Mariachi Christmas with the Bay and Scopaz Family

Christmas 2009

Evan and the Mariachis

Hm. Is it me, or does this video lack...er...SOUND?

UPDATED: Yeah, well...it helps to turn up the volume.

Treat Yourself

Honey, It's All Downhill From Here

Teen actress Dakota Fanning was crowned Homecoming Countess (what the hell's up with countess, anyway?) at Campbell Hall Episcopal School on a recent weekend.Flash back to 1967...Same school...

and yep. That's me in all my Homecoming Queen glory. Okay, so it was only a junior high then. And sure the crown was made from cardboard. But at least I was a Queen, not just a measly countess.

Always In Our Hearts

Blanche, Bob and Bruck (my dad)

Earlier this year, I had a very unique Google experience. My father, a WWII pilot, asked me to see if I could confirm the precise date on which his best friend had been killed during the war. Armed with just a name, I clicked on a link that took me to a page containing photographs of a cemetery. Specifically, a young man stood next to a cross. Knowing Google, I wasn’t sure of the significance−if any. There wasn’t a visible name on the cross and, at best, I figured a random American had taken the picture to honor the nameless dead.

I continued my search, but I kept going back to that page...until, suddenly, my mouse hovered in just the right place and I saw that the picture had a title−Robert B. Pfusch by Chris Yunker.

Still a random American?

Maybe not.

Somehow I contacted Mr. Yunker (via his flickr account, I think) and told him why I was writing. Sure enough, he replied immediately with the news that Robert B. Pfusch was his grandfather and that he would forward my email to his mother.

I was rather blown away since I’d assumed Mr. Pfusch had died without having children.

Soon, I had an email from Bobbie, the daughter who was born six months after her father was killed overseas. She asked if my father had known her dad well.

In reply, I wrote her a lengthy letter of what I knew, including the fact they’d been fraternity brothers back in North Dakota. When she read my response, she realized that my dad was the man in her parents’ wedding photograph−their best man. She said she cried throughout my letter.

What followed was a back-and-forth correspondence between two daughters of WWII vets−one who never knew her father and one who was exceedingly grateful to have had so many years with hers.

On this day that we honor our veterans, I’d like to pay special tribute to Robert B. Pfusch and the sacrifice he made so many years ago.

He is not forgotten.

Happy NaNo

It's that time of year again...National Novel Writing Month, more fondly known as NaNoWriMo. Yes, I signed up again. No, I don't expect to finish since (God willing) I'll be getting that pesky heart surgery scheduled by the end of November.

In the meantime, BICHOK, folks. (Butt in chair, hands on keyboard.)

For Those of You Not on Facebook...

Here's a couple choice photos of moi from last Saturday night. Go, Octomom! I won a ribbon and a Starbucks gift card for "most original." I think it was the cooler of frozen embryos (chocolate covered ice cream treats) that really propelled me to the win. Or maybe it was the introductory phrase, "Hi, I'm Octomom. As you can see" (gesturing toward crotchal area) "I've got babies coming out the wazoo." And yes, that's a test tube I used for a wine glass.

Ah, Halloween. What a nice distraction from heart valves and surgical procedures!

In Case I Decide on a Pig Valve...

...I'm taking applications for donors...here are two that I received Saturday night.

Moo? Oink? Click?

Them's my choices, folks.

Okay, I lied about the pig. That one wasn't offered. And the preponderance of guilt lies with the clicker.

Click click click.

And while it's clicking away, let me just run and get my protime numbers tested for all that Coumadin I'll have to take for the rest of my life.

Not an appealing option.

Speaking of unappealing options, how about that traditional surgery whereby the doc rips my sternum down the middle?

Yep, that's the recommendation.

Methinks it's time to entertain serious alternatives. I mean, they exist. Why can't I have them??

A Mutant In the Family

That's what I feel like today. I mean, think about it. I'm the FIRST Bruskrud EVER to come out of an angiogram with a report of NO BLOCKED ARTERIES.

Yeah, I'm still fanning myself.

Don't get me wrong--I'm still headed for heart surgery, but with only one item on the menu. AND (keeping ALL fingers crossed) there's a chance I'll be able to have a less invasive technique--y'know, one that doesn't include ripping my sternum in half.

Sigh. BONUS.

Anyway, so I broke my cherry yesterday, hospitalwise. My first "johnnie," my first, admission bracelet, and yes...my first bedpan. Guess it all had to happen sooner or later, huh?

Mostly I was BORED having to lie in bed for 5 hours. (Thanks, balloon boy, for providing the entertainment!) So, naturally, I took the opportunity to snap a pic.

This is what a woman with clear arteries looks like!

Who's In Charge?

Facing surgery and its concomitant hospital stay brings home the indisputable fact that I lack a bunch of familial branches to the tree. Namely, something called a husband. Or even a significant other. Let's not even mention the absence of children or (gulp)--since I'm chronologically old enough--grandchildren.

Oh, I've got parents, but geez. I'm currently taking care of them.

And there's my sister-in-law, but she's had enough experience with antiseptic-smelling waiting rooms to last a life time.

Hence, I'm kinda winging it. Here a friend, there a friend, everywhere a friend, friend. Ha.

I mean, doesn't someone have to be in charge of me once I enter those double doors?

And what about when I get out? Thursday is just the angiogram--an outpatient procedure--and I've had to make lists and schedules as though I were taking off on a three-week cruise.

Let the fun begin....

Huge Sigh....

My cousin (second? third? two or three times removed??) posted this on Facebook yesterday. It's where she friggin' LIVES.

Update

Just as I thought this whole mess might turn out to be a figment of my imagination, I got the call from Ashley at my doctor's office. Report in at 5:30a.m. next Thursday, she says. (Eeek. Let's all appreciate the ungodliness of that hour for a moment, shall we?) Anyway, yada yada. Angio at 7:30. Don't eat, don't drink, have someone available to drive you home and....

DON'T DRIVE FOR FIVE FRIGGIN DAYS.

Uh, hello? What the hell?

Turns out they put some sorta plug in your groin (there's a pretty thought) after the procedure, and the motion of stepping on and off between the brake and the gas might disturb the little sucker.

Okay, this news means I'm gonna have to do some fine-tuning of, y'know, my LIFE.

A Tip For Us Seniors

People? When you hit the big 5-0 (and maybe even the lesser known 4-0), I've got four words for ya:

BUY THE TRIP INSURANCE.

Let's recap, shall we?

