Sioux the Chihuahua Killer... and Back-of-the-Book Blurb # 65

Okay, I'm going to give you a recap from my last post, in case you're not one of the two people who read it, and I'm not going to give you a link and make you go back and read the past post so you pee in your pants from laughing too much like Val does or like another writer does. In other words, I'm not gonna make you work for it. 

When I posted this past Monday, I told about seeing Janet Evanovich at a book talk. I'll give you enough of a summary to understand today's story, so you see why I just might end up in a future Evanovich novel (but not in a good way).

No, this is not a picture of the victim. This is a google image.
Do you seriously think if I killed a chihuahua, I'd post a picture of it?

Janet Evanovich--right away--showed us what a sassy, outspoken woman she is. She talked about her most recent book. She talked about her whole support staff--her son does her "plot work," her daughter does her website, and she introduced her stylist guy and her hair guy. (They're two separate people. Go figure.) 

One of them--the stylist? the hair guy?--held up their dog high in the air (with one hand)--a chihuaha. We learned the dog's name. (I don't remember it. Sorry. I usually don't pay much attention to ankle-biters that can fit into a teacup.)

Fastforward to an hour or so later. I'm standing in line waiting to get the book autographed so I can auction it off at a dog rescue trivia night.(This is an important detail. Keep it fixed in your head.) I can see the way they're doing it. One woman takes the book to hand it off to Evanovich. The stylist and hair guy are taking people's phones/cameras to take pictures. The fans pose next to or behind Evanovich, and then the next person moves into place.

There's a chair next to the table where Evanovich is--a swivel-y desk chair. I fixated on the chair, because I have a purse--not a cute bag, so I don't want it hanging on my shoulder when I get the picture taken. It's not big and it's not heavy. Just a smallish quilted purse. I also have a composition book (I took notes during the interview. Isn't that a good thing? Shouldn't I get credit for being extra-attentive?) So after I handed off my phone and the book, I figured, I could place the composition book and the purse on the chair.

When I got closer, I saw there was a blanket/fleece-y jacket wadded-up and tossed on the chair. The chair I kept staring at. I figured it was just spill-over. I figured it was just some extra crap of theirs. Maybe Evanovich gets cold and needs a blanket sometimes. 

The chair was really important to me, because I've been known to trip over the pattern in the rug. I've dropped drinks on people. I'm terribly gawky. Just navigating around a couple of people and a table while simultaneously setting down a couple of things could end up a disaster... which it did, but not the way I thought it would.

I must add this tidbit: Several people saw me set my purse and composition book on the chair. I didn't toss them. I didn't slam them. I set them there... and at least three people watched as I did it... and didn't say a thing...

... until I was posing with Janet Evanovich. They handed my camera back, and the woman said, "There's a dog there. I moved your stuff," and then she pulled back the blanket. There was the chihuahua. It hadn't moved. (It wasn't still because my stuff had crushed the life out of it--it was undisturbed. Still sleeping.)

I tripped over myself apologizing. Fast and furiously. "Ohmygoodness. I'msoooosorry. Ididn'tseeitthere. I'msogladIdidn'thurtthem. I mean, I'm getting this autographed for a dog rescue trivia night. I rescue golden retrievers." 

Her stylist guy? hair guy? replied, "and you kill chihuahuas," as I left the room, my head hung in shame.

And now onto the business of the book blurb.


Look at the photo below. That is the cover of your book. You choose the genre. Is it a comedy? (It sure looks funny to me.) Is it a romance? (Like The Runaway Bride?) You decide.

Write an enticing blurb--150 words or less. (The title doesn't count in the word count.) Blurbs are those enticing bits that prod you into buying the book. Sometimes they're on the back cover of the book. Sometimes they're on the inside front cover. What they always try to do is lure you into purchasing the book.

Lisa Ricard Claro was the original creator of this writing challenge. Currently, she's super busy. She and her hubster are currently basking on the beach in Florida. Leave the sand to do this book blurb stuff? No way. (She's also working on a new novel--I'm sure--so that keeps her occupied in between applying the sunscreen.)

Include your blurb in a blog post. Include a link to this post. Also, link your post to Mr. Linky. Mr. Linky is easy. If you've never done it, you'll be impressed with how simple he is. And then, check out the other blurb(s). It's interesting to see the different directions writers take, given the same photo.

