Writing Resolutions
What are your writing resolutions for 2007? Mine? Match up with an agent who believes in my ability as a writer, is captivated by Kat Cavicchio's strong voice and who feels the love for my story. Then sell my book to a publishing house. I don't expect an agent to carry my water. I'm eager to work to sell my book. I'm also working on my second book, three chapters in to date.
I have fallen in the love with the entire process of writing, querying (I know, I'm odd) and can't wait to graduate to the next steps. I love learning about the industry. Having kids with such major issues has made me thick skinned when it comes to life's daily rejections and roadblocks. Once you've seen your six year old with two broken bones and no speech to be able to tell you she is in agony there isn't a rejection letter in the world that can really bother you.
Here's my attitude. I gave birth to my children. I did not give birth to my MS. Sure, I wrote it. But I am willing and able to edit it into its best form. That doesn't mean I'll fiddle with my core meaning or change a character away from what I think he or she needs to be. But embellishments? Clarifications? Tweaks? When I get that input from an agent I want to kiss him. It's like having Julia Child whisper in your ear "A pinch of salt and how about adding a touch of sherry?" I won't revise to the degree of "change your stock from chicken to beef" though.
Good luck to all the writers I've met in 2006. Whether you're established or debuting your first book or even just finishing your MS. Enjoy and happy writing.
"See you on the bookshelves!"
Kim
Welcome! Come to Boston to meet Kat Cavicchio in my new e-book House of Cards available through Amazon on Kindle and supported devices!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Dorkasaurus Rex
I know, I know. I'm a complete dork. My husband got one of these from the President of his company and I just roared. Couldn't resist. It may be the only photo of me you see, until my book comes out.
Have a laugh on me......
http://www.elfyourself.com/?userid=f864eeef42c5150ebd13501G06122712
I know, I know. I'm a complete dork. My husband got one of these from the President of his company and I just roared. Couldn't resist. It may be the only photo of me you see, until my book comes out.
Have a laugh on me......
http://www.elfyourself.com/?userid=f864eeef42c5150ebd13501G06122712
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
To The Generous Ho Ho Hunk At Starbucks
Ah, the Christmas spirit! I was at Starbucks on The Cape on 12/24 when the handsome, impeccably dressed man in front of me and I picked up a pack of Starbucks coffee cup tree ornaments at the same time. We looked at each other and I said "Is it just wrong to put coffee cups on my tree?" He laughed and said "I'll buy them if you buy them." We made a deal. Then I remembered that I had my husband's Starbuck's card, not cash. So I put the $13 ornaments down, not sure how much cash was loaded into the card and explained my situation. Well dressed hunk picked up the second package and said, "Well, I can put one on my tree in Boston and one on my tree on the Cape." We each paid for our coffee and then he handed me a pack of the ornaments. "Merry Christmas" he said with a smile. I thanked him and left Starbucks with a skinny Gingerbread no whip latte, two lovely ornaments and a dose of Christmas cheer.
Ah, the Christmas spirit! I was at Starbucks on The Cape on 12/24 when the handsome, impeccably dressed man in front of me and I picked up a pack of Starbucks coffee cup tree ornaments at the same time. We looked at each other and I said "Is it just wrong to put coffee cups on my tree?" He laughed and said "I'll buy them if you buy them." We made a deal. Then I remembered that I had my husband's Starbuck's card, not cash. So I put the $13 ornaments down, not sure how much cash was loaded into the card and explained my situation. Well dressed hunk picked up the second package and said, "Well, I can put one on my tree in Boston and one on my tree on the Cape." We each paid for our coffee and then he handed me a pack of the ornaments. "Merry Christmas" he said with a smile. I thanked him and left Starbucks with a skinny Gingerbread no whip latte, two lovely ornaments and a dose of Christmas cheer.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Eat your heart out Betty Crocker
I am pretty darn proud of myself. How about a batch of gluten free, casein free (no wheat, no dairy) sugar cookies shaped like MANATEES? Oh yeah! I found a Manatee cookie cutter last summer. My middle daughter adores all things aquatic. I'm furiously baking and cooking their foods so that I have treats for their holiday parties and goodies to take to GrandMa and Grandpa's and Nana's over the holiday. My kids are on the "autism diet" which means no wheat, oats, rye or dairy of any sort. Like most parents whose kids are on the diet, I make most of their meals from scratch. Including baked goods. Although today I used a mix from Cherrybrook Farms. Pretty good! I plan to make brownie trees for school. I made a batch of brownies in a round pan. Then you cut "slices" and add a rectangle cookie glued to the bottom for a trunk. I don't decorate since we use no artificial colors. Red and yellow dyes can make kids NUTS -- cause major behavior issues. Our trees will look like they just came out of a forest fire, being brownie and all. But the girls will gobble them up anyway.
