Saturday, February 27, 2010

Thrill of the Games



I missed my true life's calling.

I've never watched short track speed skating before this winter Olympic games. But immediately upon watching my first race, I was mesmerized.

After watching several races, I just knew it. "That's my sport."

Here's why:
  • I love roller skating and ice skating.

  • I love going really, really absurdly fast when I'm roller skating or ice skating. Usually I have to hold myself back so that I don't frighten all the other skaters.

  • Because I lived in Hong Kong for thirteen years, I am used to crowds. One of my favorite activities is to be on a very, very crowded sidewalk (there's NOTHING in the world like a Hong Kong-crowded sidewalk) and weave my way through the crush of humanity, walking as fast as possible. It's a challenge, actually, to see how many people I can pass without bumping into anyone.

Therefore, I'm bummed that I'm already 32 years old and too old to start training. Not to mention the small hurdle that I'm not willing to leave my four kids and sweet hubby so I can pursue skating full time.

But all dream-killing reality aside, I'm thrilled to have finally found my sport. And I wouldn't even mind the unitards so much. Next time I'm at the Prosser roller rink, it will be fun to fly, weaving through the crowds of wobbling skaters, and imagine myself on the short track Olympic circuit. Ah, the thrill of the games!

Friday, February 26, 2010

Waving

When my two big kids got out of the minivan to cross the road to school, I called, "Don't forget to wave at me when you cross the street!"

Brandon Heath's Love Never Fails was playing on the radio.

I pulled forward to the cross walk and waved at my kids, but they forgot to look at me or wave back. As they opened the school door and went inside, I got all choked up.

All I could think was: They're forgetting their mother already!

I remembered being a little girl on the school bus in Hong Kong. Sometimes I'd get so wrapped up in the excitement of seeing my friends that I'd forget to wave to my mother. But I always, always realized it when she was out of sight. I remember missing her so intensely and feeling so conscience stricken about forgetting that I'd actually cry on the school bus.

Remembering that just made me homesick, so that as I was driving home I shed tears in the minivan. Feeling so far away from my mommy. Grieving how quickly my babies are growing up.

Thankfully I came home to snuggle time and kisses from my little girls. That helped.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

WIP Wednesday: Focus!


I'm having a tough time focusing this week, and I think I've finally figured out why. I have three projects going at once, and I'm not used to that.

Usually I immerse myself in one imaginary world at a time. But now I'm working on polishing my little gecko story, majorly revising my V-Day novel (before I start on Round 2 of querying), and trying to finish my Back novel's first draft.

It's tough, but I know this is what real writers do all the time. It's part of the business. The only problem is, I don't feel like I'm making any significant headway on any of these projects because my brain just isn't there. So much of writing depends on the quality of percolation time ... the time you spend thinking through plot and character reactions. When I'm standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes, I'm not quite sure which project to think about first, and then my brain wastes a lot of time jumping back and forth between them.

Have you been forced to multi-task like this before? How did you handle it?

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

A Story A Week: Little Gecko


I did write a story this week. I promise.

It's about a gecko on a window ledge. A child sees it and wonders where the gecko will go when it snows. The child imagines a mommy gecko waiting for the little gecko in their crack-in-the-wall home. The mommy is ready to wrap him in a warm blanket and give him hot cocoa to drink by the warm fire ... and so on and so forth. I unbiasedly think it's a cute, fun story.

It's short, only 160 words, but I'm not going to post it here because I'm hoping to submit it to a children's magazine. This will be my first submission to a magazine ... which is slightly scary, just because it's a whole new part of publishing that I don't know much about.

I wonder how a magazine rejection will feel. Worse than a novel rejection, because there are only so many magazines out there? Not as bad, because it took me days to write and polish Little Gecko as opposed to the months and years I've spent on novels?

The Little Gecko story is not a new one. In fact, I wrote it down once before. But it was so long ago that I can't find the Word document I put it in. The words have been sitting in my head for years, so it wasn't hard to write them down again.

Feeling kind of low energy lately, if you can't tell from the blah-blah-blahness of this blog post. I've been staying up late watching Olympic Ice Dancing. Oh my gosh, I loved the Canadians that won gold. I'm not Canadian, and I felt a little unpatriotic, but I was rooting for them all the way. Watching them was like watching someone make milk chocolate. Fluid.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Literary Fiction Queries

Agent Kate Testerman (a.k.a. Daphne Unfeasible) answered my question about literary fiction queries on her blog yesterday. Click here to read it.