April - Puerto Vallarta for five days. Swine flu swept in and took my $1200 with it. (Let the record show, I wouldn't have allowed the little cooties to screw up my vacation, but since the bars were closed...)

June - Portland, Oregon. Canceled weekend visit with relatives when Daddy went into the hospital. Monetary loss: about $150. I think I have another $150 toward a trip sometime in the next year.

July - Washington, D.C. for the annual writer's conference I attend. Had to cancel when...well...all that crap hit the fan. Monetary loss: $450 for the conference and then (get this) I had to pay $150 to recoup the frequent flyer miles I'd used for the $5 airline ticket.

September - The Corque Hotel in Santa Ynez. Canceled after the deadline when I discovered my ticker could explode at any moment. $150.

More advice? Don't book any future trips with me.

Writing progress....

In writing news, hey--did I ever get around to posting about the contest I won? Hm. Maybe not. Guess I could scroll down my site to check, but I'm too lazy. Anyway, back before life skidded to halt, flipped over, and rolled a couple times (figuratively speaking, of course), Jessica Faust and Kim Leonetti at Bookends Literary, held a pitch contest on their twitter pages. Perfect right? Pitch your idea in the miserably few number of characters Twitter allows? So I did. I pitched my current WIP...and I won a 3-chapter critique from Jessica! How utterly cool is that?

Then the shit hit the fan, and I became (cough) otherwise engaged. Shot off an email to Ms. Faust, begging for time and she graciously gave me until October first. Next thing I knew, three months had flown by so I sent in the three chapters this past Wednesday night.

I have to say, hitting "send" nearly made me feel like I was back in the writing game.

Time To Start Blogging Again?

Hm. Dunno. Anyone still out there? Huh? Bueller?

For those of you out of the loop, I'm currently looking at heart surgery. Am thinking, should I blog this episode of my life? Do I have the energy? At least I could use ye here blog as a repository for info, I guess.

To wit, here's the update of the day:

Just to keep you updated, I did the treadmill test today. I was scared to death!! Especially when they tell you stuff like, "well, the reason you couldn't eat for six hours before the test is because in case you have to go straight to surgery, you need to be on an empty stomach." Yikes! By the time I finally stood up (after waiting and waiting on the table) to take the treadmill, I was a bit dizzy just from nerves. Then they give you all these instructions about 'tell us if you have pain here or pain there or you're dizzy or you're short of breath etc. etc'--I was afraid I wouldn't remember them all! So, of course, I'm doing as instructed--staring straight ahead--at this picture (kind of Monet-esque) of trees with all these leaves, and I swear to God, the LEAVES were making me dizzy! I almost told them to stop the test; I truly thought I was having the reaction that would send me to surgery. And then I got it together, focused on my own reflection in the glass, and was fine. It wasn't one of those tests where they just keep ratcheting up the incline and speed (whew, thank God), they had a target rate programmed in. That comforted me. I only had to walk for six minutes and I made it to the end. (Yay)

She said my "capacity for exercise" was slightly diminished, and I thought...only slightly?? Well, hey! Bring on the margaritas!

Okay, but bottom line, she DID say, yeah...I have to have this valve replacement but it's not a matter of TOMORROW; more like within the next couple of months and, to tell you the truth, this was the best news I could have heard.

There's still the issue of the other arteries--she basically said they're probably screwed cuz it all goes hand-in-hand, but oh well. So I'll do the one-stop shopping thing. I gather that the reasoning is, why do stents when you're gonna have the heart available for bypass? (Ugh. Did I just type BYPASS?)

Anyway...I guess I must have done a good SELL to my parents over the phone cuz they practically high-fived me when I got there. (Not sure if they misunderstood something, but oh well!)

After the appointment, I picked up some fancy new lipsticks, had lunch on the patio of my favorite restaurant with one of my best friends, and well...life is GOOD at the moment!!

This Just In...

...Life DOES go on...

Ah, The Good Life

Sometimes ya gotta pretend like things don't suck, and boating on a Sunday afternoon is one of the ways to do that.

Tony and Sue--our Captain and his first mate.

So Wrong

Last night, exactly one month after my previous post, I re-read what I'd written on June 30th.

The good news is that both are going to get better.

I was wrong. So tragically wrong.

After improving for six days, things went to hell and my brother died a week later. Meanwhile, my father is undergoing treatment for a tumor on his spine. Not sure a remedy exists to cure his breaking heart--nor how much "better" he'll ever be.

Life has taken a huge u-turn, but I'm coping.

And, at this point, I'm finished blogging about it.

Lifus Interruptus =

Bloggus Interuptus.

Taking a brief hiatus while the current crisis works its way out. Long story short, both my dad and my brother are in the hospital in totally unrelated incidents. The good news is that both are going to get better.

More when I'm able to breathe.....

Bette!

Excuse the heads. Hey, I had to, so why not you?

Ha.

Yep. Took in a midweek viewing of Bette Midler's Vegas act last week...and...well...um...hate to say it, but can we spell g-e-r-i-a-t-r-i-c? I mean, I just KNOW Busby Berkeley is turning over in his grave every time Bette and her cast of dancing girls do their production number in gaily decorated motorized scooters. (Yeah, the running gag about Bette and her fans being ancient was a real scream.)

On a positive note, the woman can sure run from stage left to stage right (and back again) without losing her breath. Not sure if, given the opportunity, I could equal the feat.

Anyway, so yeah...wind beneath my wings...the rose...yada yada.

Let's be honest--she ain't no Donny and Marie (who have their own elder-magnet gig across the street).

So here's my current conclusion about Vegas: it's for the very young (Beyonce's comin' to town) or the very old and/or tragically unhip (hey, isn't Barry Manilow still at the Hilton?).

I'm pretty sure I fall into the 'none of the above' category.

Twitter Redux

Awhile back, I imported the twitter gadget into my blog, but then I got rid of it cuz I didn't like the way it looked and I wasn't "tweeting" very often so it kinda felt like why bother. So then I succumbed to the daily barrage of emails demanding to know why aren't you on Facebook, and finally set up yet another way to waste my time on the Internet. (Oh yes, come be my friend, won't you?) Anyway, then I started tweeting more often--after all, I'm a woman of few words so it's perfect for me--and discovered I could work it so that my tweets automatically went to my Facebook page.

Oh, glory!

Hence the reappearance of Twitter on my blog (see? Over there on the right?) because now, in truth, I'm killing THREE birds with one stone. Plus, I can tweet from my cell...y'know, to keep y'all TOTALLY appraised of the exciting haps in real time. (Hey, if it's good enough for Iranian protesters, well...)

