Workshop Updates

Today is the last day to register for "Beyond Research: Fact and Fiction for the Historical Romance Author," my online workshop hosted by the Southern Tier Authors of Romance chapter of RWA. Here are the details.

And in fantastically good news, my workshop proposals for the RWA national conference in July were accepted. If you're attending Nationals, look for me in:

High-Octane Kisses: Writing Action with Heart
Featuring Ann Aguirre, Elizabeth Naughton, and agent Laura Bradford

and

The Billionaire Tycoon's Secret Promotional Baby:
Making the Most of Online Marketing
Featuring Ann Aguirre, Barbara Caridad Ferrer, Jane Litte, and SB Sarah
Yay for us! Hope you'll join us--and that we'll have something useful to say!

Friday Round-Up

Hello, hello. So after a flurry of posts last week, apparently I decided to hide under a bed this week. Not so. Just been busy and distracted.

Yesterday and Wednesday, Juliette attended school at the local academy we're considering for her first grade. She's much braver than I would've been. I walked her to the office where the admissions director was waiting, then she looked up at me, lips puckered for a kiss, and said bye! But she was very tired come the end of the day. Not only is their school day an hour longer, but the stress of being in a new place with all new people must've worn on her. She'd about chewed a hole in the skin below her lower lip, which is her big-time compulsion when she's nervous.

She did fine, or so the teachers and the admissions director tell me. They think she's very collected and mature, and she's exceedingly creative. Yup.

Ilsa, meanwhile, has been thriving since we started giving her the iron supplements. In fact, she vexes me on a daily basis, so full of new, uncontrolled energy. It's taken most of January for us to get to know this new girl. I mean, I thought she was perky and sweet before. Now the perky borders on mental, and we get into more fights. It's like she's on overdrive all the time and hasn't found a means of harnessing her new-found power. So yay for iron.

Otherwise, we've just been doing normal stuff. I had a Chicago North meeting on Monday night, where I started as manuscript chair. Basically that means I wrangle and keep order during our group critique sessions. The only difficult part is that, as a point of courtesy, the moderator doesn't offer critique. I have to sit on my tongue all through a session, which I didn't quite manage to do on Monday. Next time, maybe!

I'm working on a new historical project set in Victorian times and in various places around the world. All I've written in the last year is proposals, which means one day, when faced with a deadline for a real book, I won't know what the hell I'm doing. It's bizarre. But hopefully I'll have some good news soon. We're working on it, but the business moves slow enough as it is without the economy to scare everyone into deep, deep holes.

Have a good weekend. I'll leave you with my favorite song of January, "Grounds for Divorce" by Elbow. I've enjoyed their music ever since Keven found them as kittens singing "Independent Woman", but this new album is exceedingly good. Glad to see them getting wide ranging recognition.

Mom, you might like rocking out to this one. Wait for the big fat guitar part.

I Heart Captain Tightpants

I know I've been MIA for a few days, but I've been sucked into Facebook. Meet me there if you care to. Otherwise, here's something shiny to ponder:

Nathan Fillion is this generation's Bruce Campbell. Discuss.

What Did He Say?

Have you ever heard a song and thought the lyrics said one thing, only to discover, later, that not only are the lyrics wrong, but the ones you came up with are more intriguing?

I've done that exactly three times, that I can recall, and wanted to share. It's a weird little glimpse into how my brain works.

First up is "Blood" by The Editors. The line is "cover your lies up with another promise," but I heard it as "toughen your lies up," which is more evocative. I remember being disappointed when I learned the real words, but then I promptly used my version somewhere in WaSW. Can't let goods like that go to waste!

Second is from "Meet Me In the Tower" by Ours, a gorgeous song about wanting to commit suicide. Gotta love the peppy ones! While I heard "I'm like a bruise, soft inside," which spoke to me about the physical and emotional pain expressed in the song, he actually sings the much lamer line, "I'm like a girl, soft inside." Girls are soft inside, yes--but so are boys, Mr. Squishy Guts. No soup for you!

And finally we have my Intriguing Song of the Moment, "Piece of Pie" by Stone Temple Pilots. Messed-up Scott sings, "I killed the manchild," which is actually quite interesting. But I head, "I killed the Magi." What would that even mean, other than a reduction in the number of short stories about ironic yet heartwarming gift giving errors? I can't think of what my brain wanted out of that image, but it's sticking around. It's making me think weird things, things that certainly have nothing to do with historical romance.

