Left Coast Lunacy and more of Left

Any twinge of regret that I hadn't signed on for Left Coast Crime this year has been washed away completely by the thorough reports of John Rickards on his blog. Fire alarms, killer bathtubs, being locked outside the hotel room and the author's bender to end all benders.

Until Harrogate Crime Festival anyway. Last year there were no such fire alarm shenanigans and I'm sure we'll all be a well-behaved bundle of politeness and respectability this year too. I mean, it wasn't me that finally went to bed Saturday night at, um what was it? 6:30 am Sunday? Yes, that seems about right.

But I'm one of those sympathetic types who endures the madness vicariously. Except I didn't plan for this.

You see, I sleep on the left side of the bed. I don't know why, exactly. But that's the side I found myself on when I got married.

Yesterday morning, toasty warm beneath a sheet, two comforters, a duvet and my favourite blanket. In that sort of pre-awake sleep you get too after a decent night's rest, but you still need a bit more. Part of your brain's kicked in, because it's time for the usual 4:30 am wake-up call, but you've dismissed it because - as you remind yourself - it's Saturday. God made Saturday for sleeping in, and for once you don't have anything early morning in the city that requires you to drag your butt out of bed and face the morning too early.

And then you feel it. A spot of warmth. Sticky, wet, but warm. Right over your knees.

And the synopsis are really firing up now. What on earth could be pouring over my legs at 4:45 am?

And then, of course, it registers. That there's something on my legs. Something short, sweet and apparently very horny.

So my lazy Saturday morning was disrupted by Skittles, spraying the bed all the way through all those sheets, his...scent now soaking into my skin.

Now, I had an official city-trip emergency. There was no way our standard washing machine was going to handle the duvet.

We had to pack everything up and go to a laundromat with the front loaders for 8 am, before they got too busy.

On a purely psychological note, I'm not sure how to interpret Skittles' choice to spray me. He's a Daddy's cat, through and through. Runs down the hall when he hears Kevin come in the outer door every afternoon, jumps onto his shoulder, insists on supervising Kevin at work in his office - follows him everywhere. Even likes to lie on the back of the toilet when it's in use.

The kind of cat you need to warn strangers about.

The kind of cat that's going to see a big pair of veterinary scissors really, really soon.

Now, here's some advice for you.

From a strictly mathematical viewpoint it goes like this:

What makes 100%? What does it mean to give MORE than 100%? Ever
wonder about those people who say the are giving more than 100%? We
have all been to those meetings where someone wants you to give over
100%. How about achieving 103%? What makes up 100% in life?


Here’s a little mathematical formula that might help you answer these
questions:

If:
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

REPRESENTED AS:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Then:

H-A-R-D-W-O-R-K
8+1+18+4+23+15+18+11=98%

and

K-N-O-W-L-E-D-G-E
11+14+15+23+12+5+4+7+5=96%

But,

A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E
1+20+20+9+20+21+4+5=100%

And,

B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T
2+21+12+12+19+8+9+20=103%

AND, look how far ass kissing will take you.

A-S-S-K-I-S-S-I-N-G
1+19+19+11+9+19+19+9+14+7=127%

So, one can then conclude with mathematical certainty that While Hard work
and knowledge will get you close, and Attitude will get you there, Bullshit and Ass kissing will put you over the top.

I know you're all choking back the snickers, thinking how funny it is that Sandra's sweet little kitten sprayed her.

But "Laughing" only gets you 79%.

And a woman sprayed should not be tested!

Left Coast Blues

So, staying at home on the nippy prairies and missing Left Coast Crime hasn't turned out all bad.

I mean, at least I'm getting more than 1.5 hours of sleep.

John Rickards has done a nice summary in his second report (if the link wigs out later, go to www.mysterycircus.com and it's on the front page) about height comparisons, fire alarms and Scottish conspiracy theories.

Why do I get the feeling Harrogate will only be a continuation of the antics?

Of course, the one thing I truly dispute is his accusation that Stuart MacBride has been bribing judges with shellfish in order to earn his "Best First Novel" nomination for the International Thriller Awards.

Pssst. Everyone knows shellfish doesn't work, John. You have to use cash.

Seriously though, HUGE CONGRATS to the Bearded Wonderboy, who is obviously too elated to make a blog post about it. Priorities, priorities Stuart. Awards are nice and all, but your readers pay your bills.

And if the fire alarm keeps sounding at LCC, I'm sure by the time they all get home they'll hear it in their heads every four minutes - residual programming. It's likely a brainwashing test or something.

To see if they can take the evil out of crime writers. Though I strongly suspect if I was there, my crimes wouldn't be restricted to the writing - you can take away my freedom, but not my sleep!

Green

Green. My favourite colour. Also an interesting word, because it has so many different meanings.

You can feel green (sick).

You can be green, as in a newbie, inexperienced.

But today, it's about making you all green. Which is only fair, because it's St. Patrick's Day, and it would be a darned shame for anyone not to sport the proper colour for the occasion. Yes, that's right. On this side of the border it will be green beer and green mashed potatoes and green Irish soda bread to boot.


It was really hard to photograph this, but there you have it - commemorating my first writing award as an author. Wow. Isn't it beautiful? My publisher (TICO Publishing) really went all-out with this - I'm wearing another part of my prize as I type.

And I might joke about making you all jealous, but really, it just goes to show that if you chase your dreams, you can achieve your goals. If I can, so can you.

My leprechaun has made a rare appearance in honour of the holiday.



Truthfully, I'm green with envy that my friends are at Left Coast Crime. But that's okay. I can drown my sorrows in my green beer, and I have Harrogate to look forward to.

With not just Stuart MacBride and John Rickards and Simon Kernick, but also Ian Rankin and Mark Billingham and Val McDermid and Denise Mina.

Two quick notes:
Update from yesterday: evilkev, who communicates with me by reading my blog and emailing occasionally, has tracked down the book Twenty and Ten for me, so I'll be adding a childhood classic to my shelves. That's why I keep him around. He's well trained.

And if you're lurking, dying to comment, feel free. Commenters I've met in person from my blog? Well, evilkev. And Stuart MacBride.

I've talked to Cornelia on the phone. A few others (Boy Kim, Kate) I've been emailing with for a long time, off various forums.

And the rest are just mad people who somehow found their way here.
So if you're crazy enough to read, feel free to join in the commenting madness. Lurking is only one step removed from stalking, you know.

The St. Patrick's Day Friday Funnies
Q: How can you tell if an Irishman is having a good time?
A: He's Dublin over with laughter!

Q: What's Irish and stays out all night?
A: Patty O'furniture!

Q: How did the Irish Jig get started?
A: Too much to drink and not enough restrooms!

Q: What do you call an Irishman who knows how to control his wife?
A: A bachelor.

On Saint Patrick's Day, an Irishman who had a little too much to drink was driving home from the city and his car was weaving violently all over the road. A cop pulled him over.

"So," said the cop to the driver, "Where have you been?"

"Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk.

"Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening."

"I did all right," the drunk says with a smile.

"Did you know," says the cop, standing straight and folding his arms across his chest, "that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?"

"Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "For a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."
***

Two Irishmen, Patrick Murphy and Shawn O'Brian grew up together and were lifelong friends. But alas, Patrick developed cancer, and was dying. While on his deathbed, Patrick called to his buddy, Shawn, "O'Brian, come 'ere. I 'ave a request for ye." Shawn walks to his friend's bedside and kneels.

"Shawny ole boy, we've been friends all our lives, and now I'm leaving 'ere. I 'ave one last request fir ye to do."

O'Brian burst into tears, "Anything Patrick, anything ye wish. It's done."

"Well, under me bed is a box containing a bottle of the finest whiskey in all of Ireland. Bottled the year I was born it was. After I die, and they plant me in the ground, I want you to pour that fine whiskey over me grave so it might soak into me bones and I'll be able to enjoy it for all eternity."

O'Brian was overcome by the beauty and in the true Irish spirit of his friend's request, he asked, "Aye, tis a fine thing you ask of me, and I will pour the whiskey. But, might I strain it through me kidneys first?"
***

A man stumbles up to the only other patron in a bar and asks if he could buy him a drink.
"Why of course," comes the reply.
The first man then asks: "Where are you from?" 

"I'm from Ireland," replies the second man. 

