Ageless and timeless my arse

June 22, 2009

It’s my birthday today. Fifty-freaking-three. The daughter spawn and I are blowing off the day to watch a chick flick and drink afternoon margaritas before Perfect Hubby gets home.

I’m getting cards about how timeless and marvelous we older bats really are. Yah, sure. I see my hairdresser’s eyes bug out when I say, “blond me, baby!” both of us realizing this is gonna require the nuclear goop and government clearance. But I must say that there are some things we old broads pick up along the way, and I want to share…


Well, crap…Now I forgot what it was…

And…I’m outta here!

May 1, 2009

The Hubby and I are bugging out of town for a week to celebrate 30 years of the proverbial wedded bliss. He’s put up with me and tolerated my artistic side, which can, at times, be more than a bit annoying, so I bought him a crown and scepter.

I’m so excited I feel like dancing! And, no, this isn’t my beloved Sarah – she had zero rhythm.

The Day in the Life of a Writer

April 30, 2009

Watch. Listen. Learn. The truth to writing isn’t what you think…

A Saturday funny

April 25, 2009

As writers, we should all know the definitions of the words we use, yes? Well, in case anyone is unsure of the meaning of a word, they really should treat themselves to this blog. I laughed so hard I snorted coffee through my nose.

Ah double thit

April 1, 2009

I’ve been had by no less than five people today. WTF sez me. I forgot.

April Fool’s. I’m one of the most gullicalf [as opposed to gullible] souls in the world.

The hell with it; I’m taking the day off.

No emails, no answering the phone. I’ll hide under the covers and wait for this blasted day to end. Besides, I have two manuscripts that are so delicious that I’m gaining weight just reading them.

Happy St. Paddy’s Day…

March 17, 2009

An Irish Ghost Story

This story happened a while ago in Dublin , and even though it sounds like an Alfred Hitchcock tale, its true!

John Bradford, a Dublin University student, was on the side of the road hitchhiking on a very dark night and in the midst of a big storm.

The night was rolling on and no car went by. The storm was so strong he could hardly see a few feet ahead of him. Suddenly, he saw a car slowly coming towards him and stopped. John, desperate for shelter and without thinking about it, got into the car and closed the door.. only to realize there was nobody behind the wheel and the engine wasn’t on .

The car started moving slowly. John looked at the road ahead and saw a curve approaching. Scared, he started to pray, begging for his life. Then, just before the car hit the curve, a hand appeared out of nowhere through the window and turned the wheel. John, paralyzed with terror, watched as the hand came through the window, but never touched or harmed him.

Shortly thereafter John saw the lights of a pub appear down the road, so, gathering strength, he jumped out of the car and ran to it. Wet and out of breath, he rushed inside and started telling everybody about the horrible experience he had just had.

A silence enveloped the pub when everybody realized he was crying and….wasn’t drunk.

Suddenly, the door opened, and two other people walked in from the dark and stormy night. They, like John, were also soaked and out of breath. Looking around, and seeing John Bradford sobbing at the bar, one said to the other…

“Look Paddy…..there’s the fooking idiot that got in the car while we were pushing it!”

Why yes, we are spawns of Satan. You didn’t know?

March 15, 2009

From an author possessing an abundance of wit, charm, and walnuts. I mean, who tells this to an editor with the hope she’ll read his work?

“…that’s why Satan invented editors, of course, to chastise writers’ optimism about the products of their labor.”

Hey, count me in. I can’t wait to see how hard he’s going to make me laugh. I may even park my Red Pen From Hell in the other room. Besides, he’s right, yanno…

What did you mean by that?

March 12, 2009

I’ve been enjoying a lively conversation about how some words have more than one meaning depending upon where you come from. Since words are the writer’s tools, they have to be as clear as possible. But what happens when you make an innocent mistake? Well, we have to go in and make edits to your work. Don’t be insulted that we think you provincial and that we’re trying to destroy your voice. We need to consider that the audience won’t be restricted to just your locale, and we have to make the wording clear so we don’t have any confusion. Confusion makes readers scratch their heads and takes them out of the story.

If, for example, an author wrote about  how his character had a “proper job” most of us would understand exactly what the writer meant – a “real” job rather than, oh, say, a writer. However, if someone in Cornwall, England read that they’d think the character had enjoyed a jolly good shag. If the publisher has foreign rights, edits would be in order, wouldn’t you say?

This reminds me of the movie Free Willy, and how all the South Africans, Brits, and probably the Aussies as well, laughed themselves into a coma because “willy” means a man’s…ah…um…err…I think you get the idea. Had I been the publisher of a book bearing the same title, I would have considered Free Shamu, or Free Bubbles, but leave poor Willy out of it – especially if I have sold the foreign rights.

As editors, we need to be sensitive to how another country, or even another state might read something in narratives. Aloha is one of those words, meaning hello, goodbye, have a nice day in Hawaii. Everyone gets that.  But I get the idea it also has its darker origins as well, and it could be used to infer all sorts of things. I think the Hawaiian working at Hilo Hattie’s on the Big Island meant it to mean “go blow yourself” when a tourist was a complete ass over buying a $25 pair of earrings for his wife, who stood by turning all shades of red. It was all I could do to keep from laughing up a lung. All I could think is that it would make for a great narrative in a book – provided the reader fully understood the word Aloha.

This idea of words that have more than one meaning got me to thinking that I should start making up my own meanings just for kicks and giggles. For instance, I could start saying “surf’s up!” which would mean “I’m rejecting this manuscript.” I would claim all innocence by stating this is how we say “rejection” in Southern California. If an author asks why I rejected them, I could simply say, “Duuude, get a new surfboard, man.”

Hmm…thinking of the infinite possibilities of no one having a clue what I’m talking about.


January 11, 2009


There are times when it’s best to just let us editors have our way, yanno?

Tagged, I’m sooo "not it"

January 9, 2009

Yeah. Uh huh. Thanks, Donna, you’re a dear, and I adore you (and your writing), but I don’t do tags. They’re chain letters. I sucked at chain letters as a kid, and I suck at memes now that I’m ostensibly all grown up. No one gives a rat’s patootie about my favorite drink (chocolate tarmoonies…um, choco martoonies…eh, choco martinis, and frothy margaritas), what I dreamed last night (Antonio Banderas sucking my toes), or what my fears are (sucking as a publisher and as a writer).

I’m not sure if there’s some meme netherworld where nonparticipants are tossed, but I hope there’s an impressive amount of fresh margaritas awaiting me.

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