Order Pepper Wellington HERE

"Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage" is now available!

Click the following link to visit Champagne Books website: Yes! I want PW in a PDF (pdq)!

Click the following link to visit All Romance Ebooks: Yes! I want PW in another ebook format or for my phone!

Click the following link to visit Amazon: Yes! I want PW for the Kindle!

Nook version is coming soon.

In case you're curious, books through my publisher are available first in ebook format. If they sell well enough, they go to print. So, if you're waiting for the print book, tell your friends who like ebooks to order. The book is cheap $3.99, and a fast read.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it. Let me know. I love to get comments from readers. Shoot, I love to get comments from anyone, even if they're not reading my stuff. (Except Spammers. They just annoy me.)

Morning Conversation with Kealoha

(Me, in kitchen. Kealoha, in living room. We have this conversation calling across rooms.)

ME: So, can I cook dinner for you tonight?

KEALOHA: Are you kidding? Sure!

ME: You don't have any plans?

KEALOHA: Nope. My only plans are you.

ME: Oh! Wait a minute. I can't cook for you. I have plans. Sorry.

(Sometimes, I forget.)

I Still Have Issues.

This year, I promised myself that I would be kinder and gentler with regards to my ex, and I think I’m doing a pretty good job. I’m nicer and more understanding, and I keep my tone light and friendly. We’re both doing a good job getting along, which is great for the kids.

Every once in a while though, I feel some kind of anxiety or animosity rise up. It doesn’t even have to do with him, really. He’s just a trigger. It’s just my own stuff and issues. He’s just a catalyst for it.

Wednesday, during Snowmaggedon, he and his wife came to pick the kids up for me. They have the kids on Wednesdays and Thursdays (I have them Mondays and Tuesdays) and we alternate weekends. I couldn’t shovel my driveway and get the kids to their house, or even walk them there on my own. Kealoha hasn’t moved in so while I have him in my life, I’m still a single mom. There are times when I simply can’t do things, and that makes me sad.

Having to call my ex and ask him to get the kids brought up that whole “I can’t manage things on my own”, something that always makes me feel shameful. It’s some deep-rooted fear of “I’m not good enough” even though it was a legitimate thing not to be able to do it. I have two kids and trudging through the snow without help was too hard. So, he and his wife and her daughter came to pick the kids up and walk them to their house. So, issue #1: I’m not good enough to handle this on my own.

Issue #2 flared as soon as I opened the door: I’m too heavy. While married to my ex, I got in pretty good shape. I was running 5 miles on the weekend and 3 miles every couple of days. I was down to a size 8, even a size 6. Of course, running was the only time I was really allowed any time on my own, something my ex understood more than my need to write. It was okay. It felt good.

After moving out, I kept up with it, until I broke my foot. Then I couldn’t exercise for 6 months. I gained five pounds and went up to a size tight 8. This summer, I started exercising slowly even though it hurt. I realized I couldn’t run anymore. It hurt too much. In the fall, finally I could run. I went for a walk run around the lake with a girlfriend of mine, and came home in immense pain. This time on my other foot. My toe was hot, red, and swollen. It was intense pain, so much so that I thought I fractured it. The doctor told me to stay off it for a couple of weeks. I gained another five pounds and went up to a size 10.

Then I saw a foot specialist, and I got the cheerful news that I had a bunion. A bunion! How could this happen! Bunions are for old women with hunched backs, not for me. And I’d heard the wearing stiletto heels caused them. I wasn’t old, hunched, and I certainly wasn’t sophisticated enough to wear stilettos. I’m too clumsy.

I thought a bunion was like a wart. Put some medicine on it and it clears up. Turns out it’s a little more serious than that. It’s a genetic malformation OF THE BONE. What’s the verdict? If I exercise, it will hurt. It won’t get better. It will get worse. And he says I need surgery. It means four weeks in a cast, followed by two to four weeks in a boot.

So, now it hurts to exercise. And my pants keep getting tighter.

When I look at my ex and his wife, I see two people who have no troubles and are thin and sleek. They can rely on each other and they never have moments where they can’t handle something because they’ve got each other to rely on. I know this isn’t true, completely, it’s probably a fantasy I’ve created. No one is perfect or happy all the time. I guess it’s just how my anxiety shows itself.

And I’m trying to exercise. Trying to eat right. I can do a bout a mile and a half and then my foot swells and it hurts. It all makes me want to cry.

I wish that I felt better about how I look. In April it will be two years since I left my marriage and I have (it feels like) climbed mountains. Why am I so upset about a measly ten pounds? Why, why, why, do I still feel somehow that I’m not good enough? I’m not smart enough or talented enough or attractive enough. When will this stop?

