Boots-o-rama
I woke this morning at 4:00 to the furious growls and barks of my pit bull, Bruno. His thrashing against our metal gate grew move violent, then he bolted through the dog door and began growling and barking at the front door. I knew there must have been something going on, so I peered through the shutters to see the slinky form of a coyote, ears erect, he stretched across the lawn.
Then, I saw some commotion across the street. Another, larger coyote was framed in the vee of our two palm trees; his silhouette illuminated by a landscape light was black against the light stucco of the house across the street.
The image was captivating. I could tell he was eating something that looked like a large rabbit. I went for my camera to take some photos of this National-Geographic-in-Suburbia moment. But, my camera flashed against the window and all I took were two reflections of my own knuckles before the batter died and the camera refused to snap.
Meanwhile, my dogs were whimpering and whining at the beasts outside. And since I was vertical, the mews from the feline side of the family grew more and more insistent.
I realized then, that the yowling for treats wasn’t the usual stereo of both cats. Bocce was doing enough begging for both of them. But Bootsie wasn’t there.
I looked all over and whistled for my Bootsie. She’d been trained to run toward me as soon she hears the William Tell Overture. And she’ never missed a treat since she was born in my closet in a box full of purses and shoes. That was 15 years ago. Poor Bootsie will probably not be coming back. I’m broken hearted. I think I witnessed my own kitty being devoured and the images keep flashing in my mind.
At daylight, there was no trace of her, not even her collar. I don’t think coyotes would eat her collar, but it’s now 12 hours later and temperatures reached over 110 today. Bootsie hasn’t come home.
She’s slept at the foot of my bed every night. I’m so sad that she will probably not be there, purring gently against my legs. But, I do find some comfort in thinking that she probably went quickly, and she had 15 years of leisure and love. She was the best.
It’s going to be a long time before I stop hoping against hope that she comes home.
RWA – Mags Rocks
Hi All,
I’m finally home from the 2010 RWA Conference held in Orlando, Florida. It’s great to be back, on my computer, and finally dry. Even in air conditioning, the air is moist. I’m still dizzy from the wonderful whirlwind of a trip, so I’ll be posting several aspects of the conference, rather than one long blog. The tentative topics at this point are: Roommates and social aspects, Workshops, the Fabulous Harlequin Party, Professional contacts, the Pitch, Ceremonies and Keynotes, and book signings.
After a hugely uncertain beginning for this conference, including a change in venue from Nashville to Orlando due to floods, multiple changes in hotels and dates, and both of my roommates with immediate family members who had been critically hospitalized, it all worked out wonderfully.
My first blog post is dedicated to someone who made my maiden RWA experience enriched in so many intangible ways that I can only scratch the surface. I’m so in awe of your talent and productivity that I often wonder what you see in me, a chronic underachiever. Thank you for all you do, and for who you are, Margaret Ethridge.
During the conference, I was lucky enough to stay with Margaret Ethridge, an incredibly talented but prepublished author, who I know will hate this gushing – but she’s put up with my praise for almost two years, since the first story of hers that I ever read and was compelled to reviewed – so, she’ll have to put up with a bit more.
Before the conference, I’d only met Margaret two times in person, and both times I’d had to share her with 20 or so other ladies from our group. The other times were fun, but I’m greedy. So having her alone for a few days was even more wonderful. It was so great to have someone else new to RWA to share the awe with. We did our own thing during the day, but each time we ran into each other, it was like finding home base and having a family member to share the “squee” moments with. She even made husband bashing fun.
We had fun volunteering for the literacy signing together and shared time waiting in line to have Nora Roberts sign her first book, Irish Thoroughbred, which Margaret had since she was a child (just a baby, right, Mags?).
If you do end up going to a conference of this magnitude, I highly recommend choosing a roommate who you can already call a friend. The anticipation of seeing Mags and the days leading up to the conference sharing notes, obsessing over what to pack, sending links, and loosely synchronizing our schedules was almost as much fun as the conference itself.
