Crunchy Rice

I had a Chicago North meeting last night. In preparation, I packed the girls' lunches, read aloud to them from the ongoing frightfest that is Roald Dahl's The Witches, and finished the laundry. I also assembled a chicken and rice dish. By the time Keven came home and I was ready to go, the rice still had another 20 minutes to cook. I left thinking everything would be fine.

When I got home, I asked how dinner turned out. Keven made a face and said the rice was weird. "It was kind of crunchy." I asked if there had been liquid left in the pot. Yes, actually. Turns out my choice to use a different pan had affected the cooking time quite dramatically. But Keven didn't cook it a while longer. Nope, he listened to my instructions and served it once the timer went off.

They ate it crunchy.

Last night, tired from the meeting and from driving home, I found this quite upsetting. It seemed proof that no matter how much I did ahead of time, working to make sure things would go smoothly while I was gone--it wasn't enough. Why did I even go to the trouble of putting a hot meal together, all while rushing to leave on time? I might as well have told Keven to make sandwiches rather than depend on his judgment with regard to cooking.

About an hour ago, I pulled the pot out of the fridge and turned on the oven, determined to salvage the dish. It was practically soup. So much cooking liquid remained! And yes, the rice was crunchy. But opposed to my reaction last night, I found it comical and oddly flattering. I mean...they ate it anyway. They gave it a good go and crunched away in my absence, like a bizarre homage, just because I'd cooked for them.

It's been in the oven an additional thirty minutes now and still isn't finished. That's how underdone it was. And that's how much they love me. Wierdos.

Edited: It's done now and quite tasty. My lunch.

Florence Parry Heide Day

Apparently this photograph of me was on the front page of the Kenosha News yesterday. (I haven't seen it, but many people have told me as much.) I was reading to local children in celebration of Florence Parry Heide Day, 48 hours ago when the weather wasn't autumnally beastly like it is now. Too bad I didn't tell the photographer that I, too, am a local author...

Oooh, Pretty!

I must be feeling self-conscious about my do-it-yourself style of promotions because I had a dream that someone thought my website looked like a fourth grader put it together. You show me a fourth grader who can code HTML better than I can and I'll show you a fourth grader with a new job. But yay! New bookmarks! The lovely Kate Rothwell saved me from an embarrassing misspelling, so I owe her a drink. If you'd like a few, just drop me a line. I also have a plenty left for WHAT A SCOUNDREL WANTS.

Observations on Binary Stars

I believe Juliette and Ilsa are having a more difficult time adjusting to their forced separation than they're letting on, at least verbally. For the last six years they've been two binary stars--circling each other, establishing patterns of gravity and influence, and greatly affecting one another's development. They attended two years of Montessori together, and this past summer, they spent fourteen interminable weeks joined at the hip.

Now they attend different schools. They have different friends and more diverse experiences. And they're not exactly handling it with finesse or aplomb.

Juliette, for example, has become more withdrawn among her peers. Her teacher mentioned that she is reluctant to join groups or engage in certain activities, especially where her dominance as a potential leader might be in question. She has no wingman! No miniature cheering squad! No backup! Ilsa, on the other hand, has lost her marbles...her backpack...her sense of direction...her initiative. It's as if some other brain has been directing her actions, and that brain has suddenly gone missing. Hmmm. Wonder who that could've been.

When they arrive home in the afternoon, I hardly need to participate in their play. They surge back together like socks with static cling, re-engaging in their strange twinspeak-ish play and familiar, unspoken patterns of behavior. That's great when we're at home, but during swimming class, where they've been placed into two different skill classes...not so much. They've become utterly incapable of paying attention. "Hi, Juliette!" Ilsa would shout as her sister swam by, thereby distracting Juliette and causing a round of waved greetings. "Hi, Ilsa," Juliette would bellow across the length of the pool, aggravating both teachers.

The weekends are actually fantastic. They occupy each other almost entirely, the complete opposite of how annoying their cabin fever became there toward the end of August. But yeah, I hope the next few months erase the stress of this traumatic separation and bring about more maturity, independence and resilience in both. This has to happen, or else next year when Juliette's in second grade and Ilsa's across the hallway in first grade, we'll have another round of "Hi, Juliette!!" and "Hi, Ilsa!!" And then the phone calls home will begin.

Oh, and on a slightly tangential note, I'm glad Juliette's school has a uniform policy. It's a private school, where some families pay full tuition and others have been awarded financial aid. This isn't ever apparent when the kids are out on the front lawn, lining up for the start of the day. Their uniforms level the playing field. Everyone is there in support of the school and their educational journeys. Yesterday, however, was picture day. Although Juliette wanted to wear her uniform for pictures--and Keven and I wanted that too--students were allowed to wear whatever they wanted.

What a variety! From t-shirts to church clothes to hoochie outfits, the kids completely ran the gamut of fashion. I could see the class distinctions and family circumstances much more clearly, which was a shame. I'll be glad to see them all go back to normal on Monday. How else can we preserve this bizarre, nurturing little utopia we're paying so much money to maintain??

Meet Ava Gray

Have I mentioned lately how much I admire my friend, Ann Aguirre? I don't think so. You see, Ann and I have known each for roughly three years. In that time we've exchanged about six million IMs, attended three RWA National conferences as roommates, and written one book together. (Shhh...more on that later!)

Also in that time, Ann's career has skyrocketed from e-published releases to mega awesome successes at Penguin. As Ann Aguirre she writes paranormal urban fantasy (the Corine Solomon series, which began with BLUE DIABLO) and sci-fi with hints of romance--her Jax books, the latest of which is DOUBLEBLIND. It comes out on Tuesday!

And November 3 will mark the debut of her new alter-ego, Ava Gray.

