Review "The Tiger's Wife"

For my Slow Down And Read campaign, I'm slowly working my way through a list of summer reads. Some new, some classic, some literary, some popular. And some of the books I'm listening to as audio versions. This way I can read one book and listen to another. Here's my review of Tiger's Wife:

The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I sorta don't get it. True, I did listen to the audio version and that can be different. I don't know. I just expected...more. I thought that there was some terrific writing in it (and the voice of the grandfather will give you chills) but it felt really fractured to me and the payoff wasn't what I was hoping for. The narrator is enjoyable. I think she narrated the Hunger Games series too and I like her style. I liked Obreht's blending of fairytale/folklore with aspects of the war, but all in all, the piece felt too disjointed for me to be left with much of a payoff. It is enjoyable and worthwhile. Maybe all the hype just made me think it was going to be something more than it was.

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On Furniture And Happiness

I had one of those “old habits die hard” moments. Or maybe it should be “I’m still acting and responding in old patterns” moments and “I really need to stop doing that”. My writing space is tucked into the corner of the kitchen. I have a cute little antique desk (which is really an old sewing cabinet). I like the desk and being where there’s lots of light, BUT I don’t have any space for a printer, or my writer-type stuff.

It occurred to me that maybe I should get a new desk. So, I planned it all out…how I would talk to Kealoha about it, how I would justify it, etc. See, when I was married, getting furniture became this huge symbol. I wanted a new couch and my ex refused. We never had enough money. Actually, we had enough money but he didn’t think my wanting a new couch was important.

Near the end of our marriage, I had pleaded for new furniture so frequently that my ex finally gave in…but only after I’d saved enough money from narrating to take care of the cost. We finally got the new couch and chairs, but at that point no furniture could fix what was missing from our relationship. When I left, my ex refused to let me have any of it. It became this whole symbol of not feeling cherished or listened to. I was a stay-at-home mom and was inside constantly raising our two kids (who are only seventeen months apart). I just wanted a new couch. Something without stains on it. Something that didn’t come from my ex’s previous marriage. More than that, I just wanted to be taken care of.

So when I decided that I’d like a new writing desk, I had everything planned out.

Kealoha would come home and this is what I would say:

“So, I’d really like a new writing desk. I want something that has drawers and I can put paper in. And I’d like it big enough so that I can have the printer next to me and space for some other things. It will be a business expense so it will come out of my business account. It’s not superficial. I need it. It’s important to me. I spend so much time writing and working that I want a space that allows me to do this. If you want, I can save a little longer, but I do have the money to cover it…."

I had everything planned. I would make my need known and demand that I get a new desk. I would not wait another five years for something that was important to me. This time, I would be heard! I was already getting a little angry and I hadn’t even talked to Kealoha yet.

Kealoha came home. Armed with my arsenal of reasons I said: “I’d like to get a new desk and…”

He didn’t let me finish. “Sure. You want to plan a daytrip to Ikea?”

Just like that.

My mouth dropped open. I stammered “But I need it and I can pay for it and…”

He just looked at me. “Let me check the calendar. We could look for some stuff for the kids’ rooms too.”

It sort of makes me cry. It’s just another reason why I’m crazy about this guy.

And so it begins...Again. Again to the power of 4.

Damnation!  I promised I was through with dieting! I swore to the air gods above and said: I! WILL! NOT! DIET! Then I ate a ton of crap and couldn't fit into any more of my pants.

Now, with the wedding looming in just 98 days (holy shit! That's less than 100!) I've realized that I just have to suck it up, because if I want to wear the wedding dress I've got my eye on...just sucking it in won't be enough.

So I'm starting a diet. Again. But, yeah, I'm trying to be all healthy about it and not actively DIET--more like just stop eating all the crap and exercising more.

If this works, I'll turn it into a book and sell millions. It will be called "Stop Eating Crap. Exercise More". That'll be the whole book. I'll just fill the other 300 or so pages with lots of meaningless stuff about buffalo and bigfoot and then put in some recipes.

So. Here I go. Starting right now. I'm going to put down my chip and walk away. Walk slowly away.

I probably better step away from the bacon too. Hmm. Make that run away. Run so FAR away. And with that, I leave you with this:

Ah, Summer. No work. No income. Gah!

Around noon today, I’ll finish narrating the last novel I’m booked for. That means at 12:01 today, I officially begin my summer vacation. Well, sort of unofficially. I still have one day left of teaching, but that’s just exams and grading. I don’t have to plan anything. So. Summer vacation. Two months of not teaching…and no narration booked. Part of me is having a panic attack, I have to admit. Usually with narration I have something lined up, but nothing yet. It’s entirely possible I could go two months without work or income. I’m a little bit terrified. Both of not working (how DOES one relax?) and not getting paid.