Here's the book cover, along with my blurb:

The Whoa-Nelly Wedding

Trixie had done loads of prep work for her wedding. A string of crazy diets to lose weight. Brazilian Butt-Lift classes three times a week. Trixie even bought the Miley Cyrus “Get a Terrific Bod by Twerking” exercise video, and did those workouts on a daily basis.

On the big day, Trixie got herself sewn into her gown. After the vows, came the reception. And the dancing…

When Trixie and Ricky Bob stepped onto the dance floor, the DJ put on her favorite song and Trixie started twerking. So obsessed with her rump-shaking, she didn’t hear the satin ripping. She didn’t notice the breeze hitting her backside.

Ricky Bob stepped behind to eclipse the mooning. He attempted to get Trixie off the dance floor. For once, he was a gentleman.

Will Trixie be red-faced forever? Or, will she turn being the butt of people’s jokes into a positive experience? (149 words)

If you'd like to find out how Darius Rucker can help you add tension to your writing project, go here.
And for Val and Pat and anyone else interested in playing along, here is the photo for next week:

photo by Pixabay

Know Yourself

      It's crucial to know yourself...to know what works for you...to stay true to yourself.
      In the spirit of self-awareness, I thought I'd share a few tidbits of self-discovery I've unearthed.

•        It's important to know what kind of workplace you require. Recently, I've been reading about how sitting for too long is bad for you. But if you write, not writing long enough is bad for you. So, what's a writer to do?

       Take a look at my new desk. It allows me to stand up and write.

This was a birthday present this summer. It was a little under $5000 but is soooo cool and soooo worth it

.

 *

•         It's vital to know what you can and cannot do. Know your limitations and don't angst over them. Cathy C. Hall has her prankster sidekick, Cathy-on-a-Stick, and this mischievous imp is beautiful. Her hair is artfully styled. She has a lovely expression on her face. (It makes me want to stick a screwdriver into one of her tires. Cathy, what kind of car do you drive?)

                       I can't do that (the looking pretty on a photograph part--the screwdriver part? Easy). So, I had to figure out what I could do.

This debut of Sioux-on-a-Stick occurred in Val the Victorian Land.

 
           I can do crazy. I can do whackadoo. I can do self-deprecating. However, I need a new name for my alter-ego. Cathy-on-a-Stick had me served with a subpoena a few days ago. It seems she has her name copyrighted, and doesn't appreciate having her turf tromped on. I must cease and desist. Immediately. (Who knew a tiny woman stuck on a piece of wood could have such a sophisticated vocabulary?)

          So, if you have a great suggestion for my stand-in, please send them over.

•    It's critical to know what will energize you or what will get you out of your funk. Right now, when Paramore's "Still Into You" comes on, I'm bopping along--I can't help myself. Just about anything by One Republic does it for me as well. Sometimes snuggling with my puppy (when I'm not writing ads to give him away ;) will do the trick. For others, it might be cooking up a storm, or running/exercising. And apparently for this baby, Katy Perry has the key to happiness...

 

          So, don't forget alternative suggestions for my picture-on-a-stick. (Are you happy now, Cathy-on-a-Stick? I didn't even get close to infringing on your rights that time.) And if you're so inclined, you can share what things you have found out about yourself that have brought you more peace...


        And as a slight digression, assume good intentions. When someone--a colleague, a friend, a family member--says something that offends you, assume they meant well ...and have a dialogue about it. An angry monologue shot towards someone does no good. You never know. The offender might have a completely different background, and are speaking out of ignorance. They might have been gently joking (and humor is sometimes difficult to convey on paper). They might have simply worded things in an awkward way and didn't mean to hurt anyone. Assume. Assume and then ask ... 

* Of course this is not my desk. I have seen one like it, and they are cool, but what a preposterous price. My "stand at" desk (I think) is going to be an old sewing cabinet, with a turntable case on top of it. I think I've measured correctly, and with my laptop on top of it, it's the perfect height. And it's free.

Sioux-on-a-Stick Visits Val

         On Friday I made a pilgrimage. Driving for almost three hours (one way) was worth it, because I was treated with a dee-luxe tour of all the infamous sites that make up Val-land.

      First, we jump-started our blood circulation by wrestling with riding the Gator.  As you can see from the photo, Val did not trust me enough to let me sit in the driver's seat. (That was very wise of Val. Very wise indeed.)

Next, we visited the dead-mouse-smelling post office. Apparently the postal employees had gotten wind that two suspicious characters were on the rampage, because they closed up the post office--early--before we could storm the place.  We got to walk in and take a whiff, but I was unable to interrogate them on what exactly was causing the odor.

