Author: Jonathon

People are cutting through my living room wall. Saws, nail guns, loud shit. I am hiding up in my office, trying to escape the noise. God, I will be so glad when the addition is finally done. Soooo glad. Dogs are upset, even hiding up here with me. Their hearing is better than mine so it must be really annoying to them. One of them decided to pee on the small dog bed by the desk. Then they all sit around staring at me like, “Our bed is all messy. Aren’t you gong to fix it for us?” They act like the pee-fairy did it. But we have stranger’s in the house and heavy tool work, and it’s stressful to a little dog. I’m sure Pippin was not involved in the incident, the puddle isn’t that big. Another plus of little dogs, the messes are smaller.
The day started with an 8:00 A.M. parent teacher conference this morning. Jon, me, and Gary, my ex-husband. Apparently we are one of the few divorced parents that can actually come to these meetings and behave civilly to one another. You should hear some of the things Trin’s first grade teacher said that some of her divorced parents had done in front of the kids on parent’s night. She had to explain herself after both Gary and I hadn’t understood why she felt we needed two separate times for conferences. Why couldn’t we do it all at once? So she explained that it had gone badly in the past. We assured her that that wasn’t the case for us, and it isn’t. Now, everyone knows that they don’t have to worry about any of us misbehaving. We’re there for our kid. Some parents must forget that.
Allergy shots rounded out the morning. Yippee. As, Trinity has begun to say, “That was sarcasm, wasn’t it, Mom?” Yes, that was sarcasm. I’m going to try and do some work.

Feel terrible today. Dreading getting to work. No idea why. But as often happens when the day seems to weigh a thousand pounds, I got five pages done before I had to break for exercise. No, exercise is not fun, but being healthier is. I guess exercise is a lot like writing. The process isn’t always fun, but the results are great.
Jon and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary this weekend. No, it’s not the actual day of the anniversary, but it is the only non-kid weekend we will have before the actual date. And yes, for those of you who met us before we wed, we’ve been a couple for five years. I prefer to celebrate on the actual date or before the date. So since it’s my preference I gave Jon the choice of what to do over the weekend. I offered to take him out to a restaurant that he likes better than I do, but he preferred to trade dinner out for dinner in, and a movie out. We saw LORD OF WAR. A very dark drama-edy. Not light enough to even be a dark comedy. It was good, but a disturbing movie. It leaves a cynical and near depressed feeling behind it. So Jon and I hit the video store on the way home and got some comedies that we hadn’t seen yet. We figured among three, we’d find one we wanted to watch during dinner. Monster-in-Law was a delight, though a little slow in the beginning, but it’s just packed full of wonderful performances, great physical comedy, and just a feel good movie. (We needed it after Lord of War.) Man of the House with Tommy Lee Jones as a Texas ranger trapped in a sorority full of cheerleaders was surprisingly good. It’s a bubble gum movie, and you get your Hollywood ending, but again, Jon and I wanted a little Hollywood ending after the earlier movie. Though one thing in Man of the House that surprised me was the clothes the girls were wearing. I asked Jon is this really what girls are wearing in their teens and early twenties? Like out in public? Jon said, yes. I asked, “Then what are street hookers wearing?” I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was being serious. The last time I saw women dressed like this was when I was doing research on street prostitution. Admittedly, that was somewhere around book eight, BLUE MOON, so about eight years ago. Has clothing changed that much? I mean I watch videos, but I thought everybody realized that those are costumes, not street clothes. I asked, well then what are the same age of men wearing? Baggy shorts, pants, over sized shirts. As the women are exposing more and more flesh, the men are covering up more and more. That is just plain unfair. Why so much female flesh and no male flesh? Who made this rule? Damned unfair, if you ask me.
Jon loves to cook, and, in fact, does the lion’s share of the cooking. He wanted us to cook dinner together to celebrate our anniversary. Mushroom soup with Sherry, it was a lot of chopping, slicing, and dicing. I did that part. So Jon could do the actual cooking. On a recipe I’ve never made before, I prefer to take a back seat and just hand over ingredients as requested. It was a lot of work. It smelled wonderful. Unfortunately, it didn’t taste wonderful. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exactly good either. We actually added sandwiches to the soup, and didn’t really eat the soup. Tastes differ, and whoever did this particular soup had different tastes that we. But it wasn’t about the soup. It was about being in our kitchen together. About doing something together that is a lot more intimate than movie and a dinner out. Sex is great, and that was included in the weekend, but the sex wouldn’t be happening if we weren’t cooking together, reading together, sharing together. A good sex life comes out of the rest of your life being good. Foreplay can sometimes be chopping a bejillion vegetables, and making soup together.
I gave Jon his present before the movie, because I have trouble keeping a secret,and it’s always best I give surprises as soon as possible, so I don’t spill the beans. I got him the Slytherian class ring from Nobel collection. Because some day’s you feel like an evil, dark wizard and some day’s you don’t. Frankly, the ring looked beefier in the catalogue shots, but Jon loved the reason I bought it for him. One of the reasons we work so well together is that we both know, and enjoy, that not everyday is a Gryffindor kind of day. My first husband just totally didn’t get that.
In a couple of weeks, after our anniversary is past, we will have another kid-free weekend. It will be Jon’s turn to celebrate our anniversary. His turn to get me a present. My turn to pick what I want to do with the weekend. I’m probably going to opt for dinner out. Beyond that, don’t know, but I look forward to finding out.

