Liebster Blog

First off, I want to thank Krispy again for the award. And I'll have you know that I posted it all by myself without help from my techie children. (Which means that my coolness points just went up. Smile.)

I have to pass on the award to since it's intended to connect bloggers, specifically those with less than 200 followers. Here are the rules.

• Show my thanks to the blogger who gave me the award by linking back to them.
• Reveal my top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
• Post the award on my blog.
• Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the internet—other writers.
• And best of all – have fun and spread the love.

Without further ado, I'd like to spread the Liebster Blog Award to:

1. Rowenna at Hyaline Prosaic who always wows me with her sewing and history knowledge. 

2. E Louise Bates who always has a kind and encouraging word to say, a true Barnabas.

3. Kirsten Walker at Tanta's Kitchen who shares her wonderful recipes. 

4. Katie Klein at Katie Klein Writes, who's indie writing success inspires me and helps me figure out the hows/whys of indie publishing.

5. Ellen at Hurrayic. Her creative endeavors never fail to amaze me.

One more bit of excitement. I guest blogged "Removing the Scaffolding: Finish Editing" at My First Book. (Thanks, Misha, for the opportunity.)

Coolness

The other day I was given a blog award. (Thanks, Krispy!! You should visit her blog. She and her blog buddy do great book reviews, talk about writing, and they're in the midst of NaNoWriMo* in August.) And when Krispy mentioned me on her blog she called me “cool.” I told my kids about it at dinner. “I was called ‘cool’ today by someone who actually is.”

Sighs were heard from around the table. Then, came the commentary. “Yeah, my friend (name redacted to protect the innocent) told me that he thinks you’re cool.” And “my friend X said, ‘Wow, your Mom is so cool.’” Several similar statements were made. My kids were not happy. Apparently, moms aren’t supposed to be cool.

I explained that everyone has an opportunity to be cool. My husband Cal was cool when he was young. Even when we were married, everyone thought he was “a surfer dude” back in the day when that was a compliment. (He did have beautiful, streaked blond hair and a dark tan.) But Cal used up his coolness when he was young. Though he's still very handsome.

I, on the other hand, had a full contingent of the possibility-for-coolness left over from adolescence because I have never been cool. In the ’80s, when everyone was listening to Pearl Jam, Blue Oyster Cult, and, even, Debbie Gibson, I was listening to Gene Krupa, Benny Goodman, and Judy Garland. This, of course, made me extremely cool in the late ’90s and early ’00s when big band music was the latest rage. And when most people were watching Freddie Kruger, my friends (Hi, Kristin) and I watched Hitchcock revivals and Cary Grant movies. We dressed up and went to an old theater and sat with really old people who were also dressed to the nines. I wore a white dress and hat. And I even had white gloves.

Of course, now that Cary Grant is cool, all my kids’ friends know that I have near-complete knowledge of the Cary Grant oeuvre, including movies like Penny Serenade and I Was A Male War Bride.

I remembered when my daughter was in elementary school and had friends to the house for a birthday sleepover. I put in Roman Holiday. Some girls said, “Euw, black and white.” Two hours later, those same girls were in tears and said, “Oh, Mrs. Keller, I have to go home and watch that with my mom.”

Then there was the time that Jake and his friends were bored out of their minds. So I sat in the midst of them and said, “Old Captain Kirk versus New Captain Kirk.” Much discussion later, the new Capt. Kirk had won, and we were discussing the merits of Voldemort versus Darth Vader.

As I thought about these things, my head began to swell. My kids’ friends thought I was cool. But then, I realized that I was going to have to ask one of my kids how to post the award on my blog because I had no idea how to do it. I was like a pin prick in my swelled head. Because everyone knows that the new cool is nerdy, and I’m tech-challenged.

At least, my kids are cool.


* For those of you who don't know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. It's in November and the participants try to write 50,000 words in one month, which I can't imagine. I'd be drooling on myself by the end of the month. No, not really, it would be by the end of the first week.


PS I'm pass the award along and fulfill all the obligations on Wednesday, when I get help putting up the award.


PPS Thanks to to Susan who also said she was giving me the award. You should visit her blog too. She's always got some random, funny facts to share. And who doesn't need a smile?

