And I'm Off ... Almost

I've been slightly stressed about the idea of flying off to this conference tomorrow, for several reasons.

1. All the scary, really smart, new people! ... Will they like me, or will they think I'm weird? (This is why I write YA, people. I can relate to teen-aged insecurities ... This is where I start my mantra: "Focus on others, focus on others, FOCUS ON OTHERS!")
2. Will I remember everything I'm supposed to take? (I'm going to try to squeeze everything into a carry-on and hope my clothes don't get too wrinkled.)
3. Will the family be okay while I'm gone? Did I stock enough food in the freezer? Will the Dashingly Handsome Sidekick get ANY sleep?
4. Why did I leave all the house cleaning for TODAY, the last day, when I also need to pack, and do all the last-minute shopping, and make sure my children feel loved and provided for? (ugh)
5. Do I have time to write my Story A Week today? (Sure, I do! There's always time for writing! HA!)

So, how do I handle stress?

Well, today I'm handling it by posting pictures of cute animals and children on my blog. Here are a few of my grandcat, Midnight, and my almost-two-year-old, Sophie. Midnight is Sophie-sized, which is great, except for the times she tries to haul him around by the hind leg. Midnight is the perfect addition to our family because he's a luxury cat ... and enjoys a good book when he gets a chance to fall asleep on one.

I'm going to miss my babies while I'm gone.  *Sob*

Obviously, I'll be MIA for a while. But please keep your google-reader-eyes peeled for my return. I'm hoping to bring a few books to share back from the conference ... maybe even SIGNED books. I never had a 100 follower give-away, so I need to make up for that. (YAY!)

And hopefully I'll have some useful nuggets of writing wisdom to share, too, if I'm not so star struck with all the smart, important conference attendees that I lose my brain entirely.

Take care, everyone. I'll *see* you when I get back.

Amy

Writing Buddies

It's wonderful to write when you have great books to read.

They become companions.

Almost as if you have friends right there in the room to teach you how it's done.

Here are a few of my pals from the last few weeks:

Have you read any of these? Did you enjoy them as much as I did?

The Forest Telling Story of Anna Sonnichsen

Parents love it when their children follow in their footsteps. We try not to pressure them into liking the same things we do, but it tickles us when they do. Here's a book written by my daughter Anna, age 4. (I've included the text underneath just in case you can't read my tiny writing. And yes, that's my tiny writing. Please don't analyze it and tell me I'm crazy. I already know I'm crazy.)

The Forest Telling Story of Anna Sonnichsen

 

One day I went in the forest. I met an alligator. It was very evil so I fighted it.

I saw a giraffe and it was fighting the alligator.

I met a guy with a head and thumb. The head and thumb guy got dead.

Then I walked back home and had breakfast.

THE END.

Chicken & Wine

This post is not about writing. *Shock* It's about food, which is another hobby (both the eating and the cooking parts) high on my favorites list.

Tonight I was in a bit of a quandary. I had a couple of the little cousins coming over for dinner and I planned to make mini-pizzas out of pita bread. No big deal.

Until I remembered I used the last of the tomato sauce on pasta yesterday.

After living in China for eight years, I can do miracles with a can of cream of chicken soup. But tonight the cupboard let me down. There was not even a single can of cream of chicken soup in it. Without a can of cream of chicken soup, I was lost.

Here I was at home with six children, no husband, and no canned goods (I didn't have canned corn, canned tomatoes, or cream of mushroom, either -- talk about cupboard fail!). I actually considered fixing everyone Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. (Horrors!)

"Be creative!" I ordered myself, thinking immediately of one of my favorite food network shows, Chopped, where professional chefs have to make food in twenty minutes with a very weird combination of ingredients. "I can do this!"

And I did it.

When the food was on the table, the kids gobbled it up. They all complimented me, actually. The husband came home and said, "Wow. That's amazing," before heading back over to the stove for seconds.

Now I know you're all dying for the recipe. What did I do without my can of cream of chicken soup?

(Keep in mind, this is a recipe I've only made once; I haven't tested it twenty times or anything like the Barefoot Contessa would have. The measurements are approximate.)

