Scarlet Letters

Ian and I marched from the kitchen into the bedroom, where Jimmy had just gotten off the phone. We stood in the doorway with twin expressions of dismay, arms crossed. JIMMY: What'd I do? ME: The chocolate fondue I made for the party. Dark, rich, delicious molten chocolate from scratch. JIMMY: Down the drain. ME/IAN: *SQUAWK* ME: Nooooooo! IAN: Chocolate! JIMMY: It had gotten all hard! ME: It's CHOCOLATE. You plug the pot back in and it melts again! JIMMY: Oh. ME: You killed the chocolate! IAN: He needs punishment. ME: He does. IAN: He's grounded! ME: Or something like that. You are a bad man! A bad, bad man! JIMMY: I am not! ME: From scratch. That was good chocolate. You know what that costs?  You owe me chocolate. JIMMY: I will buy you chocolate tomorrow when I get paid. ME: It's not the same. JIMMY: *tries to kiss me* ME: No! I do not kiss bad men. JIMMY: *kisses me* ME: Bad, bad man!

Jimmy walks into my office (isn't that usually how this happens?) ME: ... JIMMY: What. ME: Honey, what are you wearing? JIMMY: Around-the-house stuff. ME: *grins* JIMMY: What? ME: Black sneakers and white socks. Shiny red Santa shorts. And a KISS T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. JIMMY: It's around the house! ME: *hysterical giggles erupt* Oh baby, you're so sexy. I mean, I just want to rip your clothes off. No, I mean I really  want to rip your clothes off. JIMMY: It's my Redneck Ensemble. ME: It's laundry day.

Me: So that pork roast? I found out why it was cheap. Jimmy: All that fat? Me: It wasn't fat. It was skin. It still had the skin on. Jimmy: Did you take it off? Me: I couldn't get it off! I hacked and hacked at it, but it wouldn't come off. So I looked it up on the internet, and it said you can roast it with the skin on and it will actually add flavor. Then it'll just slip right off. Jimmy: Then we can roast it in the oven. Me: What? Jimmy: Roast the skin, and it'll turn into cracklings. Me: Cracklings? Jimmy: *pats my knee* It's okay, northern girl. Me: WHAT. Jimmy: Cracklings. Roasted pork skin. Me: You just bake pig skin and eat it? Jimmy: Mmmm. Me: I have a theory that weird southern cuisine goes back to the Civil War, when everyone was starving to death, so they ate whatever they could. Then it became a point of pride: "We ate shit and we liked it!"  Jimmy: *laughs* Me: It explains giblet gravy. Fried pork skin inde...

Boy's English class is reading Romeo and Juliet. They are watching scenes from the Zeffirelli movie, because the Luhrman has violence, sex, drugs and transvestism - you know, just like the play.  Seriously, I don't blame them for sticking with Zeffirelli; it's safer than risking the parental reaction to Luhrman. But it means the kids miss the glory of Harold Perrineau's Mercutio, which is simply the finest Shakespearean performance in film. Luhrman's work is hard to take; it's frenetic energy and wild choreography hit you between the eyes, and it's often too distracting. But if you can make it through the first twenty minutes, your mind acclimates to Luhrman Land and that's when amazing things happen. I always liked DiCaprio's Romeo - he didn't play a lovesick waif, but a street-tough young man with intelligence and common sense who is simply bowled over by love. Claire Danes is passable as Juliet, but the supporting cast really shines,...

Bottle of hard cider, check. Boy in bed, check. Earbuds playing slightly creepy classical music, check. Distracted by internet. So what else is new. I turn on Freedom for Mac and instruct it to shut off my internet for a while. Freedom reminds me that I'm still in my trial period for this program, which leads to twenty minutes of searching my receipts file because I'm quite sure I paid for it, quite sure indeed, and there's no receipt so maybe I'm just dumb. Fine, turn off my internet, Freedom. Then I go to find the cemetery story file. It's not there. Oh God. That was a good story I had started. It was 1200 words of writing, and that's not much if you're, say, Bryan Smith or Angelia Sparrow. For me these days, that's an afternoon miracle. So then I was searching every possible corner it could have been auto-saved, trying to remember how I titled the file since the story doesn't have a title yet, and desperately hoping that it wasn't ...

