You might have to search for them, mind. Sometimes quite hard, and using a bag of dried mouse droppings as bait, but they will be out there. It’s an extension of the old writing maxim “write what you love”. Write what gives you a giggle. There will be drawbacks, of course. My children often hammer on my door and want to know why I’m laughing, locked in alone as I am. And then there’s the tendency to have little private jokes with yourself. I can’t hear the words “plastic paws” without having to change my underwear and, no, I’m not going to explain why; you probably wouldn’t find it funny. But don’t labour it. If you have an idea you think is funny, but it has to be explained before any one else gets it, then it’s probably not right for your novel. Keep it, distil it, and one day an image or a word or even just an expression will fall from it and make you snigger. That’s what you use in your writing. With humour, less definitely is more. Of course, if you find people falling in cow pats amusing—well, you’re not alone. But if you find yourself, even tentatively, inserting a pencil in a nostril, I’m afraid there’s no hope.
Jane finds most things funny, to the extent that she has to wear a special jacket and is only allowed out on Wednesdays. She is the author of Reversing over Liberace (print, Samhain) and, in August 2008, Slightly Foxed (e-book, Samhain). Visit her website at www.janelovering.co.uk . Promo and Parenting, continued
Am going to have to tackle the majority of preparations while accompanied by child #1 and child #2, ages six and two respectively. #2 is not a fan of errands, strollers, grocery carts, straps, blowing her nose, independent playtime, Mommy-working time, Mommy-bath time, Mommy-alone time or healthy foods. #1 is not a fan of Mean Mommy, which is a shame because that pretty much means she’s not a fan of Mommy, period.
Partial list of tasks for upcoming week: finding clothes that fit (recently lost twenty-five lbs); printing promo materials; choosing books from hot, scary attic for book trade; assembling one hundred terribly clever first chapter booklets; shopping for and personalizing items to contribute to raffle baskets; sewing reusable gift bags as a giveaway; assembling enough meals so hubby won’t take the girls to McD’s three times a day; updating the checkbook so I know how much I can spend on books and raffles; maintaining general career stuff like revisions and cover art requests; avoiding the mirror since my new haircut has gone completely mad; and getting a mani/pedi (yeah, right).
1:34: During entire conversation with sister, toddler (#2) chants, “Mama! Hold me! Mama! Hold me! Mama! Hold me!” Am holding her at the time of the chanting. 1:45: Begin the intricate process of convincing #2 to take a nap. #1 “helps” by laughing like a hyena, dragging out her noisemaking toys and begging for a snack. A second snack. 2:01: Fail to induce toddler to nap. Give girls a snack of pretzels and hummus, hoping they find it gross and lose interest in snacking so I can get back to the nap routine. While they eat, I clean kitchen and consider how to most efficiently use toddler naptime. 2:30: Girls are still devouring pretzels and hummus. Enthusiastically. Most of the hummus appears to be gone. Who knew kids would eat something like that? Esp. #2. 2:35: Realize hummus has actually been deposited in the seat of the toddler’s chair and smeared all over the kitchen table like finger-paint. 2:50: Finish cleaning up toddler and hummus. Notice eye-rubbing, a sure sign of nap-readiness. Reinitiate nap ignition. Send #1 to her room on a trumped-up charge (according to her) of running and leaping indoors, which enables the nap to commence around 3:10. 3:11-3:19: Dance my “The Baby Is Napping, Huzzah!” jig, which consists of picking up about twenty-five projects I’d like to complete and putting them back down at a rapid, jitterbug-like pace. 3:20: Settle on assembling the one hundred adorable 4x5.5 booklets to promote my Samhain fantasy romance, A Spell for Susannah. Since I already had the fourteen double-sided pages cut at Kinko’s, all that is left is putting the pages in numerical order and stapling on the cardstock covers and backs. I already purchased a new stapler after #1 broke my other one stapling raisins. 3:22: Table is sticky with hummus residue. I’m not the greatest housekeeper, all right?? I suppose the booklets shouldn’t smell like garlic so I clean the table again and start collating. 