Where Does the Time Go?
So my book is now available on Amazon (woohoo!) and I realize I haven’t posted ANYTHING on my site in, well, forever. I have been busy with the life of a writer who still needs the job and maybe another job, with the small child and the husband and the household, with extra responsibilities because I’m not good at saying no, who really just wants the world to be quiet so she can write. You know, just like you.
I do have a new exciting role in my local Romance Writers of America chapter, however. I am the new Vice President of Programs, which means I get to find, contact and bring in great speakers for our monthly meetings. I love the opportunity to meet these great people that we are able to bring in. And we are also gearing up for the 2012 Tucson Festival of Books, which is now the fourth largest book fair in the US. I just may be speaking on a panel!
I’m also still working on my full length novel. I think, that as a motivator to keep writing (to make TIME to keep writing,) I will start posting some things that I am working on to make my book a great novel. My local writer’s group is inspiring and I have learned so much about writing that I never knew before I started.
Please stop by again and see what I’m working on!
Where is Isabella Ross?
Hello fair readers! So this an update on the disappearance of Isabella Ross. I didn’t disappear, I just had an identity change! Isabella Ross was strictly a writing name, and being that I am published (!!!) I have taken the golden advice of Julia Quinn and kept my first name–the real one; Kelli. And though I wanted to keep the Ross, it wasn’t working for me. So I picked up my grandfather’s middle name as a writing surname. I hope you all like it! I am very excited. I look forward to the day when I have fans calling out my name and I actually know that they’re talking to me! What do you think? That’s me on the left in pink with Julia Quinn!!!
Namaste?
I was close to being in shape once. Yes, once. Precisely once. And sadly, it wasn’t long ago. But bacon was too tempting. Then I started in with the soda. And the cheese! Oh, I curse he who invented cheese! So I am now trying to undo the damage that I have wreaked upon myself in the last 4 months.
I do not make New Year’s resolutions because I lack the unique ability to follow through. But I decided that I should easily be able to get back in the gym and regain my strength and stamina relatively quicky. Right? I mean it has only been 4 months. Prior to that, I was jogging, lifting weights, practicing my beloved Bikram Yoga and attending the occasional spin class.
So yesterday I went to the gym. I was so proud of myself. I smiled at random gym goers, put my keys in a locker, inhaled the energy and went into the special smaller gym (aka a gymette) just for women. (It’s not as weird as it sounds. It’s just quieter, and trust me, I need help focusing.) I plopped down and started what used to be my standard, pre-workout stretch. Holy snap, crackle, pop batman. I used to just stretch for 10 minutes, then I was off, but yesterday, I think 10 minutes had gone by by the time just one hamstring felt at least warmish. I had visualized myself jogging for a bit, doing a few machines to focus on my expanding rear, getting in a great ab workout…you know, being fit. But all I did was stretch. For 45 minutes. How can it be so hard to come back after a 4 month stint as a computer potato (I’m not much into tv, so I can’t really be a couch potato. But give me my laptop and…).
So I left with my primordial tail between my legs. At least I tried.
This morning, I decided to tune in to the much neglected tv channel, Fit TV. No oppressive gym environment. No male grunting, no females babbling on about boob jobs. Only an antsy poodle who won’t stay on his bed. So I did mat pilates first. Well, actually, did is a bit misleading. Attempted. Have you ever tried a tv-based fit class? If you have, you will immediately understand when I say, commercials? Really?
So the instuctor had me into the groove, I had just completed a few standard pilates moves and was ready for more. Then she had me rolling like a ball, another standard pilates move, when she said “Keep doing this and we will be right back!”. And it went to commercial. Ok, no problem. How long could a commercial be? So I was rolling. Back and forth. Breathing. When my poodle decides that I must be stuck and pounces on me.
“MAX! Get on your bed!!” Deep breaths…focus. I gave him the evil eye to reaffirm the command. I was in agony. Did you know they managed to muster a 4 minute commercial? Does the network know that I am stuck in a rolling ball? Where is the humanity?! That nonsense went on for the rest of the half hour. Next time I will record it and forward through the commercials.
