Scarlet Letters

I give you a new commandment: that you love one another, as I have loved you. By this the world shall know that you are my disciples, that you have love for one another. Yeah, brace yourself. It's church talk. Tonight was the beginning of the three-night observance leading up to Easter. Not everyone knows (or chooses to know) that Easter is not a day, it is a season. There are three nights of preparation leading up to Easter Sunday, and then forty days of celebration thereafter. Hey, that's a lot of chocolate. Tonight was my favorite service of the entire year: Maundy Thursday. And for the first time in many years, I missed it. Alas, work. I tried to wiggle out of it, tried to switch places with my fellow reporters, but that isn't always possible. I missed the foot-washing for the first time, I think, since I was in college. Maundy Thursday is the service that remembers the Last Supper. Everyone knows how the night ended, with betrayal and terror and people running...

Apparently, in my bleary stumble to get to my morning exercise class this morning, I forgot something. No, not my swimsuit. Not the towel or even the comb. I realized as I was combing my hair after class that there weren't enough clothes in my gym bag.  My water aerobics class means getting out of bed two hours earlier than standard. You'd think I would be able to remember this and go to bed before 1 a.m. the night before, but that would require practical application of intelligence. I get up, go to class, then shower and change for work at the YMCA before my shift starts. Apparently, while blearily stumbling about the house this morning, I neglected to put a shirt in the gym bag. This poses something of a problem, as the Edwardsville Police Department and staff of the YMCA do not appreciate women wandering about in public without a shirt on. There were helpful suggestions. I could wrap the towel around my shoulders like a cape, but that only solves half the problem...

BOY: Home from Scouts and YOU NEED TO STICH THAT PATCH ON!!! ME: Wash your uniform and leave it on my chair, Your Majesty. And learn to spell "stitch." BOY: Ok but you need to do it tonight. I need it by next week. ME: Need by next week /= tonight. BOY: Yep. ME: You might have missed that I am at a police standoff and on my fourth hour of overtime. Also that I haven't beaten you with sticks yet. Mind your manners and say PLEASE. BOY: Please. ME: Taken under advisement. Use shampoo when you shower. BOY: Ok but pleeeeeaaaasssee do it tonight. ME: Not happening. Tomorrow possible if you leave it on the chair. And if you are nice to me. BOY: Ok. MAN: We need milk. Or a cow. ME: I love that you both are texting me simultaneously with stuff you need me to do. It's not like I'm busy or anything. MAN: Sorry love. ME: S'ok. I'll get a blog out of it. MAN: Of course you will. I am a lowly wigglily worm … ME: Oh shut up. And learn to spell "wiggly."

ME: Heh. I was just emailing SPJ about the regional conference and they were emailing me about my photo and a summary of my speech. JIMMY: Hm. ME: I told them I needed to get specifics to line up my volunteers for the book fair. JIMMY: Hm. ME: And by volunteers I mean... JIMMY: ... oh. ME: I love you? JIMMY: Sure you do. ME: Hey! I do too! JIMMY: Suuure, you're real fond of my arms, for carrying books. ME: Well, it is one of your finer characteristics. But you know what else you do real well? JIMMY: What. ME: Standing at the booth all day convincing people to buy books for charity. JIMMY: Uh huh. ME: I love you. Yet he's still marrying me.

I dreamed that I was set up by an unnamed informant as a drug dealer. No kidding. I dreamed that there was this big investigation at work, and then I was interrogated by corporate executives (because that's totally how drug investigations work). Apparently some woman had called up the police, confessed to multiple felony drug offenses and named me as her supplier/enforcer/kingpin. My lavish lifestyle must have tipped them off, eh? I told them the most sinister thing I do is sell books. Suuure, it's books you sell out of your trunk at coffee houses, they said. Uh, yeah, I replied, feeling the noose tighten. But it was the next part that was really hilarious. The entire staff of the newsroom filed into a conference room for an intervention. I kid you not. They were all very kind about my "problem." It was weird - I felt defensive and embarrassed as hell even though I knew I was set up. The more strongly I protested, the more guilty it made me sound. If I reall...

