Sure, I’d love to fly south, but unfortunately I can’t because I’ve adhered to my chair thanks to an errant glob of wax soldered to the back of my thigh. That’ll be pretty later.
Yes, it’s that time of year again, when seasonably hypothermic Canucks (including me) make a break for the border and the warmer climes to our south. Which can only mean one thing:
Pedi-waxi time! Yay!1
Normally, I love a good pedicure2, but winter presents a whole pile of problems I hadn’t considered before.4 The main concern was that in the summer you wear flip flops so as not to squish the polish, which can take up to a day to really set. I did come up with a solution though that did not involve me suicidally wearing flip flops into the slush and ice: I wore my big-ass rubber boots instead. Worked like a charm, so long as I remembered to keep pressing my toes down. Awesome!
But, sadly, my glee at finding a solution to one of the more pressing issues of our time was vastly overshadowed by the pain and discomfort of part deux of the snowbird combo.
Remember the 40-year-old virgin? Steve Carell getting his chest waxed? Remember squirming in discomfort at his anguish?
Well direct that anguish at your crotch, and the tender, bendy bits where your thigh ends and your body begins. I know many of you are familiar with this particular form of torture and I think we can agree it’s a necessary evil for most to avoid disgusting-smelling hair-removal creams or—horror of horrors—shaving.5
It’s not a surprise that it hurts like hell—I mean, a stranger spreads hot wax on your skin, then presses a cloth on it and RIPS hair and wax away. How can that possibly be good? But at least you know it’s relatively quick, and the results are generally worth it. And I’m not talking anything fancy here—just a little tidying up along the edges so the kids at the pool don’t think the Yeti’s escaped from the Everest ride or something. A little off the sides. You know?
Apparently my aesthetician didn’t know. Even though I clearly stated that I wasn’t going to be doing any bikini modelling or porn starring any time soon, she attacked her task with a passionate gusto that I might admire in an Olympic athlete. Or a car mechanic. Or a civil servant.
Yes, I realized just a little too late that this lovely lady was the type who inevitably ended up with bald Barbies because she just had to keep cutting to “even things up.”
It’s like going in and asking for a sideburn trim and walking out with no sideburns, no beard and just an Addams Family mustachio left behind.6
I dunno, maybe I looked like the string bikini type to her.7 Whatever her deal, I’ll tell you this—she’s cured me of waxing ever again. Yep, no more candle’s are getting sacrificed for my beautification, folks.
Whatever your spa status, do enjoy your winter break if you get one. I’ll be sure to say hi to Mickey for you.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take a call—some Ron Jeremy fellow wanting to make me a star or something?
Seeya in the movies!
****************************************************
1. NOT.
2. At least while I’m having the pedicure. Afterwards it’s bloody awful when you’re trying to walk but you’re all full of lovely cream so you’re sliding around in your flip flops and every speck of dirt between you and your car finds the aroma of said cream to be absolutely irresistible and so they thrust themselves at your flip-floppity feet and, thus, by the time you get home your feet are filthy and sore from sliding awkwardly around your greazy3, silty shoes.
3. Props to Patrick Swayze and John Cougar. Mellencamp.
4. A major problem today being what to do with my child who was home IN THE BLISTERING SUN due to another SNOW DAY. Yah, I popped a vein or two over that this morning. At least I found out about the closure before I walked daughter to school—but not before we were all dressed and ready to go. I mean, seriously, the thought of checking for school closures never entered my mind at all this morning. Due mainly to the, you know, BLISTERING SUN.
5. Ugh—I’m scratching just at the thought.
6. I mentioned Sports Illustrated hasn’t been calling for several years now, right?
7. Which leads me to conclude that she needs some serious cataract surgery. Or a cochlear transplant so she can HEAR me saying NOT TOO MUCH.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Can someone PLEASE get this sticker off my ass?
Know what’s funnier than a dog chasing its tail?
A cat chasing its tail. Seriously. Cats are smart,1 so it doesn’t happen that often. But my cat got a sticker stuck on her tail recently and spent a full half hour in a white-and-gray blur of fluffy frustration, chasing and chasing a petite piece of post-it that was making her unclean, dammit!2
So, today, as I look around my hovel, I have to wonder,4 is there someone out in the cosmos6 ROTFLHAO7 as I run around and around and around getting, well, nowhere? I mean, I’m smarter than a cat, right? Or, at least, a dog?