I decided to follow the pilates with a bit of yoga to cap off my morning fitness adventure. It took me a few rounds to relax and match the flow of movements to my breath. I remembered the glorious feeling that kept me in Bikram yoga for so long. I felt calmer and more peaceful than I had in a long time. I had a random, floating thought that the yoga would be over soon, surely I had been doing the cat sequence for long enough.
“BARK!!!” The sharp sound made my skin feel electric.
I screamed in surprise. The poodle had decided that I had indeed been doing the cat sequence long enough.
“MAX! Get on your bed!!” My heart was racing. My calm facade was blown. Deep breaths. “Can’t you see I am relaxing here??”
A low growl was his response. Ah. The cat sequence was over. It was on to the hero/warrior sequence. Warm remembrances one again flooded my senses. I was good at advanced warrior once. Listening to the calm, smooth voice, I closed my eyes and let my body takeover. As I moved through warrior one, and confidently into warrior 3 (trust me, you dont need to know the postures to get this story) , I heard a pop. Apparently the pop was my leg. And the poodle must have thought someone shot me. The howling bark shattered the yogic silence I had maintained for 45 seconds. I lost my pathetic near balance and hit the ground. In my own living room.
“MAX! Get on your %$*@ bed!!!! It was my leg!” But he was looking around the house for the shooter, bravely peeking around corners to clear the room before entering. He even started sniffing the carpet to make me think he was on the trail. Good god (the god of ridiculous poodles).
The yoga lady’s irritatingly calm voice was still yammering on. Sun and moon…bla bla. The poodle started barking again. This time, it was at his own reflection in the sliding glass door. Aren’t poodles supposed to be smart? Is that yoga lady still going on about the sun and moon? Wow, my leg hurts.
“MAX!! Get over here this instant!” But he was in full rip-snort mode. Making laps around the downstairs.
Deep breaths. Calming….
Oh hell. I think I’ll have some bacon, cheese and soda for breakfast.
Things I Wish I Had Known
In the afterglow of New Year’s Eve, on this first day of a brand new, shimmering year, after hours of sleepless cursing at the neighbors who left their dog out overnight to bark incessantly at the other neighbors who felt the need to have a party with a DJ in their back yard which nearly drowned out the other neighbors who decided to blow up the street with fireworks until 1am (phew), I feel old.
I’m not sure when it happened. Although I was never one to participate in the New Year’s Eve phenomena anyway, I was at least more tolerant of the revelry pursued by the masses. But those days are gone.
Apparently I need a compound hundreds of acres wide with nary a neighbor in site. My hubbie gleefully reminds me that I chose to live in this house which happens to be 10 feet away from my neighbors on each side and 50 feet away from the neighbor in the back. But a DJ? With speakers taller than the people at the party? I could burp on my back porch and my neighbor could hear it. A DJ? REALLY?
So in my fitful, contemplative state, I came up with a few things that I wish I had known…
1. That the angelic-appearing poodle I picked out to surprise my daughter would end up eating the arm of her new favorite doll. And the head of her favorite toy snake. And the legs off of her mini toy tortoise collection. All of them. And the last piece of the 300 piece puzzle we worked on for 3 days. And some cat poop he found in the front yard. And the back yard. And at the park. Just how many cats are there around here anyway?
2. Nuclear Physics.
3. My neighbors are prone to hiring DJ’s.
4. That my husband could iron.
5. That he could also clean a bathroom, if properly incentivized. Ahem.
6. How much I would miss snow. And lakes, mountains, pine trees, rivers, grass and autumn leaves.
7. That sunbathing covered in baby oil was a bad idea. (You know you tried it too…)
8. Nuclear Physics. (Yes, again)
9. That the elliptical I HAD to have would sit in the corner of my family room, draped with drying laundry, pillows, Slankets/Snuggies, Christmas decorations, and as of last night at 2 am, after listening to a barking dog while the DJ spun Who Let the Dogs Out, a nicely knotted noose.