If you’d like to check out more of Margaret’s work, here’s her website and always fun, insightful blog.
http://www.margaretethridge.com/
I heart you, Mags! Do it again next year?
~Maria
My next blog will be dedicated to my dear friend, mentor, and after conference roommate, Olivia Gates.
I’m So Not Sexy.
Summer has started and so has the tradition of relatives visiting from out-of-state. And with my cousin’s arrival, so has arrived an ah hah! moment. I watched her prance around in a bikini and her not so thin, two babies, and almost 50-year-old body. It didn’t matter an ounce to her that she had some extra ‘details’ that weren’t there when we were in our twenties. Because you see, she’s sexy.
I’m not sexy. I’m okay with it. It took me a long time to realize that some people just are and others just aren’t. Oh, I can sport a pair of ”come f*ck me shoes,” but what I really want to do is take them off and wear socks, because my feet get cold.
I can best prove my point by going back to my college days. I lived with a really sexy roommate. Her hair was big and blonde and sexy, no matter that she is Columbian and looked better with dark hair. She wanted to be blonde, so she went for it. She looked like Shakira and danced like her, too. Very sexy. I dance like Baby’s sister in Dirty Dancing, counting the steps. Not sexy.
And in her sexy Corvette, with her sexy plates that read “FLX4Me,” Claudia had all the sexy guys chasing after her. Yep, my roommate was sexy. She kept a scarf draped over her lampshade, and had about a dozen candles that she burned regularly, so the room was always in the mood. Her sheets were black satin on her king-sized water-bed.
My twin had pretty eyelet sheets that matched my floral comforter, dust ruffle, curtains, and white walls… well, you get the picture. Not sexy.
And cleavage? Claudia wasn’t well endowed, but she worked the push up bra like a pro, and wore it to class, the grocery store, and the study hall along with her animal print blouses, short shorts, and cowboy boots. It was the ’80′s, what can I say? But me? Fuggedaboudit. My girlfriends actually had an intervention to get me to stop wearing turtlenecks and to show off some my assets. They MADE me wear vee neck tees. I felt like such a flasher.
Well, that explains a lot. I love make up and hair and all that girly stuff. But I’m not sexy. Feels so freeing to say it.
How about you? How sexy are you?
Sweet Solitude
You know how they say time flies when you’re having fun? Well, this weekend is the exception. Time is unrolling slowly and thoughtfully for me and I am enjoying every single, solitary moment.
My husband has gone on his yearly bowling tournament this weekend. I thought of going for a split-second, then conveniently remembered that someone needs to feed he animals. So, here I sit, a little more than half-way through my weekend of solitude. No TV, no radio, no telephone.
Want to hear of all the delicious things I did so far? If you’re reading this then you probably fancy yourself a writer. So hang on to your hats, it’s been a writer’s and neglectful housekeeper’s paradise.
When I got home from work on Friday, the first thing I did was clean the whole kitchen. Yay. I was strangely motivated by Tom’s absence. And guess what! It’s been over 24 hours and the kitchen is still spotless!
While I was cleaning, and throughout the evening, I washed two loads of clothes and about three more of throw pillows, blankets, and towels. You see where this is heading, right?
Next was the living room. I actually dusted. Then I moved onto the bathrooms which now sparkle and smell of Comet. I did all this on a Friday night before I sat down to write, which I did! I finished my synopsis (draft) for my first real book. After I polish it, Jewels says I should post it here. I think I will. Gotta have something to show that I might be able to write someday.
The first chapter is almost ready to share, too. But I keep thinking of things to add. I guess my inexperience is rearing its ugly head. That’s okay though, this is a process and I’m learning. And we have word processors and not typewriters. We can add things. Although I’ll be careful not to cut yet. I read an editing article about moving on and not cutting until your finished with the whole story lest you end up cutting seeds that your subconscious mind plants to harvest later in the story.