Ava is different. Ava is all about romance. Sure it's gritty, nasty, bloody, action-packed romance, but really--I rarely have it any other way. At least in print. The first time Ann pitched me what became SKIN GAME was via email. She'd just sent a two-page proposal and opening chapter to her agent; I printed it out and read it while the girls were in swimming. Let's just say I knew right then she had a winner. I've kept my hands off it ever since--my policy is to read Ann's finished product in book form only!--and now I can't wait to see how that initial kernel of idea has become a full-fledged powerhouse romp.

September 29 is also the day my friend Marilyn Brant's women's fiction debut, ACCORDING TO JANE, is released. This book won Marilyn the Golden Heart for best manuscript with romantic elements back in 2007...which was the first RWA conference Ann and I attended together. See? It's all connected in my brain! Congratulations to Ann/Ava and Marilyn!

Everett & TJ Strike Again

TJ and Everett did it again this week...with tap!! She's amazing. She'd never done tap before, while he's a most awesome throwback to the 50s styles without being as one-trick as Evan turned out to be. They made Top 10 without ever having been in the bottom three, dancing jive, salsa, quickstep, house and tap--not a single schmaltzy story piece for folks to emotionally grab onto. Just hard work and shining personalities. Can you tell I think they're awesome?

Notice in the rehearsal that he's barefoot; she's wearing tap shoes. I bet this was so his taps wouldn't drown out hers as they listened to her learn. Clever.


As for the US Season 6, I'm still waiting for it to take off. I never feel 100% invested in folks until I see their first paired performances in the Top 20. This is just going to drag on for ages, though, as the show conforms to the prime time lineup. But oh, how I dig Cat. "Did you roll your eyes at me?"

Festivals, Conferences and Schedules, Oh My!

This week marks our first full week of school since the girls began on September 2. The first was a half week, the second chopped short by Labor Day, and the third slightly truncated by our trip to Indiana. Plus swimming has started, which is making this week seem really quite long.

Ilsa had a follow-up appointment last Thursday that produced very good news on all counts. It looks like she may be off her current medications by the end of February, and she gained two pounds in just under five weeks. Considering that she only gained two pounds between December and July, that's a huge jump!

After school on Thursday, the girls and I drove to Indiana to help my mom with her craft booth at the Nappanee Apple Festival. Mom weaves and sells floor rugs and very cool tote bags, which you can see here in this photo (where Mom is trying to hide behind her dried lavender).


I'm very proud of her. Not only did she teach herself how to create these beautiful rugs and bags--learning from scratch by using books, the Internet, and trial and error--but now she's taken the added, scary leap of putting her work out there for people. It's no longer just a hobby, but a source of income--and also a source of apprehension that always comes when trying to put a price tag on an artistic creation. I know it goes against her grain, so her initiative and success on this front have been very gratifying to witness.

That and I sold eight books! Wee!

The girls were very patient as we spent roughly 11 hours at the festival. They ate funnel cakes, went on rides--that took all of four minutes, total--and generally occupied themselves by coloring and make-believe for the rest of the time. Juliette gave me a scare, though. While she went with my brother and his wife to secure snacks, I thought she had gone with Ilsa and their cousin, Lily, to watch a puppet show. When Ilsa and Lily came back and didn't know where Juliette was, Mom and I went running around trying to find her. It was dark, kids and people were everywhere, and I was a little freaked. But then Casey and Jess returned. Just a miscommunication that took three years off my life.

We returned to Wisconsin on Saturday evening, and Sunday was Keven's birthday. It was a low-key affair because we've been on a budget for the last three weeks. I made beef stroganoff and peach pie, both from scratch, which severely tested my rusty cooking skills. But our plan is to go out to The Melting Pot for a double date fondue with friends on Saturday. Babysitter (on your mark), money allocated in the budget (get set), fondue!

On Monday I had a conference with Juliette's first grade teacher. We discussed how my goals for her year are less academic than social. Seems she's having a little more trouble adjusting to life without Ilsa than we'd anticipated. She doesn't exactly know how to deal with a group situation without her sister in tow, approaching people hesitantly and backing off at the slightest rebuff. I would really like to see her become more comfortable in groups and with change in general. She also has a hard time acknowledging her teacher's authority--testing, testing!--and keeping eye contact. But then, as Keven said, she's English.

Another goal is for her to be able to honestly assess her strengths and weaknesses. At the moment she claims to be good at everything, which isn't always the case. It's like any admission of weakness is a source of embarrassment, but in truth the constant boasting diminishes those skills she has in spades. I'll be curious to revisit this topic in three months, or in a year.

Otherwise, we're just plugging along. I've been cooking more, which only adds a little extra burden to the day as long as I plan for it. If I don't plan, then it's a nightmare production that generally results in macaroni and cheese. The leaves are changing, the temperature rarely strays above 70, and autumn is definitely making itself known. I like this rhythm. This is a good rhythm.

Dance Break

OK, so what is up with the new season of SYTYCD in the US? Are they really going to keep cutting two days of auditions down to one-hour shows? (Forty minutes, really, if you leave out the scads of adverts.) And what is with picking one or two psychos and focusing on them, leaving out the good dancers? We haven't been shown ANY of Pasha & Anya's bootcamp chorey either. It's like the whole show has slid toward "American Idol" territory, abandoning the dance fans in order to embrace those who watch Fox reality for the Bedlam patients.

If this is what we get in prime time, I'm not impressed. I hope this doesn't affect how the rest of the season will go. Very annoyed.