Not A Level Playing Field

Yesterday, the boys and I watched the Yankees hit three grand slams in one baseball game. It was really cool to see history being made. I Facebooked about it and got some comments about the Yankees’ payroll. It’s true that they have a ton of money, and it allows them to acquire great players. And I understand why fans of teams with less financial ability get frustrated. My parents, who are Mariners fans, often call Seattle the AAA farm team for the Yankees because their best players often get taken by the Yankees. Interestingly, many other franchises have the ability to make the same kind of money, according to my daughter’s sports economics class at the university. But they don’t. Why? Because they aren’t as successful. It’s hard to get fans to come when you lose. And it’s hard to get the money to get better players if you don’t have tremendous fan support.

So why am I doing this whole baseball post when I’m not really that much of a baseball fan? I think a lot of this applies to writing and writers. It’s easy for writers to grouse when they see books that make the bestsellers’ list that they deem not well-written. But the truth is that while the playing field is level, i.e., any book can make the NYT best sellers’ list (excepting indie e-books), in another way the field is not level.

Publishing is a business. And individual books sales are greatly influenced by your publishing house. Whether they give your book the editing it needs, the book cover they select (authors get some input, but not final say so), whether they pay for good book placement in bookstores, etc. But those things are out of writers’ control. Yes, you can do marketing, and every writer does, but there are no guarantees.

And like baseball fans and players, writers have to do it for the love it. That’s where the satisfaction and the joy come from. And who knows, maybe you’ll do well—word of mouth is the greatest sales tool. Don’t forget, the Athletics took two out of the three games. 

Is It Only Wednesday?

Okay, this week has been twice the length of a normal one. And it’s only Wednesday. I think it’s the whole back to school/college thing. We don’t have an established schedule yet. Plus, I’m trying to figure out who needs which car when (five drivers and three vehicles). Throw in multiple jobs (Luke has two and Ariel has one), and things get hairy.  

And, of course, I need to start teaching Shakespeare and I can’t find my notes. ACK. How can this be? I know I put my Shakespeare lit crit book on the shelf, but it’s not there. GRR. I’ve scoured every bookcase, and it’s still missing. Did I let someone borrow it? I did find my MacBeth notes, which were in a different place. So guess which play we’re starting with?

Oh, we also have a GI bug in the house, which means I was up past midnight with a sick person. The week is becoming longer by the moment. But, hey, no appliances have died in the last month. My black flies bites have stopped itching. And autumn is right around the corner. Things are looking good.

Thrifting

While we were on vacation, Ariel and I, along with the friends we were visiting went shopping. In case I haven’t said it 100 times already, I hate shopping. However, I’ve been known to shop if it’s a good thrift store and If Ariel comes with me.

You see, thrifting isn’t really shopping. Thifting is more like treasure hunting. You drive to a part of town where the rents are cheap. You enter store that looks like it hasn’t been painted it the last decade, or two. First, the smell hits you. If it’s nauseating, you turn and leave. If it smells like Great Aunt Millie’s house, you’ve hit the jackpot. An important fact to remember is that 99% of the stuff in the store is dreck. This is where the treasure hunting comes in. You have to find the one percent. I’m not skilled at this. You’d think that with Dutch blood and a tight pocketbook, I’d have the necessary skill set. I don’t. But Ariel does.

For example, I grab a couple of pairs of jeans. They fit. I look at Ariel. She says, “No. Those are Mom jeans.” I say, “But I’m a Mom.” Ariel says, “Not that kind of Mom.” I say, “Yeah, but—” Then, Ariel plays her trump card, “Dad will not like those jeans.” And she’s right. My friend hands me a pair of pants—they’re my size, they’re hip, a very good name, and cheap--$3. The pants were keepers.

My thrifting forte is shoes and purses. I found a cute pair of backless red heeled sandals for $3. And I found the mother lode in purses. First, you have to ignore the purses that should have been put in the garbage. Then you have to pass by the ones that are so big that they ought to have been labeled “luggage.” Finally, you have to steel yourself against the styles that were popular in the 80s and 90s. Then, you can find a brown, leather Tommy Hilfiger purse that’s never been used for $3.50. You can also find a deep red leather, snakeskin patterned purse that matches the cute red heels for $3.50. And then, when you hem and haw over whether you really need it, your precious daughter says, “Let me buy that for you.”