Here's the story behind the question:

I'm a little timid about querying my new book, because it's not high concept. V-Day was more high concept, meaning, I could distill the whole book's plot into one electrifying sentence (or collection of phrases, as the case may be): One day. One whisper that changed everything. One chance to make it right. Ooo, you all want to read it now, right? Ha ha, just kidding.

My only other experience querying a character-driven (vs. a plot-driven) book, was my first attempt at querying a novel, with that long-shelved, first-stab-at-the-world-of-publishing anti-wonder, Up Lantau Running/Beaker Becker. I think I sent out 15 queries for that one and got ... um ... one partial request out of it, which was promptly rejected. *Splat*

So, now I'm quaking in my boots. I'm not even done with the first draft of my new book, so maybe I'm worrying prematurely. But I like to have a query at least written by this point so that I feel confident that the book has some saleability. If it just sounds like any other coming-of-age story, what chance do I have of ever making it in the current market?

All that to say, I'm grateful to Kate Testerman for answering my question. I think she gave good advice. I'm feeling slightly more confident. Any other thoughts on writing a killer query for a character-driven, literary book?

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Sign Wars

Olivia had a rough day last week.
I found this posted on her bedroom door:
Anna's response to the insult, posted on her own bedroom door:

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

WIP Wednesday: Um, It's Research?

I've been rewriting my V-Day query so the book doesn't sound so much like a thriller. It's not a thriller. It's a contemporary novel with a high-stakes ending. It's important for me to get this right in the query because it affects agents' expectations. If they start reading the novel thinking the whole plot revolves around a girl running away from a mad gunman, they're going to be disappointed.

As I was rewriting, I wrote a sentence something like: "Her drug addict brother who listens to depressive metal all night and her depressed mother who hoards magazines...." You editor types out there will see right away why this doesn't work. You can't use "depressive" and "depressed" so close together without interrupting the flow. And I couldn't think of another adjective to describe her mother other than depressed.

So, I started looking for another word to describe the kind of music her brother listens to.

When I was researching V-Day, I spent an evening listening to different kinds of metal. And to be honest, it absolutely freaked me out. The written descriptions in Wikipedia didn't help much. I had my protagonist's brother listening to doom metal, because that sounded so, you know, scary. But then I actually listened to doom metal and it turned out to be way too upbeat for him. It was old stuff like Black Sabbath. Too mainstream. I finally found what I was looking for: depressive metal. Think funeral dirge with lots of screaming in the background. Horrible, sick stuff. It gave me the creeps and I could tell from my husband's body language that he *hated* me listening to it.

Back to the query. Replacing "depressive" with "funeral" sounded to me like a possibility, but when I put it in the search engine, I came up with another wordy description and couldn't figure out if it would fit my character. So, I listened to a snippet and realized, no, funeral wasn't going to work. Too shiny and happy.

I think I looked up death metal next. I don't remember if that's exactly what I typed in and I'm not going to retrace my Google steps to find it, believe me. My search pulled up a pop up so that I could listen to a sampling. I pushed play and at that very moment everything in the house went crazy. The phone started ringing, but it wasn't where it should have been; the baby started crying somewhere in the house; my husband was nowhere in sight and as I looked frantically for a "stop" button on the pop up, I couldn't find one. Thankfully it was still buffering so I ran back into my bedroom to grab the other phone.

By the time I got back to the kitchen maybe a minute later, my son was hovering over the computer while music that sounded like someone was being thrown into the pit of hell was blasting from my laptop. My husband burst out of the office, yelling, "What are you listening to?"

I have rarely felt so ashamed. I finally found a way to stop the thing and made a solemn promise that I would never research metal again. My characters are going to have to come up with other types of music to enjoy. Sorry, Sebastian.

My protagonist's brother will be listening to funeral metal in my query and depressive metal in my manuscript, and everyone will just have to be okay with that. *grin*

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

A Story A Week: Daughter

This week's story is dedicated to Olivia, though I won't be able to let her read it for many years yet.

