Good Night, Good Dog

Today was pretty much the Mondayest Monday in the history of Mondays. Today, we put our thirteen-year-old Brittany, Jester, down. Mr. Man and I put a lot of research into choosing what would be our family dog after having lived with Jack, pretty much the perfect cocker spaniel. We wanted something a little bigger, with a similar happy disposition, good looks, smarts, and just a bit different...
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Shoot Me Now

So I had to get head shots. Let me just say that the idea of head shots appeals to me about as much as a root canal, since most of the time I look at pictures of myself and wonder how long┬áthat puffer fish has been stealing from my closet. Seriously, ugh. But a book is coming out and I have to be serious about the writing and promo and although Mr. Man is wonderful and fabulous, it’s not...
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Feeling Like a 900-Year-Old Woman

As a good friend of mine says, anything worth doing is worth overdoing. In my case, that means I went from what I thought was really impressive heartburn (something totally normal for teacher types with too much to do and too little time to do it in) to an inflamed gall bladder. There’s nothing like “gall bladder surgery” to make you feel like a 900-year-old woman. Seriously,...
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Getting My Ass(ets) in Gear

The great thing about attending RWA’s national conference is the time spent with people who get you: women who write, who know the excitement and terror of putting stories on the page and hoping the effort results in happy readers. The bad thing about RWA national conference? The food. Not the quality–it’s usually fantastic–but the quantity. The restaurants. The cocktails...
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My Labyrinth Moment

One of my many faults is that I’m an out of sight, out of mind kind of girl, which explains why the closet in my teenaged bedroom is still packed full of junk. This hasn’t been an issue until lately. Miss Carolyn, however, has decided to downsize, trading the 4/2-and-a-half with pool for a neat condo not too far away. The house is now disarrayed–boxes and piles and bags...
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