4:00: Things are going great! I am organized! My stacks are ready and my stapler is fierce! The cats are asleep upstairs, #1 is playing “cave explorer” in my bedroom and I’ve had the table to myself for thirty whole minutes! 4:02: #1 is drawn to the sound of the stapler (perhaps she’s ready for snack #3). Begins to “help” by counting stacks while talking nonstop about the video for A Spell for Susannah she illustrated (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lep4oP5w6CQ), and why the picture on the booklet isn’t the one she drew, and if she can draw inside these booklets to make them prettier, and if I am going to get a lot of money for them, and how she’s old enough to help but #2 isn’t. 4:27: Realize #1 has reversed the order of last 3 pages. Reassemble 7 booklets, pulling out staples with fingernails because the staple remover is upstairs and hunting for it would take too much time. I’m on a nap-delineated deadline here. 4:28: Am now bleeding. Drag my sorry self upstairs and rummage through the office in search of staple remover. This wakes the cats. Am just thankful it doesn’t wake #2, who has been known to wake when I think too hard. 4:36: Return to kitchen. Retrieve stapler from #1. Retrieve badly assembled booklets from #1. Wow, that’s a lot of staples. We’re down to ninety-seven booklets from one hundred. Threaten #1 with no story tonight if she staples any more booklets. 4:37: Comfort (read: shush) my sobbing daughter who is bereft at the very thought of no story tonight before she wakes #2, who will hopefully sleep another forty-five minutes. 4:38: Shoo cats off table. Fix stacks. 4:40: Shoo cats off table. Fix stacks. 4:42: Give #1 the official job of shooing cats off table. For good measure, fill cats’ food bowl in the other room. 5:00: This is working! These booklets are awesome! I can finish one in fifty seconds! My stapling hand really hurts! 5:01: #1 shows me how much she’s willing to throw herself into shooing the cats off the table. My ears are now ringing and the cats have dashed upstairs. 5:02: Hear ominous noises from couch. 5:03: #2 is awake and not happy about it. “Mama! Hold me! Mama! Hold me!” 5:06: While holding #2, contemplate stacks on table, days left before Get Together, value of completed task versus stress of completing it with such great “help”. 5:08: “Mama! Poopy! Mama! Poopy! Mama! Poopy!” 5:17: Did I mention #2 also is no fan of Mickey Mouse diapers and vastly prefers Dora Pull-Ups, to the point of convulsing with rage when said diaper is presented and escaping from my grasp, naked and uncleansed, to writhe and scream upon my bed, which is unmade due to (my poor housekeeping) #1’s game of “cave” earlier this afternoon? 5:19: After cleansing child and locating Pull-Up, realize if I pull the blankets over the sheets, I won’t see the evidence of my poor child-wrangling skills until I have time to deal with it. 5:20: Turn Dora on the TV for #2. Call hubby and let him know I won’t be cooking dinner because I have “stuff to do”. Get back to stapling. 5:28: The downside to Pull-Ups is #2 can take them off herself. The downside to naked toddlers is obvious. I mean, didn’t she just do that? 5:32: While my back was turned, the cats decided my fourteen stacks of 4x5.5 pages would be a great place to lounge. 5:33: When I speak harshly to the cats, #1 returns to her cat-shooing job with a vengeance and startles the cats into kicking my stacks into a flurry of 4x5.5 pages. 5:34: Re-collating. 5:38: Re-collating. 5:40: Finish booklet and realize the completed booklets are missing. So are the kids. Find them in #2’s room, playing “assemble the booklets” on the tea table. A few have been ripped beyond repair. #1 protests the repercussions because it was the stapler I said she couldn’t touch and she was counting so we’d know how much money I was going to make for her college fund. Decide not to correct her for the ninth time that I am giving booklets away for free. 5:48: Return booklets to correct location. #1 returns as well and begins counting the booklets out loud, which disrupts my internal counting. 5:50: “Mama! Hold me! Mama! Hold me!” 5:58: While holding #2, manage to assemble a booklet. She’s teething—wow, this one’s gonna be damp. 6:02: Run out of staples. 6:03: Carrying #2, climb stairs to find staples in office. Have to put #2 down, and she makes a bee-line for the sleeping cats. 6:08: Can’t figure out why standard staples won’t fit in new stapler. Try to force them into the slot for a good five minutes before I realize I’m holding the stapler upside down. 6:14: While #2 is clinging to my leg, resume booklet assemblage. 