ME: Urrrrrrrgh. I'm awake. MUSE: No, you're not. ME: Am too. I'm sitting up in my bed, holding my iPad. MUSE: Better put it to use, then. ME: You. YOU. Where the royal fuck have you been? MUSE: Working on this. Here, have the entire plot and every word of that project. *waves* ME: Holy crap. I know what happens. I know how it ends. I even know how to get to how it ends. I have the whole damn thing in my head. Fucking finally. MUSE: Told you I was working. ME: You might've shown up a bit earlier. This thing was due months ago. MUSE: Fuck you. ME: Glad to see you still have the same agreeable nature. MUSE: You gonna write that down or what? ME: I don't think I can get it all in the iPad. I should go downstairs and find my laptop. MUSE: You're not gonna be able to do that. ME: Why not? MUSE: I told you. You're not actually awake. You're dreaming. ME: What? I'm dreaming? So what about the story? The words? All this in my head - MUSE: It...

BOY: Mom, can I have a cuppy cake? ME: Hmm. How many did you have this morning? BOY: Two. ME: That's a lot of cupcake.  BOY: Pleeeeease? ME: First explain why you're calling them cuppy cakes. BOY: I've always done that. ME: You have not. You started when you heard Jimmy do it. BOY: Pleeeeeeease. ME: Okay. BOY: *arrives* ME: I said ONE cupcake! BOY: This one is for my imaginary friend. ME: Oh really. Who's your imaginary friend? BOY: Bob. ME: That's the best you can do? BOY: Wilfred the Magic Dragon. What. ME: Better.

Fighting with people online is like sitting on the beach and trying to empty the ocean with a cup. You pour it out on the sand, and it flows right back in. Social networking is a constant love-hate with me. I love that I can stay in touch with my family and old friends who live [anywhere but here] on a daily basis, bringing us much closer together than we ever were as children or as young adults. I love that I can talk to my readers, have a convenient feed of interesting material from wildly diverse sources, and toss my own stuff out for those who might be interested. The Social Network is a fun place for diversion. And I'm much better than I used to be about getting into fights. In fact, I first wrote this a week ago, and then shelved it because it wasn't worth the inevitable nastiness. We all know it's pointless to sink into the drahmah. But it's a struggle for me, because the very nature of my profession is to dispel ignorance with facts. Not truth - truth is a m...

Today is my little sister's birthday. I don't care that she's turning thirty-six. (Ha ha, Mel, I ratted you out.) She's still my baby sister, and the biggest regret I have in life (alongside getting student loans) is that she and I have spent most of our adult lives living in different time zones. It sucks. I want to hang out with her and get manicures or girly shit like that. I want to have lunch with her, just for the hell of it, and talk about nonsense. I want to call her up at the end of a tough day and say, "First margarita's on me." Social networks help alleviate it a bit. Neither of us is one for long phone conversations; we talk by text and internet. There are a lot of reasons why this year's especially difficult. I don't intend to detail them right now. Suffice to say, it's a special year. And I want to be there. Since I can't, I'll settle for embarrassing her with photos from that long-ago day when my parents brought...

In case you haven’t read the disclaimer on my publisher’s website, Fated Bonds contains erotic scenes. If my book ever appeared on television, it would be on HBO.  Aside from the usual hero and heroine romance, there’s a secondary romance. It just happens to be between two males. Since I wrote the love scenes between Tala and Alexander explicitly, it was only fair to do the same for Kevin and Derrick. In both cases, the sex is a part of the character growth and an expression of their affection for the other person.  Some readers may think, “ick” at the idea of reading about two men, but the love of those two characters was no less “right” than the main characters. They deserved the same stage as the main characters. I’m well aware that there are people out there who disagree. They can read something else. Of course, there’re logistical differences to consider. In the rough draft, I basically took my best guess and then passed it to a fellow writer who could commen...