CHICKEN IN WINE BUTTER SAUCE

Ingredients:

1/2 cube butter
5-7 chicken breasts
Italian breadcrumbs
Italian seasoning
1/2 Cup white wine
1 Cup chicken broth
2 strips bacon
Green beans (or other green vegetable, either frozen or fresh will work)
Pine nuts (optional)
White rice

(1) Cook rice in rice cooker
(2) Melt butter in large saucepan. Add chicken breasts. Season with breadcrumbs and Italian seasoning. When 3/4 cooked through, turn over, and season with breadcrumbs and seasoning. Add two strips bacon. Allow to simmer about 3 minutes. Pour in wine. Bring to a boil. Add green beans. Add chicken broth. Return to a boil. Simmer until green beans are cooked through.
(3) Meanwhile, toast pine nuts in dry pan.
(4) In a bowl, put down rice and ladle chicken mixture on top. Sprinkle with pine nuts if desired.

That's it. Now time to enjoy!

Obviously this recipe is not fat free or vegetarian. But it is incredibly quick, and we all liked it a lot. Let me know if you decide to try it -- or a variation of it!

And now a Q4U: Do you enjoy being creative in the kitchen?

My Excuse

Sorry for the silence around here.

I've been writing.

Which is good.

But I might stop soon

-- just leave the darn thing alone --

so I don't arrive at my conference sleep-deprived

and with a humming headache.

Besides, my parents arrive at my house the day I get back

from LA (YAY!),

which means I also have to

 clean

the

house.

Yuck.

But yay for my parents coming!

I have a lot to look forward to.

And a lot to do.

Just wanted to give you all some sort of explanation.

Okay, it's an excuse.

Now that I've given the excuse

and the pressure's off

I might start blogging every day after all.

We'll see.

But just in case I'm quiet

over here in my corner,

you know why.

Have a great weekend!

A Story A Week: Blue

Blue pressed the cold edge of the flask to his lips. He tasted the metal before the too-sweet liquid slipped over his tongue. He swallowed, but gagged convulsively as it burned its way down.

“Awful stuff, isn’t it?” Joy said.

The patient in the next bed turned his head to glare at Blue, a Cyclops eye staring with the intensity of a burning coal. The other eye was mutilated, covered with a sloppy bandage.

Blue jerked his head at Joy in reply, disgusted with himself for his weakness. Even a child could take medicine without attracting the attention of the entire ward.

She shrugged one thin shoulder. “You get used to it.” When she stood, the old metal bed frame creaked.

“Lie down,” she directed. “You still need rest.”

“I need to get up,” Blue said through gritted teeth. But he obeyed her out of habit. “I’ll go crazy lying here.”

“You’d only get in the way.” Her voice was too gentle to be cruel. “Besides, that stuff you took will kick in soon, then you won’t have a choice. You’ll rest.” She smiled, the sad smile of one whose life is replete with tragedy.

She took one step toward the door, but changed her mind. Settling herself back on the edge of the mattress, she did not look at Blue when she spoke. “Try…,” she began. “Just try to be … I don’t know … grateful.”

“Grateful!”

“Grateful.” Now she looked at him. Her eyes always unnerved him. They were blue-white, a cloud color, a color from his childhood. “You have a bed here. You’re not rotting in the street.”

Blue couldn’t help but glance at his own stump of an arm that lay across the dingy coverlet.

Joy followed his gaze. “You have narcotics to dull the pain,” she added. “And there is food. You are safe here … for awhile. So rest. Renew your strength. We’ll need you again, I swear to you.”

Blue’s good hand gripped the blanket. “I’m still strong,” he began, but a crack in his voice gave him away.

Joy reached out. He noticed her tapered fingers. Their delicacy was a sham; a war-like instinct lurked within this quiet woman’s breast. The calluses, the scars showed their real worth, their skill with the javelin and the bow. Fighters had been reduced to using such crude and ancient weapons in these dark times.

She brushed his eyelids closed with gentleness of a mother. The action only amplified his sorrow, reminding him of his own mother, of all he’d lost since the fighting began.

“Have peace,” she whispered. “For a little while. While you can.” Her voice trailed into his consciousness, even as his mind numbed.

