Some of you may be wondering where the “sneak peek” on the Waiting For Spring page went. Well, I deleted it. I’ve decided to go in a different direction with the Rick & Wendy book (a sequel of sorts to Waiting For Spring), so the information and excerpts I had on the page are now obsolete. Therefore, it is gone.

The basic story is the same, but the more I work on this thing, the more I realize that this is Rick’s story, not Wendy’s. How weird is that? I started writing the damned thing to get inside her head, but I couldn’t quite do it. Then I figured that maybe the real story lay with the two of them together, and added his POV into the mix. Now, though, he’s the one who’s really speaking to me, the poor sad sap, not her. Maybe it’s because I know there’s nowhere for her story to go. I mean…she dies*. There’s no changing that. Any grand awakening she comes to is hindered by the fact that it doesn’t matter in the long run. That makes for boring writing, and I know it will make for ghastly reading. Writing for Rick, on the other hand, is amazing! He’s such a wounded, pathetic, selfish asshole. But I know WHY he’s that way, and I want so badly to help the idiot find some peace.

In between novel writing, I’m also working on some pages for a comprehensive Waiting For Spring website. It will include bios, some deleted scenes, and maybe (if I’m feeling brave) some of Tess’s artwork. I tried to create a map of New Mills as well, but cartography is SO not my thing. Anyway, I’m hoping to have it ready by the middle of April. We shall see. If there’s anything in particular you’d like to see on it, drop the suggestion in the comments section here. That’s right…I’m taking requests.

In the meantime, I’m gearing up for Bruce Springsteen’s appearance on tonight’s The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.  You should be, too.

* Not a spoiler.

For those of you who subscribe to my blog feed, you may have noticed that I accidentally posted my Publishing Renaissance article here instead of at PR. What’s worse, I posted the unfinished copy. I can tell you why it happened. I teased Zoe about doing the same thing a few weeks ago, and Karma is a bitch.

SO…for those of you interested in reading the actual, finished article in its proper place, here you go.

Over the weekend, my best friend brought over a Get Well Gift that lifted my spirits and immune system better than flowers or chicken soup ever could have done:

Tonight I was chatting with a friend about Neil Diamond (yes…seriously) and it brought back something I hadn’t thought about in many years. Back in sixth grade I was in the school chorus. Not because I have a loverly singing voice. Quite the contrary. My singing voice sucks big time, a fact to which all of my friends and family, young and old, can testify. It’s just that I had (and still have) a rather deep voice, there weren’t any boys in the chorus whose voices had broken, and they needed an alto. Anyway, for our Christmas concert we sang a Neil Diamond song that I really dug, and for the life of me I can’t recall the name of it. I can’t even find it with a Google search. All I remember is that there was a great deal of Latin in it, and the only lyrics I that come to mind are, “Sanctus, Kyrie, Glory, Holy.” In fact, I have a vague idea that those may have been the only lyrics, but that might just be 20+ years of time eroding my already swiss cheese-like memory.

Anyway, if this rings a bell with anyone who might know the name of the song, I’d be grateful if you’d let me know.

* I’ve still been fighting that cold this week, and in fact am feeling it worse than ever. I haven’t been doing much of anything this week besides holding down the couch while watching DVR’d episodes of my newest television addiction: “Man vs. Food.” Instead of explaining the concept of the show, I’ll just show you the commercial:

It’s sick, but oddly entertaining. And let me tell ya, it’s just the thing for a chick on a diet to watch. Last night’s episode showed the dude attempting to devour a twelve egg omelet. It was frigging disgusting. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything since.

* Another casualty of the recession, or more specifically of the auto industry crisis:

Ken Burns loses GM funding

Emmy Award-winning documentary filmmaker Ken Burns (Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson, The Civil War) will no longer receive financial backing from General Motors, Variety reports. After 22 years, the auto company is ending its support, stating that the current fincial crisis “has forced GM to rein in such spending.” Burns’ final GM-funded project is the six-part series The National Parks: America’s Best Idea, set to air on public television this fall.

http://news-briefs.ew.com/2009/03/ken-burns-loses.html

I’ve always enjoyed Mr. Burns’ documentaries, especially “The Civil War,” so I’m taking this news personally.