After enjoying my clean space – If you get the feeling that my hubby leaves a wake of flotsam and jetsam behind him with every step he takes, then you’re on the right track – I made myself some salmon and veggies for dinner and enjoyed a glass of wine while I wrote a little.
This morning I drank 1/2 a pot of coffee. Walked/ran on a tougher treadmill pre-progam, showered, and did three writing sessions with my gal Jewels. And guess what? I didn’t have to clean a thing. The house is still spotless.
This afternoon I got my hairs cut (both of them) and came back home, wrote a little, then took a long nap. For dinner I made some more salmon, this time in a delicious salad with capers and citrus.
Tomorrow I’m doing another writing session with Jewels and I’m planning on using the treadmill. Other than that, I have absolutely nothing planned.
This weekend feels like a week. I don’t need to go anywhere. I don’t need to do much. I just needed to recharge my batteries by myself for a day or two.
How about you? Do you love solitude? What would you do with a whole weekend alone?
Consider Myself Challenged!
Oh my goodness! It’s already May 8th and this is my first blog post all month!
Q’s: Where does the time fly and what do I have to show, in the way of writing, for this rift in blog posts?
A’s: Don’t know, and not much. *sigh*
Well, I won a little challenge with my Romance Angels group. That was fun! The cool thing is, I get to judge this month’s contest and to come up with next month’s challenge.The challenge was to describe a character’s hands and what they tell about the character in 250 words or less. I took 247 to describe Nikodemos, the trireme admiral’s hands from my novella (which I did not finish as I challenged myself to do – but that’s another story). In this scene, Niko leads Korinna away from the bustle of the agora to a quieter place, which doesn’t sound very exciting by 21st century standards, but in Ancient Athens women of stature were never allowed to go to the agora unchaperoned – yet there she was and now the wolf is protecting the lamb.
~*~
Nikodemos’s hand cradled Korinna’s elbow as he led her away from the center of the bustling agora. Strumming, pulsing heat from his palm radiated up her arm, straight to her core. With each quickened step their synergy increased, as did the density of the crowd.
Without breaking stride, Nikodemos stepped in front of her and slid his hand down her forearm in a deliberate caress. The texture of his surprisingly gentle, calloused palms sent bursts of delight skipping across her skin.
When he reached her hand, he grasped protectively. His eyes captured hers, asking permission. Korinna’s breath hitched as she nodded, silently consenting to the intimacy of their fingers’ embrace. He squeezed her hand in acknowledgment, and resumed forging a path.
As if leading an intricate dance of collision avoidance, Nikodemos dipped his shoulder, plowing a deliberate furrow through the throngs. She felt swept along with his purposeful momentum, keeping up with him, step for step, anticipating every nuanced signal relayed through his reassuring grip.
Korinna clung to the hand that enveloped hers completely, relishing the stark contrast of her satiny paleness to his bronzed, weathered toughness. His exuded strength earned over years of manning the oars and gripping the sword. Unlike her, he had afforded little time for pampering, or for cowering from the sun.
She had no idea where he was taking her, but the intensity of his hypnotic hold made it impossible to resist.
~*~
BTW, one of my mentors said this has too many adjectives. The other mentor is of the mind that you can never have enough. What’s your opinion of adjectives in general?
Ticking of a fake clock.
Well, here I sit in front of my computer screen, watching the minutes tick by on the fake analog clock of my desktop. It’s sort of strange for advanced technology to actually imitate the much more primitive ticking of a clock. There must be a metaphor in there somewhere. Maybe I’ll find it sometime during this blog.
So, why am I wasting my time, blogging about a pseudo ticking clock? Well, because my pseudo clock is ticking, I guess. You see, I have a novella that is almost finished. It’s proving to be not much fun to write right now. But, my wonderful friend and lovely mentor is writing a book, and she gave herself 1 month to do it. But life hit and she had other things come up. Her deadline is still May 3rd, giving her less than 3 weeks to write a category romance.