The first man responds: "You don't say, I'm from Ireland too! Let's have another round to Ireland." 

"Of Course," replies the second man. 

Curious, the first man then asks: "Where in Ireland are you from?" 

"Dublin," comes the reply. 

"I can't believe it," says the first man. "I'm from Dublin too! Let's have another drink to Dublin."

"Of course," replies the second man. 

Curiosity again strikes and the first man asks: "What school did you go to?" 

"Saint Mary's," replies the second man. "I graduated in '62." 

"This is unbelievable!" the first man says. "I went to Saint Mary's and I graduated in '62, too!"

About that time in comes one of the regulars and sits down at the bar. 
"What's been going on?" he asks the bartender. 

"Nothing much," replies the bartender. "The O'Malley twins are drunk again."

***
His wife had been killed in an accident and the police were questioning Finnegan.
"Did she say anything before she died?" asked the sergeant.
"She spoke without interruption for about forty years," said the Irishman.
***

A young gentleman sitting at a bar with his pet pig asks for a couple of drinks. The confused bartender said no animals were allowed at the bar. The man proceeded to say, "Ah, but this is a very special pig. Just last week there was a fire in the house and that pig came charging out of his pen into the house and woke us all up. Then a few days later my son fell into the pool and that pig was grazing out on the lawn, and he came running and jumped into the pool and saved my son."

"Well " said the bartended "I guess this pig is very special so I'll get him a drink. By the way I noticed that he is missing one leg, what happened? "

"Well said the young man, when you got a pig this good you don't eat him all at once!"
***

The Doctor was puzzled. "I'm very sorry but I can't diagnose your trouble, Mahoney. I think it must be drink."

"Don't worry about it Dr. Kelley, I'll come back when you're sober."
***

"Did you hear that Flanagan invented an invisible deodorant ?"
"No, what good is it?"

"Well if you use, you vanish and no one knows where the smell is coming from!"
***

Three guys, one Irish, one English, and one Scottish, are out walking along the beach together one day. They come across a lantern and a Genie pops out of it.

"I will give you each one wish, that's three wishes in total", says the Genie.

The Scottish guy says, "I am a fisherman, my Dad's a fisherman, his Dad was a fisherman and my son will be one too. I want all the oceans full of fish for all eternity." So, with a blink of the Genie's eye FOOM! the oceans were teaming with fish.

The Englishman was amazed, so he said, "I want a wall around England, protecting her, so that no one will get in for all eternity." Again, with a blink of the Genie's eye POOF! there was a huge wall around England.

The Irishman asks, "I'm very curious. Please tell me more about this wall."

The Genie explains, "well, it's about 150 feet high, 50 feet thick, protecting England so that nothing can get in or out."

The Irishman says, "Fill it up with water."

The Power of A Book

We all have one, if we can remember back that far.

And I bet we can. Because I find that childhood memories, the ones we have, are so often the sharpest, the most poignant.

Everything could seem so simple in childhood. And yet, it wasn’t.

But we didn’t see the complications, not the same way we do now. Our minds weren’t geared to that. In childhood, there is (usually) the simplicity of innocence, our minds not tainted by the weight of worry that plagues us in later years as we assume more and more responsibility for our lives.

What is the “one” we all have? A favourite book, something we read that changed the way we thought or taught us something about the world that has stayed with us no matter how much time has passed, or how far we’ve gone from the home of our youth.

Something that made dreams seem possible, because we didn't think about impossibilities. We didn't think about limitations.

For me, one of those books is The Call of the Wild.

Not exactly a literary masterpiece, no doubt a book that makes some snicker. Never mind about that. That book had power, because it changed the way I thought.

I connected with it.

I always considered myself a dog lover. Bingo, a black lab, had come home a few months after I did, and I grew up with him. Many of the books I read as a child – beyond classics like The Narnia Chronicles, The Great Brain Series, the “This Can’t Be Happening at MacDonald” Hall Bruno & Boots series, Stuart Little and Charlotte’s Web – were about horses and dogs.

How I ended up with a copy of The Call of the Wild, I don’t remember. All that matters is I did. About 8 years old, getting yelled at because I was hiding inside with my nose in a book, reading about dogs being mushed across the north while fortune-seekers sought gold.

Dogs that were abused, that died in the traces, that gave there all for the greed of man.


Nootka (in the junky parts of the basement)

I’ve been thinking about this, hearing the conclusion of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race today. Some people think it’s cruel, but I have two huskies. There is nothing that will put you off your feet and on your face faster than leashing up the boys and stepping out the door. It’s in their heart to pull, to dig in, to try to outdo each other. They, quite simply, love to run. And they love to run against other dogs. It’s so easy for me to close my eyes and imagine the swish of the sled over the snow, to see the drive of the dogs yipping, anxious to get back on the trail.


Chinook and Nootka, when Nootka was just a pup, in the storage room.

All I know is, my boys would love it. Absolutely, positively love to pull with a team.

The Call of the Wild did a number of things for me. For one, a deep love and respect for huskies was born. Like I said, I own a pair.


Nootka and Chinook

I retained the desire to travel to the north and see the Yukon and Alaska, which I’ve done.

And a dream was born, to be a writer.

That’s the power of books. It doesn’t have to be a “literary masterpiece”. It doesn’t have to be an award-winner or a best-seller.

But it can still have the power to influence your life.

Those are the really great books.

And I bet we all have one – a book we read at some point in time that may seem silly to others, but has meant so much to us.

One we cherish and still keep a copy of on our bookshelves.

The Call of the Wild is one of mine. What’s yours?

Because perverted lawyers need to make a living too...

Since I primarily write police procedurals, a friend asked me about how I deal with getting my facts straight. We got talking about law and accuracy and how I research, and I started telling her some of my more bizarre discoveries.

Like the fact that in the province of British Columbia, it’s illegal to kill a Sasquatch.

Which my friend found surprising, since there’s no such thing.

“Ah,” Wise Sandra said in response, “but when the law was put into place, they wanted to err on the side of caution and not have it executed if there really were sasquatches.”

This, of course, led right to a discussion about Weird Sex Laws

For example:
In Tibet, many years ago, the law required all women prostitute themselves. This was seen as a way to gain sexual experience prior to marriage.
It really was a man’s world.

There are men in Guam whose full-time job it is to travel the countryside and deflower young virgins, who pay them for the privilege of having sex for the first time. Why? Under the law in Guam, it is forbidden for virgins to marry.
You know, there is a certain logic to the law. That way, nobody’s going to get into a bad marriage just to have sex. But why not just screw around with your sweetheart for free, and skimp on the STD potential?

In London, it's illegal to have sex on a parked motorcycle.

There goes that fantasy.

In China, women are prohibited from walking around a hotel room in the nude. A woman may be naked only while in the bathroom.

Wonder how popular China is as a honeymoon destination.

In Indiana, mustaches are illegal if the bearer has a "tendency to habitually kiss other humans."
Finally, a law that makes some sense! Could they ban beards as well?

In Minnesota, it is illegal for any man to have sexual intercourse with a live fish.
I’m not even going to ask…

Up until 1884, a woman could be sent to prison for denying a husband sex.
I’m sure this is why some women were pragmatic enough to turn a blind eye to the occasional indiscretion or investment in a hooker.

An excerpt from Kentucky state legislation: "No female shall appear in a bathing suit on any highway within this state unless she be escorted by at least two officers or unless she be armed with a club."
What can you say to this? I mean, really?

The only acceptable sexual position in Washington, D.C. is the missionary position. Any other sexual position is considered illegal.
There are a lot of criminals in Washington, I’m sure.

A law in Fairbanks, Alaska does not allow moose to have sex on city streets.
Somewhere, there’s an animal rights group that’s trying to restore these liberties, I’m sure.

Women can sell items and be topless in Liverpool, England—but only in tropical fish stores.
So, any guy in Liverpool that collects tropical fish could have ulterior motives.

It is illegal for a man and woman to have sex "on the steps of any church after the sun goes down" in Birmingham, England.
Because they’d rather be able to get a good visual in daylight, I’m sure.

In Oblong, Illinois, it's punishable by law to make love while hunting or fishing on your wedding day.
Damn those multi-taskers.

