Don't fence me in.

You know how when you first move into a place, it’s really just the start of the journey? You never have everything you completely need…or at least, completely want, and you kind of live out of boxes for a spell, until you get everything just the way you’d like it to be.

 

We haven’t exactly been living out of boxes at Green Victoria, but this past week-end, we finally picked out the last pieces of major furniture that we needed: the dressers for the master bedroom.

 

Before this, that room had been looking rather sparse, with only the bed, my old dresser from when I first moved out of Josie’s house, a plastic crate full of clothes that neither of us really used, and Kyra’s crate. For the most part, Corb and I had crammed all of our T-shirts and underwear and sweaters into five small drawers. The white T-shirts were hidden in one of the closets under all of our dress shirts.

 

And, we actually have a…get this...a sock box.

 

What’s a sock box? Maybe other people have them, too, I don’t know. It works like this: instead of matching and folding your sox when they come out of the dryer, you simply save yourself that step, take all of the socks and throw them, unsorted, into one central box, roughly the size of a milk crate.
 

Of course, since everyone’s socks are mingled together, touching and groping and snuggled up next to each other, it does make mornings interesting. First, you have to locate the box (it’s never where it was the day before). Then, you have to find a pair of matching socks. And by the way, you have to do this by going into the master bedroom, where usually, either Corb or myself are sleeping.

 

It’s functional, but not very convenient.

 

So imagine our excitement when two enormous mahogany dressers arrived yesterday afternoon. Corb and I were like kids at Christmas! We literally spent an hour sorting through our clothing and scoping out our turf in the brave new world we found ourselves living in. Where once I had three drawers, now I had six! Where once Corb had two drawers, now he had five! Seriously, it was as if we had died and gone to heaven, prompting cries of:

 

“Oh my God, I actually have a place for all my jeans!”

 

“Hey, is that where that thing went?”

 

“Wow, I forgot I had that sweater!”

 

"I haven't had a dresser with this much space since I was in my thirties!"

 

"Oh yeah? I haven't had a dresser since I was twenty!"

 

And of course: “We actually have a drawer for all our socks!”

 

It’s in my dresser (since I had the extra drawer), and we are co-mingling, although we have banished the socks of Theo and Ashes to their respective dressers. But it is a thing to behold and made life extremely enjoyable yesterday. It also meant that the blue tub has been banished to the basement and Kyra’s crate has been moved to the room outside the master bedroom, which means that our master bedroom is finally starting to look like a master bedroom.

 

Brilliant!

 

Of course, somebody had to be there while the furniture was being moved in, and that lucky guy was yours truly. I worked from home, typing away in the den, and the furniture guys arrived at around one. It was a half an hour job: all open doors, and grunting and groaning, and sweat. I offered the guys something to drink. They declined.

 

Around two, I was working away, and I happened to notice, out of the corner of my eye, a small brown animal scurrying across our lawn. That was weird, I thought. Was it a chipmunk? I put down my laptop and looked around, to see if I could see it again. But it was gone. Vanished into the shrubbery. I resumed working.

 

Twenty minutes, it dawned on me. Was that? Could that have been? I put down my laptop and looked around the house. Hmmm.

 

I opened the door, looked outside. It was a beautiful spring day, in the eighties. Wow, this was what the outside world felt like?

 

I hunted around the front lawn. Looked around the patch of woods in front of the house. Ah, sure enough.

 

There, under an old tree, looking cozy on a bed of pine needles. Our oldest cat Hayleigh. She was an indoor cat, but always longed to be outdoors. She had escaped during the move, and was enjoying her newfound freedom.

 

I picked her up. She made an odd groaning noise, as if she didn’t want to leave.

 

I completely understood how she felt. A little bit more freedom is a wonderful thing.

Talking inspiration

A few weeks ago, I was asked by a friend, Bill Richards (who goes by the far more serious formal author name of William D. Richards), to take part in the Writing Process Blog Tour, which is a series of linked blog posts by various authors about their writing process. From what I understand, the idea originated with fantasy author Heidi Garrett.

The idea behind it is that each author answers four questions about their writing and then enlists (coerces, cajoles) other authors to join the tour. And so far, quite a few have. So, in other words, if you link to Bill's post, you can then link back to the fellow who enlisted/coerced/cajoled him into participating, and so on, and so on, until by golly, the end of time. That's right, the end of time!

Okay, maybe not that long. But it does make for an interesting thread to follow. It also gives you a lot of ideas about how each writer finds inspiration and then acts upon it. Isn't writing wonderful like that?

So, that said, before I dive write into those FOUR WRITING QUESTIONS, I want to thank Bill for asking me to participate (and beg him to keep quiet about any embarrassing stories he may have on me from high school...yes, we go back that far).