 
Thank you to Joy, who inspired this story with the words amplify, sham, and replete. I feel like I've expanded my vocabulary with this challenge!

Blown Away

You guys, I was BLOWN AWAY by yesterday's response to my desperate cry for critique. A whole load of you jumped into the dark, uncharted waters to help me with my WiP. I know I'll have a better product going into the conference because of you. Thank you!

From the surface of my cold, turbulent lake where I'm treading water, it's nice to have many friends around me.You make this sometimes solitary endeavor less cold and less dark.

 

And for those of you who didn't have the time (especially considering my absurdly short timeline), I still feel your support and encouragement. After all, when I look at this realistically, if twenty people had been willing to read and give feedback, I wouldn't have had time to incorporate it all.

The numbers were perfect and I am grateful for every single one of you.

I feel like I'm being melodramatic about this.

I just want you all to know how much you've blessed me with your generosity and encouragement.

 Now ... back to a lot of percolating. And eventually a lot of editing.

Panic

This is so lame of me. I know it is. But here's the deal:

I have one-and-a-half weeks until I attend my writing conference in LA.

I have a freshly revised and edited contemporary YA manuscript.

Not perfect. Of course not perfect. It has only passed the inspection of one beta-reader whose advice has been incorporated.

Please do not respond to this out of any feelings of guilt or obligation or pity. Only if you really want to.

Would anyone be up to a *quick* read-through? It doesn't even have to be the whole thing. I'll take whatever I can get, writers and non-writers alike. This is last-minute talking here, people. Any kind of feedback would be welcome, even gut-reactions to the first 20 words.

And I will not be offended or hurt or depressed if no one responds. So please don't say yes out of pity. Only if you have a strong desire to do this -- and the time.

Panickedly yours,

Amy

WQI with Sara J. Henry: Learning to Swim

Welcome to another World's Quickest Interview!

This time I'm delighted to have Sara J. Henry, author of the novel Learning to Swim (available for sale in February, 2011, but up for preorder on Amazon now!) here to answer my questions in 140 characters or less. Sara blogs over at Sara in Vermont.  I hope after reading her interview you're as excited to read her book as I am.

Please describe your book.

A woman dives into a lake to rescue a small boy, who turns out to speak only French –and who no one seems to be missing.

How long have you been writing?
Since I could first form words on paper – I wrote my first short story (less than a page – I guess you could call it flash fiction) when I was 5.

Who or what was your inspiration?

A house filled with books.

How long did it take you to write this book?

About seven months – the first time. Then I had to learn to rewrite, which at first involved a lot of staring at the pages.

Besides writing, what is your favorite thing to do?
Reading. Many other things run a close second, but books are always there, and can fit any mood.

All-expenses-paid vacation: where would you go?
Australia, this time without broken foot and book to be rewritten (during a five-week house swap) and New Zealand. Or the south of France.

What’s your favorite color and why?
Black, because it goes with everything – I’m shopping impaired.

Lunch with anyone: who would you choose?
My dad, if he could come back from the Great Beyond. I’d show him this book, and thank him for letting me read his Travis McGees.

Cat or dog?
Dog. Without a doubt. (See photo.) They seem to find me.

Any advice for aspiring writers?
Read a lot. Don’t be afraid to rewrite and cut. Read your work aloud – preferably to someone else. And keep working at it until it’s really good.

And that's it, folks! Quick, huh?

Thank you, Sara! We're cheering you on, and I can't wait to read your book. I got the chance to read the first couple sentences during a Miss Snark's First Victim critique session and have been salivating ever since.

Take care, everyone, and have a great weekend!

A Story A Week: Splinter

“Ow!”

“Hold still!”

“I can’t!”

“You must!”

“Just stop for a minute, okay?” Darren pulled back and slapped the package of frozen peas back on his eye.

“We can go to the hospital, you know.”

Darren sniffed. “No.”

“Then stop being a baby and just let me get it out.”

“You’ll make me so I can't see good anymore.”

“I will not.”

“Maybe.”

“If you hold still, I won’t.”

