I find myself with several unwanted subscriptions to parenting magazines. I’m not sure how I came to have these subscriptions-- I never paid for them. But when a woman gets pregnant, she finds herself on all kinds of mailing lists. I get coupons and free offers and samples and these parenting magazines. Jay gets none of it. Funny how that works. Obviously, I’m the only one in the house in need of the advice offered by “25 Ways to Encourage Your Toddler to Be Eco-Friendly!” and “10 Sure Fire Tips to Guarantee Your Child Won’t Be the Weird Kid in School.” Oh, to be an oblivious father whose only concern is teaching the boy how to fish and play football…
As a reader and a writer, it goes against the grain to throw away a magazine, even one I don’t subscribe to. (I have this irrational fear that the apocalypse will come and I won’t have reading material.) So I saved those parenting magazines for a few months, thinking I’d eventually get around to reading all those articles about the best baby gear, safest cars, tastiest homemade baby food recipes, sexiest mom jeans, etc. I actually started accumulating magazines before Patrick was even born-- they give them out at the ob/gyn, the maternity store, on the hospital tour. I was inundated with useless information while I was pregnant and the deluge continues on a weekly basis.
I’ve given up any hope of reading those magazines. First of all, I simply don’t have the time. If I spent my time reading all those parenting magazines, I’d never have time to actually parent the child. Secondly, I really don’t care. There, I said it. I don’t care what that smiling woman on the cover knows that I don’t know. These parenting magazines are the mom version of the women’s magazines I loathe-- “10 Days to Thinner Thighs” has become “10 Days to Get Your Baby to Learn a Foreign Language.” The women’s magazines make women feel bad about… well, everything… and the parenting magazines (and let’s call them what they are-- mom magazines) are designed to make mothers feel insecure about absolutely every aspect of childcare. So, the parenting magazines go into the recycle bin now, unread and certainly unwanted. Bye-bye parenting magazines, I hope you are recycled into something more useful.
I don’t have this parenting thing down as a matter of instinct. And I don’t have anything against seeking advice on parenting issues. Heaven knows I have a small library of books in my possession already and I refer to them often. But I don’t need a subscription to a magazine that covers every issue from birth to high school. What’s the point? I can barely keep up with Patrick’s new developments from one week to the next-- why put all that pressure on myself to read (and remember) so far ahead? I’m happy to learn as I go… just like this amazing child I’m parenting so recklessly.
The funniest part about the unwanted parenting magazines is that they always seem to arrive in my mailbox on the same day as my Victoria’s Secret catalog. Go figure.
I have Fairy Tale Lust postcards! If you’d like one, your address.
Also, if you’d like to own a hardcover copy of Fairy Tale Lust, you can join one of the following book clubs and get it as part of your membership.
Fairy Tale Lust: Erotic Fantasies for Women hits the shelves in less than a month. This book has been my other “baby” over the past year. I found out I was pregnant last March, around the same time I started working on the concept for Fairy Tale Lust. Pregnancy test and contract; ultrasound and call for submissions; endless doctor’s appointments and endless submissions to read-- the two experiences kind of mirrored each other in how new, exciting and scary they were. And here I am, a little over a year later, with the awesome six month old baby and the terrific book ready to be released into the world. Funny that it takes longer to “birth” a book than a human being, hmm?
So far, the advance reviews for Fairy Tale Lust from Amazon Vine reviewers (also known as objective strangers whom I don’t know and haven’t bribed) have been pretty good and the book maintains a solid 3 and 1/2 star average. (As does Eat Pray Love. I’m just sayin’.) FTL also garnered a 4 and 1/2 star review from RT Book Reviews, the leading magazine of genre fiction. In other awesome news, the book club subsidiary rights have been purchased by Doubleday Book Club and FTL will appear as a featured alternate later this month and in the summer catalogs of Doubleday Book Club, Rhapsody Book Club, Science Fiction Book Club and Book of the Month Club 2 (online). What does that really mean? Well, it means the potential for an entirely new audience and… swoon… a hardcover edition of Fairy Tale Lust! Not bad for my first anthology, right? Not bad at all.
Now I’m talking about readings and signings and planning dates and trying not to freak out over the idea of actually having to read in front of people. (Did I mention my public speaking phobia? Did I? Huh? Oh god.) Nothing has been finalized yet, but I’m hoping to read on the east coast (DC, possibly Baltimore), west coast (Portland!) and the midwest (Chicago). I’m also trying to work out a book launch party in good old Norfolk, Virginia. (Did I also mention that my publicist says Virginia is not “sex-positive,” but Washington, DC apparently is? Weird.)
New books come out every single day. Hundreds of them. My little anthology is but one tiny drop in the publishing bucket. But it’s mine (well, ours-- the seventeen fabulous authors and me) and I’m so very proud of how it turned out. The stories are as wonderful and varied as the authors who wrote them and the fairy tale theme is timely and fun and wide open to interpretation, as anyone who reads Fairy Tale Lust will discover. This book truly is my baby and I know it won’t make me a fortune (would that it could) or win any awards or make more than the tiniest splash in my end of the ocean, but I am so excited about it and looking forward to July 1.
When the summer is over and the excitement has faded and I’m no longer clicking “reload” on Amazon every 4.5 seconds to see if there are any new reviews or if the sales ranking has changed, all that will be left to do is to wait for the royalty checks to see if all of these little bits of good news made any difference in the number of books sold (and hopefully read). I’ll get to focus on my writing again and not worry over book promotion and public speaking and arbitrary reviews. I’ll get to just be the writer again for awhile (the writer who will be pitching new anthology ideas, of course) which is really the perfect life for me. I’ll be a little sad that the madness is over, though. And then I’ll remember… I get to do it all again next year with Dream Lover.