Happy baking to all of you! If you have any ideas do share!
I am pretty darn proud of myself. How about a batch of gluten free, casein free (no wheat, no dairy) sugar cookies shaped like MANATEES? Oh yeah! I found a Manatee cookie cutter last summer. My middle daughter adores all things aquatic. I'm furiously baking and cooking their foods so that I have treats for their holiday parties and goodies to take to GrandMa and Grandpa's and Nana's over the holiday. My kids are on the "autism diet" which means no wheat, oats, rye or dairy of any sort. Like most parents whose kids are on the diet, I make most of their meals from scratch. Including baked goods. Although today I used a mix from Cherrybrook Farms. Pretty good! I plan to make brownie trees for school. I made a batch of brownies in a round pan. Then you cut "slices" and add a rectangle cookie glued to the bottom for a trunk. I don't decorate since we use no artificial colors. Red and yellow dyes can make kids NUTS -- cause major behavior issues. Our trees will look like they just came out of a forest fire, being brownie and all. But the girls will gobble them up anyway.
Happy baking to all of you! If you have any ideas do share!
12/22/06: CONVICTED
CAGED KIDS
Cry for these children. Shake your head. Shake your fists at the sky. I can name twenty people off the top of my head who could have taken these 11 kids and tackled their behavior problems from top to bottom without resorting to CAGING THEM!
Here is the article below and the link: http://news.yahoo.com/s/wews/20061220/lo_wews/10574131
Jurors must decide if some of 11 special needs children were forced to sleep in cages for their own protection or because their adoptive parents were cruel.
Jurors in the trial of the parents, Sharen and Michael Gravelle, started day two of deliberations Wednesday morning. They got the case late Tuesday afternoon.
The Gravelles each face eight misdemeanor counts of child abuse, eight felony counts of child endangering and eight misdemeanor counts of child endangering.
A verdict is expected today and newsnet5.com will bring you the verdict live, so be sure to check back often.
Jurors deliberated for about two hours Tuesday before going home for the night.
"Who are you going to believe?" defense attorney Ken Myers asked jurors during closing statements. He said the size of the cages and the number of children who slept in them were exaggerated by authorities investigating the Gravelles.
"They want to paint them like they're the worst parents in the history of the world," he said.
Huron County Prosecutor Russell Leffler said the cages amounted to cruel treatment.
"They are living like animals in these cages," Leffler told the jurors in his final statement.
Attorney Richard Drucker, representing Michael Gravelle, told the jury there had been no evidence of physical harm to any of the 11 children and only general allegations of abusive treatment during the three-week trial.
"I submit to you that these so-called cages were bunk beds that were enclosed," Drucker said.
The Gravelles tried to create a loving home environment, he said. "They loved their children," Drucker said.
Leffler said although the youngsters were difficult, "it doesn't mean you put children in cages or boxes."
The endangering charges against the Gravelles accuse the couple of putting some of their children at a substantial risk of harming their mental health.
The Gravelles face one to five years in prison and a maximum fine of $10,000 for each felony count if convicted.
The children, who suffered from problems such as fetal alcohol syndrome and a disorder that involves eating nonfood items, ranged in age from 1 to 14 when authorities removed them in September 2005 from the Gravelle home in rural Wakeman, about 60 miles west of Cleveland. The youngsters were placed in foster care last fall and the couple lost custody in March.
The case began when a county social worker visited the home after a complaint and likened the red and blue cages to kennels. In the trial, that social worker testified that the cages reminded her of slave quarters.