Darren lowered the peas. His face was crumpled in a scowl. Wendy leaned toward him again, her silver tweezers glinting in the overhead fluorescent light.

“Look up,” she commanded.

His eyelid fluttered, but his eyeball rotated obediently.

“Look at the lights,” she said.

“They’re too bright,” he said, his bottom lid inching into a squint. She held it firmly down so she could see the pink of the inside.

“There he is,” she murmured. “Little bugger.” A sliver, as slight as a hair, on the inside of his lower lid. “Hold on, Darren.”

His whole body shuddered. “Did you get it?”

“Almost.” The tips of the tweezers held the dark tip. She pulled. “Dang it!”

“What?”

“It broke.”

“What broke?” He glared at her, one eye dark and accusing, the other too tired to accuse.

“The splinter. The end broke off. I guess I’ll have to take you in after all.”

“No.” He set his lip.

“I can’t do it, Darren,” she said. “It’s still in there, but the part that’s sticking out is so small, I won’t be able to get it. We need a professional.”

“No.”

Darren could be stubborn when he wanted to be.

“Daddy’ll get it out.”

Wendy snorted. “You’re going to wait for eight hours with that thing in your eye for your dad to get home? He even said himself he might be late.”

“No hospital,” Darren said. “I’ll blink it out.”

“Don’t be silly,” Wendy said. “It’s hurting you. You already tried blinking it out.”-

She wanted to scold him, to tell him it was his own fault for playing in the bark. She’d told him a thousand times: bark had splinters. She’d never thought in a million years he’d get one in the inside of his eyelid. This summer job was turning out to be more than she’d bargained for. She’d thought, one little boy – how much trouble could that be?

A whole lot of trouble, that’s what. Especially when that boy was five years old and determined to test all the limits of every rule she made.

“You should’ve played in your sandbox.” That was the closest she could get to an I-told-you-so.

Darren stuck out his lower lip and crossed his hands over his chest. A tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye, running a course through the dirt on his cheek.

“Crying might work,” Wendy admitted. “Maybe that’ll be better than blinking.”

“I’m not crying!” Darren yelled.

Wendy sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, Darren.”

He reached up and swiped the back of his hand under his nose.

Wendy reached for a tissue and handed it to him. “Do you want me to call your dad?” she asked. “He said we could call any time.”

She would’ve liked to take care of this without having to call Mr. Spencer. She’d have to ingratiate herself to him again. He’d cock one eyebrow at her, a look that questioned whether someone newly graduated from high school was responsible enough to take care of his one and only child, his precious Darren.

Eye splinters? She might get fired for this one. Whoever heard of eye splinters?

“No,” Darren said. “I’ll cry it out.”

Wendy blew out her breath. “Okay, hon. Why don’t you go back to the sofa and lie down? Think terrible, terrible thoughts until you cry and cry and work that splinter right out of there.”

“Okay,” he said. He stood up and kicked the stool out of his way. The child did nothing by halves. “I’ll think of the baddest stuff ever.” The idea seemed to excite him. He walked with a new spring in his step to the sofa, lay down, and returned the pack of peas to his face.

Wendy trailed behind him. It was impossible to vilify someone so miniature. When he stopped squirming into position she bent over and pecked his forehead with a kiss.

“I’m not a baby,” Darren said, cocking his eyebrow at her, just as his father did.

“I know you’re not,” Wendy said, smiling into his one visible, furious eye.

 
This story was inspired by Wendy at All in a Day's Thought, with her words tweezers, vilify and ingratiate. Thank you, Wendy!

Scruff Vs. Luxury: An Adoption Story

Introducing the newest member of our family!
We adopted a kitten.

Olivia has been asking for a pet FOREVER. Finally, we felt settled enough to give her the thumbs up. And today we went through with the deed.

My friend works at an animal clinic in a nearby town and she mentioned they had a whole bunch of kittens available for adoption. So, today I told Olivia she and I would go down and pick one out.

Upon entering the clinic, Olivia instantly bonded with a black ball of fuzz who honestly does have a cute face, but wasn't nearly as adorable and striking and luxurious as the long-haired, white-and-black kitten in the same cage. The white-and-black kitten looked like a kitten model. He was docile, sitting quietly as I stroked him. Fuzzball was all over the place, nosing into everything, trying to play with everything.

