Lessons from the 2018 Winter Olympics

It’s Olympics time again! I’m not an athlete by any definition of the word, yet I’m enthralled by the Olympics for some reason. For that reason, nothing will be accomplished at my house while there’s the possibility of watching Shaun White slide around a halfpipe. It’s better to just admit it and enjoy the ride. I’ve learned a few things since Thursday when I started watching the Olympics nonstop:

1. Bling is appropriate attire for all figure skaters—both male and female—as well as commentators and spectators for figure skating events.

2. Female athletes in practically all other sports have long hair that hangs out the back of their big knit ski caps with pompons on top. Under those hats, you’ve got some serious cases of hat-head.

3. Even if you nearly died in pursuit of excellence in your sport, that doesn’t give you an excuse to quit and get a less hazardous job. One year after being in a medically induced coma, you must be back on the ice, slopes, etc. and you will be called “brave” or “heroic” because of your lack of concern for your own personal safety.

4. Age 25 is old. Age 30 is ancient. Anyone over 35 in the Olympic Village must be either an athlete’s mom or Katie Couric. 

5. Many of these sports are nothing more than elaborate practical jokes. Curling comes to mind. Other “sports” like the luge, started when a couple of bored Scandinavians were looking for something to do during their 15-month-long winter. One guy said, “Here, hold my beer.” Next thing you know, Sven is sliding down a mountain on a piece of wood duct-taped to a couple skates. Since Sven was unlikely to survive, Lars got to drink his beer.

6. You don’t have to be from a country in order to represent that nation in the Olympics. It’s unclear why. That seems like the basic point of this entire exercise, yet plenty of people are representing countries that they have never even travelled to. Seriously. They don’t speak the language and couldn’t identify that nation’s capital. Yet, there they are, skating (or luging or skiing, etc.) their hearts out for the fine people of ___­____ (insert random country name here).

7. Most of this is pretty meaningless in the grand scheme of things. None of these athletes are doing anything that’s particularly beneficial to humanity or our planet. Is it important to know how fast an 18-year-old can ski a course of bumps and jumps? Not really. It won’t cure cancer or eliminate hunger or fix global warming. It’s nice that people from nations around the world can get together and live in one little village for a few weeks without killing each other, but keep in mind that they’re all locked in serious competition with one another the whole time. It’s not like they’re all there for a drum circle or something.

It's time to get back to my TV. At any moment, Shaun White might find himself on the side of a snow-covered mountain, and I'm going to see every moment of it.

Full to Bursting

Moving to a new city is hard. Moving to a new city when you’re a kid and it’s the middle of the school year can seem impossible. That’s what’s happening to seventh grader John Regan in the new novel Full to Bursting, coming next week from Kissing Frog Books. He doesn’t want to move, but since his dad is being transferred for work, he doesn’t have much choice. He’s convinced he’ll be as lowly as an earthworm crawling along on his belly through the hallways of the new school.

I wrote this book a few years ago and originally published it under a different title. To put it mildly, it didn’t exactly set the world on fire. That said, my husband insists it’s his favorite story I’ve ever written. Then I found a book cover that suited it perfectly, and I decided it was time to give it a fresh start. It’s funny and optimistic and doesn’t have any monsters in it at all. I hope lots of people read it and enjoy it. If you do, could you please post a review on Amazon or somewhere? As a big thank you, I’ll be posting a discount coupon on Smashwords when Full to Bursting is released.

Thank you and happy reading!

Illinois Roadtrip with Mothman and Bigfoot

You know how your hometown always seems dull and sleepy? That's even true when your hometown is a big city like Chicago. In my case, it seemed like nothing exciting went on in Chicago when I was growing up there, but now that we've moved away, my city has gone and gotten more interesting. It's gotten so interesting that Mothman decided to start hanging around there.

Mothman is one of those creatures like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster that many people claim to have seen, but for which convincing physical proof has yet to be found. Mothman was originally seen in West Virginia decades ago, and some believe his presence signaled impending disaster in the form of a bridge collapse. Anyway, in December, 2017, more than 50 Chicagoans claimed to have spotted a Mothman-type creature in the Chicagoland area.  We have to hope that his presence doesn't mean disaster for the Windy City. https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/paqv9z/mothman-sightings-in-chicago

In addition to Mothman lurking around Chicago, another semi-mythical creature has recently been spotted in Illinois. According to Cryptozoology News, a red-headed Bigfoot was hanging around south of Chicago. Was he—like so many others—just looking for Mothman? It's impossible to say. http://cryptozoologynews.com/red-bigfoot-spotted-illinois/

The problem with these sightings is, of course, that they didn't happen when I still lived in Illinois. With my forthcoming novel Sasquatch CSI on my mind, I've been indulging my interest in cryptozoology (i.e. the study of creatures like Bigfoot). The stories are fascinating, and I look forward to doing more research. In the meantime, I might need to plan a trip home to visit the family in Illinois. As research for the next book, it's tax deductible, right?

Dangerous Little Cats

My house is overrun by rescued cats because 1) I'm a sucker for cute, cuddly creatures and 2) there are too many homeless cats that somehow find their way to my house and, as previously mentioned, I'm a sucker for cute, cuddly creatures. Anyway, you'd think an animal that weighs only ten pounds wouldn't be too dangerous to have around, even if that animal is a carnivore with sharp claws and pointed teeth. I found out otherwise the other day.

Every morning I do a little five-minute yoga routine that's loosely based on the "Sun Salutation" (for those familiar with yoga). The last pose involves standing on one foot while the other leg is lifted and bent. No problem; I've done it a million times.

One day last week, my cat Jem decided to try his paw at yoga. Unbeknownst to me, was sitting on the floor under my bent leg during the pose. When I was done, I put my foot down, expecting to find a solid floor, but instead found Jem. He wasn't happy about having me suddenly standing on top of him. He took off, and my foot went along for the ride. Next thing I knew, my legs had done the splits, and I was on the floor. Unfortunately, I'm not limber enough to do the splits.

You know that second after you realize you've injured yourself, but before the pain kicks in? That anticipation is the worst. In this case, the anticipation didn't last long because my legs started hurting quickly, but I knew it would be even more painful in a couple days. As I've gotten older, it takes longer and longer for the pain to truly settle in after I hurt myself. By now, it's up to about three days of lead time.

Sure enough, three days after the cat yoga incident, I was hobbling around the house, not sure which leg hurt more, so unsure which one to limp on. My greatest fear is that this time, the worst of the injury won't manifest until four or even five days later. If it gets too much worse, I'll have to check into a hospital and ask them to put me in traction.

Meanwhile, the cat who caused all this trouble is in perfect shape; no ill effects for him. Someday, in a decade or two, when I'm in any condition to do yoga again, the cats will have to be locked out of my room. I'm clearly too old to combine exercise with cat rescue.

She's Back!

It's been awhile since I posted. Can't believe it's been so long. I feel guilty, which is silly. The blog doesn't care, and I've been busy working on other stuff.

So what's been going on these past months? Well, for one thing, I had two books published by Highland Press. I co-wrote Saucy Girl with my cousin Annmarie Ortega. We launched it at RWA's Spring Fling conference last spring. Saucy Girl is a cute, funny, exciting book about a woman who falls for the handsome widower next door who might or might not be a serial murderer who killed his former wife. Or maybe he's just a nice, lonely guy.

Read the book to find out. And please write a review for it if you read it. It's impossible to get people to write book reviews, but people read those things at Amazon, etc. before deciding whether to buy a book. It's a challenge.

The other book that Highland Press released recently is called Dead Girls Don't Get Fat. It's hilarious and sexy and exciting. This one is about a school teacher who has to move back in with her parents when her ex-boyfriend steals her identity and all her money. It adds insult to injury when she's bitten by a demon and is transformed into a flesh-hungry monster. Her new status makes teaching a little more challenging than it used to be, too. Again, you should read this book and buy copies for all your friends. And write (hopefully good) reviews. Lots of reviews.

I'm trying to do some book promotion for these titles which is hard because it's challenging to compete with all the books that are out there. But for every great book, there's a great reader who would love it, right? So I'm working on getting Saucy Girl and Dead Girls out there on Twitter and Goodreads and of course this blog. And it would be great if the books got some good reviews. Lots and lots of book reviews. Hint, hint.

Happy reading!

Spring Fling in the bag!

Another Romance Writers of America Chicago-North Spring Fling writing conference has come and gone. Three days has never passed so quickly. As usual. The Spring Fling team keeps us busy for a long weekend with fascinating speakers, best-selling authors, informative panels, manuscript critiques, appointments with agents and editors, and the wrap-up gala on Saturday night. Wow! Even just writing it all out has left me exhausted.

As usual, I attended the Chicago-area conference with my cousin Annmarie Ortega. We have attended this biennial conference together for years, but since I moved to Georgia three years ago, I have to fly in for the event. No problem. It gives me an excuse to visit with Illinois family and friends. This year, Annmarie and I also had the chance to celebrate the publication of our first co-written novel. Saucy Girl is a contemporary romantic suspense tale that was published by Highland Press. We're very excited to finally see it in print.


One of the highlights of the weekend was Friday's Hot Nights Critiques. Since this was a romance writers conference, many of the attendees write some pretty steamy scenes in their manuscripts. The problem is that sometimes their critique groups back home don't feel comfortable reading those sections out loud in the library or the Barnes & Noble that hosts the writing group. Spring Fling to the rescue with sponsor BDSMBookReviews.com.

Anyone who wanted to read a sexy section of her book was able to meet with other like-minded individuals to read and critique without judgement or embarrassment or censorship. It was a wonderful event. Somehow I ended up moderating the steamiest critique room even though I don't typically read or write such hot stuff. On the upside, it was fun and I learned a lot. Perhaps more than I wanted to learn, but there you go.

If you missed this year's conference, remember that they'll be doing it again in Spring 2018. Although you might want to avoid saying that out loud to the team that organized this one. They're probably still resting up and soaking tired feet in Epsom salts. For now, I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who was involved in this extraordinary weekend!

Y'all still trying to catch them pigs?

            Ever since I moved to Georgia from Chicago three years ago, I've occasionally found myself in the middle of what my husband and I call a "Georgia experience." These are incidents that would never occur up north, like when you go to a restaurant and you have to order three different things before the server finally tells you that they actually have that item in the kitchen. Or when you go to a flea market and find it filled with morbidly obese men wearing overalls without shirts who are selling ducks and piglets in cages. Or out of curiosity you go into something called a 99 cent grocery store and discover that the groceries are so cheap because they all expired at least two years ago. How is that even legal? The store has a permanent location with a sign. Up north, the store with a shelf full of expired Children's Tylenol would have been shut down before the paint on their misspelled sign was dry. On the other hand, I guess there's something relaxed about this approach to life. But, still, expired drugs?

            My favorite recent "Georgia experience" happened last week. My friend Melissa moved down here from Michigan two years ago, and like me, she's fascinated by the cultural differences. She used to live in the city up north, but when she and her mom came down here, they bought a place that came with a few acres. They love it out there and even got a few goats to keep them company. Then one morning last week, they woke up to discover two pigs running around the yard freaking out the goats. They weren't big pigs; nowhere near full grown. They were cute and hungry. Melissa's mom fed them.

Pebbles the Goat versus Trespasser the Pig. Thanks to Melissa for the photo.

            They started a neighborhood search for where the pigs might have come from, but no luck. They called the county sheriff, but he said his office couldn't do anything about pigs. He did warn them to get rid of the pigs, though, because they can reach 800 pounds (seriously?), and by then they're completely unmanageable. They called animal control, but they won't come out to deal with any animals. You have to catch them and bring them to the office. Again, seriously? Up north, catching stray animals is the purpose of animal control. But apparently, the Georgia approach is to let the beasts run free until they either run away or get hit by a car.

            Finally, Melissa's mom found a "pig lady" who agreed to come over and collect the pigs for a friend of hers. Melissa called me, too, in hopes of having an extra set of hands to help catch the pigs. Why she thought I'd be any use is anyone's guess. Maybe she had already asked her competent friends, and they all said no. Seeing as I'm completely clueless, I jumped into my pig-catching boots and drove on over.

            You know the expression "slippery as a greased pig"? Turns out, they don't have to be greased to be slippery. Technically, I don't know if they were slippery or not because they wouldn't let any of us lay a finger on them. They were especially good at dashing under thorn bushes (where did all these thorn bushes come from?) just as we were closing in.

            The pig lady told us, "Grab 'em by the back legs so they don't bite you."

            I said, "I can't. I'm from Chicago."

            She looked at me like I had three heads.

            When it became evident that we weren't getting our hands on the pigs, the pig lady announced we needed a tranquilizer gun. That would slow them down, and she could get them in her truck. Sadly, no one had a tranq gun. That's when the pig lady called animal control and asked to borrow theirs. I heard the animal control lady on the other end of the phone say, "Y'all still trying to catch them pigs?" Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

            The animal control lady wouldn't lend us the county tranq gun, and as we know, they certainly wouldn't come out to deal with an animal problem. So the pig lady told Melissa and me to go to a nearby cow farm and ask to borrow gun. Strangely, the way she said it made it sound like a reasonable plan.

            Melissa and I followed the pig lady's directions and ended up at three different farms in what we thought was the right general vicinity. One farm had a dog that became Cujo when Melissa went in search of the farmer. Another had a cat who came out to greet us, but there was no farmer in sight. And then there was this cow who practically had a thought bubble over her head that read, "You two Yankees are idiots." It was when the cows knew we were being stupid that Melissa and I gave up and went home. No one had been willing to help with our pig problem.

            So the pigs are still there. They disappeared for a couple days, and we had hope that maybe they had gone home. But then they showed up again, dirty and hungry and wilder than before. I wonder if the pigs realize they're living a "Georgia experience"?

 EPILOGUE: The pigs found a new home today! A local man (we'll call him the goat guy) and his wife have something of a menagerie on their 10 acres, and they wanted the pigs as pets. He brought a butterfly net and a dog crate to collect them. Not surprisingly, when the goat guy showed up, the first thing he did was ask Melissa if she had a tranquilizer gun. (Now she knows what she's asking Santa for this Christmas.) Sadly I couldn't be there today, but Melissa tells a tale of grown adults running around for three hours trying to trap two little pigs. By the time everyone was filthy and exhausted, the pigs were in their crate and on their way to a new home. Melissa and her mom were left with the challenge of coaxing their goats off the pile of hay bales where they took refuge from the scary little pigs. Probably they're not coming down until they see Melissa pulling her new tranquilizer gun out of the car. It's the hot fashion accessory for well-dressed women in Georgia.