It’s always here for you. Remember that.
Happy Tuesday, y’all. Onwards.
It’s always here for you. Remember that.
Happy Tuesday, y’all. Onwards.
Are you somehow impervious to injury? Is that why there are no band-aids in your house, which caused you to fashion a toilet paper tourniquet when you cut yourself shaving last night?
Why do you think vengeful thoughts when people you smile at don’t smile back?
You totally pretended he wasn’t there, didn’t you?
Why do you say “nice to see you again” when you know full well that this person has no clue who you are?
Why does doing the above tickle you so much?
Why does the phrase “I don’t think Idris is that handsome” enrage you so?
Because, honestly, that’s one less person you have to imagine fighting at sundown for his heart, right?
What was THAT?
You intend on remaining cryptic about THAT, don’t you?
Been a while since you resurrected this feature, huh?
Well, I wanted to give you a break since you’re always so pleased when we do it.
By now, though: don’t your readers enough about you?
Nah, we haven’t even touched the tip of that iceberg.
Fine, fine. What’s going on with you? Are you eating tons of beef and wearing cowboy hats yet?
Perish the thought. I’ve yet to even see a cowboy hat.
A lot of people are transplants like me. And the natives I’ve met seem quite content to go hatless.
Sorry. But remember that you’ve accessed the meaner part of your personality when we have these silly conversations. You basically asked for it.
Anyway, how is your eating and exercising and all that?
Much better. I’ve resumed my regular fitness schedule, left all the donut shops behind—we’re doing well.
Good. What else is new, pussycat?
You’re effective at pretending like you actually care.
I learned from the best.
Nothing else is new. My fro is handling the new environment better than I expected.
Indeed. You know how temperamental she is. But I’ve been really moisturizing and babying her, so we’ll see. Next year will be a full-fledged summer here so she may implode.
Perhaps a protective style, then?
Look at you, giving advice!
I read enough about this stuff on here; might as well join in. Speaking of cowboys—
We were not discussing cowboys.
We talked about their hats, so yes, we were discussing them. Have you met anyone yet? You know…wink, wink…
What? We’re all thinking it.
No, I haven’t.
No one. Unless Idris has decided to start dressing like John Wayne.
Now you know what it feels like.
Switching reels: are you writing?
I am! Finishing up stories and starting new ones. All at the same time, of course, because this is how I do.
When is the third book coming?
I’m really shooting for early 2017.
Care to wager on that?
That’s my cue.
Come back! I want to taunt you!
Saturday night with le fro. Who’s coming around to twist this thing? Anyone?
Bon first day of the weekend…
Happy first day of November, party people. Did that greeting seem unexcited and blah? Well, blah is the operative word. I posted my feelings about November back on November 1, 2015. Re-posted below for your reading pleasure. Enjoy the redux.
Ever since I fell in love with autumn (since 1986 when we stepped foot on American soil and I experienced my first fall, in case you were wondering), I’ve wondered about November.
What is this month that pales in comparison to October, my favorite month? It doesn’t have the roaring engines of September, when fall begins. It certainly doesn’t have the romance/je ne sais quoi and ego-inflating that I associate with October (it is the month in which I was born, hence the mild inflation of my ego when I remind my mother that her life’s purpose was realized when her eldest child was born). And by December, I’ve forgotten all about fall and begin the dreading of winter. So, essentially, November is the stepping stone between wonder and dread. The head-scratching interruption. The red-headed stepchild of the fall season.
All that said, I’m officially making an effort not to do November wrong like this anymore. And, hey, I’ve always had a place in my heart for gingers and forgotten stepchildren. So this November:
And so, dearest November, you will suffer from my irritated and/or apathetic regard no longer. I will change the parameters of our uninspiring, tedious relationship. If it’s the last thing I do. Unless something else comes up. Anyway, I wanted to leave you with an inspiring quote about November, but–there weren’t any.
…in other words, what I’d like to do to commemorate my last day here at the OK Corral. Since my adolescent gym teachers shamed me for my inability to tumble, therefore ripping that desire out of me for the rest of my days, here’s this instead.
Happy last day to me!
