Little Signs

I don’t believe in omens or magical portents or prophecies (although I love to read and write about them), but sometimes little signs do exist that one should pay attention to. I quit my job last year for two reasons: one, so I would have more time and energy to write (I was a teacher, know); and two, my youngest was starting a new community transition program through the schools to give her job and life training, so she could have more independence. She doesn’t drive and this program is all over the city. There is a bus service that we could sign her up for, but I’ve heard horror stories about it (hyperbole, but things like having to spend four hours on the bus to get to and from the classes—two hours there, two hours home) So basically I left my job to become a glorified chauffeur. I know, I know; I need to let my daughter learn how to get around, but not yet, okay?

Yesterday as I was driving my daughter home from her morning session, and we had a wonderful conversation. She opened up to me about not being ready for a lot of things. Yes, we believe in pushing her, but she was honest and told me she wasn’t ready. It was at that moment I realized that I had done the right thing by not working (and thank the stars that I have the luxury of that decision). Until yesterday I’ve been feeling guilty about earning no money (let’s face it, the writing isn’t making me rich), but today I’m quite happy to be typing while I’m waiting for her to finish her class. And yes, it does help that I drop her off, then go to a café for a breakfast and hours of uninterrupted writing. Once a week her class is too far for me to drive back and forth so I just stick around. I am so productive those days.

So the little signs are important to pay attention to and I believe are more reliable that those big ones people want to believe in (2012 anyone?). Like the sign that’s telling my to cut my bangs to make my hair easier to manage. That’s being taken care of this afternoon.

--Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

Dating a Cougar by Donna McDonald

The Cuckoo’s Calling By Robert Gilbraith

Doomsday Book by Connie Willis

The Pretty Baby

As a writer I've heard this metaphor used so many times: your book is your baby and it hurts when they call it ugly. I find the metaphor not very accurate. Okay, I do understand what people are saying, and to some extent it is analogous, but honestly, if you can't view your manuscript objectively, you will never improve as a writer. You have to be able to  see your weaknesses and learn from them and improve. Admittedly that can take time, sometimes years, to see your own work without a prejudiced eye.

I have loved every book I've written, but with the gift of time, knowledge, and ability, I can recognize which books are better than others. And this view is still very subjective. The book I believe is my weakest is my mother's favorite of all my novels. But from a storytelling standpoint, that book relies on the BIG MIS (big misunderstanding--a problem that could be easily solved with a conversation). Personally I like the big mis as a trope. It reads realistically to me. I've had big mis-es in my own life and I believe humans are prone to them, but for some reason they are a big no-no in romance these days. So that book, which does rely on the BIG MIS (with, I hope, good justification for it) and, objectively, I think I could have ended the mis earlier, but that would have ended the book sooner,  thus is definitely my weakest.

Which leads me to the point of my title--the prettiest baby. I have some novels that are so special to me, that I believe are truly great, that have broken my heart because they didn't do as well as I believed they should, that should have launched me into a solid stable writing career (so I didn't have to even think about returning to teach to earn more money). AS YOU WISH was one of those. It was magical writing it, and so many elements worked in it. I have another manuscript that isn't published yet, a time travel, that was the same way. I'm still looking for a home for it.

And I want to mention one more. A Matter of Pride was my second published novel and my sixth manuscript. It is the second in The Destiny Coin series and was originally published in 2001.For me, it is probably the closest I will ever get to writing a perfect romance. All my other stories rely on a lot of adventure and derring-do in comparison, but for a classic, well-written (if I'm allowed to indulge in a little boasting), smart, and emphasis-on-romance story, Pride is wonderful. I have recently re-read it in preparation for releasing it as an ebook, and it holds up well. I made myself laugh, and it is smart. I love the characters. I love the plot, and the ending left me cheering. Yes, I know I wrote it, but it is good if I have any ability to judge books at all.

I hope you check it out. Book one, A Matter of Convenience, is also available, and book three, A Matter of Honor, will be coming out in about a month. Honor has its own secret that I'll share when I re-release it. (waggling eyebrows)

--Gabi

Books I'm reading now:

Something Wicked This Way Comes

A Reader in the Family

As most of you know, my youngest is developmentally challenged. She is healthy, joyous, funny, and lest you think she's a paragon, can be a brat or simply have attitude with us. In other words, normal, but as I bet other parents don't, we celebrate every teenage tantrum she pitches. Not in front of her of course. But soon she won't be a teenager any longer. We're already stretching it because in less than half a year she leaves her teenage years behind.

