Six Sentence Sunday

“Gawd,” Megan breathed, trying to hoist the enormous menu up in front of her eyes. “I’ve heard that everything is bigger in the north…” She paused mid-sentence as our waiter materialized next to Megan.

She turned her head and was nose to, well, let’s just say, our waiter’s lower waist...midsection....below the belt...to the side of the leg.

Oh, for crying out loud, Megan’s nose almost touched our waiter’s dick (which was in his pants of course).

“Case in point,” Mom said and motioned to our waiter.

From "Blunder Woman" by Tanya Eby published by Champagne Books.

Want more Six Sentences to entice you? Check it out here: Six Sentence Sunday

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--Chapter 18

Kinney’s bed lay in the front porch of Building 50, surrounded by rows and rows of other patients in white beds, their pillows dotted with red. “Do not watch him, dear. It does not do your spirit good,” Mama Lilliana said to Ama.

They stood in the shadows, where they were both so at home. Lilliana wore nothing but a thin nightgown, the outline of her voluptuous body just visible beneath the gossamer threads. She looked as if she belonged in the asylum, as if she were a part of the place. Madness had seeped into the lines of her face, the spin of her long hair. But it had not etched itself with pain, but with acceptance. With an embrace. Sometimes a house or a church or an institution could reach its tendrils into the very fabric of a person and bind to them. This had happened to Lily. She was a part of the hospital now and she did not fight this. No. There was no need to fight that which you loved.

Ama, on the other hand, had changed. There was a time when she belonged in the shadows. When her very existence was a mad secret whispered through the tunnels that crisscrossed underground. Now, though, she stood clothed in her buttoned white dress, stretched taut over the new curve of her growing belly. The nurse’s hat was pinned securely to her thick hair…and she looked at Kinney with the detachment that authority breeds. Ama was no longer an inmate in her house, but an authority.

“He’s gone, you know. There’s no hope for him. The sickness has him,” Ama said. “But then, the sickness has always had him, hasn’t it.”

Lilliana’s response was a pat on the back.

“I can get you out of here,” Ama continued. “I have money now. I know people. I can set us up a house. For all of us. For you and Papa Beeler and…” She paused, knowing that her other parents, Papa Kostic and Mamma Grant, were gone now to that place of white from which they could never come back. Lilliana did not answer this time. In fact, she had already disappeared into the shadows, so quickly and silently that Ama wondered if she had ever been there at all.

The hospital shivered with the coughing of the dying.

Kinney tossed in his bed. Writhed. He was like a snake trapped in cloth and tried to free himself by endlessly turning, thus snaring him even more securely. His cough became a great crescendo. He clawed at his throat. He fought against his own body.

Ama could have gone to him and said, “This, this is what it feels like to be trapped. This is what you have done to so many of the ones that I have loved.” Or perhaps, “Look! Look around you doctor! You are just like us, now!” Or maybe even, “You are not my husband and I am not your wife and you are not well. You are not sound.”

He needed no curses from her though. Justice was being delivered by an invisible hand. Ama saw the hand reach into his mouth, swirl into his mind and take what was there, steal his breath and his heart…and it was this that he choked on.  Ama knew that for Kinney there would be no tunnel of white light to pass through. His end would come with the coldness of not a soul caring.

It only took a minute or so and it was over. Kinney gave up fighting. His body contracted and then released.

The ward fell silent for a moment as if relieved from his passing. Ama stared at him. He did not move. The child in her belly reached forward. Ama felt her child’s caress inside her and it was as if it were saying goodbye.

Ama turned and walked down the hall.

Her footsteps faded into the darkness.

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.

Six Sentence Sunday June 5

Last week, I forgot to sign up for Six Sentence Sunday, and man, what a downer. I like this game of posting six sentences from a published or work-in-progress novel, getting comments, and reading other entries and giving them comments. It feels really supportive. Like a good bra, but in written form.

Here's my Six for this week. It's from the opening pages of "Blunder Woman".

I probably would have been a lesbian if it weren’t for the whole vagina thing. Not that I liked women sexually…although after a few gin & tonics everybody pretty much looked like my potential soul mate. No, it was more that I was sick and tired of the drama with men, or to be more exact, I was sick and tired of the drama with Matt M. Or as I call him: Mmm for short. I mean, how could I love him for nearly two years and have nothing to show for it? What was I waiting for?

For more on "Blunder Woman" click: HERE.