I’m looking forward to Kealoha moving in. I want him here. I want him in my life. In “When Harry Met Sally”, Harry says something like “When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” I feel that way with him. And I guess I say this because I thought when I met the love of my life, that all my neuroses and low self-esteem would magically go poof. Kealoha and I are great, but I still have issues.

So. Bluh. I’m going to the salon today to get my hair done. I’m wearing new shoes that don’t hurt. And I’m trying to cut myself a little slack.

At least with the extra ten pounds, I’m now a veritable shapely vixen. All I need is a corset and I’d probably stop traffic. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. That, and some deep thoughts of, “I’m good enough, I’m strong enough, and gosh darn it, people like me.”

Guest Blogging at Champagne Books

I guest blogged today (Thursday, February 3rd) at Champagne Books Blog. I talk a little bit about the process of writing my new mystery, coming out on Monday. Check it out. If you leave a comment, you'll be entered a drawing to win a free download of "Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage". I don't expect a lot of comments, so it's a super easy way to win something free.

And free is so very nice.

Check the blog all month to win more FREE stuff from Champagne Books' writers.

Click below for the link:

I want to visit Tanya's Guest Blog!

And here's a random picture, to remind you that it won't be winter forever.

Conversation with My Son, "Come on Eileen", and Embarrassment

Louis, my son, is six and quite the individual already. He’s way into the Clone Wars…so much so that when we went sledding, he would scream “INCOMING!” all the way down the hill. He also organizes his action figures all over the house. I find clone troopers peeking out from under the sofa, peering down from the coffee table with guns poised. Then I started to find action figure body parts all over: teeny tiny hands, arms, occasional heads. “Louis? Why are you taking your action figures apart?”

“Duh, Ma. They’ve been in a war. They’re the casualties.” Oh. It’s a little creepy, but I keep telling myself it’s a phase and if anyone saw what I used to do with my Barbie dolls, well, let’s just say I could’ve rewritten the Kama Sutra at age ten. With naked dolls.

Louis also likes facts. He’s not into fiction too much. He prefers science. So when we go to the library and Simone picks out Barney and Wiggles and Strawberry Shortcake, Louis likes to get documentaries.

He’s been watching this one called The Human Machine and is learning about the body. Stuff that freaks me out, fascinates him. On the way to school today (after dropping off his sister at daycare) Louis said, “Hey, ma, did you know that when you feel embarrassment it causes your body to blush? Man, I don’t ever want to feel embarrassment. It sounds like it hurts.”

I then explained that blushing didn’t hurt and feeling embarrassment (while awkward) won’t kill you. (I did not say unless you are sixteen and wearing a white t-shirt at creative writing camp and go canoeing and fall into the river in front of twenty teenager boys and emerge from the water as naked looking as when you take a shower…then you might feel like dying. But I digress.)

Then I turned on the radio to listen to constant updates about the Storm of Death approaching. Instead, Come on Eileen was playing. “Oh, Louis! I love this song!” I immediately started singing. And then I started seat-dancing. And then, well, really I was performing.

Louis said “Man, I do NOT like it when my mom is attracted to a song.”

“Why?” I asked then sang the chorus. “This is where it gets really good, Louis. Come on…turh lura yay…turah lura turah yay!”

“I don’t like it because it’s making you crazy.”

I said, “But you wear overalls and stomp around when you sing this song. It’s awesome.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Louis.

Since I didn’t know the answer, I just sang louder and then heard… “Mom? Mom. Mom! I think I’m feeling that embarrassment thing.”

I paused for a moment, and then I turned up the music and sang a little bit louder. It’s probably good that Louis get used to me embarrassing him. It’s only going to get worse.

I dropped him off at school. He kissed me. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, baby,” I said.

It was a good morning.

Book Trailer for "Pepper Wellington"

Coming February 7, 2011 from Champagne Books...

A Typical Conversation b/w Me and Kealoha

SETTING: My green couch (fka as Arnie’s green couch) at 6AM. Kealoha hands me a coffee. I take a sip.

ME: You put cream in my coffee.

K: Yeah.

ME: But you didn’t put any sugar in it.

K: Uh…yeah. You never have sugar in your coffee.

ME: That’s what I’m saying. You made me coffee the way I like it. I didn’t have to tell you.

K: Uhm. Yep.

(We drink our coffee. I’m thinking “it’s a miracle!”. Kealoha is probably thinking “She’s a little weird in the morning.”)

Kealoha points to my new pajama pants. They’re red and covered with teeny tiny hearts, like a million of them.

K: I like your new pants.

ME: They’re awful, aren’t they? I’m afraid I’ve become one of THOSE women. You know, the women who wear ridiculously tacky things. In public. And don’t care at all.

(Pause)

K: You’re talking to a man who’s wearing a jackalope t-shirt. Anyone who has any doubt that we’re made for each other should just take a look at us right now.