In the state of Washington there is a law against having sex with a virgin under any circumstances (including the wedding night).
That explains all those teenagers driving over the border to BC for an hour…

In Oxford, Ohio, it's illegal for a woman to strip off her clothing while standing in front of a man's picture.
Because, you know, the picture might see something it shouldn’t. I mean, seriously people, WTF?

In Florida, having sexual relations with a porcupine is illegal.
Talk about dating a prick…

You can find more laws here.

Now, if any of you have a more plausible explanation for any of these – or the other – strange sex laws (like the one that forbids having sex while wearing socks) – I’d love to hear them…

Tuesday Tips: One Ring To Rule Them All and Thirty Words to Sell The Merchandise

*Plus a funny story*

When I was at Harrogate Crime Festival last summer, one of the panels I attended was How To Get Published In The Crime Fiction World. Internationally-known agents, large and small book publishers and booksellers weighed in on what aspiring authors could do to improve their odds of getting a book into print.

One of the things they said was that you needed to be able to take your story and break it down into one sentence.

Essentially, they said, Hamlet is the story of a young man who must decide whether or not to avenge the murder of his father.

Then, they added, it’s about a lot more than that. But that’s the thrust, the main plot.

I’m bashing my head against a wall, working on my own plot sentence. Yes, Sandra has to hand in a blurb – a 30-word blurb – that will be used to make my book stand out from all the others at Book Expo.

30 words. If you’ve read my posts on an average day, you know how hard this is for me.

It gets better. I’ve got to pare it down to 25 words for my CWC membership page. 25 words! Talk about parting the Red Sea and walking on dry land…

So, I’ve managed three variations in playing around today.


27 words
An accidental death leads to murder and when Tymen Farraday and Lara Kelly investigate, Lara’s life is threatened. Then evidence points to Tymen’s scandal-ridden police department’s involvement…


28 words
An accidental death leads to murder when Detective Tymen Farraday and reporter Lara Kelly investigate and when evidence points to Tymen’s scandal-ridden police department Lara’s life is threatened.

29 words
When Lara Kelly and Tymen Farraday investigate a suspicious death it isn’t long before Tymen’s scandal-ridden police department is implicated.

Or before they become the target of the killer.



All seem incredibly thin to me, but hey, what’s a writer to do? The write-up I have on my website doesn’t even begin to touch on most of the subplots in the story, and I think it’s thin.

This, this is impossible.

But it’s something to bear in mind when you’re writing. What would be the plot sentence, that one sentence you could use in a quick pitch as the agent of your dreams waited for the elevator doors to open? How will you keep the busy man or woman glancing at their watch frantically, tapping their toes, from getting on the elevator, or at least dragging you on with them?

Now, tell me what you think of these examples. Please. I’m begging you. Because this is pure hell, and I’ve got a deadline.

Not sure if I've ever posted this before. It's my effort to be more like my husband - I'm working on a selective memory. Still, it's a funny one...

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.

On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head.

The accident occurred mainly because I had given into my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially, the new acquisition was no problem.

Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.

"Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it."

"You know where the button is," I protested through the shower's pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"

"But I'm scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" (You know, I'd say this. Just to piss evilkev off.)

There was a meaningful pause and then, "C'mon, it'll only take you a second."

So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing.

It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.

I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region. Wild animals are sometimes faced with a fight or flight syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent.

The impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor buck naked in front of a group of "been-here, done-that" paramedics. Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter.... ... and not succeeding.

Somehow I lived through it all.

A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about. Which it was.

"What's the matter?" They all asked. "Cat got your tongue?"

Of Dogs, Cats, and Human Stupidity

FROM A DOG'S DAILY DIARY

8:00 a.m. Oh, boy! Dog food! My favorite!

9:30 a.m. Oh, boy! A car ride! My favorite!

9:40 a.m. Oh, boy! A walk! My favorite!

10:30 a.m Oh, boy! Getting rubbed and petted! My favorite!

11:30 a.m Oh, boy! Dog food! My favorite!

Noon- Oh, boy! The kids! My favorite!

1:00 p.m. Oh, boy! The yard! My favorite!

4:00 p.m. Oh, boy! To the park! My favorite!

5:00 p.m. Oh, boy! Dog food! My favorite!

5:30 p.m. Oh, boy! Pretty Mums! My favorite!
6:00 p.m. Oh, boy! Playing ball! My favorite!

6:30a.m. Oh, boy! Watching TV with my master! My favorite!

8:30 p.m. Oh, boy! Sleeping in master's bed! My favorite!


FROM A CAT'S DAILY DIARY
Day 183 of My Captivity:

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild scolding I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant. Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded; must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair, must try this on their bed. Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was. Hmmm, not working according to plan. There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary confinement throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. More importantly, I overheard that my confinement was due to my power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage. I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured. But I can wait; it is only a matter of time.


I’m convinced we have the strangest cats alive.

I’ve had plenty of pets in my life, and about 10 cats over the years. Currently, we’re a three dog, three cat household.

No plans for three kids, thank you very much.

Our cats are all unique, all bizarre. Rascal and Buttons were from the same litter. I remember when we used to worry about little Raz not getting enough to eat because he was so docile and Buttons so bossy, especially at dinnertime.

Clearly, we were borrowing trouble.

Then we added Skittles to the mix, and he’s been a character since day 1.

And the worst thing is, he’s popular. Um-hum, yep. Popular.

How do I know this?

He has a better social life than I do.

Skittles was invited to join a forum on Catster. That’s right, an email comes to my inbox, addressed to the taffy-eyed prankster of our house, asking him if he’d like to join a special forum club.

For cats named after food.

Which leaves me to wonder what they’ll think of next. Will it be phone calls for playdates with neighbourhood cats that don’t have siblings and need help being socialized before school?

PJ O’Rourke, Modern Manners, 1983:
Cats are to dogs what modern people are to the people we used to have.
Cats are slimmer, cleaner, more attractive, disloyal and lazy.
It’s easy to understand why the cat has eclipsed the dog as modern America’s favourite pet. People like pets to possess the same qualities they do. Cats are irresponsible and recognize no authority, yet are completely dependent on others for their material needs.

Cats cannot be made to do anything useful.Other than, of course, jumping off Christmas trees and on to someone's head, which provided much entertainment in a "no, we're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you" kind of way.


What do you guys think the choice of pet says about the owner?

Right now, I'm thinking with 6 pets we're clearly outnumbered, and insane.

Especially when the cat forces its way between my legs when I'm sleeping and instead of booting the cat, I carefully extricate an appendage and shift into a really uncomfortable position so the cat can have the spot it wants and not be disturbed.

I mean, they sleep 18 hours a day, and I'm lucky to get 7. Am I mad?

Why I'm Suing Daniel Hatadi

Daniel Hatadi is evil and he must be stopped!

Just the other day, fresh back from my travels to the coast, I grabbed my favourite cup, poured something unmentionable and sat down in front of my computer.

Well, after I kicked Skittles off my office chair, which he'd staked a claim to while I was away.

I was really looking forward to catching up on what had been happening in the blogging world. I dallied a bit while I was away, thieving internet from people with wireless networks who didn't take the trouble to secure their access. Good thing I'm not into porn or anything illegal...

So, I drop by Down in the Hole. Now, Stuart's blog will always take top spot in my heart, because it was the first blog I ever read - strictly for interview research (so I'm suing him for the addiction) but I've discovered a number of great blogs I like to drop by semi-regularly, as much as possible, just to let people know they aren't talking to themselves via the keyboard. I mean, if nobody's listening, lose the keyboard and the spell-checker, already! Just go for straight dialogue or talk to plants or something.

And Daniel was posting about 80's music. Lordy, what a trip. 80's music - the forgotten songs, the ones you haven't heard in a dog's age. Yeah, talk about nostalgic urges, Daniel. I'm reading names on the post and then the comments

- Queen: Princes Of The Universe
- Thomas Dolby: She Blinded Me With Science
- Cyndi Lauper: What A Thrill
- Glenn Fry: The Heat Is On
- Taco: Puttin' On The Ritz
"Excellent for tap dancing, I used to listen to this on my huge, portable FM headphones." - probably a bit more than I needed to know, Daniel - the image of you tap dancing...