I am donating a signed copy of Nocturne to a fundraiser for a local family whose home caught fire. Their dog was killed, and the family is living in a hotel for three months while repairs are made. The fundraiser is being organized by my friend, Pam Moss. Pam and I tried all week to meet up so I could give her the book. Life happened. We failed. The fundraiser is this weekend, so time was running short. I told Pam I would be at the Sacred Grounds coffeehouse on Main Street all Friday evening, as is my general habit. She said she would come by the coffeehouse and get the book. I even remembered to dig out a copy of Nocturne from the warehouse section of the Tower before leaving. That's how organized I am this week, folks. Why, I might eventually be able to finish the profit-loss statements for Literary Underworld before the first quarter is over, but let's not get crazy. I didn't sign the book right away, figuring I'd ask Pam what she wanted me to put when she ...

My little post the other day about Random House and SFWA is the second most-read post ever on this blog.* Unfortunately, it looks like a lot of folks took the wrong message from it. There's a lot of "screw SFWA" coming out of the Random House discussion here and on Facebook. I need to be clear: I think SFWA and HWA are fine institutions, and probably the only major organizations attempting to stand up for the rights of writers. John Scalzi et al are making a lot of noise about these egregious contract terms, and we need to cheer them on. If we quietly ignore it when one press screws the authors, suddenly it will show up as boilerplate in all contracts. Just take a look at how it's going with cons. My criticisms of SFWA were solely in the realm of practicality: by refusing membership to those who don't receive advances, they are hurting themselves, not the publishers. Scalzi addressed this issue head-on today, in which he detailed his reasons for insisting ...

HIM: Hey, somebody updated your Wikipedia page. ME: Oh good Christ. *runs to Wikipedia* HIM: Yeah. Now it includes that you're engaged to author Jimmy Gillentine. ME: Huh. HIM: And that you're on the vestry for an Episcopal church. ME: My spies are everywhere. *reads*  HIM: Too bad it doesn't link to my website. ME: Can't do that. Wikipedia is not supposed to be advertising. You can only put up a link to your page on your own Wikipedia page. HIM: I don't have a Wikipedia page. ME: Hey, I didn't create my own. Somebody put me on there. HIM: I am too lowly to have a Wikipedia page. ME: Oh whatever. HIM: I am so honored to be on your Wikipedia page! You are the famous author Elizabeth Donald! I am so lucky that you can love a lowly worm like me! ME: Oh for the love of God, shut up. HIM: *smooch* ME: Lowly worm? HIM: Worm!

It's a strange new world for us in the publishing biz, and apparently there is no depth to which Certain People will not sink to screw us. Call me naive, but I was clinging to the hope that New York was this bastion of professionalism in which publishers act according to the rules they themselves set. Those who have wrangled with New York just fell out of their chairs, rolling on the floor in hysterical laughter before they click on to someone who isn't so goddamn stupid. Or, y'know, they can go read this piece by John Scalzi , brilliant author/blogger and outgoing president of Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America, as he tears apart an allegedly professional contract offered by Random House imprint Hydra to new ebook authors. Go ahead. I'll wait. Oh sweet fluffy Jesus - I am no lawyer and other than a handful of contracts in my filing cabinet, I have no real expertise in contract law. But that is by far the most disgusting example of screw the author ...

It once took me six months to buy oven mitts. I am not, by nature, an indecisive person. But I am a researcher. Before committing to anything, I research extensively to make sure I'm making a good choice: the highest quality for the lowest price within the limits of my budget. I plan, I make lists... to look at my house (and my car) you would not think of me as a type A personality, and according to the tests I found on the internet, I'm not. Experts wrote those, man! But in this one area, I definitely meet the criteria. In college, I had this neat pair of cow-splotch oven mitts. They (and my cow-splotch canister set and kitchen towel) were a housewarming gift from my grandmother for my first apartment. Those mitts carried countless pans of cookies through college apartments, my first home as a married woman, the birth of my son and the throes of my divorce. They finally burned through to my fingers in my post-divorce apartment. I had known I needed new mitts, mind you. B...