And happy Wednesday to you, dear reader…
As a singleton, invariably, 1) I’m offered someone’s murderous son/nephew/cousin/friend/random guy on the street as a potential marriage partner, and 2) I receive plenty of tips and advice about my future marriage. Here are a few of my favorites, along with a bit of commentary.
A good marriage consists of two forgivers. I’ve heard this more than once, and I like it. To me, it means that I can forgive him for forgetting that I occupy our home when a game is on and he can forgive me for reacting…melodramatically. (Think screaming “you obviously don’t love me” from our upstairs balcony.)
Marriage isn’t 50/50. It’s 100/100. Another good one. I may be functioning at a third-grade level when it comes to Math and numbers, but this is clear: he will 100 percent buy me pretty presents and I will 100 percent love him for it.
The first year is the hardest; it can make you or break you. My mother said this to me. I believe her. I mean, yes, I imagined Idris and I just swimming in sunshine and roses that first year, but I don’t doubt that there will be some growing pains: what to name our yacht, pestering him to leave the outgoing message on my cell phone, reminding him about our weekly galas in the city (he can be so forgetful)…
Never go to bed angry. True. But what about infuriated, incensed, and/or enraged?
All humor intended.
Either way: a win-win.
(Which one are you? Pessimist or Optimist? Assuage my curiosity and tell me in the comments, won’t you?)
Seriously. Why are we doing this? You don’t have a book to promote.
Is that why you think I do this feature? To promote my fiction?
What other infernal reason could there be?
We’ve talked about plenty of things via this feature. The weather, working out, health. It’s fun.
Debatable. Anyway. What’s going on? You got quite a bit of snow last week, didn’t you?
A “bit” is underestimating it. It was unreal. I’ve seen blizzards before, experienced them, but this…
Not so fun when you’re an adult. Right?
Right. Exactly. You know me so well, kitten.
Again, because I’m you. You’re essentially talking to yourself. You get that, right? Right?
Anyway, what else is going on? Let’s see. I’m making plans about the future.
ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?
Mom, is that you?
What’s this about the future? What’s happening? What are you doing??
Just making some significant changes. When things become more concrete, I’ll discuss them here. Until then–
Until then we’re all supposed to be on pins and needles, waiting with bated breath, until you reveal the plans about your non-husband?
That cabin fever did wonders with your temper and sarcasm, didn’t it?
So, your writing. How’s that going?
I’ve actually been dabbling in science fiction lately. I included a very sci-fi-esque story in my recent collection and it certainly lit a fire. So I’ve been writing short stories in that vein. Pretty proud of the one I wrote a few weeks ago, actually. I even submitted it for a writing contest.
How would you define science fiction?
Themes that deal with time travel, parallel universes, things like that.
Interesting. Are you going to post your beloved new story on here?
In a few weeks, yeah.
What do you like about that genre so much?
Here’s how I feel about it: if I write about time travel, I feel like the science fiction genre allows me to go as far as my imagination will allow and beyond without having to go too crazy with research and facts. Because no one has traveled through time. If I write a story about Savannah’s legal system, it needs to be based on the actual legal system in Georgia. you feel me?
So this is your lazy way of avoiding research. I feel you.
You’re the worst.
And yet you didn’t disagree.
I’m leaving you now.
*sigh of relief*
You really are the worst.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
December: So you’re really killing ’em, huh? 16 degrees?
January: Please. After that 75 degree mumbo jumbo you were pulling, I had to remind those chumps that we’re in winter.
December: Sheesh. Calm down.
January: Don’t tell me to calm down. You had people wearing shorts in wintertime. Shorts! I mean, are you kidding me? In December? Like, how?
December: In case you haven’t noticed, Ms. Obvious Temper Issues, El Nino is really running things. Go yell at him.
January: What is that El Nino business?
December: No idea.
January: Me, either.
(Seriously, I had to break out my thermal pantaloons this morning. It really was 16 degrees when I reluctantly opened my eyes this morning, and it’s currently 19 degrees now. So honorable mention to my mother for forcing me to wear those thermal things when I was a little Square Peg, which left an indelible reminder that they would actually keep me blissfully warm when I was a grown-up. Yay for forced under clothing.)