That’s what today feels like… lots of napping, lots of letting the short people run around in circles while I zone off and try to get some editing done…
The most imaginative thing we’ve done today is try to figure out what kind of food the kids were.
The Cave Troll wanted me to ‘nom nom nom nom nom’ on the back of his neck, and he kept telling me he was a grilled cheese sandwich. I asked him if he was melty and crunchy and buttery, and he said no, he was just tasty! So I asked his big sister what *she* thought and she said, “He’s a chicken wing!” And Ladybug? “She’s a dumpling!” (I love the dumpling thing–my Uncle Paul from New Jersey told her she was a ‘dumpling’, and it’s stuck! Something about those little dimpled thighs and that ‘I’m way cuter than you’ smile–she’s a dumpling!)
Which I guess makes Big T potatoes and Chicken a salad, right?
Which is fine, because THAT makes Mate ‘steak’. Mmmmmmm….nom nom nom… lurve me some steak!
And other than that? I’ve got nothing. I’ve seriously been spending all my time editing… and there IS a chance I can send Bitter Moon II to the publisher in early December. I’m sooooo happy–as I edit it, I’m sort of falling in love with it again–and I can honestly say it’s the first time this has happened in the editing stage. Usually, by the last edit, I’m ready for a book-divorce–as it turns out, you can’t divorce them, you have to become a polyorthographist… Okay, I made that up. Would it be a polybibliophile? A polybiblioorthographilist? A dumb wacko heifer married to her books? Help me out here!!!
Oh yeah– one more thing.
I stopped by a craft fair today, and I felt sort of horrible. I never thought I’d be one of those “I can do that” people, but as I was looking around at all the stuff at the fair, I realized that I had quilted, I had beaded, I still knit and I still crochet and sweartadog, that was 75% of the crafts there. It was true. I really CAN do that.
How depressing. I don’t have the time to do ANY of it, but I don’t want to spend fifteen dollars on a @#$%^ fake-fun-fur beaded purse, either, and that’s what Ladybug really set her sights on. *sigh*
And Chicken is forcing me to watch *Twilight* tomorrow. I don’t know what to think about the movie–or the book. Two years ago it was harmless enough–it seemed like a sweet romance, a little overhyped and, well, sort of bland which is what most best-selling stuff strikes me as. No real bite, you know? I don’t know why PNR and UCF and m/m romance and Stephen King grabs my heart strings and plays (or yanks) until my heart sings or bleeds or screams, but I know that usually it’s the fantasy that moves me and the bestselling whathaveyou that leaves feeling a little cheated. Is it that genre fiction is unafraid to just fuck up your innards? The books already know they’re the red-headed bastard stepchildren of books, so they might as well tell the truth as they see it, like the spurned drunk relative at the family reunion? Maybe I’ll never know…
But my true ambivalence about the book didn’t really start until people started comparing it to *Vulnerable*. I mean, *Vulnerable* was released nearly a full year and a half earlier–I think it’s safe to say that my idea was my own, and since I’m still pretty damned obscure, it’s also safe to say that Stephanie Meyer had never heard of me or my little series when she wrote her own. I am safe in my surety that the two books have nothing more to do with each other than a first person heroine who falls in love with a vampire, and that plot is a dime a dozen.
But I don’t think *Vulnerable* is a common book, and I have to say (and I’ve said it before, in different places) that the petty, green-eyed kitten who lives behind my eyes is having a nasty claw-fest field day with my hanging brain-ganglia, because, although the amount of fame Ms. Meyer has scares me stupid and I would never want it, I sure would like to be able to quit my day job. I would also dearly love to hire a copy-editor so that dear friends could read my books straight out of the gate, no errors included. I would REALLY love to know that my next book will be printed, no questions asked, no balancing the grocery money and Christmas on my next royalty check to hope for the best.
I wish Ms. Meyer and the unbearably pretty cast of *Twilight* all the best–I do. And I certainly am not near ready to throw in the towel on this book thing–I have so many imaginary places I want to go and share, and my Little Goddess has four more books at the very least, in which to play out her interesting life.
But I’m going to be a little bit sad and a little bit jealous, and as Cory Kirkpatrick would say, “Fuckin’ sue me. I’m human.”