Since I’ve been reading all her chapters and she’s been reading mine, we came up with her deadline as being my deadline. Sounded like a great idea at the time. She had 30K words to write 2 weeks ago, and I had 3K words. *sigh* and I still have close to that, though she is closing in on only needing about 15K words. We have 5 days left!
I know my deadline is fake! There are really no consequences, but still want to do it!
I can do! I really want to finish this draft! So, why won’t I? What the heck? Okay, now that I’ve got my writing juices flowing, I’m going back to the novella and I’m going to take her advice. I’m going to allow myself to write crap and if it’s crappy, so be it. At least I’ll have something to work with. And at least I’ll have something to give to her on the deadline (so she doesn’t dump me as her apprentice 
)
Permission to write some crap?
Permission granted!
What’s In A Name
I’ll try to explain my name. It seems to be a kaleidescope of syllables, but there is reason to this rhyme.
I’m a teacher and my writing tends to be a bit on the steamy side – certainly not anything I’d want the students or parents to know about – so I need a psyeudonym.
My real name is Marialina, named after a cousin, Mariolino (Little Mario) who died while my mother was pregnant with me. In the Italian tradition, I was in line to be named after my maternal grandmother, Rachele De Angelis. But my mother had no girls after me, so my grandmother was never honored this way.
In real life, nobody calls me Marialina except a few very long-time friends. It’s a romantic name, so I use it in the eHarlequin site. I played around with names and kept coming back to my grandmother’s maiden name. Marialina De Angelis is too darn long and seems to be trying too hard. But, Maria De Angelis worked for me.
So here I am. Of course I’m far from being published, but when I am, it would seem natural, if anyone should ask how I got the name, that it was my grandmother’s. In case you didn’t know, it’s a relatively common Italian name, keeping in mind how diverse Italian names are. Some believe it’s Greek in origin. It means ‘of the Angels’ (See the Romance Angel group is perfect for me!) The real translation comes down to a baby born ‘of the angels’. Without a father, or father unknown. 
So, as a tribute to my grandmother, Rachele De Angelis, I am using her name.
So, What the Heck is a Blog Entry, Anyway?
Well, hello there!
I joined a new group yesterday, called the Romance Angels. Everyone has been very inviting and hospitable so far, not that I thought they wouldn’t. One of the ladies suggested I start a blog and get some followers. Since I just started this blog a few days ago, I figure what the heck. I really started this thinking that I’d keep a word count, time on the treadmill, and maybe keep my writing muscles in shape. I’ll invite people, but I have to admit that I’m doubtful. I don’t even really consider this writing. I consider it spewing forth mindless drivel and roping people into pretending that it’s even remotely entertaining.
They have a great little writing challenge in the Angels! The directions are to describe someone’s hands and what they tell about the character in 250 words or less. I love this challenge. I’ve been having a bit of a problem getting Nikodemos and Korinna from the agora away from the crowds. So, I’ll use this exercise to introduce his hands, and how he guides her away from the masses, showing how secure, strong, and protective he is. I figure I might as well use the characters that are consuming my mind and energy. I still have to finish my first draft of the novella. Last night I puttered around with it and found myself writing. After wasting most of the afternoon and evening in front of the computer doing ANYTHING but writing. So, I began to edit and without even knowing it, my fingers were flying across the keyboard. At last glance I had about 10K out of 15K words. Ha! I feel like I have 10K words of nothingness! But, my mentor tells me to allow myself to write crap and stop trying to make my first story a masterpiece. *sigh* I don’t want to write crap. But I guess I can only write as poorly as I can write.
Well, I guess this is a blog. I’m not too familiar with blogs. So this will have to do! Going to write about Nikodemos’s hands.
I Take it Back
I take back all the good things I said about my sister. She got a Kindle for her birthday. *sigh* See, told you her hubby rocks!