I was set on the long-haired designer cat. I mean, seriously. This was the cat of my dreams.

Olivia, however, had fallen in love with the hyperactive fuzz ball.

I tried my best to reason with her. "We want a quiet cat who will sit in our laps. And I've always wanted a long haired cat ... and look at his face! He's gorgeous. He's going to be a beautiful adult."

"But, Mommy," Olivia replied, her eyes filling with tears as she stroked the scrappy kitten's head. "This kitten reminds me of me!"

Well, what can you say to that?
For those of you who don't know, we brought Olivia home from an orphanage in China as a skin-and-bones six-week-old the orphanage was hoping some love could revive. (Love & bottles worked.)
My friend at the animal clinic had already told us this scruffy kitten had had a rough go of life so far. They almost lost him a couple times. Yeah, okay, so maybe there were a few similarities.

I still tried to reason with her. "But, honey, this isn't a child. It's a cat. Let's not think about this emotionally. We need to be rational."
More tears. "But I love this one!"

So, the end of the story is that we now have a scruffy, playful kitten in our home.

I wanted to bring home my designer cat, too, but the dashingly handsome sidekick exercised his authority and insisted on one cat only. Since he rarely speaks in exclamation points, I had to take him seriously.

I'll be honest. I'm still thinking about that designer cat, how good he'd look curled up in my lap, how I'd enjoy brushing him....

But that's okay. We have Scruffy, who Olivia has affectionately named Midnight. He does have a cute little face and he purrs like crazy every time you pick him up.
I'm sure I'll like him just fine.

And I guess there are worse problems than having a little girl with a very big heart.

The River of Life

We're puttering down the river of life. We've mapped out our course. We've got the weather forecast up on the netbook, our toes dipped in the water. (The piranhas aren't biting today.) The sky is blue, the jungle birds are singing, swooping low, trailing colorful tail feathers through the water.

Then a hippo plows into us out of nowhere and dumps our boat upside down.

Whammo! Splash!

Well, maybe it's not always that drastic. But sometimes it is. Sickness can hit us that way. Death. An accident.

An unplanned pregnancy feels that way, too. For some people it dumps them overboard. For others, I guess the hippo just pushes their boat down a section of river they weren't planning to travel.

That's the boat we're in.

The ironic part is that a few months ago I was planning on writing a blog post about how weird it was not to be pregnant. My baby was about 18 months old, which was normally when we'd start thinking about another one. But Sophie was our last. We'd decided that. And I was excited about moving on.

I'd started planning the next stage of my life: getting all my kids out of diapers; having all the kids in school in a few years; having more time to write.

I signed up for the SCBWI LA conference, because my life was stable. It was time for me to start investing more in my dream of being a real, live author.

Then, BAM! Course irreversibly altered. Six months from now -- if everything goes well -- we'll have a screaming, kicking, pooping newborn again (whose head smells like milk).

I'll be honest, I cried at first. Because this was a detour, which probably means I'll have to postpone my dreams a little bit longer. But then I went in for my first ultrasound and, of course, you can't help but be excited when you see that little body wriggling around on the screen and you think -- "That's my baby!"

Of course, we're scared, because five is a big number when it comes to children. Each one of them is an individual responsibility. Do we have the strength to keep pouring into all these little investments?

And I'm exhausted. I've been sick for three months and I'm so ready to be done and feel normal again. Hopefully any day now. Hopefully. Hopefully.

Hopefully one of these days I'll enjoy cooking again. And eating again. Hopefully. Hopefully.

As we meander down this river we weren't planning on traversing, I'm thankful the hippo didn't capsize our boat.

And I'm thankful that this may be the journey we were meant to take all along, even if it wasn't our plan.

Night Out on the River

A dinner cruise. 

Quiet (except for the roar of the engine). 

Peaceful (except for the wind whipping my hair in my face). 

Able to eat uninterrupted (check). 

Able to carry on adult conversation (check). 

Saw a flock of pelicans (check). Canadian geese performed an air show (check).

Cracked open a crab leg for the first time in my life -- and screamed, of course (check). 