6:27: “Mama! I hungry! Mama! I hungry! Mama! I hungry!” #1 agrees she could eat a bite or two. God, I’m a bad parent. We usually eat at six. 6:28: Stare into fridge to see what leftovers we have. #2 tries to grab everything her little hands will reach. Return mustard, yogurt, lime juice, hummus, cat toy and jelly to shelves. Remove cat toy and throw it across the floor. Cats chase. 6:29: Wonder why hubby isn’t home yet. Call his cell. Talk several minutes about leftovers versus going out while #1 and #2 clamor. He comments, finally, he might as well come inside since he’s in the driveway. 6:34: Back was turned. #2 has climbed into my chair and is trying to assemble booklets. Cats are helping. 6:35: When hubby comes through the door, #2 is screeching, cats are fighting over the cat toy on the table, my (increasingly mad) hair is standing on end and #1 announces I have fifty-seven booklets so we can get fifty-seven hundred dollars. 6:36: Fifty-seven? That’s all? There are supposed to be one hundred! Ok, ninety-seven. Ok, ninety-six. Ok, ninety-three. Recount. 6:39: There are fifty-seven booklets. Twenty haven’t been completed, which leaves sixteen at large. I don’t even want to know. 6:40: Give up. Go out to eat and shop for new underpants. In a smaller size! Which makes my day! Finish remaining booklets after girls are in bed and after re-collating the pages the cats fought amongst, because there’s nothing like a rousing tussle amidst small sheets of carefully stacked paper. 11:17: Bedtime. Hubby wants to know why there are stains on the clean sheets. Feign shock and ignorance. This comes naturally.
If you’re going to be at the Lori Foster Readers and Writers Get Together (or if you were there and the newsletter releases after the event), I hope you availed yourself of one of my booklets for A Spell for Susannah! A few might boast dried toddler drool, cat tooth holes, traces of hummus and a few salty tears, but all were the product of much effort and at least one lesson learned: when you “misplace” sixteen adorable 4x5.5 first chapter booklets, check the kid’s laundry hamper first, and definitely before you toss in a bundle of wet, sticky clothes.
Jody Wallace grew up in the South in a very rural area. She went to school a long time because she couldn’t find a decent job and ended up with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. In addition to author, her resume includes English teacher, technical documents editor, market analyst, wife & mother, web designer, and general all-around pain in the butt. She is published in romance fiction under the names Jody Wallace and Ellie Marvel. She has always lived with cats, and they have always been mean. To learn more about Ms. Wallace, please visit www.jodywallace.com or her blog, http://meankittybox.blogspot.com. Cellulite, Continued
With a direct flight from Cincinnati to San Diego, I decided to check my bag in and conserve my energy instead of pulling my bag along and then hoisting it up to the compartment above the seats. No way could my bag get lost with no connecting flights. Wrong. When my bag never came around on the conveyor belt at the San Diego airport on Thursday evening, I went to baggage claim to learn it had been put on the wrong plane. How in the world could that happen when I had confirmed to the airlines’ employee my destination and it was correct on my ticket? While Christina went to her last session on Friday morning, I made coffee in the small pot in our room. I got a little too comfy while taking a sip and spilled coffee on my white top. I immediately rubbed a little water on it, but the dark stain remained. I got rid of the spot with additional water but now the shirt was soaking wet. I tried drying it with a hair blower. I got tired of messing with that chore so I looked for something of Christina’s to wear since I didn’t have my other clothes yet. I grabbed her green jacket and zipped it up. It looked okay but was snug on my middle-aged body. I walked quickly out of the Marriott Inn to a store and bought a discounted shirt with San Diego embroidered on it. Before we left to do some sightseeing, we called the airport about my baggage. It was located and would be delivered to our hotel. After Christina parked our rental car in a lot, we went to Coronado Beach. I didn’t like the ugly seaweed on the beach in places and noticed some bugs. While