Are HEA’s Necessary?

With the release of Hunger Games, conversations have been perking up everywhere with friends and family.  They all start off the same…”So did you see the movie?” Umm…yes, because the Prankster Duo have been anxiously awaiting its arrival for months.  And with that answer an entire conversation is sparked.

What I’ve found to be the most interesting trend is that the conversation starts out with Hunger Games and evolves into spirited debates about how dark should a story really be?  There’s the “I read to escape” group who claim that HEA (happily ever afters) are vital since they’re reading to get away from reality’s unrelenting grasp.  Therefore, they feel that if a story doesn’t resolve itself with the HEA, why read it?

Then there’s the other side who feel that stories should have some reflection of reality, so HEA’s can actually be—kind of happily ever after because just like life, nothing is ever neatly tied into a pretty package.

I spoke to the Prankster Duo to figure out why they enjoyed the series, because yes, as a mom, I do read most of what my kids read.  How else will I sneak my way into their lives?  Since the Duo is male, the first reason is pretty simplistic—the fight scenes were “wicked awesome, mom!.  Okay, but I wanted to see if they picked up on the socio-political aspect of the story…my answer…not really.  For them, they enjoyed the books because they got to watch Katniss triumph over everything thrown her way, the fight scenes were intriguing, and they just liked it. 

Yet as an adult the reasons I enjoyed the first book, liked the second, but had issues with the third are varied.  And it wasn’t just me, even knight-in-slightly-muddy-armor hit some of the same points I did.  The idea isn’t new (Lord of the Flies, Survivor…) but the characters had enough depth to keep me turning the page.  The world was a grim alternate reality because as an adult I can see how close society skates against the edges of right and wrong.  Plus, I write Urban Fantasy so I tend to travel the twisting, offshoots of the main road where a sharp blade is needed to fend off the glowing red eyes.  I’m grateful my boys haven’t found these paths yet, I’d rather they get as much vitamin D as possible before they start checking out the shadows.

Still, the conversations on HEA’s has stuck with me and I took a look at some of the books I’ve been reading lately and found that even someone like me needs some sort of HEA in my stories.  One particular series I marvel at the complex plots and sub-plots the writer seems to effortlessly weave, but regardless of how intricate her characters lives become, by the end of her books I’m anxious to start the next story.  She may not tie up every line with a bow, but she makes them smooth enough that I’m not depressed when I’m done.   Then there was the first book in a new series that I finished yesterday.  It took me forever to figure out why I suddenly had the case of the blahs.  Then it hit me…the book I just finished hadn’t given me my normal time out, instead I was drained emotionally.  Not only that, but the ending, which was set up for the next book, hinted at the next bone-wearying trek through an emotional mountain range.  Man, I just couldn’t garner up the excitement necessary to even want to think about that journey.  Yes the main characters had a fairly solid HEA, but the surrounding characters that you just know are in the next story…man I feel so sorry for them.

So even with my own leanings to overall story arcs that web through each book, as a reader and a writer I’m starting to see just how important those HEA’s really are.  Reading is escapism, and the whole purpose is to step outside your box of stress and challenges and take a peek at someone else’s.  Plus, when they manage to vanquish the demons, it gives you hope that perhaps your own personal haunts aren’t so bad and perhaps this time, you too will conquer the big bads!

–Wicked

Don’t forget to check out my guest posts this week :

4/5/12               Mona Karel      with my post “The Importance of a Sidekick with Fur” as I ponder why furry friends are making star appearences in today’s Urban Fantasy.

4/7/12              Nanny Berry     with my post “You Never Really Grow Up…” as I try to get over the idea of my mom reading my sex scenes. (I’ll update blog link once I have it!)

4/8/12               Bri Clark              with my post ” All I Needed to Know About Being Bad, I Learned from Soap Operas…”  I think this title says it all!

The Vacay is over…

As you noticed, my last post hung around for a whopping two weeks.  Yep, it was deliberate, not a technological malfunction.  I know, I know, normally the tech gremlins are to fault, but this time I just couldn’t hang it on them.  It was all me.  The Prankster Duo escaped from their learning institution and embarked on a week-long pester fest some call “Spring Break”.  Since the knight in slightly muddy armor and I thought we might be pushed to send them out into the Swamp on a Snipe hunting trip (if you don’t know what that is, go ask your parents!), we thought it would be best to pack up and head over to Grandma’s which is over the hill and under dale up north.  North being where white stuff falls from the sky and sticks to the ground in gritty, gray patches.  Luckily, the white stuff was only on the ground and not in the air and where we were enjoying the beautiful sun drenched days of 80 degree weather, we weren’t disappointed with  the 20 degree temperature drop since the sun was out in all its shining glory.