Tomorrow I have to go into court and argue a case before a judge. This is slightly outside my job description. I can't recall a time when I've been so nervous. Getting engaged was less terrifying. Watch me stride on stage and sing a song. Mugged three times, didn't have time to be scared (and won all three fights). Even the Meanest Judge in All the Land wasn't as frightening as this, because at least I didn't know I was going into the lion's den until I got there. Some folks have asked what the lawsuit is about. This is my attempt to answer that question, and maybe you'll know why I'm nervous. Some time ago, Jimmy's doctor sent him for an X-ray to the lab next door. We thought it was part of his doctor's office; they have labs in most locations. Turns out it was operated by [Hospital Redacted], which then billed us for $238. Jimmy's insurance, which was worth about as much as the stick of gum you don't get in a pack of baseball ca...

In case you didn't know, I also write two other blogs. CultureGeek has just returned from a long hiatus and will be more-or-less weekly this year. And there's Dancing Toward the Castle , the engagement blog co-written with my fiance, Jimmy Gillentine. Dancing Toward the Castle: The show must go on CultureGeek: Everything Old is New Again Just in case you don't get enough of my blather here...

SCENE: Jimmy is perusing today's listings on the usual suspects: CareerBuilder, Monster, the Department of Employment Insecurity, etc. JIMMY: People who stay unemployed for six months or longer, how do they stand it? I'm going crazy. ME: Oh really? JIMMY: Don't get me wrong, I like being home, I like seeing you more and doing stuff around the house. ME: Oh, then I've got more chores for you... JIMMY: *ignores* But sometimes I just want to get out of the house and see other people! ME: See other people? JIMMY: Yes! I'm going stir-craz... ME: *interrupts* Because I think seeing other people is a longer and far more serious conversation than this. JIMMY: ... You know what I mean, woman!

There are one or two ways to handle a major layoff as a responsible and ethical employer. There are about 50 ways to do it wrong. Jimmy's soon-to-be-former employer is trying most of them on for size. Those of you who read my Facebook know my fiancé is about to be laid off. This poses no small problem for us, as book sales have bottomed out and supporting a family of three (including a teenager with a tapeworm and two hollow legs) on a reporter's salary is... problematic. Yeah, that's it. He's been actively job-hunting for two months, frenetically begging on the job market since this layoff was announced a few weeks ago. He's had three nibbles, no offers, though one is quite promising. We've pared down the budget as much as we can (note to self: don't sign long-term contracts anymore). In the meantime, let's review how you DON'T handle a layoff well: • Keep all your employees in the dark and let speculation run riot before giving your workers...

Once again, TIME Magazine presents me with a great conundrum, and this year it's harder than most: the blogosphere is lobbying heavily for Malala Yousafzai as Person of the Year. Yousafzai is a brave, intelligent girl whom I admire more than I can say... but I don't think she should be Person of the Year. This ought to win me friends. Yousafzai, of course, is the 15-year-old Pakistani girl who openly wrote that, gee, girls are human too and deserve an education. While in Western culture some people still argue that we don't need no book-learnin', she defied a rigidly patriarchal Eastern culture to insist that she did not require a penis in order to read, and she was rewarded with a bullet to the head - which she survived. Yes, she deserves accolades (and, one hopes, the opportunity for a college degree she desires). But that's not what Person of the Year is supposed to be about. Person of the Year is supposed to recognize that person who has most changed th...

