It makes me feel all warm and tingly that this tweet got a lot of likes. It’s almost like people enjoy knowing that good folk exist and horrible, spineless, greedy bastards aren’t the only ones left on the planet… even though she’s a fictional character.
But if we don’t write the characters who want to help, who will be our role models? Real people? Pfft.
How else would you explain his lack of proper notice of showings? It was bad enough when he called 30 minutes ahead that time but this time? No call? Just strangers showing up at my door demanding entrance?! What the sweet hell?
Actual son not pictured.
Let me set the scene: Monday, 2pm, my toddler has just fallen asleep after a day long struggle to get him to rest after a fitful night and a cranktastic morning. He’s on the living room floor, on his little Mickey Couch, all snuggled up and snoring. The lights are off, the toys are scattered everywhere and the Light Classical Music station is playing at the lowest volume on TV. I’m on the couch, half-asleep taking a Buzzfeed quiz to determine how extra I am based on my guacamole preferences.
THE DOORBELL RINGS. It rings again. There’s pounding knocking. It rings AGAIN!
I look outside and see two cars in my driveway that don’t belong to anyone I know, not the one FedEx truck I actually expect to see. Three people are standing outside my door when I open it and one of them says, “We’re here for the showing at 2.”
Um… no you’re freaking not.
I ask them to wait while I call my realtor. He gives me an old man song and dance about how the showing is tomorrow at 2. Tuesday at 2. He’s sure because he had to go to New Hampshire tomorrow but postponed to show them our house at 2.
By the way, he didn’t notify us about Tuesday at 2 either.
I go back and say, “There’s been a mistake.” She assures me it was not hers. I tell her I’m not letting her in my house right now. My son’s asleep, the house is a mess, and I am very angry with my realtor. But the people who came to see it, the people who have been trying to get an appointment but haven’t been able to yet are PISSED and want to come in now. I say no. I say reschedule. They sigh and storm off but agree.
What the sweet hell?
I have never bitchslapped an old man. But I will. I will if it happens again.
What a lovely little surprise to occasionally check my KDP Reports only to find a few more people have purchased my book and a lot more KENP pages have been read. There’s still some love for the little bi girl choosing reality over fantasy.
If only we were all so sensible as teenagers (she says as she watches her teen cousin fall in 4-EVA love with yet another stupid young man who will break her heart, all on Facebook for everyone to see. sigh).
Like Two Opposite Things is available on Amazon. It’s the sensible choice, really.
If the definition of genocide is
the deliberate killing of a large group of people, especially those of a particular ethnic group or nation
then… it stands to reason that the intentional removal of affordable access to health care for poor, disabled, elderly, prenatal, postnatal, and female Americans by the GOP is… you know, the deliberate eventuality of killing of a large group of people, especially of a particular sex, age, and socioeconomic group. Which is genocide.
I’m not sure how it happened but I’m relatively sure I did it and that’s why I think I should be able to take credit. My son is now fond of saying, “Whoops, twy again” when things fall down or apart or don’t go his way. How’s that for resilience? I don’t need you, Parenting Magazine. I don’t need no Scary Mommy.
Now, I’m not saying he’s the most mellow toddler in the world and when he’s hungry or tired, it’s full on melt-down time if he drops a crayon or his sock is slightly askew. But when he’s well-fed and well-rested and playing in his own little world with or without me, he’s more likely to say, “Twy again” than he is to freak out when his block tower falls down.
I mean, I think that’s because of me. I remember saying “try again” to him before he started saying it himself. But it wasn’t an intentional parenting strategy. It wasn’t a mantra. It was just my way of distracting him BEFORE a meltdown occurred. Apparently, the kid has internalized that attitude and it’s made for much more chill play time.
So my next step, I guess, is to foster that attitude to include other things: putting clothes on by himself, using the potty, going to preschool, trying new activities, homework, cancer research, astronaut training, running for elected office. You know, all the important stuff.
And as proud as I am of my little can-doer, I have to reserve some of that praise for myself. This “try again” attitude I’ve infected my son with by accident was a long and painful process for me. I’ve never done well with rejection or embarrassment or … just things that seemed really hard. But the reality of life for a woman is that we have to keep trying, keep working, keep pushing if we want the things we want: again, the important stuff like equality and opportunity and equal pay and equal rights and equal representation. If we want to normalize women’s lives and experiences and health and professionalism, we have to keep trying. If we want the world to be a better place for our children, even for those little can-doers who don’t necessarily need our help, we have to keep trying again and again and again.
Here’s where I SHOUT OUT to all the brave and bold women running for office in the next few years. She Should Run gives me hope for the future and inspiration to be a leader and a role model regardless of political aspiration (or lack thereof). Do your thing, homegirls, and if it doesn’t work out the first run, TRY AGAIN!
I signed up for Camp NaNoWriMo hoping it would spark some creative thing in the depths of my brain and getting me writing something new. But the more I hashtag game my current WIP (which was last year’s NaNoWriMo WIP), the more I think it’s worthy of my full attention.
I’m so close to the end! I spent a small chunk of time outlining that B over the weekend and making a list of the things I knew still needed to happen to actually complete the story in a sensical way. I have an idea of how to move forward. I just need to get myself to do it.
And it’s getting a little easier. The kiddo is napping right this second (and I wrote half a page before jumping onto this blog post) and not only am I able to eat actual food in the mornings now, not only can I get myself off the couch and unfurl my tired body, throwing off the cocoon of blankets and oversized sweaters, but I can actually handle coffee again. Well, fake-flavored cappuccino K-cups with foam packets, but it’s caffeine nonetheless and I am starting to feel like a real live person again!