I also decided that maybe, this year, I’d actually make those days off from the job-that-pays-the-bills actual days off.  Shocking, I know, but it’s been a whirlwind the first couple of months this year.  If I didn’t cut myself some slack soon, I might find myself all alone on my own Snipe hunt in the Swamp.

So no blog posts last week, I was MIA from Twitter and barely showed up on Facebook.  And boy howdy, did I realize just how much time all of that took up. The first few days at Grandma’s I had to field a few forest fires from the job-that-pays-the-bills, but it soon died off.  Once we made it back into the Valley of the Sun, and blazed our way home through the Swamp, I was able to conqueror Jack’s nasty beanstalks in my back yard, appease those pesky due collectors, catch-up on entering some fab-u writing contests, make my offering to the cover artist goddesses, and then found out I’m all set for a blog tour in April.  Yep, April which is what? Two weeks away? So after hyperventilating on how soon that was bearing down on me, I needed to make sure I made every minute of my “vacay” worth it.

Once back from Grandma’s I slept in and ignored the hellhound who really didn’t like having his breakfast delayed past dawn.  Tried to make in roads on the leaning tower of to-be-read-a’s books on my night stand while knight was off saving the galaxy from being overtaken by Sith Imperials, or when that got to be too boring, the Reapers who were wreaking a massive hellstorm on Earth.  We even managed to wrangle the Prankster Duo to the Renaissance Festival.  Oh yes, the land of giant turkey legs and over flowing…..bodices of ale!

So now that my vacay is over, it’s back to the keyboard.  Tomorrow Xander, Vidis and I have a meeting…however I’m not so sure how well that will go.  Then I’ll tackle the posts for the upcoming blog tour.  So stay tuned, I’ll have those dates and places up next week!

Until then…don’t get lost on your twisted paths!

Wicked

 

Happy Thanksgiving…7ED Style

It’s the time of year when everyone does the Why I am Thankful blogs, so I thought I’d join along in my own unique way.

Here in the Swamp there are many things to be thankful for this year.  Let’s begin, shall we?

I am thankful for…

…the Prankster Duo.  Who else in my life would make me consider the deep, dark mysteries of the world  with  such scintillating conversation gambits such as:

                “Mom, can I borrow Siri for a second?”
“Umm..sure…why?”

“I need to look up a word.”

“What word?”

“Fart.”

Startled silence… “Why?”

“My friend said he did and it was ‘an explosive sensation from between his legs’.”

I try really hard not to hit my brakes and cause a five car pile-up as I try to find air to drag into my lungs.  My precious 9 year old…oh dear…. “Um, honey, perhaps you should think of another definition.”

“Why?”

Right, how to answer this one without him thinking his mother is a pervert…oh wait…. “Okay, because that definition could be interpreted in a way you would find really gross.  How about  ‘explosive flatulence’?

“Hmm…okay…should I ask why it would gross me out?”

“It has to do with boys and girls…”
“Okay enough said, I’ll stick with ‘explosive flatulence’.”

…my knight-in-slightly-muddy-armor who has stayed beside me while Eerie’s Zombie’s have trashed our yard and the hellhound has seeded the same yard with many landmines.  Not only has he braved that terror, but he has successfully save many an electronic devices from being tested for aerodynamic properties when they refuse to cooperate with me.  Considering how often that temptation occurs, he’s my hero, because recovering drafts from broken pieces of plastic and wires is really hard!

…my hellhound, without whom my floors would not hold themselves down, but float away into oblivion.  Only he could figure out the strategic points that will keep them grounded and still manage to be where ever I have to walk.

…Starbucks and the lovely baristas, because they have saved many an unsuspecting person from violent death while supplying me with my needed caffeine fix that makes sure all my edged accessories stay sheathed!

…Snarky and her bloody whip.  Let’s be honest, without the combo of the two there’s no way I would have dredged up enough courage and armor to brave the pit of submission hell and finally, FINALLY got a contract!

…Eerie, Mischievous Raven and the herd of corpses that tend to trample my lawn.  Not only has he obtained some seriously good wine from the Werewolf monks, but he shines forth humor in the darkest moments and that is truly priceless.