And then there were these mentions:

I Wanna Be a Cowboy by Boys Don't Cry?
Cars by Gary Nueman?
Belle Stars: Sign of the Times
Thomas Dolby: Hyperactive
Vitamin Z: Burning Flame
The Cult: She Sells Sanctuary
Icicle Works: Whisper to a Scream
Talk Talk: It’s my life
Haircut 100: Love plus one
"Love My Way" by the Psychedelic Furs.
The Cult - "Rain?"

So, I got sucked in at HMV, replacing some missing U2 and INXS, and picked up Classic Alternatives - 80's Retro Hits and Big Shiny 80's. Yep, that's right, I spent all my allowance and now I have 5 cd's of blast-from-the-musical-past to listen to.

But shock of horrors, Classic Alternatives had SHE SELLS SANCTUARY by THE CULT CD #1 and song #1.

Now I have, in addition to that one, songs like:

Love Songs - Simple Minds
Relax - Frankie Goes to Hollywood
Cars - Gary Numan
Tainted Love - Soft Cell
If You Leave - OMD
Whisper to a Scream - Icicle Works
Video Killed The Radio Star - The Buggies
Call Me - Blondie
Hungry Like The Wolf - Duran Duran (brought to mind courtesy of The Shield last season)
I Ran - A Flock of Seagulls (in my head thanks to the stupid but funny Pepsi commercial with the retro hair)
It's my Life - Talk Talk
Modern Love - David Bowie
Shock The Monkey - Peter Gabriel (where did the Gabriel cd's go? Damn Kevin and the locked box in his office.)
You might think - The Cars
99 Luft Balloons - Nena - now there's a flashback!
Train in Vain - The Clash
White Wedding - Billy Idol
Back on the Chain Gang - Pretenders
Suspicious Minds - Fine Young Cannibals (still the best version ever)
Love Shack - B-52's
Love my May - The Psychedelic Furs
LIFE IN A NORTHERN TOWN - The Dream Academy (what a trip! Talk about half of my life, or so I thought...)
Always something there to remind me - Naked Eyes



Is it just me, or does the music you listen to in your teen years resonate with you on a different level, no matter how much time has passed? I still hear The Joshua Tree and close my eyes and I'm back in my office in Gravenhurst (I had an office and a bedroom in my parent's house) looking out at trees and rock cuts that stretched for miles and it's a spring day, not too hot, not too cold, a nice gentle breeze and I've got a record player as well as the boom box.

Oddly enough, just last night I was sitting up, listing to Ian Rankin in part one of the BBC's series Music to Die For - an exploration of the evolving role of music in crime fiction. I've always thought it a brilliant way to add to characterization - there are moments when Rebus is listening to Jackie Leven that I can just hear Classic Northern Divisions or Desolation Blues or whatever the mood calls for. And The Blue Nile. Oh, yeah, great band.

So, you know, I protest, but thanks Daniel, for the flashback, and for making me break open the piggy bank and go retro.

I'll die my hair blue and get a mohawk next.

Not.

And as though that isn't retro enough for you, time to sue the people trying to make me either fat or a smoker...

Word Play, Foreplay and Friday Funnies

It’s time for the Friday Funnies, I know…

But yesterday’s first post got me thinking about words, and how we use them.

Over here, “top shelf” refers to expensive alcohol. Evidently, in the UK it refers to porn.

In my office, it refers to all the books by my favourite authors I cram into the upper shelves so that the dogs and cats can’t chew on them. Lesson learned after Nootka ate half the cover of Every Secret Thing. Laura Lippman would forgive him, though, I’m sure. She loves dogs.

Of course, then there are expressions. And every culture has them, and even within countries they very from region to region.

Whenever I say I don’t want to borrow trouble, evilkev calls me an easterner. Which is his way of borrowing trouble and getting a smack from his completely justified wife.

Yesterday I said somewhere else that someone had ‘sussed me out’. I’m still not sure I used the Brit slang right.

Every now and again someone uses a brilliant play on words. And I discovered this site that talks about the history of expressions. It isn’t exhaustive, but it is interesting.

Phrase origins

And here are some interesting things for the writers to ponder.

For all you lexiophiles

1. A bicycle can't stand alone because it is two-tired.
2. What's the definition of a will? It's a dead giveaway.
3. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
4. A backward poet writes inverse.
5. In democracy it's your vote that counts; In feudalism it's your count
that votes.
6. She had a boyfriend with a wooden leg, but broke it off.
7. A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.
8. If you don't pay your exorcist you get repossessed.
9. With her marriage she got a new name and a dress.
10. Show me a piano falling down a mineshaft and I'll show you A-flat
minor.
11. When a clock is hungry it go! es back four seconds.
12. The man who fell into an upholstery machine is fully recovered.
13. A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum
Blownapart.
14. You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
15. Local Area Network in Australia: the LAN down under.
16. He often broke into song because he couldn't find the key.
17. Every calendar's days are numbered.
18. A lot of money is tainted. 'Taint yours and 'taint mine.
19. A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.
20. He had a photographic memory which was never developed.
21. A plateau is a high form of flattery.
22. The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison was a small medium
at large.
23. Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end.
24. When you've seen one shopping center you've seen a mall.
25. Those who jump off a Paris bridge are in Seine.
26. When an actress saw her first strands of gray hair, she thought
she'd dye.
27. Bakers trade bread recipes o! n a knead to know basis.
28. Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
29. Acupuncture is a jab well done.
30. Marathon runners with bad footwear suffer the agony of defeat.


And before I bring you the Friday Funnies…

The all nude police officer calendar for 2006 is now available!

The all nude police officer calendar for 2006 comes in an all-male and an all-female version now for the knock-out price of only $5.00. Money from each sale goes to the National Police Officer Memorial Fund.

All pictures show full frontal nudity, for both female and males. Just click on the menu to select which one you want to preview. They are available for sale on the site -- the calendars, not the officers.

Click
here to view all 12 (24) totally nude police officers.

Now, the Friday Funnies...
1. THINGY (thing-ee) n.
Female.. Any part under a car's hood.
Male..... The strap fastener on a woman's bra.

2. VULNERABLE (vul-ne-ra-bel) adj.
Female.... Fully opening up one's self emotionally to another.
Male.... Playing football without a cup.

3. COMMUNICATION (ko-myoo-ni-kay-shon) n.
Female... The open sharing of thoughts and feelings with one's partner.
Male... Leaving a note before taking off on a fishing trip with the boys.

4. COMMITMENT (ko-mit-ment) n.
Female.... A desire to get married and raise a family.
Male...... Trying not to hit on other women while out with this one.

5. ENTERTAINMENT (en-ter-tayn-ment) n.
Female.... A good movie, concert, play or book.
Male...... Anything that can be done while drinking beer.

6. FLATULENCE (flach-u-lens) n.
Female.... An embarrassing byproduct of indigestion.
Male...... A source of entertainment, self-expression, male bonding.

7 MAKING LOVE (may-king luv) n.
Female...... The greatest expression of intimacy a couple can achieve.
Male…. Call it whatever you want, just as long as we do it.

8. REMOTE CONTROL (ri-moht kon-trohl) n.
Female.... A device for changing from one TV channel to another.
Male... A device for scanning through all 375 channels every 5 minutes.


He said, she said

He said . . . I don't know why you wear a bra; you've got nothing to put in it.

She said . . . You wear pants don't you?


He said ...... Shall we try swapping positions tonight?

She said ..... That's a good idea - you stand by the ironing > board while I sit on the sofa and fart!


He said ...... What have you been doing with all the grocery > money I gave you?

She said .Turn sideways and look in the mirror!


He said ...... Why don't you tell me when you have an orgasm?

She said ...... I would but you're never there.


He said ...... Why don't women blink during foreplay?

She said ...... They don't have time


He said ...... How many men does it take to change a roll of toilet paper?

She said ...... We don't know; it has never happened.


He said ...... Why is it difficult to find men who are sensitive, caring and good looking?

She said ...... They already have boyfriends.


He said ...... Why are married women heavier than single women?

She said ...... Single women come home, see what's in the fridge and go to bed. Married women come home, see what's in bed and go to the fridge.

A bit of colour

My plug for Left Coast Crime is below.

Or more like Sandra's love-in, part 2. Part 1 was posted Tueday - Speakeasy, etc.

And because there's a debate about whether or not I look Greek, here I am in colour. Votes welcome.