Happy tweet reading, everyone. I'll try to be pithy and memorable.

Number 26

And yes, dammit, I'm counting. We who labor long and fruitless in our endeavors to become published novelists do that sort of thing.

Ah, but don't get me started on the definition of "published." Or the fact that in the eyes of RWA (Romance Writers of America), I am a published author. Big debate on that subject today, which bodes for an interesting national conference in D.C.

Spears anyone? Knives?

Oh, P.S...yes, 26 DOES refer to my 26th sale to True Romance. Yay, me.

Let's All Chip In...

Hey, folks. Wanna be roommates for the summer? At $100,000 a month, this place is a downright steal!

Click here for a tour of our seaside pad!

I've got a call into the moving van...

Dear Rite-Aid

I'm communicating with you today because I feel strongly that you should re-consider the system by which you refill prescriptions.

Just sayin'.

Now,don't get me wrong--the part where you automatically send me an email when it's time for a refill--LOVE it! And the on-line thingy where I only hafta fill in the blanks--that's pretty cool, too!

But, um...the part where you let someone else walk off with my meds? Not liking that part so much.

Case in point: Last week you notified me via email that my prescription for Vytorin was due to be refilled, so I clicked through, completed the on-line form, and received my confirmation.

So keen.

Then I stopped by on Saturday morning to pick it up..and, guess what?

Your pharmacist couldn't find the little baggy with my name on it. He searched and searched, but no luck.

So then he checked his computer, and guess what? He said, "Ah, yes. Here it is. We filled it on June 4th, and you picked it up already. Will there be anything else?"

Imagine my dismay.

No, wait. My growing concern.

Not for my OWN mental health, dammit. For his.

Because I'm QUITE CERTAIN I didn't make a trip to Rite Aid that I've forgotten. And, as I informed the pharmacist, since I'm single and have no children, no one in my family did EITHER.

Which leaves only one conclusion.

They gave my prescription to the wrong person.

Not good, huh?

(Hence, dear Rite-Aid, you're probably gettin' my drift on why I'm recommending you check into your system.)

Anyway, the pharmacist screwed around on the computer for awhile longer, trying to conjure up a facsimile of the signature in the transaction...but he couldn't make it work, and geez...the customers were stacking up...so could I move to the side while he took care of them...?

Now, if it were me (and MY JOB) I might have been a bit concerned about the implications of the situation. For instance, even though, sure--my cholesterol medication isn't gonna put anyone six feet under, we don't know what that person was SUPPOSED to be getting instead.

And here it was, two days after they'd picked it up--not to mention PAID FOR IT--and they hadn't called the pharmacy...?

Brace Yourself, Kids

Well, I mean, those of you who live in my neck of the woods. Yes, the forecast today isn't for sunshine...and it ain't for rain...no, it's for...

EARTHQUAKE.

Check it out.



I don't know about you, but when he got to the part about a shaker for Calabasas today, I donned my most fashionable hardhat and started checking supplies.

P.S. Thanks to nephew Brian for the heads-up!

Good News For Romance Writers

Click here to read the article on how romance is faring in this economy.

Oops. My bad. The link is fixed.

In A Funk

Man. I suppose you've been tuning into the old blog and thinking, what the funk? Where's Randy?

I know. Me, too.

Can't figure it out. Is it summertime, or something? Maybe the rising mercury zaps language processing abilities. God knows, I've got topics to spew on. Last weekend's trip to Harrah's Rincon (btw, I think I'm over gambling)...but then, no. Nothing really special to report there (apologies to my travel partners, but seriously. Can you think of a memorable moment?)

A fascinating internet contact...but maybe too personal to go into now. Will save for later, when I'm more certain the contactee won't mind her story splashed around the globe.

We're kinda in between reality shows, so nothing to vent about on that score (except, wowser--that cougar on the New Jersey housewives--simply amazing).

Deaths. Oh, yeah. A few of those to comment on, but not-so-entertaining, y'know?

Finally, what about my so-called writing career? Yeah baby, now there's a short post!

Don't get me wrong. Sometimes having nothing going on worth blogging suits me just fine.

Two R's and a Y

Two, count 'em, TWO rejections from Women's World in one weeklong-stretch. Sigh. But on a happier note, a contract from True Romance for a story tentatively titled, "Three Strikes And You're In." Yep, a baseball theme--suitable for August, no?

What's In Randy's In-box?

I don't know about you guys, but I have way too many email addresses, starting with the day job where I monitor eight of the little suckers. When I hit send/receive first thing in the morning, the computer audibly groans.

Over time, it seems, all good email addresses morph into spam-filled monsters riddled with useless incoming crap. That's when you abandon them for fresh new.

Not me, though. I can't bear to give up old email addresses cuz I'm afraid of missing a customer. Instead, I hop on over to webmail, peruse the sender and subject list, then do a mass delete of nearly 99% of what's there before it ever hits my inbox. Otherwise, I'd be wading through the following:

TechSay
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Test & Measurement World
TMW Featured White Paper: Limited Access Testing on the Agilent i3070

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SpeedNews
STW #502: Commanding the Atlantic

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GPS Tools for Measuring, Estimating and Delivery on Property, gives Services an Edge with Go iLawn.com

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FDAnews Management Reports
Spreadsheet Validation: New Compliance Methods in 2009

Design News
Sign up for eNewsletters

Procurement Technology Bulletin
Includes: How to Drive Contract Labor Cost Savings - Free Webinar

newport-news.com
4 More Days of "Extra 30% off EVERYTHING" + The Control Suit that doesn't LOOK like a Control Suit

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KMWorld NewsLinks
KM Bulletin: Enhance SharePoint People Search

Jarrod N. McKee
Canadian Rx Medications No Doc Needed

Aviation Today
Weekly Poll- Complete and enter for a chance to win an Amazon gift card

KMWorld NewsLinks
KM Bulletin: Enhance SharePoint People Search

Priority Club News
Stay any 2 Nights, then get 1 Free. Register now.

Purchasing Information Alert
Exclusive steel-bar report on prices and demand

FDAnews Webinar
Patent Up Your Biologics to Protect Yourself From Generic Competition

Boston Proper
Summer Dresses! Fun, Sexy & Easy to Wear.

spamblocker@earthlink.net
spam Summary 05/22/2009

SME Daily Executive Briefing
May 22: Philadelphia-Area Manufacturing Contraction Slows

NAGC Publications
How-To Guides for Government Contractors

Joinus-Offer
MSC Service to USA

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Staples
Sunday Special

Buy.com Sale
Memorial Day Sale Starts Now: Netbook w/ Windows XP $199.99, Plasma Ball $9.99, 4GB microSDHC Card $6.99,..