Maybe it was the frustration of two snow days in a row.8 There’s certainly a missing housework chromosome or six. But I swear I spent so much time taking a step and saying “I should do this now,” then turning around and saying “No, I should do that now,” then turning towards something else and saying, “No that is definitely the priority,” that I got precious few of the one million9 things that needed to get done this week, done. I literally10 found myself running around in circles. Chasing the post-it notes from my massive colour-coded to-do-list board that had somehow gotten stuck to my ass.11 Ugh.12
So, do me a favour. Help me climb up the evolutionary scale a wee bit and, if you see a post-it note on my ass, just take it off, OK? Or clean my house. Or make my kid’s lunch. Or write my article. Or pay my bills. Or get my kid’s skates sharpened. Or pitch my story. Or shovel my driveway. Or finish my novel. Or attend my seminar. Or...
I think I’m gonna lose my kibble...
********************************************
1. My loyalty in the cat/dog dichotomy of life becomes blaringly obvious right—here.
2. I eventually stopped laughing long enough to take it off for her—I was worried her head would explode or she’d chuck her kibble.3
3. And, lest you think I am the kind sort, I later I tried to duplicate the scenario for others by sticking something on kitty’s tail. Didn’t work—I couldn’t find that one little inaccessible sweetspot of hilarity, and, as mentioned, cats are smart.
4. With apologies—I’m certainly not cool enough to channel Carrie Bradshaw, but sometimes I have to pay homage.5
5. Go ahead—you know you want to say it out loud... “Homage.”
6. A totally accidental homage to SATC. Mmmm, cosmos. Ohhh-maggge. Hom-idge.
7. Rolling on the floor laughing her ass off. Pre-empting Muzzah's inevitable question.
8. The fact that I invited four little girls (in addition to my one) into my house on the first snow day makes me seriously question my place on the mammal smartness hierarchy. A cat would NEVER do that. A dog definitely would, though.
9. Figures rounded to the nearest ten.
10. I am using this term correctly, my friends.
11. That was figurative. Well, the board is real. But, they were figuratively stuck to my—oh, I don’t need to explain this, do I?
12. Is the ridiculous number of notes making you feel like you’re reading in circles? Sorry—I just didn’t want to feel alone here between the pets.
A cat chasing its tail. Seriously. Cats are smart,1 so it doesn’t happen that often. But my cat got a sticker stuck on her tail recently and spent a full half hour in a white-and-gray blur of fluffy frustration, chasing and chasing a petite piece of post-it that was making her unclean, dammit!2
So, today, as I look around my hovel, I have to wonder,4 is there someone out in the cosmos6 ROTFLHAO7 as I run around and around and around getting, well, nowhere? I mean, I’m smarter than a cat, right? Or, at least, a dog?
Maybe it was the frustration of two snow days in a row.8 There’s certainly a missing housework chromosome or six. But I swear I spent so much time taking a step and saying “I should do this now,” then turning around and saying “No, I should do that now,” then turning towards something else and saying, “No that is definitely the priority,” that I got precious few of the one million9 things that needed to get done this week, done. I literally10 found myself running around in circles. Chasing the post-it notes from my massive colour-coded to-do-list board that had somehow gotten stuck to my ass.11 Ugh.12
So, do me a favour. Help me climb up the evolutionary scale a wee bit and, if you see a post-it note on my ass, just take it off, OK? Or clean my house. Or make my kid’s lunch. Or write my article. Or pay my bills. Or get my kid’s skates sharpened. Or pitch my story. Or shovel my driveway. Or finish my novel. Or attend my seminar. Or...
I think I’m gonna lose my kibble...
********************************************
1. My loyalty in the cat/dog dichotomy of life becomes blaringly obvious right—here.
2. I eventually stopped laughing long enough to take it off for her—I was worried her head would explode or she’d chuck her kibble.3
3. And, lest you think I am the kind sort, I later I tried to duplicate the scenario for others by sticking something on kitty’s tail. Didn’t work—I couldn’t find that one little inaccessible sweetspot of hilarity, and, as mentioned, cats are smart.