By then, we were parched, so we had a spot of tea and some scones...'cause Sioux and Val are such the tea type...Crisp white linens, some violin music in the background and even some watercress sandwiches--what a lovely treat.

Next, the moment I had waited for for years...the chance to actually see the driveway that belongs to Val's mom. It's frowned upon to stare too long at this sacred ground, and furthermore, it's illegal to park on the driveway (unless, of course, you have filled out an application at least six months in advance), so I had to cloak myself in a grass and gravel camouflage suit and bellycrawl onto the property, just so I could snap this photograph. (The driveway is in the background; in the foreground is Sioux-on-a-Stick and Val-in-a-Recliner.)

        Next, we headed to Val's classroom. Unfortunately, the school district security guard was alerted before we could take more than one picture. However, this is a glimpse into her window; the tangle of computer wires that Val and The Pony successfully untangled are just out of view, on the left.

We finished up with more to drink...this time, some elixir from the gods. When the gas station employees got wind that it was one of Val's daily tours ($16.95 for adults and $29.95 for children under 12 because who wants to hang around a bunch of young kids in the summer; a $10 fee for each photo taken with Val-on-a-Recliner is required), they cleared the area so we could take advantage of the photo opp. Most of the time, if two such menacing females would be spied stalking around--suspicious women taking pictures--the police would be alerted. (Actually, we did see a police cruiser at two of the tour sites. I am sure they were not checking out we-who-could-be-terrorists. They were probably there to control the crowds that always create traffic jams when Val makes an appearance in town.)

 

I could not afford the five-figure fee Val charges to take a picture of her basement lair, where all the magic happens. After all, I'm just a poor third grade teacher who has years to go before she sleeps.  But bouyed by the precious elixir that flows from that dispenser (a 17-cent discount on the sodas for Val tour members), I headed back on my three-hour trip home...elated and exhausted.

Tag!

          I've been tagged. Yes, that's what happens when one is fat and slow-moving--it's easy for them to lose a game like "Tag."

       But wait. This is the kind of game I can play while I am procrastinating mulling over a current work-in-progress.

       Cathy C. Hall tagged me. Or maybe it was Cathy-on-a-Stick. (You never know about that one...) Cathy answered some writing questions, and then passed the torch, for a burning inquisition...

What are you working on right now?

        Right this moment, I'm working on a submission for Chicken Soup for the Soul. I also used to have a pet snake--several, in fact--and am planning on writing a piece to send to Publishing Syndicate for possible inclusion in their Not Your Mother's Book...On Pets.

          As far as something lengthier, I began a "longish" piece last November during NaNoWriMo. It's a little more than 60,000 words long right now, and is currently the object of much colorful language called "The WWWP Critique Group and SD Society."

How does it differ from other works in this genre?

      Well, for one, it's not finished. (Duh.)

       It's a mash-up of novel/cookbook/collection of essays. It's part marathon and part sprint. It's been dormant for a month or two, but I think I've found the thread I need to weave throughout the whole thing. Only time will tell...

Why do you write what you do?

      I began this novel monstrosity longish piece with just a kernel of an idea at its core. It almost immediately morphed into a vehicle that could honor an endless parade of people---my close friends, my granddaughter, my critique group, the authors I adore, blogging buddies--because the story centers around five fierce women writers. With my clumsy deft hand, I could manipulate the characters to rant about Rush Limbaugh, to stalk Jean Ellen Whatley as an ardent fan, to drool over Khaled Hosseini. 
     That's why I was writing it...And at some point, the story took over, and I'm no longer in control.  

What is the hardest part about writing?

       It depends on the project. Sometimes it's the title. There's lots of times I come to my critique group and have to beg and plead for a title. There are other times (like with the piece I'm bringing tomorrow) where the ending is suckola. (And I know that odor when I encounter it, believe me.) Sometimes (very occasionally) the hard part is keeping up with the story. On rare, magical moments, the piece tumbles out all by itself. I wish that happened more often...

       Now it's time for me to tag three people. Tammy. You're it. Val. You're it. Lynn. You're it. Oh, and along the way back to the "safe" spot, I brushed past Shay. You're it, too.


  

Sometimes You Win, Sometimes You Lose

       When I get something accepted for publication, I shout it from the rooftop. When I get something rejected, I do the same. (As  a back-up singer in a Joni Mitchell tune sang, "Man, the chick is twisted. Crazy. Scooby-shooby...Flip city.") Getting a "no" from an editor means that at least I'm sending out pieces.