I'm glad I still have Canada, Australia, and maybe even the UK to keep me occupied, although all of them come with flaws. In Canada, which is down to their Top 12 now, the flaws have to do with the producers' decision to push the ULTRA SEXY all the time, sacrificing subtlety, quality and originality. Jean-Marc and Tré are more annoying than ever, and Leah Miller needs to be shaved and abandoned in a deep well. The choreography, which was so excellent last year, has been subpar--mostly "meh" routines with nothing truly standing out.

That said, I have utterly fallen in love with the routine below. Tara-Jean is a contemporary dancer and Everett is a tapper--remember that when Ryan Kasperzak makes the US#6 show and everyone goes on about him being the first tapper. Nah. Everett got there first and he's amazing. I hope he wins this year.

Anyway this routine style is house, which is all about a sleek, chill-out upper body paired with absolutely mental footwork. I can't even begin to imagine how hard this is. But what's great about their performance is that they look like they're having a total blast. Their upper bodies kinda groove independently, but their feet are perfectly matched. The synchronized spins into double pirouettes--and they land them!--are sick.

SO MUCH FUN. I can't stop watching. Makes me happy.

SYTYCD UK

I just learned that Nigel will continue to indulge my obsession by premiering SYTYCD UK in January. It will run concurrently with the Aussie season, so that means two more complete competitions in spring--or, if anyone's counting, five full English-language runs per year. My head's gonna 'splode. I think if I walked on the treadmill every time I watched an episode of SYTYCD, I'd lose these pesky ten pounds I've gained. Something to keep in mind. I'll ponder that after dinner. And desert. Now if only someone could tell me what's happened to Dan Karaty! I swear I'm not hiding him anywhere!

EDITED: Found him! He was on SYTYCD CA on Wed, which I finally just saw.

What I'm Working On

Yes, it's a ME ROUND-UP! For the next few paragraphs, I'll post pictures of random prettyboys and refrain from talking about kids or television or SYTYCD (a whole TV category unto itself). Instead I'm calling it: "What I've been doing since my summer vacation ended."

Mostly writing.

Imagine that: get the kids out of the house for regular, defined periods of time on a daily basis--and words get written! Almost as if by magic. I have a definite goal in mind, which is to have four finished manuscripts ready to pitch by the time a slew of conferences (Chicago North's Spring Fling followed immediately by RT in Columbus) roll around in April.

They are:

WWII Romance: Currently titled "Flygirl," it's the story of a British civilian pilot and the paratrooper medic she falls in love with in the weeks before D-Day.

The Christies: Book one is "Flawless," which I've discussed before. Set in colonial South Africa, an estranged husband and wife must work together to earn the company that is her inheritance.

Scoundrels: Blanca, who you'll meet this January in SCOUNDREL'S KISS, gets her own story when she embarks on a Gothic-style high seas adventure with a Venetian pirate.

Project of Newness: I'll use its acronym "ADOG" because it's still too new to discuss. Let's just say I'll need a pseudonym for this one. It's not straight history, so I'm having a good time contemplating uncharted creative territory.

And there is a fifth project, should Ann and I get lucky. Waiting... waiting... waiting... But it's weird because in writing this one, I am Hugh Jackman. Can't lust after him. That would be weird.

I've put the projects in my sidebar to account for my whereabouts. If the meters are crawling upward, then I haven't fallen off the face of the earth!

In the meantime, I'm teaching online and/or in-person presenting a total of seven workshops between now and my panel at RT, as well as writing another article for Romance Writers' Report and gearing up the big publicity push for SK.

Just a reminder: my Back to School contest ends Friday at noon. Make sure you enter to win an official ARC of Scoundrel's Kiss and a $25 gift certificate to the book retailer of your choice. Details here. Good luck! And I'm sure Damian wishes you luck too. He's sweet that way.

And On Tuesday, She Remembered to Blog

Last week was all about finding our Groove. Notably, our Groove is not the flurry of productive always-on-time awesomeness that was the first week of school. The Groove is all about what actually happens in a regular week, and we've been finding that out.

Juliette has a homeroom first grade teacher, as well as teachers for her "specials": art, music, gym, science, French, and computers. So in actuality, she has seven different teachers. That means I've been learning her schedule and her teachers' names--not so bad since two of them are my friends--as well as the rhythm of her week. Gym clothes on Tuesday and Thursday, for example. Ilsa's is much easier to cope with, but she still has Tuesday library visits and various parent meetings.

Swimming starts for both girls tomorrow at their new swim home: The Kenosha Barracudas Swim Team (that is, if Juliette's recovered from her cold--she's home today). Juliette tested into Level 3 and Ilsa into Level 2. Once they graduate from Level 4, they'll have the option of joining the swim team, which competes across the Midwest. Huh. That sounds a) awesome, b) expensive, and c) time consuming, with awesome probably playing the trump card.

Last Thursday was the Sissi/Kuku bonfire. Everyone at Armitage, from the kindergartners to the teachers and staff, is either a Sissi or a Kuku. At the annual bonfire, new arrivals draw a colored feather--red for Sissies and green for Kukus--from a bag to determine their team. (The names are taken from local American Indian legends of Ahwahsissa or Nekhuwika, which I have no information on. I'm just blindly following along for the sake of school spirit. Will report back later.) In future school-wide events like the annual spring track meet, all the Sissis and Kukus compete. It's designed to bring the school together across grade and teacher lines, so that an 8th grader will support his science teacher and a new kindergartner just because they're all Sissis, etc. A good-natured rivalry is the aim.

Juliette desperately wanted to be a Kuku. Their color is green, her favorite, and the mascot is a cat. The Sissis are red with a bear. Plus many friends of ours are already Kukus, so all week she was building up to the bonfire when she'd get to pick her feather. I did my best to remind her that it's a 50/50 drawing and she might wind up a Sissi. But in the end, luck and magic and maybe even a teensy bit of peeking into the bag resulted in the green Kuku feather. Much rejoicing!