At the same time, I’m really excited. I have two months to focus on reading, writing, and just recharging. It’s time to get my writing house back in order, and slip into some good novels. I’ve already started “Sarum” (a novel about England). When it came to me in the mail via Amazon, I opened the box and was shocked to find out that that muther is almost 1,000 pages of very small print. 1000 pages! And it begins with like the Ice Age or something. I guess there’s a reason it’s called the Novel of England. If I make it through that, I think I’m going to read some Carson McCullers and some other classics.

I should be excited. I really should. And I think I am it’s just…well…trying to find a home for the cats is depressing. There are no takers yet. My daughter is heartbroken, so is my son and Kealoha. Where are the Crazy Cat Ladies when you need them?  And then the concept of two months without an income is terrifying to me. What if I’m never hired to narrate again? What if teaching falls through? What if I can’t write a single word in my new literary novel?

I’m trying to tell myself to shut up. I talk too much. I worry too much. But then I just start talking again.

I’m trying to use that whole ‘affirmation’ thing and remind myself that this is just a vacation. I can take a vacation. And someone, someone will want to give my cats a home. And my kids will start getting better. And Kealoha and I are going to have a great wedding. And I’ll lose the five pounds I’ve been trying to since I broke my foot. And my mom will find an apartment that works for her and she’ll stop stressing me out. And I do believe in fairies, I do, I believe in fairies so much that I’m just going to clap my hands right now! clapclapclap

Yep. I’ll just repeat these things endlessly until I get so tired of listening to myself obsessing that I just plain shut it.

I’m thinking that’s going to be at 12:01 today. At 12:01 today, I’m going to sit outside and just breathe for a while and enjoy the start of my vacation.

And I’m going to turn the next page in my book.

Meet Mist & Peanut. They need a home. They will love you.

MEET THE CATS

If you want to know why I’m giving away these adorable kittehs, check out the previous blog HERE. We love these cats, but my kids have developed pretty severe allergies.

Mist and Peanut are adorable cats. They’re one year old and were littermates. They’re so cool, they have different dads. They’re as quirky as can be.

THE MIGHTY MIST

Mist is a boy cat but was named Misty. So, yeah, a boy named Misty. He’s part Siamese so that means he’s a climber. He will play and snuggle with you when he wants to. He’s spirited (that’s the part-Siamese in him) but sweet. He likes to look at you like he’s stoned, but really he’s just thinking about stuff. He’s not very bright, but he has a good personality.

THE SUCKLER--PEANUT

Peanut is Mist’s emotionally needy sister. She still suckles when someone will let her. (Not your nipple, people; she suckles blankets.) She needs a little extra love because she only has three legs. She’s got a pirate stub. I’m sure she gave part of her leg up to another animal because she wanted to make that animal happy. She’s a giver and not real clear on dysfunctional relationships.

Both cats are used to kids. They are great pets. We’d love to find a home that will take both of them since they’ve never been separated, but if we have to split them up, we will. We just don’t want to take them to the pound.

Mist and Peanut come to you with toys, litter boxes, a scratchy thing and a giant cat tree if you want it. We’ll even throw in some food and cat litter.

I’ll write about Mercedes later, but she’s Kealoha’s cat and we still have to make some decisions. We might be able to find her a temporary home until we can figure something out.

So. Two spirited cats from Blunder Woman. Let me know if you can help.

My cats need a home. Here's why.

It’s with a heavy heart that I’m writing this blog, but I’ve got to do it. I need to find a home for my lovely, quirky, sweet cats. Trust me; I don’t want to give them up…but because of my kids, I’ve got to.

If you read my blog then you know I’ve been struggling with this issue for some time, and have had 'discussions' with my ex about it where I was accused of being selfish. I wasn't selfish. I really was thinking about the whole picture: how much the kids love the cats and what cats teach humans about empathy and love.

We found out a few months ago that my son who is 6 suffers from allergies and the allergies cause his asthma to flare. He’s allergic to the air basically. Broken down it’s cats, dogs, dust, weeds, grass, trees and mold. I decided to keep the cats because since he’s allergic to basically EVERYTHING and has to be on allergy shots anyway, then I thought we could manage the cats and keep his allergy symptoms under control.

But his allergies are getting worse, the circles under his eyes deeper, and he’s having more asthma attacks.

And then today, my daughter (who is 5) had her appointment with the allergist. While she’s not as severe as my son, she’s still allergic to cats, dogs, dust, mold, two kinds of trees and mold. Not weeds for some reason. A good thing too, because she likes to pick dandelions and random weeds to decorate our house with.

Her allergies are still developing but the doctor said if we can reduce her exposure, she might not need allergy shots.

When I look at my kids, when I see how much they’re sick and how often, how many times they wake up (and wake me up) in the middle of the night coughing, and how dark those circles are under their eyes…well…I love my kids so much that I just can’t justify keeping the cats anymore.

And it’s a little bit devastating. I’ve tried everything though. Cleaning, vacuuming, etc…but it doesn’t help.

So…I need to find a home for Mist and Peanut and possibly Mercedes.

Please CLICK HERE to meet Mist and Peanut. They need a good home. Can you help?