Scene: Impending meeting of the Eville Writers. SNARKY BARISTA: Oh, I didn't realize you guys were coming in today. ME: Oops. We moved the meeting by a week and I think we* forgot to tell you. SB: Any idea how many will be here? ME: As usual, I have no idea. Could four or forty. They never tell me. SB: *laughs* What can I get you? ME: Something caffeinated. SB: *laughs* That we've got. ME: Let's see... should I be good or bad... SB: Bad. Bad is always more fun. ME: Yes, but I don't think I've written nearly enough to deserve being bad. ** So I guess it's a large iced coffee, Splenda and skim. SB: *rings up* And you don't have a discount card, right? ME: Nope. SB: I didn't know if we'd broken you yet. Ten to forty percent off! ME: *grin* Not yet. I'll join when it's free. SB: *evil* You know, it would've been free by now. You're in here every couple of weeks... ME: Well, don't bring logic into it... SB: I'm j...

"It takes six months to get in shape and two weeks to get out of shape. Once you know this, you can stop being angry about everything else and just be angry about this." -- Rita Rudner, para. Oh diet app, bite me. Nice little pop-up telling me "you aren't eating enough calories!" Yes, I've noticed. I have done everything my doctors told me to do. I track everything I eat - even a bite of bagel at church. I stay under 1800 calories a day with a balance between protein, fat and carbohydrate. I work out several times a week, both cardio workouts and strength training in the weight room. I take my meds like I'm supposed to even when they make me sick. And since the docs switched me to the new med two months ago, I've gained 16 pounds. Yay? Wasn't that supposed to regulate my screwed-up endocrine system so it could operate like a normal human? Do normal humans work out, diet and gain weight? Diet app, you are my constant companion on this non...

Just a quick update to let y'all know that I'm returning to Hypericon in Nashville this summer. We are delighted to return to this show, which is always a blast! Thanks to the Hypericon crew for accommodating us, and we look forward to celebrating with Sara Harvey, Stephen Zimmer, Angrlia Sparrow and the crew from Inkstained Succubus, among many others! I've been accepted as a guest at Dragoncon again, so I'll be back in Atlanta on Labor Day weekend. The following weekend, I'm attending a journalism conference in Nashville. Since it doesn't make sense to go back to St. Louis and double back the next day, I'm looking for any place in the southeast for a coffeehouse or book signing. Even in Atlanta! I didn't get to stop long when I zoomed through last fall. Finally, I'm pleased to announce that I will be editor guest of honor at next year's Midsouthcon! MSC has been a mainstay of my tour schedule for the ten years I've been a published ...

Greetings. My name is Peter Tupper . I’m a writer and journalist in Vancouver, BC, and I’m here to tell you about my new book, An Angel Has No Memory , published by Inkstained Succubus . “Hello, I’m Rose Chung,” she said, extending her hand. “You must be Ms. Marro?”  “Teodora. Call me Teo. Welcome to the Fulfilment House.” The other woman shook her hand and smiled a slightly crooked smile. She wore the dark suit which seemed to be the informal uniform for escorts at the Fulfilment House. Rose could see a needle pistol in an underarm holster under Teo's jacket and the ID card clipped to her belt. “I’m here for your orientation. Follow me and let me know if you have any questions.” The Fulfilment House, which occupied several floors of an office block in the Pasadena arcology, reminded Rose a little of a casino: dark earth tones, no clocks, no windows, nothing to remind people of the outside world. There were also the security cameras watching everything, like the eyes of a ta...

Lo these many years ago, two little girls in Westfield, Massachusetts decided that if there was a Mother's Day, Father's Day and Grandparents' Day, there should be a Sister Day. Well, it's sort of backwards. The first Sister Day was a day in which my bratty little sister strangely decided to be nice to me all day. She was sweet and nice and hugged me and even did my chores, which had me checking under my bed that night, let me tell you. I'm not saying we fought a lot  as kids, but I will say we had very different personalities as children. I was the quiet one. (Hush you, in the back. I heard that.) Things were back to normal the next day, of course, but I didn't forget. I wrote about it in my diary. And a year later, on that same day, I did the same for her. And we decided from then on that March 31 would be Sister Day. Being that this was waaaaay before the internet, we had no way of knowing there is an "official" Sister Day on Aug. 3. By the time...

