoken quite slowly, and is good practice for my language skills, and so I decided to sit down for 2 minutes and see if I could understand what the cheerfully odd little cartoon characters were talking about...
Picture this: lots of cheerfully odd (as I said) little colorful characters all having such a friendly chat, so I watched to the end and...kind of didn't believe what I was hearing!
It was an advertisement for safe sex. The "cartoon characters" were multicolored condoms.
I just love TV over here. I really do...
Michelle, still laughing!
Posted by Michelle at 2:07 PM | Comments (5)
March 6, 2005
On Not Going Places
From Stephanie, March's Guest Literary Chick!
Everyone in my family always wants to go places. My 16 year old daughter just took a trip to Costa Rica with some friends over her school break. My 12 year old son got me and my husband to take him down to Universal Studios Florida. Don’t get me wrong. I was glad to get some sun. I’m originally from California, and New York winters are not for me. But sun is pretty much the only thing that makes me want to travel anymore. Other than craving sunshine, I generally do not have any impulse to leave the city. I’ve turned into an extreme homebody.
My husband has been bugging me to go to Ottawa for some winter festival up there so he can ice skate on a canal in -10 degree weather. In a word? No. He wants to plan all sorts of trips for the summer. Vermont. Paris. He says next year, we're all going to Costa Rica. I'm thinking that's a really long way to go to get some sun.
Left totally to my own devices, seems like I would never go anywhere. As far as I’m concerned, everything I want or need is within walking distance to my apartment. My doctor, my dentist, the grocery store. We can walk to the movies, walk to restaurants. I have my choice of no less than four coffee places where I can take my laptop. There is no reason to leave the neighborhood. I have my routines. I’m happy to be doing my routines. I don’t want to do anything that messes up my routines.
Part of this is because of my writing. I’m most productive in the mornings, and I need my solitary mornings, or nothing would get done. And since I'm "going places in my head" I don't need to actually go places. Except... all my novels have taken place in New York. Since I'm not from here, I do perpetually feel a bit like a tourist, even though I've been hear for many years.
But part of this is simply that I am for some reason not adventurous, not open to new experiences, and not curious enough about the world. And if I did go to more places more of the time, how would it affect my novels?
Part of this is also because I’ve become addicted to the internet. Between listserves, blogs, checking my amazon ratings, and any number of email correspondences, I have all the “social” life I need.
And when I’m tired of looking into my computer screen? You guessed it! (If you read my last entry.) Reality TV. And how better to see the world than on THE AMAZING RACE? They started a new one last week. Rob and Amber from SURVIVOR are on it! Now we get to see how they’re still relating as a couple, and if there’s anything real going on there. Who needs actual friends to gossip about? Who needs to actually get on the plane? Who needs the jetlag, and the language barriers, and the odd smelling cooking oils.
CBS announced on the show that they’re looking for families for the next Amazing Race. Everyone in my family wants to apply to be on it. But the thing that surprised me was that the idea appealed to me. Even though you see these people exhausting themselves and squabbling and parachuting out of planes… Even I have to admit, that would be an adventure worth getting out of the neighborhood for.
But the deadline is a few days away (I checked the website) and you have to put together a three minute video of your family showing how you all have zip and personality worthy of network TV. I know, a zillion people apply and we won't get chosen. But you never know… and if I really hustled, we could get it together. I’d have to get my son a passport. And figure out what we would say. And recharge the video camera. Do I even know where it is? Oh, man, forget it. It’ll totally ruin my routines -- before we even get chosen. I think I’ll go take a walk. Anyone need anything at the grocery store?
Posted by at 8:30 PM | Comments (1)
March 5, 2005
Exchange This
Lani, wondering how people pissed their lives away before the internet...
There comes a time in every woman's life - somewhere between having kids and dying - when every hour of her day is already spoken for. That's where I am now. Feeding the kids, caring for the kids, keeping the kids from killing each other, keeping them from killing me. Writing. Teaching. Really fills the day. Then there's the cooking and the cleaning... well, okay. I don't do that. But I feel reeeeaaaaalllly bad about it, and that takes time.
My point?
I have no time for this. Yet, when my little one woke up at 5 am and I put her back to bed and then I went back to bed but couldn't sleep, I got up and huddled with my laptop, spending that small trinket of my free time at the Hollywood Stock Exchange.
Now, I understand nothing about stocks. I hate them on principle alone. I hate money. I mean, I hate playing with money. I hate money as a game. I like the money that I work for and earn and use to keep the lights on and pay my rent and occasionally buy cute things. But money as a game? Not my scene. Stocks are for little balding men who want a special pass to Date Supermodels Land. Not for me.
