my guy

up on the roof

We've been having our roof worked on for the last week, which is something that needs to be done but at the same time is a huge annoyance. Constant pounding, drilling, and who knows what else. I haven't been able to think straight, since of course, the dog is pretty much about to have a nervous breakdown--as is the cat, but at least she doesn't spend all day, every day, barking.

The only cool thing about is that the guys doing it are all Hispanic and sometimes one of them will start singing in Spanish, which is nice. They whistle and talk and seem like a pretty happy bunch, despite the fact that my dog is barking up at them and most likely wishing she could taste their blood.

Concentrating on work has been difficult. The book is moving at a snail's pace right now. (Sorry Nick!) Hopefully I'll be able to get back in the saddle in the next day or so and just pound the hell out of the thing and get it over with. That'll be a huge load of my mind and then there's November. Oh, boy. Good times ahead.

Hope everyone is well and getting ready for Halloween. The spookies are on their way, slithering up the street and across your yard to knock at your door and climb in your windows. They're coming for you, Barbara! Ha. How over-used is that line anyway...???

BODYSLAM

When I was a kid, it seemed like writers lived on another planet. They were as inaccessible as movie stars. Yes, supposedly you could write to their publishers and supposedly the letters would get passed on to the writer. Just like movie stars. I figured if you actually did take the time to write one, you might get an autographed photo or something, but probably not. I was clueless.

But now--NOW--things are much different. Writers are everywhere and I'm not just talking about the twenty-five zillion people who just fancy themselves writers because they paid Lulu a ton of money or Mom told them they wrote a darn good poem when they were 12. I mean the writers you know and admire. The "successful" writers. No, you can't (or at least I can't) just bump into Stephen King at some con, but short of him and others of his caliber, you really can bump into just about anyone. Write to them--they usually write back. Talk to them, hang out with them, drink beer them, etc... In this age, you can actually know your heros and find out they're just regular guys and gals, which is awesome to me. I still doubt it's possible to do that with movie stars though...

Anyway, this was just longwinded way of saying "Holy shit!" I logged into my Facebook account to find that I'd been bodyslammed by Nina Kiriki Hoffman. Me and a few hundred others probably, but still. How cool is that? I love her book A FISTFUL OF SKY. It's amazing. You should definitely check it out. And to get bodyslammed by her, even virtually, made me smile.

Here's to hoping one of your heros bodyslams you sometime soon. It's pretty fucking cool. haha.

Birthday Girl

In a couple of days it will be my birthday and I get to be 24 again! Hooray for me! That was kind of a shitty year and also kind of an awesome year, so I decided to go back in time and make the whole thing awesome. Thank goodness I found the genie in that magic blow-up doll. She comes in handy every so often (the genie, not the doll). (as an aside, I really am writing story about a genie in a blow-up doll--she's quite a trickster--again, the genie, not the doll.)

Back in reality, I received a most excellent gift already. A grab bag from Cemetery Dance, which included three signed and numbered hardbacks, a few back issues of the mag (too cool!) a tote bag, a frisbee and the best thing: a T-shirt with a short-short by none other than the great Brian Keene on the back. Yippie! I'm never taking it off, which means by the time I actually see Brian again and get him to sign the thing, he'll probably want to do it with a VERY LONG Sharpie. Not sure if they've been invented yet--I should get on that asap.

Anyway, not much else going on. Still wrestling the muse and getting my ass kicked. I seriously hate that bitch lately. Maybe I should just give up this whole writing nonsense and just go to law school or something. It certainly couldn't be any harder than this. Not that I'm complaining (much). Writing is a damn cool gig, usually. I just think if I'm going to crack my head open every day, I should at least be getting a decent wage for it. Crazy, I know. But that's me. Dreaming my life away.

So, wish me a happy birthday if you feel like it. Buy a book, leave a review, blow me a kiss. Whatever. I promise to blow you back. (hahaha!)

Cats and Bugs

My cat is pretty much the coolest kitty on the planet. That is, I personally don't know of a cooler one, but, of course, I'm biased. She's my best buddy--staying with me when I'm sick, when I have insomnia, when I'm depressed. I think she was a really great nurse in another life.

I took this pic yesterday while unpacking some stuff. She's no kitten anymore but you'd never know it. Always looking for trouble, which she has an uncanny ability to find. She's meowing beside me as I type this, which always causes the dog to want to chase her. Then they get into a boxing match, which the cat always wins. She's a little bad-ass. (I wonder where she gets that from?)

Anyway, I'm avoiding working because I have some lame-ass stomach bug that's making me feel like crap, but I am too stubborn (i.e. DUMB) to go lie in bed, telling myself I will feel better at any moment and be able to continue working on SWARM OF FLYING EYEBALLS, which I am woefully behind on. Good thing I can write like a bat out of hell when the need arises. It will be arising soon, I suspect.

Anyone know the best thing for a stomach flu? Maybe some warm gingerale? Blah. Kill me.