Promises, promises.

Yes, I am behind on the blogging.

Tonight, as I take a break from typing for Siteman Cancer Center (yes, shameless pride, here), I shall endeavor to bring all my faithful readers (Hi, Aunt Alice!) up to speed.

Promise #1 - I promised a link to KitKat's awesome project that her teacher kept for posterity. You will see why. Note the detail on the hieroglyphics. I need to make a site just for all her artistic endeavors.

Promise #2 - I decided that Tiger's Eye will stay Adonis. This name is hereby confirmed by all the notes I pull out of his pockets before I put them in the washing machine. Every day, he has a new phone number or e-mail address or a new buddy on MSN. He told me a great joke tonight:

Q: How many ADDers does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Do you want to go ride a bike?

**NOTE: This is not a slam on those afflicted with ADD. Our family has a good portion of ADD tendencies, knows Ritalin, and this is totally, completely funny to us because it's the truth! Flight of ideas? Speaking of flight, I love airplanes. In the air, I love the bird's eye view. Did you see the view? I have pictures of Turkey to post, now that I think about views. Castles. I haven't walked in a castle since I was 10 years old. When I was 10, I wore velor. I have a new shirt...

Yeah. I'm good at nonsense.

Promise #3 - I'm going to be published by the time I'm 40. That means I'm reading up on the competition...and thoroughly engrossed. The problem with reading the competition is that I have 12 (no lie) new story outlines. Basically, I'm all dressed up with everywhere to go, but I have to finish the chapter of the book I'm currently reading. This also means that I have two different versions of Word Perfect up, because between work and writing with so many story lines, I never know which will have a line or two for me to add to the story. See ADD narrative above. Right now, between work and writing, I have a total of 11 documents open.

Promise #4 - ManCub WILL do better. He got a 33 as a final grade in industrial arts. Lord-a-mercy, I'm having trouble staying afloat, here. Adonis? He has a B average. Everyone kneel on the prayer rug and count your blessings...he keeps this up and I'll let him get his license! KitKat...um, she's set. Like always.

Promise #5 - I will get back to weekend cooking. Maybe. I learned how to make a new dessert! I call it Caramel Coronary, and I even made my own caramel out of sweetened condensed milk. I asked for saffron for Christmas from my mommy. She promised me. I have a lot of rice ready for it.

Promise #6 - We will have an awesome slither season. Expect commentary on a lot of our visual morphs. The lady who produced Lotus (our pied) is now 2500 grams, and that could be eight eggs, maybe 2 or 3 piebalds. Three pieds x 2000 bucks = happy Sapphire. We now have a pin and a mojave. The Cactus Jack project is still online and we've got some pretty girls, but Jack might be too young yet. He's not showing much interest. Actually, nobody's really too interested, but it's early yet. Gideon's online and doing his duty. Good boy.

Promise #7 - I will try not to read other's writing without cringing at passive voice. Lord, but it's hard. Years of training only to discover that the top-selling authors get away with "she had had more than she could take..." really, really bites.

Okay, that's a wrap...for now. Love and stuff for the holidays!

I'm a writer! Officially! Well, kinda

I saw an ad for a writer, so I actually made my first writer's resume. In my cover letter, I thought about what I could say to make me more interesting more appealing. We know I don't need to be any more interesting.

Anyway, just for kicks and giggles, I googled my African soft furred rat page.

Google Returns for the rats...

The 2nd link down? That's flippin' MINE. MINE. I included that in the cover letter, some smug comment about how a current search of the Internet for the page revealed mine at #2 out of

hits with lots of zeros behind it.

I may never get this job of my dreams. It's an Internet ad, so who knows if it truly exists? But somewhere, in that process, I wrote something that mattered. Not only the page for the softies, but I listed my skills on that resume. I included my rejection letter in my skills. It's bravery, of a sort, to put myself out there, just like putting that manuscript in a box and mailing it. I already e-mailed the resume, and realized that there was something not grammatically incorrect, but I used the wrong word.

