Credit

First, THANK YOU to everyone who commented on the previous post. It's lovely. And still a little weird to realize I have written three novels now.

Second, I gotta give credit where credit is due. Yes, I wrote the damn thing. No, I'm not minimizing that. But seriously...


Apprus, who is the Southern Gentleman that I turned for when I needed Southern Gentlemanliness. He was able to answer questions from emotions to sex to movies. If my hero is accurate in any way, Appsrus is why.





And my critique group, who became my critique group without any of us even realizing it, I think:

Crow, who continues to be indispensable. Period.










The Divine M, who's emails ran from plaintive to motivating to flat out demanding as she asked "Where are my pages?" Nothing keeps one quite as motivated to write as knowing the Divine M is waiting for her pages.





Dennis R. How I ever wrote a story or novel or a sentence without knowing him is beyond me.



And always, the FE, for being there during the icky times

Yes, I wrote it. Would I, could I, have written it without them? Yep. But it wouldn't have been as easy, as fun, as good, or as timely without them.

I'd say more but it'd get embarrassing.

Those are Pobble Thoughts and Pobble Thanks. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ or whatever the five of them would like.

(ed. note ~ All these images are copyrighted by someone who's not me. Thank you to them, as well, for their use here. And in case you were wondering, those aren't the real people they are meant to represent. Appsrus is far more handsome and Dennis R may be a POC, but his C isn't green. Nor is he an amphibian ~ not that there's anything wrong with being an amphibian...some of my best friends are amphibians...)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just sent the next book to the publisher!!!!!!!!!!!!

And wanted y'all to know first.



Those are Pobble Thoughts and me doing the Pobble Hop! That and a buck fifty will get you champagne at my place tonight.

I Admit, It's Tempting

Rarely am I the least bit intrigued by the spam that comes into my spam box. With subject lines like "HII" and "Viagra For Free" they just aren't usually that interesting. However, if I was going to open one, it would be the one I received today:

"Use mind to improve your fang"

Come on, you gotta admit ~ it's tempting.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

My Toast

Whenever I am with my friends or Lithus or anywhere else for that matter and someone raises a glass for a toast, I make the toast and then quietly, subtly lift my glass skyward. Just a little. It's easy to miss if you don't know I do it or aren't looking for it. But I do it. Every. Single. Time.

There was a time when I insisted on the first toast of every evening include my toast. I've loosened up on that requirement as it got time consuming to explain, remind, butt in. Still, the first toast of the evening, I raise my own glass and think "to Gino and Cleve and Gary and Greg."

Eleven years ago today, I nearly died. I don't mean that in an oooh that was close kind of way. I'm not being melodramatic or overreactive. Memorial Day of 1998, I went into anaphylactic shock at the Marriott at DisneyWorld. The SGM and I closed ourselves away from My then 5 year old Heart so he wouldn't be scared of me I was so swollen and unrecognizable. While I could still talk, I was wandering around saying "I am not an animal." Then it stopped being funny. I don't remember much of it. The last thing I remember clearly is looking at the SGM and saying "don't let me go."

The hotel sent two men from their Loss Prevention department. Gino and Cleve. Eugenio Francisco and Cleveland...Lyndon? Little (although I think that's probably running together with Clevon Little in my head). L-something though. (Addendum ~ Lyndsey. His name is Cleveland Lyndsey) They held my hand. They talked to me. They got the EMTs there. Gary and Greg. Orlando sent two response teams and these guys were the leaders of each. They could barely get a pulse. They couldn't get a response. They couldn't get a blood pressure. I was dying.

All the while, my family is out in the other room of the suite, praying. The SGM is with me, talking to me, not letting me go. And Gino and Cleve and Gary and Greg are doing ~ whatever they were doing that was keeping me alive.

Then the epinephrine kicked in. It didn't send me into cardiac arrest as I was told later they were concerned it might. I started being able to breathe on my own. This is when I start having vague images and memories again.

There was one more moment in the ambulance. Gary explained he was going to give me a shot of benedryl and to let him know if I had an adverse reaction. I assured him I could handle benedryl. I turned and said "See, I'm feeling just..." and I gasped for air. You know in movies when a character suddenly arches her back and gasps, eyes wide, completely out of control of her body and breathing? I know how that feels for real. He cranked the oxygen up and pounded on the ambulance saying "don't dawdle." The lights and sirens went on.

I don't know why it was important to me to know their names. I know it was. I asked all four of them, over and over again until I remembered them. Gino and Cleve and Gary and Greg.

For years after, I sent flowers to the hotel for Gino and Cleve on Memorial Day. Then one year, they weren't working there any longer. But I still remember. And every single night a toast is made, I lift my glass to the four of them.

If anyone happens to know these guys, Gino and Cleve who were on duty with Loss Prevention at the Marriott or Gary and Greg, who led two of Orlando's EMT response teams, on Memorial Day 1998, tell 'em I still remember. And thanks.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ and eleven more years to toast the men who saved your life.

I Want...

A blogger I read, Rose, over at Lessons Learned, had up a very simple post the other day. It wasn't a meme or a tag. Just a post. It listed a handful of things she wants. It got me thinking...

I want adventure.
I want to find adventure where others miss it.
I want to travel to mundane places and extraordinary ones.
I want the mundane places and the extraordinary ones to be the same places.
I want to wake up next to my dear Lithus more often than I don't.
I want all my family together in one place occasionally.
I want the kids in my life to be happy and healthy.
I want enough money to not worry where the next payment comes from.
I want to get back into my size 12s ~ with the occasional foray into a 10.
I want to see Appsrus again.
I want continued happiness.
I want to laugh.
I want to live life rather than to just mark time.
I want, at the end of it all, to see my father and grandfather.