So there you go. My three. You have any cool ones to share? Or maybe even goofy ones? No copping out with "'Scuse me while I kiss this guy."

Rihanna's Grammar

I've noticed that Rihanna's songs contain a new contraction that's gaining ground in common speech and online. The word--or maybe it's a phrase--is "I'ma," which is short for "I am going to." Examples are...

In "Breakin Dishes": "I'ma fight a man tonight."
In "Umbrella": "I'ma stick it out to the end."

Before, we had "I'm gonna," but apparently that wasn't short enough for the purposes of writing Afro-Caribbean flavored pop tunes. I'm wondering how long it takes to work into more mainstream speech, and if other ultra contractions are on the way. In the age of texting, twitter, and chat, it's highly likely.

Paperback Hero (1999)

Hugh Jackman (Jack), Claudia Karvan (Ruby), Angie Milliken (Ziggy)

Directed by Antony J. Bowman (hasn't directed anything else of note, but he wrote the book and screenplay it's adapted from)

Summary: An Australian road train driver (long haul trucker) who writes romances novels in secret has just become a bestseller. He convinces his engaged best friend to come with him to Sydney promote the book--coz he chose her name for his pseudonym.

I've wanted to see this for ages because a) Hugh Jackman, long before he was Wolvie famous, and b) the plot sounded right up my alley. However, the film doesn't have US distribution, so it's impossible to find here. I even went so far as to ask for it for Christmas on a Region 2 disk, even thought that meant messing with my computer settings to get it to play.

Luckily, there's YouTube! Finally! Probably for a limited time only, a kindly German posted his/her copy online. If you've ever wanted to see it, now's your chance.

So, yeah, it was cute. But that's about it. The plot line skated just near enough to an actual romance to be intriguing--would they play it straight or tongue-in-cheek--without actually following through with the quality mush. A key moment, when Jack has to go home and face the fallout from his friends, is never portrayed, and neither is the revelation of what happened between Jack and Ziggy in Sydney. Romance novels don't have loose ends, unless those ends are unmarried siblings/cousins/best friends.

What I found most interesting was my almost complete detachment from Hugh Jackman's performance. It's like he found himself by playing Wolverine, and he's never looked back from that harder "look at me" edge. Here he was rather self-effacing and almost camera shy, without the sexy intensity viewers have come to expect from him (or from how others direct him). In other words, the director didn't showcase him as a star, which was a letdown.

Most of the other performances were forgettable bordering on bad. In one panoramic aerial shot, the shadow of the camera helicopter can be seen on the ground. The karaoke scene was cringe-worthy (but I have yet to see a karaoke scene that isn't). And the editing, in parts, sucked. In other words, this was an indie film that would've been entirely forgotten without the worldwide fame of its male lead. I liked seeing it if only as a reminder than not every movie released in a given year is polished and ready for the prime time. Some don't need to be, but it challenges our expectations as viewers to see a film that's less-than-Hollywood slick.

Oh, but the first kiss was nice. You don't often see the first kiss being a neck kiss. And I looked up the Eureka flag when I saw it, coz I'm curious that way.

See it for Hugh or to satisfy your curiosity about this oft-discussed flick. Otherwise just gear up for Wolverine later this year. Here's a pic:

Fire Drill!

I was having a nice, very necessary nap on the couch, recovering from a serious headache, while the girls were watching a video. Then...fire alarm! The whole condo alarm system went crazy. Ilsa let loose her Mega Scream of Doom. I jumped off the couch and went to check in the hallway. Sure enough, other grown-ups were checking the hallway. We shrugged at each other.

I thought that no matter what was happening, it would be a good opportunity to teach the girls about proper fire drill procedure. So they got on their boots and coats. Dork that I am, I grabbed my slip-on Skechers and my BGSU sweatshirt, thinking it wouldn't take long.

Outside, no smoke. But there were other bleary-eyed folks. Any adult home at 3pm probably works some sort of night/evening job, and two of them admitted to having been asleep. I must've looked more alert, by just a bit, because they asked me what was going on. No clue.

Then came the firefighters. As the girls and I climbed up to the sidewalk to see the trucks--we have a recessed open air parking lot at the rear of our building--I noticed a shit load of water coming off the west end of the roof, specifically the northwest corner condos. Water. Streaming. Everywhere. It was inside the patio glass, inside the living room window, and streaming down the external bricks.