In his closing argument, Leffler said the Gravelles were bad parents and should be convicted.
"They were cruel to children," he said. "The Gravelles aren't good parents. They never have been."
Myers, who represents Sharen Gravelle, told jurors the couple had worked under difficult circumstances to provide a loving family. The enclosures were used because of the children's intolerable behavior, he said.
"They were urinating and defecating all over the house," he said. The children's nighttime wandering and other bad behavior improved after the enclosed beds were used, Myers said.
Myers challenged the credibility of prosecution witnesses, including some of the children.
One child, Myers said, "was just angry at the world." And another claimed without supporting evidence from anyone else that he had been banished to sleep in a bathtub for much of a 2 1/2-year period.
Some children testified about their sadness over missing the only family they ever knew, at points moving jurors to tears. The Gravelles also cried when an adopted daughter testified that she missed her parents and still loved them.
Myers asked the jury to acquit the Gravelles and "send a message it is time for this charade to end."
Judge Earl R. McGimpsey told jurors they must not take into account that the Gravelles did not testify at their trial.
CAGED KIDS
Cry for these children. Shake your head. Shake your fists at the sky. I can name twenty people off the top of my head who could have taken these 11 kids and tackled their behavior problems from top to bottom without resorting to CAGING THEM!
Here is the article below and the link: http://news.yahoo.com/s/wews/20061220/lo_wews/10574131
Jurors must decide if some of 11 special needs children were forced to sleep in cages for their own protection or because their adoptive parents were cruel.
Jurors in the trial of the parents, Sharen and Michael Gravelle, started day two of deliberations Wednesday morning. They got the case late Tuesday afternoon.
The Gravelles each face eight misdemeanor counts of child abuse, eight felony counts of child endangering and eight misdemeanor counts of child endangering.
A verdict is expected today and newsnet5.com will bring you the verdict live, so be sure to check back often.
Jurors deliberated for about two hours Tuesday before going home for the night.
"Who are you going to believe?" defense attorney Ken Myers asked jurors during closing statements. He said the size of the cages and the number of children who slept in them were exaggerated by authorities investigating the Gravelles.
"They want to paint them like they're the worst parents in the history of the world," he said.
Huron County Prosecutor Russell Leffler said the cages amounted to cruel treatment.
"They are living like animals in these cages," Leffler told the jurors in his final statement.
Attorney Richard Drucker, representing Michael Gravelle, told the jury there had been no evidence of physical harm to any of the 11 children and only general allegations of abusive treatment during the three-week trial.
"I submit to you that these so-called cages were bunk beds that were enclosed," Drucker said.
The Gravelles tried to create a loving home environment, he said. "They loved their children," Drucker said.
Leffler said although the youngsters were difficult, "it doesn't mean you put children in cages or boxes."
The endangering charges against the Gravelles accuse the couple of putting some of their children at a substantial risk of harming their mental health.
The Gravelles face one to five years in prison and a maximum fine of $10,000 for each felony count if convicted.
The children, who suffered from problems such as fetal alcohol syndrome and a disorder that involves eating nonfood items, ranged in age from 1 to 14 when authorities removed them in September 2005 from the Gravelle home in rural Wakeman, about 60 miles west of Cleveland. The youngsters were placed in foster care last fall and the couple lost custody in March.
The case began when a county social worker visited the home after a complaint and likened the red and blue cages to kennels. In the trial, that social worker testified that the cages reminded her of slave quarters.
In his closing argument, Leffler said the Gravelles were bad parents and should be convicted.
"They were cruel to children," he said. "The Gravelles aren't good parents. They never have been."
Myers, who represents Sharen Gravelle, told jurors the couple had worked under difficult circumstances to provide a loving family. The enclosures were used because of the children's intolerable behavior, he said.
"They were urinating and defecating all over the house," he said. The children's nighttime wandering and other bad behavior improved after the enclosed beds were used, Myers said.
Myers challenged the credibility of prosecution witnesses, including some of the children.