Doesn't matter, to me, at this moment.

I know what I am.

I know what I can do.

I am interested in anything I don't know and want to find more details about what I already do.

I want to be able to start an intelligent conversation with a goatherd, a prison inmate, a toothbrush maker, or a retired railroad engineer. In order to do that, one must have a basic knowledge, a springboard, to at least know what kind of questions to ask to get the fullest out of the conversation.

I know I can do that with a lot of people, but not universally...yet. I'm working on it!

My ego is celebrating. I may never see one of my books get in a binding, but I'm #2 out of a million--for something I wrote.

Not quite one in a million, but close.

This is my KitKat

Young Authors conference is this morning

School District will host its annual Young Authors Conference this morning with nationally recognized author Patricia McKissack as a guest speaker.

An award-winning author, McKissack has written nearly 100 children's picture books, young adult novels, and non-fiction biographies about African-Americans.

The program starts at 8:30 a.m. with breakfast for the Young Authors winners and their families, followed by McKissack's presentation and the awards ceremony. More than 400 people will attend the event at Junior High School.

The program celebrates excellence in writing for students in second- through eighth-grades, and more than 100 district students will be honored this year for their writing.

Best of School and Special Recognition students will be invited to participate in the Regional Young Authors Conference on April 26.

*************

KitKat didn't get to the next level, but she wrote and put herself out there for judging. She turned in a 30-page novella, fantasy genre, and worked hard. My Precious (think Gollum), I'm proud. Congratulations on your 3rd trip to the YA Conference.

Bitten

Okay, tell me why...

Months will pass before I get the urge to write. I never truly worry about it (other than the fact that I've never been published, have a few finished novels, and I'm getting older), because I know, eventually, I'll sit at a stoplight and figure out how telepaths and giant mutant roaches all come together for a good story.

So...this week, not only do I get a great idea for a book from a song, but I've written chapters (in my head) for the other books I've started, so I've got six different themes and an overabundance of characters taking a schizophrenic walk through my mind at any given time. Can we say be careful while working a job where zoning out could mean the difference between something in the foot and something up higher by mistyping just one letter? Can we say talking to ourselves in the kitchen, getting the conversation and inflections just right? Can we say burning dinner? Can we say Sapphire needs a laptop to put in the kitchen while she implements her cook-all-weekend plans?

It's feast or famine. I wish I knew what to blame...

Support the screenwriters...

They need your support, and please keep supporting them until I catch up on all three seasons of "Lost" at abc.com. Yeah, I know. Now I have four TV shows I have to watch, but I've made it through season one and not quite halfway through season two, so let's make sure our writers get what they truthfully deserve--royalties and respect. Just wait a couple of weeks and make them compensate you fully and enable you to reach your goals! Truly! By then, I'll be waiting for the rescue that's probably not going to be a rescue. This show is Gilligan's Island on steroids. I'm hooked, I tell you. Hooked! Hey, it's not any more unrealistic than "Grey's Anatomy."

Remember...support your writers. Thank you. Thank you, screenwriters, for giving me three seasons of mesmerizing beach scenes, things that go boom, and all the off-the-beaten-path approaches I've come to desire in the entertainment I choose. It's time like these that really make me appreciate American entertainment.

Help an author by a simple poll, please.

Hi. This gentleman is writing a book on babies for dads. As an author, or even as a reader, research is so valuable to get a book straight, no matter if it's from wizards in NYC or a three-toed frog going to Xanadu.

It's a great idea for a book, and he's got a few questions for you. You do have to sign up, but the user name is very simple and it's only in case you have to stop the poll (which really isn't that long) and go back to finish.

This poll is geared toward both genders, but, please, Dads, if you wanted your kids to come with an instruction manual and they didn't, this book might help the next new dad a bit more!

http://www.daddybook.com/

She wore a target on her scarf.