On Weddings (more deep thoughts)

WEDDING

This weekend was a weekend of weddings with a heavy side of expectations and disappointments. Now there’s a sentence that will make you want to keep reading. It’s not depressing; I promise you.

We went to a friend of Kealoha’s wedding. Funny thing is, once upon a time, she was friend of mine. In fact, she was a housemate of mine fifteen years ago, in the very house I met Kealoha. She was the owner of the house and the hot tub (from which I emerged wrapped in towels). I lived with her for over a year or so and it was the first time in my teenager and young adult years (I was 22) that I lived in a home that was both beautiful and safe.

She was older than me…I think she was 35 to my 22 and I remember thinking how ‘old’ she was, something I laugh at now. Watching her get married, a peculiar thing happened. I was flooded with happiness for her, but I also felt regret…for ways I’d behaved when we were roommates. In my early twenties I was particularly self-centered. Lots of reasons for that, but a lot of it came down to immaturity. I didn’t understand loneliness at that time, or wanting to find a life partner, and I wasn’t very sympathetic to her wants.

Now, at almost 38, having felt deep loneliness and luckily having found my ‘life partner’ I can look back and think: man, I was an insensitive little turd. That’s right. A turd.

So I attended the wedding as I am now: 37, with my 2 kids and Kealoha and lots of learning under my belt, but my younger self was there too…in how people I haven’t seen in a decade or more responded to me, and that little ghost whispering behind my ear.

My roommate did eventually find love. She married and was happy for a time, and then became a widow. Then she found love again and the couple beamed with good humor and love and warmth. It was lovely. Plus, there was a crab boil afterwards. I don't know. It gave me hope for my girlfriends who are still searching.

It was light and summery and fun….and I just thought for a moment that isn’t life funny, the way it works out. 15 years ago, I never thought I’d have a family of my own, never imagined my life would turn out the way it has. Thankfully, where I’m at now is exactly where I want to be, even if all the details are different than I imagined.

WEDDING ALBUM

Then for father’s day, we went over to Kealoha’s parents for chicken and corn and pie. Mmmm. After dinner and while the kids played over and around Kealoha, his mom and I went into the basement to look at photos. She showed me their wedding album from about 45 years ago. It was actually really interesting. I loved her dress and the bridesmaid’s….and how everyone was just plain young. She pointed out people in the wedding and on the dance floor and told me of their future.

Some of them divorced; some remarried. Some stayed single. Some were gay. Some died early; some died after a long life. Some struggled. Some were happy. Some she never saw again. It’s all very Our Town.

It was all so random…and then I had one of those moments thinking about the wedding we were just at, and the wedding we’ll have in October. How all these people will come together to help us celebrate. For that one moment, we’ll all be frozen in what will be (hopefully) a joyous occasion…and then life will go on. There will be heartbreaks, and disappointments and joy and love and twenty years from now who will be left? And who will be living exactly the life they envisioned they would?

Kealoha’s parents thought they’d be grandparents by now, but they aren’t. I feel for them. It's hard to have expectations and dreams that you have no control over. By this time, I thought I’d have a bestseller and a huge house and a kitchen with an island so big you’d get lost on it. (Actually, that was just a dream, not an expectation.)

I don’t know. I guess what I’m saying is I realized that even though you plan your life out, you never know what’s going to happen. I guess there’s something beautiful to that too. That life will, no matter what, surprise you.

My roommate found love not once, but twice. I’ve found love at 37.

We’ve all grown up, lived, suffered, rejoiced. I find this to be really, really comforting.

On Pringles, My Kids, And General Mom-crying

PROLOGUE (skip this if you just want the current story) I spent a good portion of the evening crying last night. Meh. It happens. I think everything just finally piled up and all the stress had to go somewhere. It was either tears, or eat an entire pint of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. If we’d had chocolate peanut butter ice cream in the house, I probably would’ve gone that way.

First off, we have to go back a little bit. I haven’t had a real vacation of relaxing and recharging since I left my marriage. So that’s over two years. I had two trips to New York. One I took my niece to and developed a tooth infection and needed a root canal. And the other I went there to pitch my 4^th novel. They were fun trips, but not relaxing.

If you go back further, then I haven’t had a vacation since being pregnant with Louis. So…almost seven years. (Although why I would need a vacation when I didn’t have kids, I can’t quite figure out. What do childless people do with all their time? Don’t take offense. I just mean I’ve forgotten what life was PreKids.)

Keep in mind that I’ve been working my butt off since having kids, but particularly these last two years where I managed to start over from nearly nothing….except $600 from my ex and a couple of narration pay checks in the mail. Over these last two years, I’ve started teaching full time at a college (they just renewed my contract for a third year), bought a house, written two books, found daycare for the kids, tended them, nurtured them…and re-met and fell in love with a great guy. I’ve accomplished a lot.

THE CURRENT STORY

I’ve also realized (especially over the last month) there’s only so long that you can keep running before you collapse. I’m not collapsing, but I am exhausted.

It makes the conversations I’ve had with my ex and his wife this week that much harder to bear.