Dear Patrick,
You were born six months ago today, changing my life forever. I have come a long way from the woman who had never changed a diaper and didn’t even know how to hold a newborn. And you, sweet monkey, have come a long way from that pink wriggling bundle that only slept, ate and taught me how to change diapers! Half a year is hardly any time at all, but I feel as if you have become a little person, complete with likes and dislikes and an awesome personality, in that short span of time.
You had your six month appointment today, along with the required vaccinations. What an amazing child you are, hardly even flinching until the third and final shot when you voiced your discomfort for all of thirty seconds before returning to your usual good humor. You are weighing in at 20 pounds and 6 ounces and are a little over 27 inches long. Quite a happy, healthy chunk, you are! No teeth yet—the pediatrician said it might be another couple of months for those.
This month has brought many new things to your life—first of all, your father is home from deployment! His homecoming was a wonderful day for us as a family, though I’m afraid the long wait for him to arrive tested the limits of your patience. It was your first—and perhaps last—experience with a Navy homecoming, but you handled it amazingly well. I don’t know who was smiling bigger—you or your father! Now it’s just a matter of the two of you getting to know each other better. It’s going well so far—no doubt because you both share the same mellow temperament in addition to looking so much alike.
I held off on feeding you solid foods until your father got home because I didn’t want him to miss any more of the milestones of this first year. You clearly don’t mind if I hold off even longer—the few solids you’ve tried so far have not impressed you. Rice cereal, bananas, applesauce, sweet potatoes, carrots and peas receive the same initial look of distaste. You seem to be getting used to the idea of eating off the spoon and want to help yourself, with messy results all around. (Truth be told, I’m far messier than you!) I think as you eat each food a few times you’re starting to get used to the taste and hopefully soon we’ll be able to offer you the things you like best. Right now, I think sweet potatoes are your favorite, but you’d still prefer your bottle to anything on a spoon. I imagine all of that will change in just a few months!
You are nearly able to sit up unassisted now. This new view of the world, with just my hand on your back or your hand on my arm for support, gives you the opportunity to grab for the things you want—whether it’s your bottle, your stuffed Tigger or whatever happens to be within reach on the kitchen table. You can roll from your back to your tummy quite easily and are mastering the tummy-to-back roll now. Crawling is on the horizon, but for now you can scoot backwards and spin yourself around while on your tummy. It won’t be long before you’re fully mobile. Heaven help us then.
You are a happy, smiley little guy, able to coax a grin from anyone, even those who aren’t too fond of babies. I think it’s the dark blue eyes and mop of blond hair—and that quirky, shy little half-smile you give strangers that blossoms into an open mouthed toothless grin once they’ve gained your approval. No one is impervious to that combination—certainly not me. (Again, heaven help me when you’re old enough to use your charms to get what you want!) Going for a ride in the truck, visiting new places, meeting new friends, everything sparks your curiosity and amusement. Oh, and you have a particular fondness for dark-haired girls. If they have tattoos, all the better. Oh my!
You’re learning new things almost on a daily basis and I love watching you study everything around you. I had no idea before you were born how entertaining it would be to watch you discover the world. You are just so much fun to be around. It seems I have learned a few things as well in the past six months thanks to my wonderful, good natured teacher. Because of you I’ve learned to slow down, be more patient and forgiving, enjoy the little accomplishments and appreciate the simple moments. Oh, and when all else fails, to smile. Thanks, baby.
Happy half-year birthday, baby. Mama loves you.
Here’s a snippet of a story that was rejected recently. I think this part captures the essence of both the story and the title-- “Here in Between.” I still love it. Now I just need to find a home for it.
I leave the door cracked open for him while I get in the shower. Maybe it’s not a good idea, inviting him back or leaving the door open, but driving cross country in a twenty year old car hadn’t been a good idea, either. My whole life to this point feels like a long list of bad ideas. So what’s a couple more in a string of them?
I take my time in the shower, knowing he won’t join me. I don’t know why I know that, I just do. He’ll respect my privacy because he’s a private kind of guy. Yeah, I’m sure of it.
When I come out, warm and wet and wrapped in my own robe and wearing my own fuzzy socks because cheap motels don’t offer things like robes and slippers, he’s sitting on the bed. There’s a bottle of whiskey—the good stuff—on the bedside table, along with two tumblers. I raise an eyebrow and look at him.
There’s that shrug again, like he’s letting everything slide right off his shoulders. “I was going to see if you wanted to go next door for a drink. When I heard you in the shower, I figured you’d rather stay in.”
I nod and sit down on the other side of the bed. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and the cuff rides up when he reaches across the bed to hand me a glass. I have a weakness for forearms and his are tan and muscular. He pours me some whiskey—enough that it’s a serious drink, not so much that I’m at risk of spilling it—then he pours his own. We sit there like that, me in a robe and him in well-worn jeans and a black shirt, like we’re old friends who just ran into each other and decided to have a drink in the middle of a motel bed that sags on the side closest to the bathroom.
He stares at the blank television while I stare at his profile. He has a nice face, a kind face. I wonder what his name is, but I don’t ask. I contemplate him and puzzle over it. He’s from New York, so it’s not some country name. They might call him Buddy down here in Tennessee, but his given name is something different, I decide. Something serious. Henry, maybe. Or Luke. Maxwell or Nathan, possibly.
I realize suddenly that he’s watching me watch him. He smiles again, softly. Tiredly. There is a scar at the corner of his lip, only about half an inch long, but wide enough that it looks taut and silvery against his tan. It must have hurt, whatever cut deep enough to leave a scar like that. I want to lean over and kiss that flaw on an otherwise perfect mouth.
There’s nothing stopping me. Nothing but a few inches of bed and a glass of whiskey that’s almost gone already.
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Chocolate. Mmm… chocolate. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