Guest Blog: Pepper Wellington Tells Us How To Make Life Not Suck.

Tanya Eby, the quirky and eccentric writer, asked me to write a blog for her. Actually, I wrote to her and told her I needed to write a blog for her because I’m just so annoyed with all these magazines and online sources talking about how you can have a better life. Having a better life is easy! Why do people make it so complicated? My daughter Sausage took years complicating her life, but thankfully she finally figured it out. (If she’d only listened to me earlier…)

Just today I found this article. It gives you ten steps on becoming a better person. The first one says incorporate the 3 I’s which are integrity and independence and then, I don’t know, Innuit living. That’s three things right there in the first step! That's completely complicated. And I don’t even know how to live like an Innuit! How do the Innuit live?

I have 10 Easy Steps to Improve your Life and Be a Better Person.  I have authority to talk about this because I’ve lived an adventurous life. In the 60s I loved freely and frequently. Now I’m in my 60s and it’s pretty much the same thing.

At any rate, here is my list:

Pepper Wellington’s 10 Easy Steps To Having Your Life Not Suck:

1) Eat more lentils. They have a lot of fiber in them. You can’t be an uptight person if you’re fully cleansed.

2) Stop being an asshole. The lentil thing will help here, but, you know, stop being cruel. It’s pretty easy.

3) Fall in love over and over again, even if it’s with the same person. People in love are nicer.

4) Make love over and over again. It’s good exercise, and an orgasm will make you relax and not be an asshole or uptight. It’s almost better than lentil soup.

5) Try something new. When Mrs. Welch asked me to get on the Harley with her, I hesitated for a moment. Now we’re members of the Hot Retired Mamas. We wear leather chaps. It’s as hot as it sounds.

6) Get a backrub.

7) Drink wine.

8 ) Don’t kill anybody. (I’ve been around a lot of murder sites. I’m not sure why. I just happen to stumble upon them. I’ve actually gotten quite good at uncovering guilty parties, but I’d rather not.)

9) Get along with your family. Stop being stupid. Family is important. Even if you hate them.

10) Have a spontaneous make-out session. I like to make out while wearing nothing but a see through nightie. You can also make out in a turtleneck and flannel pants. It doesn’t matter. Just find someone to kiss and do it.

Forget incorporating the three I’s and that bullshit. If you want a better life, then go out and make it better. In fact, throw this ridiculous list out and just live a little more fully.

I’d say more on the subject, but Mrs. Welch and I have been invited to a curry dinner with some nefarious characters. I hope no one ends up dead. When my daughter was getting married, there was a string of murders. Thankfully, I’d had lentil soup just that morning, so I was very relaxed to handle the stress.

NOTE FROM TANYA EBY: Thank you, Pepper, for your insight. I'll make lentil burgers tonight. And maybe even make out with Kealoha, though that's probably too much information for the readers. If the readers would like to hear more from/about you, there's a book coming out February 7th called "Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage". Look for that soon.

What I Did On Vacation OR Bring On The Gladiators!

Ahhh….vacation! What have I done with my vacation from social networking and endless/obsessive tweeting and status updating? I’ve been watching “Spartacus” with Kealoha. Man, it’s a good program. It’s brutal and colorful with great music and complex characters. There are also lots and lots of naked gladiator men. I’m talking full-frontal here. Full-frontal, people. And the men glisten…not like sparkly vampires, but they glisten like hot, sweaty, manly men. Sure, the ladies are naked too. In fact, pretty much everyone is naked, even the animals. It is ancient Rome after all.

What else have I been up to? I’ve had some good quality time with the kiddos. And since I haven’t been obsessively online, I’ve had time to cook. I made homemade pasta one night (fettuccini) and then a three course Indian dinner with chickpea curry, spicy potatoes, and chicken in a lemon yogurt sauce. I also worked out. I had a friend over for dinner and gossip, and I met my writing partner J. for coffee and a game of Quiddler. (He won, but I’ve clobbered him on the last three games, so no hard feelings.) I also read and wrote a bit. I took a shower. (This is a major achievement.) I made brownies from scratch. Good God! Why would I ever return to social networking again? I’ve had so much time on my hands!  If this continues, I may learn French or how to scuba dive, or I don’t know, solve global warming!

Okay. Probably not. I have three more episodes of Spartacus to go.

The point is, it’s been awfully nice backing off on the whole “Must Promote Writing” thing. I think I just went overboard. Now, I’m trying to be kinder and gentler about it. Hopefully people are reading my work and interested. If not, meh.

I think maybe I’m starting to relax a little (and without Valium!). I think my new life has finally settled and I can stop being so manic, or at least put my energy into more writing, cooking, time with the kiddos and Kealoha.

I’ll need the time too, especially since Kealoha is officially moving in! Wohoo! Yes. It’s true. Like they did in Happy Days, Kealoha gave me his cardigan sweater, sang me a song, and asked to pin me.

