What A Writer Really Does

I came across this photo and had to share it. Sadly, there's no attribution, so I don't know who to give credit to. But enjoy! And just so we're clear. I don't play Solitaire. I much prefer Freecell.

You Had Me With Chapter One

Even though I have a stack of to-be read books, I decided to borrow a book for my Kindle from the library. (Mostly because I was sick and a lot of my to-be reads are books written by people I know and I don’t want to read their books with “sick brain.”)

I was looking for a thriller. I like the slow burn type, where the tension permeates and builds on every page even as the violence hangs on the periphery, waiting to pounce. (A five star example is Sister by Rosamund Lupton.) But being that I had sick brain that is not the type of book I borrowed. By mistake, I ended up borrowing a cozy, i.e. a mystery where the violence takes place off stage. I like mysteries, but aside from Agatha Christie, I don’t like cozies. Especially cozies that try to be funny. I’ve tried to read several of them, but they strike me as trying too hard, like a faux Noel Coward play that doesn’t quite hit the arch irony that undercuts the words. And so I never finish them.

Anyway, I downloaded the book and read the first two chapters. And I realized that it was a “funny” cozy, but I didn’t return it. I was hooked. And I read the entire book in less than 24 hours.

I’m a strong believer in reading outside your genres (those that you normally write or choose to read). I think they’re great opportunities, at least for me, to discover what it is that will pull me through a book in a genre that I don’t normally read. BTW, the book is Sick of Shadows by Sharyn McCrumb. What kept me in this book when I could’ve easily returned it and gotten another book from the comfort of my couch was that I fell in love with the main character. She had a witty, sardonic voice, which sometimes annoys me if the character uses everyone else as a butt of their own private jokes. But in this case, the author acknowledges that arrogance and undercuts it by showing the character’s own weaknesses and having her acknowledge her own failings. Clever. I really liked the MC’s relationship with her brother, who doesn’t even appear until the end of the book. The author establishes the relationship with letters that the MC writes, which the brother doesn’t answer—though the MC sometimes “answers” for him along the lines of “I know you’ll say...” and thus establishes the missing brother, his relationship with the MC, and his character—he loves his sister but hates weird family obligations. Also clever.

The bottomline: Will I read the next book in the Elizabeth MacPherson series? Probably. I really want to find out if Elizabeth falls for Milo, the hot archaeology grad student. And I need to know if Elizabeth will marry first and claim the inheritance of her crazed aunt, who promised her fortune to whomever of her nephews and nieces marries first. And you’ve got to love a series with a crazed aunt. As PG Wodehouse says, “It is no use telling me there are bad aunts and good aunts. At the core, they are all alike. Sooner or later, out pops the cloven hoof.”

Top Ten Reasons to be Sick

I’m now officially doing my part to support the firms of Kleenex and Halls. But I’m trying to put a positive spin on it.  So here are the top ten reasons to be sick.

1. I don’t have to go to the gym. No running when you’re sick. No sweating and no stinky clothes to wash. Of course, that means no caloric indulgences either. L

2. Lying on the couch by the fireplace. You can lay by the fireplace and watch the flames. It’s mesmerizing.

3. Cough drops. Okay, they’re not at all like candy, but I can pretend really well.

4. Vaporizer. This also falls into the pretending category. That steamy vapor is really tropical humidity. Can’t you just smell the ocean? (Actually, that’s the salt in the vaporizer, but don’t ruin my fantasy.)

5. Books. I can read books while I rest. Of course, I’ve finished all the library books I have. But I can borrow them online for my Kindle without leaving the couch. Yeah for Kindle.

6. Writing. I can edit. Of course, my brain is a little foggy, but carpe diem.

7. Movies. I could actually watch some French movie that the boys refuse to watch. Agatha Christie movies are perfect in French.

8. Jammies. I can wear my pajamas until 9am and not feel guilty. Yeah, I could technically wear them all day, but that would cause me too much angst.

9. Vaporub. I can’t think of a single reason that this is a top ten. It stinks and makes my skin sticky. But it allows me to breathe.

10. Tea. I’ll be making tea by the potful. (Why isn’t potful a word? It seems so useful.) Anyway, I’ll be starting with Earl Grey, then Ginger Peach, then Black Currant, ending the day with herbal mint tea. 