…Quirky for reminding me why cynicism is not always the best thing to use for protection.  His ability to strip down situations to bare bones makes him invaluable to the Evil 7.  Beside it’s fun to watch him squirm!

…Smokey and his fabulous recipes.  However, I’m still not to sure about the octopus and whatever that was that one time in the Swamp where he and Eerie got together.  Strange, but if you don’t tell me what it is, I won’t think about it! It’s nice to know that even if you can’t pronounce character names, you can cook!

…Jedi and her bravery.  I mean, really, think about it.  How brave would you be to walk into a steamy Swamp filled with gods-only-know-who, talk to the short. stumpy guy with the beady eyed raven trying to pry a zombie arm from the Swamp Thing while the Prankster Duo goes screaming by with some weird contraption spitting flame, while Snarky tries to hold back the horde parked outside her porch with a 12 foot whip?  Really, our neighborhood doesn’t need a watch, more like napalm.  We’re glad you survived the welcoming committee and decided to stay!

…BFF, Ang, because who else would dare take me to a move about a sparkling vampire who hatches kids from eggs and an alpha wolf that doesn’t kill for leadership and can’t pronounce his someday mate’s name, and then let me go Science Mystery Theater on it for two hours.  She even held back the prepubescent horde armed with lip-gloss and sparkle and their mothers from trampling me under their keds.  Only a BFF like that can be trusted at your back.

…to all of you for taking the time to follow along, even when the insanity that lives inside me spews outward!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!

To Nano or Not to Nano…

It’s November and once again I face the dreaded question, “To Nano or Not to Nano?”

For those not tormented each year by the looming challenge of Nano, let me explain.  Nano is National Novel Writing Month and if you write or have friends who do, it is the one month each year that is greeted with tears, mad laughter, nerves and for those into pain, joy!  Sometimes the entire plethora of emotions will ride you like a demented roller coaster ride.  The goal—write 50,000 words of a novel by the last day of November.  You read that right—FIFTY THOUSAND WORDS.

To give you an idea of what that means, my second book is at 405 pages and 114,000 words.

It’s a lot of words people.  Here’s the kicker—YOU CAN’T EDIT.  Yep, no editing allowed. You sit, you write and you don’t let your inner editor say a damn word.  Sound easy?  Have you ever tried to get that annoying friend who can’t resist giving you advice on everything to shut up?  How successful were you?  Multiply that by ten and your inner editor is cackling madly at your impotence.

So as  November loomed on the horizon, I had to make my yearly choice-do or not do.  I ran through my list of upcoming commitments:
Shadow’s Edge, my very first book, was coming out at the beginning of November

I had 15 guest blog posts to put together, send out, and then remember who and where I was for the next few weeks of November.

There was the book signing for the non-fiction anthology to go to.

There was the pesky little thing known as the job that pays the bills.

I needed to finish and begin editing the 405 page monstrosity of my second book so I could offer it to the other Evil 6 for evisceration.

The Prankster Duo have pretty much threaten to up their rebellion if I don’t acknowledge them at some point and help with the looming education projects coming down the road before Christmas break.

My knight-in-slightly-muddy-armor was requesting face time.

I could not miss my BFF’s graduation—that wasn’t even an option.

Sprinkle in the normal monthly requirements—meeting by the light of the moon with the other Evil 6, visits to local witch doctors before my knight’s lungs decided to created their own mucus nightmares, the hellhound required claw trimming and defurminating, etc.

Oh yeah, and there’s this holiday in here somewhere.

So call me wimpy but I decided to bow out of Nano this year.  Doesn’t mean I haven’t suffered unmitigated guilt ever since though.  Somehow I should have found a way to squeeze in 1500 words per day.  I’m a writer, damn it, it shouldn’t be so hard.

On the positive side, my guilt has encouraged some great ideas for the third book and maybe a whole other story line…hmmm…..

I wonder if I could suggest picking a different month next year?

So for all those brave souls trudging through the mire of words this year, I salute you! Go forth, write and be the hero I couldn’t be this month!

Go Nanomites! Conquer the paper and make it bleed ink!

–Wicked

The Greatest Holiday Ever….

