Writing-wise, this week’s been a complete write-off.

Have you ever had one of those?

Sure you have. Everyone has ‘em.

But even though I’ve not managed to do any actual writing, looking back, I’ve still managed to do a bit of “research”. Namely, crammed in some reading time and even managed to finished up a couple of library books. And when I touted up the books I’ve read this week, I was quite surprised by the number!  So maybe I’ve been kidding myself about how busy I’ve been?

Nope. Looking back, I haven’t actually had any sustained reading time, I’ve been snatching a couple of minutes to read here and there. And it’s all added up.

And over at Writers Gone Wild today, I’ve shared some of the weird and wonderful places–and activities!–where I’ve managed to snatch a few minutes to scan a page or three.

(BTW, if someone ever gets ’round to inventing a waterproof eReader that allows me to read in the shower, I’ll be first in line to buy it. Hint hint!!!)

Feel like sharing? Then please pop on over and enlighten me as to how I can squeeze some more reading time into the insane shedule that is my life right now. I’m open to suggestions!

:-)

M

But the coffee’s finished, as is the book I was reading. Not to mention there’s another load of washing to do–once the powers that be stop mucking with our water pressure and there’s more than a pathetic dribble coming from the taps, that is. And I’ve got corrections to make after a hard-copy read through of From The Ashes, so I can finally email the revisions off to my editor. Which all means that I can’t justify staying in bed any longer. Sigh….

Don’t know ’bout you, but the first thing I do after switching on the computer is to check my emails. And this morning I found a May Bonus Issue of the Red Sage newsletter in my inbox.

Guess what?

You’ll never guess so I’ll tell you *VBG*

I’m the spotlighted author!

There’s covers, info, and links for Let Sleeping Demons Lie and Even Demons Get The Blues. I’ve never been spotlighted before, so excuse me if I sound overly excited. For me, this is a big freaking deal. Woohoo!

And, OMG, so that‘s what the stuff I wrote on the CIF & CAF could end up being used for. Yikes!

Reading through this intro that I wrote months ago, I gotta laugh:

My name is Maree Anderson and I have a confession to make: I have multiple addictions. I’m addicted to chocolate – the darker the better! I’m addicted to gym sessions… but only to the extent that I can eat more chocolate and still fit into my favorite jeans. I’m addicted to my Thursday night Ceroc dance classes – which means sneaking in reeeally late and trying not to wake my husband. I’m also addicted to Twitter, Facebook, email, blogs and online shopping – books, clothes, groceries, Christmas and birthday presents for the entire family… you name it, I’ll buy it online. And I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m also responsible for various couriers needing therapy. Because inevitably, whenever the doorbell rings I will still be in my pjs, sitting at my computer, engrossed in my latest work in progress. Which means I have to grab my robe and rush downstairs to sign for delivery. I’m sure it’s not a pretty sight – sorry, guys!

*snort* Seems some things never change. But in the unlikely event that a courier turns up on my doorstep on a Sunday, at least with our water pressure issues I have a real good excuse for still being in my pjs and robe.

;-)

M

The New Zealand Ballet and Bad Romance a la Lady Gaga? The mind boggles!

You really must check this out. It’s simply awesome.

Enjoy!

*VBG*

“It doesn’t happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

All I can say is that it spoke to me on a very personal level. Because today my DH came home unexpectedly at lunchtime. And there I was, still in my pj bottoms and ratty old Huffer tee-shirt, with unwashed hair, spotty face (never realized I’d still have breakouts at forty-freaking-five!), and unshaven legs, feeling rather horrified and wishing I’d gone and had that shower 20 minutes ago instead of answering that last email…. And when I greeted him at the door, instead of running screaming from the room, his face lit up like I was the best thing since sliced bread.

Thinking back on that moment now, aside from asking him whether he’s had his eyes checked lately, and perhaps he needs a new perscription for his glasses, all I can think of is this: that after 18 years of marriage, to my husband I’ve become Real.

And to me, that’s simply the best gift he could ever give me.

Now I just gotta hope that my hair doesn’t get loved off and my eyes stay in my head, LOL.

:-)

M

And when I got to the folder of Christmas Day photos, it was really hard. Because for the past few years, my mum has opted out of Christmas Day. By that, I mean she makes herself “unavailable”. There are are valid reasons why, so not making any judgments, here. It’s just that looking through all those years of Christmas Day photos and seeing my kids getting older, and seeing us smiling with friends and other family members we’ve spent Christmas Day with, was a little bit heartbreaking.

We all have regrets, I guess. It’s part of the human condition. Here’re some of mine:

I wish that the last time that my daughter rushed upstairs to tell me something, I hadn’t got impatient with her because she’d interrupted my work. Work can wait. It will still be there in five or ten minutes time. Her “in-the-moment” excitement and wanting to share that moment with me was a fleeting thing.

I hope that my apology and my hug were enough to convince my daughter that she shouldn’t hesitate to rush upstairs and “bother” me with things that are important to her. I hope she realizes how sorry I am for spoiling that moment for her.

I wish that I could travel to Himeji in July with my son and the rest of his school party, so that I could watch their faces and share in their wonder of seeing and experiencing a new country and culture for the very first time.

I hope that my son has an absolute ball with his homestay family, that he embraces every single new experience while he’s there, and that he doesn’t miss me for even a second in the ten days he’s away.

And I find myself selfishly hoping that he will miss me just a little and fearing that when he gets back, he might be too grown up for hugs and kisses.

I wish that I’d known what I wanted to do with my life a lot earlier on. How wonderful would it have been to “know” that I wanted to be a writer when I was in my twenties, before I got sucked into a series of soul-destroying, dead-end jobs! Think of all that writing time I’ve wasted! But then again, maybe all this “life experience” has made me a better writer. Maybe I wouldn’t have been able to handle the rejections and I’d have given up too easily back then. Who knows. Can’t help wishing, though.