The red van smelled like gasoline and had a faulty suspension system that made it jolt and shudder even on the smooth avenues of the city. Wang didn’t speak. He held the steering wheel like his hands were soldered to it. Zhou stared out the window at the passing buildings, at the street lights illuminating the empty street. A hot wind blew through the cracked window. The cardboard box was in the back, in the flat bed of the van where the seats had been taken out, with a length of thick rope, a gasoline canister, and a heavy pair of pruning shears set at the sides to keep it from sliding around.

Wang took a corner too fast and Zhou gripped the handle above the window to keep himself upright. He and Wang had been best friends since they played on the dusty village streets together as bare-bottomed toddlers. Zhou’s family home was right beside Wang’s and they were only two months apart in age. Both of them were the only boys of their family – they each had one sister – which made them brothers of sorts. So when Wang had knocked on Zhou’s gate in the middle of the night, Zhou had pulled on his trousers and gone with him. There was never any question.

Wang pulled up to the curb and the van shuddered to a stop.

“Here?” Zhou asked. He could make out the characters on the sign over the gate. It was a government office, a place where city officials sat at glass-covered desks and drank loose leaf tea from cups with screw-on lids. The light in the guard house was off. A tiled wall rose up around the imposing white-washed structure inside, a building with a wide glass entrance flanked with red banners. Outside the gate, cast in a pale glow from the streetlights above, hung an enclosed bulletin board for public announcements. “Where?”

“At the gate,” Wang said. “Make it quick.”

Wang jumped out of the van and pulled open the rickety rolling door. He didn’t look inside the box. He picked it up and ran, glancing up and down the street to make sure no one was watching. The road was empty. He set the box down under the bulletin board and stumbled back to the van. It lurched forward as soon as he slammed the door. Wang changed gears and they sped down the dimly lit road, leaving the box and its contents alone in the sweltering August night.


#

Wang cut the engine and the men sat in silence a moment before Zhou got out. He walked home, a patch of sweat on the back of his grimy white tank top. Dawn was just slipping over the hills in the east. Wang sat a few moments longer, his eyes lingering alternately on the dusty road, on the unripe apples of his orchard, at the entry way to his family home. A faded good luck character still over the doorway from Chinese New Year fluttered in the warm breeze ruffling the orchard leaves.

The wooden door creaked as Wang stepped into the courtyard of his home. In the kitchen his mother was already clattering around, but she stepped out when she heard footsteps, her mouth set in a hard line, her normally smooth forehead wrinkled.

He nodded at her and walked past, toward his wife’s room.

“She refuses to eat,” his mother called after him. “She won’t stop crying.”

Wang shrugged and kept walking. Moments later he stood in the doorway of his wife’s room, peering into the shadows. She lay on her stomach with her face turned away from the door. The room was sultry, but a heavy quilt lay across the bottom of the kang. All evidence of her night’s struggle had been cleaned away.

His mother stood at his shoulder. “She needs to stay covered,” she muttered, pushing past him to draw close to the bed. She lifted the quilt and threw it over his wife’s body. “Her bones are still open. She’ll catch cold.”

As soon as his mother drew back, his wife threw off the quilt. She pounded it with her feet until it lay in a lump at the foot of the kang.

“Aiya!” his mother exclaimed, balling up her fists as if she would punch something. “She’s so stubborn! Do you want to get sick? Do you want to die?”

His wife turned her head, sweat drenched hair plastered to her forehead. Wang started back at the whiteness of her face, the color of beauty, ashes and ghosts. Her eyes were black fires, unnaturally bright. “You ask me that?” she shouted.

“Mother,” Wang said, holding up his hands in front of him, taking small steps toward the kang as if he were in the presence of two wild tigers. “Wait outside.”

His mother’s breath was ragged, but she obeyed him, muttering as the plastic heals of her cloth shoes clicked across the concrete courtyard.

His wife turned her face away. She stared at the dingy wall next to the bed, papered in sheets of newspaper. “Where did you take her?”

“Outside the administrative office gate,” he said. “The guard there is kind. He helped me once a long time ago.”

“He’ll make sure she’s safe. You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He saw her hands clutching the opening of her flannel pajamas. “Your mother refuses to understand.”

Wang hesitated. His wife’s attitude was rebellious. No wonder his mother was furious with her.

“She is stronger than you are,” he said stiffly. “She knows what you want is impossible.”