Discovered that crab may be my favorite food (double check).

 

Spent a beautiful evening with my beloved on our anniversary (check! check! check!)

The really interesting part of the evening, however, came at the end. Our captain's wife noticed a boat with a couple guys in it waving their arms around.

They'd run out of gas about 500 yards from a gas pump.

"How'd you run out of gas out here?" asks our captain (a Prosser Sheriff, mind you). 

The guy without the shirt says, "That's a darn good question."

"How many beers you had tonight?" asks our captain.(We'd noticed a discarded beer box floating next to the boat when we pulled up.)

The guy without the shirt stares blankly.

"I said, how many beers you had tonight?"the sheriff repeats.

"Uh, don't know."

"Why's your tongue lolling around in your mouth right now?" 

"Can't quite say."

"Well, I've been a cop for a long time, and when I see two guys without gas within sight of a gas pump, and they can't talk straight, well...."

Honestly, I felt like I was a fly on a squad car. 

Or at a live taping of Cops.

Then it hit me: I could never be a policeman.

Never in a million years.

My response to a drunk man in a boat would be more like, "I'm so sorry to trouble you, sir, but how many beers have you had tonight? ... if you don't mind telling me, that is...."

We towed them over to the gas pump. The guy without a shirt promised his daughter was going to pick him up. Nobody got arrested. We wound our way back up river in the twilight.

The bridges were lit. The stars popped out. The wind whipping over the boat's prow alternated between shiveringly frigid and balmily warm.

Perfect night.

I just hope those drunk dudes made it home okay.

Saturday Update: Where Haven't I Been?

Boy, I miss a few days of blogging and I feel like I'm MIA. I guess I've been more in a regular blogging routine than I thought.

The thing is, I have so much blogging fodder right now, but not the time to sit down and post it.

So, we'll make due with a Saturday Update, journal style.

Monday, July 5

My sister was visiting from Hong Kong and we wanted to take her camping. My dashingly handsome sidekick suggested Onhanapecosh, a camp ground in the Mt. Rainier National Park, a mere two hour drive from our humble town of Prosser.

The pictures say it all. We had a blast.

Thursday, July 8

Today my sister and I drove to my aunt's house in Camas, across the river from Portland, OR. We took the scenic route, stopping for Greek food along the way at a Greek Orthodox monastery where the sisters make the food from scratch. "Best gyros in the United States," quoth one customer as we entered the shop. We began salivating immediately.

He wasn't kidding. The tzatziki was to die for.

I had passed that monastery a thousand times. Thank goodness for my sister who loves travel and adventure whose idea it was to stop there!

We also stopped at Maryhill Museum on the Columbia Gorge. This was the only challenging part of the trip. I had my two younger daughters with me, ages 4 and almost 2. Let's just say, museums aren't the best locations for young children missing their naps. I got a few death stares from old ladies who were distressed by my children's loud, echoing voices (and occasional screaming fits) throughout the old mansion's hallways.

But we did get to see Queen Marie of Romania's furniture and the gown she wore to her cousin's coronation (made with platinum and silver threads! -- I thought that was the stuff of fairytales!) We also saw some beautiful paintings and pottery. Learning about the history of the museum was fascinating. There were chess set collections and a huge display of Native American stuff (sorry, I can't think of a better word at this moment. Think: baskets, tools, papoose carriers, clothing, etc...). Quite the eclectic mix!

The girls and I left my sister with my aunt (boo hoo!) and drove back that night. I was frightened of hitting deer in the pass in the dark, but the only animals I came close to hitting were two coyotes.  All I can say is thank goodness for seatbelts.

Friday, July 9

Woke up bright and early to drive my dashingly handsome sidekick to Yakima for knee surgery. I spent most of my time in the waiting room reading a friend's WiP on my laptop. Yay for laptops and entertaining WiPs! I felt like I had a productive day.

The sidekick got through surgery and is spending his time with his leg (complete with gigantic bandage) up. The doctor said he's absolutely not allowed to help me with housework for at least a year. (Thanks a lot, doc!)