Others have spoken so eloquently about Ms. Bhutto. I don’t know if I can come across so poignantly, and I hope the good that comes out of it is this:

Al-Qaeda, the terrorists, and/or Musharrif have finally allowed the world to see that they’re afraid, and that women are such great contenders and equals that they warrant assassination as their only option to maintain control of their male-dominated societies. I hope Pakistani women take that from this. Cowardly assassins, and I hope that President Bush doesn’t lame duck this.
Bhutto went back, knowing this as her most likely end.

I wrote an essay about a sign I saw displayed on one of the local school marquees that said, “No one is ever hurt by doing the right thing.” I cried foul on that and sent the essay to the sup and asst sup. I hope they remember this as school reconvenes for the new year. I hope, hope, hope that the hoopla around Bhutto’s death remains media fodder. They are current events that should be spoken of in the schools.

Would you do it? Would you willingly wear a target on your head? Would you leave the nice, comfortable, encouraging environment of the West to take on your enemies? How do you do it? Do you believe in something worth dying for?

She did. May the world rise up and honor a gutsy woman with a moral code that is beyond so many of us. Please, though, remember what she represented. If you truly support her, honor her legacy, and stop the violence.

She's inheriting my dementia...

My 13-year-old KitKat allowed me to post this. She actually wrote about me for an English paper. The title is attention getting, yes? One-two author punch!

I think she loves me. It gives me the sniffles, and my favorite presents never came with a bow, anyway. I'll add this to my list of favorite things.

Thanks again, baby. I forgive you for the in-utero stretch thing, you know, where you hit my bladder and my diaphragm simultaneously whenever I had hot coffee on my tray, taking orders at Cracker Barrel.

Sapphire VS School Marquee

I saw the worst school marquee today ever.

I found it so wrong that I wrote it down on the back of a receipt in the parking lot. This is my kids' school district. These are the educators I trust. My eldest son attended said school as a volunteer because of an overflow in our neighborhood school. My younger son wholly benefited from the special services and is doing very, very well now but, I'm sorry, but this strikes me wrong on so many levels:

"No one is ever hurt by doing the right thing."

Ghandi, anyone?

"Life skill of the month - peace."

Doing the right thing = peace? I'm not so sure about that.

I'm heavily into WWII history. All those countries who played a part in the resistance? Those who hid Jews? D-Day? Someone did a lot of wrong then, and someone did a lot of right, too, and there are graves scattered all throughout Europe to prove it.

Doing the right thing is often the most detrimental thing you can do in your own existence. We're not solely talking historical figures. What about the guy in the convenience store who gets shot because he keeps the pregnant cashier from getting hurt by a robber? For God's sake, has anyone heard of Iraq? The soldiers there...we occasionally see the pictures of them with those they were sent to protect, the innocent children. Yet, "no one is ever hurt" by doing the right thing?

Never confuse this for me being an advocate of NOT doing the right thing. Doing the right thing, though, takes guts. Doing the right thing has a potential to cause collateral damage. Doing right could mean loss of income, emotional stress, isolation/ostracization from loved ones, and even death.

Witness protection program, anyone?

Like so many things, the phrase seems so harmless, but it's fluff. There was more room on that marquee, too, so there was room to change it to make it relevant, to something like:

"Doing the right thing hurts, but you can make a difference."

Or

"The world could be better. Step up, do the right thing, and show them how it's done."

The second one is more appropriate for kids. That's not scary for them. On that level, they're worrying about Suzy having a bruise and crying on the playground because Mom hit her. They tell an adult, the adult intervenes, and the problem is on its way to a solution.

Geez, standing up and doing the right thing is nearly never easy! If you're living right, there are prices to pay. My family's moral code is based by Christ's words. If the Antichrist does come in this age, I can see my mother in the front yard with her hands extended for the cuffs! She might use it as a stall tactic while the other house's inhabitants get away, but...that's still doing the right thing!