       Three writing friends--Lynn Obermoeller, Cathi LaMarche and Linda O'Connell--have stories in the Gloria Gaynor collection entitled We Will Survive. Because I love the song, I submitted something...and got a quick "no thanks." But hey, at least I tried.

      So Lynn, Linda and Cathi won that round. I lost.



Isn't this a great cover? I've read Lynn and Linda's stories
(at least the rough draft) and they're wonderful tales.

 

 

             Today I drew a name from the thousands  hundreds handful of followers that I have who left a comment for my book give-away. The drawing was handled by the well-known SODAD--Society of Dust and Doghair. The names were written carefully on slips of paper (see below) before being folded and "stirred." 

       And the winner is....Kathy M. Kathy, when you finish celebrating your wedding anniversary and put the camera down long enough to send me your address, I'll send you the book. (If you want, I'll even have Linda and myself sign it...to you,  or just a general notation, or to someone else if you'd like to "regift" it later. Let me know.)

         And especially for Val with her steeljaw trap of a memory--anyone can jump in, however: There are two song references in this post. With one of them, I gave you the artist. Do you know the song? The other one is the title of this post. Do you know either the singer or the song? 

        What's a win or a loss you've experienced recently?


Shake It Up

      I was working on a submission for Publishing Syndicate's NYMB's series today. (I have a day off from teaching today, due to having parent-teacher conferences this week, which means I have a four-day weekend. Ssssh! Don't tell Val. She will come to my house and poke holes in my tires with an out-of-ink pen.) I haven't done much dating in my life, but not wanting to miss a chance at increasing the number of publication notches on my belt, I thought, 'I miiiight have a story.'

photo by Jen !

It made me think of the song by The Cars:

Dance all night
play all day
don't let nothing get in the way.  
(We have to allow nothing to prevent us from writing.) 
Dance all night
keep the beat
don't you worry 'bout two left feet.
(Make sure your internal "editor" or your fear of having two left thumbs inhibit you.)
Dance all night
get real loose
you don't need no bad excuse.
(Let your writing flow. BIC--butt in chair. Get it down on paper, then you can work on refining it.
Dance all night
with anyone
Don't let nobody pick your fun.(Just do it. Do it by yourself. Do it for you.)
Dance all night
whirl your hair
make the night cats stop and stare.
(Wait. Have you seen my hair after an evening of writing? Scary, right? People utter the word "breathtaking" when they see me, but I also detect a sharp intake of air. What's up with that?)
Dance all night go to work
do the move with the quirky jerk.
(Take an occasional break from writing. Turn on some music. Loud music. (You'll see Cathy C. Hall's husband and me dancing. He might be a wicked-good dancer. I, on the other hand, will doing the "Elaine Benes.") Dance around. Get some circulation to other parts of your body besides your finger--like your butt--and then get back to writing.)

      By shaking things up, I found I did indeed have a dating story. It's not so much about a date, but about nudging someone (my husband) into a first date. It's not a Chicken Soup story--they have a call out for dating stories as well--but its edginess would be right up NYMB's alley...at least I hope so.

      In my story, I did something so embarrassing, I won't be able to reveal what I did until the end of the tale.

      I hope I finish the story. I hope it's accepted. And I hope you will then be compelled to buy the book.

      Until then, shake it up.

      (By the way, I knew of this song, but was not sure of who did it and certainly did not know the lyrics by heart. I had to look it up online. Val the victorian would have known this song and could have quoted the lyrics from memory, I'm sure. Recently, I tried to stump her with some in-the-middle lyrics of a Leo Sayer song. Not his sappiest, and not his most well-known song. I thought I could stump her, but was unable to. If anyone thinks they can flummox her in the area of movies, TV shows or songs, please challenge her. She must be taken down a notch!)

Lucky 2013

        I was reminded by a comment Linda O'Connell left on Val's blog that, as June Carter sang, "Time's a wastin'." (If I punctuated that incorrectly, I will have to rely on the "Grammar -itch" in my critique group to help me out and correct me.)

photo by Joo Joo
Linda O'Connell is known as one our local Chicken Soup for the Soul Queens.
Now, she's threatening to become a NYMB Queen, and has been steadily submitting to those collections.
She must be stopped at all costs!