And dammit, Boy Kim, it was snowing outside and all I was wearing was a t-shirt and an unzipped jacket. I did absolutely nothing unladylike to get such red cheeks.

But the bottom of me was really, really cold.

Stupid Ideas, Dumb Luck & Interviewing

Last week when I was visiting friends, it was of course an excellent opportunity to do all the things we girls love to do.

As in go to White Rock, stroll along the beach and collect rocks, build sandcastles, each Italian ice cream. Ummm.

And negotiating with small children who wade into large puddles and then cry because their parental unit won't retrieve them so they don't have to walk in water (child wearing rain boots, btw). Ah, child logic. Comes in handy if you've got that code down before marriage...

But, back to favourite activities, after the beach it was on to furniture shopping, of course.

My friend had her eye on a Mexican coffee table. As soon as she told me I just knew which design she wanted. So, after the husband whined and moaned, we wrangled him into the purchase.

Which is when things got really entertaining.

Steve picked up the coffee table when he went out for an evening meeting. So he returned with it, and in that hazy brain late-at-night kind of way that we all get into every now and again, he starting to wonder if he could fit inside the coffee table.

And he made the mistake of wondering this aloud.

Sandra made the mistake of only having her phone handy for photographs, so they suck, but I think you'll get the idea here.







So Steve managed to fit inside. And then we closed the flaps and instead of taking a picture, Alison and I sat on both sides so he couldn't get out.

You've got to love a man that'll get into his own cage.

Now, I had a really stupid idea yesterday.

I decided to look at the line-up for Left Coast Crime 2006.

It was one thing when I knew Stuart MacBride and John Rickards were going to be there.

But Simon Kernick will be there too. Not only is Simon one of the nicest people I've met in the business, but he's a damn good writer. But I get to interview him soon, so it makes missing out a bit easier.

If you're going to LCC, I recommend slapping John, 'cos he probably deserves it and he's into that sort of thing anyway and his books are the perfect size for a good wack upside the head or across the ass. And get Stuart to draw in your copy of Cold Granite when he signs it because it'll be really valuable.

And, of course, if you don't have them already, buy all 4 of Simon's books. All three of these talented authors come highly recommended by me, personal faves of mine each one. I wasn't sure what I'd think of Simon's books at first, because they're well outside my usual love of police procedurals, but wow. I had to work out how to shower and read simultaneously because I couldn't put them down. And to add to the shock for all those that know my usual preference for 3rd person over 1st person narrative, Simon's absolutely top of the list for authors in this house. In fact, of my top 8 authors, 3 are doing 1st person narratives now!

But only one does the other side of the law like Simon does.

Now, this isn't to say I recommend Simon over the other boys. Just different, and I haven't raved about him on here nearly enough (but I plug John and Stuart a lot, and they know I think they're amazingly talented and highly recommend their work). I'm such a complete cheerleader for authors I like - when I find an author that wins me over hook, line and sinker, I want to tell everyone. So sue me - I'm never going to apologize for being passionate about books. Ever.

In a double stroke of dumb luck, when I reviewed A Good Day To Die last summer, it gave me an opening to ask Simon about doing an interview. Maybe I shouldn't say this here, but I don't think he reads my blog. He's too busy traveling the world. And Stuart and John have already been through this with me so it isn't news to them.

I always feel a sense of reticence to ask people anything in interviews, because I hate to impose.

Unless I know the person. Tee hee. Then, be prepared for anything. I do my homework. I'll usually read at least a few if not all of the author's books, and I'll read at least a handful of other interviews.

And every time I read an interview answer that makes me think, "Ask this next," but the interviewer doesn't, guess what I'm going to do? I'm going to take that topic one step further.

I love reading interviews. Interviews influence books I buy. If I get a sense of an author, and there's something there that appeals, I'm on their books faster than a fat kid on a smartie.

So, when I was going to Harrogate last year, I looked up the authors I wasn't reading yet and started checking out websites, and Simon clicked for me right away.

That's why I'm really glad I get to go to conventions like Harrogate. I'll be back this year, and at BoucherCon this fall. I get to meet so many great authors and get introduced to so many new books, it's heaven.

And occasionally, I get to meet someone who influences me more than they likely realize.

I've had the better part of a year to read up on Simon, and to search online for interviews. The poor man has no idea what he's in for. And we're doing a two-parter, so I'll get a chance to ask all my questions.

This is why I'm going to take a suitcase full of maple treats and Canada stuff to Harrogate. To placate my victims.

I love having the chance to talk to an author, and I love the fact that I can dictate in Spinetingler that if my interview's 20 pages, it's 20 pages. There's definitely a place for shorter, focused interviews, but sometimes I think it's nice to go a bit deeper and ask different questions, the ones the shorter interviews can't get to.

But despite saying all that, I'll be nice to Simon. Because he's one of the people in this industry that has really shown me the amazing spirit of generosity in the mystery writing community and never made me feel like an outsider.

So I'm plugging LCC, and saying thank you to Simon, for more emails than I can remember, enduring patience, and honesty that blew me away. Thanks to Stuart and John, for a million little things and some very big things as well, and especially all the laughs.

I owe you guys many, many, many drinks at Harrogate.

Yes, that's me, gushing again. But sometimes we don't tell people how much they've helped us, and it's not like this is the kind of thing I'd be say to them in person because it's embarrassing.

I consider myself so incredibly blessed to know these talented writers (amongst others!), to have the chance to interview them, to learn from them.

And I must also say thanks to Kevin. You're the love of my life, even if I don't always tell you, and I wouldn't be where I am right now without all the support and encouragement.

Or the money.

And you know what? The regulars who drop by, like C, Boy Kim, Kate, MG, Dana, Bernita, Trace, Erik, Jason, James, Bonnie, Christa...oh, a zillion more I'm forgetting I'm sure... You all mean a lot to me too. I could never do a blog without comments, because I love hearing your thoughts, I love the banter.

I love how you guys all make me laugh.

Now it's late, and I know I've forgotten someone, but I've got to go to bed before I fall asleep at the keyboard!

This one applies to more than Canadians, because you might have gotten one of these quarters and not realized it yet...

Hang on to any of the new Newfoundland Quarters. If you have them, they may be worth much more than 25 cents.

The Canadian Mint announced today that it is recalling all of the Newfoundland quarters that are part of its program featuring quarters from each province. This action is being taken after numerous reports that the new quarters will not work in partking meters, toll booths, vending machines, pay phones, or any other coin operated device.

The problem lies in the unique design of the Newfoundland quarter which was designed by a team of Newfoundlanders.

Apparently the duct tape holding the two dimes and the nickel together keeps jamming up the machines.

(Speaking of stupid ideas.)

My apologies to Sean Chercover.

Gabriele! I forgot Gabriele. Oh damn, lists.

Wonder if I should have explained 'top of the list' here is just like my top shelf porn remarks of old - my favourite authors are all crammed into the top shelves of my bookshelves so the cats and dogs can't chew on them.

Or the husband when I forget to make dinner.

Blahdom

When I was out on the coast last week, my friends and I got talking about a number of things, one of which was old neighbours.

You see, we used to live in the same building. Our suites were the only ones built on the roof, and we'd known each other before evilkev and I moved there - in fact, Steve walked me down the aisle at my wedding, and Alison, his wife, was my matron of honour - just like I stood up for her when they married.

Um, yeah, that would be Steve escorting me down the aisle because my parents don't even know I'm married. I think. But those of you who've been around for a while know about that.

So, they tell me how, from all of the wild people who lived below us in the building, one guy's on the streets now, looking to get set up housekeeping for a grow-op. Lovely. Not entirely surprising either.

And another's still wandering around, talking to the voices.

Which, of course, led naturally into a discussion about mental illness.

Which is when Steve pipes up that 1 in 4 have some mental condition, and that if you're with three of your friends and it isn't them you should take a look at yourself.

Ha ha ha. And it doesn't bother me in the slightest, except that every now and again, it does. I mean, I'm pretty pragmatic about stuff. So my grandfather died in a mental institution. So my mother's been institutionalized.

So I went through government-mandated therapy as a teenager...

Explains a lot, doesn't it? (Beat you to it, Boy Kim.)