I’ve counted my progress not in pages, but in sentences. It’s six o’clock, and I’m struggling for just twenty more lines. Twenty more lines will get me four pages, and I can throw in the towel for today. It will be a relief. Four pages is progress, and on a day like today it’s as much as I can drag out of myself.
Well, as often happens on days when I’ve beaten my hands bloody on the metaphorical wall, that last desperate effort when I was dead tired, discouraged beyond measure, and hadn’t give up on anything but a pyrrhic victory, is when I get the most pages done. It’s almost like all those false starts, thrown away pages, had to get out of the way to let the good stuff through. Whatever I have ten pages for the day. Ten pages, respectable, and very happy to have it.

Dean Martin has finally paled on me. I switched to Tony Bennett, but it just wasn’t what I wanted. Right now, it’s the Barenaked Ladies holiday album playing behind me. I have a stack of holiday albums waiting beside the player. I think next in the stack is the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The fact that I’m listening to one holiday album after another let’s you know just how slow the writing is going. Aaahhh! I just have to keep repeating to myself, we’re almost done, we’re almost done. Of course, that chant worked better two hundred pages ago, when I thought the book would end at six-hundred pages. Now, as we are almost eight hundred pages into the book (788) the matra of almost done just doesn’t have the ring of authenticity that it used to have. Damnit. We are so hitting eight hundred pages, and that leaves me with nine hundred looming on the horizon. I do not want this book to be nine hundred pages long. And longer might drive me mad. The deadline is looming, and I need this book done. Damnit. I’m starting to look around at ways to shorten the ending, and wrap things up faster, and that’s never a good frame of mind to write in. You get sloppy, and rush. Maybe I need to meditate, or take the dog for a walk around the block. Something to quiet that voice in my head that is screaming, just fucking finish it! Bad voice, bad anxiety. Usually that worried voice is an asset, and helps me write faster, but there comes a point where it’s a detriment, and this is it. Hell, I’ve done almost anything to avoid sitting at my desk today. I’ve even switched desks. It helped, for awhile. I think this is my second blog entry for the day, and I did two yesterday, as well. I’m portioning them out, but they’re just another way to avoid the book. I’ll write a few sentences then need to do something to calm down. Sometimes I do this, usually in the middle of a book, but sometimes at the end. I hate it at the end. It all works out, but it feels miserable until I find a way to deal with the anxiety. In the middle of a book, I just work through it, at the end of a book it doesn’t usually go away until the book is finished. That’s why I hate this mood more at the end of a book, because it usually lasts longer. I’m going back to work now.

The new addition has pierced the main house at last. We knew it would, but I’ve been banished to my office with all four of the dogs. Not because the dogs wanted to come up, but because the workmen couldn’t tear out a door, replace it with a window, and make more wall where they split the difference. Pippin especially is unhappy at being excluded from all the excitement. He’s pacing, and starting to be more descrutive than normal with some of the stuffed dog toys. A Santa snowman that has survived since last Christmas may bite the dust from his worrying at it. Sasquatch is a little worried about all the banging downstairs, but he’s settled down with Phouka on the dog bed. Jimmy is pacing to, but it’s a different level of pacing between a two-year-old dog and a fifteen-year-old dog. But they’d both like to investigate what’s happening downstairs. They probably wouldn’t want to stay with all the noise, but they’d like to investigate. Funny that the full-blooded pugs are much calmer and less worried about it. Jimmy being half beagle, and Pippin being half boxer, one quarter Brittany, it just seems to make them both more interested in patrolling the area.
I’m still listening to Dean Martin croon Christmas carols. Late yesterday I was finally able to switch to Nickleback, but mornings this week have been Christmas with Dean. Sigh.

So tired. Rain and storms off and on all day. I used to love rainy days because my grandmother wouldn’t force me to go outside and play. I hated to be outside after a certain age. I just wanted to read and be left alone. I don’t know what my grandmother thought I’d do outside. She just couldn’t stand the thought of me spending a beautiful day reading. I’d sneak a book out with me, until she caught on and started searching me for them. But if it rained, no outside. I did my chores. I helped with the gardening and yard work on a nice day, but other than that I wanted to read. She loved some books, and some poetry, but she didn’t understand my near obsession with reading. In later years she apologized, said, “How was I supposed to know how important books were to you?” I value the apology, it’s probably one of a handful that anyone ever heard from her.
I suppose I haven’t dealt completely with loosing her this spring. Never easy loosing a parent, I guess. Not as hard as loosing my mother when I was six, no, not that hard, but still hard.