Quarantine Us, Please

Since the school year started at the end of August, we have had maybe three weeks of health. Three weeks where everyone has been healthy at the same time. Yep, three whole weeks of health. (There were some weeks at Christmas, but they don’t count because during those weeks Luke and Ariel were recouping from surgery.)

We’ve had weird viruses: multiple versions of the cold, gastrointestinal viruses, chicken pox, etc. We even had a really weird virus, which led to bizarre itchy rashes. I thought it was from something that Matt caught during the period of his zombie abduction, but it turned out to be a viral exanthum, i.e. a strange rash caused by a virus. (Aren’t you glad that you now know the medical term for “a strange rash caused by a virus”?)

It’s gotten so bad the Matt and Jake’s piano teacher now expects one or both of the boys to be sick on lessons day. Yesterday she told me that she’s beginning to think there’s something seriously wrong at our home. Maybe molds.

I think our immune systems are on strike because of overuse and abuse. I bet you didn’t know that immune systems are unionized. See, this blog is educational. Anyway, I suspect our immune system overuse is the university’s fault. People go to class sick. I know Luke will be going to class sick today. (He has an exam in P-Chem—the physics of chemistry.) And he’ll be exposing everyone there. It was even worse last semester when Jake and Ariel’s profs wanted them to come to class even though they had chicken pox. One pediatrician called it “Spreading immunity to the community.” Hmmm. I call it spreading sickness. But I’m just a mom, so why quibble over words?

Of course, Luke, Ariel I aren’t the only sick kids in class. So when they go to class, they pick up germs from other sick kids who are in class and then everyone brings them home to share with their family/roommates. And the cycle begins again.

A while back, I decided to take action. I’ve tried isolation—stay in that room with your germs. I’ve tried rest—do not move out of that bed, you don’t need to check your email or Facebook. I’ve tried Lysol spray, which is supposed to kill viruses, on every knob and flat surface. (Please no comments on the fact that viruses aren’t really alive.) I’ve tried vitamin C. If it weren’t too cold, I’d open all the doors and windows of the house and let the wind blow through—fumigation. I remember that in some old novels they’d talk about smoking the house after a lot of people had been sick in the home. Does anyone know what that was? Was it legit? Or was it then Shakespearian equivalent of room deodorizer to get rid of the sick smell? (Smoking a room is actually mentioned in Much Ado About Nothing.)

At any rate, since all my anti-sickness measures have failed, it’s time for draconian action. Does someone out there work for the public health department? You could quarantine us, and let us get to the point where we are all healthy at the same time. That would be cool. And maybe that would end this cycle.

If not, I’m going to seriously look into that smoking the house thing.

Zombie Kidnapping

When my alarm clock clicks on in the morning, I listen to the BBC news. That is, I listen to it when the guy at the radio station doesn’t forget to broadcast it. Do you know how disconcerting it is to expect/wait for the news and then it never comes? But that’s another story.

This morning I listened to the latest update on Syria, etc. And then, BBC discussed a South African singer who’d been missing/buried for more than a year. His family thought he was dead. Anyway, he reappeared, claiming that...wait for it...he’d been resurrected and held captive by zombies. Honestly. That’s what he claims. His family, according to the BBC, is divided about whether they believe him.

 I nudged Calvin after I heard that.

Me: Did I hear that right?

Cal: Yeah. Zombies.

Me: This is the BBC, right? It must be a really slow news day.

So I Googled the story. The police plan to do DNA tests on the man and the body when it’s exhumed.

But I can see where this is going and how this is going to affect my life.

Tomorrow:

Me: Dear child, why have you not loaded the dishwasher as I requested.

Child: I was kidnapped by zombies.

Me (eyebrow arched): Really?

Child: Yeah, they brought me back because when they tried to eat me, I tasted bad.

Me: That makes sense. Go do the dishes now. Oh, and just so you know, the roof is coated with alien repellant, so they won’t be kidnapping you.




N.B. I just discovered that one of the ways Amazon recommends books to readers is the number of tags clicks for that novel. So if anyone wants to click "my tags," that would be great. The tags are located just under the What Other Items Do Customers Buy section. 