4. With apologies—I’m certainly not cool enough to channel Carrie Bradshaw, but sometimes I have to pay homage.5
5. Go ahead—you know you want to say it out loud... “Homage.”
6. A totally accidental homage to SATC. Mmmm, cosmos. Ohhh-maggge. Hom-idge.
7. Rolling on the floor laughing her ass off. Pre-empting Muzzah's inevitable question.
8. The fact that I invited four little girls (in addition to my one) into my house on the first snow day makes me seriously question my place on the mammal smartness hierarchy. A cat would NEVER do that. A dog definitely would, though.
9. Figures rounded to the nearest ten.
10. I am using this term correctly, my friends.
11. That was figurative. Well, the board is real. But, they were figuratively stuck to my—oh, I don’t need to explain this, do I?
12. Is the ridiculous number of notes making you feel like you’re reading in circles? Sorry—I just didn’t want to feel alone here between the pets.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
One Tack at a Time… or Why I Haven’t Been Blogging
I just organized my thumb tacks1 into the pretty ones I really like (neat purples and turquoises and corals and such) and the boring standard utilitarian ones you see everywhere (primary colours and greens and whites). I then put them in these neat hexagonal glass jars that are soooo cute. And I’m recycling because the jars are from a spice set I got a while back: as I empty the jars I clean them out. This takes a fair bit of time.2 For months I have had little groups of colourful things (like thumb tacks) cluttering my workspace, just waiting for new homes in the charming-and-someday-to-be-cleaned jars. So, today, what I am really doing is organizing and reducing clutter and recycling and beautifying.3
And why not? It’s not like I have much on the go. All I have to do is finish a massive copy edit that has taken waaaay longer than I ever thought possible4, write several articles, chase other people to interview… You know—things that will eventually result in me earning money. The sooner I get them done, the sooner I get said money and can look for more work. There’s also that drafted novel that needs finalizing to go out to agents/publishers. And the new novel I’m four chapters into writing…
So what am I doing? Well, the boys in Cameron House had a charming term for it: fucking the dog.5 Wasting time. Making dining reservations for my trip to Disney next month. Sorting thumb tacks.
What is wrong with me?
As Ron Weasley put it, “She needs to sort out her priorities.”*
Sigh. One of my priorities is to blog more regularly.
Right after I find the coloured paperclips that go in the other (finally) clean hexagonal jar… They were on my desk yesterday…
Hmmm—this could take a while…
***************************************************
1. The Canadian Oxford has thumbtack as one word. I don’t like it. (This in no way changes my deeper-and-gushier-than-a-BP-oilrig love I have for my CanOx though...)
2. Because the labels are practically soldered on, I have to soak the jars, then scrape them, then soak the jars again, then scrape them again, and since there are always dishes in my sink waiting to go in the dishwasher, the stuff that can’t go in the dishwasher sits on the counter waiting to be washed in the sink once the sink gets empty, which doesn’t generally happen till my daughter wants to have something in her thermos for lunch and I have to clean it so I make an extra-special effort to empty the blasted always-full sink—only then can I soak the jars. So when I say a fair bit of time, I mean several months.
3. I mentioned how sweet these little jars are, right? And hexagonal?
4. And I haven’t even gotten to the 450 footnotes—450! Fifty pages of 10-point, single-spaced, name- and number-crammed detail! And not fun detail like in my footnotes. Nooooooo.
5. Obviously this term is meant figuratively, but can’t you just picture terrified Cameron frosh losing sleep dreading a Welsh/New-Zealander-sheep-style coming-of-age initiation ritual?
6. Ron made this comment after Hermione said they could get killed, or worse—expelled. I might not get work done, or worse—I might have a mix of cool and uncool thumb tacks in the same jar. Sorted priorities, indeed…
And why not? It’s not like I have much on the go. All I have to do is finish a massive copy edit that has taken waaaay longer than I ever thought possible4, write several articles, chase other people to interview… You know—things that will eventually result in me earning money. The sooner I get them done, the sooner I get said money and can look for more work. There’s also that drafted novel that needs finalizing to go out to agents/publishers. And the new novel I’m four chapters into writing…
So what am I doing? Well, the boys in Cameron House had a charming term for it: fucking the dog.5 Wasting time. Making dining reservations for my trip to Disney next month. Sorting thumb tacks.