Christina removed her shoes to feel the water on her feet, I kept my shoes and socks on. Later, I realized that might have been my mistake. My feet sank deep into the sand dunes. Unfortunately, my right shoe filled with sand and a trapped bug bit my toe and foot. We left the beach to walk the streets of Coronado, looking for a restaurant. We ate lasagna at an outside table, and were in a festive mood so each had a glass of wine. My foot and toe kept itching so I scratched the insect bites a little before going to sleep. In the morning, I became ill with a fever and kept gagging. I stayed in bed the whole day and night. Christina became alarmed that I was so ill and couldn’t eat. She thought maybe I was sick from the sausage in my lasagna (she had the vegetable lasagna) or maybe I had the flu. When I got out of bed on Sunday morning, I felt better but noticed swelling in my right foot and toes. Apparently, I’d been ill from insect bites. I stuffed my big foot into a white sandal, and we went to church. As the day went on, we realized something needed to be done for the continued swelling. I called my son Bart since he was a pharmacy tech. He told me to get some Benadryl. We went to Target but no purchase was made. The pharmacist took one look at my purple swollen foot and said to go to Urgent Care. I hobbled into Urgent Care, only to be told by a nurse to go the hospital. I knew this couldn’t be good. I decided to be optimistic and hoped antibiotics would be prescribed. Then we could go on our way and possibly enjoy our last night in San Diego. At Sharp Coronado Hospital, I was jabbed for countless procedures with blood drawn for many test tubes, was given a tetanus shot, and finally an IV was inserted for my antibiotics. I was admitted for cellulitis. The doctor told Christina to cancel our Monday flights. We both cried at this turn of events. When Christina called home to tell everyone what happened, our seventeen-year-old daughter Emily couldn’t figure out why I went to a hospital in California. Why would Mom fly to California and check into the hospital to get rid of cellulite? Emily wondered. Actually, people do confuse the two. Cellulitis is an infection of the skin and underlying tissues that can affect any area of the body. It begins in an area of broken skin, allowing bacteria to invade and spread, causing inflammation, which includes pain, swelling, warmth and redness. Cellulite is the lumpy fat often found on the hips, thighs and other places. On Monday morning, the doctor decided to discharge me so I could return to Ohio. I didn’t have a fever and had a normal white blood count so she gave me a prescription for a strong dosage of amoxicillin to take for ten days. Christina had to fly back to Arizona for her job, but she arranged for me to have a wheelchair at both airports. By now, I could only get a hospital slipper sock on my foot. Tuesday morning, I screamed in pain when I attempted to get out of bed. My husband Tom rushed to help me. The infection had gone all the way up to my knee, causing my leg to be red and swollen. My foot was now three times the size it should be. I went to my doctor’s office and she said I needed to be admitted again. I cringed remembering how many times I was stuck trying to find a vein for the IV. I have small veins. She said if I didn’t go, I’d lose my leg. I decided to go. For three days, my discolored and swollen foot and leg were a main attraction at Anderson Mercy Hospital in Cincinnati. With my leg propped up on several pillows, nurses felt my foot constantly for a pulse. I never had any other part of my body touched so much. Each person entering my room asked me what happened. The hospital doctor was funny. He said if I was hung upside down, my swelling would leave quickly because of gravity. He asked me if I went to the San Diego Zoo and mentioned how it was the best zoo in the U.S. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at him. At my expression, he said, “Oh, that’s right you decided to walk on the beach instead.” I read in a July issue of Woman’s World magazine that sixty-three percent of Americans fall ill on vacation. I know the next time I go on the beach, I will take bug spray and if I still get bit, I’ll wash the area. If the skin is broken, I’ll apply antibiotic cream and cover with a huge bandage so no bacteria enters. Or if something weird happens again and I actually get cellulitis for the second time, I’ll just tell the doctor to take care of my cellulite too.
