Gone to the Dogs or Thirteen Naked Blondes

      Love a Golden Rescue, a group of all-volunteers who rescue unwanted Goldens and Golden mixes, has a gorgeous calendar for sale. The colors and the scenery are breathtaking.

      All 13 of the dogs featured were once throw-away dogs...dogs who were once in puppy mills as breeding machines, dogs who were abandoned, dogs who were unwanted. Now, they are well-loved members of their family.

      You may go to Love a Golden to order your calendar. Or, you may shave $2 off your purchase price, and send me a check (made out to Love a Golden Rescue) for $10, and I'll pop for the postage. Email me at sroslawski(at)yahoo(dot)com and I'll send you my snail mail address.

       The whole price goes directly to the dogs. Our photographer (who is one of Purina's main photographers) donated his services, the graphic artist who designed the calendar donated her services, and the printing was covered by the calendar dogs' owners. (They bid for a page in the calendar.)

      They would make a wonderful Christmas present (don't be afraid to order more than one) and is for such a marvelous cause...

      How many calendars would you like? 

Naughty? Or Nice?

          The deadline for "Fifty Shades of Santa" submissions is hurtling towards us. Romance...humor...nothing sexually explicit is what they're looking for.  I can do funny and I can do not-raunchy, but romance? Not really. 

photo by floridapfe

         Last night I took my "Santa" story to my writing critique group. Helpful and encouraging and on-point they were, as usual. And it reminded me of more reasons why writing critique groups are so valuable:

1.  You'll get a speeding ticket when you leave your critique group. Okay, I didn't get caught by the police speeding when I left the WWWPs last night, but I was exhilirated and I was speeding--until I slowed down, realizing that the police would probably not consider "I'm-so-excited-because-writing-outside-of-my-box-is-so-fun-and-they-kinda-liked-my-story" as a valid excuse for breaking the law. Do you think I was right?

2. Any intestinal blockage (or blockage of any other kind) will clear up. Instantly. Someone (we won't mention names) brought brownies that included pureed prunes as one of the ingredients. Hopefully, too many explosions didn't occur as a result of that culinary debacle. What's that you say? You're stopped up creatively? A writing critique group will start the creative juices flowing again, too.

3.  The chance to open your mouth, gaping, in awe. In one evening, writers share stories that are heart-wrenchingly tender, gut-bustingly funny, and sobbingly-sad. All in one night. 

     I'm encouraging you, before it's too late, to send in your holiday romance stories to mizgotrocks@wt.net  Pat Smith of Welkin Press is eagerly anticipating a flood of stories.  Make sure they're 2,000-8.000 words long, and make sure you don't wait too long...the deadline is September 30.

      Donna, thanks for posting this call. And Lisa--I expect to be competing with you for a spot in this anthology. So if you haven't already written and sent off something, you'd better get your rear in gear...

And please check out my guest post on "The Muffin" where I explain the real difference between men and women--and whether you agree or disagree, please leave a comment.

I'm a Woman...W-O-M-A-N, I'll Say It Again

      How much mileage can you get out of a scraped scalp? Apparently a lot.

     A year or so ago, I got my head caught in the sink at work. I was trying to save $5. Washing my hair so I wouldn't have to pay my hair stylist an extra fee... After the shampooing was finished, I was going to drive quickly to my appointment, so my hair would still be damp when I arrived.

      That was the plan, anyhow. Since the sink was incredibly small, the faucet was huge (and apparently I was incredibly cheap), it ended up a bit of a mess.

        Because.

        My head.

        Got.

        StuckanditwasaonestallbathroomandIhaddeadbolteditsoIwasREALLYstuck!

         Within the last week, I've gotten the news that Mozark Press is publishing my fictionalized story of this hair-raising experience. My blogging buddy Lisa Ricard Claro and my fellow WWWP (Wild Women Wielding Pens) Linda O'Connell also have stories in this anthology. 

          Today I got an email telling me my nonfiction version is going to be part of Publishing Syndicate's first book in the Not Your Mother's Book series; it's titled On Being a Woman and will be released on October 9.

           See? A bit of flesh left on a faucet goes a long way...

         What kind of tidbit of life experience have you used in several ways--morphing it for various publications or contests? Or What was the stupidest thing you ever did?(Getting my head held hostage by a faucet is not one of my brighter moments, for sure.)

Bad Hair x 2

         Yesterday I got an email. My bad hair day story has been accepted by Mozark Press' Bad Hair Day anthology. It's a rollicking, riveting tale that includes a close encounter with a sink and some hunky firemen.