        Linda smugly honestly informed Val that it was January 4 and she had already sent out 36 submissions in 2013. She then challenged Val to a duel. I am sure that sometime soon, blood was fall. Or spittle will spray. Or gray hair will be yanked out. Or maybe...feathers will fly.

          Since I am better at dividing than multiplying, I have this number sentence for you. 6 divided by 2 = 3.

          It's January 6 and I've already sent out 3 new submissions to the Not Your Mother's Book anthologies.

              How about you? What have you done as a writer since the new year began?

Val the Victorian and Validation and Value...Oh, My!

      On Saturday we had a bookstore-hoppin', Chicken Soup Signin' and canned good collectin' gala affair. If you brought in a canned good, you got a great discount on your book purchases. This is the value part of this blog...

      Eleven local authors appeared at three different independent bookstores. Beth M. Wood, Donna Volkenannt and I appeared at The Book House.  They sell used as well as new books, and were delightful, hospitable, and accomodating hosts.

     




This is The Book House. It's on Manchester, 3/10 of a mile west of McKnight, and is betweenTitle Max and
a Computer Resale shop. It's easy to miss, because it's set far back from the road, but well worth the screeching of brakes
to make the sharp turn to ensure you don't miss it. Three floors of books, each floor covered--floor to ceiling--with books. And...it's haunted!

 





Here are the four writers who appeared at All On the Same Page--a Creve Coeur bookstore. From left to right is
Nina Miller, Patt Pickett, T'Mara Goodsell and Theresa Sanders.

This is T'Mara Goodsell. She not only signed books, she entertained multiple suitors (they were like bees after honey, there was such a flurry of activity and attention from Tammy's male groupies), and she also chatted with fellow WWWPs. T'Mara and Theresa Sanders did the behind-the-scenes work that made the day run smoothly--the press releases, the emails bouncing back and forth, the "drive bys" to ensure the directions were right and all the other tasks they handled with efficiency and grace.

Here are three of the authors who appeared at Main Street Books. From left to right is Linda O'Connell, Cathi LaMarche and Pat Wahler. Not pictured is Lynn Cahoon, the 4th author who signed at this St. Charles book shop.

T''Mara Goodsell, Theresa Sanders, Pat Wahler (working the crowd) and Donna Volkenannt (her gorgeous hair serving as her only calling card, from this angle) at Main Street Books

 

Linda O'Connell, one of the WWWPs, is not new to Chicken Soup nor is she new to book signings. I think this was her
8th signing...this week.

Donna Volkenannt was one of the three writers signing at The Book House. She generously shares calls for submissions,
she's a wonderful friend and critique-er AND she's the most recent winner of the international Erma Bombeck humor writing competition.

Beth M. Wood is the other writer who signed books with Donna and me. She is one of the five founding
members of the notorious writing critique group, the WWWP.

           The validation part came with the friends and family and community members who showed up to chat and mingle as they got their books signed. Lynn Obermoeller, a fellow WWWP, came to each of the book shops, but was mum when asked about the details regarding her upcoming reading. Lynn was one of only 12 writers who were accepted into the Fifty Shades of Santa anthology (Donna, Pat and Marcia Gaye are also among the twelve talented authors whose stories are part of this much-touted collection.) If you're in St. Louis, keep the evening of December 17th open. The gelato shop at the corner of Grand and Wyoming will be the place, and although Lynn is keeping the other details a secret, there was whisper of a disco ball being installed to add to the ambience... 

Lynn Obermoeller

       Saving the best for last...Val. Val the Victorian, Missouri's own JD Salinger, made a rare appearance. Each of the WWWPs and Donna got a private sitting with Val. This was an unprecedented public appearance, as many expensive arrangements had to be made. The pope-mobile had to be rented for the hour-plus trip (each way)...otherwise, she would have been injured, as her fans were lined along the highways with pens, ready to hurl them at her in their eagerness for her autograph. A sky-writer was hired to scrawl across the skies "Val is coming to The Book House around 5:00" in case there was anyone in the Missouri/Illinois/Iowa area who had missed the earlier blog postings trumpeting her upcoming debut. And two of those giant spotlights were set up, to criss-cross across the night sky, to help the many groupies find the spot.

      We not only got to meet Val, we also got to chat over cocktails and cheese balls with Hick and The Pony. (The Genius was at home. He didn't want to be eclipsed by The Pony, I imagine.) Fudge was offered to her long before Saturday (I made it without nuts--as per her preference, even though it's against my religion to make fudge sans nuts), and since Val's family is the bartering sort, she brought her famed Chex Mix to trade. (It's real and it's spectacular...)