10. That I should have listened to my hubbie, who strongly recommended that we buy a treadmill instead of an elliptical. I hear poodles are good on treadmills. Here boy!
11. Ernie and Bert.
12. Did I mention that I didn’t sleep well?
13. That in the year 2010 I would be old. It sorta snuck up on me. Maybe it’s better not to know ahead of time.
14. That my husband knew how to use the vacuum.
15. And that he would always like to watch sports. I kinda thought he would grow out of it.
16. Guess not.
17. How to play the guitar. I would have chosen the guitar because it’s easy to bash against things. Like a neighbor.
18. How to play tennis. Or softball. Because then I would have a racquet or a bat handy at all times. Goes along with number 17.
19. How to speak Italian.
20. That I would need a bullhorn and mace.
21. Stick with me. Did I remind you I haven’t had much sleep?
22. How to accurately use a sling shot.
23. How to make Bansai trees. And Oragami. For my serenity room, of course. That happens to overlook the neighbor’s yard.
24. That I should have kept the stilts my Grandpa made for me.
25. I wish I would have listened better to my yoga teacher who tried to teach me how to calm my mind and relax.
26. That I should not have thrown a mini bronze buddha out the window of my serenity room towards a previously mentioned DJ.
27. A bail bondsman.
So I think this list gives me a lot of opportunities for growth in 2010. I’ll let you know how it turns out…
Dear Sir or Madam…
I am humbly writing to you, Sir or Madam, to file a formal complaint against Santa Claus. While on His momentous journey across the globe collecting requests from children good and naughty, He stopped at the local mall for a stint (today if that helps with his identification, at all). And unfortunately, so did we.
Believe it or not, we were the only beleagured travellers there to see Him at 1pm today. I was bedazzled with the snow and the elves as we approached on the red carpet, while my sweet, much too smart, five year old daughter (Bean) was busy verbalizing the extreme doubt that nestled in her furrowed brow.
“What is he doing here? He’s looking at me. How did he get here? You aren’t actually taking me over there, are you? Unless you’ve met him before Mom, he’s a stranger. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Remember? Can I call grandma?” She said, in the unique way that only a five year girl can constantly chatter without taking a breath.
“It’s Santa sweetie. He got here on an airplane because the reindeer are resting. And I did meet him once when I was a little girl. Remember? You saw the picture. So he’s technically not a stranger. But other strange men in red suits, well any suits, or clothes of any kind sitting on a throne-like chair waving at you are strangers and you shouldn’t talk to them.” I said.
“So if the strange man waving at me isn’t wearing clothes, it’s ok to talk to him?”
“What man isn’t wearing clothes?” I asked as I whipped my head around.
“You said if a strange man is wearing clothes of any kind and waving, not to talk to him.” She said in a heavy whisper while she shielded her mouth with her hand, as if Santa could read lips. “So I was wondering if that meant I could talk to a strange man who wasn’t wearing any…”
“Goodness no! You would NEVER talk to a man who wasn’t wearing clothes!! Oh, nevermind, we will talk about that more later.” I said firmly in a whisper while shielding my mouth from Santa. She giggled.
The elves were all staring at us. So it was time for us to make our move, Sir or Madam. Sorry for the conversational background, but I am sure that it’s relevant. Stay with me.
Bean still doubted that she should approach Santa so she asked for my accompaniment which, of course, I granted. While I stared, starry eyed at the bearded man, the doubt that had pooled in her eyes was dissolving. He smiled at her. I smiled at her. She smiled at me. She smiled at him. Eureka!
“What do you want for Christmas, Bean?” Santa innocently asked her.
She turned and looked at me in astonishment. She put her hand to her mouth again and whispered back at me that he was talking to her. “I know! Answer him sweetie.”
She turned confidently and said “A turtle.” Then she giggled.
“Ho ho ho!” Santa replied with a very genuine belly laugh. “A turtle?” He questioned her, loud enough for me to hear because it was supposed to be a secret. Good strategy on his part.