* I’ve been tagged by my buddy Robin (Dr. Altman if you’re nasty), child psychiatrist extraordinaire, for a game called 5-5-5. You take the 5th picture out of the 5th folder on your computer and write about it.  Then, you tag 5 people to do the same. So here is the picture:

And here is the story behind it:

Last spring, a coworker of mine found this butterfly out in the parking lot behind the store. One of its wings was torn and she was afraid that it would be easy prey for the family of birds that makes its summer home in a nearby tree. She brought the thing inside the store and had another coworker run across the road to pick some wildflowers for it. She (we assumed it was a she) lived inside the store for another day and a half, becoming our temporary mascot. Oddly enough, we kept her there – dead, but prettily preserved – for a few more weeks, until our boss finally tossed her into the trash can because it was upsetting to some of the customers. I suppose it was a little morbid.

Beautiful, but morbid.

The next step is for me to tag five people so they can do the 5-5-5 challenge. Instead I’m officially tagging everyone who reads this and has a blog of their own. Once you’ve posted your photo, leave a link in the comments section. I’d love to see what y’all come up with.

March 8 – March 14 is Read An E-book Week! Whoo-hoo!

If you haven’t read Waiting For Spring, this would be a good week to do it. It’s available on e-book at Kindle (where all the proceeds go to Spruce Run) and at Smashwords. Or you can download it directly from me.

Or if you have read it, here’s a list of other e-books I recommend:

The Proviso – Moriah Jovan

Servicing the Pole – Lauri Shaw

Steal Tomorrow – Ann M. Pino

Kept – Zoe Winters

Or, you can browse the selection of free and reduced price books over at Smashwords, and the list of free online books at Web Fiction Guide.

When I got to work on Monday, the following sign was waiting for me:

 

 Well, the smiley faced sun wasn’t there. I added it myself. But you get the general gist. And I’m not being paranoid when I say that the sign was waiting for me personally. I am the “YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE” refered to there by my boss. He frequently leaves these signs lying around the store, covering a wide variety of topics. This is a good rule of thumb in interpreting the importance/severity of these notes:

No exclamation points = General information. (“The new coffee flavor of the month is Jamaican Me Nuts.”)

1-3 exclamation points =  Something to think about.  (“Don’t forget to wear your name tag!!”)

4-5 exclamtion points = Look out, y’all. (“Don’t forget to swipe each bill of $20 and higher with the anti-counterfeit pen!!!!!”)

6+ exclamation points = What did Kel do now? (See above picture.)

Here is my defense. Working at a rural convenience store, you get to know your regular customers very well. You come to build up a friendly rapport and, in some cases, even friendship with them. That’s been the case with me and my regular customers (well…most days anyway). And when a customer/friend spends $20+ per day on gas at your place of employment so he can drive dozens of miles to a mill several towns away to provide for his family, you may begin to feel that it would be a kindness to charge him only ninety-five cents for a coffee (the price of a refill), instead of the $1.89 you’re supposed to charge for the 24 oz cup he gets every day to energize him for the drive home. Especially when you know that it only costs the store 37 cents to brew an entire pot of coffee.

Unfortunately, if that customer doesn’t realize that’s what you’re doing, he may balk when someone else charges him full price on your days off. He may complain, thereby giving that kind deed away to your boss, who doesn’t look at “kind deeds” the same way you do, thus inspiring him to leave overly exclamated notes lying around the store for your benefit.

So, Monday afternoon the customer came into the store once more, full of apologies for having inadvertantly gotten me into trouble. I told him not to worry about it. And this time I gave him his coffee for free. Like I’ll do from now on.

In other news, it’s my day at Publishing Renaissance (actually, it was supposed to be yesterday…oops!) Check it out!