Oh, and who is Bill? Yes, yes, that's a perfectly good question.

(Let's pause so I can clear my throat to use my most serious writer's voice. Think of it as a cross between an Orson Wells wine commercial and a Morgan Freeman voiceover...)

William D. Richards discovered writing at an early age thanks to a writing exercise by his fourth grade teacher and since has been bewildering people with his wild flights of fantasy. Yet, it was only recently that he began writing in earnest when the Great Recession forced him into making an involuntary career move. He splits his time between writing, promoting, and coaching others how to take the leap into publishing for themselves. His book, Aggadeh Chronicles Book 1: Nobody, is available through most ebook retail channels. You can find his blog at http://www.williamdrichards.com/

And now, let's dive into those FOUR WRITING QUESTIONS, shall we?

What am I working on? 

So, here's my Daleks master plan:

·  First, I'm working on promoting the heck out of Pictures of You. Oh, wait, have I done that here yet? I've got this book, see? It's called Pictures of You. I hope you'll check it out...and if you haven't yet, let me make it easy for you: in case you haven't secured your copy, I'm making the Kindle version available for absolutely NOTHING for the next five days, starting today! So what have you got to lose? It's free! Why not pick up what one reader described as " a delightful, page turning experience for readers of all ages"?

· Next, I'm in the revision process for my next novel, The Late Night Show, which I'm planning to issue forth from Green Victoria Press around the end of the year. Think Pictures was creepy? Late Night is even darker. It's all about webcams, but with a Rear Window kind of twist. Here's the scoop:

The camera doesn't lie, but it may not tell the whole story, either. That’s what college freshman Kami Corley discovers when she meets a strange girl named Jeanette in a webcam community and receives a disturbing plea for help. Drawn into her story, Kami tries to help, but one Friday night at the stroke of midnight, she realizes her efforts have deadly consequences, when she becomes a witness to cold blooded online murder. 

Or is it? Without knowing who Jeanette really is or where she comes from, Kami is not sure what to believe or where to turn. But one thing she learns, and quickly: she's now caught in a web from which there is no escape…and next time, she may be the victim on the inside, looking out.

· After that? Well, of course, there's always Confessions of a Diva Rotundo, a murder mystery told from the hammy lips of the ultimate community theater actor, looking to clear himself of being the murder suspect and still get that standing ovation on opening night. And there's also a YA fantasy called Amelia's Bones, which my friends have been asking me to publish for years. So, just a few things in the hopper...

How does my work differ from others of its genre? 

Hmmm, that's an interesting one. I'd rather talk about what my stories tend to focus on, rather than how they are different from the rest. In order for a book to interest me, it has to have a strong central character. A lot of times I write about people who don't have perfect lives: gender identity issues, absent parents, single moms, siblings with autism, kids who are bullied. A lot of my work is about giving voice to voices that don't fit the norm. Some that lack the courage...and some, that hide in the shadows.

And then, I put them through hell.

Why do I write what I do? 

I was dropped on my head as a child. Twice. That's the only way to explain, I think.

But then I suppose there is a kinder, gentler way of looking at things. I've been writing since the first grade, ever since my dad tucked me into bed with stories about Nancy Drew's younger brother and the Lone Ranger and Tonto. And my first thought: "I don't want these stories to end." And that's why the stories keep coming.

How does my writing process work?

Usually my process starts by being distracted by something stupid. Like, tonight's story was about the world's oldest cat. No, seriously!

Oh, all right. It starts as an idea. Usually something along the lines of: "Wouldn't it be funny if?" I recently wrote about how Pictures of You came into being on the wonderful blog Skewed Notions. That was completely a "what if" sort of story.

But more than that, there's the sheer mechanics. When I am knee deep in writing a book, my goal is to write a least one page a day. That's all: just one page. After a year, you'll have 365 pages, right? And I do it the hard way, too: hand-written, on a yellow Legal pad (anyone who has seen my handwriting will know what a chore that is to decipher). That makes the first typed draft a first edit, of sorts.

And then comes the re-writing. And the re-writing after that. And editing. And input from friends. I can't help it, I take my time. I want the end result to be as good as I can possibly get it. Well, when I'm not being distracted by cat stories, that is.

Passing the hat. 