This goes out to everyone who gave five dollars or something small to Granite City. A lot of you figured that the auction would go too high to play (you guys were more optimistic than we were; shame on us for doubting) so you gave smaller amounts to the shelter. I just wanted you to know that we appreciate it, and I did know about it. I was a little overwhelmed with Bev’s generosity, and my own difficulties at beating the end of the book into submission. Though, today, it feels like the dragon is going to win. Maybe not. It’s early yet. But if hope were a flame, it would be a match, in a high wind.
So thanks again to all of you. 99.9 percent of my fans are some of the best people on the planet. But like in every majority, sometimes it’s the noisy unpleasant fraction of a percent that get the attention. So, to all you good guys out there, thanks.

Bad day at work. No pages so far. Admittedly, the pages I was ready to trash yesterday, are actually good, just a few places to expand. But, somehow I just can’t settle down to work today. Restless, and just want the book done. It makes me want to rush, and you need to take your time at the end of a book, not rush. But my impatience is showing. I’ll tell you how bad I’m feeling today about the work, I’m listening to Christmas carols. I’m tired of all the music that I listened to during this book. All of it. Even the Scary Solstice carols from the H.P. Lovecraft society cannot get me out of my deep blue funk. I am listening to Dean Martin sing Christmas carols. Why Dean Martin? No idea. All I know is that as he croons “Silver Bells” my anxiety begins to seep away. Of course, now I’ve got to break to lift weights. Which is extremely irritating with no pages, yet. And I have an appointment with my landscaper at 2:00. Shit, my whole day is just going to be gone. Tonight’s supposed to be date night for Jon and me. Which is great, but the deadline pressure is beginning to get to me. Just not enough of me to go around.

Thanks to everyone who participated in the charity auction for Granite City. We were all floored that Bev paid 7,100 dollars for the priveledge of having her name used in a future Anita book. Thank you so much for your generosity. In one fell-swoop we’ve raised enough for the animal shelter to have their sewer system fixed completely. If they had not been able to fix it the shelter would have had to close down. They are a no kill shelter, and some of their harder to adopt animals have been there for years. It would have been a tragedy for the animals.
We put up the auction before Katrina hit, so now there are even more homeless animals, not to mention loads of people who have lost everything. We’ve donated items, and some money, but we’re actually looking at maybe an auction of some kind for the hurricane relief effort. The auction for Granite City brought in more money than we’d dreampt, so cool. Thanks again to everyone who participated, and thanks to Bev for her generosity. I think your name will get to be a corpse in book 14. Strangely, book 13, DANSE MACABRE, doesn’t have any dead bodies yet. Unheard of for an Anita book. Of course with a few hundred pages still to go, you never know. Thanks again.

Trin’s been home sick from school. Either the beginning of an upper respiratory infection, or the end of a mild virus. But as all you parents know, the kiddo home from school disrupts the day. So I’ve got a page and a half to my credit today. Not even two pages. Crap. We are starting to go through boxes before we move stuff over to the addition, too. We’re down to the boxes that Jon and, or, I, have to make decisions on. Some things can simply not be left to others. There were other things, as well, business from New York. I’m giving it one more go for the day before raising the white flag. My goal is just another page and a half. Just four pages total. That’s all. Frankly, when a day has been this disrupted, four pages seems hard. My normal goals are just off the board for the day.
I’m sitting at my desk with Sasquatch, our youngest pug, asleep across my arms. I can feel his throat vibrate against my arm as he snores. I’ve got Nickelback’s SILVER SIDE UP on the head phones. It covers the sound of tools from the addition. We’re hoping it’s done by mid-October. The other three dogs are scattered around the room, on dog beds, and Phouka in her favorite haunt under the desk. I’m drinking tea out of my newest mug. It says “Big Bad Wolf” on it, the big bad wolf from the original Disney’s THREE LITTLE PIGS is the image that goes with it. For some reason the mug pleases me a great deal. I’ve been trying to decide if any of the werewolves in my world would enjoy it. If I can come up with anyone, you’ll get to see it in one of the books. A werewolf drinking out of a Disney, Big Bad Wolf, mug just amuses the hell out of me.
One quick note. I still don’t think THE BROTHER’S GRIM worked, and some parts of it were awful, but some parts of it were very striking. Some of it worked. There were images that are almost totally unique, and that have stayed with me swirling in my imagination. The part that pissed me off, I’ve dealt with, and now I’m left with the images that worked. The visuals, and moments, that might not be as striking on the small screen. I still say go to the cheap show, or some such, but if my opinion might keep you from going at all, then go see it. Just ignore the whole making fun of the French, which I think could have been taken out entirely, and a little fixing of the script would have gotten us to where we needed to go. For the moments that sing, it’s worth going, just be prepared that some of it not only doesn’t sing, but it strangles on it’s on mixed intentions.