Saturday, July 10

I'm dragging my limping dashingly handsome sidekick on a dinner cruise tonight to celebrate our 11th anniversary. According to the boat's skipper, all he has to do is walk from the car to the boat and then the dhs can sit with his leg up for the entire evening.

Sounds pretty good to us. We're dropping the kids off at grandma's in twenty minutes. 

Better go. Ciao!

A Story A Week: The Routine

“Twenty seconds, Sandra.” Mother’s voice drifted from the living room.

“Coming, Mother.” The water was hot. I carried the basin in first, careful not to slosh on Mother’s good rug.

The clock on the mantle chimed.

“All right,” Mother said in a quiet voice. “Turn it on, then.”

I set down the basin on the towel near Mother’s feet and stepped over to the television set. The button clicked when I pressed it. Mother had it on the same channel, always ready for her one o’clock program.

The opening music had already begun.

“The chocolate?” she murmured.

“It’s ready,” I said. “Back in the kitchen.”

As I hurried back out with the tray and laid it on the table at her elbow, Mother said, as if she had to remind me, “And the drink.”

She liked to have a full cup of ice water on a coaster next to the chocolates. Chocolates sucked the moisture right out of her, she said.

“I’m a little behind today, Mother,” I said. “Due to the leaky toilet.”

“Yes, Sandra,” Mother said. “I know.” But I could hear displeasure lacing her voice. She didn’t like me puttering around during her program.

I found a puddle in the bathroom this morning that could’ve drowned a small child. Called the plumber. Being a good man, he came right away, fixed the toilet, but tracked his dirt all through the house.

I worried Mother’s lunch wouldn’t be ready on time, that I wouldn’t get the water heated before her program began.

“Do you need help with your shoes?” I asked. Mother has a time bending over these days.

“Drink first, please,” Mother said, her eyes on the television screen.

“Max, you know you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. How could you even think I’d sleep with Logan? He’s a friend! Just a friend!”

I set down the coaster first, then the ice water on top of it. A single tear from the side of the cold glass slid down the surface.

I unlaced her shoes.

“Cassandra, stop! Wait! – You know the truth. Just tell me! I can take it.”

“No, Max. Not this time. You say you can handle the truth, but you can’t handle this.”

Mother dipped in the toe of her left foot. “Water’s too hot.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll bring some cold from the kitchen.”

“It’s Scott, isn’t it? Something about Scott. Cassandra, don’t keep it from me!”

“Go to hell!”

The water out of the tap was warm against my fingers. On hot days, the pipes stayed hot.

“And the fan, Sandra!” Mother called.

I brought in the smaller basin of cooler water. “Here you are, Mother.”

“Not too much, it’ll get cold.”

“Max! You’ve got it all wrong. Don’t do anything you’ll regret!”

“You don’t leave me any choice, Cassandra. How can I go on in the world now?”

“Is that better, Mother?”

“Much better, Sandra.” She looked up at me as I tilted the fan. The breeze lifted wisps of white hair around her face. Her smile deepened the laugh lines in her cheeks.

A rush of euphoric pleasure seized me. The same old grabbing at my heart. Because I had her with me one more day. Her smile repaid me for everything.

“I can’t believe Max doesn’t believe her,” Mother said, her pale blue eyes darting back to the screen. “After all they’ve been through together. Isn’t that interesting, Sandra?”

 
Thanks to my Aunt Sandi for this week's inspirational words: euphoric, chocolate, and chime. If you'd like to leave me three inspirational words for a future story, click here and leave your words in the comments section. Thanks! 

WQI with Author Samuel Park: This Burns My Heart

Welcome to the first ever WQI (World's Quickest Interview)!

Today, I have a very special guest. Samuel Park is the author of THIS BURNS MY HEART (published by Simon & Schuster), scheduled for release in June, 2011.

Thanks for being a willing first victim, Samuel! No, but seriously, I am very excited to read Samuel's book, and I hope after reading this WQI you're as excited as I am.

The rules for WQI are simple: my questions are under 140 characters long and Samuel's responses are just as brief.

Take it away, Samuel!

Please describe your book.
THIS BURNS MY HEART is about a woman in 1960s Korea struggling to give her family a good life and find true love.

