Sarah of Smart Bitches Trashy Books and Jane of Dear Author run an awesome monthly podcast. Unfortunately their latest podcast didn’t record and Sarah asked on Twitter if anybody Scyped. I Scype with my father so I volunteered to chat about books with her. Gordon wasn’t here to restrain me from saying unprofessional things, so I went to weird places with it. Poor Sarah did her best to steer me back on to the path, but I think she gave up about halfway and just started laughing. So if you’re in the mood for unintentionally hilarious TMI podcast, here it is.
Tyrone glanced at the gathering. “Most of these assholes are here every day. Good luck getting their attention though. Half of them are drunk, half of them are hung over, and the other half don’t give a shit.”
When you’re a writer, sometimes the simplest things shortcircuit you. This is Hyatt Regency Hotel in Atlanta which was used as the inspiration for the Mercenary Guild. I’ve spent half and hour yesterday trying to find the right way to describe the balconies. I am still not happy with it but I have to move on.
Salem, the black cat in the photo, rapidly gained weight this year. It wasn’t much by human standards, about two pounds, but we became very worried. She is mostly an inside cat. She goes outside once in a while strictly for recreation purposes and stays close to the house so we knew nobody else was feeding her. We curtailed her diet and kept her inside, but weight gain mysteriously continued. We had rescued a shelter kitten before and he died suddenly of FIP. FIP infection is not typical in older female cats, but it was on the back of everyone’s mind. One day I reached over to pet her belly and she snapped at me, which she never does. Kid 2 and I immediately freaked out.
We stuffed Salem into a crate – a three man operation, one to hold the crate, one to hold the cat, and one to fold her legs because crate is not her favorite – and rushed her to the vet.
Vet: That is a lot of weight gain for 4 weeks… I don’t feel any tumors. We need an X-ray, but I don’t know if I am going to be able to get a radiologist today.
Us: Please, please do the best you can.
Vet: I’ll try. It’s will be a little expensive…
Us: We don’t care.
Vet: I will do my best.
An hour later phone call:
Vet: I got a radiologist! We are going to check her in half an hour!
We hold our collective breath for half an hour.
Half an hour later, phone call.
Vet: We found the issue.
Us: What is it?
Vet: Your cat is enormously fat.
She is not fat. She is just furry. 😉
Sookie, the Olde English Bulldogge, is going through terrible twos. She wouldn’t let other dogs be this morning even after a spirited run through the yard and some game time, so she was put into a time out.
A while ago we featured a snippet from a YA writer. Several of you (actually a surprisingly large number of you) asked if anything was happening or developing with that and when another snippet would be posted. The YA writer is still working on it and has volunteered another snippet for your amusement.
The YA writer isn’t looking for a detailed critique, but your reader reactions would be greatly appreciated. This is a for-fun snippet. The protagonist is fifteen years old and she had seen something at a friend’s house that deeply unnerved her.
I’d be lying if I were to say that I didn’t doubt a bit whether or not I’d be able to make it home through the woods without Devin at my side that night. It was excruciatingly dark, and the lack of light made everything look the same. But after what I had just witnessed, I couldn’t have given less of a shit. I couldn’t even wrap my head around what I saw. There was no logical explanation. What Ivan did was not normal.
And by that, I don’t mean the kind of not normal you sometimes encounter in school. That kind of not normal is like that one kid who sometimes sits in front of you and seems to have a strange obsession with smelling every paper that touches his desk.
That was something else entirely. It freaked me out.
I trudged through the woods, thinking a million thoughts a second. In the back of my mind, I felt like might have been a little rude for taking off the way I did. But could they blame me? I just hoped that next time I saw his parents they wouldn’t tiptoe around me like I was about to break or anything.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes. The color was so vibrantly orange. It was one of the strangest, scariest things I had seen in my life. Then I remembered what started their confrontation in the first place.
Hasn’t it always been like this, though?
I had became so sidetracked with my emotions that I didn’t even notice I was back to the main Crittenden house. A sigh of relief escaped me. I knew my way home from there. I checked my phone to see if I was going to make it before curfew.
Nine pm. I’d still have time to go to the garden and read. Whenever I got too strung out, no matter what time it was, I’d grab a book and recline on my hammock in the backyard. The hammock sat behind a wall of overgrown bushes, so if you were to look from the back porch, you wouldn’t even know there was more yard behind the shrubbery. It was so peaceful back there, it always managed to soothe me.
The front door was unlocked when I reached my home, so I didn’t even make an effort of notifying anyone that I had returned. I went upstairs and grabbed a book by my favorite author, James Myers.
Nancy doesn’t understand why I read his books. It’s not that she disapproves; she loves the fact I enjoy reading. I think what bothers her is that they always revolve around tragic things happening to teens. The one I happened to grab was Run The Game; my personal favorite of his. It’s about a teenage coke head who falls in love with a fourteen year old prostitute. It ends with her screwing him over, and her pimp feeding him to a bunch of rabid badgers. I don’t know how he had a pack of rabid badgers, but that was honestly my favorite part.
I poured myself a glass of sweet tea and stepped outside, eager to snuggle into my hammock and finally chill out. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw it was already occupied.
A boy my age with dark brown, almost black, hair was sprawled out on my hammock, his face hidden in a copy of King Henry V.
I cleared my throat.
No answer. How rude. First he was in my hammock and now he was pretending I didn’t exist. I dropped my polite manner like it was hot. “What the hell are you doing?”
He continued to read. Maybe he was asleep…
The boy turned the page.
“Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
For Neila and Montana. More to come. ~IA. Julie stomped into the kitchen and landed in a chair, tossing her blond hair out of her face. A long smear of dirt crossed her left cheek and chin. More dirt stained her jeans. When I found her on the street years ago, she was starved, almost […]