Halloween is around the corner and this month zipped by in spectacularly fast fashion.  With little time to spare, I wrangled the Prankster Duo, via a Venus Fly Trap snare, made them leave the head of one of Eerie’s zombies at home, and off we went to shop for costumes.   As we emerged from the Swamp, the youngest pointed out the new signs wallpapering the Impenetrable Forest.  Seems they’re in the midst of working on another deadly…I mean lovely, maze for this year’s celebration.

So we’re at the Aberzombie & Witch when my oldest informs me in funeral tones that this will be his last year of trick-or-treating.

Shocked, all I could manage was a garbled, “Uh?”

Ignoring my eloquence, he continued, “My friends and I discussed this, and this is it for us.”

“You make it sound like your impending demise looms upon the horizon, child. It’s Halloween!”

I never thought I’d get such a look from the fruit of my loins. (Loins, Eerie, not Looms!)  From the Whipmistress?  Hell yeah.  Him? Not so much.  “I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

Really? Okay, Mr. Daddy Long Legs…let’s think about this for a second.  You’re a boy, a sweet one occasionally, but a pre-teen boy.  Embarrassment is soon to be a way of life for you.  My poor baby.

He added, “Besides, we’ll be in Junior High.”

Ahhh! I get it.  As we leave the familiar halls of elementary school behind and begin to prepare for the hallowed journey to middle school, suddenly “coolness” factors into every decision.  Then it’s on to those oh-so-torturous years of high school.

“Okay then.  But you do realize that mom had no problem donning a wig, goth make-up and heeled boots for her writer’s conference a couple years back.  Remember that?”

He does a damn good eye roll, “Yeah, mom, but you’re…a writer, you’re suppose to be crazy.”

See! My son is brilliant! As I glide through the pride of my son’s keen intellect, my youngest cuts in.  “Mom, they don’t have any Minecraft pig costumes.”

Looking over the selection, I notice he’s absolutely correct.  Nary a piece of bacon in sight.  Unless you count the strangely compelling anatomically correct adult version hanging in the corner.  I gently steer his young, impressionable mind elsewhere.  “Okay, then, what’s your back-up plan?”

“Hmmm….” he studies the offerings with the seriousness of a heart surgeon.  A few minutes later and a decision is made.  I head to the counter, lay out the cash and we’re homeward bound.

Later that night as my knight-in-slightly-muddy armor starts to work on his daily shine-fest, the Duo drag out their costumes.

“Look, Dad? Like the whip?”  For a kid who doesn’t want to trick-or-treat, my oldest hides his excitement fairly well.

“Nice, son,” my  knight checks the workmanship.  “So, Indiana Jones, uh?”

“Yeah, no mask required.”

They’re interrupted as my youngest taps my knight on his shoulder.  “Check it out, Dad!”  The voice is a little muffled behind the mask, but it gets a smile from my knight.

“Niccceeee…I see we stuck with our old stand-by, Star Wars!”

“Yeah, no Minecraft pigs.” Disappointment has our ARF Stormtrooper’s shoulder sagging. But only for a moment.  “But it’s okay, this one has wickedly cool camo!”

As the Duo dart off to harangue the hell-hound, my knight turns to me.  “Does he realize the camo is for snow covered landscapes?”

“Yep, but it’s camo and you know as well as I do, any camo is good camo, as far as he’s concerned.”  From outside our well barricaded cabin, we hear another zombie cage-fight match start up.  I sure wish the Swamp Thing would leave them alone. I double check the locks on the door and make sure the flamethrowers are set.  “Besides, does it matter? It’s Halloween, and isn’t one of the best parts being able to dress up however we want?”

–Wicked

School’s around the corner…

Yes, it’s almost that time again.  Soon, oh so soon, the Prankster Duo will gear up and head out to take on their annual battle…SCHOOL!  And I will rejoice! 

No more fending off the most dreaded words of the summer…”I’m bored.”  I’ve tried to fight this one over and over the last few years.  We’ve sent the Duo trekking through the wilderness surrounding the Swamp, stopping at campsites along the way to participate in the hunting of the Lego Monsters, had them swim through the Endless rivers, even sent them to chase round and some what round objects held by other dwarves as they race across fields in the sweltering sun.  Once, we even had them work with some very creative puppeteers and try their hand at creating their own shows, but alas, it never failed that the dreaded wail of  “I’m bored!” would echo through the confines of our homey cabin and resonate through the Swamp. 