One child, Myers said, "was just angry at the world." And another claimed without supporting evidence from anyone else that he had been banished to sleep in a bathtub for much of a 2 1/2-year period.
Some children testified about their sadness over missing the only family they ever knew, at points moving jurors to tears. The Gravelles also cried when an adopted daughter testified that she missed her parents and still loved them.
Myers asked the jury to acquit the Gravelles and "send a message it is time for this charade to end."
Judge Earl R. McGimpsey told jurors they must not take into account that the Gravelles did not testify at their trial.
Holiday Gifts for Teachers
I read an article yesterday that a district is setting a limit of $50 for the entire year for a family's gifts to a teacher. Do you give gifts to your kids teachers? How many gifts does that entail? Some years a savior of a class mom will send home a note asking for a donation toward a class gift. Sign me up for that. When did extensive gift giving start? Holiday gifts, end of year gifts. How many apple shaped Christmas ornaments can one teacher stand?
My kids have a SPED teacher and an aide, regular ed teacher and that classroom aide plus multiple therapists. The list gets long! Some years I've been able to do something for 15, 20 people. Other years? Finances mean I have to get creative.
I'd love to give everyone who works with my girls a million bucks. (That's what several quiet hours in an empty house is worth.) Everyone on the girls' teams is dedicated, devoted, well trained and highly capable. We're very fortunate to be in our district in CT where autism programming is strong.
I read an article yesterday that a district is setting a limit of $50 for the entire year for a family's gifts to a teacher. Do you give gifts to your kids teachers? How many gifts does that entail? Some years a savior of a class mom will send home a note asking for a donation toward a class gift. Sign me up for that. When did extensive gift giving start? Holiday gifts, end of year gifts. How many apple shaped Christmas ornaments can one teacher stand?
My kids have a SPED teacher and an aide, regular ed teacher and that classroom aide plus multiple therapists. The list gets long! Some years I've been able to do something for 15, 20 people. Other years? Finances mean I have to get creative.
I'd love to give everyone who works with my girls a million bucks. (That's what several quiet hours in an empty house is worth.) Everyone on the girls' teams is dedicated, devoted, well trained and highly capable. We're very fortunate to be in our district in CT where autism programming is strong.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
SCRUMMY CHOCOLATE TINSEL! Does that make me a "Scrummy Mummy?"
That's the name generated for me on this silly holiday link. Type in your name and it gives you a holiday name.
Go ahead, click it and find out your own holiday name. Mine is perfect. I got into a scrum on an autism list last night, I live on chocolate and who doesn't love tinsel? So run your name and let me know what it is!
http://www.bbc.co.uk/shropshire/features/christmas/name_generator.shtml
(PS) I just ran my husband's name: "Chocolate Cracker" it's a Brit site - so do you suppose they mean the lovely Christmas crackers that you pull open to reveal a toy or the American racist term for White Man??? Mark IS a white man. And I can pull certain parts to reveal a toy. Tres interesant. My girls are A) Chocolate Cracker (must be the M in the first name), B) Fuzzy Chocolate Bum -- TOO appropriate as she never ever wipes well, and C) Fuzzy Chocolate Pixie for my sweet 6 year old who has the face of a beautiful pixie. HA!
That's the name generated for me on this silly holiday link. Type in your name and it gives you a holiday name.
Go ahead, click it and find out your own holiday name. Mine is perfect. I got into a scrum on an autism list last night, I live on chocolate and who doesn't love tinsel? So run your name and let me know what it is!
http://www.bbc.co.uk/shropshire/features/christmas/name_generator.shtml
(PS) I just ran my husband's name: "Chocolate Cracker" it's a Brit site - so do you suppose they mean the lovely Christmas crackers that you pull open to reveal a toy or the American racist term for White Man??? Mark IS a white man. And I can pull certain parts to reveal a toy. Tres interesant. My girls are A) Chocolate Cracker (must be the M in the first name), B) Fuzzy Chocolate Bum -- TOO appropriate as she never ever wipes well, and C) Fuzzy Chocolate Pixie for my sweet 6 year old who has the face of a beautiful pixie. HA!
"Blue canary in the outlet by the lightswitch, who watches over you?" This is a line from a nifty little song by They Might Be Giants.