The drop-out kids on the street corner with the bags of pot - they're probably making more money than I am. Their friends see them and either join them or go the other way, ending life-long friendships. Doing the right thing absolutely bites sometimes, but unless someone does it, we don't have a better world.

Think American Revolution. Think taxation without representation. Think abolition of slavery. Think underground railroad. Think Abraham Lincoln.

Was that easy?

This country was founded on doing the right thing. This country was founded on freedoms, particularly the freedom of speech. When in a position of authority, please use your free speech wisely. The sentence that started this diatribe is without substance or merit, just a feel-good saying that looked good on a school marquee.

I read marquees all over the town as I drive past them. I find some offensive, I find some thought-provoking, and some I just don't get. I think this falls in all three categories.


Yeah, I get upset over marquees with nonsense posted on them. Shoot me.

Are you going to shiver?

I've got a new Never Forgotten story, The Simple Lady. This one will make you think a bit.

Lord knows I don't need one, but I've set my sights on yet another critter. I've scoped out the perfect spot for her/him. Pretty soon, I'll not have any room for my books, just the motion of happy furry things bouncing all around me as I toss the excess raisins and banana chips in the cages. As soon as I get him/her, I will chronicle said critter photographically, rest assured. Hey, guess what? It's not a normal pet, either. I assume you already knew that :)

So read about my Simple Lady acquaintance and get a shiver or two. When I write these, I see most of you saying, "Yeah, right," but all the nurses and CNAs out there are saying, "Yeah, that's so right." See what you think!

Is this kind of a "why is the sky blue" question?

So...

ManCub can't hear his own alarm. KitKat can't hear her own alarm. By golly, though, wouldn't you know...she complains that his is too loud, and he wakes up by her alarm. I've been up all night and I can't Aesop this one out. I'm going to let it go.

Five chapters edited. Cover letter written. Synopsis form...still sitting where I left it in the front room Sunday while I watched football, cooked, did dishes, yada yada ad nauseum in patheticum deo. I have no idea if that means anything other than my dementia is all I have left to offer after a night of typing for a colorectal surgeon, one Arab rheumatologist, one Indian rheumatologist who speaks her version of the Queen's English with some American accents (I love typing for her - she's awesome), one plastic surgeon (no 750-cc Mentor silicone implants tonight, darnit--I love laughing at those chicks), and lots and lots of colonoscopies with poor bowel prep. Doc S has so many ways of saying they didn't take their GoLYTELY seriously. ::shudder::

Yeah, that just fell under the TMI category, didn't it?

For more of my dementia, please visit sapphiretigress.com. It gets weirder than this, folks. I guarantee it.

Leonese, the language of the learned.

Blast from the past, and a show of kindness.

Return To Sender, Address Well Known

We're dog sitting. It's not that big of a deal; the dogs are doing fine, but, sometimes, my mother and my sister make me go "hmmmmmmmmmmm."

Troubles With Trebble-shays

Series in progress. Parts 1, 2, and 3 are ready. If I can cut down on the graphics, it might only be 5. We'll see. Trebuchet nightmares.

Personality disorder, NOS

Does it ever feel like you'll soon have your own DSM-V diagnosis? Friday the 13th? For a whole week?

Work just poured in. It's good, because things have been slow, but my writing has taken a big slow cook on the back burner. My eyes hurt, too, and I want to read this big Hittite book I now own, but I can't even watch TV without my vision blurring. I can jack up the font on the computer, so that's a little easier, but I really want to read my new book. Okay, whine over.

KitKat is going strong on her project. Tiger's Eye turned in one today, 50/50 points. ManCub missed the last two days of school with cold/cough stuff, and he's bitterly disappointed because I went to the school and picked up what he missed. It's a good thing I did, too, because there's a heckuvalot there and she went through his desk and found assignments he "forgot" from other parts of the week.