Baseball: A Squirrel's Memoir

Although spring is one of my favorite seasons of the year, there is one aspect that I hate. Baseball. I can tolerate baseball on television. I can sit next to Cal and embroider, and we have painless husband-wife bonding time. But that’s not what I hate. What I hate is organized baseball teams. Okay, it’s not that exactly. I’m really glad that Jake is playing on a high school team—good exercise, male war bonding rituals, etc. What I hate is bleacher duty. Freezing my butt off in the stands during the early spring. (How can February be considered spring? It was two degrees above freezing this morning.) I hate marinating in my own sweat and serving as mosquito bait by early summer.

I’d hoped when little league was over that we were done with sports. Little league was its own exquisite torture. Besides three boys on three teams playing at three different locations at the same time, Luke also became an umpire at age 12 when he passed the umpiring exam. And because he was big for his age 6’1” and broad and, therefore, more physically intimidating, he was the behind-the-plate umpire, who got screamed at by parents and coaches alike. (This was New England and they scream at umpires. Yeah, that was fun for me, sitting in the stands and having to keep my mouth shut.) Oops, sorry for that digression.

Now before you think that I was one of those women who was never exposed to sports, who never played, I wasn’t. I played women’s softball. I was the catcher. (I think I was assigned the position because it was the spot where I could do the least damage.) And everything was fine, until there was a play at home base. I got on the bag, crouched, and readied my glove. As the ball came towards me, I caught a glimpse of the runner. She was a freight train. I was a skinny, stupid squirrel standing on the tracks, keeping her from softball glory. But I steeled my muscles and my resolve. I would catch that ball, and she would be out. My teammates were counting on me...Freight-train girl plowed right threw me. I ate dirt. And the idea of balls, gloves, and bats as a fun pastime was forever lost.

Yeah, so baseball has started. Jacob is excited. Let the games begin. I’ll be that mom in the stands cheering the team and yelling, “Go, Jacob. Run over the catcher! You can do it.”

Jezebel

I am an animal person. Not the sort who kisses their dog or shares a bed with them. (Cal and I have had too many babies/sick toddlers share our bed over the years, so there’s no way we’re sharing the bed with an animal.) And I’m allergic to most animals. But I am an animal person.

I’ve never owned a cat, but from what I’ve observed they do their thing and let you think you own them. They deign to grace you with their presence, and you’re supposed to be grateful. And that obviously works for cats and their owners.

Dogs are different. They’re pack animals and they want to be part of the family. They have emotional needs. Sometimes it’s getting their ears scratched. Sometimes it’s attention, which may be by demanding water for their water bowl. And if that means tipping over their full bowl of water, so they can “make” it empty and demand water, so be it. Sometimes they just want to be near “The Master.” Calvin is the master. And our dog Jezebel will do anything/everything necessary to be with The Master. Even if it means being naughty.

Normally, Jezebel sleeps on a big blanket in the boys’ room. But she’d rather sleep in the master’s room. So she made plans.

I woke up during the middle of the night to strange noises. I had the inevitable thought: Burglars. But then, it didn’t sound like people. And no hooded figure walked in our dark room. So I thought I was dreaming and went back to sleep. And I woke up later. Noises again.  From underneath the bed. And I knew. Jez’d surreptitiously snuck out of the boys’ room. Crossed the house. Crept through Ariel’s room. Slunk across our bedroom and buried herself under our bed—that way no one would see her and banish her to the boys’ room.

In the morning we couldn’t quite figure out how she did it. There were three closed doors between where Jez was sleeping and where we sleep. But Labs are quite handy with their noses and very persevering. (Our previous Lab Jill could open the backdoor, which, like the rest of our doors, has a knob and not a handle. Though she did it through brute force. If you apply enough pressure at just the right spot, a door knob will “pop” open.)

In the morning, Jez was rebuked and made appropriate gestures of shame, i.e. sad eyes. Though secretly she was giddy.  And now, she’s carrying her tail a bit more arrogantly, and I know she’s thinking, “I’ve done it once, you silly humans. I’ll do it again.”


Yesterday I posted "Ten Things You'd Probably Rather Not Know About Me" on my book blog.


I also did a guess post on the challenges and rewards of writing historical fiction on Word for Words blog. 


Here are some photos of Jezebel.