Last night I had a rough time after reading two articles about autism that just destroyed me for a while. I was still a little loopy from it all today.
And now Sirius (God, I love satellite radio) is playing this song. Mark and I used to sing this to each other when we were dating in that dorky "Oh why not sing a silly song, we're young in love" kind of way back in 1990. Mark is my Blue Canary in the outlet. (Get your mind out of the gutter please.) He watches over me. And his girls. We watch over him. And now, just hearing the song makes me feel cheery and much better.
"Not to put too fine a point on it. Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet. Make a little birdhouse in your soul."
KS
Last night I had a rough time after reading two articles about autism that just destroyed me for a while. I was still a little loopy from it all today.
And now Sirius (God, I love satellite radio) is playing this song. Mark and I used to sing this to each other when we were dating in that dorky "Oh why not sing a silly song, we're young in love" kind of way back in 1990. Mark is my Blue Canary in the outlet. (Get your mind out of the gutter please.) He watches over me. And his girls. We watch over him. And now, just hearing the song makes me feel cheery and much better.
"Not to put too fine a point on it. Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet. Make a little birdhouse in your soul."
KS
Monday, December 11, 2006
Does "OKU" mean good in Japanese?*
I gotta ask. Got a catalog in the mail today. I shop online and get a lot of catalogs, since dragging my kids to the mall often leads to escalating blood pressure for all concerned. Along with my two rejections, I got a catalog today called "Catalog Favorites."
A hodge podge of items from various catalogs, thus the catchy name. Average looking stuff, a lot of junk. I'm turning pages loaded acrylic toilet seats with embedded sea shells (in case you want to shit the oyster bed), T-shirts decorated with bon mots such as "Nobody listens to me until I fart" and a delightful soap and bath towel set where half is white and says "FACE" and the other half is brown and says "BUTT." The perfect gift for your buttfaced brother in law, yes?
None of this concerns me in the least. And then I turned to page 25. And there, on the lower right hand corner is a vibrator. Yes, a vibrator. Oh sure they call it a "massager" but we've all seen the Sex and the City episode where Samantha returns her "neck massager" to Sharper Image. It's a vibrator people. Called "The Fabulous Fukuoku." Which I read as "fuk-u-oku" leading me to my question, "Does Oku mean good in Japanese? It's a Johnson shaped tip that sits on your finger. Well, actually its three of them, with varying stimulation tips. If only men were so versatile! "This go anywhere massager arrives in its own zippered carrying pouch." Handy! But will it get past security at the airport?
I plunged deeper into the catalog. Plage 46? Another vibrator! Called "The Liberte!" Well, Merci Beaucoup! A whole new way to get doinked by the French! Copy reads: "Designed by women, for women." 'Cause our necks are shaped different from men? And then on page 47? A KEGEL exerciser with a photograph that shows enough skin to terrify me.
From that point on, all the Kokopelli necklaces in the world couldn't make me feel safe opening that catalog again. I couldn't even enjoy the sparkly red, sequined baseball cap or the Bibleopoly game.That's it. I'm calling them to get off their mailing list. Hmmm, now where's my credit card?*
*reposted upon request
OH DEAR GOD. I, ahem, did some research on the Fukuoku to learn its provenance and found this horror: http://storeforlovers.com/product.asp?SKU=830690009102&B=B10&C=2 It's the Fukuoku glove! I am a writer and research is important, especially as romantica grows as a category. I don't write romantica or erotica, but can't hurt to have the info, right? And don't you know it's at a store in Cleveland that used to advertise like crazy with the owner, a lovely woman, doing all the ads. It looks like a Freddy Krueger prop in a porn flick. Thick black plastic fingers! MUST WASH EYES OUT!!! I can't even type this in full size. Ewwwww!
"This truly revolutionary glove will change the way you experience massage. (Major creepy alert!) Each fingertip has a vibrating panel that emits 9,000 vibrations per minute at full speed. (Note to user, call dentist to repair your mouthful of chipped teeth on Monday morning.)
