Rejection #41 (or thereabouts. I'm losing track. They're all starting to blur together in a big jumble of misery. Sort of like high school.)

Randine,


Thank you for your query. Although your story sounds interesting, I'm not looking for debut fiction at this time.

I appreciate you thinking of (redacted) and me and I wish you luck with your literary pursuits.


The fact that she states she's not looking for debut fiction softens the blow.
This may just be her form, I don't really know.
Anyways, I so love the words "debut fiction" in reference to myself.
It makes it sound sort of awesome.
 
Anyways, that's all for today.
 
Have a good weekend.

Defining Necessity

Necessity:
ne·ces·si·ty [ nə séssətee ] (plural ne·ces·si·ties)


noun
Definition:

1. something essential: something that is essential, especially a basic requirement

food, shelter, and the other necessities

The definition of necessity should be obvious.
But lately Geoff and I have been disagreeing about it quite a bit.
We agreed when we booked our trip to Mexico that we would not make ANY unnecessary purchases.
The problem is, his definition of necessary purchases if fairly narrow, encompassing only a small handful of items: milk, meat, potatoes, cereal, toilet paper, dish soap, Pert Plus shampoo, Dial soap and that's about it.

My definition of necessary purchases:

-Swiss cheese- individually wrapped in wax and pink cellophane.
-Cheddar cheese
-Romano Cheese
-Cheeze Whiz
-Cheese Slices
-Cream cheese
-Parmesan Cheese
-Cucumber body wash
-Bedhead Shampoo and Conditioner (Smells like oranges.)
-Kadoo soap for Payton
-Princess shampoo for Payton
-Axe shampoo, body wash and body spray for Gage
-Johnsons baby shampoo for Alex
-Dove body wash for Alex
-Pomegranate exfoliated scrub
-Paper Towel- kitty cat pattern
-Kleenex- pink box (to support breast cancer awareness)
-Pink Bubble Gum toothpaste for Payton
-Toy story tooth paste for Alex
-1 pink ceramic dog boned shaped dish for the dog
-3 kinds of cereal
-pop tarts
-Granola bars- 3 kinds
-Pears
-Cubed pineapples- fresh from deli
-Strawberry Mango Juice
-Chocolate Milk
-2 kinds of moisturizers (it's really quite dry here this time of year)
-Glade Candle- 2 kinds
-Fabreeze air freshener x 2- one for bathroom, one for living room.
-3 Kinds of crackers
-Buzz Lightyear fruit snacks
-Case lot of pizza pops
-Case lot of tuna (for the cats)
-Pink Lemonade Lipsmackers x3


Well.
You  get the idea.
I have to eat my cheese portions secretly in the kitchen, otherwise he just gives me a really evil glare.

Visiting Grandpa

My dad is in the hospital, admitted under a diagnosis of unstable angina.
Currently, he is awaiting an angiogram, and doing reasonably well.
I went up to visit him last night.
I decided to bring Payton with me, for some reason.
Her noisy chatter kept my company on the way there.
She's getting to an age where I almost want her with me for companionship, which is weird, in a way. Our children depend on us, but sometimes it goes the other way as well.
We got there and I bought her a chocolate milk and she seemed very satisfied with this.
I approached the information kiosk and asked for my dads room number, which- when you think of it- is very strange. I mean, I can't even practically get logged into his computer without knowing a dozen different passwords, but I can waltz right into his hospital room where he lays, vulnerable, attached to oxygen and machines.
I was surprised to learn that he was still in the Emergency Department, some twelve hours after he had arrived there. I looked at Payton, not sure whether a noisy six year old would exactly be welcomed into an already overflowing emergency department.
But off we went anyways.