Saturday we hosted a dinner party for our babysitting co-op. Sunday was an ice cream social for Montessori, followed by dinner at our friends' house. So many good things about our life here.

Oh, and the girls saved up for an accordion. Don't ask me why they became fixated on one. It was $25 at Heim's and I didn't think they'd save for it on $2/week each allowance. But they did. Pooling their funds, and with me throwing in for tax--how to explain that $25 is really $26.38??--we went to the toy store after ice cream. Turns out we've spent so much at Heim's over the past year that we qualified for a $10-off coupon. So they not only met their savings goal but were rewarded for it, with enough money leftover for stickers.

And now we own an accordion. I'm proud of them, but that thing stays in their bedroom! I should start saving my pennies too. If Ilsa gets any more interested in playing her piano, we'll be footing out for lessons soon...

Cry to Me

Rest in peace, Patrick Swayze. How many 80s girls discovered what having a bad boy crush was all about because of Dirty Dancing? No matter the tabloid pictures of how he looked toward the end of his battle with cancer, and no matter how many crappy films he made, he'll always be Johnny Castle. And every uncertain, shy, brainy, not-yet-discovered-her-own-power adolescent can be his Baby...


NOTE: I realize now it's in French. Just pay attention to the dancing!

RWA Nationals Recap, Part II

I slept in on Thursday morning and managed to get downstairs in time to meet Barb Ferrer and sit with her during the RWA Annual General Meeting. It was one big snafu, as always. Then my second roommate, Lorelie Brown, finally arrived. It was so good to see her, as there was some doubt as to whether she would be able to attend at all. She got cleaned up and we met Ann, Lauren Dane and Laura Bradford for the luncheon. Linda Howard was the guest speaker, and although some people said she was reusing materials from previous speeches, I thought she was hilarious.

After lunch, Lorelie and I took the metro into town and visited Ford's Theater. This was another historical attraction that had been closed when Keven and I last visited, and it had only reopened the day before Lorelie and I were there. Lucky timing! As with my discussion about seeing the Coliseum, I was again struck by my difficulty in coming to grips with history. I was sitting in the same room where Abraham Lincoln was shot. Apparently places have a very strong grip on my imagination.

When we returned, I got dressed to attend the Kensington cocktail party. I had to duck out after only an hour in order to attend the Chicago North reception. Both of these functions entailed meeting a great number of people that I had previously known only online, which is always a hoot. My friend Joelle decided that I needed to come to another function later that evening in order to talk with an agent or two, so after another brief reprieve in my room, I headed back down into the fray. If I wasn't going to make the effort at Nationals, why even attend? Turns out it was worth the effort because I met the people I had hoped to meet. All good!

Friday I attended a few workshops, sat with Joanna Bourne and Lorelie for lunch, and generally took it easy by comparison. We went to a cocktail party hosted by Samhain, but damn it was crowded. For dinner, Lorelie and I went out to a Lebanese restaurant with Katiebabs and about 20 other bloggers. Fantastic food, great fun, and very useful contacts. Win! Unfortunately, dinner took so long that I was unable to attend the Berkeley party with Ann. We spent the rest of the evening consuming what was left of our slumber party booze and lampooned a great many novels. Dr. Sarah came by sometime after one o'clock, so it was another late night for us.

My work day was Saturday. After breakfast and a few publisher signings--more free books!--I headed down to help present our workshop "The Billionaire Tycoon's Secret Promotional Baby" with Barb, Ann, Jane Litte and SB Sarah. It was all going well until the fire alarm bell. Confusion! Ann wound up offering part of her talk down on the street, while Sarah was cut off almost entirely. Very upsetting!

Just after that, I met Wendy in order to give my interview. The day was lovely, so the cameraman and producer set us up outside. You'll be able to see the full result come January, as RT is going to save the footage until the release of Scoundrel's Kiss, but suffice it to say that we rocked. The producer was practically gushing over how well we handled ourselves. Good to know! By that time, I hadn't eaten since early, early morning, so Wendy and I met Lorelie for a late lunch/early dinner.

And then it was off to take part in my second workshop, "High-Octane Kisses" with Ann, Laura Bradford, and Cynthia Eden. Cynthia was a last-minute replacement for Elisabeth Naughton. Because of that, we were particularly happy with how well the workshop went. All of our points reinforced one another, and we had a very nice turnout--especially for a craft workshop in the last possible time slot of the conference.

After a quick change of outfits, Ann, Lorelie and I headed down to the RITA ceremony. Anne Stuart was very funny, and the whole thing clocked in just under two hours--brilliant! The hors d'oeuvres and dessert reception afterward was very nice, much better than last year, and we quite pigged out. I didn't have my name tag on, so I was surprised when the woman asked if I was Carrie Lofty. She had recognized me from one of my workshops and wanted to tell me how much she had enjoyed my debut. What a great way to end the conference!

I was up and out of the hotel by 7 AM, actually the last of us three to leave. I met KristieJ by chance at the airport; she was returning to Canada on the same flight to Detroit. My flight back was entirely smooth. Keven had picked up the girls from my parents' house and then stopped by the airport in South Bend to pick me up too. We were home by early evening, happy to be back.

But Nashville 2010--I'll be there!

RWA Nationals Recap, Part I

I know, I know. It was mid-July. Shut up.

I departed first thing Monday morning with the girls in tow. The plan was to take the train through Chicago to South Bend, where my parents would take custody of the girls and I would catch my flight to DC. Unfortunately, the early morning wake-up, my travel nerves, and the worry I always have while ferrying the girls through the Chicago public transit system did a serious number on my stomach. I threw up several times on the South Shore train. I was terrified that I was coming down with the flu. However, by the time I arrived in my connecting city, Detroit, where I had to seriously hoof it from Concourse A to Concourse C--serious exercise to work out all the kinks!--I was feeling almost 100% better.