Brooks Reports
European Airports

Brooks Reports
European Airports

Drug Daily Bulletin
Court Documents Reveal AstraZeneca's Marketing Techniques for Seroquel

Device Daily Bulletin
FDA Submits Reporting Data on Emergency Devices

InformationWeek Daily
YouTube Launches U.S. Government Portal

Frederick's of Hollywood
Low prices. Free shipping. It’s Superstar Sale.

Morongo Casino, Resort & Spa
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newport-news.com
Tunics & Leggings are from $10 + extra 30% off EVERYTHING + buy flips flops, get a pair FREE!

Brittney@abl.org
San Gabriel Valley Tech CEO Round Table on 6/5


Live Nation
Southern California Concert Update

Design News Golden Mousetrap
LAST CHANCE: Best Product Contest

T&MW's Test Industry News
USB 3.0 Demonstration; IEEE Call to Help Earthquake Victims; May Challenge; More

Design News Materials & Fastening
Johns Hopkins Issues Warning about PVC Medical Systems

newport-news.com
Hurry! VIP Dress Event SALE ends at midnight + extra 30% OFF EVERYTHING!

The ECN Daily
Sony Slashes Suppliers

Profiles International
Last Chance To Download New Study: 5 Escapable Warning Signals of Manager Derailment

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Avionics and Military & Aerospace Electronics Forum Conference & Expo
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Laboratory Equipment
Toxic Cocktails for Marine Brains; Junk DNA Finds Meaning; Eco-Friendly Wood Pulping; New Products

Purchasing Magazine
The Smart Sourcing Summit: Managing Risk in Uncertain Times

FDAnews Clinical Trials
Adverse Event at Your Clinical Trial? Get the Latest Facts Here

Albertsons
4:15: Dinner for 4. Under$15.

Duncan Aviation
1995 Falcon 900B-151 Major Price Reduction

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Oops! A Clarification About Your 4X Multiplier on May 23

jing.li@cummins.com
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L-com
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Aviation Today
Just Posted Jobs from GE, NASA, FAA and More

Avionics Intelligence
E-newsletter: Cockpit Displays

R&D Magazine
Transistor theory flaw; 5-D discs to store terabytes and more; Imaging clouds with CT

Test & Measurement World
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FDAnews Webinar
Analysis of the FDA's China Office's Recent Enforcement Actions

The Editors of Blue Tops
Blue Tops Daily Email

GlobalMarket Product Alert
Auto Parts and Accessories - Product Alert from Globalmarket

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EDN Webcast Round-up
Upcoming and Available Now Webcasts from EDN

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FDAnews
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Top5@mail.adforum.net
AdForum's Top 5 Ads This Week

World Aerospace Dat

Yep, and that's just this morning's mail. Can you spot the ONE I didn't delete?

And This, My Friends, Is The Way It Works

...or doesn't.

November 2007 (yes, that 2007): Send electronic query letter on Project C to Agent A.

December 2007: Receive request for partial.

December 2007: Mail requested material.

August 2008: Receive request for full manuscript.

August 2008: Mail requested material.

May 2009: Receive rejection.

Like clockwork, huh?

Hubba Hubba Hubbell

Don't they look like jewels of the universe? These are images photographed from that indefatigable workhorse, the Hubbell Space Telescope. (Go, astronauts! Fix the little guy all up, will ya?)

(*Collage of images shamelessly ripped off The Drudge Report--no clue where he got it himself.)

A Tough Nut To Crack

Yesterday's mail brought my 3rd (4th? 5th?) rejection from Women's World. (Sorry, it's so easy to lose track of submissions. Guess I could check my handy dandy spreadsheet, but who really cares anyway?)

For those not in the know, Women's World can be found at your local grocery store's checkout stand. It's a weekly magazine loaded with pieces on health, beauty, family...yada, yada, yada...and two items of fiction: an 800-word romance and a 500 (?)-word mystery. I don't know about the mysteries, but the pay for romance is $800. (Up until recently, they required 1,000 words for--yep!--$1,000. One thousand words translates to about 4 manuscript pages, so the moola is nothing at which to achoo.)

Anyway, so yeah. I've been trying my hand, but so far, no luck. Yesterday, for the first time, the form rejection included writer guidelines. (Ha. I'm thinking they said: "Geesh. Get a clue. Here, study up.") After reading them, the light bulb went on. Y'see, I've been writing these sweet little stories with nice 'ahas!' at the end, but...um...no 'relationship dilemma.' (Hm. Just re-read the story I posted below--it's not ENTIRELY devoid of relationship dilemma. Oh, well.)

What the hell...enjoy. (And excuse the funky formatting.)

My family meant well when they surprised me with a two-month old cocker spaniel for my birthday, but I had reservations. “Who’s gonna take care of this little guy all day?”

“You’ve got a safe backyard,” my mother pointed out, “and a nice park up the street where you can walk in him the evenings after work.” She patted my arm. “The exercise will do you good.”

I groaned, but the fluffy ball of fur with the lopsided ears enchanted me. Without warning, he jumped into my lap, his forlorn eyes begging for approval. Beside me, my sister Molly laughed. “See? A match made in heaven, Ellie.”

I knew what they were up to. Mom longed for another grandchild and Molly yearned to become an aunt. Since I’d squelched their schemes to find me a man, they’d resorted to man’s best friend. Peering into soft velvet puppy eyes, I could hardly fault their reasoning.

Two days later, Max made his official debut at the local doggie park. At first, I stood on the sidelines as a handful of fellow owners performed an assortment of tasks with their pets. One woman jogged around the track, her sleek black lab preceding her with a stately gait. In the center of the park, a teenage boy tossed a Frisbee while his black-and-white mutt repeatedly lunged after it.

Suddenly, Max growled.

“What is it, boy?”

From seemingly nowhere, a dog off its leash−and no owner in sight−bounded toward us, teeth bared. With my heart in my throat, I scrambled to grab Max.

“Brutus!” A man emerged from behind a hedge, cradling his own small dog. “Brutus, stay,” he warned.

“He’s yours?” I asked, my voice quivering.

“No, but I’m familiar with the way his owner flaunts the rules. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen his dog off-lead.”