For more on Six Sentence Sunday, click: HERE.

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.

Ever wonder where my books are set?

Admittedly, most of my 'readers' are either related to me, or are my friends so they feel a slight pressure to read my work. But there are a few of you who I don't actually know...except in a Twitter/Facebook way. At least I think there are some of you out there. So if you've ever wondered what town I'm talking about in "Easy Does It" and "Blunder Woman" well...it's featured in this video. I decided to set all my books in either my hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan or at least in Michigan. Why? Because we aren't just Detroit. I'm not exactly sure WHO we are yet, but it's a conversation that's starting to happen as more writers, artists, musicians, etc, here are starting to keep it local and promote Grand Rapids. And I was tired of New York and LA and other places for novels. I wanted something real and attainable for my quirky characters. That's why they live in Grand Rapids right along with me. (It's pretty convenient too.)

I have to admit, when I first saw this lip dub video produced by Rob Bliss, I was underwhelmed. Why? Well, because I thought it was too slow and a depressing song. But then I thought about all the people it took to come together to do this, and how I walk past most of this area every day at work. There's the Grand Rapids Art Musuem (where the wedding is) and Rosa Parks Circle. My play was just performed at the GRAM and this video follows about half of my route to get coffee.

Then a funny thing happened. Just like the Grinch, my heart started to grow and grow...and now when I watch this...I get all weepy. I promise it's not because of PMS. No. This is all-natural emotion.

So if you wondered where Julie and Dan the Man meet for their first dinner...it's right across the street from where the pillow fight happens in this video. And Chloe from "Blunder Woman" routinely gets un-coffee downtown. She also had her undate with Matt and sat on one of the benches in the park that's all green.

That's my quick morning blog. I have seven hours to prep for teaching today. I'm sorta not ready. I will be, I just need more coffee first. Oh...and this week I'll be answering questions that were posted on my author Facebook page. Actually, my characters will be answering the questions. If there's a character you'd like to hear from, let me know. Check back later today or tomorrow.

Enjoy the video. This is my hometown.

Six Sentence Sunday 5/29/11

“Amy, that man is staring at you,” Peter said.

Amy shifted in her seat and refused to look at Graham.

Even not looking at him, she was aware of how the tuxedo fit every curve of him.

She imagined, briefly, unsnapping the buttons and tucking her hand beneath the smooth white fabric to trace the hair of his chest, to burrow her fingertips in it.

Well, not exactly burrow, he wasn’t a Sasquatch, but the idea of tracing the line of his clavicle then working her way under his shirt to touch the swell of his chest and then his nipple…

“Why, Amy, now you’re staring at him!”

From “Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage”

What is "Six Sentence Sunday"? A great way to connect with writers and find new works to read. Here are the rules as listed on http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/ . Visit there for a list of more writers playing this week.

• Posts must be active by 9 am (EST) or your link will be removed from the list that week
• Posts must be SIX SENTENCES or your link will be removed from the list that week
• Post must be about those six sentences or your link will be removed from the list that week

My Slow Down and Read Summer List

I’m sitting in my Intro To Lit class while students are writing. I’ve graded all my papers, prepped for next week, and suddenly realize, I don’t have anything to do. Is this true? Is this possible? HOLY SHIT!

Let me just breathe for a second here.

To look busy and smart, I’m blogging instead.

Remember when I talked to you about my Slow Down and Read idea? It’s shimmering just before me. I can almost touch the time where I will have real, actual time to read again. FOR PLEASURE. I have one more week of narrating to go and on the days I don’t teach, I’ll be reading. That’s right. Me, a book, and if the kids are at their dad’s then I’ll have a mojito sitting next to me.

Here’s my list of books I’m going to try and read this summer and why I chose them:

MY SUMMER READING LIST (so far)

1. “Sucker for a Hot Rod” by Joselyn Vaughn. I’m actually almost finished with this. The writer is in my writing group so I wanted to check out her work. So far it’s fun with great characters and it makes me wonder why you can’t find her work next to other bestselling authors that I narrate for like Susan Mallery and Debbie Macomber.

2. “We Need To Talk About Kevin” by Lionel Shriver. A couple of years ago I was booked to read Shriver’s “The Post-Birthday World”. I don’t know if I did the book justice, but it was a beautiful story. I still think about it. So I want to read all of her books, and I’ll start with this one.