Engine #1 and #2 didn't notice it; they drove around to the communal garage on the other side. Engine #3 and the ambulance came around our way and noticed our gap-mouthed stares. Along with another resident--Anna, who'd just moved in last month and didn't yet have renter's insurance!--I pointed out the obvious. Too much frickin' water.

My Skechers feet and sweatshirt arms were freezing. A firefighter offered the use of the ambulance to keep warm, so Anna, the girls and I climbed in. Very toasty! And frankly, I'd never been in an ambulance before and was curious. If I'd needed to be, I wouldn't be so observant as I was today. The paramedic gave the girls each a Beany Baby, which they've since named Ambi and Lance.

Turns out a pipe burst in the attic above the northwestern-most unit, resulting in a two-foot flood. Because of a slight grade in the floor, it sloped toward the corner, resulting in the flood we witnessed and saving other condos from damage--well, except for the ones below it. The first floor unit is empty, but the 2nd floor is occupied. They're gonna have a sucky evening when they get home. The firefighters called for non-emergency equipment to shunt the water toward the balconies, as well as more shovels to push it out. Gah! Horror!

That woman Anna was on the phone to her boyfriend before we even got out of the ambulance, asking him to make renter's insurance calls before the end of the work day. She was on the other side of the building, luckily. That said, our storage unit is on the flooded side, in the basement, and I haven't been allowed to go down there yet. I'm suddenly going through in my head to see what might be ruined. Oh, geez. We'll see.

But at least it wasn't a fire, and it least it wasn't our unit. And through it all, the experience showed the girls how to behave in a real emergency.

UPDATE: The storage stuff was fine. I also met the guy who lives on 2nd floor. He said the whole living room is wasted. Poor dude.

Keven Says: Build Your Own Playmobil Fascist Police State

I love Playmobil. They've been helping me create little plastic worlds of pirates and race cars since I was about five. They're branching out though. Now they allow you to create a fantastic totalitarian police state, step-by-step...

Start by planting restrictions on those entering and leaving your Playmobil country by purchasing the Playmobil Security Check Point.

Then, after making certain any undesirables are outside Playmobiland, it's important to keep track of those left inside your fiefdom via the Playmobil Police Checkpoint.

Now all your little plastic subjects are under the constant threat of being stopped and searched by plastic paramilitaries, but some plastic people are threats to your Orwellian utopia. It's then that you have to bring out the armed Playmobil SWAT Helicopter with searchlights for hunting plastic revolutionaries in the hills or forests. Then you can use your Playmobil SWAT Police Craft to capture those trying to escape via the sea.

When you do capture these enemies of the state, you can put them in your Police "Rescue" Police Van--a "rescue" van that doesn't seem to include any rescue gear, but it does have a trained killer dog and a large cage.

Have fun, kids!

[Editor's note: Comments by Keven Lofty in the "Keven Says" column do not necessarily reflect the opinions of his dear and patient wife, who is now scared to visit homes containing little boys.]

3:10 to Yuma (2007)

Russell Crowe (Ben Wade), Christian Bale (Dan Evans), Logan Lerman (William Evans)

Directed by James Mangold (Walk the Line)

Summary: a poor rancher (Bale) becomes a hired gun to bring a stagecoach robber (Crowe) to justice. Much violence ensues. I'll include several rugged man pics.

I haven't done a review in ages, but this one compelled me to rant.

On occasion, movie critics get all in on themselves and make a big deal out of certain phenomena, but not others. For example, when Robert De Niro and Al Pacino recently reteamed in Righteous Kill, lots of folks suffered conniptions. Oh, oh, oh, best actors of their generation going head to head...about 30 years to late!

Yet did anyone hear much about the key performances in 3:10 to Yuma? Despite how I think Russell Crowe is an arrogant so-and-so, he and Christian Bale are among the best actors of their generation (and dare I say it, of my generation). These are actors in their prime--tested, weathered, and amazing, but not so old that any buzz generated about their current project borders on nostalgia.

Watching them in 3:10 is like watching a very tense, often violent chess match. They are exquisite. Bale's accent is better, but Crowe's naturalism reminds me a great deal of Robert Downey Jr., all charm and utter ease. There's no way this guy is acting! Every line sounds fresh, as if improv, not a script, gives him voice. Absolutely brilliant, both of them, even when the plot veered slightly off the rails--ha, ha, coz it's a movie about a train--and into the realm of manly sentimentality.