What is wrong with me?
As Ron Weasley put it, “She needs to sort out her priorities.”*
Sigh. One of my priorities is to blog more regularly.
Right after I find the coloured paperclips that go in the other (finally) clean hexagonal jar… They were on my desk yesterday…
Hmmm—this could take a while…
***************************************************
1. The Canadian Oxford has thumbtack as one word. I don’t like it. (This in no way changes my deeper-and-gushier-than-a-BP-oilrig love I have for my CanOx though...)
2. Because the labels are practically soldered on, I have to soak the jars, then scrape them, then soak the jars again, then scrape them again, and since there are always dishes in my sink waiting to go in the dishwasher, the stuff that can’t go in the dishwasher sits on the counter waiting to be washed in the sink once the sink gets empty, which doesn’t generally happen till my daughter wants to have something in her thermos for lunch and I have to clean it so I make an extra-special effort to empty the blasted always-full sink—only then can I soak the jars. So when I say a fair bit of time, I mean several months.
3. I mentioned how sweet these little jars are, right? And hexagonal?
4. And I haven’t even gotten to the 450 footnotes—450! Fifty pages of 10-point, single-spaced, name- and number-crammed detail! And not fun detail like in my footnotes. Nooooooo.
5. Obviously this term is meant figuratively, but can’t you just picture terrified Cameron frosh losing sleep dreading a Welsh/New-Zealander-sheep-style coming-of-age initiation ritual?
6. Ron made this comment after Hermione said they could get killed, or worse—expelled. I might not get work done, or worse—I might have a mix of cool and uncool thumb tacks in the same jar. Sorted priorities, indeed…
Monday, December 6, 2010
Rescue Pounds
Wanted: Good, loving home for four pounds.
I have enjoyed bringing them into the world, raising them, nurturing them, carrying them close to my heart (they love to nestle right into my belly—so sweet!), but I no longer have the energy to keep them. Plus, I already have so many pounds to take care of already—these lumpy little sweeties need someone with fewer pounds of their own so they can get the attention they so desperately crave.
I know there has to be somewhere out there for them, but I must say, it won’t be easy parting with the little buggers.
Truth be known, I’ve been trying to find a better home for them for years, but they refuse to stay anywhere I leave them. I’ve walked for miles and miles and miles to find them a good place, yet they STILL manage to track me down and cuddle right back on to the Buddha belly they love so much. I’ve tried leaving them at a lovely Pilates studio, the Dalplex pool, Point Pleasant Park—they just don’t seem to be happy anywhere else but with me! (And who could blame them—am I right?)
But I know there must be a forever home out there that is willing to rescue these darling ones. I’ll be honest with you, they do take up a bit of space and they love to be fed lots of rich, fatty food. But the return is worth it—I mean, is there anything better than cozying up to a few extra pounds in the winter? And, it’s soooo delightful when they line up around your waist, end-to-end: it looks like—I don’t know—like the top of a muffin! Or a life preserver ring! ADORABLE!
I’ve thought long and hard about this and I feel this is my last resort. I can’t stress enough how much I love my little poundies, so I only want them to go to a home where they will be appreciated for how special they are. These aren’t work pounds or show pounds (although everyone will definitely see them—they don’t like to hide!), so that perfect someone needs to be willing to lounge around on the couch with them, or bring them right to the table and hand-feed them the delectable goodies they so love. I guarantee if you do these two things alone, they will love you for LIFE!
(I may be kidding myself but I think if I can find a good home—or homes even—for these fellas that it might be easier to start finding homes for the rest of their siblings. My selfish goal is to be an empty nester—oooh, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet! I get chilly just thinking about it...)
I can deliver them to you as soon as you like—let me know where and when I’ll be there lickety-split.
Right after I finish this snack.
Thanks—you won’t be disappointed!
Monday, November 29, 2010
LoMyFuMiMo
After a slow start (I did a bit at the beginning, then nothing for three weeks), my NaNoWriMo is looking a little like LoMyFuMiMo (Losing My Mind Month) at this point. However, progress has been made.