“She’s heartless!” she cried. “She wouldn’t even let me hold her!”

“It’s better this way,” Wang said. “You won’t grieve so long.” His mother wanted him to kill the baby. There were traditional means of doing it. Still, he wouldn’t tell his wife that. She was more modern and educated, having finished ten years of school before her father made her return home. She had dreamed once of going to university; her marks were good.

“I would have found a way,” she said. “You could have driven me to the hospital to ask them what to do.”

“There’s no money for a hospital,” Wang said, “or for powdered milk. You can’t feed a baby like that with your own breast—” He shuddered when he remembered the child’s tiny face. “Besides, what have we to offer a child like that? A life of ridicule among our neighbors! Children like that come to an end begging on the streets! I’ve seen them in the city myself!”

He had not intended to be harsh with her, but her shoulders shook as she sobbed. “I would have found a way.”

She was a stubborn woman. Wang shook his head as he turned his back on her.


#


The guard was old with a face like worn leather. Still, his ears were sharp. He was boiling the water for his morning noodles when he heard the sound of a baby crying. He hobbled out onto the pavement and spotted the box under the announcement board.

His old heart staggered when he peeked inside. The baby had a glossy head of black hair and a cleft extending from her upper lip to her nostril. When she cried her mouth opened wider than other babies. He pushed aside the coarse blanket that wrapped her and saw that she was very new, chord still dangling with a bloody stump from her rounded belly.

Monday, February 15, 2010

The Sugar Doll


Thank you Krista V. (the former Krista G.) at Mother. Write. (Repeat.) for giving me this cute award. I feel so honored!

In order to accept it, I have to share ten unusual or unexpected things about myself. Hopefully some of these will be new to most of you:

(1) I moved from California to Hong Kong when I was five years old and lived in Hong Kong until I was eighteen.

(2) I wrote my first book when I was three years old. It was about a woman who dies while she's pregnant. Nine months later, the doctor digs up her body to deliver the baby. I told my mom what to write and I drew the pictures.

(3) I love to leap from the top of waterfalls.

(4) I had no qualms about riding my bike around town when I was pregnant. I rode it up until the day before my son was born.

(5) I know it's hard to believe, but I was never a cheerleader.

(6) My husband and I had to wait almost seven years to adopt our oldest daughter because we were "too young" by Chinese law when we brought her home from the orphanage.

(7) My first kiss went to my husband.

(8) I never kill spiders and I like holding snakes. I love the way their skin feels.

(9) My favorite books are set in France (ie. A Tale of Two Cities and Les Miserables), but I have no desire to visit there. I have a long list of other places I'd like to go instead.

(10) I had two pet mice in college, one named Cow, one named Daisy. Cow was a compulsive eater, Daisy was an exercise fanatic. Cow would sit in the corner of the cage stuffing her face while trim little Daisy ran all day on the wheel.

And now to share the love ... five great blogs to which I'd like to pass on this award:

(1) Weronika Janczuk
(2) Suzette Saxton & Bethany Wiggin's Shooting Stars
(3) Stina Lindenblatt's Seeing Creative
(4) Kim & Patrick Smith's AsiaRamblin
(5) Helen Ginger's Straight From Hel

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Contest Winner!

Dum da da dum!

Announcing the winner of the First Annual Green Bathtub Valentine's Day Contest! A huge thank you to the six participants. I was really worried noone would enter, so six is actually a HUGE number when you're expecting ZERO.

Dashingly handsome sidekick, hand me the envelope, please.



The judge (a.k.a. dashingly handsome sidekick) had a difficult time choosing only one winning entry from six very worthy ones. I kept my mouth pinned shut the whole time he was judging, I swear.

In the end, his love for all things geological and scientific won the day. He has always wanted to look at moonrocks under a microscope, so he's hoping that if Teish's dream vacation to the moon comes true, she'll bring him back a few samples.

Teish, let's communicate and I'll get that prize in the mail for you. Enjoy book shopping!

Thanks so much for humoring me, everyone. I enjoy it when other people in the blogosphere have contests, so this was my way of giving a little bit of that joy back. I hope you had a very happy Valentine's Day and I wish you a hugely happy and successful Year of the Tiger, because today is also Chinese New Year!


Gong xi fa cai!
or if you'd prefer Cantonese:
Kung hei fat choi!