I'll be talking the same riff when Public Enemies comes out soon, pitting Bale against Johnny Depp. God, it's like dark chocolate-covered-man awesomeness.

But then let's bring in the supporting cast. Who the hell is Ben Foster? Apparently he was Archangel in Brett Ratman's excremental X-Men III. Let's not hold that against him, shall we? He's young, only 28, but inhabits badboy Charlie Prince like a lizard in his slimy, clinging skin. When was the last time you saw a lackey motivated by homosexual feelings, who remains utterly sharp, evil, and strong? Not to say homosexuality is evil, or that the villainous portrayal of such is particularly original, but the motive for his character makes perfect sense--to be honest, he runs with the most genuine motivation in the whole film. Foster was able to instill what could've been a mincing, weak stereotype with cold, single-minded bloodlust, making his character entirely believable and seriously bone-chilling.

I think the marketing people understood the impact and dark charisma of his character, because they featured him on the theater preview poster:


Let's go back to Bale's character, a down-on-his-luck rancher who wants to become a hero in his son's eyes. Fair enough. But for the most part, he's not a heroic character. The heroism is, paradoxically, a cowardly sort that means upholding his pride, accomplishing what no one else could do, and leaving his family vulnerable. He defined heroism on being able to provide for his family--at least in his rhetoric, and in his initial motivation--but that became an increasingly thin excuse as the time of reckoning arrived. The complexity of such a man, who is by all appearances heroic yet, beneath it all, a coward at heart, will have me thinking for days. None of my conclusions will bode well for his character, but it does make me all the more appreciative of Christian Bale's performance.


(He and Guy Pearce need to have a competition for grimiest western cowboy type with the sharpest cheekbones. They can duke it out. I'd pay money.)


However, the same cannot be said of poor Alan Tudyk. I love me some Wash, but he doesn't exactly blend in this here western. Newcomer Logan Lerman was particularly good, so I look forward to seeing him in future roles, but the same cannot be said for poor whatever-happened-to Gretchen Mol--as limp as ever. And if I were Jane Fonda, I wouldn't want brother Peter running around making movies portraying grizzled old bastards, because it would only remind folks that she's actually three years his senior.

Overall James Mangold, who has directed a diverse bunch of films including Girl, Interrupted, Cop Land, Kate & Leopold, and the brilliantly underrated Identity, deserves whatever project he lands next. This was a tense, skillful drama and let the actors do their jobs. Moments of beautiful dramatic touches, such as the trian's heartbeat during the finale, did not go unappreciated as I watched--but I call bullshit on green pears being shot during the final chase.

Pears. In Arizona. In the summer. During a drought.

But nothing, not the direction or the quirky motivations or the occasional gaffe, held a candle to the power certain men have to command every scene they're in.

From the Address

I loved this reference to Valley Forge. Gorgeous.

So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

"Let it be told to the future world...that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it]."

America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

Good Morning, Mr. President

Tooth!

Juliette lost her first tooth. She must've been playing with it last night because she told me about it first thing this morning, and then we found it among the bedsheets. (Already a test of the Tooth Fairy's existence, because little miss fairy thing should've known, right?)

I'm really glad, because I have this thing against wobbly teeth. Something about the vein. ICK. Seriously, I won't go anywhere near them, so I was glad she seemed more than willing to do the wiggling and the yanking. *shiver* But it was time--the new tooth is already poking out. She won't have a gap for long.

I'm off to the Montessori in Racine today, yet another school to audition for Juliette's upcoming first grade year. I visit the last one on Thursday, and then we'll have a choice to make. Wait. Now I'm feeling a good deal older than I was a few minutes ago. Those combination of sentences are particularly aging.

Baby Food Barons, Complete and Online

If you missed our December pastiche The Italian Gourmet-Baby-Food Baron's Ironically Pregnant Virgin Mistress, or if you want to read it again without bouncing across eight websites, I've compiled a PDF of the entire story here on Scribd. Have fun! We did!

MLK on the Mountaintop

I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

Hold on Tight

Another fun time we had in England was when we took a day trip into London. After a bit of a snafu with the train tickets, which was courteously resolved once we reached Waterloo, we headed to The Science Museum--yes, that's its official name.