The entire glove is waterproof and completely immersible! (in case you want to drown yourself while using the glove??) The battery compartment is located in a pouch at the base of the glove. Hand-washable with soap and water, the Fukuoku Glove can be used with your favorite massage oil or gel. Please choose left or right hand. (What, no ambidextrous for the ambi-tious?) Requires 3 AAA batteries, which are included! (Well, can't say they are stingy.)
I gotta ask. Got a catalog in the mail today. I shop online and get a lot of catalogs, since dragging my kids to the mall often leads to escalating blood pressure for all concerned. Along with my two rejections, I got a catalog today called "Catalog Favorites."
A hodge podge of items from various catalogs, thus the catchy name. Average looking stuff, a lot of junk. I'm turning pages loaded acrylic toilet seats with embedded sea shells (in case you want to shit the oyster bed), T-shirts decorated with bon mots such as "Nobody listens to me until I fart" and a delightful soap and bath towel set where half is white and says "FACE" and the other half is brown and says "BUTT." The perfect gift for your buttfaced brother in law, yes?
None of this concerns me in the least. And then I turned to page 25. And there, on the lower right hand corner is a vibrator. Yes, a vibrator. Oh sure they call it a "massager" but we've all seen the Sex and the City episode where Samantha returns her "neck massager" to Sharper Image. It's a vibrator people. Called "The Fabulous Fukuoku." Which I read as "fuk-u-oku" leading me to my question, "Does Oku mean good in Japanese? It's a Johnson shaped tip that sits on your finger. Well, actually its three of them, with varying stimulation tips. If only men were so versatile! "This go anywhere massager arrives in its own zippered carrying pouch." Handy! But will it get past security at the airport?
I plunged deeper into the catalog. Plage 46? Another vibrator! Called "The Liberte!" Well, Merci Beaucoup! A whole new way to get doinked by the French! Copy reads: "Designed by women, for women." 'Cause our necks are shaped different from men? And then on page 47? A KEGEL exerciser with a photograph that shows enough skin to terrify me.
From that point on, all the Kokopelli necklaces in the world couldn't make me feel safe opening that catalog again. I couldn't even enjoy the sparkly red, sequined baseball cap or the Bibleopoly game.That's it. I'm calling them to get off their mailing list. Hmmm, now where's my credit card?*
*reposted upon request
OH DEAR GOD. I, ahem, did some research on the Fukuoku to learn its provenance and found this horror: http://storeforlovers.com/product.asp?SKU=830690009102&B=B10&C=2 It's the Fukuoku glove! I am a writer and research is important, especially as romantica grows as a category. I don't write romantica or erotica, but can't hurt to have the info, right? And don't you know it's at a store in Cleveland that used to advertise like crazy with the owner, a lovely woman, doing all the ads. It looks like a Freddy Krueger prop in a porn flick. Thick black plastic fingers! MUST WASH EYES OUT!!! I can't even type this in full size. Ewwwww!
"This truly revolutionary glove will change the way you experience massage. (Major creepy alert!) Each fingertip has a vibrating panel that emits 9,000 vibrations per minute at full speed. (Note to user, call dentist to repair your mouthful of chipped teeth on Monday morning.)
The entire glove is waterproof and completely immersible! (in case you want to drown yourself while using the glove??) The battery compartment is located in a pouch at the base of the glove. Hand-washable with soap and water, the Fukuoku Glove can be used with your favorite massage oil or gel. Please choose left or right hand. (What, no ambidextrous for the ambi-tious?) Requires 3 AAA batteries, which are included! (Well, can't say they are stingy.)
This Deirdre Imus' Letter To The Editor of Newsweek. It's a follow up to the article Newsweek ran two weeks ago about the freight train bearing down on many of us -- called "my children are getting older." On behalf of my three beautiful daughters with autism, all I can say is "thank you" to Deirdre Imus for keeping my story, my kids story and the story of 1 in 166 children born today, and diagnosed with autism by age 3.