But Santa must have recently attended a sales conference in which he was taught clarification strategies as well. I ask you Sir or Madam, is it necessary to further qualify what a child means by a turtle?
“What kind of turtle, Bean?” He said with a smug all-knowing Santa smile.
“Actually, a Red-eared slider turtle. A real one, of course.” She enthusiastically replied. She turned to me and pointed to Santa. “He’s still talking to me!” She giggled with happiness.
I admit, I was charmed by her sweetness. Charmed by the ease in which she named a real turtle that inhabits rivers and streams throughout the central USA. And charmed that her doubt had been replaced by unbridled excitement. Up to this point, Sir or Madam, Santa had done very well indeed. But then…
“A real one?” He asked. Again, I ask you, is this kind of question necessary? For the Love of God. She was nodding. “Well, since you have been such a good girl this year, and if you promise to leave me a chocolate chip cookie with chocolate milk, I will bring you a red-eared slider turtle, Bean. Ho Ho Ho!”
Excuse me, what was that?
“A real one?” She asked while trying to stifle happy tears.
“Of course!” Then the bastard in red winked at me. “HO HO HO!” He said heartily.
WTF? Sir or Madam, I am sorry for the outburst. BUT WTF??? Of Course???
Since when does Santa promise to bring real pets? I did NOT get that memo.
We walked away from Santa then. She with a new hero and I in total disgust.
Happiness beamed from her every pore, and as we walked out of the mall, she said “Thank You so much for taking me to Santa Mommy! That was the best!! He talked to me! He’s bringing me a real turtle! Even you won’t let me get a real turtle! He knew my name! You were right, he wasn’t a stranger! I know you said I shouldn’t but I would talk to him even if he wasn’t wearing clothes!”
Oh. My. God.
Sir or Madam, please consider this my first of many complaints. I am sure that over the years this day will serve to ruin me somehow. And on the day after Christmas, while children everywhere bask in the glory of Santa, if in the alley behind Santa’s workshop you find a naked man in a throne-like chair holding a turtle, you will have been warned.
Regards,
Mom in hell
Happy Thanksgiving!
Yesterday I had a great Thanksgiving. I stayed in my jammies all day. I only cooked for four adults and my little daughter. I kept a fire in the fireplace all day, even if that meant turning on the AC to keep the house from reaching an interior temp of 90 degrees. After all, it’s not actual fireplace weather here in the desert, but I can make it so in my own house.
Last night, after my parents left, my hubbie, daughter and I snuggled in on the couch to watch my daughter’s favorite thing…pretty girls in princess dresses singing. The Celtic Women have a Chistmas show out on PBS. They put on quite a show with a full orchestra and a huge choir. There are four featured singers and one designated violin player that take turns singing and strolling about in gowns.
My daughter was enthralled at Away in a Manger. She was leaning forward, hanging on every sung word from the pretty girl singer wearing a princess dress. It was beautifully sung. It brought tears to my eyes to see how much she was enjoying the show.
Away in a manger, no crib for his bed. The little lord jesus lay down his sweet head…
By the second verse, my sweet daughter looked up at me with her beautiful blue eyes and whispered, as to not interfere with my tearful happiness, “Mama? Why are they singing about cheese sauce?”
Apparently, their nearly indistinguishable accent made the word jesus sound like cheese sauce. You know what? I replayed it at least 3 times and I literally believe that she is singing about cheese sauce.
I love it when happy tears are replaced by hysterical laughter.
Big Shock
I am nearly done with my short story to submit to eHarlequin. However, I have surprised myself yet again. (mom and any children under 18, please stop reading now…)
It appears that no matter how hard I try, I end up writing smut. People often ask me what I write. And though it’s technically romance, I respond ‘Smut, of course.’ Because the gutter is where I always end up.
I called Amylynn to let her know I needed to submit it to two different places. First and foremost, eHarlequin’s Historical Undone ebook line, because it is a historical set in England in the 1800’s. And because that is where I meant for it to go. But as usual, with me, it appears I need to look for a second, alternative ebook publisher as well. Just in case. So, I told Amylynn, I need to do a search for publishers wanting Whore-ish Historical Tarts.