So perhaps instead of jumping into something new, I can spend my Camptime finishing up this WIP and starting on editing. Now seems like the best time anyway while it’s still cold out and before we make any attempt to move houses. I’m also very well aware of the hole I will fall into after the baby is born and survival mode will cut out any writing time.
That’s it, then. FinishThisWIP is where I’m at this Camping season. I’ve already been invited to a cabin full of fiesties who seem like a good time. I’m hoping that interacting with them will help keep me motivated too.
Guess it’s time to change my Camp project, then, eh?
Grimm is ending soon and I am… what’s a word that means devastated but on a really shallow level? Like, it doesn’t affect my life in any way and I will move on from it like I do every show I love that ends or gets cancelled, but I’m pretty bummed about it right now, as the actual end approaches? I’m that word.
What’s different about Grimm is that it’s a Buffy for grownups. It’s an adult–eventually several adults–who come into their power in mid-life instead of say… discovering their mutant abilities at puberty or learning of their legacy as a high school sophomore. They’re not still forming their identity when that spider bites them or negotiating prom plans when a freak accident gives them special powers or wolf bite reveals their true underlying nature.
They’re not kids taking on the world before they’re ready; they’re adults frustrated with a broken system who find themselves with extra abilities with which to bypass the red tape that holds everyone else back.
Like how Wu just straight up eats some bad guys sometimes. Generally speaking, cops don’t get away with EATING people. Shooting them under certain (*coughracistcough*) circumstances, sometimes they can talk their way out of, but eating? Only Wu.
Grimm justice is just about cutting off heads sometimes because… you know, sometimes, it needs to be done and detectives just don’t have that kind of authority.
And don’t even get me started on Hexenbiest problem-solving methods because veterinarians don’t USUALLY esplode people to bits or like, throw them against walls repeatedly until they die. It’s just not professional.
As a mid-lifer myself who received neither her Hogwarts letter nor my Slayer powers, Grimm gives me hope that I’m not completely useless yet. Maybe there’s a vat of nuclear goo in my future or a cute Irishman willing to pass his visions to me as he sacrifices himself for the greater good.
I mean, there’s always the SMART PEOPLE shows like Scorpion or MacGyver or Madame Secretary to make me feel like SOME old farts are getting it done but as a non-genius, none of those hold the same kind of appeal as an old lady showing up at my door and saying, “Don’t you know who your REAL parents are?! Don’t you know what you can do?!”
Because I guarantee I would not cry and whine and Just Wish I Was Normal if I got powers. I’d be out avenging! I’d be righting wrongs! I’d be tearing it up! I’d be… honestly, probably pretty corruptible actually.
Never give me power, man. I’d just Hancock it all up.
Still, I’ll miss Grimm. Here’s to more grownups getting the power and using it for good!
7 out of 8 characters pictured have far more super powers than me.
P.S. I’ve got a backburner WIP about a newish mom who accidentally escapes her mundane mom life to solve some mythic issue with the help of her infant son. GROWN-UP HEROES! GO, GO, GO!
Today my son napped for 2 hours and 40 minutes. Guess how many words I got written in that amount of time! Just guess!!
0.
0 words.
I ate lunch. I did the dishes. I napped. And that, friends, is a productive day for me. Being pregnant is seriously harshing my vibe, yo. It’s crushing my spirit. And my bladder. And with a minimum caffeine intake, there’s no more magic elixir to keep me up nights (or days, apparently) writing my heart out.
I’m over here like, thank God I’m not puking my heart out because that’s the best I can expect these days.
Any other pregnant writers out there losing their groove?
Much later than I had hoped–since I had a whole new book sale/old book promotion thing going on a month and a half ago and this was part of my marketing plan–MyBookPlace.net has finally posted my Author Interview!
It’s chock full of such pearls as…
I can appreciate Grover’s growing anxiety at discovering the monster within
and…
back in my early teen days when I would have done anything to kiss a boy–any boy, I wasn’t picky
Good quality stuff. Yeah. Actually, it was the third author interview I did and most of the questions were the same so I was scraping the bottom of the barrel of thought nuggets for this one. Sorry.
Still, you should read it because it’s Sunday and you don’t REALLY want to go check the laundry, do you?
Eda J. Vor’s Author Interview on MyBookPlace.net
Raise your hand if you’re a paranoid introvert!
Right, yes, me. I am a paranoid introvert. And what’s the worst thing that can happen to a paranoid introvert?
We’re having a… a…. oh God, we’re having an Open House this weekend because apparently, you can’t shut yourself in your home and still sell it to people sight unseen.
Now… I have been to tons of Open Houses and I have never looked through medicine cabinets or refrigerators. I open closet doors to see how big they are but ignore everything in them. I take off my shoes if I’m asked and I always ALWAYS respect the cat who lives there. But that’s me. That’s not everyone. That’s not the nightmare vision I have in my head of randos wandering my house in their muddiest boots looking through my personal effects and holding the door open so my cat escapes. I don’t have much in the way of stealable jewelry but I imagine it’ll be all gone. My worst enemies will show up and take pictures of my toenail fungal spray and backup underpants. My son’s favorite toys will be misplaced and the resulting meltdown will span ages. And someone, somehow will break my Keurig and make me cry.
I’m just hoping I’ve built up enough Open House karma that nothing bad happens while I’m gone.
Also, I’m sending in my in-laws to spy.
Eda J Vor 