Friday, February 12, 2010

Friday Free for All

This honestly made me snort hot chocolate up my nose.

Happy Friday, everyone. And thank goodness for the long weekend! I'm so tired.

The plumber is in our master bath right now. He was here two days ago fixing a leaky shower head. This morning I was calmly taking a shower when my husband comes sprinting into the bathroom yelling, "TURN OFF THE WATER RIGHT NOW!"

Of course, I did. Thankfully I was about done and just had to wash the Noxzema off my face. I guess he'd gone downstairs and there was water running through the ceiling of the downstairs bathroom.

Um, yeah. So, I've been on the phone a lot this morning. I'm hoping the plumber can fix it so we don't have to rip out any walls or call the insurance company. If we have to bring in a contractor, I might start feeling like I've been written into the script of that Tom Hank's movie The Money Pit. You know, the one where an innocent young couple buys a house that basically falls apart under their feet.

But at least we still have a lovely view (for now, anyway)! And as Rosa and Linda slowly fade, a new set of amaryllis twins are about to bloom. Name ideas, anyone?

(And please, please, please enter my Valentine's Day Contest. I know the competition is stiff, but we're open for submissions until midnight Pacific time tomorrow and you can win a $25 gift certificate to Powell's Books. I want to read more great and entertaining vacation ideas!)

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Multitasking Preschooler

You remember how it goes. You're three years old. You're playing dress up in a swimsuit and a tu-tu, when suddenly you decide, "I feel like scootering." So you go scootering. Nevermind that it's still technically winter.

Mommy: Anna, do you want your coat?

Anna: No, I'm fine!

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

WIP Wednesday: Quail -- Not Queries

There's a lot cooking over at Miss Snark's First Victim this morning. The February Secret Agent contest is in full swing. Click here to read my first 250-words of V-Day/Any Day But and feel free to leave a critique. You don't need to be a participant to comment on an entry. Yes, I've laid my neck down on the chopping block again. I'm a sucker for the feedback -- good or bad. It helps me improve, even when it's painful.

Also, there's still lots of room for entries in my Valentine's Day Contest! You have until Saturday the 13th to get your dream vacation written in the comments section (use the link above to find the thread). And if you win, you'll get a $25 gift certificate to Powell's Books. So, what are you waiting for?

As for writing, well, I've been busy. Combing through V-Day one more time, just in case it gets any attention in the Secret Agent contest (not counting on it, but you never know!). I'm also still working on finishing the first draft of Back and loving every minute of it.

In other random news, we had a bird knock itself unconscious on our picture windows this morning. That was a first. Aaron took down the last two screens on our living room windows yesterday so we could fully enjoy the view. This morning, as I was standing in the kitchen, I saw something that looked like a football hurtle itself through the air, hit the window with a thunk, and fall. When I ran to the window I saw a quail lying prone and still in the grass. Gabe and I cheered for it: "Come on, quail! Don't be dead! Get up! Get up!" (I was seriously going to start crying if it was actually dead.) It took about five minutes, but finally that poor bird lifted it's head, plume trembling. A few minutes more and it flapped dizzily over to the fence and sat there. So, if you ever visit us and notice a yard full of brain-damaged quail, you'll know why.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

A Story A Week: Stranger

This week's story is a piece of flash fiction -- less than 500 words -- and is based on a nightmare I had the other night. I couldn't get it out of my head, so decided to write it down.

In the new apartment at last, my eyes lingered on what was mine, set in all the wrong places. The girls had been great. They’d bustled into my old home, packed away my belongings, and brought them here in boxes, while I stayed hidden in the hotel.

This afternoon they were taking me to the Caribbean, on a cruise.

“Get in there and get packed!” Emily told me when she dropped me off that morning. “We’re not going to let you lie around moping.”

I wasn’t lying around. I wandered and touched. My fingers rested on the porcelain cherub Thomas had saved up his money for and given me three years ago for Christmas; the recipe box Harold had given me for my birthday, oh, maybe a year after we got married. I told him at the time it was the wrong gift to give a girl on her birthday, when she was hoping for a diamond necklace or a window box of marigolds – something that described who she was. Because a girl always hopes her husband knows who she is on the inside, hopes he can see past the cook, clothes-washer, floor-mopper. Getting a recipe box for a present was almost as bad as the vacuum cleaner he gave me the next year.