Tiger's Eye big dance is tomorrow. I was just getting used to the idea, when he told me, Wednesday, very quietly, that he might not go. What? I asked him why, and he said he didn't want to talk about it right then. Okay. I did not press him, but I did ask later on that night, but he didn't want to talk about it. What can you do? I said okay and patted his shoulder. It must have not been too dire, because his mood was really good and he actually was quite pleasant to be around, even toward ManCub. The next day, he said the situation was "fixed" and he was going, so I ordered the corsage and Mom dug through my brother's old suits, which are very much in style again. My pocketbook thanks her.

Today was "Freshman Friday." Apparently, some of it got quite out of hand, but Tiger's Eye managed to get through it. He called while I was out doing the run. I sad, "You're alive!" He kinda laughed it off, and I told him I'd get his girlfriend's corsage and make a couple of other stops, and he could tell me all about it when I got home.

I pulled up in the driveway and, lazily, called home. Yes, called home from the carport. I had three big school books, lots of loose papers, lots of tapes in their plastic envelopes, and, of course, the pretty pale-pink wrist corsage. Tiger's Eye sheepishly complied, walking out with his cheeks uplifted with a clear "F" on each cheek in bright-blue permanent marker. Close inspection showed "fresh meat" written on the slope of his neck. As he assures me, he escaped with little humiliation. I got all kinds of flashbacks though as I helped scrub off the permanent marker. I remarked I hadn't washed his face in years, and it felt very, very strange to reach up so high to clean his cheeks. It just seems like he had spaghetti on that same face not to long ago.

Cards won! I have no nails left, though, and I'm glad I had too much work to watch last night, for the game was dismal and left our male family members in a funk. The Cardinales are coming home to St. Louis, though, and I doubt the Mets make it out alive. At least, that's my hope...I still remember being Tiger's Eye's age and calling the Mets "pond scum." They even had T-shirts that said "Mets Are Pond Scum." Maybe e-bay still has some...Be right back.

They do!!!! Toooooo funny! I have posted it for Cardinals fans' viewing pleasure.

So, we'll be parked in front of the TV, except for KitKat, who will wail and lament over our obsession with team sports. Can't disown her, though, because she loves hockey, although I'm still getting over the missed season of greed...um...rich players whining over maintaining immortal money status...um, players lobbying to keep their greedy lifestyles for $1000 for each touch of the puck...um...well, you know. Those demonic salary caps. Something that I wish every sport would adopt. I'm tired of NY teams of ALL sports throwing money and buying championships. I delight in it when that blows up in their faces. As any family that worked its way up from welfare to low class to middle class to upper middle class can tell you, the money you get isn't worth sacrificing the laughs along the way, or alienating your fan base (done quite nicely, here in hockey terms). Ozzie Smith, once the highest played payer in the game of baseball (and I shall point out his Cardinals' affiliation) holds the keys to the Hall of Fame, and I can tell you how many people he enchanted with the first back flip - the one that hailed opening day! Now, ask me about A-Rod. Ozzie Smith? A-Rod? Are you seeing something here? Nobody spits on or boos Ozzie. Most bow reverently, in my mind, and they well should.

Wow. I sound more like ManCub as this entry goes on. He detests cheaters, and has taken some of his cards out of his decks permanently for the same reason. We have tons of Mark McGwire baseball cards tucked away in a safe place...but are they worth anything? He basically stated he cheated in a courtroom by deferring to talk about the "past." So, looking for heroes becomes harder, but they're out there, and Pujols looks to be the real deal. So does Edmonds. Speizio. Definitely Eckstein - there's a true ballplayer for you, as was John Mabry when he was here. Taguchi? Big clutch player here lately. These are heroes. Pujols does get the big bucks. That is true. He's in a league of peers commanding the same salaries, and I'm sure he doesn't mind and it is "fair" as things are now, and I don't mind so much knowing how much he gives to the fans here. Would I like to see him under a salary cap? Yes. Yes. Yes, I would. And I think he's the kind of man who would agree with me.