I wish that I was a nicer person, that I hadn’t felt that worm of envy in my gut when a fellow writer got an agent and a multi-book publishing deal in what seemed like the blink of an eye. I wish I hadn’t despaired and wondered, “Why not me? I’ve worked really hard. I’ve completed loads of manuscripts. I’ve finaled in loads of writing contests. What the heck do I have to do to get an agent? Sell my first-born?” Because although I was really genuinely happy for her success, secretly, I still wished it had been me. And that’s not cool.

I wish that the last time I argued with my husband, I hadn’t moaned about him to my kids.

I wish that I hadn’t made a less-than complimentary comment about a book that was being reviewed on a blog. Sure, the author wasn’t blogging there, and probably didn’t even know we were discussing his book. Sure, he’s successful and very well respected — the book’s even been made into a movie! — and he probably doesn’t give a toss about some stupid little comment left by some snarky woman on some blog. But really, what a shitful, mean-spirited thing to do! And my supposedly “witty” comment is permanently out there in cyber space. It can’t be erased. It can’t be taken back. And I feel ashamed.

I wish that I had told the truth about that book not being my cup of tea and not being able to finish it in a much kinder way.

I wish that I didn’t feel resentful when people ask me to volunteer my time. I wish that I didn’t feel so damned guilty when I have to tell them no, and point out that I’ve already put in the hard yards and now it’s someone else’s turn to step up.

I hope that someday, when I’ve got this so-called career up and running, I’ll have the time to “put-back” again because it’s wonderful to know people think I’m capable and want me to be involved. And I hope that they’ll still be inclined to ask me, even after all the “No”s.

I wish that I could wear make-up — even just lipstick! — without my eyes all puffing up and my face swelling. It sucks to get all dressed up in a pretty dress and heels, and then not have the “face” to go with the outfit. Just as well my husband loves me heaps and heaps and heaps! But I can’t help wishing for a miracle, that I’ll wake up one morning and all these bizarre allergies will have vanished overnight.

I hope that my kids know how damn proud I am to be their mum. And I hope that they understand just how much I really hate having to tell them off or nag them. It sucks, but that’s my job. Someone has to help them grow up to be decent human beings. Sometimes I just wish it wasn’t me, and I could be “nice mum” all the time.

I hope that my husband knows how darn wonderful he is for going out to work every single day so that I can stay home and pursue a writing career. And I hope that one day, I’ll be able to earn enough money that he can work part-time — or even retire, so that he can have a shot at fulfilling his own dreams.

I wish that I didn’t find it so awfully hard to remember karate moves and dance routines! Part of getting older, I guess. But damn, when I watch kids picking complicated combinations of moves up just like that, it makes me wish for a partial brain upgrade, LOL.

I wish that I could get enthused about cooking again. I used to love cooking…. until I had kids. Now it’s a chore. Hard to feel enthused when you put effort into a meal but one kid or the other turns their noses up. One day, I hope they’ll have fussy kids of their own ;-)

I hope that when my writing is publicly criticized and poked fun at — it’s inevitable it will happen at some stage  — that I can accept the criticism gracefully and take it on the chin. I hope that I can “channel” Carla Cassidy, the author of Pregnesia, and be gracious and funny and accepting of their right to have their own opinions. (Pretty ironic, given my earlier comments, but that’s what I wish.)

I wish that when I’d gotten wildly diverse scores from various judges, I hadn’t taken only the negative comments to heart and dived in and “sanitised” that manuscript. Because it sucked all the soul out of that story. It made it slick and professional and very competently written, but along the way, I lost the “voice” that the judges who’d scored it highly had so loved in the first place.

I wish I’d believed in myself a bit more, because it’s taken a couple of years and many rewrites to inject that voice back into the manuscript. I’m now at the stage when an editor says that she absolutely loved the story and my voice, and that the plot is strong and its a great story — just not erotic enough for the line. Which is okay. Because she also says it would be a wonderful fit for a traditional romance publisher. And honestly? That’s where I’d like it to be.

I wish I had time to send out some queries for the afore-mentioned manuscript, LOL!

That’s it for now. Feel free to share your own regrets and hopes and wishes if you feel so inclined! Be nice to know I’m not the only one feeling just a tad regretful, today! But then, I guess looking through old photos will have that effect on even the most postitive soul.

:-)

M

Especially when he has little gems like “Iggy investigates an i-Pad” to offer you:

OK, so now I reeeeally want one!

:-)

M

Either way, you gotta check out Cory’s Mean Kitty Song… which has been so popular, it’s birthed a litter of other episodes for your viewing pleasure.

Just quietly, with a name like Sparta, is it any surprise the poor little blighter’s got a mean streak?

Sparta now has his own YouTube profile, too. Now why does that not surprise me!

Anyway, she showed this one to a group of her friends and it was generally the subject of much hilarity. Except on the part of an older woman who simply nodded her head in agreement and didn’t see what was so amusing at all. Oh my.

It’s supposedly an actual extract from a sex education school textbook for girls, printed in the U.K. in the early 1960s. And if it is a genuine extract, then personally, I find it both amusing and quite disturbing at the same time. DH felt exactly the same way, amusement tempered by a degree of horror. This is only 40-50 years ago, after all. Thank goodness times have changed!

And if you’d like a taste of exactly how much they’ve changed — for the better — then check out my latest Writers Gone Wild post with the full excerpt. If nothing else, it’ll make your hair curl. And your daughter thank you profusely for having her in such an enlightened day and age, LOL.

:-)

M