Since I’ve already got one novel drafted and another started, and there was no way in hell I was ever going to write 50,000 new words this month, I committed instead to a serious schedule of revising and writing. So JoReWriMo (Jodi’s Revising and Writing Month) broke down into 5,000 new words and 72,0001 revised words. Or, in other words2, a couple of chapters in the new novel and a few blogs for the new, and a completed second draft of the existing novel for the revision.
To me, NaNoWriMo is all about just doing it. Getting ‘er done. Ass in chair, hands on pen/keyboard. Making some goals and sticking to them. Staying up late and shunning paying work for the dream.
And for the past week especially, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
So why am I boring you with this poopstorm of decidedly unfunny facts and numbers? Because JoReWriMo is precisely why I haven’t been blogging lately. Yes, after only a month into production, I had to take a hiatus from blogging to make a sincere run at draft two. Plus my daughter turned eight and my in-laws visited for two of this fine month’s fours weeks.3 Life gets in the way.
But the cold November rains will soon be gone, I’ve got 2,750 new and 67,000 revised words in the can and I am going for the win.
So stay tuned and wish me luck—we’ll be talking again before you know it...
******************************
1 - Yah – you read that right. 72k. Although it’s turning more into 80k because of the stuff I’ve added in.
2 – Jodi’s are punny.
3 – Yah – you read that right. Please see Now We’re Talking! “Some people (me) never learn...” re: not blogging self out of wills. Also, see this blog. :~)
Friday, November 19, 2010
Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! (1)
So I was going to do a post about rejection (in all its many forms), but I’m feeling pretty damn huggy this week, so I’m going to instead do some Now We’re Talking2 (aka Now We’re Talking With Jodi3) shout outs. Word!
First of all, Now We’re Talking4 shout outs to each and every one of you who have stopped by, shared a link, made a comment and showed unfathomable support and love. I am touched and humbled.
A Now We’re Talking5 shout out to the ultra-fabulous Halifax Broad. This super-talented graphic designer by day and blogger by night (or vice versa) talked about (and expanded beautifully upon) the Kegel Pole-ka™ in her amazing blog and I’m sure is responsible for the handful of new followers I have who are not my friends or relatives! Yay! People I don’t know! Now YOU are my friends too!
Another Now We’re Talking6 shout out to the organizers of and participants in the MSVU Celebration of Writing. After all my angst, I ended up having a fantastic time. My panelmates, Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison, were particularly charming and clever, and I sat front and centre to listen to the lovely and delightful Sheree Fitch's keynote address. (I laughed. I cried. I’m not proud.) During the panel, Sheree7 and a few awesome buddies of mine were kind enough to ask me questions that made me feel like a real writer, rather than the poser I am on most days. Now, someone may burst my delusions of grandeur, but I believe I didn’t make a complete fool of myself. And sometimes that’s all you can hope for in this world.
So the next time someone calls and asks you to do something waaaay outside your comfort zone, try saying yes. You might have fun!8
That's quite enough treacly sweetness for today. I promise a funny post when this insanely busy week is over. Plus all this happiness—well, let’s just say I’m funnier when I’m agitated, so I’ll work on that.
On a COMPLETELY unrelated topic (*cough*), did I mention my in-laws are staying with us for two weeks? *whistlesasherassgetskickedoutofStarbucksafterbeingthereforsixhours*
Mwah! Now we’re talking!9
***************************************
1. Those are kisses, in case you didn’t know. Onomatopoeia is not a strong suit for me. Nor are metaphors and symbolism. And here I fancy myself a writer. HA!
2. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 1.
3. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 2.
4. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 3.
5. OK—last one. I swear.
6. I lie like a rug. Better for you to find out now, don’tcha think?
7. Who thinks I’m funny, by the way.
8. Hey Susan D. Rushdie, you can come out of hiding again! Mwah! to you too! Thanks!
9. Jodi Reid... carrying a joke too far... (David Spade voice)
First of all, Now We’re Talking4 shout outs to each and every one of you who have stopped by, shared a link, made a comment and showed unfathomable support and love. I am touched and humbled.