And I'm always touched by the generous nature of others.
Well, except for the people that aren't, like the guy that nearly plowed us over in the parking lot.
At them I just get pissed off.
But I find that nine times out of ten, people are kind. Kinder than I would expect of them.
They would have reason to say "She can't be in here" of my rubber boot wearing, trudging kid.
But no one said this.
The nurse, probably tired and overworked, took the time to find coloring books and crayons for Payton.
She also brought her an ice cream cup.
We visited, and later my brother showed up.
It struck me as we stood there among the noisy beep beep of the monitors, how once upon a time- my dad took us to see our own grandparent in the hospital.
Trent and I were the kids.
My dad was the dad.
My grandpa was laying in the bed, to whom my dad, now approaching his (then) age, bears more than a passing resemblance to.
And my brother looks like my back then dad.
It seemed strange to see us moving up a generation. Kind of sad, but not entirely so. Bittersweet, I guess.
Time marches forward.
Cycles repeat.

Later, Payton and I stepped outside to the cool fall air.
A single star shone in the sky.
"Let's make a wish!" Payton said.
So we stood, held hands, closed our eyes, made a wish.
When we got home I gave Payton her bath.
"Did Grandpa look freaky to you, with those wires  on him and oxygen?" I asked her.
"Nah. Grandpa could never look freaky to me. He's my grandpa, and I love him."
I was so proud of her, even though in the end she couldn't quite bear to part with the picture she had made for him and ended up bringing it home and posting it above her own bed.

Anyways,I have to go now.
And no worries: re: my dad.
I know he can kick angina's ass.
Hmm.
That sounded dirty.
Well, anyways. Have a good day.

It Could Always Be Worse

On Friday I was in a state.
Payton had forgotten her lunch at home.
This we realized as I dropped her off at school. The bell had just rung, and there was no time to turn around and get her lunch- I was due to be at work in ten minutes.
"Go home with Gage," I told her, and instructed Gage (13) firmly to pick his sister up at her locker and take her home for lunch.
This didn't exactly sit right with me, but I had virtually no other choice.
I felt uneasy pulling away, although I always do, for some reason, as I watch Payton struggle with her back pack to the doors.

I phoned home at lunch time to be sure that they had made it okay.
Gage answered on the first ring.
"Oh, you're home!" I said with relief. "Can I talk to Payton?"
"Payton --didn't come home with me?" he said, like he was asking a question.
"WHAT?"
"Well, she wasn't by her lockers when I went there, and she wasn't in the lunch room."
I slammed down the phone, feeling a little ill, and phoned the school, in a panic.

"Oh, yeah," the secretary said. "Payton's here. The teacher took her for lunch since she didn't have anything to eat."
OK. That's good news, I suppose.
I mean, certainly it's better than what I had been thinking- that she had been lured away by that dodgy guy with the combover that lives across from me that wears heavy industrial coveralls when he mows his lawn- even in the summer. Now I don't know if wearing coveralls in the summer makes you a pedophile for sure, but it definitely makes you suspect in my books.
Anyways, I was relieved for a second.
But then I started to panic again.  It's just that, and I hope don't sound too insecure when I say this, but it kind of makes me feel like a bad parent when the teachers  take my kids home with them on their lunch break, like their the "special project" and they all discuss her at the meetings and decide that "with a little bit of TLC this kid might have some potential" Perhaps someone even says  "to try to mitigate the harmful home environment" or something like that and they all exchange knowing  glances and say "Has anyone actually seen that mother? She's, like, never here. I'm beginning to think there's no mother at all in this equation, which might explain the way that kid dresses sometimes."
Which- I know isn't always appropriate, but is it MY fault that she has such strong ideas about wearing miniskirts and flouncy dresses in the middle of winter with tons of accessories and eye shadow and lip gloss.
She looks adorable, what am I gonna do??
I swear she'll be a fashion designer someday and then I'll tell THEM miss haughty school people, that her upbringing was JUST FINE, thank you very much.
I mean, unless she's one of those fashion designers that's bulimic or on crack or whatever.
Then I'll just keep my mouth shut, let bygones be bygones. You know, to be the bigger person.

Anyways was at work, and I was in a state.
My coworker was able to calm me down.
"Randine," she said. "It could always be worse."
And immediately I calmed down.
What was I freaking out about?
That my daughter is part of a community that cares about her?
I mean, it could be worse.
A lot worse.
I just have to watch the news to find that out for sure.
Or look at across the street at my sketchy coverall wearing neighbor.