These objects had meaning in my old home. Here, they lost their significance. I moved, feeling nothing between my ribs, like the vacuum from my second married birthday had sucked my heart and organs right out.

When my cell phone sang, I answered it automatically. Emily, of course. “Are you packing?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, why not? I’m coming to get you in an hour. We have a plane to catch.”

“I need to see the new place, figure it out.”

“There’ll be time for that when you get back. Right now you need a little sun and a change of scenery.”

I flipped the phone shut. A blank wall was all the scenery I wanted. I found it in my bedroom, a single wall they’d left alone. Plain white, not all the sassy colors they’d splashed everywhere else – colors picked to make me happy. Bless their hearts, it wasn’t working.

I heard someone knocking at the door. There was my heart, in my chest after all, speeding up, doing somersaults. I raced out the bedroom door and through the living room before I knew what I was doing, exactly.

Harold didn’t make eye contact. He set the baby down and she waddled over to the bookshelf where there was a pot of African violets within reach. “The girls wanted to see you.”

Heart squeezed, I reached for my baby, trying to scoop my three-year-old into my other arm, but she wiggled out of reach. “I missed you,” I breathed in the baby’s ear, taking in her smell – apple sauce and milk – and the delectable softness of her skin.

She stretched her arms toward Daddy and let out a screech. I was nothing but a stranger.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Valentine's Day Contest!


The book I'm querying right now is set on Valentine's Day, so it's fitting that I should say thank you to my readers with a

Valentine's Day Contest.

The winner will get either:

(1) Residents of the U.S. & Canada: A $25 gift card to Powell's. They have both online and physical stores, and free shipping for online orders.

(2) Residents of other countries: You tell me what book you want ($25 & under), I'll buy it, and mail it to you. Sound good?

Because I'll be choosing a winner on Valentine's Day (next Sunday, Feb 14) and because this blog has a little bit of an international flavor, I wanted a contest that would embrace all of that.

So, here's how to enter:

(1) Make sure you're a follower. (A networked blog follower is okay, too.) If you're not, go ahead and click the Follow button on the right side bar. I'm excited to get to know you!

(2) Tweet or Facebook or blog about this contest. Mention Valentine's Day Contest and put a link to this contest page as your Twitter status, Facebook status, or in a blog post. OR, you can put my blog on a blogroll on the sidebar of your own blog. That works too. Just let me know as part of your entry which one you decided to do. (Note: My name on Twitter is @alsonnichsen.)

(3) Answer this question: (This is what my husband will be judging -- totally impartially. He is very fair and will not discriminate on any grounds whatsoever, even if you are my sister or my best friend or that jerk from high school who made my life miserable. *grin*)


If you could travel outside your country of residence with your significant other (imaginary significant others are fine), where would you go and why?

(4) Post your entry in the comments below. I'll remain open for entries until Saturday, Feb 13 at midnight Pacific time and announce the winning entry on Valentine's Day!

(Note: The husband will be judging based on originality and creativity. Incorporating humor will also score you extra points.)

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Another Reason To Eat

I love how Americans find excuses to eat.

On Thanksgiving, we eat.

During the entire Christmas season, we eat.

There's also Valentine's Day, Halloween, Easter, and Fourth of July. But let us not forget the splurge-o-rama, stuff-your-face-extravaganza of

SUPERBOWL SUNDAY


which happens to be today if you're living outside the United States and don't follow football.

Our American food-centric traditions are quite a contrast to Chinese holidays. Basically, there's Chinese New Year where you go to your family's house and eat a lot of food. But that's about it. Even then, traditional Chinese New Year food is pretty healthy: jiaozi -- a boiled dumpling -- filled with meats and vegetables. I mean, okay, the stores are burgeoning with moon cakes around lantern festival, but generally mooncakes are pretty healthy too. Fillings usually include egg yolks and red bean paste and other lovely things.

I'm working pretty hard in the kitchen getting ready for the Superbowl Mexican food fiesta we're attending at my in-law's house this afternoon. I'm in charge of the pico de gallo and the dessert. I'm waiting for the brownies and pudding to cool a little more before I build my infamous chocolate-strawberry trifle. The pico de gallo turned into a glorified guacamole because my avacados were too ripe. But I'm not complaining. If it's got avacado in it, I'm eating it.

