The Oregon Trail is dead. At least on Facebook. Otherwise, I would be playing it now. Luckily, I didn’t even know it was there until the last two weeks of its existence, which led to a frenzy of activity because I wanted to get to Oregon at least once before the game disappeared.
So I had a disturbing conversation with my friend Mark. It wasn’t meant to be disturbing. In fact, he was trying to be helpful. “Why don’t you publish your vampire stories as e-books? You have a lot of content.”
Content.
Back in high school, December 26th was the most exciting day of the year because that is the day that Santa Anita Racetrack opens their winter meeting.
And they give out free calendars with racehorse pictures in them.
One of the spiders in the bathroom is expecting. I’m sure your first question is “How do you know a spider is pregnant?” and your second is “How many spiders do you have in your bathroom anyway?”
So yesterday, I wrote a fun-filled post about the drama of California weather. A few hours later, the weather struck back. I don’t know if it was actually the rain that caused it. It could have been one of those wayward drivers. I vaguely recall hearing sirens, but then it was raining, there are always sirens. I had just finished watching White Christmas and was checking my email before bedtime when suddenly there was a loud crack and all the lights in the house went out. My computer monitor remained lit, however, and I was extremely grateful for my back-up battery.
For about a minute.
I love the rain. We don’t get rain enough here in Southern California. Which is probably good because no one seems to know how to drive in it. The raindrops fall, the ambulance sirens start. Maybe people are too busy staring at the water drops on their windshields.
Is it…raining?
Or did someone spit on my car when I went under that last overpass?
Zenyatta’s Farewell, December 5, 2010
So last year at this time, I was recovering from major surgery. It was supposed to be minor surgery, but one tumor turned out to be seven tumors (named after the 7 Dwarfs or most of Santa’s reindeer, depending on which friend you ask) and instead of three little holes, they sliced me open like a watermelon. The nurses in the recovery room were very excited about the whole thing and had to show me photos the minute I woke up. (Sadly, I never got any copies of said photos or else I would inflict them on you now.) But even lying there carved up like a jack o’lantern, I was happy about three things. One, I’d actually made it through the surgery, two, even split open I felt better than I had all year, and three, Zenyatta’s farewell appearance was still three weeks away.
Because, yes, I have more than one, but they’re not all embarrassing. Actually, it’s a bit ironic that I have any at all because I started out not believing in ghosts. I always liked the IDEA of ghosts, that this or that tragic spirit was still lingering in some ruined old building, but real ghosts? No way.
I think that pisses them off.
No, really. I have the rejection letters to prove it. Back when the years still had a 19 in them, I sent out queries to a bunch of agents. Here’s what I got back:
“Great characters, but I can’t sell a vampire book. Would like to take a look at your next book.” (Sadly, the next book also had vampires in it, the same vampires actually, just doing different things.)
Because I was. Briefly. Okay, I started yesterday, but you see, I have a broken foot. Not that I’m not perfectly capable of functioning with a broken foot, but it is distracting to have to drag a massive air cast anchor along wherever you go. Also, it makes my leg go to sleep if I sit at the computer too long, although maybe that’s just me being over enthusiastic with the air pump.
But I digress.
roboclow 