What, have the four questions been answered so quickly? My how time flies. Okay, so I am now tagging two other accomplished artists, who have just seven days to come up with their own responses. They are:

Kira Tregoning is a language enthusiast, writer, and book lover. I met her while she was in the process of rolling out her latest novel, She writes mostly fantasy right now, although she has some ideas for expanding into other genres. She lives in Maryland with my meddling cuddle-monster of a cat, Mama-Sita, who enjoys getting in the way when she's trying to write. No, she is not the world oldest cat. Her website is found at: http://theworldofcora.wordpress.com/

And then there's my dear friend JM Cornwell, someone I consider to be a mentor and an inspiration. Jackie was the person who dragged me kicking and screaming into the world of self-publishing, and I love her for it. Jackie has contributed stories to several Chicken Soup, Cup of Comfort and various anthologies. Her first novel, Past Imperfect, was published in 2009 and her second, the terrific, Among Women, came out 2011, and she is currently working on a sequel called Among Men. She can be found at: http://redroom.com/member/jm-cornwell.

Rock on, ladies! I look forward to hearing what you have to say.

A sleeping dog at Ugly Dog

Saturday was my second book signing at Ugly Dog Books and we decided to take Kyra with us. Although I had some concerns about bringing a puppy (on the second day we've had her) to a store for a signing, here's how she ended up. She was a perfect angel...friendly with everyone and didn't whimper once. Kim, the owner at Ugly Dog, said she is welcome any time.

As for the signing? It went really well. Signed a few books, met up with some old friends (including my favorite teacher from high school), had a local cable station that came to interview me and also received an invitation to discuss the book at a book club. Pretty happy with those results. Now I have to plan the next one.

Oh! Also have been asked to participate in The Writing Process Blog Tour, which is a series of linked blog posts by various authors about how their writing process works when creating a new story. I was asked by William D Richards, the author of the The Aggadeh Chronicles, who's also an old friend. How old? Well, we may have actually been in band camp together, many years ago. He played the saxophone, which is a lot cooler than what I used to play. (DON'T ASK.) Anyway, his post about the writing process is up on his site, and mine will be in about seven days. After I write a bunch of other nonsense. You know how it goes.

Anyway, this is going to be a short entry. Honestly, the puppy is wearing us out! I mean, she is a great dog, but...well, she's a puppy, you know? It's tough squeezing everything that needs to be done now into one day. My biggest concern now: when are we going to find time to shop for groceries? Seriously, that cupboard is looking pretty damn bare...

Local Author Holds Book Signing for Debut Novel

As part of an ongoing effort to support area authors and artists, Attleboro resident Ted Mitchell's debut novel, Pictures of You (which he wrote under the pen name T.J. Alexian), has been selected by Ugly Dog Books as May's featured book of the month. To celebrate this, the local bookstore, located at 75 Union Street in Attleboro, will hold two events: an artist/author showcase on Friday, April 25 from 6-7 p.m., as well as an author signing on Saturday, May 10 from 2-3 p.m.

Pictures of You is a young adult thriller combining social media with the macabre. Described as a "ghost story for the dispossessed," it tells the story of Ashes16, a self-professed video geek whose real-world past begins to haunt her when a strange video pops up on her YouTube account. Others soon follow, bringing back vivid memories of her older brother's grisly death and forcing Ashes to relive over and over again a nightmare she'd rather forget. The videos appear to be messages from her dead brother, asking her to uncover dark family secrets some people want to keep hidden--and will do anything to keep buried in the past.  

According to Mitchell, Pictures of You is "a ghost story that gives voice to voices that don't fit the norm, and also, those that hide in the shadows." The book is his debut novel, published through Green Victoria Press. Mitchell is a familiar face to the Attleboro area, having been quite active in the local theater scene, most recently, as stage director for eight Norton Singers productions at Wheaton College. By day he works as a Director of Public Relations for Fidelity Investments, and has over a decade of experience as an award-winning communications specialist. Mitchell is a graduate of Rhode Island College and has three children.

For more information about the author signing, call Ugly Dog Books at (508) 226-0100 or visit their web site at www.uglydogbooks.com. 

Run! Hide! Bay windows!

It may look pretty, but it's zombie Point of Entry #1

Aha! I've FINALLY found something to dislike about Green Victoria, the sleepy old house that Corb and I purchased a few months ago.

No, it's not Lake Tittypeepee, the small body of water that has formed in our front yard as a result of all the rains we've been having lately. We kind of like that (as well as the River Ragina that flows around the house...and yes, you can tell that we both have the mentality of ten-year-old boys, right?) No, this is something far, far more serious than that.

Deadly serious.

This past Saturday, as Corb finished watching Dawn of the Dead in the den, he looked over at me and said, "Our house would be the worst place in the world to hide during a zombie apocalypse."

And it's true! What were we thinking? This house is all open and windowy, containing plenty of glass that zombies who don't care about those things could crash and break, and then climb through. We'd have nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. We'd be reduced to zombie food, faster than you can sing the first lyric of that old Motown song!

