I’ve made a decision.
I’m consolidating things under an umbrella name that’s not so difficult to explain to people.
This will require a new blog and a new look.
You may find it at kellageeks.wordpress.com
Please update your bookmarks accordingly, and I hope to see you there!
So, I’ve been away a long time. I apologize for that. Got a second job while trying to write two books at the same time. Just because, in my brain, “multitasking” and “masochism” are the same word. (Hey, they’re both “m”s…)
I just finished submitting my A Stepsister’s Tale query packet to Kindle Serials, Amazon.com’s new program that releases books in “episode” format. Basically, you pay $1.99, or whatever the cost is, for the entire ebook up front, and then you get new episodes uploaded to your Kindle as they come out. Like WIPs on a (fan)fiction archive, really, only with stricter quality control.
So now I’m sitting here, biting what little nails I have left, and hoping that they like me… they really like me.
Now I need to keep writing on it, so that I have more episodes when they ask!
(And I’ll try to remember to post here more.)
Me: Nothing sounds appetizing. I literally go into the kitchen and my stomach threatens to practice throwing up.
Husband: Sorry. That sucks.
Me: Hey, wait! I have some money… should I go get a salad from the deli counter in the grocer’s?
Me: Because getting a salad from McDonald’s would be like getting a handjob from an abstinence counselor.
Husband: …Thanks for adding something to my bucket list.
So I’m drinking chocolate schnapps and Slim-Fast (as y’do…), have finally finished an agonizing ordeal called “writing chapter 19 of my book”, and think to myself: “Self, this is the perfect moment to start improvising Doctor-Who-themed Christmas carols on Facebook!”
Sure. Why the hell not.
Enjoy. (And bear in mind that these were all written on the fly, under 30 seconds each, whilst tipsy. Complimentary grains of salt at the door.)
Plastics roasting on an open fire
Daleks zapping off your nose
Cybermen lining up, and it’s dire
The Doctor’s busy snogging Rose
A TARDiS randomly explodes
Sets the galaxy alight
Headless monks with their necks in a bow
Will find it hard to sleep toniiiiight…
I’m dreaming of a nice souffle
Just like the ones mom used to know
Where the milk’s a mystery
My shipmates? History.
And dead folks rise out of the snow…
I’ll be saving Christmas
You can count on me
I don’t know which face I’ll show
Or which year it will be
Enemies will find me
Where the Tardis lands
I’ll be saving Christmas
With my own bare hands!
Here comes Doctor Who
Here comes Doctor Who
Look he’s coming this way!
He’s got a box
Bigger on the inside
Don’t see one’a those ev’ry day!
Silence stalks him
River shot him
Caused a time paradox
Run tell Kovarian
Her time is up…
It’s a mad man in a box!
I asked our child what she wanted to eat.
She said, predictably, “Cheeseburger”
I said, “we have no cheeseburgers”
She said, “Oh, mommy…” sighs deeply ” … that’s why you go to the store, silly.”
She’s three and a half.
I’ve been going through a severely A.D.D.-filled last several weeks, y’all.
I’m probably not going to make the deadline I’d set for myself for a major project I’ve been working on, and it’s been stressing me out… I’ve been trying to find a second part time job. I’ve been trying to keep track of all the designs I need to work on for immediate profit and long-term pattern book purposes. Then, in the middle of all that, my brain decides that I’m going to write the next great American book series and begins spewing out thousands of words. This doesn’t even include the fact that school starts back up for me at the end of this month.
And through all this, there is my daughter.
Siobhan has been a trooper, all things considered, as it’s probably not the easiest thing in the world being the kid of lower-middle class (and I mean low, damn this economy…) parents, at least one of whom is semi-agoraphobic due to severe social anxiety disorder. Between finances and phobia, we don’t get out much lately. She’s also entering (and by entering, I mean pole-vaulting into) that hormonal phase that happens around two or three years old, where they have all the opinions of a 16-year-old, and similar delivery methods, if not the vocabulary… most of the time. This results in a lot of hair-pulling, knockdown, bawling, touch-wood-we-live-through-the-day screaming matches between her and her parents. While I have had previous toddler experience, it dropped off sharply at two-and-a-half, so this is new territory for me as well. I’m guilty of falling into the threatening/yelling/count-to-three-before-(insert punishment here) trap, from examples set for me as a child, and that conflicts with all the parenting classes and child psychology courses I took in college. She’s old enough to tell us she hates us, but not old enough to quite understand that what she’s doing is wrong and what to do to avoid being in trouble. Although, she’s certainly on top of the whole “It’s perfectly okay so long as I don’t get caught…” concept. As well as the “Play my parents against each other and side with whomever wins and will give me what I want…” approach to parental negotiations. This, as you can imagine, places a great deal of stress on our family when we’re already struggling with money problems.
The one thing that seems to bring the three of us together, in the rare moments when we’re not all trying to kill each other in the face, is geekdom. Siobhan’s father taught her to use his arcade-style fight stick for Super Street Fighter IV when she was less than one year old, regardless of skill level or tendency to button-mash. At two years old, Siobhan was “guiding” herself around our apartment in California by “Six-Axis” on a spare PS3 controller, tilting and weaving with the controls held correctly in her tiny hands. At three years old, Siobhan has conquered the concept of the Wii Remote. The games her father gets to play as a perk of his job for a local software company, Siobhan is well-versed in and often stands next to us demanding to look at the map or the list of companions/pets, etc.
Her precociousness doesn’t end with video game technology.
I have trouble sleeping, most nights, and this results in me taking care of any midnight terrors she has before I finally pass out at what-the-fuck A.M. My husband winds up going to bed hours before I do and rising as many hours before I do in the mornings, taking the “first shift” with our child. Today, I woke up in the 6 o’clock hour, right before Siobhan did. Obviously unable to simply ignore that she was awake and go back to sleep (damn those parental ethics…), I let Xander sleep in and got her up and breakfasted. Her surprise was a picture.
[I open her door.]
Me: Good morning, honey.
Siobhan: (stunned silence for a minute, blinking at me.) Oh. Hi, Mommy. (toddles out into the living room, wobbly and still waking up, and flops face-first over the arm of the futon-couch. words comically muffled by cushion.) Daddy still sleeping?
Me: Yes. Daddy’s still sleeping. (Minor grief with diaper changing/potty training nonsense, frustration with breakfast/mess, etc. Finally get her situated with morning cartoons and Cheerios so I can get some dishes done.)
Me: Yes, dear?
Siobhan: (points at clock) You don’t wake up until little hand on number ten! It’s number 6!
Me: I know. Mommy’s very sleepy.
Siobhan: (stares thoughtfully, then lowers eyebrows at me, very sternly) Mommy. You go lie down, get Daddy. You go to work, I have cereal, Daddy go to work, and Mina and Pepper are cats so they don’t do anything.
Me: I see. (not really.) So you’re going to eat your cereal and then go play in your room so Mommy can go back to sleep, huh?
Siobhan: No, Mommy. Siobhan watch Caillou and make eggs in kitchen and Mommy and Daddy sleep.
Me: No, Siobhan. I don’t think so.
Siobhan: (Long, pensive look, and theatrical sigh.) Well… It was worth a try. (Goes back to sullenly, methodically eating cereal.)
… Yeah. She’s totally our child.