Greetings from Madison, Ind. Well, actually... Carrollton, Ky. It's kinda the same place. But not really. I was invited to be a guest author at the Madison Author Fair, hosted by the lovely folks at That Book Place in Madison, Ind. I was happy to accept, especially since my good friend Stephen Zimmer was to attend with his crew from Seventh Star Press, and I always prefer events where I know someone. I'm shy. Right up to departure, however, I was having the biggest trouble finding a place to stay. Madison has a number of chain hotels, all of which were $100 a night or more and I am seriously lacking in hotel points at the moment. There were a couple of independents, which had some fairly negative reviews... and while I am not picky, I do have minimum standards. Safe, clean and no bugs. I've stayed in too many fleatraps where critters rode home with me in my luggage, unsavory gentlemen watched too closely as I entered my outdoor-corridor motel door, and - best of all - t...

Ash Wednesday is upon us, and that means it's time for the joyous celebration of Lent. Yeah, there's not often a lot of "joy" or "celebration" in Lent. Just check out the hymns... whenever we start chanting in Lent, I hear Monty Python's papier-mache God complaining, "It's like those psalms, they're soooo depressing." In years past (and often today) many Christians have chosen to interpret Lent as a season of scourging, of punishing yourself, carrying the woe of humanity's murder of the Christ, etc. Not me. Ashes notwithstanding. To me, Lent is a season of reflection, a forty-day period of meditation and self-improvement. I don't think it helps God or anyone for me to wear the (metaphorical) hair shirt for seven weeks. But if you give up something for Lent, there should be an actual reason for it beyond "I'm giving up something for Lent." Otherwise it is a hollow exercise, a public self-flagellation that ser...

Today we were shocked, shocked I say, to find a small card in the mail. Not a come-on from a dentist or politician. Not another (eternal) medical bill. Not ad No. 531531593 from wedding vendors seeking our business. Not that thick bundle of grocery store stuffers we get each week (it would kill you nerds to put them in the newspaper where they belong?) A hand-addressed card, sent to both of us and sealed in an actual paper envelope that did not involve a cellophane window. I got all excited for a moment. Then it turned out to be a gracious card from the jeweler where we bought our rings. He thanked us for our business and said he was very excited to see our final choice on my wedding band. Yeah, me too. It occurred to me that we very rarely get actual letters. I send them from time to time, to my grandmother who does not partake of the internet. Everyone else is on Facebook. What would you say in a letter that won't reach your friend for days or even a week, when you will t...

This post started life as an email to a friend who was getting ready for his first bookstore signing and had some questions. Unfortunately, I had my phone on silent all day for a journalism conference, and I missed it. My apologies to my friend for the laaaaate reply. Then I realized this might be useful to other new authors. His question was about bookstore signings, and how they work. And my answer is an unsatisfying "it depends." • There's the traditional model. For major chain bookstores, and a large number of independents, it's the preferred choice. The bookstore orders copies of your books in advance from Ingram (sometimes Baker & Taylor, but they really like Ingram). They have the books on hand for your signing, and you show up with a pen. The readers buy the book from them. Eventually they pay the distributor and your publisher, and your publisher pays you your regular royalty. This model is the time-tested standard, but it has some problems. If you...

HIM: *pokes head up into office* I'm about to go to work. ME: Uh huh. HIM: What? ME: Remember about two hours ago, when I said there was inventory to be done? And you conveniently vanished? HIM: *grins* Well. ME: Yeeeeah. There's still inventory to be done. And it has to be done before the convention next weekend. HIM: We can do it this weekend. ME: Oh yeah? When? HIM: Tomorrow, before I go to work. ME: I'm at the journalism conference tomorrow. HIM: Oh yeah. Well, Sunday then. ME: *stares* HIM: What? ME: Really? HIM: ... What? ME: You forgot. HIM: What are we doing Sunday? ME: You really forgot. HIM: What did I forget? ME: Uh uh. I'm not bailing you out. You just sit there and remember. HIM: ...Are we going on a date? ME: Remember when we decided that we would go on a date every month and take turns as to who planned the date? And remember a month ago, when we realized that Valentine's Day was on a Friday when you're working, and we thought...