       I got to hook her up with one of my favorite books about writers, Haunted, by Chuck Palahniuk. I hope she enjoys it...it's truly twisted but is--in my opinion--a gem.

Val the Victorian

I apologize for the scads of photos. I usually am not crazy about posts that have nothing but pictures of silly things like vase after vase after vase, but since there are lots of blog friends who were unable to attend, I thought I'd fill this post with pictures...just this once.

And if you were looking for a picture of me, happily, there are none. I am part of the witness protection program, so photographs of moi are not allowed...
         \                                            

Huey, Hilarity and Hub-bub

        Huey has been with us since the beginning of September. Because he's a senior foster dog, we figured we'd have Huey until he died. After all, it takes special people to take on an elderly dog. You never know if you have weeks...or or months...or years...with an old dog. You just know that whatever time you do have, it will be "golden" time when it comes to that dog's heart. Animals know when they have a second chance at life, and are so grateful...

     It seems a family is interested in Huey. He may be leaving us soon. It will be bittersweet if that happens, because no other dog has gotten along so well with Foley as Huey. Although his picture does not show it, Huey has a lot of life left in him. He plays ball, will even jump up in the air for it, and does an excited series of left turns when it's meal time or when we come home. So, we may have to bid adieu to Huey soon...

     As far as hilarity, last night was our WWWP night. All of us were snorting last night (usually Beth is our prime snorter). Linda O'Connell shared an Alaska story with us; she is writing a series of memoir pieces that is sure to be a blockbuster when she's finished. They are poignant. They are gripping. They are snortingly hilarious. Last time, we critiqued a piece that had us all on the edge of our seats. Imagine a trip in the dark along an ice-covered mountainous area, and having to back up, each time sliding closer and closer to the edge (and the drop off). A can of Coca Cola saved the day. Intrigued? You'll have to wait until the manuscript is finished and published. The story we read last night was about a character who was bigger than life (in more ways than one), and yet Linda swears she was not exaggerating at all.

    Lynn Obermoeller shared a story about boogers. Yep, boogers. It was the kind of story that included a twist--you thought it was about one thing, but then it made a sharp left turn and left us all satisfied. Laughing. Thinking about past relationships. And connecting to our childhood. 

   And this is hot off the press--Lynn is going to read her Fifty Shades of Santa story at a local gelato place on Grand on December 17 in the evening. (It's at the corner of Grand and Wyoming.) The time has not been determined but more details will follow. Lynn was only one of 12 writers who were accepted into this anthology. Linda and I were gnashing our teeth because we did not make the cut All of the WWWPs congratulated her. 

    And what's with all the hub-bub? What's behind the flurry of press releases, and extra police patrols, and security gates being installed? Who is responsible for all this frenzied excitement? Val, of course. Val is supposedly coming to St. Louis on Saturday for a rare appearance. It's for a good cause. You bring a canned good (or two, or a box) and get a discount on your books. And you might get a glimpse of the elusive Val. If you would like more details, go here.     

    

ABC--Arachnids' Brazen Counterattacks

          I had a weird experience with a spider earlier this week. Thought it was an isolated incident. A "Sioux-thing," much like getting my head stuck in a sink. Something not worthy of talking about.

          But then, I read Val's post. And I smelled something fishy. Or closer to the truth, I smelled something eight-legged and hairy.

          Tuesday evening I killed two spiders. The only thing I had handy was an empty QT (Quik Trip) cup (plastic), and since the bottom is hollowed out a bit, I really had to work to get the dirty deed done. But I did.

          Wednesday evening, I saw another spider. I was prepared this time, with a shoe. But apparently, this spider had been witness to the arachnicide the night before--it was prepared as well--because as I headed toward the spider, it wheeled around so that it faced me, and charged at me.

photo by C.J. Newberry

           Sadly (for the spider), it did not end well. But it made me wonder what other odd encounters people have had with animals.

           And what would happen if we were all like that spider? What would happen if when we were attacked, we immediately armed ourselves for our own self-defense? To defend our way too frequent occasional use of the ellipsis...To defend our deliberate use of sentence fragments...What would life be like?

           Certainly, most of the feedback we get as writers is constructive. Helpful. Nothing offensive. So thankfully, we don't often have to do what that brazen spider did.