Ann arrived to the hotel shortly after I did. We met up with my friend Karen from Kenosha, who was in DC for a long weekend's visit with an old friend of hers, Tracy. Tracy was able to pick us up in her car, and the four of us went to dinner at a fantastic Turkish restaurant. It was all family-style which meant a lot of sharing and trying new things. Then, at the end of the night, our conversation turned to where Ann had gone to college. Turns out she, Karen, and Tracy had all gone to Ball State and had been there during overlapping years. Small world! Ann and I tried to go to bed at a decent time, but as has become our tradition, we stayed up way too late with all sorts of giggling silliness.

Do you know what this post needs? More spiders!

Tuesday was all about sightseeing. Ann, Karen and I started at the Lincoln Monument and worked our way inward toward the Washington Monument. Then Karen had to catch a plane back to Kenosha. Ann and I grabbed a quick lunch before heading over to the Holocaust Museum. This was an intense experience to say the least. I can't even describe the difficulty of being there. Eventually we were joined by Ann's friend Ivette. The cattle-car nature of the main exhibit was a little too much for them to handle, so they left to get some air while I finished up. The sheer size of the museum is numbing and overwhelming and scorching, in turn.

Ann had twisted her ankle a few months ago, and it was acting up by the end of the afternoon. After we grabbed another bite to eat, she went back to the hotel while I traveled on to the American History Museum. It had been closed back in November of 2007 when Keven and I were in town, so I was happy to get the chance to see it. I spent most of my time in the Lincoln exhibit and in the WWII section of the "Price of Freedom" exhibit. That's where I found this video of Danny Kaye. Remember that 4F meant a man was unfit for service, while 1A meant he was eligible.

Upon returning, I spent the rest of the night in the bar with Victoria Dahl, Shiloh Walker, Jade Lee, Lousia Edwards, and many others. Quite a party, and the conference hadn't even officially started yet.

Wednesday morning, I was up bright and early to do my volunteer shift in the librarian goodie room. Surprisingly, my fellow volunteer was Courtney Milan, a friend of mine from Chicago North who'd recently moved away. We had two hours of setup and chatting. Afterwards, Ann and I attended the library's luncheon and sat with Monica Burns and Jennifer Greene. Stella Cameron was the delightful speaker.

The luncheon was followed by a meet-and-greet with librarians and booksellers. I met and chatted with some fantastic people, many of whom knew my work and gushed about how good my debut was. Talk about an ego boost! When sitting here in Kenosha, it's hard to truly fathom that my work is out there and available for public consumption. This was the first chance I've had to experience the results of that. I met Anthea Lawson, who is fantastic, as well as Wendy the Super Librarian and the marvelous Sherry Thomas. Wendy and I were scheduled to do a video interview for Romantic Times on Saturday afternoon, and we commiserated about how equally nervous we were about the prospect.

And then it was time for the big show--the literacy signing. I freshened up and headed down there. I had a seat! With my name! And 15 of my books ready for signing! My biggest worry was that no one would come by to see me, or that none of my books would sell, but I was on my feet practically the whole two hours. People kept stopping by to introduce themselves, including RWR editor-in-chief Kathleen Addey. I sold all but four books, which was a lucky thing because I had given away my 20 suitcase copies to the librarians and had wanted to have a few to distribute during my workshops.

I spent the next two hours eating room service and watching SYTYCD. Afterwards, people began to arrive for the pajama party Ann had planned. (I'd say Ann and I, but she did all the planning! I was just a happy host.) We probably had 30 people in attendance over the course of two hours, until security called the room at exactly midnight to ask that we keep the noise down. Much drinking, laughing and revelry were had by all.

Italy, Supplemental

I know you thought I was done with Italy posting, and I thought I was too. But I forgot about this, which has been hanging on my corkboard since our return.

Other than the angel and the Pietà, this was my favorite piece of art from our trip. It's called "Continuità" (continuance) by Silvio Amelio, housed at the rear of the upper basilica in the Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi. Here St. Francis receives his vision of Christ and the command to rebuild the Church.

I'm not a religious person, but I'm often fascinated by religious and mythological artwork, perhaps because of the grand, tragic opportunities those myths and parables offer to artists' imaginations. Standing there, my eyes kept being drawn to St. Francis's feet. They are utterly lifelike, in stark contrast to Christ's Art Deco styling. Christ's pointing hand is also completely human. I love studying the stylistic choices the artist made regarding when to keep it human and when to play with the abstract for the sake of movement and impact.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find anything about this bronze online, not even a better quality photograph, and there were no plaques or artistic notes in the cathedral. I'm glad I paid my €.50 to pick up this prayer leaflet. Now that I've scanned it, I'll pin it back on my corkboard.

How Our First Days Back Went

We started school last Wednesday with a half day for Ilsa at the Montessori and a full day for Juliette at her new big-girl digs. Juliette's day began at 8 AM with a school opening assembly. She sat with her friend, Alana, and the headmistress kept her introductory remarks gratifyingly brief. Juliette was perfectly fine until it came time to file out with the other first-graders. I gave her a discrete high-five as she passed me, but her face was full of apprehension.

Ilsa, however, is an old pro. The kindergartners are the top of the class at her school, so she was excited to get on with ruling the place. Two other families have children at both of our schools, which means we see them all the time. They were in the auditorium for the opening greeting, then across the street at the playground as we waited for the Montessori to open at 8:30 AM. Ilsa's only complaint at the end of the day was that not all of the materials were set out for the students' use. The teachers slowly add materials throughout the year, but she remembers how it looked at the end of spring.