The thing was, when I mentioned being diagnosed as bipolar as a teenager, my friends were both startled. I hadn't realized that, in all the time I've known them, I'd never told them that.

Which just goes to show how normal I can seem in person. Or it says something about them, doesn't it?*

But really, it doesn't affect me much. There's only one area, as an adult, that I think this creates a struggle for me in, and that's in personal relationships. But I may just be a bit sensitive too, so who's to say? Sometimes, I just take things way too personally.

The last few hours I've completely cratered. Mind you, it started with a phone call regarding this whole legal mess with our mineral rights. I think I've been so wired up for so long over all of this garbage that when I got off the phone, I just deflated.

I had this wild post that was supposed to go up Monday. It didn't. Then it was 'tip Tuesday' so again, I held off on the post.

And tonight I'm sitting here wishing there was something harder than milk in the fridge, and I don't feel like emailing, and I don't feel like posting, and I feel like such a fraud trying to put on being entertaining and witty when I'm like this.

But I'm also a pretty open person. I guess, not being a comic or an entertainer, I don't see why I can't just be honest on occasion. This blog is, after all, about my life as much as anything else.

I'll feel better in the morning. And hopefully, that means tomorrow's post will mark my real return to being back into the swing of things.

Unless I'm arrested for murdering an energy company official before then.

But I leave you with this - something that did make me smile when I read it.

TO ALL THE KIDS WHO WERE BORN IN THE 1930's 40's, 50's, 60’s, & early 70's

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us.

They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.

Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.

Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat.

We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.

We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this.

We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we weren't overweight because...

WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.

No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape movies, no surround sound, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms..........WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!

We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.

We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.

We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!

Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!

The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!

This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever!

The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.

We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!

And YOU are one of them!
CONGRATULATIONS!

You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good.

And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.

Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors, doesn't it?!


* Really, they're both awesome. Steve's a firefighter, Alison's a nurse. In this case, it says more about me being closer to normal than you all thought.

Speakeasy, Flashing Their Goodies and Funnies

If you play with fire, you might be a pyromaniac.

I bet you thought I was going to say something else.

This brings up an interesting point about phrasing. On Saturday night, my friends were watching The Fantastic Four. I’d told them it was alright, for a cheesy super-hero movie.

But I’d seen it before. Not exactly voluntarily either. So I was lying there with my eyes closed, listening to the dialogue, cringing.

It was so…predictable. So clichéd.

This is something to bear in mind in writing. Dialogue can make or break a scene in a book. The trick to good dialogue is to listen to how people actually talk. How they use words in conversation.

One thing I realized I was tempted to do was dump information into speech, but then I got my knuckles rapped by people much much smarter*than me, asking if that’s what someone would really say.

Believability with dialogue is essential. And when I come to overly wordy sections in print, it does break the flow of the scene and the image of the character. Unless they’re known as motormouth behind their back.

I think it can be hard to pinpoint, at times, why dialogue falls short. But when dialogue sizzles you sure notice it.

My own personal favourite book for dialogue is A Question of Blood. Not just because I haven’t been talking about my literary god enough lately, but because by the time I read that book in the series the characters were so clear in my head that I could almost anticipate what would come out of their mouths. The interaction had me grinning, thinking “dead on.”

But what else would one expect of their writing god?

There is brilliance elsewhere too. The “Bingo” scene in Mark Billingham’s The Burning Girl - do not drink coffee before reading, or any other beverage you want to ingest, actually. Not to mention the scene where Thorne takes a baby gift to Holland…

Billingham is at least up on a pedestal, if not deified yet. But it's a one-inch pedestal because he's already so frickin' tall.

And I probably shouldn't talk about Rickards and the bearded wonderboy.

No, I shouldn't go there, because this has suddenly become a love-in for some of my favourite writers and I’d better switch gears before I get too gushy. Can’t have swelled heads and all that.

But it leaves me wondering what makes for good dialogue for all of you. Because I'm oddly short on words at 5 am this morning.

*****

HUGE CONGRATS!

Go to Rickards for flashing his goodies over on Tribe's flash fiction site.

And not only him, who likely scared Tribe into posting his work by threatening the full monty in person, but CHRISTA M. MILLER has been exposed at Tribe's site today.

And recently, Footsore Sergienko strutted her stuff at Tribe's site too.

I should stop playing on blogs and get writing.

*****

Things to think about

1. How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it
would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?
2. When I was young we used to go "skinny dipping," now I just "chunky dunk."
3. How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?
4. Why do you have to "put your two cents in"... but it's only a penny for your thoughts"? Where's that extra penny going?
5. Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes you
were buried in for eternity?
6. Why is it that people say they "slept like a baby" when babies
wakeup like every two hours?
7. Why are you IN a movie, but you are ON TV?
8. Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money in binoculars to look at things on the ground?
9. How come we choose from just two people for President and fifty for Miss America?
10. I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear loose-fitting clothing. If I HAD any loose-fitting clothing, I wouldn't have signed up in the first place!
11. Wouldn't it be nice if whenever we messed up our life we could simply press 'Ctrl Alt Delete' and start all over?
12. Stress is when you wake up screaming and then you realize you haven't fallen asleep yet.
13. Just remember...if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off.
14. Why is it that our children can't read a Bible in school, but they
can in prison?
15. Brain cells come and brain cells go, but fat cells live forever.

Revenge is a dish best served cold

A woman recently lost her husband. Their marriage had been a very lousy one, and she was relieved that he was finally gone. She had him cremated and brought his ashes home.

Picking up the urn that he was in, she poured him out on the counter. Then she started talking to him, "You know that fur coat you promised me?" She answered by saying, "I bought it with the insurance money!"

She then said, "Remember that new car you promised me?" She answered again saying, "Well, I bought it with the insurance money!"

Bending down low she said, "Remember that blow job I promised you? Well.... here it comes..."

(Think of it this way Boy Kim. That won’t be you…)

* actually, I'm not sure it was him who said that, but you should still check out his blog. I like it.

And now, I'm going back to bed and hope to return slightly more literate and intelligent. Until then, this is me:

(Crash) Landings

I’ve seen my share of airports, ferry terminals, bus stations, train stations and gas stations. 25 countries on four continents isn’t too shabby for one so young. (Be quiet Mr. MacBride!)

I had a deep fear of flying – mostly a contagious condition caught from my mother, who was totally freaked about planes. And from a bad experience in a small Cessna as a kid that made me sick. Other than that one experience, the only travel queasiness I suffer from is seasickness, but that’s another story.

I was settled into my flight to Vancouver so nicely that I’d closed my eyes when we were over the snow-topped mountains and opened them when we were over ocean. I wasn’t really asleep, just a pseudo-sleep thing I do sometimes when I’m tired.

I love flying in over the ocean in Vancouver. If you’ve ever been there, you know how the runways go right out over reclaimed land – former ocean floor turned into Vancouver airport property. So you literally look like you’re going into the water until you’re over pavement.

This landing was so smooth, I wasn’t even sure if we’d touched down until I heard the brakes. Then I knew I was home – my second home.

And I love Westjet. I haven’t had a bad flight yet, and I always fly Westjet, given the choice. Yes, I am a westerner.

On the way home we stopped in Kelowna, so I had two landings for the price of one. And not just a take-off over the Pacific, but the image of rising above Lake Okanagan, still partially covered in ice. Turbulence in Kelowna though, a bit of a bumpy descent and a definite jump or two on the runway.

Which, of course, doesn’t compare to my scariest landing ever. Japan airlines felt the need to turn the bigscreen tv’s to the external camera’s on landing, and the people right in front of the screens screamed their heads off. I never realized how close the plane could come to going off the runway and have to be jerked back on course, and yet it felt like a very good, smooth landing.

Arriving back in Calgary was a shock. Oh, smooth. I was so engrossed in A Field of Darkness - a fabulous debut by an exceptional author that I hardly noticed until we were taxiing to the gate. Except for the Westjet jokes and singing, which are customary at the end of every flight. But the shock was, I went from +8 spring weather to the –13 blanket of snow. Except the blanket was like 3 overstuffed comforters stitched together.

And, of course, the holiday was over. And I was back.

Some of you know about my current legal situation, regarding the mineral rights on our property that a thieving energy company started extracting with the convenient use of directional drilling in 2004. They were stopped in 2005. Though we’ve yet to see a dime.