We'll get to my in-law's house. The pre-game show will be on. There will be a zillion children running around screaming and dumping out toys; my children will joyously jump into the fray. We'll sit in front of the tube, laughing and cheering, stuff ourselves silly with lots of greasy, salty, sugary wonderfulness, share dish duty, and head home bloated and happy ... like we do every American holiday.

You've gotta love it ... but no wonder I'm not fitting into my jeans anymore.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Celebrity Children

Anna and Sophie got their two seconds in the spotlight last night. They actually made it onto our local news after dancing out on the court during half-time of a Prosser Mustangs basketball game.



Yes, if you're wondering, they take after their mother.

Friday, February 5, 2010

I've Been Gone Too Long

Yesterday morning I heard a persistent, high-pitched beeping.

"Is an alarm going off?" I walked around the house, but the sound didn't seem to be coming from any of our appliances.

I sat back down on the sofa and continued reading. Still, I could hear the noise. It distracted me.

"Something's going off." I made another round of the house, even running downstairs to check the washing machine.

On my way through the kitchen, I opened the door to my deck on a whim. There it was -- the beeping! It was coming from outside. And it was...

...A bird.

You know you lived in China for too long when you think a bird's tweeting is an electrical appliance.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Need to Laugh?



Maybe you've already seen this, but it's always worth a re-watch.

Oh, How I Love Contests!

You probably know how much I love contests.

This week I entered three! And they're still going on, so you can enter too.

  • Agent Kathleen Ortiz has a new blog, The Neverending Page Turner. Grand prize for her contest is a query critique. (Oh, I hope I win, I hope I win, I hope I win!) If you enter, mention that I sent you. Thanks!
  • Agent Kate Testerman has a fun writing contest going on over at kt literary to celebrate Publication Day for two of her clients. Winners get a free book: Albatross by Josie Bloss or Scarlett Fever by Maureen Johnson. (Oh, I hope I win, I hope I win, I hope I win!)
  • Kristin Rae is hosting her first contest at her new blog, Kristin Creative to celebrate having 100 followers. Winners get a $10 Amazon gift card. (Oh, I hope I win, I hope I win, I hope I win ... As my son said just the other day upon opening his Chinese New Year red envelope: "Oh, wow! I've always wanted ten dollars!")

I'm starting to think I need to have some fun around here and have a contest of my own. I guess what's stopped me in the past is that I'm afraid of failing. What if nobody enters my contest? What if people think my prizes suck? What if everyone thinks my contest idea is dumb?

The Golden Rule of Blog Contests: When all else fails, hand out cash and free books. And if that fails, I'll keep my cash and have a few extra books. And neither of those options is bad, really. It's kind of like querying. I mean, what do I have to lose by trying? Absolutely nothing.

Now that I've finished giving myself a peptalk, I'll make a deadline: Fabulous Green Bathtub Contest to be announced on Monday, Feb 8. Stay tuned!

(And if you have any ideas for a totally awesome contest, write them in the comments. Thanks! *wink*)

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

WIP Wednesday: Too Busy Crying

Seriously. I'm not going to blog much tonight. I'm too busy crying, writing one of the last scenes in my new novel where I have to kill somebody. And it's horrible.

No, it's not gory. I'm not writing another thriller. There's no knife or gun involved. Just me being mean to my fictional characters.

I doubt what I'm writing tonight will stand the test of tomorrow. Way too dramatic and cheesy. But it's making me cry, so I guess that's a good foundation for something good in the future, after a few rounds of editing and de-cheesing. Maybe I'll make other people cry, too. I guess that would be a positive thing. Something to strive for.

But I won't get ahead of myself. Back to writing I go.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Twins Update

The twins, Rosa and Linda, bloomed this morning. Since then they've been helping out around the house. I don't know how I ever lived without them!

They played with Sophie.

Took out the garbage.

Cleaned up after dinner.

Tucked the kids in bed.

Helped me with some much-needed line editing of my new novel.

After all that, I let them relax for awhile. They deserved it.

It won't be the same around here when they die.

A Story A Week: Falling, But Not For You

For this week's story, I'm using the same first line I did last week, but this time I'm working on weaving backstory into the action. If you have time to read it, let me know if it works for you -- or not. I've also decided that a thousand words posted on a blog is a lot of words, so my stories are generally going to be shorter than I originally planned -- probably 500-750 words. This one is a little under 750.