I'm not telling you this for sympathy or condolences. It's a fact of our lives and we live pretty (again that word) normally. As normal as any family with a few considerations. But one of the saddest aspects for me was that she was never a reader. She can read, but it was always a struggle for her because language is where her major difficulties lie. The rest of us--me, my husband, my other two daughters--we are huge readers. One of my twins was already reading before Kindergarten. The other twin took a little while longer, but became so addict to reading by seventh grade, that she was punished at school for reading too much (sounds more draconian than it was--it was a math class and she shouldn't have been reading; and now she's a writer too. I plan to collaborate with her soon). My husband reads a lot, and I'm never found far from a book. So it did make me sad that my youngest would never know the joys of books.

You know the minute you decide life has shown you one thing, it likes to slap you in the face and make a fool of you. And this one is a really good trick it played. I'm thrilled to announce that my youngest has started reading for fun. It's only been in the last couple of weeks. She's not reading adult novels, but who cares. She's been picking up picture books and junior novelizations and asking to buy books. She's been reading fan fic on the Internet! I can't tell you how thrilled I am that I have to tell her to put the book down and come play with the dogs. She seems to like reading on her iPad more than hard copies, but I'm good with that. Right now We're just celebrating that she's reading. Behind her back. We don't want her to become self-conscious about it, but I think she's shocked that I'm letting her buy every book she asks for.

I'm wet because we just got off of Splash Mountain at Disneyland

Who says life isn't interesting? Change happens.
--Gabi

Books I'm reading now:
The Cuckoo's Calling

New book out.

Only it's not so new. It's the re-release of my very first novel, A Matter of Convenience, a historical romance set in the Massachusetts of 1798.

Under the name Gabi Anderson.

Wedding

I was out of state this past weekend for the wedding of my husband's niece (which technically makes her my niece as well, but I wanted to make the familial relationship clear in few words which is totally pointless after this long aside). It became a semi-family reunion because we saw relatives we haven't seen in years. One of my nieces has a seven-year old daughter that we've never seen. That's the problem with family living all over. I live in New Mexico, two nieces live in Idaho, one in Utah, one Bro-in-law and family in Houston, the other bro-in-law in California; so family get-togethers like this one are few are far between. We had one member of the oldest generation, four of us from the next, ten from the next and three from the next. Plus one if you count the groom that joined the family that weekend. A ten-hour drive took us to the location of the ceremony. We stayed in town for three days, played, talked, and essentially caught up with one another and life. There is a bond there that blood provides, which overcomes the lack of contact, the different lives and beliefs, and the generational gaps that exist. Or I may be delusional.

A few odd observations (and don't you think oddservations might be a good word for that?): Every state has its own unique quirks. My husband and I like to claim New Mexico drivers are the worst (not understanding the use of blinkers, drunk driving, speed), but I think every state claims that; but I have never seen lookie-loo traffic as bad as I did in Utah. We passed three accidents, minor fender benders all, but from the way traffic was stopped, you'd think the next dinosaur-massacring asteroid had hit and everyone wanted a piece. Also, we are suffering from the most sever drought here in New Mexico (really, if they can consider piping oil from Canada to Texas, can't they consider piping water from all those flood regions here? Okay, there's no money in water; I get it), but both Colorado and Utah are green. I figured out why--they water! Every field had a sprinkler system  and they were on.  No wonder we don't have water here. Saw some odd businesses too--taxidermy and antiques at one; statuary and farm equipment at another.  And in Utah on I-15 they have the HOV lane. We finally figured out we could drive in because we had three occupants in our car and one had to have 2 or more. HOV stands for High Occupancy Vehicle. I'm sorry, but two does not seem "high" to me. Seven or eight--now that would seem high. Those carpool lanes in California do the same. Two or more. Two does not make a carpool in my opinion. Those lanes should be  three or more at least. Then they would truly be worth driving on.

Okay, so this was a slow and not very interesting blog, but, hey, we all have those days. The wedding was beautiful, very informal, and looked lovely. The bride and groom don't have a lot of money, but really, I like this wedding better than a lot of the fancier weddings I've attended.  So congratulations to the bride and groom (they know who they are), and a hello to my family (They know who they are too).

--Gabi

P.S. Pixie isn't blogging this week because she's still mad that we left her behind. With a fine house-sitter, but Pixie hasn't forgiven us yet.