Now – despite the fact that we negotiated a sale but our bank has not authorized it because they don’t seem to feel it’s a fair shake, and the energy company knows this – they’ve taken legal action to take our rights away from us. There will be more about this in the days to come, no doubt.

But something else was waiting. To do with the writer’s group I blogged about a few weeks ago.

I have responsibilities in the group. Although I decided not to return to the group physically or renew my membership in the fall, I did not “RESIGN” from the group or my position. The person who did my job last year only attended 50% of the meetings. Attendance obviously wasn’t essential.

I’ve attended every meeting thus far. So I’m not attending anymore. Big frickin’ deal – I’m still at 60%+.

I paid my membership fees. I’ve spent a lot in expenses I’ve never been reimbursed for because of my board responsibilities, and I still have expenses to incur. And since I’m a member, technically, until the end of September this year when my membership lapses, I have a right to listen to the audio files on the website (if they ever update them – still can’t find any past October) and get my newsletter downloads. It’s my choice.

But I received a letter instructing me to turn over all materials required for the rest of the year to the president so she can give them to my replacement.

Hmmph.

You see, I’ve done 98% of the work for this year already. Booking program is front-loaded. The program was finalized before September. My major contributions were December and January, when I was on panels. I’m not responsible for the June meeting at all.

But I am the contact person for the speakers each month, including March, April and May. I’ve arranged for them to be introduced at those meetings.

And I have the thank you cards here, ready to mail out (and I pay for the postage. And the paper.)

The only thing I have left to do is email the speakers for April and May (March is done) and make sure they have all they need and they should, because I did my job months ago.

So, you know, it isn’t much stuff left to do. And I’m big on fulfilling my commitments.

No matter how I feel about certain people in the group, my issues are primarily personal. A select number of people have tarnished the whole experience. Were it not for an increasing stream of abusive emails from a select number of people – really just a few specific ones that others failed to address despite being aware of them, I would have stayed with the group but not attend meetings next year. In fact, I fought pretty hard to keep the personal conflicts out of the group, until one person attacked me via group email. Then private became public, except nobody else had the context – or bothered to even ask what the hell was going on.

My main problems prompting the decision to not attend meetings next year had to do with location and incidents when I was arriving/leaving, to the point where my husband started waiting with me until I had full access to the building and wasn’t alone.

Plus the time factor. Attending a meeting was not an evening out, and with our life schedules, I can’t manage getting home at 11 pm and getting up at 4:30 am. The rest of my week was a write-off, and that was getting frustrating, because with the need to run errands before meetings (to do photocopies for speakers and such) it meant two days were pretty much shot.

Plus pressure to do more. I only joined in Sept. 2004, yet I spent both years on the board, served on three committees and virtually single-handedly organized the group’s only workshop because exactly one person volunteered to be on the committee, and nobody wanted a big share of responsibility. I made sure I recruited people for the small and last-minute things, but the rest was mine. And it was an enormous job.

On the one hand, I could just dump my responsibilities now and walk away. It isn’t like I asked to do this or resigned. I simply made it abundantly clear I wasn’t returning to the group, and I did this to a select group of people - the ones who didn’t stand up and say ‘what the hell’ when the shit hit the fan. I haven’t sent out a public resignation letter.

But I’ve approached this with the following decisions:

1. I’m fulfilling my responsibilities, not dumping them on people – save one thing – I’ve banned a few people from sending me email. Harass me once, shame on you. Harass me again and again, fuck you.

2. I won’t name names. The people I’ve had problems with, it’s between me and them. Many people wouldn’t be able to figure it out based on the info available or that I’m willing to share, and that’s fine by me. I’m not getting into that backstabbing bullshit – not when that’s part of what drove me out the door in the end.

3. I have no vested interest in seeing the group die. If it does, it’ll have nothing to do with me making it go down. This is my experience, it’s how it ended up for me. Bottom line is, I learned a lot during my time there and I’m disappointed that personal conflicts escalated to the point where I didn’t feel comfortable in the group. I could have continued going, but I was never going to trust some people again after personal information about me was disclosed, not to mention the harassing emails…

4. I can’t stop people from talking about me. It has happened (part of what contributed to this) and it will happen. Then again, these people have said things about other members too, which was part of the reason I started being cautious. You go from feeling you can say things in confidence (and everyone vents) to feeling really uncomfortable with what you hear about others once it crosses a certain line and then wondering what’s being said about you…until it comes back to you.

The point is, I’m not special.

So, all of this leaves me wondering whether I should:

a. walk away now, like I’ve been pretty much told to
b. fight to fulfill my end
c. ignore the letter entirely and do exactly what I planned to do
d. speak to more members and the uninvolved board members before making a decision

Here’s the other thing. I have no paperwork. I lobbied last year for there to be official email accounts so that they could be transferred to the new board members year to year, with the records, because I never received any information from my predecessor. (Now, there are reasons, and I don’t blame her, knowing what I know now. But last year I was a bit choked.) But the email addy’s never happened. Five frickin’ minutes to set them up – easy breezy. I know – we do it all the time because we use the same host for one of our sites.

So all I’ve got is all my email correspondence, which I’m not planning to print out, as it totals hundreds of emails. And further to that, any condensed version requires me to drop everything and compile this info into some sensible fashion.

I had planned to gather stuff together and meet with the next pc in what I suspected would be April (but probably May because I addressed this issue in January – I was signed on in February last year – and there was no action on it) and review what they needed to know and answer questions.

And I still intended to do that, because it’s not about being shitty to the next person and depriving them of that chance to ask questions and feel confident they can do the job –I’ve certainly figured it out on my own, but I had the benefit of being a conference receptionist years ago, so it wasn’t a big stretch.

And it isn’t about screwing over everyone else in the group either. There are a lot of people I still like there. I’m not calling them all up and telling my side of the story – anyone who contacts me, I’ll meet with, but that’s where I’m leaving it. I’ve had five meetings so far.

But to do this prior to the March meeting on the 9th? With a few days notice? I don’t think so.

I don’t want to drag this out – I want it to not be part of my day to day life anymore and to stop thinking about it, which I pretty much had, save the one-on-one meetings - but as a somewhat prominent person in the group, people will notice my absence. I would have liked to quietly fade next year and given it some time to see what happened, but that isn’t to be.

So the question is, what do I do now? What would you guys do? I know it might seem simple to wash my hands and drop it, but it’s ingrained in me to fulfill my commitments. I’ve known nothing but family who could walk away from each other in a heartbeat – there was always someone not speaking to someone else, and the bitterness runs deep. From that perspective, I could have been pressured into staying, but the well had been so poisoned for me, I had to weigh that out and I’m glad I made the call to withdraw. Everything that’s happened since has shown me that people I thought were friends weren’t at all, and sooner or later, I was going to face that reality. Better sooner. And I’ve had a lot of peace of mind since.

I’m a pathetic judge. I always want to give second chances and yet Kevin pegs people precisely in no time flat. I should know after 6.5 years to just listen to him, and then I would’ve started backing out months ago.

Silly, silly, stupid me.

Now tell me what you think I should do. Because really, I’m almost completely unemotional about it right now. It isn’t like me to be too pragmatic about stuff like this, when it’s personal. But I’m so drained with the legal situation that I just don’t have time or energy to give a damn anymore.

I have fleeting seconds of worry for what will get said about me and distorted and what people will believe that isn’t true.

But like I said, that’ll happen anyway. So is it worth it to hold on a few more months and do this to fulfill my sense of obligation?

It is to the next program chair. I can benefit them. Unless they’re one of the people involved in this present situation. In which case, they created their problem.

But you know, if I really don’t like how I’m being treated by the group I could sue the board…

And seriously, I could send a letter out to everyone with a condensed explanation. I thought that would be pretty low. But not if I’m getting shoved out the door by people proclaiming that I’ve resigned when I haven’t.

Geez, this is so 13-years-old. Fucking women. Whenever there’s a lot of women involved, the claws tend (generalizing here ladies!) to come out and a high percentage can’t separate business and personal. Which means if you lobby for change, it’s a personal attack instead of the right thing to do for the group.

Right. ‘Nuff said. Winners of the contest posted below.

And tomorrow, I’ll strive for shorter. And hopefully, much much sweeter.