That's all for now.
Have a good day.

Creative Sleuthing

Whether or not Geoff is having an affair remains to be seen.
He's acting guilty.
He offered to take the kids out tonight- to clean his car and to get movies and snacks, so that I could have a moment to myself, to 'catch my breath' after being so busy all week with work, and the kids- because Geoff's so called "work schedule" has had him out of the house every night this past week.


He came home about an hour later, the kids rushing in the door, excitedly displaying movies and Slurpies and a jumbo bag of Ketchup chips.
Geoff followed behind them, with a lot less enthusiasm. He threw his keys on the counter with a loud thud.
"How was the movie store?" I asked, though I could tell by his defeated, slightly slumped posture that the answer was 'not well.'
"Don't EVER take Alex to the movie store," came his answer.
I stifled a laugh.
"No. I'm being serious. They didn't ban us this time, but they might the next. All he does is run around and knock every movie off the shelf. I had to go around behind him and pick them all up. They were all in a big jumble and I put them back at random. I think the people working there were getting annoyed.
He handed me a movie "Looking For Eric."
"I didn't have time to read the back. It was one that Alex grabbed when he was heading for the door, so I paid for it and left. I think it's about a postmaster in Manchester."
"Oh," I said. "A postmaster. That's kind of- a nice change of pace, I guess."
Usually he picks movies that have crime tape on the front and/or a pissed off looking cop reaching for his holster.
Usually it's Denzel Washington.

Anyways, at first I thought "Wow, that's great that he took the kids out!"
But then I thought: A guilty conscience, perhaps??

Naturally, I plan on investigating the matter further.
The most logical next step, of course-and this should go without saying but I'll say it anyways-  is to go to his work and follow him around, crouching and hiding behind tables or pressing myself real thin against the wall like I see them do on Law and Order whenever they're about to do a drug bust.
Lucky for my mother, who pointed out the flaw in my plan.
I need to go incognito.
A disguise!
I'm thinking of something with a tall, maybe flowery hat and a pair of really big sunglasses.
He'll never recognize me. (Actually, knowing my husband- he truly might not.)
I might even pose as a customer, and chat up some of the waitresses, try to needle them for information.
"So what do you think of the manager around here? Are there any-ahem- rumors circulating about him??"

And if it's at all possible, I wouldn't mind to try to get a urine sample from Sasha to do a pregnancy test.
It should be relatively simple to follow her to the bathroom, from there it might be a little tricky.
Perhaps I could even suggest that I was a building inspector, and I need to take a sample from the staff to see if they have mold in their system, although I wonder if mold would really be excreted in the pee, but hopefully no one else will question that. If they do, I could always direct them to a bogus website that I could create tonight. I can see it now. "www.httpy://MOLDFACTS.CA/legitwebsite.com. ( not a link, do not click- this is not an actual website. Yet.)
Fact#1: Mold is harmful and can easily grow in damp places like commercial kitchens, etc.
Fact#2:Mold can be excreted in pee.

I think I'll have to think up a few more facts, but otherwise I think it should work pretty good.
Plus, if I talk in a British accent, I'll sound really official.
Except that my British Accent is more Scottish meets Drunken Sailor meets Apu from the Simpsons.

Oh well, I'm sure that it will all work out.
The good news is that Sophie Kinsella has a new book out!
I almost hyperventilated today when I went to Superstore and just so happened to walk through the book aisle, and there I saw it "Mini Shopoholic"
And it was 40% off.
Breathe, I told myself. In through the nose and out through the mouth.
I never buy books in hardcover, because they're so expensive, and I find them awkward to read. But for Sophie, I make the exception.
And like my friend Bex would say, it's 40% off, so I'm actually saving a load of money in the long run, and it'll pay for itself eventually, and if you look at twenty whatever dollars divided by 400 whatever pages, that's only cents a page! (I think, I'm not very good at math). At that price, I'd be stupid not to buy it.
And like my other friend Suze Orman says, can I afford not to buy it??
The melancholy that will ensue? The persistent vegetative state- knowing that that book is out there??
At this point, I feel sort of like some bloke who just spent his last dollar on some two bit whore.
I'm anxious, bursting, really to tear right into it.
And then I have this other, simultaneous, urge to slow it down, make it last.
Sophie Kinsella doesn't put out books every day.
Anyways, having said that, I  really must go. To read. And create decoy websites and order flower hats from Ebay...
Have a good weekend!!