She was excited to have her own "kindergarten drawer," which the big kids used to store long-term projects and keep them safe from the little ones. This drawer is in a cabinet housed in the teachers' office, in the kindergartners have permission to go into the office whenever they need to. This was a big deal for her. That first half day then we had a lot of time to kill in the afternoon, and then it was time to walk and pickup Juliette. She looked tired but intact. Upon a detailed interrogation, I learned that she did reading, computers, art, and French, and she complained a great deal about how many rules that were to learn on the first day. I told her to get better.

Thursday meant a full day for Ilsa, which also meant a full working day for me. I forgot how much time that I feel like! I know that won't always be the case--one day I'll feel like I only had a half hour to get things done--but I thoroughly enjoyed it on Thursday.

Ilsa and I spent 45 minutes at the library after her class dismissed, then walked over to pick up Juliette. Her science teacher, who was working as the crossing guard that afternoon, came over to talk to me. She said that Juliette I become very upset when she didn't get a turn to hold the class pet rat, even after the teacher said she would have a turn first thing during the next science session.

Turns out she thought that last week were going to be her only days at Armitage. I had written the school schedule on our family calendar for last week, but then just assumed that every day after that would be school unless otherwise marked. She thought that was it--no more school. So when she was dismissed and came out to meet me, her face was completely fallen and I had to explain the situation. I told her that as long as we're in Kenosha, she's going to that school. That seemed to help.

Friday was fairly routine except that everyone was getting very tired. We finished up the day and then enjoyed a very nice holiday weekend. On Saturday, we were lazy until mid-afternoon when we traveled south to Waukegan to visit an elaborate public park that my friend Anne told us about. Keven took them out on Sunday afternoon while I worked on horrible paperwork and miscellaneous bits, and then we spent most of yesterday being complete schlubs. Nice!

Starting off with a half week with a good idea, and this four-day week will also be good for us. We found a new option for swimming now that our YMCA has shut down the downtown pool, and that doesn't start until next Wednesday, meaning everything is conspiring to make this reintroduction to the school routine as smooth as possible. Hopefully I'll have more to relate at the end of this week once the teachers finish the introductory rules and the girls have more to tell about what subjects they're learning.

Torchwood: Children of Earth (2009)

John Barrowman (Captain Jack Harkness), Eve Myles (Gwen Cooper), Gareth David-Lloyd (Ianto Jones), Kai Owen (Rhys Williams), Peter Capaldi (John Frobisher)

Directed by Euros Lyn / Written by Russell T. Davies

IMDB: At 8:45AM, every child in the world suddenly stops and begins chanting the words "we are coming" again and again...

Keven and I, along with a number of our friends, were greatly looking forward to this five-part miniseries, which constitutes all of the new Torchwood episodes we'll receive until further notice. Too bad that I was disappointed overall.

Part one was very much the epitome of sci-fi storytelling: What the hell is going on? A great number of people, concepts, terms, and theories were thrown at us pretty nonstop. But I had no worries. Sci-fi is like that. Viewers or readers simply have to trust that the storytelling team will answer the many, many questions they raise. The concept was suitably creepy, and I like that Jack, Gwen, and Ianto were still fairly torn up about the loss of their teammates, but Tosh and Owen added a great deal. I'm afraid that simply adding Rhys to the lineup in an informal way, plus introducing new family members--Jack's daughter and grandson, and Ianto's sister and her family--did not make up for that loss.

But oh, Peter Capaldi was very, very good. The finale of his character was especially gruesome, reminding me of the murder scene in Heavenly Creatures--the sheer horror of going through it.

The 456 were also pretty grim. We never get a good glimpse of what these creatures look like, which added to the disgusting terror of their menace. The constant vomiting was particularly effective, hearkening to primal thoughts of disease, contagions, and uncleanliness. Very well done.

Also well done was one of Russell T. Davies created specialties: humans turning on one another. The scene where the government decides which 10% of the children will be sacrificed is terrifying in its simplicity. The potboiler atmosphere reminds me of the Doctor Who episode "Midnight," wherein the Doctor is trapped for several hours with a half-dozen humans and is very nearly killed because of their groupthink fear. The other allusion could be to the fantastic film Conspiracy, starring Kenneth Branagh and Stanley Tucci as the man who conducted the meeting where the blueprints for the Final Solution were agreed upon in Nazi Germany. Simple ideas become hellish ideas with only a few small jumps. This scene was by far my favorite of the whole five part series.

And while there was much to be happy with--for example, I quite liked Gwen's monologue about the Doctor, and Ianto's working-class Welsh family was an endearing blend of homophobic and lovingly loyal--there was also much to deride. The issue of Gwen's pregnancy dominated far too much of the plot, and Lois was a particularly weak character assigned with far too many important roles. Her "contact lens" function was just lazy storytelling. And I could not suspend my disbelief to the point of accepting that a room full of concrete hardened in a matter of minutes, nor could I believe that a building's worth of people who had just been killed by an alien contagion would not be under extreme quarantine. Gwen simply walked in order to say her last goodbyes to Ianto. My furious headshaking got in the way of what was intended to be a very touching scene.

And Ianto. I know a great many people were extremely displeased by his fate, and how Jack never said that he loved him. I argued that no main Doctor Who-universe character can say "I love you," because it defeats the ongoing nature of the series and its lonely protagonists. My beef with the whole incident was that I didn't believe he was actually gone. It had all the hallmarks of a last-minute resurrection scenario, so I didn't get the full impact until the final credits rolled. By then, with its deeply unsatisfying ending, I was beyond caring.