The menacing animal sniffed at the air, then trotted away, presumably in search of more interesting prey. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“No problem. The name’s Michael, by the way. And this is Buster.”

“Hi. I’m Ellie, and this wriggly mass of fear is Max.”

He tousled Max’s right ear, chuckling. “Cocker spaniel?”

“Yes, and yours?”

“Same,” he said, beaming. “I see we have something in common.”

As we discovered over the next couple of weeks, Max and Buster’s breed wasn’t the only thing Michael and I shared in common. Foreign movies, popcorn with real butter, and roaring logs in the fireplace made the list as well. One day I suggested we get together for all three, but he instantly stiffened, yanking unnecessarily on Buster’s leash. “Maybe,” he said. “I’ll have to let you know.”

The vague response set off mental alarm bells. “Michael, are you married?”

His eyes widened. “No, of course not.” We continued walking in silence, then he paused. “I was married,” he said, his jaw twitching. “Sally and I divorced five years ago.”

Instinctively, I touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry. Any kids involved?”

“No. My ex didn’t want children.”

My heart ached for Michael. Especially since I could tell by the way he handled Buster, he’d make a fabulous father.
He smiled wistfully. “Sometimes you have to accept what Fate has in store for you. Becoming a parent wasn’t in the cards.”

“Nonsense. You’re young. You’ll fall in love again.”

The next afternoon, Michael and Buster didn’t show up for our daily walk. Sadly, Max and I trudged through our usual routine, but our hearts weren’t in it. “Sorry boy,” I told my canine companion, “guess I scared him off.”

An entire week passed, then suddenly there they were−waiting for us as though no time had elapsed. Michael wore a wide grin and even Buster seemed to harbor a secret. I didn’t hold back. “We missed you,” I said as the two dogs exchanged slurpy greetings.

“Same here,” Michael said. “A lot.”

I lifted my chin. “I guess you were busy?”

“Uh-huh. With obedience school. I should have told you but it slipped my mind.” A twinkle rose to his eye. “You’ll never guess who we ran into.”

Clueless, I shrugged.

“A dog breeder by the name of Bob Turner.”

“Sorry. I don’t think I know him.”

“No, but your mother does. When I mentioned you and Max, Bob remembered selling a puppy from Buster’s litter to a woman for her daughter’s birthday.”

I blinked. “You mean...?”

Michael nodded, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “Buster and Max are brothers. Which makes you Mom...”

“...and you Dad,” I finished, matching his grin. “We’re parents.”

“Must be Fate,” he said.

And a perfect beginning.

Has It Already Been A Year??

Long-time blog readers are painfully familiar with my take on pitch appointments at RWA's national conference. Been there, done that--got the damaged heart tissue to prove it. (Kidding. At least, so far as I know.)

Seriously. As you'll recall, last year I concluded that nothing--certainly not my health, nor my happiness--is worth the agonizing torture of a ten-minute period wherein I'm to hawk my manuscript (and perhaps myself) to an industry professional such as an editor or agent. The looming event hovers over my entire conference experience like a huge shroud of doom.

So yeah, sayonara pitching.

But then an idea hatched. First, my reasoning was that if (IF, mind you) I were to entertain the notion (merely the NOTION, mind you), of signing up for an appointment, I'd go for an editor because, after all, the majority of editors are unapproachable in any other way without an agent. So, there. Perfect justification for choosing an editor appointment over an agent appointment (or for electing to make an appointment at all).

Next (ah, and here's the genius), I decided to sign up for a group appointment. Y'know, something about safety in numbers and all.

Once I decided to go after an appointment, I felt a small sense of elation. Hey, every little conference benny grabbed helps justify the big bucks I'm shelling out to attend.

Anyway, this is all MOOT because I couldn't even log-on to the RWA site this morning. Yes, as usual, the whole process apparently went haywire, and by the time I could view the list of participating editors still available, forget it. The ones seeking the stuff I write were already snapped up.

Okay, so maybe this was God's way of looking out for me....?

Is That A Rat I Smell?

Oy.

You just KNEW the whole trip-to-Mexico-cancellation debacle was gonna turn into ongoing blog fodder, didn't you?

Ding ding ding. You get the gold star.

So, today I receive an email from Travelocity with a subject line saying: "How Did We Do?"

Well. (See, I'm figuring it's one of those automatically-generated messages--you know the kind--"Dear Randy, we hope you enjoyed your recent trip to blah, blah, blah..." Followed by: "We hope you'll turn to Travelocity for ALL your future travel needs, yada, yada." So, I'm rubbing my hands together in glee, ready to TELL THEM EXACTLY HOW IT WENT.)

Only one problem. Apparently, they had a different (more diabolical, I'm sure!) reason for dropping a note, cuz this is what the email said:

Dear Randy,

You were recently contacted by the ProCC team at Travelocity because of a swine flu update associated with your trip. We value your opinion and invite you to share your feedback by answering the following short survey that should take less than 3 minutes to complete.

Huh? Exactly WHEN I was contacted by the ProCC team (whatever THAT is), and by what means did they supposedly contact me? Inquiring minds wanna know. (Oh, you mean the email that was a RESPONSE to MY email? That one?) Funny, how reading the above doesn't imply what truly transpired, isn't it?

Even funnier--when I clicked on the so-called "survey"? Only one question! That's it! And here's what it said (paraphrasing):

"Do you remember receiving an email from Travelocity warning you about potential problems with your scheduled trip to Mexico?" (Like I say, this is from memory because the link to the survey no longer works.) Honestly, I clicked on "no" because I truly didn't believe I had...until I went back and re-reread THEIR RESPONSE to my QUESTION. Now I'm thinking they're gonna use that to protect themselves from something. Especially cuz, what an ODD question, huh--"do you remember...?" Maybe if I'd read their emails with an Indian accent...?

Anyway, interesting. All I know is that I spent hours and hours on the phone, trying to reschedule, and finally gave up.

THAT part is CRYSTAL CLEAR in my memory.

Brenda Novak's OnLine Auction For Diabetes Research

NY Times bestselling romantic suspense author Brenda Novak is holding her annual auction for diabetes research the entire month of May. Since this is her fifth year, she's really got the whole auction thing down to a science--both in the way it's organized and in the quality of the items up for grabs.

There's something for everyone, of course, but in particular, she's rounded up some really special treats for writers and readers. Like, who wouldn't wanna have lunch with Janet Evanovich? Or, how about a night at Nora Roberts' Inn?