Oh, there's the basement, I suppose. But that has windows, too, and besides, it's all cold and cementy, and who would really want to hide down there? It would not be a comfortable way to survive. Besides, I can't imagine that the zombies wouldn't find us down there in fairly short order and start gnawing away.

That does it. Come this week-end, I am heading straight to the nearest Home Depot and buying up as much plywood and nails as I can find, so I can better protect the homestead. Oh, this may seem a little extreme, but as every zombie movie created demonstrates, when the zombie apocalypse comes, it will be sudden and it will be swift, and there will be little time to prepare. So what if I have to wait decades, and maybe...even worse...NEVER. As every good Boy Scout will tell you (especially, as Tom Lehrer will tell you, if they come upon a Girl Scout who is similarly inclined), "Be prepared."

Or, maybe I'll just do nothing about it. I don't know. We'll see what the week-end brings.

Stupid Shit I Read in People Magazine (March 3 edition)

"The truth is, and I know this is corny, I fall more in love with Portia all the time." Ellen DeGeneres

So I closed my magazine, put down my coffee, and walked over to Corb, all spread out on the living room couch, watching some such nonsense. "Corb, do you fall more in love with me all the time?" I asked.

Corb grimaced and put the TV on mute. Clearly I was interrupting something vitally important, like the thousandth time he's seen Under the Tuscan Sun. "What is it, Ted?"

I pointed to the magazine in my hand. "It says here in this book that Ellen DeGeneres falls more in love with Portia all the time. And I think that's beautiful. So I was just curious. Do you fall more in love with me all the time?"

"Oh. Well, hmmm." Corb sat up and pushed his glasses back. He thought about it for a minute, and then he looked me straight in the eyes (with those beautiful blue eyes that he has). "No, Ted, I don't fall more in love with you all the time."

What? Is this the response that one wishes to hear from one's true love? Shocked to my very core, I said, as eloquently as possible. "What?"

"Well, of course, I love you," he replied, sanely and sensibly. "I'll love you forever. But, do I fall more in love with you all the time? I mean, we've been together for ten years. There are days you drive me crazy! But then there are times that I do love you more than ever. It just depends on what day it is. Sometimes even what time of the day it is. Sometimes even what minute of what time of the--"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" I lifted my magazine up, threatening to whack him with it. "Some real love you turned out to be."

The truth is, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I mean, that really is real love, isn't it? Love means knowing the other person well enough to understand that there are certain times when you just want to beat the crap out of them. And that's okay, because there are also certain times where you love them so much it hurts. And there are other times where you feel kind of somewhere in between, and even worse, some times where they mean about as much to you as the slippers you're wearing on your feet. You know they are there, and you like them, they're comfortable, and maybe even, they smell a bit. And that's it. And it's okay. 

For example, Corb is not a big hugger. He lets me hug him, but it can't be for too long, and I am the exception rather than the rule, because he really doesn't like hugging anyone else. I personally suspect it's because his mother pushed him down a flight of stairs when he was younger. 

Some days, when he is sitting at the computer playing The Sims, I will sneak up behind him, wrap my arms around him, give him a great big hug. A great, big, huge bear hug. More often than not, it drives him crazy! He will push away, say he wasn't prepared. Say he's concentrating. And then I will get mad because he pushed me away, and then we will bicker a little bit.

He also feels the same about when my feet get too close to his legs in bed.

And yet, there was this one time, about a year ago, when I was feeling particularly anxious about something. Maybe it was the plight of the diminishing bee population, I don't know. Maybe it was something serious. And Corb came over to me out of the blue and said, "Get up."     

 "Get up?" Okay, I got up.

He held out his arms. "I heard today that if you make it a habit of hugging the person you love for one solid minute each day, you'll actually live longer and feel calmer. So come on, let's do it. Give me a hug, Ted!"

I shook my head. "But you hate hugs."

"But I want to live longer." And then he made a funny face. "And I love you. So, come on!"

Ever since then, whenever I need it, all I have to do is to ask him for a minute hug and I can get it, on demand. Of course, it's on his terms: not while he's sitting at the computer, and always standing up. But it's nice to have, you know? And a minute hug is really good, by the way. Just that moment of body contact, that embrace, that reassurance, can be all you need to move on. To endure. To overcome. To aspire to bigger and better things. 

So, the moral of the story is, I'm okay with my version of real love. It may not be bigger and deeper, each and every day, but it's solid and it's honest, and it works for us. Works pretty well, actually.

It may sound corny, but it even makes me fall in love with Corb all the more...every so often.