          Sadly, it's fictional...

photo by NetAgra

           Today I actually had a bad hair day...on purpose. Holly, my teaching teammate, and I had a rap-off. I was "Reddicaless Redd."  Wearing a shirt that had been embellished, lovely rap-style pajama bottoms, and sporting major bling (a hubcap--on a chain around my neck --hat had shiny stones hot-glued all over it), I was quite a sight. I spray-painted highlights of bright red into my hair. It looked wretched. It looked tacky. It looked just right.

 

                  Surprisingly, this old dog had a few tricks up her sleeves. I'm old enough (with even a few extra years) to be Holly's mother, but victorious I was.

          If you were a rapper, what would your name be? Or What good news have you received recently?

     

       

I HATE When That Happens

        Don't you hate it when you get something marvelous to read, and you can't put it down? Other things call to you...the laundry...lesson plans...the dishes...plucking the stray white eyebrow hairs that have formed a huge (but scattered) community and are apparently there to stay.

          The night before last, I was up until 2:00 in the morning--reading. Could. Not. Put. It. Down. I finally surrendered--reluctantly--because I was going on a hike this morning. I had to get at least a little rest. 

photo by DARREN STONE

 
          My eyes looked...well, they looked horrible. I'm sparing you the image of what they actually looked like, and am instead using this cool, purplish eye. Just add a large gray Samsonite bag under the eye, lots of red vein-y things across the white of the eyeball, and wrinkly, crepe-paper skin surrounding the eye.

           Last night I was up til 11. I finally finished it. I was compelled-- by the plot--to get to the end so I could find out how all the loose ends got tied up.

          For months, a writing friend and WWWP, Lynn Obermoeller, has been sharing her manuscript with the other WWWPs. Some meetings, she would share a submission for Chicken Soup or Sasee or some other publication. Other meetings, she would share a small piece of the novel she created during NaNoWriMo 2012.

          It's really hard to keep the momentum of the story going if you only get bits and pieces of it. Especially if the novel has some shreds of mystery about it, if there are some elements of suspense embedded in the tale. Waiting a couple of weeks or a month for the next installment became unbearable...

           A novel is like a baby the writer gives birth to. A memoir or other piece of nonfiction is like an adopted bambino--in some ways even more difficult than the "conventional" way of bringing your "creation" into the world, but the writer's baby nonetheless. However, a novel is totally new, completely coming from the writer's imagination. And you have to tread lightly when the nose, the eyes, the mouth---when they all can be traced back to the writer. Friends might want to crowd around to see the new arrival, but parents are fiercely protective. They might say, "No visitors right now."

           When the other four WWWPs demanded to get a copy of the manuscript--all of it at once--Lynn was brave enough to surrender. And then, I imagine she held her breath. Probably is still holding her breath. 'Cause no one wants people to gush over your "breathtaking" baby when--in actuality--the baby is hideous (for all you Seinfeld fans).

              What has been keeping me up late during the last two nights? Lynn's story. I am not really prepared for work today, will probably stumble through my schedule, I'll be observed by a roving group of administrators and it will be apparent I did diddly-squat (work-wise) over the weekend, I will be brought into the principal's office to be reprimanded, I will cry out, "But I was reading Lynn's story. I couldn't put it down. I had to finish it," and my boss will shake his head, I'll get fired and will have to become a stripper a slurpee machine operator to support my family.

              All because of a well-written story...

             What book or WIP (work in progress) is keeping you up at night lately? Or If you're planning on taking part in NaNoWriMo, what ideas do you have so far? Or What's the bravest thing you've ever done as a writer?

          

Deaf to All Except Those With a Deft Touch

        
         We were talking about this (how we love a delicate touch) at our writing critique meeting this past Wednesday. (You know, after roll call...after the minutes from the last meeting were read aloud...after issues from the floor were discussed...after they tried to force me into an Ellipsis Intervention group...)

          What's that, you ask? Am I speaking of how much I would appreciate Viggo Mortensen's gentle touch? No. Not at this moment. (But now that you mention it...) Right now, my appreciation is being heaped onto editors who know their boundaries.

art by hardgalvin.deviantart.com

          So far, I've been lucky enough to work with only a handful of editors, and they've been  extremely respectful of territorial lines. Where does my voice end and theirs begin in the editing process? I have a unique style/rhythm/strange set of idiosyncrasies  to my writing. There might be editors who--when they edit my work--might unwittingly infuse my writing with their voice. It might be when a bit of punctuation is changed, a different phrase is added, or the format of the story is altered.

         Lately, I've worked with two great editors---Dahlynn McKowen and Pat Nelson. Their suggestions have improved my pieces and the changes are done seamlessly. In my mind, that's one sign of a great editor.

         What editor have you worked with recently that you'd like to highlight as you pile on the praise? Come on. I know there are lots of stories to tell...