Now, I’m not attacking them. I try really hard to empathize with their perspective and choices, and I usually do a good job. But my ex called me shocked to hear that I had given our son Pringles.

Pringles.

He’s upset because I shouldn’t give the kids processed food and he doesn’t want them to be overweight and the food industry is manipulative and controlling and I should know better than to give toxins to our children especially when they have allergies.

Yes. I admit, in times of weakness, I let the kids have snacks. I don’t have time anymore to cook everything from scratch. When I was a stay-at-home mom and in a marriage that was ultimately too controlling and confining, I cooked EVERYTHING. From homemade bread, to snack crackers, to roasts, to whipped cream. If I could’ve milked the cow, I would’ve.

I’ve since learned that life is about balance. While I try to encourage my kids to make healthy choices, I also don’t want to control their diet so fiercely that they’re terrified of gaining too much weight or they eat a diet that is so bland (and free of salt, fat, and wheat products) that when they get out into the ‘real world’ they go crazy. I also need to balance out my own time. I can’t cook everything anymore. Not when I’m working two jobs (teaching and narrating), writing, exercising, and trying to stay sane.

Sometimes the kids get PRINGLES. I’ve also given them GUMMIE BEARS. This week for dessert, they had SMORES. I have, on occasion, taken them to MCDONALDS.

I don’t think I’m an evil person for doing this. I think I’m a normal working mom who is doing the best for her kids. I make mistakes, but it’s not out of neglect. I also want the kids to know that life is about balance. If you have a treat some time, then be a little more active and eat some more fruits and veggies.

You know my kids’ favorite meal? It isn’t McDonalds. I haven’t ruined their palates forever. In fact, I’m shaping their palates to be pretty discerning and appreciative. Their current favorite meal is homemade chicken strips with panko and sesame seeds, edamame, and Chinese noodles.  I’m proud of that…and I’m proud of the way I’m raising my kids.

There’s more to this story though…the other part of the crying fit had to do with allergies, our cats, and trying to make a decision that’s right for my kids and our family…all while being pummeled and criticized for being a selfish parent.

Trust me. I’m not a selfish parent. I love my kids deeply and I’ve done everything I can to give them a loving, stable life. I do the best I can.

Thankfully, in two more weeks, I’m taking a real vacation. No kids. No teaching. No narrating. Just time to recharge and reassess. And possible, quite possibly, eat some PRINGLES. I like the sour cream and onion ones the best.

Guest Blog

I guest blogged at the Grand Rapids Region Writers Group today. Check it out here: "I'm Reading Away".

And look for more new blogs from me later this week. I have all sorts of topics I want to write about including kids, food, stresses with ex, etc. Oh, the drama.

Review of "We Need To Talk About Kevin" by Lionel Shriver

For the summer, I've committed myself to my own plan to "Slow Down And Read" and I have a list of ten books I'm working on. They're a combination of romance, literary, mystery, historical, and just plain entertaining. This morning, I finished reading "We Need To Talk About Kevin" by Lionel Shriver. Here is my review (as posted on GoodReads)

We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a brilliant novel. I don't say that lightly. I mean it. It's brilliant. And I think Lionel Shriver is a genius. Her work is like reading a mixture of Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, and Dorothy Parker. She is relentless, fierce, and writes about the underbelly of the psyche. She is also lyrical. "We Need To Talk About Kevin" is not an easy read. The subject matter is daunting (a woman reflects on the signs in her son's life that would lead him to committing a massacre at her school); the voice is ruthless (with lines like when my son was born "I felt nothing"); and still, the piece is utterly compelling.

It leads one to look at the root of evil. Is evil incarnate or is it created? Is a sociopath born or made? Should a child (essentially) be held accountable for his own monstrosity?

It also echoes fears every mother possesses from gestation to the adulthood of a child: What if I give birth to someone who is damaged? Is it my fault? How much of a child's behavior is because of the mother?

The novel plays on fears, but it also explores our own humanity.

A few years ago, I was booked to narrate Shriver's "A Post Birthday World". It was, like this novel, challenging but in the end, thoroughly rewarding both intellectually and emotionally. I haven't been booked to narrate another of her books (though I so wish I would be), so instead I'm vowing to read everything she's ever written. She is not a writer that makes you feel good. No. She challenges you. She gets in your face and makes you uncomfortable. She demands that you analyze your own life and your own choices. For this reason, I can't seem to put her work down. I'm completely, reluctantly, enthralled.

View all my reviews

Six Sentence Sunday June 12

Oh nooooo! I think my original post for Six Sentence Sunday confused people. It makes the book sound scary, and it's not. Guess that's what happens when you post something out of context. I'm updating the post with this instead. Next week I'll be more careful:

"He leaned in and I stood on my tippy toes, he tilted my head back with his big hands, and then his lips were on me: firm, strong, wet. Just a little pressure at first and then the hint of a tongue, and then, (dear God I do believe in you!) choirs were singing and pulsing and jumping and…oops…not a choir, that was my clitoris. Easy to get that confused sometimes.