There are fabulous getaways (hello!!! African safari!!!) on down to autrographed books. Like I said, something for everyone. Check out the whole auction here. Oh, and bring your digital checkbook and prepare to drop some serious coin 'cuz it's for a great cause.

P.S. And, yep. Jacqui Jacoby talked me into donating something...click here to see what it is. I'm so stoked that EIGHT bids have been made!!!!

So, It Wasn't Mexico...

...it was the good ol' U S of A--Long Beach, to be precise--but rest assured--Kath and I crammed four nights of partying into one.

What can I say? It's a gift.See, remember, we were SUPPOSED to be in Puerto Vallarta (sob, sob) but the world went crazy and everything shut down. Restaurants, bars, and businesses (oh, my). Not conducive for a fun-in-the-sun vacation.

Still...we decided to soldier through the sad experience by meeting in downtown Long Beach for one night. I arrived at the hotel, dropped my stuff and headed back to the bar in time for "My Old Kentucky Home," whereupon I made an imaginary bet on...you guessed it, the horse that won. (Sidenote: did you know this horse showed such little potential, that he'd already been gelded?? I mean, if I'm not mistaken, that means no stud farm for him, right? Yikes. Talk about a missed opportunity.)

Kath showed up soon thereafter and we made our first bar stop. Um, not sure of the name, which kinda tells you how the rest of the night went. It's where E joined us, that much I remember. And we sat outside. And I drank a Vodka tonic. Or two.
Then, E pointed out the Sky Room--a joint I've read about forever but had never been to, so YAY! Something to cross off the 'to-do' list, y'know? It's one of those old, old, old, landmarks above what I guess used to be a hotel but E says are now condos (hey, big surprise there, huh?).

On the way to the elevator, we stumbled upon a wedding chapel and, um, we took pictures which Kath and E would kill me for posting, so you'll just have to use your imagination. It was all pretty funny. At least to us. At the time.
Here's the guy that escorts you to the top of the building on the elevator. Quaint, huh? Note I'm already looking a little the worse for wear and the sun hasn't even set yet. Eek.

As you can see, the ladies room offered more photo ops. Again, I'm self-censoring!From the Sky Room, we headed back up the street for dinner to a place called Allegro. (Yay! A momentary return of my memory!) Mmm, mmm, good. On your next visit, get the pasta. I promise you won't be disappointed--and, oh yeah--the bottle of Sangria went down pretty easy, too.

Finally, after dinner, we wound up at some random nightspot (names? who remembers names?) boasting live Latin music which, y'know, sold me right there. I even made E dance. (Oh, wait. Did I make Kath dance, too? I mean, with me???) More picture taking ensued but the results are kinda blurry (go figure).
Alas, all good things must come to an end. Don't ask me what time it was, cuz I wouldn't know. Don't ask about the walk back to the hotel, because it's a hazy memory.
Yep. These two girls should definitely call it a night.

Dear Travelocity

Now that my phone is permanently attached to my ear (oh, wait--for some people, this is probably a reality)...I mean, that's what happens when you're on hold for 1-1/2 hours.

Sob.

With nothing resolved.

See, I guess my first mistake was booking a package on-line through Travelocity, because here's the deal: now that the sh*t has hit the fan, I can only deal directly with them. And, for some reason, changes have to be made via telephone which, you may be surprised to discover, ain't very convenient.

First, you call the toll-free number, WAIT FOR A HALF-HOUR, during which they play the MOST ANNOYING music, then you get one of those cheerful but useless guys from India on the line. You tell him your problem.

Okay, I'm sure you've all heard the airlines are being real generous--waiving the penalty to change flights into and out of Mexico--but, it turns out this isn't the problem. Because...well...you need a date to change TO, doncha? Like, I dunno...a week from now? Two? How about four months? Oh, and there's this little rarely mentioned (and less understood) caveat: you have to pay the difference in class if the class you purchased is no longer available (and guess what--somehow, it's a CINCH it's no longer available).

So Sahib puts you on hold to contact the airline and check on the date you've grabbed out of the air--your birthday in September. When he comes back, he informs you that you only have to pay an additional $229 to change the flight. (See? So much for waived penalties.)

Next, he puts you back on hold in order to contact the hotel. (This is after you've already been on hold off and on for an hour and a half.) Comes back to say the hotel reservation people are at lunch, and you'll have to call back later...putting you at the ass-end of the line again. (I'm really not understanding why these agents can't use computers.)

Anyway, I decided to try Citibank.

After all, they have a big old sign on their website that says I automatically qualify for trip cancellation/interruption insurance. So I call their gal in India--only I discover that in fact I'm NOT automatically qualified for these benefits. (I guess because the planes are still flying and, technically, I can still take the trip I'm scheduled to take.) Anyway, from what I gather, they WILL however cover that pesky $229 addition...and maybe even the change in the hotel (if I knew what the hotel adder would be). The scary part of this is that I priced the exact same trip for September on Travelocity this morning, and...yikes...it came out to $1400 MORE than I paid.

Meanwhile, my traveling partner sells pre-paid legal insurance. Yep, we're covering ALL the bases.

I just read an on-line article in which would-be travelers to Mexico reported full refunds from Expedia.

Hm. Travelocity, are you paying attention??

Adios, Puerto Vallarta

And this little piggy stayed home...

(At least that's the plan. I mean, when you discover that the governor of Jalisco has closed all the bars and nightclubs of your vacation destination, well...time to find somewhere else to go.) Any suggestions?

It's Always Something

So, I don't know about you, but when I'm getting ready for a vacation, a couple worries come to mind. Namely, stuff like airplane crashes (*knocks on wood*), missed flights, and lost luggage.

Rarely do I think of
Oink? More like Oy.

Suddenly, the afternoon headlines are filled with stories of possible border closings, the nationwide shutdown of public facilities, and the very real potential that, along with bathing suits, I oughta be packing surgical masks.

Yep.

Picture me in Mexico next week:

(And no, that's not supposed to be a beard.)

The Boss Comes Through

Bruce Springsteen, via the Dream Foundation, made my friend Karen's wish come true last Wednesday night. Read more about his amazing generosity and Karen's indomitable spirit by clicking here.

George Will Reads Harlequin

What could be better, huh? If you watch all six minutes of this video, I promise you won't be disappointed. George Will, reading from a Harlequin novel. Be still my beating heart.

(As an added bonus, you also get the likes of Wolfgang Puck, Paul Rudd, and Seth Rogan. Wow. Harlequin goes mainstream pop culture, baby.)