Suspicious (Sub)Texts

Ever since this whole scandal with Tiger Woods, I make it a habit to randomly seize my husbands Black Berry and look at all the text messages he's written and received.
My husband isn't exactly Tiger Woods, I know. But he does work in the golf industry, and he does own a pair of golf clubs, and those hideous shoes. He uses obscure lingo like "eagling" and "birdying" balls.
"Is eagling good or bad?" I ask him, every time the word crops up. "I keep on getting it mixed up- cuz it sounds like it could go either way."

At first, I'll admit, I had some problems maneuvering the Black Berry.
"AH, I think I just took a picture of my foot! Oh, yeah. Ya, I did. How do I get it off of here?"
"What are you trying to do?"
"Read your texts."
"Well, how did you?... how is it?"
He takes the phone from me, looks annoyed, presses some buttons and then gives it back to me, the texts pulled up.
I click on one.
"Oh, shit. I think it's calling her now. It is. It says dialing. What do I do?"
"Well who are you calling?"
"Uhm... Katelyn?"
"No! Don't call her. She doesn't even work for me anymore!"
"Well, how do I hang up. Oh, no. I think someone just picked up."
He snatches the phone, has a brief convo with Katelyn, during which he apologizes to her and tells her that his two year old  (evil glare) got hold of the phone.
"What did you do?"
"I just clicked on it."
"Well, you don't click! You use the roller ball!"
"OK. I didn't know that. I don't have any fancy Blue Berry Contraptions."
And then he sighs.
Always the sigh.

Anyways, I am starting to get the hang of going through the texts.
Last night I hit pay dirt.
He accuses me of being paranoid, but the proof is in the pudding, even though I really don't understand that saying at all. Why would there be proof in pudding??

Anyways. Text number 1, from a girl named Leah: (And my husbands job, BTW, is a food and beverage manager.)

"Geoff. Sorry for the short notice but I really need to get off on Thanksgiving. Is there any way you could make this happen."

"What the hell!" I ask. "So you and Leah, huh?'
"No. She wants to get Thanksgiving off because her grandmother's coming in to town."
"Yeah, right. I wasn't born yesterday."

Text Number 2, from a girl named Bree:

"Geoff, sorry I couldn't come on the weekend."

"WTF?" I ask. "Are you going to deny this? That you couldn't close the deal for Bree on the weekend?"
"I asked her to come in for an extra shift on Saturday, but she couldn't make it in."
"Yeah, right. You have an answer for everything."
"Because there IS an answer for everything!"

Text Number 3, from a girl named Sasha, really was the last nail in the coffin.

"Geoff, sorry I'm late, not  feeling good this morning. Be there in10."

"She's pregnant!"
"She's not pregnant! She was late. For a shift."
"Yeah, because she has morning sickness, apparently."
"She doesn't have morning sickness. She has a cold! She took a Claritin and came in."
"I don't think she should be taking Claritin if she's pregnant. Is the baby yours? Or what?"
"Randine. Seriously! She's sixteen years old."
"Sixteen years old! For Gods sake, you could go to jail for that!"

Anyways, you can see that I have a lot on my mind right now.

