Edgy Mama

Eddo of the famous Posted Note is designing a new template for this site. Because of my infinite complexity and uniqueness, he’s having a difficult time creating a look that says basically, “Buy my novel, right now.”

So, I’ve decided to hold a contest. We need ideas for a tagline for both my website and my blog–something that encapsulates my dueling personalities of thriller/horror writer and SAHM/housewife. A few lines that have been thrown out by friends include: Domestic Diva, Mind of Evil; Nice Girl, Dirty Mind (too pornish?); Former Debutante Writes Murder and Monsters. You get the drift. Check out my website for inspiration (click on the title of this post).

THE PRIZE for the tagline of choice will be an personalized, autographed copy of my debut novel, Storm Mountain, mailed directly to you (or where ever you want it mailed). If you already are lucky enough to have a such a collector’s item (Eddo, Beth), I’ll have to come up with something else.

Thanks in advance for your time and creativity. Ready, set, go…

Okay, I typically avoid blogging the cute toddler comments, but this one has had me giggling all day.

My three-year-old son and I were having one of our rambling, inane, wonderful conversations today when the subject of Daddies came up.

“You can be a Daddy when you grow up,” I said.

C. inexplicably pulled up his shirt. “But Daddy has whiskers on his tummy,” he said. Then he looked perplexed. “How does he get the hair on his head to move to his tummy?”

How does one explain both puberty and receding hairlines to a three-year-old?

(P.S. My computer has yet to be resurrected. I called the technician today, who said, “Well, I’ve got it sitting here on my desk in about a thousand pieces.” Fear and loathing.)

My computer died yesterday. I walked down to my office (coffee shop) lugging the damn thing, got my iced mocha, my CAT-5, sat down, opened my laptop–and boom, no lights, no cameras, no action. Despairingly, I jogged home, jumped in my mini-van, and took said dead machine to the nearest computer repair shop. They have yet to call–which I am finding worrisome.

Why this is bad: I haven’t backed up my novel since mid-March–over 3,000 words ago (no lectures, please. I know I’m an idiot). I can’t write. I can’t check e-mail. I can’t blog. I can’t read blogs. I can’t do research. I’m bored. I’m an addict.

Why this is good: I cleaned out three drawers today. I started cleaning out the basement. I have ten bags of clothing, books, and toys piled next to the front door to take to Goodwill tomorrow. Wow, sans computer, I can get a lot of stuff done.

Before offspring #2 was born, I taught an Environmental Journalism class at Warren Wilson College. The students were incredibly well-informed about environmental and ecological issues. At the same time, they had an exhausted world-weariness about the subject—a kind of “I can’t really make a difference, so why even try” mentality. Of course, they were 18-22, an age group that excels at world-weariness. We spent a great deal of time talking about how words and actions, even small ones, can foster change. (I would often resort to mythological stories and fairy tales: The Princess and the Pea, David and Goliath, the Ant and the Rubber Tree).

Although I gladly undertook the role of professor/cheerleader, I find that, both then and now, I often am anxious and depressed about the state of our biosphere and its future—particularly when intelligent, thoughtful people choose to ignore or disdain clear scientific evidence. Michael Crichton comes to mind at the moment—I have yet to get over one of my favorite writers writing such an irresponsible, poorly researched novel. Enviro-spouse, who makes a living teaching people how systems behave over time, says that humans, in general, are not particularly good at long-term thinking or planning. This defect, which may have contributed to our evolutionary survival, may, ironically, predicate our downfall.

So, what to do? Below there’s a link to Environmental Defense’s 20 Simple Steps to Undo Global Warming. At our home, we have solar hot water and heat (an up-front investment for long-term payback—plus a nice, big tax refund in NC). We have an organic garden. We like to plant trees. We recycle. We plan to buy a hybrid car. Little steps, simple steps…but think what might happen if everyone, everywhere, made one change today towards long-term biosphere health? So, what are you going to do for our world and our future today?

In honor of Earth Day, check out Environmental Defense’s 20 Simple Steps to Undo Global Warming (and save $). Just click on the title. Happy Earth Day.

Amazon has unveiled a new feature—a concordance. Look up any book (from Moby Dick to, ummm, Storm Mountain). Click on concordance (between the book description and the reviews). Suddenly, all kinds of intriguing computer-generated information pops up: Flesch-Kincaid Index? Word complexity percentage? Fog Index? Number of words/dollar? Most commonly used words in the book? Fascinating, time-wasting, and another fun thing to do when I’m sitting in front of my computer not writing my next novel that then will get scanned into Amazon’s computers to be reduced to its requisite number of words per ounce (the next one better be published in hardback).

Beware–we officially are the Plague House. I’ve had a lovely virus called Fifth Disease for, count ‘em, TEN days. It’s one of those viruses that you are supposed to get in childhood (like chicken pox) and should not be a big deal. When you’re an adult, however, it’s a humongous, fever-ridden, joint-aching, pounding headache deal for up to TWO weeks. Now, of course, my husband has the disease. He’s at home in bed, while I’m at the coffee shop, trying to catch up with my writing, while ignoring the shivers and the metal nail being hammered into my right temple. (Enviro-spouse’s fever dreams last night included how the word f**k’s various usages could be misconstrued by non-native English speakers. I.E., I’ve been f**ked over. I’ve f**ked up. I’ve been f**ked. Each sentence means something different. “Can you imagine if you were Thai?” he asked. “You should blog about this.” I told him to get his own blog and take some Tylenol).