3. “Sarum: The Novel of England” by Edward Rutherford. Someone suggested this one to me and it seems like a perfect summer read. I’ll read it while drinking a Pims. Huh. Maybe I should put a drink with all these books.

4. “Punished” by Brynn Paulin. She’s another writer in my group and is one of the topsellers of erotic fiction. No joke. Like #1 or #2. So I’m going to read Punished because every good girl likes to feel naughty.

5. “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee because it’s been a good decade since I’ve read it and I’m curious how the nearly-forty-year-old me will compare to the twenty-something and the teenager readers I used to be (you know, the other times when I read the novel). I should probably revisit “Anne of Green Gables” too.

That’s it for now. I still want to read “Bridge of Sighs” by Richard Russo, and another classic novel, and stuff by C.S. Lewis, and there’s a couple new ones out, but I’m going to start with 5. Five books I can handle.

So what’s on your summer Slow Down and Read list? Have you made one yet?

And if you're wondering the drinks...

1.) Beer

2.) Scotch

3.) Pimms

4.) Any heavy alcohol served as a shot

5.) Long Island Iced (sweet) Tea

The Rapturous Garage Sale (as promised)

I’m behind on my blog. And my book. And reading for pleasure. And my diet. And my attempt to learn authentic Peruvian cooking while doing the hula (not that they go together). At least I’m caught up with teaching. So far.  

I’d like to tell you about the Dream Planner Kealoha and I met while looking for a place to have our wedding, but I’ll start with the garage sale. I'll save The Dream Planner for another day.

The best thing about the garage sale was watching Kelaoha get ready for it. Two nights before, I could hear him giggling to himself. I went down into the basement to see him cracking himself up over the ad he was writing. He was right; it was pretty damn funny. In fact, like four people came to the garage sale and shook his hand. One guy wrote for the Business Journal Of Grand Rapids and he said: “I just had to come to your sale because I wanted you to know I appreciate your work.” It was hysterical.

Then Kealoha giggled over his sign making skills. It involved massive magic markers, gaff tape and obscure references to movies.

The morning of the sale came and Kealoha wasn’t giggling anymore. Neither was I. We were focused. We were determined. And man, what a lot of work. We were setting things up by 8AM and immediately a woman stopped by. “We’re not quite ready yet,” I said. “We were planning on opening in an hour.” She said, “Oh, I won’t bother you. I just want to look.” Then she proceeded to ask a ton of questions and “How much is this?” and “Do you have kids’ clothes?” I was irritated and said, “In an hour when we’re ready you can come back and check it out.” Kealoha was more diplomatic. He talked to her. Gave her prices. Sold $2 worth of stuff.

I was immediately reminded on why I wasn’t good at retail. I just don’t like people, especially when they interrupt my routine.

There were lots of characters at the garage sale (not just us). Many of them were lonely types, looking to have lengthy conversations about how they have belts at home just like the ones for sale, or how an old lampshade remind them of an aunt who committed suicide back in 83. You know, weird stuff.

It was busy. Chaotic. Around 11 we celebrated that the Rapture had happened and we could benefit by collecting more stuff from the people who’d been taken. A few minutes later a van pulled up. I’m not kidding here. Out crawled a family of six or seven. The daddy figure had a long beard, and his oldest teenage son was wearing a shirt that said PRAYER IS COOL. They were depressed. Moping even. Kealoha and I felt bad. Maybe they’d planned on being raptured, and here they were, having to troll garage sales to replace the stuff they’d given away. They didn’t buy anything. I hoped they might like some stuff from the Elvis table.

Later a friend of ours who is an atheist showed up. He came with his very cool family of women. We chatted and the girls played. He was wearing a t-shirt that said “Have You Hugged An Atheist Today?” The writer in me really wished that the prayer guy and the atheist guy had met in the aisle of our garage sale, surrounded by the ephemera of Kealoha’s and my life: the old toys, the tiki mugs, the weird hula pictures. There would’ve been a showdown of staring, I’m sure of it.

Sadly, it was not to be.

It started to rain around three and I was grateful. I was exhausted. The kids were pooped. Kealoha was a walking zombie. We closed up shop, loaded our cars and dropped things off at the Goodwill.

All in all we made a couple of hundred dollars. It gave us a week of groceries and a Wii system, so that’s pretty cool.

I’m not sure if it was worth it, exactly, but I’d do it again just to hear Kealoha giggling over writing an ad. I’m trying to think of more things he can advertise to see if he can work his magic again. One of my books, maybe. Hmmm…