But until then, I’m totally psyched about this! Much as I don’t watch the Oscars,Crash is such a worthy Best Picture winner. Compelling, thought-provoking…love that movie.

Drawing Cards (and the winners are...)

So, if I was flat, rectangular and handled regularly by gypsies, what would I be?

You Are The Chariot

You represent a difficult battle, and a well-deserved victory. You tend to struggle to get what you want, both internally and externally. You excel at controlling opposing forces, getting down the same path. In the end, you bring glory and success - using pure will to move forward. Your fortune: There is great conflict in your life right now, either with yourself or others. You must find a solution to this conflict, which is likely to be a "middle road" between the two forces. You posses the skills to triumph over these struggles, as long as your will is strong. You are transforming your inner self, building a better foundation for future successes.

What Tarot Card Are You?

With thanks to James for the link.


And the winners of the contest are...

First, the question was what are the names of the two main characters in Suspicious Circumstances?

The answers: Lara Kelly and Tymen Farraday

Not Supporter Rah Rah Mealy-mouth and Destructive Hymen Onceaday. But thanks for entering anyway...

I felt so sad having to draw a winner that I made evilkev do it. Why?

Because it meant that there were some who didn't win.

And I felt bad enough that I decided to give away TWO copies of the anthology.

Which means that there are two winners.

And the rest of you are, well... Sorry.

The winners:

James Goodman! Wahoo, insert sound of trumpets and smattering of applause.

and

Susan Robinette! Three cheers and a round of beers and loud whistling.

So, James and Susan need to send me their mailing addresses or I can only send them a picture of their prize.

And yes, I'll be back in the morning with a FULL and PROPER post!

Sometimes a knife is just a knife

The Lone Ranger and Tonto were traveling through the desert. Night came and they stopped for the night. After they had set up their tent both men fell asleep.

Some hours later Tonto woke the Lone Ranger up and said, "Kemo Sabe, look towards the sky. What you see?"

The Lone Ranger replies, "I see millions of stars."

"What that tell you?" asked Tonto.

The Lone Ranger ponders for a minute then says, "Astronomically speaking, it tells me there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically it tells me that Saturn is in Leo. Time wise it appears to be approximately a quarter past three in the morning. Theologically it tells me the Lord is all-powerful and we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, it seems we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. What's it tell you Tonto?"

"You are dumber than buffalo crap. Someone stole the tent!"

Yep. Sometimes a knife is just a knife.

I'm not quite home yet, and I've only had limited computer time the past few days - mainly sticking to emails and the odd quick surf here and there. By tomorrow night I should be caught up and back into action.

Or incredibly depressed to leave spring on the coast behind and have to shovel the snow that's accumulated back home.

Wednesday, I mentioned that the New Issue of Spinetingler Magazine was up for download - including stories by fellow bloggers author Tracy Sharp, Dana Y.T. Lin, E. Ann Bardawill, and M.G. Tarquini.

Plus, your's truly interviewing author Tracy Sharp, and author Cornelia Read, and a Backlist Review, featuring the works of John Rickards.

Why am I mentioning it again?

Because I know you guys have been checking it out.

And not just you guys. 1540 people have downloaded the Spring 2006 Issue between Tuesday and Friday of this week. That's more than 380 downloads per day.

And that doesn't include online reads of specific stories, reviews or interviews.

To me, it's amazing. I have had so many people tell me I was wasting my time writing for an ezine, that nobody took them seriously.

Yet we're already full for the Summer Issue - and have been for a while - and have a record number of submissions already in to be considered for Fall.

And we continue to get more and more downloads of the magazine.

I wouldn't say it's true of all ezines. Really, you have to work hard - and invest in it - to make it take off and get attention. You have to set high standards to make sure you're getting quality stories worth publishing.

Fortunately for us, we continue to get better and better stories to read through, and we've had no trouble getting great authors to agree to interviews. In short, we've been fortunate to have a lot of support in the writing world.

And for their support, I must thank Stuart MacBride for telling people about us on his blog, Sarah Weinman, for mentioning us in her weekend update when the interview with Laura Lippman came out and Cornelia Read for making sure she put up a link to the interview on her website right away.

Spinetingler's achievements show two things: their is demand for quality online ezines, and that with the support of others in the writing community ezines can obtain a substantially higher distribution than some print magazines.

It's important for authors who want to promote themselves.

And for writers who just want a venue to read and publish good writing.

With that in mine, be on the look-out for other quality online and print mags - check out my links. Demolition, Crime Scene Scotland...

1540 downloads in 4 days is 1540 downloads. I happen to know, via emails, that we have authors, publishers and agents reading.

Some will twist, some will discount... But 1540 downloads is 1540 downloads.

If you're a writer and have bought into the idea that it's a waste of time to be published in an ezine, all I can say is I beg to differ. It's made a world of difference to me in building my career.

Now, don't forget the contest!

Sandra Ruttan.com has the answer.

Question:

What are the names of the two main characters in Suspicious Circumstances?

Email your answer to me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com with the word "contest" in the subject line.

I don't care if you "know" me. I don't care if you're rich and famous enough to buy your own book. And I don't care if you know the answer because you're one of my core readers going over the book to give me feedback right now before the final edits are done.

Just enter the contest! If you don't, I'm going to commission a voodoo doll. And start playing with matches.

And I'll announce the winner sometime on Monday.

See you then,
XO
Sandra

Spinetingler, My Contest and a funny - or not-so-funny - story...

Ah, silence is golden.

That’s what evilkev will be saying for the next few days, as he gets to stay up until all hours playing Grand Theft Auto in my absence.

Yes, I’ll be going through blogdom withdrawal in the extreme. But I leave you with goodies.

The New Issue of Spinetingler Magazine is now up for download or online perusal!

And I see that K. Robert Einarson, aka evilkev, has pinched the photo credit for my picture. Which is sort of justified, because I take credit for most of what he says. At least, if it’s intelligent.

But this issue features stories by fellow bloggers author Tracy Sharp, Dana Y.T. Lin, E. Ann Bardawill, and M.G. Tarquini.

Be sure to visit them and tell them what you thought of their contributions!

Plus, there’s an interview with author Tracy Sharp, (done by yours truly) and part one of my dissection of author Cornelia Read, whose debut book will be my accompaniment on my flight this morning. I expect to have it finished by the time I return.

Plus, I’ve written a Backlist Review, featuring the works of the charming John Rickards.

*****

And, as for that contest, here’s the deal. Sandra Ruttan.com has the answer. And it’s really, really simple.

Question:

What are the names of the two main characters in Suspicious Circumstances?

Email your answer to me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com

When I get home on Sunday, I’ll be printing off thousands of entries and tossing them in a box, and on Monday I’ll announce the winner of a signed copy of Spinetingler Magazine’s 2005 Anthology, complete with two stories by me and a story by author extraordinaire, Stuart MacBride.

So try to have fun and not miss me too much.

And I really hope I’m not coming home to one email.

And the anthology is exchangeable for alcohol for people like Stuart, but only if I know you already have a copy!

And on that note, a joke. For Boy Kim, who will miss me.

I think.

Overview: I had to take my son's lizard to the vet.

Here's what happened:

Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.

"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"

I put my best lizard-healer statement on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.

"Honey," I called, "come look at; "The lizard!"

"Oh my gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies."

"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"

I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I accused my wife.

"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)

"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, ( in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together). Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.

"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed me. (Again with the sarcasm, you think?)

By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.

"Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."

"OH, Gross!", they shrieked.

"Well, isn't THAT just Great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know. (I really do think she was being snotty here, too. don't you?)

We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.

"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.

"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.

"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.

"Okay, okay. " Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.

"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)

"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.

We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.

"Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.

"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)

The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.

"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.

"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.

"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.

"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen... Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife. "Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr. Cameron."

We were silent, absorbing this.

"So Ernie's just...just...Excited," my wife offered.

"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.

More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.

"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness. Tears were now running down her face.

"It's just...that...I'm picturing you pulling on its...its...teeny little..." she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.

"That's enough," I warned.

We hurriedly bundled the lizards and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.

"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done, Dad," he told me.

"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed.

2 - lizards - $140...
1 - Cage - $50...
Trip to the Vet - $30...
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's wacker -..... Priceless

They lay eggs!!!

(Shame I'll miss all your reactions to this one!)