I’ll admit it. I was grumpy at work yesterday. I tried not to be, but I couldn’t help it. There was the whole “I’m sick but have to work anyway” thing. There was the whole snowstorm thing, which meant I had to do more shoveling. (Thankfully, it was a light, powdery snow, and not a wet, two-ton snow like last week.) Then there was the usual customer bullshit thing. I didn’t actually tell any customers off, because I generally behave myself in that regard, but I did write a song about them during my nine hours there, which I sang in my mind. The refrain goes like this:

I hate you.
I hate you.
I fucking hate you all.
I hate every goddamn one of you.
I fucking hate you all.

The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that my dear family was DVR-ing “24” for me so I could watch it when I got home. Even if I’m not permitted by both of my morals, and supposedly by federal law, to torture well-deserving shitheads in my own profession, I can enjoy watching Jack Bauer do it in his. Living vicariously, if you know what I mean, through him. It’s what TV is all about.

Well, guess what? My loving family forgot to DVR the damned show.

I didn’t make up a nasty, profanity-laced song for them. Partly because it goes against both of my morals to treat my family that way, and partly because I’m not much of a songwriter. One per day is my quota. Instead I grumbled about ingratitude and laziness (as though I’d never made a mistake in my life), sat down at my computer, and perused a few of my favorite blogs. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my good buddy Lori Tiron-Pandit had honored me with a “Love Ya” award.

The award is meant for blogs characterized by the following: These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers.

The truth is, I feel a little undeserving of it at the moment. Can a lady who composes venomous songs and mutters under her breath about her beloved family be considered “exceedingly charming” and/or “kind”? I don’t know, but I’m accepting the award anyway. Partly because I really like the picture that comes along with it, and partly because there are times when I am kind. But mostly it’s because I think a lot of Lori and am very flattered that she thinks so highly of me. So thank you, Lori.

Now it’s my turn to hand it over to three of my writer-blogger buddies. Not easy, of course, since I know so many amazing writers. (Just check out my blog roll and the new, not yet completed, “Recommended Stuff” page.) Still, I must do it, so here goes:

1. Robin Altman, for not only writing an insightful (and hilarious!) book about child psychiatry that could have been called, “How To Not Kill Your Kids” (actual title: “Shrink Rap”), but for opening up about such stuff in a similarly hilarious way on her blog. “Phew! It’s not just me!” is a good feeling. 

2. Joe Glasgow, poet extraordinaire. A thoughtful man with a deep conscience. Very much a modern troubadour.

3. FloridaCat, because it takes a TRUE talent to write poetry about dog turd. I really mean that.

The award itself is right here. (As you can see, I made a non-girly version for you, JG.)

                 

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to watch Jack. (Thank Bob for Hulu!)

Well, my cold is still with me. Now my kids have it, too. Our doctor said there’s not much he can do about it. He said it’s a nasty one, and that it can last anywhere from four days to three weeks.

We’re in the middle of yet another storm in which, according to the meteorologist on the news last night, is going to dump six to fourteen inches on us.

My hubby & I decided to pay for cable televison for my mother-in-law (who is on a very fixed income) because of the whole analog/digital television switchover thing. Today’s the day for the installation. The cable guy called her. He’ll be there sometime between 8am-6pm.

Today I have to work. I’ll punch in at precisely 2:30pm. I’ll give each of my customers back exact change. I’ll stock the cooler and liquor shelves thoroughly. I’ll shovel the walkways – with a cold – with great care so none of my customers get hurt. I’ll punch out at exactly 11:30.

😕

You haven’t experienced Maine if you haven’t tried Moxie. I don’t drink the stuff for pleasure, God knows. It tastes like carbonated death. But when you’ve got a bad cold, like I do right now (this might be why), there’s no better cure than a bottle of Moxie, followed quickly by a Nyquil chaser, then a few stiff shots of blackberry brandy.* Besides, it’s the official soft drink of Maine, so it’s my patriotic duty to drink a little from time to time.

 

*Don’t try this at home.