What’s a parent to do? You can’t just set them loose with a weed whacker on the greenery of the Swamp, the neighbors tend to get a bit huffy when their garden is suddenly reduced to shrubbery.  Our part of the Swamp has some truly sunny days and sending out smaller beings to “play” results in this horrible red coloring accompanied by headaches and much moaning and groaning about being “too hot”.  You could throw up your hands (many parents do because any other action results in jail time or being bald!) and let them become lobotomized by the Electronic Coven of Witches.  You know this group, they’ve managed to worm their way into every household in one form or fashion.  Sometimes they can actually be helpful, but in the summer their wickedness peaks.   They can mesmerize any one, regardless of age, and suck them into a vaguely realistic world where common terminology like “creepers” and “aether mod” and “zanite”  and “mcedit” become actual words. Then suddenly the whole summer has passed and you realize the mantra of “I’m bored!” has only been heard a few times.  On the downside, you find you suddenly need to invest in prescription glasses as their pupils have suddenly lost the ability to detract.  And the lovely gold color that the previous red fades too? It’s changed to a pasty, pale color which tends to glow with a faint phosphorescent when the lights are out.

This summer we dragged the Prankster Duo of to the Land of Fire, just to make sure we set the right tone for the summer.  When we returned, we let them play with Eerie’s Zombies while he was away, but I have to wonder if that was why Hippie moved away.  It may have something to do with the mess they made of his garden once they discovered how well the weed whacker worked on Zombies and weeds alike.  I’ll admit to some pride in their ability to creatively multi-task.  We even let them invite their friends over to join in the fun as they tried to show off their newly found snorkeling skills in the pond out back.  The leeches made it a sticky situation a couple of times though.  We even sent them out with the hell-hound a few times on pointless quests!  If we hadn’t, the Electronic Coven of Witches would have had them in their snarley grasp and there may not have been much gray matter left for their prospective teachers to work with this year.  Not a good thing, considering the horrors that await if they don’t succeed in school.  They’re going to need every scrap of gray, wrinkled matter to get through another year.

Yet next week will mark the end to my annual battle against boredom and I find myself excited at the prospect of actually being able to get ANYTHING done.  No more interruptions, no more fires to put out, no more leftover Zombie parts to pick out of the hell hound’s fur, and maybe the yard will stand a chance at growing more than a millimeter high. Best of all, their antics will be limited to the short time span of the weekend.  Which means I might be able to do something besides damage control.

A day in the (summer) life of a wannabe writer…..

Since summer’s arrival just over a month ago, writing has alluded me like a $10,000,000 jackpot. Yes…spring has passed into a fond memory leaving me holding the reins to a teenage shuttle-you-wherever-you-want vehicle while standing in 113 degree heat. (don’t feel bad for me, I choose to live and sweat here. ) Okay, the kids actually NEED to be places, I get that. They are active and involved in life. So the story goes for another few years, at least. I’m sure when this phase of my life ends, tears will fall and so will my monthly bills.

At the close of business on May 26th, 2011, I turned into a mighty chariot (this image makes me feel better, so just go with it) and clocked in for work. It’s a job I secretly love, but don’t get paid for. It’s a job I show up for every day with little or no appreciation or acknowledgment. In the summer, my downtime is split up into tiny increments that discourage creative flow and hamper one’s ability to connect the dots, let alone to a muse.