He kissed me so long and deep and unhurried, that I felt it in my toes. It was a kiss full of promise of what was to come, and I mean, come, yes that kind, of promised pleasures, but it seemed to hint at something else. It seemed to promise…I don’t know…a future."

The original post:

My entry this week comes from "Blunder Woman" published by Champagne Books. In this snippet Chloe, her friend Megan, and her mom show up at a party thrown by Chloe's obsession, Matt:

“What is this place? Where are all the men?” Megan and I clutched each other, sort of like we would if we were walking alone in the woods on a night an ax murderer was loose.

Mom said (a little too loudly), “It’s like the retirement home...all chicks.”

There were women everywhere: standing in the grass, on the sidewalk, leaning up against Matt’s car. Then I got a glimpse at his front window and there were more women inside, and silhouettes of curvy bods in the kitchen.

Six Sentence Sunday is a blog (sixsentence.com) where writers sign up and agree to post six sentences of a published piece, or something they're working on. Then we all comment on each other's stuff. It's a great way to discover new writers and connect with others.

Gnomes & the Application to Date Me filled out by Kealoha

I woke up this morning with a firm plan. 1) I will work out for an hour at the MVP.

2) I will fix a chapter in FOODIES.

3) I will eat a balanced breakfast with lots of fruit.

4) I will go to my voice over at 10 and be totally relaxed.

Yeah. That went out the window right away. I’m currently on my second cup of coffee, no breakfast, and I won’t have time to work out because I’ve been looking at wedding stuff all morning and behaving like a ridiculous girl. You know, that silly kind of girl in horror movies that’s all stupid and says in a high, soft voice: “Oh! I think I’ll go down this incredibly scary dark alley all by myself because surely a crazed killer wouldn’t hide there!”

I blame my Mother-in-Law-To-Be. She sent me links to beautiful frilly dresses and now I Can’t. Stop. Clicking. (Check out one of the sites she sent me HERE.) I also can’t stop thinking about if I wear poofy crinoline, just how enormous will the lower half of me look?

I don’t want to look like I’m hiding children under my dress. Or gnomes or something. That would be bad wedding behavior.

To stop obsessively looking at dresses I can’t even fit into (because I’m not working out enough or eating well enough), I started tweaking our wedding website.

We have the cutsie story of how we met. It’s very “When Harry Met Sally”, but without the orgasm scene in the restaurant, although I’ve done plenty of moaning over a good meal.

Anyway, remember that application to date me I posted about a year ago? And that Kealoha actually filled it out. Here’s the application he sent me. I’m posting it because it’s cute. And manly. Really, it takes a real man to fill out an application to date someone, especially when that someone is you. Or me. Or whatever. Anyway, it was flattering to the nth degree. And here it is:

Now back to obsessively clicking. Wish I could find a good 1950s style dress that won’t make me look like a whale and will highlight my cleavage without turning it into a the sole focus of the evening. I really don’t want people to say “Man, I don’t remember anything about that wedding but Tanya had ENORMOUS boobs, and I’m pretty sure there were gnomes hiding under her dress.”

Tunnel Vision IS BACK!

I have turned over my new leaf. What on earth does that mean anyway? Whenever I turn over a leaf, I just see it's veiny underbelly. Expressions. Sheesh. They're so confusing. Let me start again. This is my first week of taking a break from being endlessly neurotic and obsessively promoting everything I'm doing. I'm just kicking back and reading and teaching and being a mom and a fiancee. It's nice.

But I have some unfinished business with a piece I started last year. A year ago, I asked for people to vote on a story idea for a Blovel (a novel posted in blog installments). Voters chose an historical gothic novel which is sooooo out of my comfort zone.

I decided to write about a 1930s insane asylum in Northern Michigan. Who knew I had such darkness? (Actually, I was pretty serious and literary and dark up until having my kids. Then I grew a sense of humor.)

I found working on this piece to be challenging, disturbing, aggravating, and a whole lot of fun. I posted like 17 installments, and then, well, life and the Promotion Machine took over and I stopped writing it. I didn't think anyone would notice.

A couple of you did.

So, because this story needs to be finished, because a couple of you have asked, and because I've decided to rewrite this little bugger and beef it up and make it a real novel, I'm going to finish it. In fact, I'm posting the next installment TODAY.

You can check on posts about "Tunnel Vision" by entering it in the search tool at the top right of the site. It's also categorized in "Summer Blovel". Or just CLICK ON THIS. You'll find previous chapters, and blogs as I talk about the process.

I'm excited to return to this. The characters still want their story to be told. Frankly, they're annoying me. So...without further delay...I bring you the ending chapters of "Tunnel Vision".

Just not right this second. Some time today. I have to take a shower and get ready to teach first.