See, this is why I take her thrifting.




Here are the red heels. 

One more bit of news, my YA novel, Screwing Up Time, got another five star review on Amazon. Yay!

Friday Five

Today is the last day of summer vacation for me. School starts up on Monday. I couldn’t decide whether this Friday Five should be nostalgic for the summer or looking forward to the fall and winter. So it’s both. List what you’ll miss about summer and what you are anticipating in the next few months.

1. I miss the days when I can stand outside and let the heat penetrate my skin. I always imagine that the sun’s rays are sharing their power with me. (I know that’s hokey, but it makes it easier for me to embrace the heat.) I’m looking forward to cold breezes that bite the skin and give me a zest for life.

2. I’ll miss the butterflies, snowy egrets and the hummingbirds. But bring on the freezing death of cockroaches, mosquitoes, and biting black flies.

3. I’ll miss swimming pools and the ocean. On the other hand, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

4. I’ll miss homemade ice cream, cranberry juice popsicles, and watermelon. But it’s time for steaming hot chocolate made from dark chocolate cocoa.

5. I’ll miss getting up whenever I want (I hate alarm clocks). But there’s nothing like watching the pink of sunrise streak the sky.

What are your Friday Five?

Attack of the Mutant Blood Sucking Creatures

I have blogged numerous times about my extreme hatred of mosquitoes. How mosquitoes are a scourge to me. How even Deep Woods Off is merely an aperitif to the mosquitoes who feast upon me. And you know how I have tried almost every remedy known to humankind, including fans, vitamins, vodka (wiped on the skin, which may have been my big mistake because if I’d have drunk the vodka at least I wouldn’t have cared.) The newest mosquito remedies I’ve heard of are Listerine and fabric softener sheets.

I haven’t tried either new remedy. In fact, I’ve “come to terms” with the fact that I am a mosquito feeding ground. And I can live with that. Assuming that I buy cases of topical Benadryl gel.

Then I discovered that there are worse things than mosquitoes. I suppose I should have known something like this might happen. I have always attracted blood thirsty feasters. When Cal and I were first married, we went sailing in San Diego bay. Afterwards, we were pulling the catamaran, and my legs were stinging. I assumed it was salt water on freshly shaven legs. It wasn’t. I stepped out of the water and discovered clear jelly-fish like creatures turning pink with my blood. Cal and I ripped them off. Over the next couple of weeks my legs got severely infected. It was an omen.

A couple of months ago, I woke up in bed yelling. Some creature the likes of which I have never seen was biting me. I ripped it off my arm and flung across the room. Cal thought I’d had a nightmare because the “alien bug thingy” I described couldn’t possibly be real. Even when I pointed out the fangs marks on my arm, he was doubtful. But he agreed to look for it since I said I couldn’t go back to sleep until it was dead. When he found it, he said, “Oh, wow! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.” This was also an omen.

The final omen occurred on vacation. One evening we were swimming at the beach. I finished my saltwater frolic and sat on my beach towel to let the salty water dry on my skin. (There’s nothing like the taste of salt water on your lips. Bliss. I really am a selkie.) Anyway, after a few seconds of bliss, I felt stings. I opened my eyes. Big black flies were clustered on bare skin, sucking my blood. I swatted. They circled and came back. I covered myself in beach towels; they found the edges and flew underneath. Needless to say, the beach outing came to a quick end.

And these bites did not respond to Benadryl gel—I wanted to scratch my skin off. Thankfully, the bites have faded. Especially since my kids told me I looked creepy with bites all over my neck. The bites were everywhere, but the neck ones were particularly nasty. But here’s the thing. This time I recognize the final omen. The Apocalypse of Mutant Blood Sucking Vermin is coming. Prepare yourself. And remember, Benadryl probably won’t work.




P.S. Yesterday I posted a short excerpt from the sequel to Screwing Up Time. Click here to read it.