Last time we were over for Christmas, we tried the Natural History Museum, which was intensely packed with people. The Brits have this thing about, gasp!, free admission to many of their museums. Great idea. Very proletariat. But the proletariat happens to contain a lot of prols. The Natural History Museum was packed two years ago, and The Science Museum was no different this time.

Ilsa was in full-blown mommy attachment mode. I called her a lamprey. She wouldn't let go of my hand the entire trip. Keven's attempt to extract her from my company resulted in a) tears, and b) Ilsa's informing him that she loved me more. At that point I didn't give a good goddamn how much she loved me. I really could've used some space or, at the very least, some time with Juliette.

We ate lunch in the basement cantina, managing to score a table (thru subterfuge and cunning) while others had to eat on the floor. There were so very many people. Afterward, we tried to get into an attraction called "The Garden," which was like a very tiny children's museum full-to-the-fire-hazard-brim with kids and utterly deadfaced parents. I know we were all there to make family memories and such, but many of the memories I saw being played out across adult faces were not pleasant ones. Is it a stiff upper lip thing? I don't know. But after a while, I just needed air.

A break: Ilsa and I went into a bathroom stall together. Of course we did. I told you she was exceedingly clingy. Anyway, she informed me that I have "a giant bum." She then proceeded to make her arms into two globe shapes to demonstrate how big my bum is.

I said, "I don't want a giant bum."

"Too bad, mommy."

"What about you? One day you'll have a giant bum."

"That's right. But now my bum is tiny."


Anyway, we exited and went on toward Big Ben, strolled down the Thames, and crossed over to get in the queue for our scheduled ride on The Eye. We'd purchased tickets online, which saved a great deal of frosty weather waiting.

The girls were very, very excited about going up on "the big slow Ferris wheel," but I only hoped they wouldn't freak once we were onboard. No problems there. They were great. Ilsa and I knelt together looking over the Thames toward the buildings of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. The sun was setting right behind Westminster so that the light glowed through the upper stained glass windows. I'm not a religious person, but that was a very special and rather divine moment. Absolutely breathtaking.

Speaking of breathtaking, poor Keven. He's become rather terrified of heights in his olden age. Linda took a picture of him where his hands are gripped tight around the wooden slats of the central bench. "I was fine for the first 30 feet," he mentioned afterward. I didn't spend too much time with him because his expression said he'd be a complete killjoy.

We rode on a merry-go-round afterward, about the fastest I've ever been on. I sat behind Ilsa on a horse, naturally. Trevor rode alongside Juliette and very often repeated the words, "Juliette, hold on!" I thought it was cute--grandad getting to be in the Position of Fear and Authority for a few moments. The horses all featured painted names on their necks, with the girls' rides named modern, urban creations like Leshon and Zanika. However, and this was bizarre, there were horses named Linda (Kev's mom), Kathleen (my mom), and Dorinda (my dad's little sister)--a strange mix of old and new and very unusual.

After a lulling train ride back to Surrey, we all collapsed from the exhaustion of the day. A good excursion, overall, although I don't think we'll be heading to a free museum over the Christmas break next time.

Battle of the Falsettos, Round One

I love a good falsetto. Perhaps that explains why I'm such a fan of Scandinavian pop music, because so many of their popular male singers are really exceptional falsettos. Here are two of my favorites. Have a listen and cast your vote!

First up, singing "Laid," is (former) cutiepie Tim Booth of James. But I must object: this is a censored version. They've dubbed the word "sings" over "cums." That doesn't even make any sense!


Timmy is pitted against the mega-falsetto for the ages, le gorgeous Morten Harket of A-Ha singing "Stay on These Roads." Ha. You thought I was going to say "Take On Me," didn't you?


I'll continue until I run out of lovelies to share. Feel free to make suggestions about your favorite testicularly-clamped male singers.

The Doctor Said it Best

"Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once, everybody lives!"


And check out Doug's comments on heroism vs. skill. Very insightful.

The RITAs Are Here!

I got my selection of RITA books in the mail yesterday. So exciting! It's fun to HAVE to read a bit from other genres, and dipping my toe elsewhere will definitely help rejuvenate my love for historicals, with which I've been a bit disenchanted of late.

But more importantly, in order to judge RITAs, a writer has to be qualified to enter RITAs. Somewhere out there, five other published authors are either loving or hating my dear WaSW. It's neat to contemplate. So in essence, judging for this industry-wide contest is a small indicator of my career progress. I'm doing something this year that I didn't get to do last year, and I like that feeling.