An average summer day goes something like this: wake up, pour unhealthy amounts of coffee down throat, maybe eat/maybe not, try to work, drive Kid 1 to sports camp, try to work again, get an unexpected call to pick Kid 2 & a friend up, drive car, get a work call while in car, ask kids to talk quietly while on a phone call, almost drive into the back of a Mercedes because I have no business driving while trying to talk, one kid tells highly inappropriate joke to another and car breaks into hysterical fits of laughter, I hit mute on phone in an attempt to protect any professional image I might have left, finish call, get kids home, attempt to go back to work only to find Kid 4 on computer (doing online school so I can’t really complain), I go in search of my laptop which I find lacking any battery life what-so-ever, decide to have more coffee while charging laptop, Kids announce they are hungry and seem to lack the ability to make a sandwich, I roll my eyes, they decide eating is too difficult for now (since I’m not willing to do the manual labor) and opt for pretzels and cream cheese, I start to explain how that isn’t a meal but give up mid-sentence because I’m just repeating what they have already ignored before, laptop has 10% battery so I try to get back to work, 5 minutes later Kid 4 is leaving for sports camp (if he didn’t have his own car, this scenario would be even worse) and needs $20, I scour the house for $20 and come up with $4.32, Kid 4 is unimpressed but thanks me anyway, I try to get back to work to find Kid 3 has “borrowed” my laptop, well since Kid 4 is done with desktop–I’m in business, but NO wait–desktop is now frozen (due to glitch iTunes) and I’m unable to do anything, I sigh and consider more coffee but choose to stare out the window with my right eye twitching instead, then I think of writing and plan to set aside 1 hour later in the day, Kid 3 announces she needs make-up, conditioner, new jeans, and money for weight training class, my mind remembers buying make-up only days ago and I wonder if the Twilight Zone has taken over the supply-demand cycle in my house because it’s impossibly unbalanced to Walmart’s favor, I also wonder when Kid 3 signed up for weight training, as this is news to me, Kid 2 hears Kid 3 talking about “needs” and begins to write a long list for herself, dollar signs roll through my mind and I wonder if they have any concept of their expenses, I remember I haven’t really worked yet and walk towards my computer, forgetting all about Kid 2 & 3′s grocery “requests”, before I settle in Kid 1 calls to ask if a friend can come over, I say “sure” not realizing until 20 minutes later than he meant 3 friends, there are now 8 teenagers in my house (my own and other random friends), I contemplate getting a real job but decide against it due to possibility of house burning down while I’m gone, I look at the clock–it’s 11:37am. Kid 1 has finally decided to cook something. When he’s done, 10 of my dozen eggs are scrambled and mounded upon a paper plate. I shake my head and consider invoicing him for overuse of eggs. Instead I smile. He’s a teenage boy after all. I check the clock again. It’s 11:45am–time to pick up another kid from camp.

No work accomplished, no writing done, nary a chore has been touched. I long for a soundproof room and a laptop. Instead I steal a few moments to write a quick note about my characters, before running out the door. It’s hardly anything, but if it’s all I accomplish for the day…at least it’s something.

I step out into the hot mid-day sun again, and almost melt into a pile of goo before reaching the car. The day’s only half over, and all I can’t think about is what I “haven’t” accomplished. But then I remind myself of what I have. Amazing, well-adjusted kids are worth any cost. Even if my dreams are slowed down a bit, if they benefit–that’s all that really matters. I will get there. I will reach the top of Mt. Words. I will have my cake and eat it too.

Sunny G

Fame, such a fleeting thing…

Fame, or as close am I’m going to get to it…

When you go to submit your soon to be world famous novel to the lucky editor who’ll get to say, “I knew them when…” all advice tells you to include your writing achievements.   These accolades are not to include the research paper you did in high school and smoked all your classmates with, or the nifty little poem that made it to the state fair.  No, these noteworthy successes are to be final masterpieces that have been…gasp…published.

Now up until recently, I had to struggle with this lovely part of my dreaded query letter.  Why? Because the only piece I had “published” was a non-fiction short on National Public Radio which I wasn’t even aware was out there.  Here’s what happened.  A handful or two years ago, before I found my place among the Evil 7, I tried a few different writing groups. You know how it goes. You’ve been out of practice so you think, “I’ll find a little group, and start small. Just get those creative juices flowing.”  Soon each week I would end up in a room with other moms and we would present short stories, generally non fiction, for critique.  Or as I now know better, discussions.  Not a lot of critiquing, more friendly “perhaps you should…”s.   Nowadays, I have to say,  I’ve come to value the blood baths that I currently endure with the Evil 7.  They seem a bit more productive, funnily enough.

Anyway, I digress.  So we did these mom pieces, and I had one.  They asked me to record it for something, which I now can’t remember what it was.  Then two years later, a co-worker calls me up from Oregon and says,  “By the way are you the one who has two tattoos and tons of siblings?”  Color me shocked. Seemed  he liked to listen to NPR, and lo and behold my recorded story was out there.  Ah fame…gone before you even know you have it.

Fast forwarded to current times.  I’m trudging through the torturous endurance test known as a query letter, and I’m hitting up the other six for some advice, lamenting how I have no publishing cred.  Then Mistress of the Whip, Snarky, dryly points out that I do indeed have some cred, doofus.  Yep, she’s one of the few who gets away with calling me that. A few bloody slashes later, the notation of a piece on NPR made it’s way into the letter. Viola!