Anyway, guess this appeared on Nightline, although it's more like shameless advertising. I have to admit, I haven't read anything from Harlequin in years, maybe decades, despite the title of my blog.

Obviously, I need to get with it.

And Now, For Something A Little Different...

So I'm listening to my voicemail on Saturday afternoon, and I hear, "Let's get together later."

But by the time I return the call, the potential participants have lost interest. "Phone us if you come up with something," they suggest half-heartedly.

A couple hours later, I conjure up the perfect plan. I mean, we're talking so perfect, I go ahead and do the shower and shampoo thing before I even bother to call and put it on the table.

Sure enough.

Chi Chi's Pizza followed by bowling meets with resounding approval. Yep! That means I BOWLED last Saturday night.

Actually, what you REALLY need to know is that I KICKED ASS on Saturday night.

One-twenty-five...One-fifty-three...One-thirty-seven.

I ROCKED IT.

Okay, so what if two hours of bowling is like two hours of lunging...which means I also ache like a sonofabitch?

Doesn't matter. I'm basking in my reign as Bowling Queen.

Woulda Shoulda Coulda

On Mark and Brian this morning, the boys brought up a fun discussion topic--namely: was there a musical event you should have been at but, for whatever reason, you missed?

Gah.

Two instantly come to mind. Here's the first (and as I write about it, trust me, I'm almost hyperventilating).

Check out the lineup:In case you can't read it, we're talking The Doors...The Jefferson Airplane...The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band...

Now, picture this: the concert took place on the athletic field of a friggin local high school. I mean, crap--look at the cost of the tickets! THREE BUCKS! In fact, every time I've told this story in the past gazillion years, I always thought I made up the part about The Doors being there. Wasn't sure until I googled it (and stole this picture). According to the person who posted the photo, only about 100 people were in attendance, but sh/e has to be wrong about that. (Sidenote: I swear, anyone I've ever met in the last decade who's roughly my age CLAIMS to have been at the infamous Birmingham concert.)

Anyway, so my story isn't a hundred percent tragic. I DID make it to the concert. In fact, my girlfriends and I arrived early enough to get space on the grass about ten feet from the stage. Nirvana, huh? I remember the anticipation in the air...the sun going down behind the warm-up bands.

We all just wanted to see Jefferson Airplane and The Doors.

Only one problem.

The concert began to run more and more behind schedule, and as the clock crept closer and closer to...um...ELEVEN, I grew increasingly nervous.

Ya see, my DAD was picking us up at eleven and, God knows, this was eons before cell phones, so I couldn't exactly just call and tell him to delay (not that he would have anyway because, as you can see, we were...what, about twelve? Thirteen?)

So, sadly, I dragged my reluctant girlfriends from our primo spots, whining all the way, to where we met up with my dad...

just as The Doors took the stage.

And that's why I missed seeing one of the iconic rock stars of my generation.

*Further evidence of my decrepit memory: I'm pretty sure we DID see the Jefferson Airplane...for some reason, although they WERE the headliner, I think they went on before The Doors....but then again, maybe not.

Sometimes I Write

...bet you were wondering, huh?

Well, as proof, I have a sale to report. Yep. Another story to True Romance Magazine, this one for their July issue with a tentative title of "Summer Soul Mates." So far, I've only missed May this year. Darn. And for anyone keeping track, we're up to 24 sales total over the past 16 months. May not seem momentous to some, but guess what? Word by word, sale by sale, the bottom line on my spreadsheet is starting to add up to a nice chunk of change (as in $$).

By the way, check out the new "Trues" website by clicking here. It's updated daily and contains all kinds of fun features and tidbits.

Vegas, Baby

Blink.

That's how quick the weekend jaunt to Las Vegas took. The proverbial blink of an eye.

First, I boarded a Southwest flight in Burbank Friday afternoon. Sources of amusement everywhere! From behind me, two women (grown women! speaking in polysyllabic words, mind you!) puzzling over the lack of First Class. It's usually in the front, one woman claimed, and it's partitioned off. Their conclusion? That only LAX does it that way. (I'm like, hello! Ever heard of an airline called Southwest??) Then, a guy in a business suit (a business suit, mind you!), gets on and asks the flight attendant where he's supposed to sit. I mean, seriously. Rookies abundant!

Uh, I might add here that Southwest has gone cashless. (Me=rookie) Luckily, I had a stash of drink coupons in my purse. (As Blogreader Joe always says: plan well for no surprises.)

Touched down in Las Vegas around 3p.m. and cabbed it over to the Rio to check in. How FUN was it to plop my initials next to the $0 rate? Exceedingly fun, that's how much.

Caught up with Ann and the rest of the wedding party to do some gambling...blah, blah, blah...somehow it got to be around 1 a.m....or was it two...?

Spent a lot of Saturday chilling in the room, which ain't too hard when there's so much to watch outside your window. Don't ask me who bathed the Strip in the eerie blue wash. Not sure what happened, except to say something bad may have occurred to my camera when I tried to snap night photos while under the influence.

Luckily, my camera recovered the following evening to take this fabu shot of the bride and groom, Richard and Stephenie.And this one during the ceremony...
But with the battery icon blinking (hm, could've SWORN I charged it), I had to get picky with the shots--hence, um...not so many to post here. (In fact, I just shot my wad, except for the piece de resistance--AKA Marty dancing with his daughter.)

Have We Been This Way Before?

Long story short, last night I stumbled across something on the Internet that gave me pause-- namely, old versions of my website. I mean, REALLY OLD versions. Complete with antiquated navigation bar, former color palette...and (gasp) OLD content.

Who knew??

And how do I get rid of it?

Case in point, click here to see the collage I put together while writing Lights! Camera! Love! Kinda cool, huh? Although Tanika ended up as Alisha and Taylor morphed into Josh. Can't say I ever referred to this stunning piece of art again, but I like to think the process helped stir the creative pot.

Which, hm. Maybe I should trot out the idea again for Jen's book. (We're talking MY version of collaging...no glue sticks, no poster board. Just point, click, and copy.)

But, meanwhile...guess I'd better see about expunging (am I using that word properly??) out-of-date stuff running around loose on the Web.

Has It Been Another Year Already??

Eeek. Yep. It's that time again. Time to wish the Senora happy birthday. Where does the time go? In honor of the occasion, I'm dying to post the immortal video I took of her flying backwards off the boat. (Who can forget that blood-curdling scream?) But I've sworn (kinda) to keep it to myself. So it's not on Youtube or anything. Don't think for a moment it is.

Cough.