I know a lot of people have issues with the RITAs and with the larger body of RWA, but I've nothing but benefitted from being a member, and I like that we have this opportunity to participate in defining what quality romance looks like.

Oh, and it's -12 right now (-24C). Sheesh!

Snow Days

Snow days for kids: AWESOME!

Snow days for grown-ups: SHIT!

School's already been canceled for tomorrow. Not only will this wreck my productivity, I have a dental appointment that's already been pushed back by two months because of previous scheduling conflicts. So the girls will be coming with me. Watch me try and shout at them with my mouth full of fluoride and flossers. But yeah, the high tomorrow is 0(F) with 25mph winds. Damn winter.

Here, watch Daniel Craig be adorably nervous. I'm gonna go sulk.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Daniel Craig

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

Oh, Yes It Is: Panto!

One of the best things we did while in England was to see my first pantomime, or panto. It was the girls' first time, too, but forget them. I had a blast.

We saw Aladdin starring Coronation Street's Bradley Walsh at the lovely New Victoria Theatre in Woking, Surrey. Linda did a great job getting our seats, in that we were dead center in the first row of non-posh seats. The view was fantastic, the seats comfy, and the concessions typically English. What is it with eating ice cream whenever they can?

Not that I got any, Keven. Humph.

What I found interesting about watching the performance with the girls is that this was their first live theater experience. Ilsa was particularly concerned about the villain. "He's just playing a bad guy, right?" Seems that the presence of a real-life person who might possibly be a real-life bad guy was a bit disconcerting. Juliette thought the whole thing was too loud and kept her hands over her ears for most of the time.

Because audience participation is such a big part of panto, there are generally two groups of people going bananas in show of support. The first is the older children, say ages 8-13 (under eight is not rowdy enough, at least not for girls, and over 13--well, teenagers are too cool for that shit). The second is the parents of young children as we indoctrinate the younger ones and encourage them to get over their shyness/fear. So I hissed and shouted "Oh, no it isn't" and sang along like mad. It's actually quite freeing and imbues a surprisingly strong sense of communal spirit.

The dancers were great, the scene production and costuming was surprisingly elaborate and top-notch, and when things went wrong--which they seemed to do quite a lot, even to the point where Bradley Walsh thanked us for bearing with them through the cock-ups--the actors were first-rate in their ability to improvise and make everyone laugh.

As I held Ilsa on my lap for the finale sing-off (we were assigned "When the Saints Go Marching In" and clearly roasted the left side of the theater), I got a little weepy. I enjoyed it so much--and despite their initial trepidations, the kids had a brilliant time too--so I thought that we must continue this tradition and see another one when we're in England for Christmas again in two years. My mind started doing the math: Juliette would be 8 and Ilsa 7; then Juliette would be 10 and Ilsa 9; then Juliette would be 12 and Ilsa 11--and then they'd be too old to want to see some dumb old panto!

I got weepy!

Then I hugged the five-year-old in my lap all that much harder and sang until she told me I was hurting her ears. Good times.

Word Count!

Today I hit my word count goal for the first time since before Christmas break. Feels good to be back, even though I'm behind on the schedule I imagined I'd be on by now. No matter. Progress is progress. Now here's a lovely and decadent picture of the oh-so-naughty Robert Downey Jr. He has bad things on his mind.
Don't get me started. It's just one of those things, like feeling compelled to lick peanut butter off a knife edge after I make the girls a sandwich.

Oh, and the weather sucks.

Ilsa Has Anemia

Turns out that our tiny, finicky eater has severe anemia. I took Ilsa to the doctor on Thursday for her annual check-up, which included FOUR shots. Ouch. Don't even get me started on how much angst that was to endure. The phrase "screaming bloody murder" was coined for half-grown kids suffering the pain--and the days' worth of anticipation--that comes with immunizations.

Anyway, I asked the doctor about her pica tendencies, where she eats gravel and carpet bits and cat litter and vermiculite. Compulsively. That, coupled with her complete reluctance to eat meat, tipped the doc off to the possibility of anemia. We did a hemoglobin check--more pokes!--and found her count to be 7.2. Normal is 12, and blood transfusions are recommended at 7. Eep!