Enough self-pity (and I haven’t even gotten into the six-year-old vomiting all over her room yesterday). I have yet to post links to my favorite blogs (time keeps slipping into the future–reveal your age by identifying that tune). At the moment, my favorite (non-bookish) blog is Posted Note (http://www.postednote.com), by the hilarious Eddo. If you are worthy–and maintain an interesting blog–perhaps, you, too, can become a member of the Blog Patrol.

The best book blog, in my opinion, is Bookslut (http://bookslut.com/blog/), maintained by the smart, liberal Jessa and the funny, somewhat adolescent, but well-read Michael. How can anyone resist being a bookslut?

So much for literature, writing, and politics–this is becoming the…pet blog. So, we still have the dog. And we still want to re-home him (the pc term).

Enviro-spouse is pet-challenged. He is one of those strange humans who grew up with minimal pettage and didn’t seem to mind. When my now-deceased cranky cat, Gatsby, first moved in with us, he was met with disdain from enviro-spouse. “I don’t get it,” ES would say. “I’m petting the cat and, with no warning, he bites me!”

Several months after Gatsby bit more than the hand that fed him (I still have his ashes in a little box in the kitchen. Is that weird?), I went on a girl’s weekend with my friend, Nancy. The goal was to wean my 21-month-old son. As a distraction, I returned home with two six-week-old orange tabby kittens (“Nurse, Mommy, nurse.” “Oh, look at the kitties!”). String was my friend. Enviro-spouse was furious. But they were soooo damn cute. And soooo distracting. It was, I must say, an unusual, but brilliant, weaning technique.

Now said kittens are full grown cats. Rocky, aptly named, is an overweight slob and an excellent hunter. He loves people and has that laid-back, I-can-throw-my-weight-around personality. Since the dog came, Rocky has spent most of his time in the basement. He doesn’t want to get too far away from his food bowl.

Houdini, the smaller, swifter and more skittish of the two cats, has taken the bolder prerogative of moving in with a family down the street. He still comes home to eat and, occasionally, to sleep, but his visits are circumspect and stealthy. Houdini wants nothing to do with the dog.

So, a couple of nights ago, I managed to banish the dog to the screen porch and, for the first time in weeks, both cats were in the master bedroom, curled up at the foot of our bed.

“I love our cats,” said Enviro-spouse.

“What?” I replied.

“I love our cats. They’re the greatest pets ever.”

I burst out laughing. Ahhhh, perspective.

…is how I’m feeling. I seem to have the never-ending fever virus. Since Friday night, I’ve spent my life sweating and sleeping. Enviro-spouse called our doctor’s office and the nurse told him that half of Buncombe County has this AND it can last up to two weeks! Given that enviro-spouse is leaving town Thursday and Friday of this week and all of next week, things could get exciting here. At the moment, my temp’s down to 99.7, thus, making me feel almost human. Oops, that’s about the extent of my writing energy. Who knew typing could make you dizzy?

Last night, as enviro-spouse and I were putting the kids to bed, Scout managed to knock my chocolate birthday cake off of the high part of the counter. In what I can only imagine was a frenzy of dog-lust, he scarfed down the remaining half of the cake, including the red-tinted Saran Wrap in which it was wrapped.

I remembered hearing that chocolate can poison dogs, so I called my across the street neighbor, Nancy, who knows a lot about animals. She said, “Well, my sister-in-law’s dog once ate an oversized Hershey bar and didn’t die, but let me ask Carl and Miriam.” Turns out some friends, who know even more about dogs, are at their house.

I get instructions as to what to do. My reply is, “Are you serious?” Unfortunately, they were.

So I take Scout out onto the front porch, tie him to a rocking chair, and using a child’s medicine syringe, squirt about three teaspoons of hydrogen peroxide down his throat. Then I leave him for a few minutes to check the Internet for further information. The most relevant bit of knowledge I gain is, “If a 50 pound dog eats a teaspoonfull of milk chocolate, he’ll probably be okay. If the same dog gorges himself on a two-layer chocolate cake, he could become very ill and even die.”

I run to the front porch to check on Scout. Luckily, the hydrogen peroxide has worked its magic, producing a HUGE pile of vomit from the poor beast. I can’t imagine that any creature smaller than an elephant has a stomach that can hold this much…stuff. In the vomit is the red Saran Wrap and the strap from one of eco-spouse’s Chaco sandals–in addition to one and a half cups of dog food and half of a two-layer chocolate cake with chocolate mint frosting.

Today, the dog is fine. No sypmtoms of theobrimine poisoning as far as I can tell. And today, I’m feeling even more that sending Scout to live on a farm in the country is the right decision.