December 9, 2004
It's my birthday; what better day to officially start my blog?
If you've visited my website, you know all about me. If not, a quick intro: I write fiction, mostly mystery and romance, have a couple of kids, myriad pets, a house in the 'burbs, and have celebrated more than a few birthdays. I used to get all excited about this annual cake-fest, especially when I was ten and learned that I shared a birthday with my dreamboat, Donny Osmond. Now that he's closing in on Social Security, well... Not that I get depressed about birthdays. It's more of a numb, stunned feeling, like, "Heh; wasn't I just 22?" Forty, that was depressing. My oldest son, clever boy who will some day be president, told me to look at it this way, I wasn't turning forty, I was thirty-ten. Now, thirty-sixteen doesn't sound so bad.
The day began with my kids waking me up singing Happy Birthday before they went to the school bus. I told them to go away. Old ladies like me need our sleep! Later, my dog Lily pushed open the bedroom door and, getting an eyeful of me getting dressed, quickly vamoosed. Whether out of respect for my privacy or horror at the sight of my saggy body, I'd rather not know.
Then the Jehovah's Witnesses, a perky mother-daughter team in holiday red and green, rang my doorbell. Apparently they didn't get the memo about me being a Blue State heathen who's already staked out a bunk in that very special hell. After I sent them on their bible-toting way, my mother called to sing to me. That's her present to me, my siblings, her grandkids—on your birthday, she calls and sings Happy Birthday. She's always off-pitch, but we love it.
She was in rare form today, punctuating her rendition with the announcement that she was in the ER (chest pains and ongoing heart trouble). She insisted the nurses ("who you can't tell from the janitor, everyone wears those ugly flowered smocks!" she says) bring her a telephone so she could call me. She also insisted they admit her or she was calling a cab and going home, with their heart monitors still attached. Well, though the hospital could risk losing one cranky old broad, they'd never risk losing costly equipment so they promised to find her a bed.
Bad—or weird—things always happen in threes, so I was expecting a big rejection from an agent in the mail today, but, surprisingly, all I got was bills and junk. There's still time for tragedy, my husband's taking me to his company Holiday party tonight, and who knows what will happen if I get a couple drinks in me. Well, okay, I know. I'll be unconscious on the floor (hey, I can’t drink like I used to—can you?) and I will probably have to be rushed to the hospital. Bet I end up in a room with my mother, who will insist I do a few chores, making my bed and straightening the cords on her heart monitors.
In closing, except for worries about the old lady, all in all it's been a good birthday—I've spent the day writing and editing Polkadots & Moonbeams to send to an agent who requested a full. Doing what I love most. I hope to update this blog once a week, posting news about my quest to be published and basically yapping on and on about me.
Thanks for stopping by. Janet - No Power in the 'verse can stop me!
If you've visited my website, you know all about me. If not, a quick intro: I write fiction, mostly mystery and romance, have a couple of kids, myriad pets, a house in the 'burbs, and have celebrated more than a few birthdays. I used to get all excited about this annual cake-fest, especially when I was ten and learned that I shared a birthday with my dreamboat, Donny Osmond. Now that he's closing in on Social Security, well... Not that I get depressed about birthdays. It's more of a numb, stunned feeling, like, "Heh; wasn't I just 22?" Forty, that was depressing. My oldest son, clever boy who will some day be president, told me to look at it this way, I wasn't turning forty, I was thirty-ten. Now, thirty-sixteen doesn't sound so bad.
The day began with my kids waking me up singing Happy Birthday before they went to the school bus. I told them to go away. Old ladies like me need our sleep! Later, my dog Lily pushed open the bedroom door and, getting an eyeful of me getting dressed, quickly vamoosed. Whether out of respect for my privacy or horror at the sight of my saggy body, I'd rather not know.
Then the Jehovah's Witnesses, a perky mother-daughter team in holiday red and green, rang my doorbell. Apparently they didn't get the memo about me being a Blue State heathen who's already staked out a bunk in that very special hell. After I sent them on their bible-toting way, my mother called to sing to me. That's her present to me, my siblings, her grandkids—on your birthday, she calls and sings Happy Birthday. She's always off-pitch, but we love it.
She was in rare form today, punctuating her rendition with the announcement that she was in the ER (chest pains and ongoing heart trouble). She insisted the nurses ("who you can't tell from the janitor, everyone wears those ugly flowered smocks!" she says) bring her a telephone so she could call me. She also insisted they admit her or she was calling a cab and going home, with their heart monitors still attached. Well, though the hospital could risk losing one cranky old broad, they'd never risk losing costly equipment so they promised to find her a bed.
Bad—or weird—things always happen in threes, so I was expecting a big rejection from an agent in the mail today, but, surprisingly, all I got was bills and junk. There's still time for tragedy, my husband's taking me to his company Holiday party tonight, and who knows what will happen if I get a couple drinks in me. Well, okay, I know. I'll be unconscious on the floor (hey, I can’t drink like I used to—can you?) and I will probably have to be rushed to the hospital. Bet I end up in a room with my mother, who will insist I do a few chores, making my bed and straightening the cords on her heart monitors.
In closing, except for worries about the old lady, all in all it's been a good birthday—I've spent the day writing and editing Polkadots & Moonbeams to send to an agent who requested a full. Doing what I love most. I hope to update this blog once a week, posting news about my quest to be published and basically yapping on and on about me.
Thanks for stopping by. Janet - No Power in the 'verse can stop me!
posted by Janet at 1:43 PM
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