Now she's only a heavy dose iron supplement twice a day, and we've introduced the most disgusting culinary experiment into her diet. See, she hates spicy foods and red meat. That's a problem because a) red meat has a lot of iron, which she needs, and b) most things we cook hamburger in, such as spaghetti and lasagna, are spicy. Our solution? I brown ground beef every night and douse it in honey. She eats it up like crazy.

*Insert sigh of relief*

I figure, well, I don't have to like it! And she's still skinny, down in the 18% percentile for weight, so she could use the extra calories from the honey.

We get her checked again in two months to make sure the anemia is dietary, not genetic, and she'll be on this marvelous diet of iron supplements and honeyed hamburger for the foreseeable future. Good thing she likes that stuff, because dude--so very nasty!

Time and Relative Fitness in Condos

Behold! Our mid-winter, early mid-life crisis machine! Apparently, it travels through time and space, so that's an added bonus. Oh, and it has an iPod dock. Hopefully it won't turn into a pair of very unwieldy, highly guilt-inducing living room speakers.

Chat!

In other self-pimping news, I'll be featured in a chat at Coffee Time Romance on Tuesday, January 13th at 9pm eastern. Joining me will be four other Kensington authors (Tracy Garrett, Kayla Gray, Gina Robinson, and Diana Cosby), where we'll discuss our latest releases and give away free books. Free, I say! Here's the link. I welcome you to stop by and support/harass me as you see fit.

Workshop!

So in a bit of self-pimping, I wanted to let everyone know about my upcoming online workshop available through the STAR (Southern Tier Authors of Romance) chapter of RWA. Here are the details:

Southern Tier Authors of Romance is pleased to offer the first in their 2009 series of online workshops. Registration is now open.

"Beyond Research: Fact and Fiction for the Historical Romance"

Instructor: Carrie Lofty
Dates: February 2–27, 2009
Fee: $20 for RWA members, $25 for non-members
Enrollment Information: Contact Carol Henry
Enrollment Deadline: January 31, 2009

ABOUT THE CLASS

Everyone knows that a good historical romance author does her homework, dutifully trolling available sources and checking every fact. But how do you integrate those juicy details into a steamy, compelling, tear-jerking, rip-roaring novel? Perhaps you’re approaching a new time period or setting, or you’re starting your first historical romance. How much detail is enough? What to keep and what to ditch?

Southern Tier Authors of Romance's online workshops consist of a mix of lectures, exercises and discussions, and are conducted via a private Yahoo group listserv. All writers are welcome. You will be automatically enrolled in the workshop's listserv prior to the class starting date.

ABOUT THE INSTRUCTOR:

Carrie Lofty's debut, WHAT A SCOUNDREL WANTS (Zebra 2008), will be followed by its sequel, SCOUNDREL'S KISS (Zebra 2009). She earned her MA in history from Ohio State University, where she taught American and Latin American History. Now she writes full time and manages the talented authors of Unusual Historicals, a blog she founded in 2006 to celebrate romances set in unusual times and places.

NOTE: Registration for this class begins January 1. Participants may register by PayPal. STAR's new website is in the process of being constructed and at this time does not have the online workshop information listed. Please contact Carol Henry with any questions.

A Small Crush on a Small Man

British women, I ask you: Am I a bit off-kilter for having a crush on Richard Hammond? I hope not. I like how it makes me seem like a cool girl, watching Top Gear. Oh sure, honey, we can watch that car show...if you insist.

Landed

Well, we're back. The flight was considerably better this time around, although we still had scant legroom and barely edible food. At least Ilsa wasn't puking and the flight did what it should: took off on time and, as a bonus, landed 50 minutes early. Hurray! Everything went very smoothly, and we arrived home in time to unpack a bit (just enough to be able to find what we need before work and school tomorrow), eat dinner, get a load of laundry started, and vacuum up the cat-fuzzied living room. I had 72 emails waiting for me. Dude. I'm SO not that popular. Anyway, back to work tomorrow. Over the next few days, I hope to catch up on what we did over the holiday. You know, I posted about Doctor Who but not the details of our fine time. My priorities...they are a wee bit messed up.

Meet No. 11

Yes, the BBC announced today that relative unknown 26-year-old Matt Smith will be replacing David Tennant as the Doctor beginning in spring 2010. My thoughts are...a) I trust Steven Moffat, b) I miss David already, and c) I'll use this post as an excuse to display pics of David and Chris. What do you think?