Falling, But Not For You


She sucked the air in through her nostrils, lifted her sternum the way she'd learned to in ballet, decided to clear her mind of the particular things she was thinking about, and stepped out.

“You all right, Mags?” Carl called up.

Maggie extended her arms like wings and, wobbling a bit, felt the dig of the safety harness into her waist. Exhaling, she placed one foot directly in front of the other on the narrow beam. She tried to block him out, the fact that he was down there, fifteen feet below, staring up at her – probably up her shorts. She couldn’t let him break her concentration.

“Yep,” was all she said, willing him to be silent.

Her telepathy didn’t work.

“Okay,” Carl said. “Keep going. You’re doing just fine. You look like you’re keeping your balance real well.”

I know I’m doing fine. Just shut up.

Carl had been okay in elementary school when all he cared about was playing soccer. One day in second grade, he’d come in all sweaty from recess and Maggie remembered thinking he was kind of cute with his hair slicked back and that smudge of dirt on his nose.

But that was a long time ago.

Once they’d entered middle school, he stopped being so interested in soccer at recess. Instead, he realized girls smelled kind of good. He liked the way their eyelashes curled, the fullness of their lips, and those curves they were getting – he paid attention to those. And ever since he’d opened his eyes to the magnificence of the opposite sex, he’d taken a full-frontal, downhill plunge into unbearableness. At least, that was Maggie’s opinion, and she didn’t even mind having to make up a word to describe him. Unbearableness suited him perfectly.

Carl had shown up at their door that morning five minutes early, smelling fiercely of cologne and with enough gel in his hair, if held close to an open flame, to launch a Saturn V.

He sucked in his cheeks to accentuate his cheekbones when Maggie opened the door. “Hey, Mags,” he said, leaning against the door frame. She noticed his jeans were too tight. Why was he trying to dress like one of the Jonas brothers when they were heading to a mountain camp for two days? Weirdo. “Ready to hit the road?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, pulling on her purple sneakers. From the way Carl was acting, anyone would have thought this was a date, not a two-minute drive to school where they’d meet the other members of the leadership team and board a minibus.

Maggie attempted to focus on the beam, but sweat trickled down her back.

Carl, below, persisted in his encouragement. “Don’t look down. Just keep moving forward.”

“Okay!” she said. “You are not my coach.”

Toward the middle of the beam, she stopped. The treetops at eyelevel seemed to sway in her peripheral vision. She stared at the beam, but maybe that was wrong. Maybe she should keep her eyes focused on her destination – the platform at the other end. Why was this so hard? She could walk on something half this width when she was closer to the ground.

“Don’t lose your momentum,” Carl said. “Focus on where you need to go. Keep moving your feet.”

She knew there was a harness around her waist, but there might as well not have been for all the confidence it gave her. She wavered.

“Keep going!” Carl yelled. “Why are you stopping?”

“Would you just shut up?” She swung her head around to glare at him. And fell. The harness bit into her sides as she flipped over with a shriek, and dangled there like a spider on a thread, arms and legs flailing.

“You’re okay, Maggie!” he cried. “Don’t worry! The rope’s got you!”

She had her eyes squeezed shut, but as she opened them, there was the world in greens and blues, upside down and spinning. And there was Carl’s voice, ever constant, barking out orders to the other students scurrying like ants below her.

As the rope continued to hold and she realized she was not going to die, Maggie found herself laughing. Really, falling was fun. It pinched around the middle, but that was the only bad part. Best of all, Carl wouldn’t understand why it was fun, even if she tried to tell him.

And she was glad.

Monday, February 1, 2010

We're Expecting Twins!

...Twin blossoms, that is.
For those of you who are not plant people (I know I'm not)
this is an amaryllis.
We named her Rosalinda.
Rosa on the left.
Linda on the right.
The man who is letting us enjoy this one (he grows dozens of them in his home)
has another bulb that he (quite appropriately) named Hercules. It's twice the size of this one and bloomed seven flowers on one stalk.
But we're delighted with our twins.
I can't wait for them to open up.

Summer Recap

Summer!! has been a crazy whirlwind.  Are we actually starting school again in a few weeks? UNBELIEVEABLE. In the middle of June I finished...