Actually, he just pinned me.

Uh….

The point is, he’s moving in. We’re taking this to the next level, which means, combined households, two toothbrushes (or four if you count the kids’) and endless nights of whatever series I’m (we’re) currently obsessed with. (Right now it’s Spartacus, but Battlestar Gallactica is next followed by Firefly.)

I could get used to this more relaxed life, one filled with less social-networking and more real-life living.

Vacation is good. It’s really, really good.

So is Spartacus. Seriously. Mmmmm. Naked glistening torsos and serious action sequences. Spartacus! Spartacus! Spartacus!

I should probably stop now. Really. I’m starting to hyperventilate.

My Mini-Social-Media Vacation

A few days ago Kealoha came over and I was telling him about my day. “So I had my students peel oranges…” Then I realized that he already knew what I was going to say because I had Tweeted about the writing exercise I gave my students. And I had posted a Facebook message about my newsletter. And I had tweeted about my general anxiety, and the funny ideas I’d had throughout the day and…I realized that I had no more secrets left to share. Anything that I’d say really wouldn’t be a surprise.

That’s when I realized I have a problem. I think I slipped over from softly promoting my work to obsessively promoting it. MUST POST THIS ONLINE is sort of how my brain has been working. I think my brain is actually starting to work in 140 characters. My days are reduced to snippets of “I want to eat a burrito the size of my head” to “I saw a woman walking around with a dog on her head and got closer and realized it was her hair and not a dog. #ShouldWearMyGlasses.”

Of course, there is the legitimate promotional side to all this. I’m trying to gently connect with readers, tell them about my work, encourage them to read it, hope that I can begin some kind of snowballing effect where suddenly there’s a whole giant ball of people reading my stuff. (Huh. Not really a pleasant image actually.) I don’t know if it’s working. I do know that I’m just a little worn out trying to come up with clever things to post.

I’ve talked about losing my writing/funny mojo. I don’t think I’ve lost it exactly, but I do think I’m tired. I’ve been constantly writing, narrating, teaching, promoting for the last two years now. I did have a vacation in the summer when I went to New York with my niece, but I was in so much pain with needing a root canal that I can’t say I relaxed all that much.

I just need a vacation.

Of course, I can’t really go on vacation right now, so I’m taking a mini-one from social media. Why, then, am I blogging? Well, it’s not a total vacation. I mean, I’m not obsessed with this idea unplugging totally, I’m just backing off on the constant updates of posting pointless ridiculous things about my day, although I must say I do enjoy sharing those updates. I thought for a few days I’d maybe, I don’t know, put that energy into writing either my blog or working on “Tunnel Vision” and Book #4.

So check back for blogs. I just simply won’t promote them on Facebook or Twitter for a little while. My goal is a ten-day vacation but Kealoha said gently that “maybe you should just try for five days first and see how you feel, otherwise you might make yourself crazy”. I love that he understands me so well. And I guess I do have one little secret: that I really am already a little bit crazy. Just hopefully in a cute, endearing artistic way and not, say, a way where I run naked through the streets calling out for Free Cheese.

If I ever do that, I won’t post it on Twitter or Facebook. No. I’ll make a video and put it on Youtube instead.

Ridiculous Educational Videos from the 40s and 50s

In my gender class, we're looking at stereotypes. Men, of course, are Manly Men, and women are Girly Girls. I love talking about extremes because it's so ridiculous, like in these two pictures:

I also wanted to show some old educational videos. Here are a few. They're hilarious. Of course, they're also a good reminder of how women were treated and 'educated' fifty years ago. It's kind of shocking.

I love this one. It tells you how to have good grooming. Check out the instructions for the woman and how she needs to take care of her stubby hands.

Here's one that warns against being the girl 'who parks with boys at night'.

And this one is a modern take off of the videos, but it makes me laugh:

Meet Artist/Actor Victoria Mullen

I realized that I have a lot of cool friends and know a lot of interesting people, so I thought I'd introduce you to some of them. I'm gearing up to promote "Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage" coming in February (with free contest giveways like books and chocolates) but until then...I have a little down time. What better time to share with you some of the wonderfully talented people I know. First up, artist and actor Victoria Mullen.

TANYA:

Victoria, you're a working artist. When did you know that you were an artist?

VICTORIA:

Ha! Trick question. I've always been creative. Or insane. That much I knew from a very early age. My mom gave me this fox tail when I was around 4 or 5, and from then on until I lost it (the fox tail, that is), I wore it everywhere, tucked into the waistband of my pants. Well, OK. Just around the house. My mom refused to go anywhere with me wearing the tail, most probably because I crawled around on all fours 'being a fox.' But when I meowed at a librarian, my mom knew she had a mental case on her hands. Takes one to know one, I always say. My mom was very creative as well.