Recently I had a request from an e-pub who’s had my story for some time, but since it seems my book has disappeared into the great abyss, I’ve started shopping it out again. Since the notorious piece with NPR, I got to take part in another non-fiction anthology, also to do with moms.  Although it’s under my “real” name because it’s non-fiction, I’m doing this for two reasons.  The ever elusive publishing cred and the fact that all proceeds from the book sales go to charities.  You can’t beat that.

So if you’re looking for a sweet Mother’s Day gift for a mom or grand-mom, check out this site (www.oursharedwisdom.com) and enjoy the anthology, “A Mother’s Wisdom” edited by Cathryn Lomardo.  Lots of great stories from lots of great moms and grand-moms. Yep, I’m in there, on page 15. Have at it.

It’s all I can give you for now because somewhere out there is an editor just waiting to pick up my next great novel. And when they do, even you can join in the “I read her when…”

–Wicked

Why listening to your kids on the drive home is fun…

Like many other moms out there, I am the owner of a multi person mover, aka minivan.  Dont’ throw rocks at me yet, I’m not into soccer and neither are my kids!  Anyway, I do take turns with my best friend Ang, and do kid runs.   I have discovered that the conversations they hold within the confines of the multi person mover is quite entertaining, and always enlightening.

For example, last week I was bringing home two 9 1/2- year-olds, 1 8-year-old and 1 7-year-old.  They range in grades from 2nd to 5th grade.  The conversation started out with my youngest (the 8 yr. old) who’s in fourth grade.  I was duly informed that my youngest is now a member of the “Jason Club”.

“Jason Club?” I asked, trying hard to suppress the twitching of my lips.  “Any Jason in particular?”

“Okay mom, maybe not Jason club, maybe we can be the Boys club.”  Disdain from an 8-year-old, how refreshing.

“Hmm, I’m not sure that’s such a great name either.”

“MOOOOOMMM, that’s not the point.”

“Okay then, what is the point?”

“I’m a bodyguard.”  A slight pause as if he was waiting for some heavenly chorus to emerge at his pronouncement.

Many images run through my mind, and I of course do the whole mom routine.  “Bodyguard? Baby, you better not be picking on any one, or starting any fights with this bodyguard gig you’ve got going on.  I’m pretty sure Jason can take care of himself.”

A really big sigh, and from the corner of my eye I catch a not so subtle eye roll.  “Mom, puleeze I’m not picking on anyone.  ‘Sides it’s not the other kids I’m protecting Jason from.”

My turn to pause.  “Really? Then who do you protect Jason from?”

With absolute pride and seriousness, he replies, “From the goblins, trolls, and sprites.”  As I sit there at the traffic light, I fight back the tear starting to emerge.  I lose track of the conversation for a minute as I marvel in the fact that my beautiful son has a wonderous imagination, which gives me the warm and tingley’s.  When I tune back in, he’s very serious about his job duties and its requirements.

“…so that’s why I have to wear green and my camo shorts, okay?”

I shoot a glance over to see him watching me, dark eyes sparkling, and a smile from ear to ear.  “Run that by me one more time, love.”

“I have to wear green and camo because that way I can sneak up on the sprites and take them out before they can warn the goblins.”

Blood thirsty little bugger I’ve raised, wonder where he gets it from.  “So sprites aren’t nice, I’m assuming?”

But before he can answer, the peanut gallery behind me consisting of one older brother, a 9 1/2 yr. old best friend and the little sister who’s just part of the gang, pipes up.

“There are no such things as sprites.”  This from the best friend. Ah, the sound of reason and the majority.  How will my imaginative child face this one down?

“Yeah, I know.  I’m the one keeping them under control. So, of course you’re not going to see them.”  The ‘duh’ was implied by tone.

Then a very highly philosophical argument ensued, with phrases such as “they’re not real” was rebutted with “yes they are” and the return volley of “no they aren’t”.  As stimulating as that conversation was, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Look, guys.  If he wants to believe they’re real, let it go.  If you want to believe they don’t exist, so be it.  Here’s the deal guys.  Everyone is allowed to believe what they want.”

“Yeah that’s why we live in America.” was helpfully provided by oldest.   Silence reigns for about thirty seconds, then the peanut gallery starts in on the merits of spaghetti with and without meat in the sauce.

Meanwhile, my youngest leans over and whispers, “Mom, I know it’s not real, but you know what?”

“What?” I keep my voice low so not to detract from the debate on spaghetti behind us.

“It’s a lot of fun to believe it is.”

Oh yes, son, it really is!

Wicked