I am a horrible, horrible person.

So, I was just off reading a blog. One of my favorites. Over there, on the right.

Dooce.

I had read, a long, long time ago, that she was sued by her publisher. Apparently, there was a misunderstanding about what she owed a publisher who changed the editor on her. She wanted to shop her book elsewhere, but the publisher had already expended considerable money and time on her stuff.

Whatever. It told me she was having troubles publishing the book.

I have a friend who is being published next week, and I have published two of my own books. I understand a bit about the publishing business. I am a writer and publisher and business owner.

And I am also a horrible, horrible person.

You see, when I saw Dooce's book today, on her blog, I actually had this thought:

"Editor? Edited by? You've got to be shitting me!"

I had been led to believe, this whole time reading her blog, that she had written a book. I don't know why, because I'm sure, somewhere, deep in the recesses of her archives, is a post that says, "I'm compiling essays for a book that is my idea." I didn't read this post that must exist, however, so I had the crazy idea that she wrote the whole thing.

Nope. A couple of essays inside the collection, yes. Wrote the whole thing, no.

And so, I am a horrible person. I thought, "Just edited?" the same way that people think I'm "Just a teacher?" "Just a mom?"

Or how, sometimes, I might say, "I just make soap. It's not rocket science."

I am certain the effort she put into editing that book was profound. I am certain she spent a lot of time and concern into making sure her essays in there are perfect.

I guess I was just disappointed that she didn't write the whole thing. I can't put my finger on why, except I am a bigot, a snotty, elitist writer who thinks if your name is on the book, you should have written the whole damn thing!

Go ahead! Vilify! I deserve it!

Just because.

Karl Urban. RrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooOOOOWWWrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Luddite no longer

Yay!

Thanks to Kitt, I can now see how many people are reading mah blog. Schweet!

It's not that I didn't know how--all the geekery is in full force out there, and I just need to harness it. But I sit here at my computer, and have fleeting thoughts, like, "I wonder how many people read my blog?" but then I never do anything about it.

And I was asked yesterday how many folks read this. And I responded with something like, "I have no effing clue."

Now I do! All two of you!

More Amazing Stranger Faves

Need somethin' to entertain you? Don't live in Manhattan or thereabouts? Just cruise on over to Normal Bob Smith's site and read about the Amazing Strangers he sees.

Some of my favorites:



What are these dudes doing in those neon clothes? And why must we squat when we wear them? Why?


This grrl caught Bob taking her picture. Uh-oh, Bob. That fist is menacing. You'd better scoot.



This lovely man is a newlywed. At least, he was when the photo was taken. He's got his own website and everything. I read it. Yes, it's disturbing.



Aaaand, this sums up why Union Square is so crowded every day. I am utterly baffled.

My Faves

I just posted about Normal Bob Smith's Amazing Strangers. He wanted to know what my favorites are.

While God is always a treat:





My favorite posts are when he fills a page with an in-depth presentation of one particular segment of the population. For example, click here, and read up on the Peepers.


God, Bob, you are hilarious.

Hey!

Hey, there.

Being somewhat of a Luddite, I have no idea how many people read this blog. I don't know how to find it out, either.

Therefore, I charge you, gentle reader, with commenting, so I can count how many of you hang on my

every

word.

Let me know,

Amy

Springtime

Ah, springtime in the Rockies. 75 degrees one day, snow the next. Wind blowing all the apple blossoms around, ruining the perfect vision of a tree in bloom.

You've heard it all before, you Colorado-dwellin' goobs. It's springtime!

It's time for you to hear something else. I know you are sitting there, bored, at your computer (why else would you be reading this right now?), and you want some entertainment. I've got it.

Not for the ultra-Christian, not for pedestrian, white-bread, don't-show-me-anything-scary-'cause-I-don't-wanna-open-my-mind-at-all, and not for those who abhor performance art and Goth girls, I give you Amazing Strangers.

Normal Bob Smith is an Internet friend of mine. He's a staunch athiest, so don't bother testifying, folks. It's what he does. He's a freelance artist, and is self-employed in NYC. If that doesn't impress you, nothing will. Do you have any idea what the rent is in NYC?

Aaaanyway, it's also springtime in New York, and Bob's got a new camera. He lives near Union Square, and highlights the day's activities on his website, telling you all about the Amazing Strangers he sees there. Reading about them and watching the videos of them gives me a taste of actual daily life in Manhattan. I've only visited there once, but didn't make it to Union Square. You had better believe, if I get there again, I'm going to visit and take my camera.

I will also seek you out and accost you, Bob. I know your face. I've seen your tattoos.

Don't worry. I'm harmless.

You are invited. Regrets not allowed.

My good friend, Esri Rose, is being published in about a week. Her novel, Bound to Love Her, is a wonderful tale of good elves fighting bad in transcendent Boulder, Colorado. It's got sex in it, too! You'll love it, even if you don't enjoy romance novels. I loved it and I don't read the romance. I got to read it because I am in the precious "inner circle," and saw the manuscript loooooong ago. It's awesome!

That said, you will now get your calendar ready, and mark it for Saturday, May 10, at 4:30pm. We will all trek to Boulder, to the Borders bookstore. There, we will buy her book, and she will sign it! Pre-order your book!

Book signing! Meet the author! Trek to Boulder! Hooray!

If you are a writer, you should go. If you are a reader, you should go.

That takes care of most of us. See you there.

My kitty

Yesterday morning, the fat kitty was crying for water. I was running out the door to work, but who can ignore the cries of a kitty?

So I trotted downstairs and saw that the water was the reason, and turned to look for the small kitty. There she was, in the other room, lying down on the floor, on her side, with her legs stretched out, like she wanted to play. I would "psst psst" at her, and her tail would flick.

"Psst, psst, kitty," I said.

Nothing. My heart dropped. I looked closer. No movement at all in her middle. I ran in and turned on the light.

My kitty was dead. Lying on the floor, as if she was soaking up a ray of sunshine. Stiff, so very, very stiff.

My poor, old kitty. I petted her, and cried and cried. I ran upstairs and pleaded with my husband, who had railed against the cats for the past year, saying he wanted me to get rid of them. Tears streaming down my face, as I filled the water container in the tub, telling him my kitty was dead and would he please have some compassion and not make jokes?

And my daughter. My precious daughter.

"Mama, what's going on? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?"

"Yes, baby, mama's hurt in her heart."

"Oh, here, " and she walked across the bed, and kissed the middle of my chest, right where I had pointed. "There, all better."

I had to go to work, then came home on my break to take kitty to the Dumb Friends League, who would dispose of her body properly.

I'll post a photo one of these days. They are all on regular photos, not digital, as most of the photos were taken during her first few years of life.

She was 16 years old, and I had her with me since my first month of teaching. My entire career up until now, she was here.

And now she's gone.

Mad

If I didn't use TurboTax, I would be abjectly insane right now.

Note to self: go to the post office tomorrow.

Success is all around

Hey there, all you Internet friends. An article I wrote for Writers' Weekly was published today!

You can read it here.


In unrelated news, my asthma is preventing my lungs from expelling a soylent cough. Soylent cough is infecting people. PEEEEEEEEEEOPPPLLLLLLEE.

*koff*

What Authors Will Do To Promote Themselves.

Oh, we'll do a lot. Just check out the video my friend Esri Rose made. To promote her book on her blog, she held a contest, and the winner won...well...a ring.

A possessed ring.


A ring that is supposedly possessed by an incubus resembling Colin Firth.


*shakes head*

Oh, just go read her blog and catch up. Then you'll understand why she's interviewing a piece of jewelry.

Hilarious!