A Now We’re Talking5 shout out to the ultra-fabulous Halifax Broad. This super-talented graphic designer by day and blogger by night (or vice versa) talked about (and expanded beautifully upon) the Kegel Pole-ka™ in her amazing blog and I’m sure is responsible for the handful of new followers I have who are not my friends or relatives! Yay! People I don’t know! Now YOU are my friends too!
Another Now We’re Talking6 shout out to the organizers of and participants in the MSVU Celebration of Writing. After all my angst, I ended up having a fantastic time. My panelmates, Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison, were particularly charming and clever, and I sat front and centre to listen to the lovely and delightful Sheree Fitch's keynote address. (I laughed. I cried. I’m not proud.) During the panel, Sheree7 and a few awesome buddies of mine were kind enough to ask me questions that made me feel like a real writer, rather than the poser I am on most days. Now, someone may burst my delusions of grandeur, but I believe I didn’t make a complete fool of myself. And sometimes that’s all you can hope for in this world.
So the next time someone calls and asks you to do something waaaay outside your comfort zone, try saying yes. You might have fun!8
That's quite enough treacly sweetness for today. I promise a funny post when this insanely busy week is over. Plus all this happiness—well, let’s just say I’m funnier when I’m agitated, so I’ll work on that.
On a COMPLETELY unrelated topic (*cough*), did I mention my in-laws are staying with us for two weeks? *whistlesasherassgetskickedoutofStarbucksafterbeingthereforsixhours*
Mwah! Now we’re talking!9
***************************************
1. Those are kisses, in case you didn’t know. Onomatopoeia is not a strong suit for me. Nor are metaphors and symbolism. And here I fancy myself a writer. HA!
2. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 1.
3. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 2.
4. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 3.
5. OK—last one. I swear.
6. I lie like a rug. Better for you to find out now, don’tcha think?
7. Who thinks I’m funny, by the way.
8. Hey Susan D. Rushdie, you can come out of hiding again! Mwah! to you too! Thanks!
9. Jodi Reid... carrying a joke too far... (David Spade voice)
Thursday, November 11, 2010
WTF was I thinking?
More advice for you, my friends.
Say you receive an e-mail that says something like this: “So-and-so’s going to call and ask you to do something. Please say yes.”
My advice?
Run the other way.
For reasons I’m still trying to suss out, I did say yes when the call from so-and-so eventually came. And now my leg has a repetitive stress injury from continuously kicking my own arse over my own sheer stupidity.
What in the effin’ jay was I thinking?
Part of it was that, like many women, I have trouble saying no and an inexplicable need to help and/or please people.1 All the time. Part of it was that I was flattered to be asked.
Ahhh, yes—pride. We all know what that comes before.
What I foolishly accepted was an invitation to be part of a panel of speakers at one of my almae matres, Mount Saint Vincent University. They are celebrating writing next week and asked me to be on the “Writers Talk Publishing” panel. Which is rather frigging hilarious when you consider that I am completely and utterly unpublished. Absurdly so. (Perhaps because I use too many adverbs? But I digress. Predictably.)
The line-up for the day includes Alexander MacLeod (yes, that Alexander MacLeod), Crystal Garrett and Chris Benjamin on the morning panel (“Writers Talk Writing”); uber-author-extraordinaire Sheree Fitch as the keynote speaker; and Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison on “my” panel in the afternoon.
Well cluck, cluck!2 Look at Miss Fancy Pants on the fancy panel! I’ll fit right in, right?
F*cking idiot.
You see, what all of these other people (with one exception3) have in common is that they are published authors. Some ridiculously prolifically so.5
Apparently, someone6 thought I could add to this discussion amongst these distinguished and accomplished people because I’m flailingly submerged in the lengthy, soul-wracking, ice-pick-to-the-brain process of trying to get published. I’m in the research phase—sorting out the mysterious and sick and twisted labyrinth8 that is the publishing world.
There’s just so much information out there. Of course, the same could be said for anything these days—everything is on the information-overload highway somewhere, so there’s no excuse anymore for not being able to find out about any conceivable topic. “I didn’t know” just doesn’t cut it. Read publisher websites. Read agent blogs. Read author websites and blogs. Learn how to fix your plot, your characters, your dialogue, your jitch—whatever. It’s all “out there.” In overwhelmingly choking detail.