The HSX, however, is completely addictive. Of course, I immediately bought tons of shares of Colin Firth. I have no idea what would make them go up in value. Other people buying Colin Firth? Him being involved in a sex scandal with a Hollywood hooker? I don't know. I may lose my virtual shirt. But I don't care.
I may be stupid and broke, but hey, I'm loyal.
Next, of course, was to buy up everything related to Joss Whedon which, since the HSX is predominately a movies thing, left me with bits of Nathan Fillion, Alan Tudyk, and the upcoming release of the Firefly movie, Serenity.
So far? I've lost about $50,000. But I don't care because it's not real money, and I know I'm being loyal to those I love. Again, another reason why I'm not plunking money into the real stock exchange. I'd buy up all the available stocks in the Hello Kitty Toaster because it's cute, my stock broker would roll his eyes but not care too much because hey, broker's fees, and I'd be waiting on line for government cheese to put on my Hello Kitty toast. That's just me, folks.
So, with the little crumbs of time I find during the day, for the next little while I will probably be spending them tooling around the HSX. If anyone cares to join me, I'm operating under the codename "BoomBaby." Just don't tell my husband. He thinks I'm working.
Posted by Lani at 8:17 AM | Comments (1)
March 3, 2005
Friday Writer’s Corner
Alesia, from warm and rainy Florida...
Friday writer's corner goes on vacation as I take the day to drive to the west coast of Florida and give a talk to the Tampa Bay Librarians' Assocation Meeting with the talented Kathy Garbera and Beverly Brandt. I'll report all when I return!
Hugs and happy weekending,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 10:50 PM | Comments (0)
March 2, 2005
Sweetness, Light, and Shame
Lani, from Winter Storm Warning Central...
You know what I love about living in Central New York? That even when there's a Winter Storm Advisory, and snow drifts are obscuring entire buildings, and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are gathering at the Seven-Eleven, sipping Cherry Slurpees and waiting for the call... even then they don't cancel school. So yesterday, after I sent Sweetness off to have her spirit and individuality broken by the public school system, I spent some quality time with my preschooler, Light.
What I love about Light. When she hugs, it's not an act. It's an event. We were playing an endless game of Pink Bear, Green Bear (wherein she plays Green Bear doing all sorts of things I can't understand, and when I ask - as Pink Bear - what exactly is happening, she yells at me because I don't know) and to distract her from the game, which was slowly draining my life force, I said, "Mommy wants big hugs."
So the kid, built like a Mack truck and twice as tough, goes all the way to the other end of the room, takes a deep breath, and rushes me with all her force and will. And let me tell you. Light? Has a lot of force and will.
Something else about Light. All the "kisses" must be placed by me on a particular spot on the top of her head. So as she rushes me, her head is down, pointed at me, like a bull going for a toreador's red cape.
And yet, I live to tell the tale. I'm a little sore, but I live. I'm thinking about loaning her out to heart patients. She's a human defribillator.
Defribrillator. Defibrillator? I don't know. And yet, with all the internet at my disposal, I'm not looking it up. Why? Lazy.
I have a confession to make. I've been carrying the shame for a couple of days, and while I'm not Catholic, I believe in the power of confession. So, here we go.
I tossed 3 hours of my life out the window of a speeding train. Meaning, I watched The Bachelorette finale.
All. Of. It. I hadn't watched the season at all because you've seen one rose ceremony, you've seen 'em all. And I knew that in the process of the THREE HOUR FINALE they would recap absolutely everything that ever happened on the show to try and fill ALL THAT TIME since, essentially, what everyone tuned in for - the "You get the rose, he get no rose" bit - takes all of about fifteen seconds. But that's not my real shame. Getting sucked into these things is only human. It happens. Very good, reasonable, intelligent people get sucked in. It happens.
No, my shame is this. To try and justify my behavior, I went into my Beginning Television Production class and tried to shoehorn a lesson about reality television into the lecture so I could justify the fact that I watched it. It was pretty sad.
So my punishment? Today, I'll be asking Light to give me Big Ramming-Head Hugs all day long until she both stops and then restarts my heart. It's kinda like doing a bunch of Hail Marys, only not.
On second thought, maybe light a candle for me. Just to hedge my bets.
Posted by Lani at 8:03 AM | Comments (3)
March 1, 2005
My first blog!
From Stephanie, March's Guest Literary Chick!
I'm so excited to be here with the literary chicks and want to thank them for inviting me as their guest! This is my first time blogging, so I'm a little nervous. What do I say? I asked Deanna Carlyle -- owner of the chicklit listserve on Yahoo that brought the literary chicks and so many others together -- for advice, and she suggested I talk about stuff like how I finally broke into print, the New York literary scene, my upcoming online class on Salon.com (How to write chicklit!), and my new novel THE ART OF UNDRESSING which is just out this week, but I'm finding all I want to talk about is THE BACHELORETTE. Are there any other junkies out there? Last night was the "finale" and Jen was going to decide whether to accept Jerry's proposal. I'd had an unpleasant day, spending three long hours at my daughter's doctor's office. She had fever, sore throat, swollen glands...