My Lila (the heroine in the story) has a lot of good qualities. Unfortunately, nobody will know about them because almost every scene has her pouty lips somewhere on the duke in question. And he is no better…trust me.
I am ten pages shy of the end and I don’t think they have had a real conversation. But like all good romances, there will be happily ever after. Really.
But it will probably involve Lila’s gown up over her head.
I know…
I would just like to post a brief comment on my lack of comments lately. But before I comment, I would like to thank Amylynn for posting daily and Ava for posting regularly-ish. A girl could really not have two better sisters.
I have no genuine excuse for my lack of postability. I have, however, learned something valuable about myself.
I have the attention span of a gnat. On a good day. When there is a rotten banana nearby.
This is not to say that i can’t multi-task. I am an expert multi-tasker. But I recently left a job that I had been doing for nearly 7 years and started a new, shiny, FUN job, that, as it happens, takes considerably less time and emotional capacity than the old ball and chain that I used to have. So why am I not writing?
Oh…I am. I have made considerable progress on a lingering short story that I can’t wait to share. And also plugged in many new pages in my novel. And started a new project with Amylynn that is extremely top secret. But I have neglected the Quill Sisters Site. And for that I am regrettably guilt laden.
So once again, in case you missed it in my rambling comment about my lack of commenting, THANK YOU to my sisters for keeping this site fun and alive. THANK YOU for bringing countless hits everyday to the real world of a writer. And THANK YOU for always having my back and feeding me cupcakes. You 2 are the best…
RIP
Never fear Amylynn. Self recrimination due to extreme humiliation is not far away with me around. Note to self (and any other potential would-be-moronic-masqueraders)….Do NOT, under any circumstances, no matter how badly you think you want to, take a 4 year old with a mild fever who is appropriately asleep in the jogging stroller she outgrew, the demonic poodle and a bottle of water out for a stroll on a seemingly mild, 80 degree day in the desert. At 1pm. Well, technically not the desert per se, but a trail overlooking the desert. Oh, and did I mention I have a mild fever of my own? It was just a sore throat this morning, but now I fear I have a full blown case of Ebola. Apparently physical exertion while fighting Ebola is a bad thing.
Did I also mention that my archaic jogging stroller (which, I will admit, has never reached jogging speed in it’s entire existence) has a pesky flat tire that requires more sweet talk and pumping than any man alive? Getting the full picture here?? And of course I was wearing my Quill Sisters t-shirt just to round out the whole experience.
I wasn’t actually alarmed until I made it about a mile away then curved around on a section of trail I had never been on before. I had just been thinking that the walk wasn’t the best idea, but with the poodle trotting along and the sweet girl asleep, I had figured I could push through.
Apparently, I had been going downhill the whole way. What’s even more amazing? I didn’t even know there were hills where I live. But from the bottom, looking up at a slope the entire direction towards home, I apparently had hiked down Kilimanjaro.
And one more tasty tidbit as I began the climb home…it was also windy. And I had just turned into it. My poodle does not do well in the wind. He seems to think every ruffle of his fur is an attack from an unseen boogey-man. He jumps in the air and spins 360 degrees. And barks at me. He refuses to walk forward and pulls backward on the leash as if I am asking him to walk over flames. If not for my daughter’s love of the brain-damaged fur ball, I may have released him into the desert and chalked it up to the fever.
I really wish I could tell you the rest. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I need to get my sleep before HAZMAT shows up to evacuate my house. Be assured that there was swearing, poodle hijinks, cursing, tire pumping, small rests in the frugal, selfish shade of barrel cacti, much water drinking and more swearing.
I had never been so happy to see my house. The poodle had gotten tossed into the basket under the stroller somewhere on the trail because he absolutely refused to budge. And my little daughter snoozed the whole way, in the shade, with her favorite blankie as a pillow.
It was nice knowing everyone. I bequeath my unfinished stories to my sisters, Ava and Amylynn.