On Writing and Living

ON WRITING

This was my first weekend of not obsessively tweeting, posting to Facebook, or tirelessly promoting my work. Instead, I read 200 pages (for pleasure), took naps, and enjoyed time with my fiancé and the kiddos. What a revelation! I said to Kealoha: “I don’t know why I’m so tired. I think there’s something wrong with me.” And he said, “Uh, you’re relaxed.” I was pretty shocked. I guess it’s been a long time since I’ve slowed down this much, so much so that I didn’t even know that I was relaxed.

Of course, two days isn’t saying much, but I’m trying to look at it as a ‘life change’ and not a ‘weekend change’. I’m tired of running and doing so much.

I was lazy. I didn’t clean, do a To Do list, prep an audio book. I didn’t write, didn’t obsess nearly as much, didn’t scour the internet looking at reviews and comments about my stuff. What I did do was cook, play, and go for walks. On one of my walks, I started thinking about a short story I’d like to write. It’s been a long time since I’ve dipped my toes into short stories. I’d like to try it again. This week, I’m going to start writing again….but the kind of story I want to tell (even if it’s hard).

And I thought about the wedding coming up in October.

ON LIVING

We’re planning a 1950s Cocktail Party/ Luau theme. I had no idea how much goes into a wedding….especially how much it costs. My first marriage we didn’t have a wedding ceremony. Just us and two witnesses. I dind’t want a big to-do, then, and maybe that was a sign.

With Kealoha, it’s different. I actually want to stand up with him in front of our friends and family and do the whole exchanging of vows thing. I want to make it official. Still, it’ll be relaxed…basically a fun party for us and about 100 guests (most of whom are our family). Appetizers, music, fun outfits, gifts, a mai tai toast…gah!  So much to plan! So much money to spend. I’m also learning a lot of weird wedding stuff. Stuff that makes me just shake my head, like the coordinator at the JW Mariott who calls herself a “Dream Planner”.

On Sunday we had a little ‘engagement party’ at Kealoha’s parents. I met his extended family. There were a lot of jokes, some cussing, and one of his cousins repeatedly asking me: “Are you sure about this? You want to marry this guy?” I assured her I did.

Kealoha’s parents loaded us up with sausage, chips, taquitos and M&Ms for our trip home. I sat in the back seat in between Louis and Simone, my mom was in the front, and Kealoha was driving her car. I had a sort of surreal moment where I thought “Holy shit. This is my family.” Of course, at the time my mom was telling Kealhoa a complicated story about clowns and drunkenness, so I was actively trying to zone out.

It was a fun weekend. A real weekend. A weekend in which I spent more time actually living my life than running from task to task. I could get used to this. And thanks to Kealoha, there is now a hammock in our back yard that is whispering my name. I better go check that hammock out. You know, make sure it works and all.

Insomnia Causes Epiphanies. Big Ones.

It’s no surprise that I’ve been having (what I lovingly refer to as) an existential writer crisis for about, oh, a year. Well, I think it’s hit its precipice. At least I hope it has. It’s 12:57 AM and I can’t sleep. All I can think is ‘It’s time to do my work’. A rather annoying thought to have when what I’d really like to be doing is sleeping. I know what my brain is telling me. It’s telling me to quit whining, grow up, and write what I should be writing. (I keep thinking of the end scene in Uncle Vanya.)

These last two years on my own with the kids have been pretty chaotic. I’m constantly busy with teaching and narrating and then writing and more recently endlessly promoting my three small books that are out there. You can do a lot of things at one time, I’ve discovered, but you can’t do a lot of things well. I’ve given my all to my kids, my students, my audiobooks, and what little is left over, I give to my own work. There isn't a lot left over, actually. There's hardly anything left over.

Here’s where things get touchy.

I have a huge chip on my shoulder about why my work isn’t catching on, and why I can’t get an agent, and why I can’t get that elusive big New York publisher. Originally, I just thought the world was against me. Now I realize it’s actually more personal than that. My work isn’t good enough. I’m not saying this for pity; I’m saying it because it’s true.

I’ve thrown a tantrum over a colleague of mine and the accolades that he’s rightly receiving. I’ve thrown a tantrum because my alma mater GVSU said they wouldn’t let me do a reading there because the type of stuff I write (romantic comedy) isn’t supported by their department. I’ve thrown a tantrum as I’ve watched other writer friends get agents, book deals, readings at Schuler’s, etc. I threw a tantrum this week when the two agents looking at my new manuscript passed on it, even though they said I’m a good writer with a keen imagination. And I nearly threw a tantrum last night when I googled my college boyfriend, and discovered that he was on The Daily Show in January talking about his critically heralded second book on Detroit and the auto industry. The man is called a genius, and the truth is, he is.

What do any of these tantrums really accomplish? Why am I being such a baby?

Here’s the truth. I have a smidgen of talent and I’ve always floated by on that. I’ve never really tried at anything. Good grades came easy in school. I was a mostly A student. The same in college. Papers came easy, and later so did stories. Now if I’m being really honest, I’ll take it a step further.

Writing is a joy to me. An escape. So I don’t like to work on it. Work is, well, work. My three books out…they’re pretty much 1^st drafts. Sure, I fix the typos and I add things here and there, but you’re pretty much reading the 1^st draft. Why? Because I’m sort of just floating by.