The best I can do (in the interest of maintaining my current state of robust health) is this photo, culled from the video. Yes, in case you can't tell, those are the Senora's flailing feet as she plummets below the surface. (No living beings were harmed during the filming of this episode.)

And, trust me. This is only ONE of the many memorable moments of our history together (see this post for another.)

Here's to zillions more..............

More Proof Of An Addled Brain (Another Duh Moment)

I got a request the other day (yay, me!) for a partial of my manuscript, Lights! Camera! Love! Sent it off promptly on...oh, Wednesday, I guess.

So this afternoon, I peek in the mailbox and see an envelope with my handwriting, and instantly I cross my fingers that it's one I've been waiting for from Women's World. I check the return address and instead I see the literary agency's name--the one I just sent the partial to.

Wow, I think. Quick turnaround. Must be a rejection.

I look inside and find nothing. Nada. Zippo.

Hm, I think. Now what do I do? Email her and ask what the answer was?

Then I notice something else on the face of the envelope. In the lower right-hand corner, it says: Received unsealed without content at Oxnard blah, blah, blah...

Huh?

That's when I realize that instead of enclosing the self-addressed stamped envelope with my submission, I friggin' must've MAILED it. To myself. Because I'm pretty sure the literary agent didn't send me a blank.

The only consolation is that the aforementioned message is STAMPED on the envelope--indicating this is a common occurrence. Which kinda makes me wonder...what're all you folks doing sending unsealed empty envelopes for??

A Sure Sign That I'm Older Than I Think

Setting: My driveway

Time: About 11:30p.m. on a Friday night

I see my neighbors standing by their car, and I greet them.

Guy Neighbor: You just getting home?

Me: Yep. What are y'all up to?

Guy Neighbor: We're just going out. Funny, huh? You're already home, and we're just going out.

Yeah, funny. I slink off to change into robe and bunny slippers, then slather on the anti-aging cream.

No More Change, Mr. President

Please.

I've had it up to here with change.

I mean, come on. First of all, The Guiding Light? Seriously? After shining brightly since 1952 (and even earlier on radio)? Oh, I see the writing on the wall. The rest of them aren't long for this world either. The Young and The Restless...All My Children. Soon, our afternoon soaps will go the way of...

Newspapers.

I mean it, Mr. President. Please don't let them take away my newspaper. It's already a pathetic version of it former robust self, but geez....so much tradition there. From the stereotypical reporter who spends his off-hours knocking back shots at the bar down the street to the Sunday edition spread out over the breakfast table. Have you ever tried to spread your computer on the breakfast table? Trust me. Doesn't work.

Last month, I lost a whole slate of radio shows when KLSX went Top 40, but I'm tellin' ya, Barak (can I call you Barak?), if KLOS ditches Mark and Brian in favor of some pre-recorded c-rap (get it?--it's a play on crap and rap--sometimes, I crack myself up), anyway, I'll have to throw away my transistor radio.

I want you to know, Mr. Obama, I don't blame you or the economy. I mean, okay. Sure. Unlimited financial support would help, but all the money in the world's not gonna make up for the people I really blame.

Yep, I'm talking about the youth of today.

If I can paraphrase the immortal words of that well-known philosopher, Linda Ronstadt, who said: "When I got older, I realized that my generation committed a horrible crime against our parents. We literally filled the airwaves with rock 'n' roll, and STOLE their music from them."

You hooligans with your iPods, your Myspace, and your texting. Quit hi-jacking the culture and leave my entertainment alone.

Brad Pitt Eat Your Heart Out

God, I heart the Internet. Look what the HELL I found last night....!In what universe can you locate a photo of your dad's 1940 high school basketball team with just a few clicks (and...okay...EXPERT searching skills) ????? (Yes, I'm still fanning myself over the discovery.) And while we're at it...CHECK OUT the come hither stare...and the swoopy hair. By the way folks, we're talking a tiny town (I mean, TINY) in North Dakota. Not exactly headline making stuff, here.

Unbelievable.

Forgot To Post A Pic

Did I mention a road trip? Last weekend, high school buddy Randi and I darted up to Santa Ynez for an overnight stay at--where else--the Chumash Casino and Resort Hotel. As we headed for the VIP/Guest happy hour, these cows (not to mention the green, green, grass) caught our attention, so I snapped a photo with my cell phone.

Guess they were on their way to happy hour, too.

Ah, To Be Born With Talent

Find out more about Naturally 7 here.

Children and Art

According to Stephen Sondheim (Sunday in the Park With George, sung by the character of Dot), we can only leave two things behind--children and art. I've already screwed up the first part of that equation, and I'm not doing so well on the second.

Yeah, feelin' pretty guilty on both counts.

Especially when I'm reminded that during my childbearing years, I shoulda ponied up 2.1 kids to keep average. Oops!

But what of this other stat recently released by the Feds: Last year, 40% of all births were out-of-wedlock.

Yikes.

Seriously?

Is it me, or is that just plain sad?

We gotta combo of situations influencing this trend. One, after a steady decline, teen mom birth rates were up. And two, more women in their 30's and 40's chose to become single parents. Finally, lots of happy couples just didn't bother to tie the knot.

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore, that's for sure.

Hard to believe that in the 50's women not only married their "baby daddies,"--they also had, on average, FOUR children a piece. ('Course the 50's were also famous for the rise in popularity of stuff like Miltowns--forerunner to Valium--which is probably the only way to survive four kids with your mental faculties intact, but I digress.)

Anyway, I guess the good news is that we're having enough babies to replace ourselves...but hell, OctoMom covered that with one pregnancy, didn't she??

Contract's In The Mail...

That's the heads-up email I got this morning in response to my 24th submission to True Romance Magazine. This one's a wedding-themed story for the June issue. Meanwhile, the 23rd submission hangs in limbo--hopefully, only for a short while before it too garners a contract since, after all (as my editor duly noted last month) they've bought everything I've shoved their way thus far! (Wow--just could NOT figure out how to punctuate that last sentence. Go for it, Blogreader Joe.)

Even better (okay, just a TAD better), than receiving the contract notification, was the arrival of a check in the old mailbox yesterday. Somehow, the payment for one of my October stories had gone astray but now it's back where it should be--namely, in my bank account. So the cool thing is, I still have another one to go for this month--January's payment.

Which means...come on, people...you KNOW what it means when the writing $$ actually appear to add up to something....don't you?

Right! Time for a getaway!

Ahhhh..................sunny Puerto Vallarta......and I. Can't. Wait.