For a long time, I wanted to be a veterinarian. I LOVE animals. I used to cut up my stuffed animals, sew them back together, and then bandage them. I had this down to a science. Then I'd force my younger brother to visit my 'clinic' to see how his 'pet' was doing. I also tried to 'sell' the family cat, Cleo at my 'pet store,' which happened to be my brother's closet. Cleo put an end to that by trying to scratch out my eye. Well, who can blame her? But soon thereafter, she went on 'vacation' and I never saw her again. Years later, the truth came out: because of my irresponsibility, my parents had given her away. Talk about feeling guilty.

As for bona fide art, over the years, I expressed myself through various mediums: piano and violin in the 1960s; stained glass, writing, and photography in the 1970s and ‘80s; painting and collage since the mid-1990s. I came late to drawing and painting because I believed that using an eraser constituted cheating. Because it was impossible to create anything that was perfect, it was safer to do nothing at all. But I'm all better now. I have no qualms about using an eraser. At. All.

Another form of expression reared its head two years ago when I discovered acting. I can't remember the impetus to take an acting class at GRCC, but I auditioned for and got a role in Summer and Smoke, directed by Paul Dreher. It was the first time I had ever auditioned for a role. I was hooked and began acting in student and indie films. In one of my first film roles, I acted opposite Mark Boone Junior, a character actor who has been in countless films, including Batman Begins and Memento. It was a fluke, but it showed me that anything is possible. Right now, I'm training with Kurt Dreyer, and I am learning many, many good things about the craft. I highly recommend his class.

TANYA: What kind of work do you create?

VICTORIA:

My paintings are constructed of acrylic and mixed media, including paper, gemstones, and other random gewgaws that happen along the way. Because I live with two, very furry cats, there is a very good chance that there some cat hair in my art as well. I'm still not sure how to classify my work. It's very bright, that much I can safely say. I like to make fun pieces. Most feature cats for some reason.

TANYA:

What is important to you in your work and life?

VICTORIA:

Freedom of expression. My cats, Bobby and Frankie. Financial security (which I don't have right now). Continuous learning. A fresh supply of paints. Privacy (I'm a hermit). Acting. Dear friends. Food is kind of important. So, too, is the ability to dream lucidly. If only I wrote them down.

TANYA: Anything you'd like to share about your bio?

VICTORIA: From 2003-2008, I put my art on hold because I was in law school. I'm an attorney licensed to practice in the state of Michigan. I'm interested in medical malpractice, entertainment law, and animal rights law.

TANYA:

Is your work available for purchase, and if so, where?

VICTORIA:

Yes, absolutely, it's available for purchase. Many of my pieces may be seen at MP Talent Agency at MoBevy, 40 Monroe Center NW, Second Floor. I also do commissions.

Huge thanks to Malinda Petersen, my agent, for believing in me. She is awesome.

TANYA:

Anything else you want to share?

VICTORIA:

Someday, I'd like to create a children's book. I would also like to act with Viggo Mortensen in an indie film. Plus, I really wish that Michael Hutchence wasn't dead. I am on the lookout for a man in my age group who looks like Michael Hutchence, is gifted, sensitive, nice, funny, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, and who is also very stable. He must be willing to do all the cooking. I've been told that finding such a creature is an impossibility, but I still hold out a shred of hope.

Also, in my next life, I would like to be a singer and dancer. I believe that music is the highest form of expression.

Oh, and one more thing: people can view my work--art, acting, and writing--on my website at www.victoriamullen.com.

I Guest Blogged

I guest-blogged at my writing group's website. The Grand Rapids Region Writers Group, to be exact. Check it out here (the blog and read about the group): http://grandrapidsregionwritersgroup.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-big-epiphany-of-week.html

Okay. Now what?

I may have quite possibly sincerely almost very truly lost some of my writing power, at least my funny mojo. I blame the shifting of the earth's axis hence changing my astrological sign from Cancer to Gemini. Seriously, for a few weeks now I've been struggling with topics to write about, and my little joke bombs are fizzling. I feel like Martha Stewart trying to do stand-up. What's happened? I think there must be some kind of creative-brain-sucking-vortex thing happening. It's either that...or I'm happy.

Damnation! I'm happy! Now how do I blog and vent when everything is going pretty great? Gone are the endless blogs about friction and trouble and angst. In its place are stories about a great meal I had at Olives and how when Kealoha comes over, he immediately shovels WITHOUT MY ASKING.

I fear, dear Gods, that I have become boring. Even now, I'm wearing Mom Jeans. You know the ones hiked up past your stomach because it's just more comfortable.

What am I going to do?

How do I find my creative mojo again?  What does a neurotic writer write about when she's content?