Long live sports! Hopefully, KitKat will see the light and we'll have one more recliner around the TV and another person to make the light fixtures shake when we cheer. Two sports with salary caps down...Let's get back to basics, people! Play for the fun of it! Make us love you!

Will post much tomorrow night, hopefully, with lots of pics of Tiger's Eye and the girl for whom the pink corsage waits in the vegetable drawer in the fridge, which I'm going to go check on right now.

Love and stuff,

Sapphire

This is what I look like after I help my son with his homework.

This is what I look like after spending five hours helping my son with his homework on Nefertiti. Incidentally, the two of us do not believe the mummy shown here, often touted as Nefertiti, is actually her. X-ray reports show that this is the body of a 16-year-old girl, not a woman who bore six children. Believe it or not, nerd that I am, already knew Dr. Zahi Hawass' name (isn't he handsome?) and kept shooting links in IMs to my son. I love Egyptology. Having said that, I am now moving onto Hittite stuff. It's groundwork for a book I'd like to write. It's in my mind, the characters are developing and it all started with the picture on the very first blog I put here. Why Hittite? Well, there's that darn Turkish connection rearing its head again...

I stomped through ruins of many castles in southeastern Turkey as a kid. My dad was transferred to Incirik AFB in 1980 with the intent of serving a year, leaving us here, and then coming home. The other option was to take us all and spend two years there. Mom tried it by herself for two months and told him we were on our way.

I am so glad Mom put her foot down. I was only 8 when we left. I was young enough to not hate going, and I was old enough to know what an awesome experience awaited us. Turkey may not be the cradle of the great civilizations, but it was certainly the crossroads, which makes it mystifying, intriguing and engaging, offering so many tidbits of so many different cultures. I often feel bad that my kids haven't had the same opportunities, but they have the same friends they've had since preschool, and there's advantages in that, too.

Okay. Enough on Turkey. Tiger's Eye is going to the dance with...drumroll please...Lady C. She broke the triangle possibility and I'm a little relieved. I need to meet her, of course, and we need to get Tiger's Eye some decent clothes. I mean, being new to this mom-of-girl-crazed teen things, how much time/effort/moulah do I put into homecoming?

I think I'm going to add some stuff to Twisted. I need to borrow some pics from Mom and get the Turkey blog all ready to lay out. There's some awesome castles and natural wonders I want to show and I might actually show an image of my true self, circa age 8, 9 or 10. She's still with me, and she is my inner child. I cater to her often. She scampers over crumbling bastion walls still, and calls me to go back and play there. I will, some day. I will take my kids and we will go deal with the little kids who make their money off tourists by fashioning coins out of rock, feeding them to their little black goats, waiting for the goats to, well, "process" the rock and then passing them off as old coinage from days gone by.


It's the weekend. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Yilan!

I think this guy sums everything up tonight. Work's been slow, but the kids have had plenty of homework. I'm at an impasse writing wise. I don't have block; I just don't feel like doing it. That rarely happens, but it does. So, I'm writing here to hopefully stimulate me back into either a world of half-Xalaxian humans or mutant roaches and the telepathically led armies who exterminate them.

Tiger's Eye, yet again, has another love interest. Yes, the introduction. The note. The proclamation that she has no one yet to take her to the homecoming dance. I asked him, "Do I need to hit you over the head with a baseball bat?" to which he replied, "She wants me to take her, right?" So, this is officially a quadrangle (I would prefer a quintangle - I want a vote, darn it!). Tiger's Eye likes Lady A. Lady B likes Tiger's Eye. Lady C likes Tiger's Eye. Lady A and Lady B are good friends. I say take the easy way out and let good ol' Mom rescue you with choice Lady D. Like that'll happen.

Sigh.

Why does Yahoo! My Station only play the good stuff I want to hear - after training the darn things for months - right when I want to go to bed? Never fail, at 2:30 a.m., the 80s hair bands play, Robert Plant sings in all his glory, Nickelback rocks down..