It took one hour to wait in a packed waiting room with about a dozen coughing, screaming, wretched runny-nosed little children to see the doctor. Actually, it's kind of cute because she's 16 and all the other kids were toddlers and babies, and it gets you all nostalgic... as you wonder how many diseases you're picking up...
Then we were there two more hours while she had a strep test, two urine tests (they dumped the first one out by mistake) a blood test, and the verbal section of her PSAT. We finally got home (after hailing a cab in the six trillionth snow storm this winter) and I tucked her into bed and ran out to the Duane Reade and got her antibiotics, Nyquil, apple juice, ginger ale, and Chlorospectic spray. I gave her the medicine while my husband fed my son, then I had to go back out into the snow to get groceries because we were out of everything. Then I gobbled down my own dinner (peanut butter and jelly -- my current addiction) and finally got to where I wanted to be: the TV. Even though Fashion Police and Joan and Melissa were on to skewer the Oscar gowns, I had to watch the Bachelorette finale. I know I could've gone back and forth, but I was so beat, I didn't even have it in me to flip channels. (Plus, they always replay those shows later...)
Now, I used to love Bachelorette, but now, even I have to admit, it's become repetitive -- which has to be the death knell for a Reality Show. Considering this, you would think that I wouldn't need to watch it, but there I was, glued to the set. We got through the awkward last dates, Jean Paul's ridiculous marriage proposal (did this 25-year-old bore REALLY think they made a connection and could live the rest of their lives together -- and did anyone catch that snide comment after she rejected him, when he said now she'll be 32 and STILL looking...)
So finally, we got to the last part of the show, and Jerry was brought out. I've had a small crush on Jerry from the start. Jen and Jerry always seemed awkward with each other, but I was hoping that was the editing, and there would be a surprise happy ending. Indeed, Jerry began to convince me that he really did love Jen and was going to abandon his Art Gallery job in LA to move to Chicago to be with her (could it be?) and then they broke for the commercials, and then they brought Jen out, and Jerry asked her (not very romantically) "So what am I supposed to do with this ring?" and RIGHT WHEN JEN WAS ABOUT TO ANSWER HIM I heard this faint, weak voice from the other room. "Mom..." What's a mother do? "Apple juice..." I'm paralyzed. "Mom...!"
I've just gone through ten minutes of ads plus how many weeks of not exactly riveting shows for this special moment. I ask my husband to get it for her. He makes some comment about how stupid the show is. I tell him it's the finale. He says, "you're watching a finale of some idiotic show every week!" Which does seem to be true. I loved Project Runway, by the way, did anyone see that? "Mooooom!" I made myself get up. The sacrifices we go through! I ran out quickly as I could, poured the juice, handed it to her, didn't even ask how she was feeling, and ran back to the television. Chris Harrison, the host, was looking shell shocked. (Doesn't he know what Jen is going to say beforehand?) I had missed the big moment! I realized she turned Jerry down. Jerry didn't even seem to care. Jen began to look relieved that this show was almost behind her. My big question is: if she actually got to participate in picking the men who were going to be vying for her affections, why was it such a lousy selection?
I caught a few more minutes of Jerry trying to explain why he was taking this so well, but then I had to call the ambulance because my daughter's temp was up to 105 and she was vomiting blood RIGHT WHEN JEN WAS TAKING QUESTIONS FROM THE AUDIENCE (not really) but my point is, or should I say my question is, how is one expected to both have a family life and be able to watch all the reality shows that one needs to watch even though they're idiotic? Tonight there's American Idol and Amazing Race and Top Model (they're going to let us know how the girls from season three are doing!)
At least I don't write in the evenings. I've never been able to write at night except under duress. (Was I supposed to be talking about writing on this blog? The New York literary scene? IS there a New York literary scene?) Which reminds me. My new novel THE ART OF UNDRESSING is out as of March 1. Which is today!!! I've been checking my Barnes and Noble all week (except yesterday) to see if it might appear early on the shelf, but no sighting yet. I know it's out some places though because I got a call from my second cousin in Georgia and she saw the bright pink cover on a shelf at a Borders, so that was exciting. Okay, I gotta go because my daughter is calling me. Her throat is still hurting. Does anyone know if you're supposed to gargle with cold salt water or warm salt water? Does it matter? Is it okay that I spent so much time talking about The Bachelorette?
Posted by at 10:54 AM | Comments (8)