Tunnel Vision -- CH 17

Doctor Elliott Kinney was in the Nowhere. Snow flew, shadows surrounded him. He floated in ether. Heard the crashing of waves. Looked down at his hands and saw them pushing down Rose, of holding her under the water until the sickness was out of her body, taking her soul with it. He saw himself holding Kostic under the water for treatment and countless others. Saw their thrashing bodies under water as they resisted the hydrotherapy. Why did so many patients resist him? Did they want to keep their sickness close to them? Why not surrender and give in to healing? Dr. Kinney was a healer. He had a mission. And he would rescue souls by force, the way he had finally freed his own wife, though her very life force had flown from her body. In the last few moments when she looked peacefully up at him, he knew he had won and the illness was gone. Liberated. He had liberated her.

He tried to move, but found he could not. His chest burned. He coughed and seemed to cover himself with blood. How much blood? Why was this happening? Where was he? He could not think. He could not focus. He closed his eyes.

In his mind, he flipped through pages and pages of new research. Doctors experimenting with new wonderful methods to take out a part of a person’s brain, to find the actual source of their malignant spirit and pull it from them, wrench it free, leaving a person utterly peaceful. He’d heard of transformations, of wildly violent individuals suddenly as docile as lambs. How he longed to offer this healing, but for some reason he could not steady the trembling of his hands.

He opened his eyes. It was dark now. He heard the peculiar music of a chorus of coughing. He knew, at once, where he was. He was a doctor here and now forced to be a patient. “Let me up! Let me up!” he cried. “I have work to do!”

Feathers against his skin. A tickling of feathers. No, not feathers, but fingertips…and the scent of…what was that? “What is that?” he whispered, his voice raw. “What is that smell?” And then he knew. He smelled flowers. He smelled…roses! Suddenly he was surrounded by a garden of rose and there…in the distant, his wife Rose calling to him. Come to me, Kinney, she called. I want you with me. She danced and twirled and he reached out to her, but when she spun to face him it was not his wife, not Rose, it was the other woman, the one who looked so much like his wife but somehow he had failed in making her truly become Rose. Somehow she remained… “Ama,” he breathed.

“I am here,” she whispered. And Kinney knew that the feathers against his skin was the touch of her fingertips dancing over him. But there were far too many fingertips, weren’t there?

“Who else is here?” he said, his voice still strangled.

“Open your eyes, husband. Open them,” Ama said softly, her voice like wind and bells.

The shadows pulled back. The fog receded. And Kinney saw…no…it wasn’t possible! Patients of his, patients long gone and buried. There was Kostic smiling at him, and the old woman who was a sexual predator. There was Elena who he had bent to his will when he was first in medical school. There were nameless patients, ones who did not survive his treatments or later died of heart attacks or drug overdose. And there was a young boy with a rope around his neck who ended his own life instead of endure any more of Kinney’s treatments. And there...there…was Rose. “Stop touching me!” Kinney cried, but the fingertips would not stop. They reached for him, his dead; they touched him. Covered his body with their probing fingers, rough, smooth, young, and old. Take him, someone whispered. Take him take himtakehim, they echoed, a hundred voices joining in chorus.

“No!” He cried, his voice firm and strong now. “I have work to do!”

“I’m afraid your work here is done.” It wasn’t Ama who spoke this to him but Rose. The last thing Kinney saw was her smiling face and then the pillow that Kostic placed over Kinney’s face.

And then….

Darkness.

Complete and utter.

Even though he was still awake.

Free Rubs From My Mom To You

So yesterday I was all  'meh'. Today, all is well. Of course, I cleaned the house from top to bottom, finally did the To Do List that's been freaking me out, and ate a gigantic sandwich followed by a cupcake thus rushing my body with food-endorphins. Ahhhh.

While cleaning, I found this rat. My mom picks up stuff like this randomly. I act cool like I'm still 16 and too awesome to care, but honestly, every time she presses this rat's belly I laugh. And miraculously, I feel like someone likes me. So, from my mom to you, free rubs. As in free compliments, not actual rubs, although she is single and looking to date a good man. Just FYI.

Why Am I So Meh?

I’m in a writing funk. And not ‘funk’ like bad 1970s disco music and an afro (which would look really bad on me).

I mean a good old-fashioned “I don’t want to write” funk. In fact, there’s not a whole lot I want to do. I don’t want to exercise. I don’t want to eat healthy. I don’t want to think hard. I don’t want to debate. I don’t want to stress. Basically, all I pretty much want to do is wear yoga pants all day, watch my On Demand shows, and eat Cheetos and pizza while drinking wine. I’m not even joking. That sounds soooo good to me.