So while I throw tantrums all over the place about the ‘world not recognizing me’…what kind of effort and work have I put into making them listen? Are my books the best work I’m capable of? No. They’re not. They’re just parlor tricks.

What would happen if I really took some time and energy and put it into a novel? What would happen if I stopped complaining, stopped looking at everyone around me and what they have, and just focused on my work? On those novels that I want to write? On the novels I need to write, but haven't had the energy for? What would happen?

I’m hoping for magic.

This is what I’m going to do. I’m finally at a place in my life where I feel loved and supported and safe. It has taken all my life to get to this point. (My childhood is the stuff of pained memoirs.) I have great kids and a wonderful fiancé and a wedding to plan. I don’t have to fight anymore to be who I am, or struggle emotionally or financially. Things are in place.

So now it’s time to shut up and do my work. I’m returning to a literary novel that I started a decade ago and didn’t want to put the time and energy into it because it was too hard. And I’m also going to rewrite “Tunnel Vision” and see if I can add depth and texture to it. If no one bites on “Foodies Rush In”, I’ll self-publish it and I’ll move on.

I’m tired of my own tantrums. It’s time to get serious about this.

It starts now…

Or, okay, it starts after I get some sleep.

Don't worry. I won't lose my sense of humor in my work, but I'm going to widen the scope a little. There are characters still waiting in Rusty's Bar and Grill, and a fortune teller has moved in above the restaurant. This is what I'm going to work on. Everything else around me is just noise.

Rah.

Question #5—The Longest Question I’ve Ever Received.

Greg Witulski of The Sleeves asked the following:

The other day I was at a church social talking with a person I had just met. We were near the cookies and coffee table, so we had been snacking. As I was talking, I noticed a particle of food fly out of my mouth toward him. I didn't see where it landed, but it was large enough for us both to have noticed it. I certainly noticed it, and was about to say something and apologize, but out of embarrassment, I ignored it, and continued to talk.

For his part, he either acted like he didn't notice, or actually didn't notice, which I find hard to believe because it was fairly large and actually passed directly through a strong afternoon sunbeam as it flew through the air, for a moment bursting into illumination like a tiny meteorite. I distractedly tried to continue the conversation while my own embarrassment consumed me, and while I also couldn't help but imagine his own embarrassment, both sympathetically on my behalf, and over the soggy chunk of macadamia nut that was certainly soaking into his lapel.

With some difficulty I finally finished what I was saying, and was relieved to at last have the focus off myself so I could simply listen to him.

Well, this is where it gets complicated, because as he continued talking, another projectile came flying out of his mouth, easily four times the size of my own, streaking through the sun blindingly visible to both of us. He looked directly at it, and so did I - there was no mistaking it this time. But he said nothing, and I said nothing as well.

I'm quite sure by this point neither of us were listening to what the other was saying at all - we were simply moving our mouths in a generalized approximation of church-social banter while our minds were consumed by the awkwardness of blatantly spitting upon each other and not acknowledging it.

My question is this: Based on this experience, I have decided to heretofore avoid all uncomfortableness related to this all-too-common situation, and from now on plan to simply call out oral paratroopers with glee whenever they occur. "Whee! Did you see that thing GO? It's like the Perseids all up in here!" Do you think this is advisable behavior?

TANYA: Yes.

Question #4: Any Bites From Hollywood?

Bob Caustic also asked the following question: “Any nibbles from Hollywood yet? Who do you think should direct "Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage"? Who should star in "Pepper"?”

TANYA: If anyone knows anyone in Hollywood, please send them my way. Especially if it’s Drew Barrymore and her company because I really think she should direct one of my books and make it into a movie. And then she and I should go out for drinks and appetizers and then she could pay for it because I'm just a struggling writer. And then if she could buy me a gift basket stuffed with wine and gourmet food products, that'd be great. Could someone get on that please?

Sigh. Well, since we’re talking dreams here, I DO have some of the characters in mind. I could see Pepper Wellington as Susan Sarandon and Sausage as Amy Adams or that Alison chick from Buffy and How I Met Your Mother. Actually, you could take the whole cast from How I Met Your Mother and put them in the movie. Pepper just needs to be played by an older actress who has sex appeal and a pair of balls. (One of those things is just figurative.)

Patricia Heaton would be great in one of my books-as-movie. She's doing a new web series called Versailles so surely around doing that she could have time to produce a TV series around "Blunder Woman". She'd be a great mom in that.

OR for something really fun, I'd ask Martin Scorsese to direct my online dating romance "Easy Does It". Joe Pesci could play Dan the Man and Meryl Streep could play Julie, but play her with a Slavic accent, and then they could just randomly kick stuff and it would all be filmed in a single long shot with lots of smoke and violin music.

Yep. I have great ideas on how to turn my books into films. Just waiting for that call.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Screw it. I'm going to go eat some cheese.