You Never Forget Your First

Forgive me for misleading you, but I'm talking about manuscripts.
I just thought it would be a catchy title.
It might bring me a lot of traffic, although it may not be exactly the kind of traffic I want.
Once, someone stumbled across my blog by googling "here we go again nipple shot"
Really? I thought. Do I write about nipples on here?
Apparently I do, in My Life As A Shadowy Figure.
Which might explain why that post boasts the most page views, and continues to get new page views every day.
Unfortunately, I don't think it was exactly what they were looking for.
I feel kind of bad about that. Whoever googled that and came up with this blog must have been totally disappointed. Probably felt like throwing something at the computer.
Oh, well. You can't please everyone, can you?
Anyways, manuscripts.

It might surprise you to learn, Internet, that Having Grace was not my first.

My first manuscript was completed in 2006 or thereabouts, and the genre was romantic suspense.
It was called Blood Relative. I wrote in an attempt to prove to myself that I could, having had, to that point, several projects abandoned at various points in the story, mostly near the beginning.
I didn't query very widely for it. I think I queried maybe four people. (And my query letter sucked HARD, BTW. I don't have a copy of it anymore, which is good because I wouldn't even want to look at it. I think it started with "To Whom It May Concern." I shouldn't even be telling you about that. You'll probably hate me now, probably judging me like that lazy eyed cashier at 7-11 on the weekend. But we're cool like that, aren't we, Internet?  Anyways. It was bad, and  I think I want to shoot my four years ago self. If they ever invent time travel I think I'm going to do that. Except I wouldn't be here right now. Time travel is so complicated.)
The problem was, I wasn't in love with the manuscript myself, so how could I expect anyone else to be?
I might have been able to revise it, but I wasn't even sure where or how to start.
After sitting on it for a  while I finally had a revelation. I needed to just start over. Blank slate.
And so I opened my laptop and began anew, on Page 1. The idea for Having Grace was burning in my mind, and so I wrote it.

But, I still had feelings for my first, at least the idea of it. Eventually, I reworked it into what is now my work in progress, Deal Breaker.

In Blood Relative-- basic plot summary: a young girl gets involved, for various reasons- most of which are boring and have to do with her back story, with an older man and gets married after only a brief courtship. Problems ensue when his estranged teenaged son shows up on their door step one night. The teenaged boy has problems, which quickly become evident. Things begin to go wrong- dismembered animals, missing local girls. She begins to suspect her stepson, but her husband doesn't support her, makes her feel like she's losing her mind, and eventually she begins to suspect her husband as well.

Anyways, the concept of the prodigal child returning speaks to me still, and I decided to rewrite it as a rom-com. Put a shady, sulky male as the step child and you have a ready made romantic suspense.
But substitute it for a sulky teenage girl and you have a ready made romantic comedy.
So I began writing Deal Breaker, which has- essentially, the same set up- a young girl who gets married- for reasons that have to do with her back story- to an older man after only a brief courtship (Although, ICK, I hate to use the word 'courtship'. It makes me think of Mormon Fundamentalists or something for some reason. Oh, God, I hope no one finds this blog by googling "Mormon Fundamentalists". I'll get hate mail for sure.)
The setting, I guess, sets the two apart.
In Blood Relations, the setting was in a remote, rural location characterized by heavy snow storms and frequent road closures.
Deal Breaker is in an urban setting.

It didn't seem like a big switch to go from romantic suspense to romantic comedy.
I think it's because when you have conflict, you have comedy. Or, at least, the potential for it.
Well, depending on the conflict.
If the conflict is being chased by an axe murderer, comedy might be a hard sell.
But I'm exactly that person that who sees the humour in even gruesome scenarios. "We'll laugh about this some day," I often find myself saying.
Throw something bad at me and I laugh at it.
Seriously, I've laughed at funerals.
I've laughed when Alex was locked in a car.
I've laughed when my kids tried out their first swear words.
My husband gets mad at me about that, and I laugh at that, too. "Go take your blood pressure pills," I tell him when he gives me that look. "I'm not going to do CPR on you if that throbbing vein in your forehead explodes. I'm too tired for it. Makes my arms sore."
Because damn it if it isn't fucking hilarious to hear a two year old say "Shit!" when he spills his juice, or whatever.

Anyways, sorry about the length of this post.
I hope it wasn't too boring for you.