I think I really should’ve had a bit more of a vacation. But I worked all vacation, and I was sick and wah wah wah. I don’t really have any reason to complain either. It was great to work. I’m so excited to get a check for it next month. In terms of acting out an audiobook, I think I did a pretty good job, so it was satisfying. (I did this cool gravelly voice with a thick Spanish accent. He was called "The Deathless") And I’ve been getting great press on my writing. And now I’m back to teaching, which I love. And Kealoha and I are great. Kids are too. Then why am I so….meh?

I blame…

The moon. Hormones. The weather. Grey skies. The media (for making me feel guilty for laying around eating Cheetos and pizza and drinking wine). I blame Geraldo.

He hasn’t been blamed for anything recently, so why not. Unless…geez…he’s not dead is he? Geraldo is still around, isn’t he? I take that back. I don’t blame Geraldo. I blame Justin Bieber. There. That felt good. That felt real good. It’s all his fault.

I’ve got a To Do list with about a hundred things on it: write, edit, teach, parent, prep, plan, read, clean, exercise, work on a CV, promote, fix….Arrrrhhh!

I’m not doing any of it. Not a thing. Except, I am writing. I am blogging. It’s probably good for me, even though I’m not saying anything worthwhile here. I’m sure you understand. Tell me it’s not just me and that the feeling of “Meh” is an epidemic. That’d actually be a really comforting thought.

Where’s my wine? That’s one thing on my To Do list I can manage tonight.

In closing, I leave you with this. Why? Because, well, at least I’m not blind and I don’t look like the bust she creates of Lionel Richie.  That’s something, isn’t it?

Kealoha's 40 Minutes With The Darkside: My Kids

This story happened a couple of weeks ago, but it’s certainly worth repeating.

I was booked for the biggest recording I’ve ever done: 5 books right in a row. Good news was, it happened over my break from teaching. Bad news: it meant leaving the house a little after 7AM and not getting home until 5:30 or 6. For three weeks. During the holidays. It would be hard on me, exhausting, and hard on my kids. But, the tradeoff was that I’d make a nice chunk of change to save in case Kendall doesn’t rehire me. There’s no way I could say no.

I am a single mom, but it’s not like it was last year. I’m not entirely alone now. I have my mom to help, and I also have Kealoha. One morning, I asked Kealoha if he could drop the kids off at school and daycare. This way I wouldn’t have to be late for the recording. But I was also thinking that 1) it felt nice to be able to rely on him and 2) it would give him a little time with the kids on his own. Kealoha and I are tentatively, gingerly talking about What Could Happen Next. We’re talking big future stuff here, so I thought that, well, he’d have about forty minutes with the kids, take them to school and it would be just a little practice.

Forty minutes. Just forty minutes with my kids. What could go wrong?

I kissed the kids and Kealoha goodbye and drove to Grand Haven.

Pretty much as soon as I was gone, Kealoha was sitting at the table with the kids. Louis said,“Man, I love this smell.”

“What smell?” Kealoha asked.

Louis looked at him. “Cinnamon. It smells so good.”

“I don’t smell any cinnamon.”

Louis smiled. “Well, yeah. Nana had some cinnamon sticks for crafts and I stuck one up my nose.”

At this point, Kealoha freaked. “Get it out! Blow your nose!” He grabbed a tissue and had Louis blow and a big chunk of cinnamon came out.

Kealoha breathed easy.

Meanwhile, I was whistling away while driving. About twenty minutes after I left, I got a phone call on my cell. From Kealoha. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Simone misses you,” Kealoha sounded stressed. Sure, why not? I could hear Simone screaming and crying in the background.

“Put her on the phone.” Then I talked to Simone.

“Mommy, I miss you!”

“I miss you too, baby. But you know, I’ve only been gone for twenty minutes.” She cried and cried and I tried to calm her down. Then I heard something in the background. It was Louis saying “Ow! Ow!” And then Kealoha got back on the phone, flustered.

“Louis has his peter out.”

“His what?”

“His peter! His penis! He’s…Louis, don’t pull on that. Put it back in your pants! No! Don’t tug on it! Not over your pants, it’ll hurt that way! Just….Gotta go.”

He hung up.

There wasn’t anything I could do. At this point I was in Spring Lake. Simone was having a meltdown, Louis was whipping his penis out, and Kealoha was having some sort of panic attack.

Kealoha managed to get Simone’s socks on while she screamed and cried. He got Louis’s penis back into his pants unscathed. Then the kids fought about who got dropped off first. Kealoha took Louis and Louis immediately jumped out of the car as soon as it was stopped and started running for a door. Kealoha wasn’t sure what was happening but then saw the teacher let Louis in the building.

Then he took Simone to daycare. Simone cried the whole time. An older caretaker at daycare, one with a deep smokers voice, said to him “Yeah, this happens with kids. Separation anxiety. Just sign her in and take off.” Kealoha did.