I do hope they don't leave the series with this as its capstone. Season two, especially, was far too good to let this be our last taste. My hope is they'll go away, dream it all up again, and bring back the evil bitch played by Liz May Brice as a full cast member.

Disctrict 9 (2009)

Sharlto Copley (Wikus Van De Merwe), Vanessa Haywood (Tania Van De Merwe), Louis Minnaar (Piet Smit)

Directed by Neill Blomkamp

IMDB: An extraterrestrial race forced to live in slum-like conditions on Earth suddenly finds a kindred spirit in a government agent that is exposed to their biotechnology.

Keven and I went to see this movie when we had the afternoon off a few weeks ago. It had been on my radar as a movie that might interest us if the ratings were good. Turns out they were phenomenal, so we were pretty psyched. Also turns out that the reviews were right.

The director, a native South African, wrote, produced and directed the short version of this concept, called "Alive in Joburg," that lasted only six minutes. Peter Jackson saw it and loved it, then served as the executive producer to help get the thing made into a full-length feature. Blomkamp did so on a shoestring budget of just over $30 million. Quite amazing considering what he came up with, and how much CGI is involved. And I'm guessing no one will take bets that his next feature will be produced for so little money. This is a career-making debut.

I don't think I knew where the story was going until about two thirds of the way in. Only then did I have an inkling of what might happen. I was a good third of the way and before I even knew what the plot was and which characters might wind up heroes--if any. The opening is so original and so refreshing that I was able to simply sit back and let the filmmakerstake me where he wished.

The documentary-style opening was useful not only in setting up this original plot line--I take that back; it's not so much original as presented in an original way--but also in acclimating my ears to the actors' various South African dialects and accents. What a gorgeous tapestry of voices, most of which Western audiences will have never heard! This introduction helped ease us into Johannesburg in an alternative 21st century, the landscape of which added an extra heaping spoonful of fresh difference to the film.

I want to briefly mention Sharlto Copley. This was his first full-length feature, and he hadn't acted at all until his small role in "Joburg." What's more, the Afrikaans accent he uses is not his own. He's more of an English South African in real life. His performance was a complex blend of slick charming, disgusting insecurity, failed heroism, and (nearly) justifiable cowardice. Outside of Rorschach in Watchmen, you will not find a more difficult hero in movies this year.

District 9 is an obvious analogy to Apartheid. Neill Blomkamp will turn 30 this month, which meant he was only 11 years old when Nelson Mandela was freed from prison. Of course, then, he was not a perpetrator of apartheid policies, but like a German child growing up in the wake of World War II, he would have had to come to terms with the recent, difficult history of his nation. This film is a testament to his attempt to come to grips with it all, in a way that is subtle, effective, intriguing, and bold.

Our only quibble was the fairly obvious sequel baiting, but that was a minor concern overall, and I would likely see any sequel that Blomkamp created. In the meantime, I recommend District 9 to anyone who enjoys good sci-fi, and beyond that, to anyone who enjoys good cinematic storytelling.

Italy #12

We had hoped that our return trip would be less arduous than our flight over, which had taken us from Kenosha to Chicago to Toronto to Frankfurt to Rome to Cerreto D'Esi. Surely the return would be easier.

The flight from Rome to Montréal was completely without incident. Sure it was long, and sure the food was some of the worst I've ever had on an airplane--an especially grievous insult after ten days of fantastic Italian cuisine--but we would soon be home. Plus we had entertainment consoles packed with tons of movies. Those reviews of The Reader and Taken I did back in July? I watched them on this flight, in addition to a lovely re-watch of Witness.

But then the fun began. We had one hour and 15 minutes to make our connecting flight to Chicago. In that time, we had to go through Canadian customs, collect our bags, check in with the Air Canada desk, pack our duty-free liquor in some clothing and hope it didn't get busted in the checked luggage (because American security doesn't trust duty free coming in from other countries!!), make it through security, check our bags, go through American customs, and hoof it to the gate. We made it with ten minutes to spare--but the flight had been canceled. No explanation.

A stewardess from Air Canada took us through a hallway. We thought maybe she would explain the process of getting our asses back to Chicago. But no. She simply took us back to Canadian customs. Apparently when a flight is canceled, you have to start the whole process over again. So we went through Canadian customs and wound up back at the luggage carousel. We had only just given our bags to some Air Canada personnel a few minutes earlier and had little hope of seeing them again.

While Keven started looking for the bags, I called my dad, got the number for Air Canada's support desk, and booked on a flight that was leaving three hours later. After bugging some airport personnel, Keven finally found our luggage, which had been hidden back on a carousel that had been stopped prematurely.

We returned to the Air Canada desk where they tried to tell us that we needed to go to a separate place to rebook. But we'd already done that and held our ground. We went through security where one of the screeners recognized us. We handed our bags back to the same airport personnel, talked to the same US customs agent, and finally made it out to the gate. With a few hours to spare, we got lunch. Then, when we were mere feet from the boarding ramp, the stewardess asked us to wait. She let everyone else onto the plane. Keven looked ready to blow a gasket, and I was about ready to cry. But then it turned out she had made a mistake and our seats were fine. We were on board and on our way.

After collecting her bags and breathing a sigh of relief that our two bottles of liquor were still intact, we made it back to the long-term lot where our car was waiting to take us home. This was about 7 PM. With any luck, we hoped to arrive at my parents' house before the kids were asleep. We missed them terribly, and they had been very disappointed by our delay.

We got in the car and started to drive. But something was wrong. I got out and checked all of the tires--the fourth one I checked was flat. Dead flat. More calls my dad. The airport was able to send a parking lot maintenance guy, someone who could jump a dead battery or help change a tire. Keven and I have managed to get the Corolla up on a jack, but the tire would not come off. The man helped us, but even after we had installed a spare, we weren't going anywhere. I drove forward about eight inches and it stopped dead.