Question 3: On Surviving Dinner With Vampires

Joselyn Vaughn asks: I invited my neighbors for dinner and have since learned they are a family of non-vegetarian vampires. Any suggestions on how to survive the meal?

TANYA:

Dinner plans are always stressful. I mean, it’s so hard serving something everyone  will like. Add to that the additional stress of wondering if you expose your neck, if you’ll end up being the main course. When I invite non-vegetarian vampires over for dinner (it happens more than you’d think) I keep the menu varied AND I have a backup plan.

Try a menu that goes for a theme. Perhaps you’ll start with a Bloody Mary and then serve blood orange salad with beet soup. Then a rare prime rib (reserve the juices), followed by red velvet cake. Make your dinner fun and festive! Consider handing out fake vampire teeth to your other guests so you can all share a hearty laugh.

As for the backup plan, also invite one, maybe two, people that you really can’t stand. You know, that annoying person from work who’s always telling you long stories about their diverticulitis and/or menstrual cycle. Or that guy who keeps knocking on your door for money because his wife and two children are trapped in their car and they need gas and/or food and he’s been asking you for money using this same excuse for five years. Invite him. After you’re clearing the plates and tidying up, leave the vampires alone in the dining room with this annoying person. Don’t be surprised if your ‘friend’ makes a hasty departure and NEVER RETURNS AGAIN. Smile, knowing that your Vampire guests look well nourished and you are a damn fine host.

Question # 2: For the Lonelyhearts (answered by Pepper)

QUESTION #2 I asked for questions on love and did anyone need advice. An artist named Tim responded with a comment that if only he could find love, he’d ask for advice on it. I decided to let Pepper Wellington have a crack at it since she seems to know a thing or two about love. Or at least making love.

From PEPPER WELLINGTON

Tim, dear. Can you see my face? It’s all pinched and unhappy looking. You know why? Because I haven’t had an orgasm in hours. Hours I tell you! And just so you know, I am a happily single woman. I am happy because I know that to make my face relax. I just have an orgasm and voila! Instant facelift. And to have an orgasm, I don’t need anyone else to help me do it. I can do it myself. Yes. I’m talking about masturbation. I do this and if you don’t you should…because nothing is as attractive as the afterglow of a sexually satisfied person. Not to belittle your feelings of loneliness. I’m only trying to make you laugh. Loneliness is real, and dark, and debilitating. And I think it’s perfectly natural to want to find a partner and to share your life with. It’s good. My only concern for you…my only suggestion then…is if you can live your life authentically, if you can focus on things that you have and what makes you happy, then you will naturally attract a partner to you.

No advice makes loneliness better…but I speak from experience when I say that when I am satisfied with myself and my life and my choices…those are the times that I have the most lovers approach me. Sometimes I take them on, and some times I don’t. At these times, I find I don’t NEED to take anyone on...and that's the difference.

It’s a hard place to get to, I know.

For now, start acting like you’re worth being loved even if you don’t feel that way. Pretend that you are. Puff out your chest. Walk around self-satisfied. Pretned it until you do feel it...because you are worth being loved, having love, sharing love, and having an orgasm that isn't self-inflicted. (Although those have their place too.)

And if there are any single ladies looking for an artistic man, well, here’s his Twitter feed. Follow him there.

I truly believe that everyone can find love. I don’t know if I believe there is one perfect person for each individual, but I do believe that love is possible. The more that you believe in this, the more you’ll attract love into your life. And I know you've probably heard that a hundred times...that doesn't stop it from being true.

Until then, drink a glass of wine and read up on the Kama Sutra. Good study never hurt anyone…especially in the bedroom.

In love and light, Pepper

Let The Q&A Begin! 1st Up: A question of moola

I had so many great questions submitted for my newsletter that I wanted to take some time and talk about it on my blog. I know, I know. Newsletter, blog, Twitter, Facebook…there’s so much ME going around that maybe it’s a bit much. Just trying to play the promotion game. A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do to keep the promo machine going. And, you know, I actually like it. At any rate…if you missed the newsletter, click on this to read it.

I couldn’t fit all the questions in because, well, some of your questions were really long. Some didn’t even require and answer. And some questions are better answered not by myself, but from someone else…like…say….a character from one of my books. So bring on the questions and answers, real and imagined.

QUESTION ONE

Bob Caustic writes: “Talking about money is so crass. When you narrate an audio book do you get paid a flat fee, royalties or both?”

TANYA: Well, I’m like a C or D class narrator. I’m not being hard on myself, it’s just an A Class would be like Jim Dale or a celebrity. B class are professional narrators who work for the big publishing companies. Then there are those who get Audie awards and acclimations…then there’s uhm…me. I’m over here. Sitting on a log. I have mayonnaise on my chin. It’s awkward.

But I do love narrating, even if I’m not a big fish. That said, I get paid per CD I record, so it’s a flat rate. No royalties at all for me. It’s probably different for those high class type narrators, but so far, I don’t know what that’s like. I think they also probably have someone make them coffee. Me, I have to bring my own mug.