So, WTF can I possibly bring these people that they haven’t already found out for themselves or heard from one of my learned and published co-panellists?
Ummmm... Comic relief?
OK. So I’ll try to bring the funny.
Wish me luck—I’m gonna bloody well need it.
***********************************
1. Hubby says WHAT?!?!? Where’s the line for that?
2. Props to my sister and her crazy friends for one of my favourite phrases ever.
3. I don’t think Crystal Garrett has a book published, but she’s a professor at Kings and the Mount, a broadcaster whose work has appeared on CNN, and she’s represented Canada internationally as a long-distance runner. Show off.4
4. Just kidding! About the show-off part. Yah. Kidding.
5. Adverb theme! Adverb theme!
6. ..who shall remain nameless here but is emblazoned permanently on my brain in the radically overdeveloped “revenge” compartment...7
7. Just kidding! About the dish best served cold. Yah. Kidding.
8. Polysyndeton, just for someone.
Say you receive an e-mail that says something like this: “So-and-so’s going to call and ask you to do something. Please say yes.”
My advice?
Run the other way.
For reasons I’m still trying to suss out, I did say yes when the call from so-and-so eventually came. And now my leg has a repetitive stress injury from continuously kicking my own arse over my own sheer stupidity.
What in the effin’ jay was I thinking?
Part of it was that, like many women, I have trouble saying no and an inexplicable need to help and/or please people.1 All the time. Part of it was that I was flattered to be asked.
Ahhh, yes—pride. We all know what that comes before.
What I foolishly accepted was an invitation to be part of a panel of speakers at one of my almae matres, Mount Saint Vincent University. They are celebrating writing next week and asked me to be on the “Writers Talk Publishing” panel. Which is rather frigging hilarious when you consider that I am completely and utterly unpublished. Absurdly so. (Perhaps because I use too many adverbs? But I digress. Predictably.)
The line-up for the day includes Alexander MacLeod (yes, that Alexander MacLeod), Crystal Garrett and Chris Benjamin on the morning panel (“Writers Talk Writing”); uber-author-extraordinaire Sheree Fitch as the keynote speaker; and Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison on “my” panel in the afternoon.
Well cluck, cluck!2 Look at Miss Fancy Pants on the fancy panel! I’ll fit right in, right?
F*cking idiot.
You see, what all of these other people (with one exception3) have in common is that they are published authors. Some ridiculously prolifically so.5
Apparently, someone6 thought I could add to this discussion amongst these distinguished and accomplished people because I’m flailingly submerged in the lengthy, soul-wracking, ice-pick-to-the-brain process of trying to get published. I’m in the research phase—sorting out the mysterious and sick and twisted labyrinth8 that is the publishing world.
There’s just so much information out there. Of course, the same could be said for anything these days—everything is on the information-overload highway somewhere, so there’s no excuse anymore for not being able to find out about any conceivable topic. “I didn’t know” just doesn’t cut it. Read publisher websites. Read agent blogs. Read author websites and blogs. Learn how to fix your plot, your characters, your dialogue, your jitch—whatever. It’s all “out there.” In overwhelmingly choking detail.
So, WTF can I possibly bring these people that they haven’t already found out for themselves or heard from one of my learned and published co-panellists?
Ummmm... Comic relief?
OK. So I’ll try to bring the funny.
Wish me luck—I’m gonna bloody well need it.
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1. Hubby says WHAT?!?!? Where’s the line for that?
2. Props to my sister and her crazy friends for one of my favourite phrases ever.
3. I don’t think Crystal Garrett has a book published, but she’s a professor at Kings and the Mount, a broadcaster whose work has appeared on CNN, and she’s represented Canada internationally as a long-distance runner. Show off.4
4. Just kidding! About the show-off part. Yah. Kidding.
5. Adverb theme! Adverb theme!
6. ..who shall remain nameless here but is emblazoned permanently on my brain in the radically overdeveloped “revenge” compartment...7
7. Just kidding! About the dish best served cold. Yah. Kidding.
8. Polysyndeton, just for someone.
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