ME: Aaaah! Noooo! HIM: What? ME: You shaved your beard! HIM: Don't start that, I did not. I trimmed it. ME: Trimmed it to nothing! HIM: It's there. ME: ... I need a magnifying glass. HIM: I trimmed it to a 2! ME: You can't go lower than 4. Ever again. HIM: It's my beard, woman! ME: Don't call me woman! You can't keep it as low as when you were young, it's all gray and it disappears! HIM: Gee, thanks hon. ME: How about this? I can cut my hair every time you shave your beard. HIM: No. I love your hair. You may not cut it. ME: Oh yeah? Says who? HIM: Me. Cause I'm the man and I say so. *chokes* ME: Say that again with a straight face. HIM: ... I can't. ME: You're adorable. Or you were! HIM: It's still there! ME: I loved your beard! It was all lovely black shot through with silver, so distinguished. You could be an honored head of state with a beard like that, or maybe a Bond villain. HIM: ... That's quite a leap there, hon. *tries to...

All right, let's get this straight: • Guy Fawkes was not trying to overthrow a theocratic, repressive government; he was trying to create one. King James began his reign by offering religious freedom, at least the best that time period could envision. Only after constant threats of violence if he did not convert to the Catholic faith personally and the Bye Plot, which was a failed plan to kidnap the king and hold him until he agreed to reinstate the Catholic Church as the sole faith of England, did James get cranky and begin persecuting Catholics. • The November Plot was to assassinate King James, to kidnap and install Princess Elizabeth, all of (I think) eight years old, because she could be easily controlled. It was not the work of anarchists who believed in no government; it was exchanging a legal monarchy for a totalitarian theocracy. They also tried to convince Spain to invade England and ignored the pleadings of the Pope, who thought it was a bad idea to reinstate Catholi...

Step 1: Introduce Man to The Walking Dead. Step 2: Enable Man's growing addiction to The Walking Dead by suggesting he watch back episodes every day to get caught up. Step 3: Wait until there is a particularly creepy cliffhanger. Step 4: Hug Man. Step 5: While hugging, make growly noise deep in throat and suddenly lunge at Man's neck. Step 6: Watch Man leap four feet in the air and squeal like a little girl, exclaiming, "Don't do that!" Step 7: Point and laugh. Step 8: Write snarky blog post mocking Man when you know you'd react exactly the same way, plus smacking him. Rinse. Repeat.

"What you plan and what takes place ain't never been but similar." -- Jayne Cobb The plan for a normal Monday was simple enough. Monday is Jimmy's turn to get up at 6:20 a.m. with Boy and supervise his morning routine to get him out the door by 7:15. Then I would nap a little more, getting up in time for me to start my shift at 9:30 as usual. (Of course, my commute is generally a lot shorter than his.) He leaves for work at 1 p.m., so we usually get to grab lunch together. I finish up about 5:30 or 6 p.m. on a normal day, Boy is home by then, we have dinner and Scouts. Added this Monday was an orchestra fundraiser we might or might not attend at 6 p.m. Work has been kicking my ass lately, with seven electoral races on my dance card. The election preview stories are the biggest issue, with in-depth interviews and issues questionnaires from each candidate. Chasing politicians is my new mission in life. I had a pretty heavy Monday slated: writing up two more previe...

If you want to see me at Archon this weekend, you're gonna need a butterfly net. The Literary Underworld booth will be set up and operating from Friday morning until roughly noon Sunday. As is our custom, we will stay open late on Friday and Saturday nights to accommodate shoppers who may be busy with programming during the day. Yes, even during the masquerade! The Underlords in attendance include Michales Joy, T.W. Fendley, Terry Sofian, Jimmy Gillentine and guest of honor Elonka Dunin, though I'm betting Elonka will be a little too busy to work the booth! Sadly, Georgia L. Jones and Sara M. Harvey will be unable to make the show after all. Warning! Jimmy and I have another event on Sunday afternoon, so we will be packing up the booth fairly quickly on Sunday. I know many folks like to wait until Sunday to buy, but I strongly encourage you to get your stuff on Saturday - if we're not rolling out of the Gateway Center by noon, we aren't going to make the Edwardsv...