            Tomorrow I'm going to Chicago for a National Writing Project workshop. I'll be off the blogosphere and the submissionsphere for three solid days. And for those clamoring for another story from the "Sioux's shirt" vault, I am bringing my "Will Write for Food" shirt, but since I will be trapped in work sessions most of the time, it's unlikely anyone will be lured by my siren-song of a shirt.

           But, you never know...

Why Write?

 a Savage Chickens cartoon by Doug Savage

      Doug Savage, over at Savage Chickens, almost always makes me laugh. He draws wonderful cartoons, usually featuring chickens, and he does it all on post-it notes. Amazing!

       And while I chuckled, I wondered...Why indeed? Why do we write? It rarely pays--or doesn't pay much--and it can be incredibly frustrating and time-consuming. So why do we continue sitting down to a blank page day after day?

       Of course, if you're Pearl, you write because you have 1.8 million followers (and every day, 217 more add themselves to the list). She manages to conjure incredibly hilarious urban tales about riding the bus and her cubicle mates and her cats. If she didn't post, a disgruntled mob would rise up and wreak havoc.

          If you're Fireblossom or Mama Zen, who write mind-blowing, teeth-gnashing poetry (you gnash your teeth because you didn't write it), you write because...well, I guess they write because they must. Their words and their thoughts must be like a geyser that has to find a way to vent. (And if you're Marcia Gaye, another poet friend of mine, you write because you're so good at it and you win local and state poetry contests. (Has the madness gone beyond Missouri, Marcia? Let me know...)

      If you're Val, you write because the're a geyser inside of you, too, but it's a geyser of snarkiness. I think, if Val did not write, one of her kids or her bumbling husband or  one of the goats or chickens would...well, I think something unexpectedly horrific would happen to them. Plus, she likes to flaunt her knowledge of Seinfeld (she and I often have duels, but she is always the victor), along with every other television show, movie and song that's ever been written.

      If you're Donna Volkenannt, you write because you have to keep your pen limber for the next international Erma Bombeck humor contest. (She was the most recent winner.) Or the next anthology to come out. When a collection comes out, you'll invariably find a story by Donna.

     If you're Linda O'Connell, a fellow WWWP, you write because your keyboard's on fire. Linda has a writing goal, and she's burning to achieve it. (Ask her what the goal is. She might tell you.)

    And if you're one of the other WWWPs (Wild Women Wielding Pens)--Lynn Obermoeller, T'Mara Goodsell, or Beth M. Wood--you write because you're prodded and encouraged and cajoled and begged to write. The five of us support each other and keep each other on the writing path...

      Doug Savage, on his little biographical page, spoke about being an artist. He said, "Creativity is a bit like a stubborn weed that won’t die: the roots run deep enough that it will keep growing back under the right conditions."

        What simile would you use to describe the writing process or creativity? Or, what are the "roots" of your writing like? 



Pearl. Shay. Donna. Tammy. Val. Lisa. Force It---A Little

        I submitted a story about my dog Trixie to NYMB. The co-creator, Kathleene Baker, spit an email right back at me. She had read my submission quickly, and immediately sent me a very helpful (and encouraging) message.

       Pearl, I know you have cats but do you have any dog stories? Shay, I know you have some Bosco tales to tell. Donna--I imagine you have at least one dog memoir up your sleeve. Tammy, you have gazillions of canine tales. Val--you can give us a rollicking Juno escapade or two, can't you? Lisa, the weiner dogs are always the underdogs. And Lisa, you have Golden Retriever stories, too. The deadline is July 1.

      It seems the Not Your Mother's Books are looking for upbeat stories about dogs...whacky stories...funny stories. There is a children's novel entitled No More Dead Dogs, and the main character moans about the fact that if there is a dog's name in the title, don't read the book, because the dog will inevitably die during the story. (Think about it. Old Yeller. My Dog Skip. 'Tis true...)

       And my story definitely had a dead dog in it.

       Ooops. I am as bad as some of my students. I didn't do my homework very well, and apparently did not check the guidelines for this collection at all very well.

       Kathleene said if I rewrote it, and make the story "end" before our beloved Trixie died, they would reconsider it. If I wouldn't, they couldn't.

       Thrilled with a second chance, I worked on it for quite a while yesterday evening excited to do anything to avoid working on my report cards . But I got stuck. I wanted to make sure the "spackling" I did was seamless, and I had no idea how I was going to create a satisfying ending. I figured, I would let it sit for a few days. That's my normal MO.