It's a good list, I think. What do you want?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Needs Glasses

As I mentioned in my last post, I need glasses. They are really just for reading, driving and computer work but...umm...yeah. This is me, after all. So, apparently, I won't be in my glasses when I'm bathing and asleep. Got it.

However, it is me we're talking about. So I got these:




Otherwise, really, what's the point?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the News...

Sadly, this does not continue with an upbeat love (sex) song. With a stretch of time in Mexico ahead of me, I decided to go get everything medical that might need poking, prodding, looking at, gone over or otherwise examined poked, prodded, looked at, gone over and otherwise examined. Physical? Check. Blood work? Excellent. Girl parts? Healthy. First ever mammogram? Not bad at all (although I get why it could be an unhappy experience for women not of a certain size). Eyes? In need of glasses, but we knew that. Teeth?

Damn.

I've had a hollow feeling in a lower left molar for a while now. Turns out the silver filling I got back when I was ten or something is beginning to crack. Apparently, they have a shelf life and I've reached it. This has nothing to do with my oral hygiene, I am assured. Still...dude...

So give a call this afternoon if you want a laugh because they're numbing me up. Should make for interesting conversation. At least they sent me home to have lunch before.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Standing Up

For those of you unaware, there has been a veritable brouhaha in cyberspace for the past several weeks (bordering on months) that has been aptly named RaceFail09. From what I understand ~ because I don't hang out in forums or chat rooms to have witnessed it in real time ~ it started innocently enough when a discussion arose about white Sci Fi-Fantasy authors writing nonwhite characters. Could it be done? Should it be done? Must it be done? What was the author's responsibility to the POCs' communities to get it right? And then, as so often happens, instead of continued conversation and discussion about race, it devolved. This is the point, for the record, that I became aware of RaceFail09 and started following it myself.

The name calling started. The defensive moves came out of the playbook. The deflection began. Reasonable concerns and responses to the issue were shot down as overreaction, "simple" misunderstanding and (my favorite) ungratefulness. (is that a word? it is now.) I was amazed with the pain and anger that was totally disregarded by authors, that was considered acceptable collateral damage while defending their own right to write shallow, token characters.

Finally, there was the statement that POC hadn't been fans of speculative fiction prior to the internet and insinuation that (in one's best condescending tone) oh it's just so wonderful that they can even be a part of the debate. Which was followed closely by a not-terribly-veiled attempt to take credit for creating fen of color. Which is where Fen Of Color_United was born.

Today, POC who grew up fans of sci-fi, fantasy, speculative fiction, choose your descriptor, long before the internet made it available to them are standing up today to be counted. To say check your priviledge ~ I've been here as long as you have.

Now, before anybody goes and gets really stupid...I'm white. I know I'm white. You know I'm white. I'm also a sci fi reader from way back, raised by a sci fi reader who was raised by a sci fi reader. I once ended up with a boyfriend because I was able to recognize a completely out of context and very obscure sci fi quote. And I'm a writer who takes her craft seriously. Who understands that the whole world and my whole readership doesn't share my skin color or ethnicity. Who understands that I must research and understand POC characters and who gets that I will still sometimes get it wrong. When I do, it's not my place to be offended when my inaccuracies are pointed out to me but to learn and write a better character next time.

And I stand in support.

So here I am. FOC_U.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Lionel Update

Well...

His liver is going bad. His kidneys are going bad. His heart murmur is getting worse. There's something happening with his back legs. The seizure was a grand mal. His cholesterol is sky high (which, in case you don't know, in dogs means there is a major underlying condition).

And yet his spirit is as strong as ever. His eyes are as bright. He loves his cheese, his sunny spot and demanding to be put on the futon. He's as likely to get away from me in the yard as he is to head right up the step and announce he is ready to go back inside.

At this point, the vet doesn't suggest in any way that it is time to put him down. In two weeks...who knows. For now, though, we're hanging out, having lots of mommy and baby snuggle time and making sure life is full of cheese, sunny spots and naps on the futon.




Those are slightly less sad Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Lionel

He isn't doing well. Today was his 6 month check up ~ and he had a seizure. Lithus saw him have a stroke one day ~ but then he was fine. There've been a couple times when I thought "that's not right" but, within 24 hours, he was always fine again, so I thought I was seeing things or overreacting. I guess not.

We're running blood tests. Depending on what they find, we'll do some imagining. But he's sixteen and a half. He's had a great few years with me. I just want him to have a great few more, is all.

We're supposed to go to Mexico to be with Lithus. He's supposed to bask in the warmth of the Mexican sun. I'm supposed to get him doggles for when we are exploring, him in my lap, wind blowing his ears. And I really want him to see Lithus again because he loves his Mr. Lithus. I'm not ready for anything else.

I just bought puppy pads to see us through the end of the month. And a new flat of food. And Lithus has found a store that sells his dog food and checked to make sure the airline will take him in the cabin with me.

I feel very alone right now.

4:13 A.M.

I just emailed my finished manuscript to myself.

It's done.

Yes, there are final edits to be written. Yes, there are sex scenes to be written. Yes, there is punctuation to be double-checked.

Bottom line is, I have written, edited, and rewritten 250 pages in 70 days.

It's done. As of 4:13 A.M. Life's good.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.