Why can't my download Wal-Mart music work? I can't seem to make the player recognize the licenses. I have licenses for three computers and burning 10 CDs. So far, I have zilch. Good music, too. Music I'm anxiously waiting to hear.

Oh, cool. A good song. Let me put four stars on it and hopefully they'll play it again in the next month or five.

This is the highlight of my week. This is Yilan, our new Brazilian Rainbow Boa. I'm not a huge snake person, but, in this instance, I'll make an exception. I first saw a Rainbow in Myrtle Beach last summer at Alligator Adventure. Mr. Sapphire loves snakes, and we all miss Steve Irwin (Crikey, Beauty, RIP). Anyway, I just kind of wandered around after him, more interested in the poison dart frogs and a weird animal that ate its own poop, which Tiger's Eye witnessed and was quite horrified. Here it is:










So, in my wandering, I stumbled upon the most beautiful reptile I ever saw. The creature was a cinnamon brown, covered with these beautiful circles, nearly polka dots. Also, when it moved, this rainbow sheen shimmered on its skin. I had to photograph him, and felt it never did justice to the majesty of the creature.

For a long time, I really had no clue as to what type of snake it was. When Mr. Sapphire expressed the desire of obtaining a snake, I instantly thought of that polka-dotted one down in Myrtle Beach, and found the picture and shot it over to him in e-mail. With some research, he discovered it is a Rainbow Boa, and they get even prettier than the first one I saw. Surprise, surprise, there is a place called Reptile Auctions, and that is where we purchased Yilan, which, of course, means "snake" in Turkish. I still have to explain that Turkish connection. Hmmm. That will take a lot of blogging and a lot of pics, too.

So, that's my world. Hey! Yahoo! is cooperating again, and now I'm hearing Blue Murder! Nice way to end this. Moochas Smoochas, ya'll.

This is Tiger's Eye, KitKat and ManCub doing their Steve Irwin impersonation at Alligator Adventure in Myrtle Beach. I don't know if the world realized what what one man and his lovely wife accomplished - influencing a world full of children with a great sense of humor and a love of animals at a time the world so sorely needs it. Steve, our best to you. We enjoyed watching your enthusiasm and your bravery (although we sometimes chalked it up to a photo-op) but you did get your point across. Thank you!

REJECTION!

I told you I had a rejection notice to my name! I'm excited about it, believe it or not, and chagrined simultaneously. You see, I send my book in with exceeding caution - my first manuscript, my first brave attempt at publishing. This is what I got:


Isn't it lovely? My sister-in-law pointed out how many times they use variants of the root word "reject." Unfortunately, this is what you get when they don't even get you a chance. They didn't even move the first page! I did everything right. I read over their submission requirements many times but...

get this...

I didn't address it to the editor.

::smacks head::

I'm just hoping I'm not in a computer system that has a pop-up window with IDIOT on it in blazing letters for when I submit again. I have to finish Ice Queen, and then I'll keep Red Watzana on reserve. I need to get back to Twisted, and I have yet another book swirling around in my head--in addition to the 10+ other books for which I've created a world/setting and need to take the characters in an appropriate direction.

I always worry that I'll run out of ideas, but that has never happened. I always have something running in the background, kind of like a computer monitoring program. It's rather interesting. KitKat hits write mode often, too. If we're in the car, we both get very, very quiet. I look at her; she looks at me. "What you doing?" I ask her. "Writing," she replies. "Me, too," I reply.

She carries a notebook with her often and outlines her books. She learned a new word, "novella," and has applied it to her books. Isn't that cute????

ManCub, too, is starting to understand why we do weird things like spending life with a bunch of characters only known to you hold conversations in your mind and typing what they say to you. The other night, he had to make a story with spelling words, and he got so into it that it required an extra page! Woo hoo! This is not something he normally does, but he claimed "I got into it." Proud mom moment there, no doubt!

Now, we just have to convert Tiger's Eye to the cult...