     This morning, still trying to avoid working on report cards I still had nothing, so I didn't even plan on opening up the story and working on it. But something made me say to myself, 'Just try. You might come up with something.'

     And forcing myself--a little--to just reread the tale so far, and attempt to finish the revision resulted in me being able to finish the story---and submit it.

      Of course, Kathleene and NYMB might not like what I did with it. And that's cool. But I prodded myself--poked myself with a stick--and got it done.

      How about all my blogging colleagues who have a dog? What is stopping you from submitting? You have a little more than a month left...and as June Carter Cash sang it so well: "Time's a'wastin'."

     (I know. I promised the debut of Sioux-on-a-Stick with my next posting, but my life will be so less hectic this week after I stop avoiding the completion of my report cards finish my report cards. So Donna, stop holding your breath. She'll make her appearance...soon.)

She Asked for It...You Got It

       One of my writing peeps, Lynn Obermoeller, gave me an award.  Lynn is a gifted writer, a gentle critic, a wonderful friend. I initially started a list of seven of my fashion faux pas, as I am so not a fashionista (example: I am wondering how wise it would be to wear my Crocs today, and there's snow on the ground) but gave up after 5 or so...Then I read Tammy's post, and it got my thoughts meandering in a different direction...

1. When I was a kid, when I went to the circus, people could buy little alligators. Their legs were stapled to a piece of cardboard. Then, I was too young to be aghast; instead, I was fascinated. Now, I would be horrified to even go to the circus (unless they ever come up with one that features only humans).

2. I am adamant about seatbelts. No one rides in my car without buckling their seatbelt. When I still had my driver's permit, a 14-year old driver (driving for his grandmother) veered into my path and hit me head on. Thanks to my seat belt, I only broke my nose. (The ER doctor said it would heal without a splint, but since our family LTD was ruined, I wanted some proof of the accident. I also loved looking like the Lee Marvin character in Cat Ballou...at least for a day or two.)

3.  Sad movies and sad books are my favorite. I just finished Sarah's Key. Definitely sob-worthy. A Thousand Splendid Suns is one of my favorites, as is Too Late the Phalarope.  Both have brought tears to my eyes. Don't get me wrong: I love Augusten Burroughs' hilarious vignettes. The books about the Sweet Potato Qeens (the best is the book on men and love) ---I love. But if given a choice between Sophie's Choice and something gut-busting, I'll choose the former every time.

3. I spent a summer working in a gift shop in Yellowstone Park. I was 18.We were lured there by promises of "resort food" and the chance to enjoy beautiful scenery. If resort guests ate lots of oatmeal and white bread, I guess they were honest. We also worked split shifts, so we had little time to explore the area. However, since the legal age to drink was 18 there, I did a lot of exploration with various flavors of Schnapps...

4.  Over my Christmas break, dealing with a cold that would not leave, I watched 13 episodes of Sons of Anarchy--one right after the other. My husband (who had a motorcycle for a while) finds it quite amusing that although I refuse to ride on one, I'm obsessed with a show about a motorcycle gang. And yet I am...

5.  As a kid, I went through a "saint" phase. I voraciously read about them. I even dreamed I could become one. Not Catholic, so I'm not sure where the interest came from...Perhaps those pixie hair-cuts I sported in those days had something to do with my fascination with Joan of Arc?

6. (Almost there! Whew!) I have long feet. Size 11. You know what they say...Long feet, long boobs.

7.  I believe in many gods. The God of Snow Days. (They didn't come through today.) The God of Snooki. (Someday, that god will exert their power and we'll stop supporting Snooki...no more books, no more television shows, no more photos plastered in magazines.) The God of Fairness. (At some point in time, my final growth spurt will occur, and my 7'8" frame will be able to handle this weight gracefully...)

I am supposed to pass this award on (much like a chain letter) and have decided to highlight some blogs I follow that--in my opinion--lack the followers they deserve. They are:

•  Shay and her wonderful poems. They bloom in her Word Garden. Sometimes they're roll-on-the-floor funny, and sometimes they're bitingly serious. But what they always are is phenomenal...
• Ramblings of a Very Pale Man.  He writes about his family with humor. And he's working on a novel. (That makes me a bit envious...)
• Val's antics are spilled out on her blog---Unbagging the Cats. She can take a trip to the gas station and make it a journey of epic proportions--and make it hilarious.

Thanks, Lynn. And check out these blogs, if you aren't a follower already...