I recorded all day, started to lose my voice, came home. Got the kids dinner, put them to bed and then Kealoha came over. “You want a mai tai?” I asked. He nodded, his eyes wide. Then he hugged me. He clung to me. “So, are you going to break up with me?” I asked.

He thought about it. “I might break up with Simone.”

I poured him a drink. He downed it. I poured him another. “I’d tell you that this is as bad as it gets, but it gets worse. This is sort of my reality,” I said. “The kids are great but they throw fits, they scream, they fight. They’re also funny and loving. Can you handle this?”

Kealoha kissed me. He didn’t need to say anything.

And you know, he’s still here. And we’re still inching ever closer to What Could Come Next, whatever that is, with my two crazy kiddos along for the ride.

A Note and Two Possible Hangover Cures

It’s 2011! Twenty-eleven. Holy cannoli. This makes me feel…

Surprisingly good. Not only is it a new year…but a new decade. And I’m starting mine off with Kealoha and lots of adventures (and no doubt misadventures) to come.

Last night we had Chinese food and then once the kids were in bed, Kealoha gave me a back rub, followed by rubbing my head. That immediately relaxed me to the point that I was drooling. “Must. Crawl. To. Couch.” I said. Kealoha talked to me for a while. I don’t know what he said. I was too busy snoring. It was 8:30 PM.

There was a time when I would’ve stayed up at all night drinking gin&tonics and having awkward drunken conversations with people. Then I would’ve called or sent drunken emails to old boyfriends, crushes, and just random people.

So if you’re looking for a hangover cure, I have two. Both of these are HIGHLY SCIENTIFIC. The first, I recommend. Drink a ton of water and eat a ridiculously large breakfast from a restaurant consisting (but not limited to) hash browns, bacon, biscuit and gravy, an over medium egg with toast, and coffee. Then go to sleep. The massive breakfast will soak up all the alcohol in your system and/or put you into a carbo-load induced deep sleep.

If you need a quick fix, then try option #2. Watch an action sequence from Lord of the Rings. Turn it up really loud. Try to watch all the camera moves. Within a half hour, you should be rushing for the bathroom and ‘getting rid of’ all the alcohol poisoning your system. I did this once. It’s not a method I recommend but it was a quick fix to a hangover. I like the carbohydrate way more.

Cheers and Happy New Beginning.

Tanya

My vacation: it involves a lot of coughing

It’s always funny to me the way you imagine something going and then how reality happens. For instance, I’d imagined a holiday vacation from teaching in which I’d hang out with the kids, we’d do art projects, and then when they were with their dad, I’d read and write and, you know, frolic.

Then I got booked to narrate five audio books and I adjusted my vacation fantasy. I’d narrate for three weeks in between the holiday celebration and then have a week to play, read, write, and frolic. I could still have my picture-perfect vacation, I’d just have to speed it up.

Then, I got sick. Like, really sick. Like….I lost my voice for two full days sick. I ended up laying on the couch whispering and pantomiming things to the kids. The kids got a little cranky about this and then became like primal beasts because I couldn’t talk to them and tell them things like “stop touching each other” and “get that out of your nose”. No. They basically had a weekend of running wild with face paint and sticks.

The narration was pushed back so I lost my final week of vacation. Now, I’m almost recovered, but in the morning I still sound like a very old, pissed off Jewish man, hacking and coughing. And my voice is all husky. Not a bad thing for the character I’m playing, but still, a little uncomfortable.

I’d also imagined a romantic blissful holiday with Kealoha. I’m not sure what I was really thinking, except in my mind everything sparkled and had that weird hazy quality they do in films when there’s a musical montage and it shows two people falling in love. They laugh and feed each other pancakes, and hold hands, and walk through a flower market, and then make love in soft lighting and the woman character never has any stretch marks. I won’t say I was imagining exactly that, but I did think, I don’t know, soft lighting maybe and a date night and I do like pancakes.

Well, Kealoha caught my cold so the reality was both of us lying on the couch, slightly sweaty with itchy eyes. Actually, I was lying on the couch, and Kealoha was sitting up so his nasal passages can drain. We coughed and blew noses and compared illnesses like we were both old, grumpy men. I tried to flirt with Kealoha a couple of times but he just blew his nose. Loudly. It’s hard to be sexy when you can’t breathe.

Now I’m heading back into the studio for another eight hours of narration. I do love narrating, but it’s hard not moving for eight hours and I feel puffy. I have to eat big breakfasts and lunches to keep my stomach from growling, pop decongestants, not move, and I just feel like a sick, bloated, stretch-marked, hacking, worn-out, thirty-seven-year old instead of the sleek movie star I’d envisioned being over the holiday.

Oh well. This will pass. We’ll get better. And, I guess, there’s always spring break to look forward to.

In case you're curious, my fantasy vacation included cheesy scenes like this: