Thursday, March 28, 2013

Evil League of Evil Writers: Baby Evil Writers 101: Finding a Reputable Agent #...

Evil League of Evil Writers: Baby Evil Writers 101: Finding a Reputable Agent #...:
Baby Evil Writers 101: Finding a Reputable Agent Step #1

Once you’ve finished a manuscript, it’s easy to jump right into sending hundreds of letters to literary agents. Maybe you get a list from a friend, or sign up for a website that lists agents who represent the genre of book that you write. They’re an agent and so inherently have the evil goodness that you’re searching for, right?

Not so my sweet minions of evil.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

I Killed the Crockpot But I Didn't Shoot the Refugee

So today was the big day for my high school kids. The entire school dresses like turn of the century immigrants and they go through the processing at Ellis Island (the school gym) like their ancestors did. We spent yesterday getting costumes together.

The kids asked me to make Russian Piroshki, which are fried meat pies. So after working my patotie off on costumes, I stayed up until midnight prepping the meat, eggs, onions, etc so the actual cooking of the pies would be easy for this morning.

My youngest son, Gabe.

This is my middle daughter Ellie----->

 This morning I was up at dark o'clock to make the piroshki. I rolled dough and filled pies and fried them up. There was plenty of time, we even had five minutes to sit before we had to load up the crock pot and drive to school.

We didn't make it out the door. (insert scene of wild panic). Glass was everywhere, the floor, the counters and most of all it was fallen into the peroshki.

The phone rang and my youngest had forgotten her lunch. The dogs were in the glass trying to get the meat.

Well, by then we were running late. The kids piled into the car, I grabbed the dogs, one on a leash and one without, threw a lunch together for youngest daughter, and made it to the car.

Since bringing food is a part of the grade for Ellis Island, the high school kids were freaked.

I dropped the immigrants at their school and sped over to the grade school to drop off lunch. Then The dogs and I went to the grocery, picked up more ingredients, and sped home. But when I got here, the Lowe's truck was unloading my new washing machine. So I parked across the street. One dog was on the leash, one was under my arm like a purse and my other arm had the groceries.

The dog's hind leg got stuck in the waistband of my sweat pants and I pretty much mooned the delivery guys on my way in the door. Seriously, I did. They may never marry having had a preview of the coming attractions of middle age.

So then I had to roll out and make another four dozen Piroshki. Of course, since the crock pot was smashed and gone to Jesus, there was the ginormous hunt for the missing electric pancake griddle. (It was the only thing big enough to heat a turkey-roaster pan full of meat pies-- because cold fried pie is nasty.)

Finally, I actually managed to deliver the Piroshki to school. Now the immigrants won't starve and I may be a hero.

Noon: This just in. Middle daughter tweeted me that the piroshki was the first food to be eaten gone! We win at lunch.

3PM: The pancake griddle evidently caught a chair on fire. 0-O

Monday, March 4, 2013

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Head-banger Writing

Sometimes I think it would be easier to stand and bang your head against a brick wall that it is to be a writer. I mean, think about it. Head-banging only requires a head, a wall, and the courage to get ‘er done.  There could only be three outcomes. Your head would break, the wall would crumble, or you’d pass out stone cold.
Some days I’d rather bash my noggin than try to pull words out of the knot inside.

I may seriously need chocolate.