Many hours passed, whereupon we discovered that a missing lugnut had caused its supporting stud to become rusted and completely corroded. The stud had broken off and slipped back into the brake casing. We had a tow truck on the way, but they wouldn't even be able to drive it up onto the skids. The car could manage just those eight inches before the loose stud caught on the brakes drum. Crunch!

I played Macguyver. First, I used my eyebrow tweezers to retrieve the stud. Then Keven had these cheap headphones from Air Canada. I ripped out the earbuds and used the wire to tie a knot around the stud and keep it from slipping back into the casing. It wasn't going anywhere--at least not for the 10 feet it would need to drive onto the back of the tow truck--so we replaced the spare tire and waited. In the meantime, a good Samaritan offered his assistance. We didn't need his help at that point, but we were just about starving. He drove Keven the quarter mile to the nearest McDonald's so we could get dinner. I stayed with the car as darkness fell, coming on 22 hours since I had woken up in Rome that morning.

The tow truck finally arrived, operated by three men who were the working class equivalent of the witches in Macbeth. Their DVD player in the cab was playing a live concert by Andrea Bocelli. Weird. Really weird. It was almost 11pm when we pulled into a 24-hour station. We had trusted the tow truck guys, and now we had to trust these mechanical denizens of the night. The man in charge had only one working eye. But he understood the problem right away. He sent Keven around the corner to a 24-hour parts store to pick up a replacement stud. I didn't exactly feel safe staying at the gas station, but it was well-lit and busy, and it was certainly safer than walking down the road myself.

Ninety tense, tiring, edgy minutes later, we were done and away. And two hours after that, we finally pulled into my parents' driveway. And thus ended our magnificent Italian Odyssey.

Italy #11

Day Two in Rome meant the Colosseum.

After some confusion as to where we would spend Sunday night, which resulted in our booking a room at the Hilton attached to the Rome airport, we ate breakfast and headed out. This day was considerably more overcast and threatened with rain. We got off the underground at the station stop marked "Colosseum." And this is what we saw when we stepped outside:


They weren't lying!

We decided to pay the extra entrance fee to have a guided tour of the grounds. However it was much too short for our tastes, concluding after only about 45 minutes. But then we were free to roam the entire archaeological site. We spent a great deal of time in the museum portion of the Colosseum, which profiled the family responsible for its construction. During this time, the weather was growing continuously more ominous.

How do I describe seeing the Coliseum? Much like the Sistine Chapel, it simply defies words. At this point in our trip I was suffering from serious mental fatigue. First there's the challenge of existing in a country where one's mother tongue is not the primary language. That's not to say the Italians weren't exceedingly accommodating to English speakers. They were, in fact, fabulously well equipped to deal with ignorant tourists like us! But I heard Italian words all the time. My brain insisted on trying to translate, to the best of my ability--which wasn't much, resulting in a great deal of frustration.

On top of this, I was continuously coming to grips with the age and history behind the attractions we were seeing. To actually imagine gladiators fighting to the death down on the floor of the Coliseum is a difficult feat. It's much easier to let the history wash over you, resulting in comments like, "Wow, it's so big!" I was trying to get under its historical skin, which was making me very tired. I got to the point where the sight of a strip mall would've been refreshing--something that didn't tax my mental reserves.


But seriously. The Coliseum! I was bowled over.

We had lunch at another little touristy place, where they offer decent food at a decent price. The maître d' was just about the most charismatic salesman I've ever seen. We watched him for two hours as he convinced passing tourists to stop in and eat, often supplying more customers than the waitstaff could accommodate. He spoke (or could do his sales pitch in) English, Spanish, French, and German. When speaking to Americans, he switched to the American pronunciation of bruschetta ("brew-SHET-ah," as opposed to the Italian "bru-SKET-ah"). We just hoped he was earning commission for how many butts he put in seats.

And then it started to rain. We made it to the entranceway that led to the archaeological ruins surrounding the Coliseum. And there we waited. We watched a bootleg copy of Star Trek on my 2-inch Nano screen--the WHOLE MOVIE--and still the rain kept coming. Finally Keven bought a €5 umbrella from a street vendor and we set out. We didn't last very long. Without a guide, it was hard to make out what we were seeing exactly. Plus we were utterly exhausted. And wet. And cold. We decided to call it a day. Here's Keven looking wiped out:


After packing and leaving the bed and breakfast, we did some souvenir shopping and took the train to the airport. We checked into the Hilton, made ourselves vaguely presentable, and headed down to dinner. The hotel featured this tremendous buffet, complete with complimentary wine. Only we didn't ask how much it would cost. About halfway through dinner, Keven thought he heard someone say it cost €96 apiece. We were startled but quite beyond caring. We just ate tons--in case that was the actual price! In the end it turned out to be about €80 total. Expensive, but not enough to make me want to chop off a leg in shock or frustration.

I collapsed into a bubble bath, Keven got cleaned up, and we slept. We had an early flight to catch home.

Contest and Website Updates!

To celebrate the fact that my kids go back to school tomorrow, I'm holding a new contest! One lucky winner will receive a $25 gift certificate to the book retailer of your choice plus a printed ARC of my January 2010 release, SCOUNDREL'S KISS. Just sign up for my Yahoo group and post a message titled "Back to School" for your chance to enter. On Friday, September 18 at noon (central), I'll draw a winner at random from all entries. Good luck!

Void where prohibited. Closed to previous winners of CarrieLofty.com contests.

I've also updated my website with my upcoming appearance and workshop schedule. Lots of good stuff coming up! Please let me know if you have questions about the workshops I'm slated to offer.