A very Special Prom night

Pixie here. You've heard me talk about Mom, but what you may not not know is that really I'm the dog of my Mom's daughter. She's really special, a little different from other kids, but I love her just the same.  She's graduating high school this year, which may not seem like that big a deal to you, but it's huge for us. See, Stef has been in special education all her life; she can communicate but not really well or at the level of other kids her age. She can read, but not well, and while she likes her independence, she won't be living on her own any time soon. So this is a huge milestone for her and all of us in our family.

The problem is that with the end of the school year comes all those things that normal kids, well, I can't say take for granted because they're a big deal to them, but it isn't exactly the time for thinking of others. Take Prom night for example. Prom was last night for Stef's high school. She started talking about prom back in September, right around the time she realized that being a senior was special. She planned to go, get a dress, a date, everything that going to prom means. Now we've all seen those lovely stories about the kid with Down syndrome being elected Prom King, or Homecoming Queen, or to the various courts. They are heart-warming, wonderful stories and really give you faith in the youth of today. This isn't one of those stories.  Honestly, for every one special kid honored this way, there are probably a couple dozen who are forgotten. Stef is one of those forgotten ones. Stef didn't go to homecoming. She was left out the group senior picture in the yearbook. Seriously, when seniors were asked to assemble or participate in something, most of the time, they forget to call the special ed kids. But she kept talking about prom.

Stef doesn't have Down Syndrome, and she isn't the outgoing, overly friendly type. She isn't unpleasant, and she can be quiet (except at home when she sings at the top of her lungs and so off-key it almost hurts, but no one would every tell her to stop), and her face looks serious, and sometimes, not often at all but sometimes, she can forget about her mouth and a little bit of drool can come out. She's tall, curvy (and who in the great scheme of things thought that was a good idea?), and rather shy. She has a wicked sense of humor once you get to know her, and she loves to play games.

So prom night was coming up, and Mom and Dad were really worried about how disappointed Stef was going to be. No group of friends volunteered to take her, no date, nothing. Mom even reached out to her former students for ideas, but no one got in touch with her.  That's when a small, quiet, lovely little thing happened. Stef's been a member of Best Buddies since she started high school. Best Buddies is a group that pairs up kids with developmental and intellectual disabilities with peer buddies just for friendship. Stef's best buddy this year is a junior. I'm not going to mention her name because she didn't give me permission (not that I asked, but I won't publish her name without her or her parents' permission). Juniors are also allowed to go to the prom. All of Stef's buddy's friends were going but she wasn't. Instead, she called Stef, told Stef that she thought prom would be boring, and how about  they went out to dinner and then went bowling instead? Stef spent the last two weeks talking about how she wasn't going to prom, how she had better plans. So last night, while all the other high school juniors and seniors were getting dressed up, picked up in limos, spending lots of money on one night, Stef went out with a friend, had a wonderful time, and just felt like she was part of something. That she had a friend. Something most of us take for granted.

A small, quiet, heart-warming story.

You know, I couldn't love Stef more if she were "normal".

--Pixie

P.S. Mom pledged 10% of her royalties from AS YOU WISH to Best Buddies International, so if you want a fun read and contribute to a good cause...

Sick days

Mom's been home these past these past two days, but instead of playing with us (Tonks and me), she spent them in bed. Turns out she was sick. Some fever or something, which means I would have had the perfect opportunity to blog without interruption, but, hey, even we cutest pups have our jobs, and mine was sleeping by her side while she was in bed feeling awful. I do my part. And I do love her. Crazy thing is, she's more happy about the weight she's lost from not eating for two days than the getting better. Humans are such an odd breed. The things they find important. Tsk, tsk.

Mom has been restless lately because she hasn't found anything to entertain her. She's finished the entire line-up of "Eureka", the available episodes of "Warehouse 13," "Top Gear" (UK version, of course--we have our standards), and in an attempt to find something else that kept her interest, she watched another show that may people rave about, but she found lacking. The last two books she read were lacking too. She loved the writing, but in one the holes at the end left her unsatisfied, and in the other, she thought the heroine was such a baby. She likes the humor mixed with serious (see the TV shows she enjoys above), and that what she writes too, but apparently they don't sell well. If you ask me, she should throw in a dog or two and bones. Everybody loves bones.

So if you have any suggestions for her, reading or viewing, I'll pass them along. If she has to spend many more days in bed with nothing to read or watch, she'll go nuts, and I don't like it when she goes nuts. She starts doing crazy things like cleaning and removing all that lovely dogginess that we (Tonks and I) have worked so hard to get into the house.
--Pixie