Mad, Continued
As a challenge, I loved it. As a scene builder, it helped me past a block I had presented myself. As a procrastination tool, it worked and at the same time kept me writing, though not thinking of it as working on the WIP. I plan on keeping the scene in the book, after I tweak it to make it fit better. Here’s what I came up with:
Mad Libs™ words:
Adverb Verb feverishly threaten bitterly record horribly burn
Adjective Noun sticky hot dogs heartsick hard drives enormous dummies
A scene from my current WIP (Note: Alex is the heroine—she thinks she just blew her boyfriend’s music career out of the water)
Heartsick and lonely, Alex trekked down the block to the convenience store on the corner to buy enormous amounts of ice cream. Her room didn’t have a refrigerator, the rooms less than $30 a night rarely did, but she didn’t think it would have time to melt. After several pints, she chased the cold treat down with a couple of lukewarm hot dogs. An hour later, hands and face sticky with Chunky Monkey and Cherry Garcia, Alex lay staring at the ceiling. Her stomach rumbled horribly as the feast any teen would envy threatened to come back up. Tears burned her eyes. She loved Drew and wished she could tell him again, but those dummies with Cowboy Weekly magazine had wasted no time printing her outburst. Every person with a camera, shoot even cell phones, set to record one moment she wished she could take back. Hell, she’d bet their online magazine was burning up folks’ hard drives with country music gossip. She tried not to think back over the day bitterly, but it was all she did 24/7, since her misspeak. She feverishly wished she could forget it, but even in her sleep Drew haunted her.
It was a challenge to myself and it actually didn’t take that long to weave the words together. And when I finished, I kept on writing and I came away with at least ten more pages that would have otherwise taken me a week or two of staring blankly at the computer (and playing loads of solitaire). It worked for me. It may work for you. My challenge to you—try my idea. If it works, you’ll have some writing done and maybe then some. If it doesn’t work, well… it gave you some time-killing, right? Also, think of a way to do the same—come up with an inventive way to work on a WIP and let me know what you come up with and how it works out! I always welcome a new way to procrastinate, er ah, get the muse motivated.
Denise McDonald is the author of four books with Samhain Publishing, Trading Faces, coming August 5, 2008 and Her Passion, Deadly Mistakes and The Inn Crowd—all available now. She started her writing career at the tender age of eight. Her stories have changed over the years, but not her love for telling tales. She lives in Texas with her husband, four young boys and two dogs where she juggles her time between writing, carpool, Cub Scouts, sports galore and a multitude of crafts. To learn more please visit her website at: www.denisebelindamcdonald.com or send an email to her at: denise@denisebelindamcdonald.com
The tribute usually ends with our grand finale piece, “Do, Re, Mi.” There was some contention one year, however, over who got the “Do” part. Typically, it fell to Katie, but that year, Susan had made the long drive from North Carolina to attend our special weekend. There was some confusion in the initial line-up and Susan got the cherished role instead. “What the hell was that about?” Katie complained the next morning. “What?” I asked. “Do, Re, Mi,” she answered shortly, clearly thinking that explained it all. “Yeah?” I prodded. “I’m always Do,” she added. “But you weren’t Do last night,” I replied, still not cottoning on. “That’s right,” she said, “Susan comes up here one time and takes Do. What the hell is that about? I’m always Do, alll-waaaaays,” she added, dragging out the last word. “Well,” I replied, trying to be the peacemaker, “she did drive a long way.” “Screw that,” my cousin Beth interjected, clearly hung over. “And you know what I got,” Katie continued, gaining momentum at this sudden show of support, “La. What the hell is La? Nothing, nothing but a note to follow So. What can you do with that?” “That is a rough one,” Gina conceded. “Oh, yeah, Gina, like you gotta worry about that,” Beth said. “You’re always effing Maria.” “I’ve been to Vermont,” Gina replied, “I’ve run down the hill, for God’s sake.” “The hill is in Austria, Gina,” I said. “If I’m not Do next time, I’m not coming back,” Katie added, clearly not finished making her case. “New rule, nobody gets stuck with La more than once. La sucks.” Good rule. We all agree.
Mari Carr is still a relative newbie to the publishing world. Her first romance, Erotic Research, came out on March 18. In addition to her writing, she is a high school librarian, ninth-grade English teacher, a wife, and mother of two middle schoolers. Needless to say, if she didn't spend her days laughing, she'd fall apart!
Her next novel, Tequila Truth, will be released in October. To learn more about Mari, you can visit her website www.maricarr.com, join her Yahoo! group http://groups.yahoo.com/group/maricarr/, or e-mail her at carmichm1@yahoo.com.
Copyright 2008, thesamhellion.com
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