How long have you been writing?

I've been writing since I learned how to read--I've always been addicted to the idea of being a writer.

 

Who or what inspired this book?

My mother's life. It had all the elements of a really great drama--conflict, heroes and villains, and a fascinating setting.

How long did it take you to write this book?

It took me nine months to write the first draft, then 2 years to revise it.

Besides writing, what do you like to do most?

I love watching TV, especially Survivor and Real Housewives of New York City.

All-expenses-paid vacation: where would you go?

I would go to England, because I have lots of friends there who I never get to see.

What’s your favorite color and why?

I like green because it's calming.

Lunch with anyone: who would you choose?

Vittorio De Sica--I know he's dead, but his movie A BRIEF VACATION made a huge impression.

Cat or dog?
I love cats, especially rubbing their stomachs.

That's all, folks! Quick, huh? And don't you feel like you know Samuel better? And don't you wish this book was available NOW?

Thanks again, Samuel. I'll be reminding everyone next year to preorder their copy because I know I will be! In the meantime, enjoy his blog by clicking here.

Let-tuce Be Writers & Other Fun

I actually won something! It's been honestly a whole year since I've won an online contest. So, I was pretty jazzed when KarenG told me I won her contest-naming contest over on her blog, Coming Down the Mountain: From Reclusive Writer to Published Author.

KarenG has contests running all summer under the banner title Let-tuce be Writers (cool name, huh?). Please check it out because she has a lot of cool prizes in store.

In other cool news, I'm at 101 blog followers.

So,  

THANK YOU!

You guys are awesome and I'm so glad to get to know everyone better. 

And in still more cool news, Samuel Park, author of the upcoming book This Burns My Heart, agreed to do The World's Quickest Interview with me. 

I'll be posting his interview early next week (after you've all recovered from all the Fourth of July revelry.)

Please stop in to read about Samuel and his book. He's a very cool guy and his book sounds awesome.

Have a wonderful American Independence Day, everyone, no matter where you are in the world.

If you're in China, please don't dance in the street like I did one year. I almost got arrested. 

But that's another story....

God bless America!

Spacing Manuscripts -- Like Spacing Children?

I have kid analogies in my brain all the time. Forgive me.

As I mentioned the other day, my WiP is out with its first beta reader. And already my brain is in What's-Next mode.

I'm holding back, though. I have a feeling that if I start plotting my next book, I'm going to lose motivation to work on my WiP ... and I know my WiP still needs a lot of work.

It's similar to when your baby reaches a milestone: Your six month old cuts teeth. Your one year old takes steps. Your twenty month old uses an iPhone (pictured).

You feel sadness that your baby is growing up. You may even shed nostalgic tears. And then there's that stirring, that whisper ... "Is it time for another one?"

Okay, some of you are laughing at me. You're looking at my family picture and realizing why I have so many children. Yes, I'm a baby addict. My babies are barely out of diapers (sometimes not even) and I'm popping out the next one already.

I'm the same way with my novels. During the querying process of one manuscript, I'm already half-way through the rough draft of something new.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Well, as with most life decisions there are pros and cons.

Pro: I don't get hit so hard with Query Funk. I have something new to look forward to. Rejections don't sting so much because my next book is so much better (right?).

Cons: I wonder if I give up too easily. Rationale: Okay, twenty people rejected this one. Instead of going back and revising and trying to fix some of the problems, I'll shelve it. I'm almost finished with my new WiP anyway. I'll just work on that.

Very much like child spacing. There are disadvantages to having your children all right on top of each other. I know people whose children are a year apart. Those are tough early years. Those babies who are still babies are also big siblings who have to learn to grow up pretty quickly.

But on the other hand, I know families with kids six to ten years apart. The parents are more sane, but there's something nice (albeit at times chaotic) about kids having their siblings as playmates.

The bottom line is finding the right balance for YOU. Are you the type of person to work on one novel and tirelessly query it for ten years, or are you going to shell out ten novels in the same amount of time and trust that you'll learn enough by the tenth one to make it brilliant. Or is there a happy medium?

Different methods work for different people. What's your rule-of-thumb for the timing of a new project?