Another Take on Autism
The glimpse into a world far too many people will be forced to acceptas they struggle with life as autistic adults. I commend NEWSWEEK for recognizing the human tidal wave of a maturing autistic population that will soon overwhelm not only emotional and financial resourcesof families, but Medicaid and state social-services budgets. While you illustrate some of the heartbreaking challenges parents facewhile caring for autistic children transitioning to adulthood, youoverlook what is at the heart of the autism debate. What has causedautism rates to grow so much in less than 20 years?
The idea that it's just better diagnosis is, to parents and supporters of theautistic community, like fingernails on the chalkboard. This epidemic is real and recent and cannot be explained by saying the diagnostic skills of doctors suddenly improved in the late 1990s or that amystery gene miraculously became active in hundreds of thousands ofchildren. A logical suggestion is that something changed in the1990s.
Perhaps the number of mercury-containing vaccines given tochildren tripled in the '90s and resulted in a toxic tipping point,causing these children to regress into a disorder we call autism.Your article was correct on one key observation, that it is families who are leading the way and becoming real experts on this disorder.They are still searching for answers that the medical community,government and media have failed to address with the urgency thisdisorder deserves.
The Combating Autism Act may provide some answers,but autistic children can't wait for the special-interest-laden windsof Congress to blow their way. Together, we can combat autism and perhaps save the next generation of our nation's most preciousresource: our children. Hard questions need to be asked about adisorder that is affecting so many and came on so suddenly.
The failure to honestly expose possible contributing causes warrantsserious examination and begs for further review by parents,professionals and journalists alike.
Deirdre ImusDeirdre Imus Environmental Center for Pediatric Oncology atHackensack University Medical CenterHackensack, N.J.
Another Take on Autism
The glimpse into a world far too many people will be forced to acceptas they struggle with life as autistic adults. I commend NEWSWEEK for recognizing the human tidal wave of a maturing autistic population that will soon overwhelm not only emotional and financial resourcesof families, but Medicaid and state social-services budgets. While you illustrate some of the heartbreaking challenges parents facewhile caring for autistic children transitioning to adulthood, youoverlook what is at the heart of the autism debate. What has causedautism rates to grow so much in less than 20 years?
The idea that it's just better diagnosis is, to parents and supporters of theautistic community, like fingernails on the chalkboard. This epidemic is real and recent and cannot be explained by saying the diagnostic skills of doctors suddenly improved in the late 1990s or that amystery gene miraculously became active in hundreds of thousands ofchildren. A logical suggestion is that something changed in the1990s.
Perhaps the number of mercury-containing vaccines given tochildren tripled in the '90s and resulted in a toxic tipping point,causing these children to regress into a disorder we call autism.Your article was correct on one key observation, that it is families who are leading the way and becoming real experts on this disorder.They are still searching for answers that the medical community,government and media have failed to address with the urgency thisdisorder deserves.
The Combating Autism Act may provide some answers,but autistic children can't wait for the special-interest-laden windsof Congress to blow their way. Together, we can combat autism and perhaps save the next generation of our nation's most preciousresource: our children. Hard questions need to be asked about adisorder that is affecting so many and came on so suddenly.
The failure to honestly expose possible contributing causes warrantsserious examination and begs for further review by parents,professionals and journalists alike.
Deirdre ImusDeirdre Imus Environmental Center for Pediatric Oncology atHackensack University Medical CenterHackensack, N.J.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
"C is for cookie"
Is there no limit to the ways to depress a writer who is trying to get her book published? I subscribe to Publisher's Marketplace, a site for the publishing community. It lists current deals, jobs, reviews, pages for agents, editors, writers. And agents can offer books to editors. It's an amazing place for a newbie like moi to troll about, dreaming of the day my name is there along with the words "A very nice deal."
But today there's an offering that made me do more of a "wha-hut?" than the announcement of the OJ book a few weeks ago. Some lovely person/famous chef has written a book about how to run multiple "cookie swaps" throughout the year. Yes, a book devoted to the cookie swap that isn't being sold by The Junior League or The Lutheran Women of St. John's in St. Cloud. A book touting a cookie swap EVERY MONTH! A cookie swap for all seasons. Can you imagine, in your worst nightmare, being invited to a bridal shower cookie swap? A month after you attended a Mother's Day cookie swap. Preceded by the Easter cookie swap. With a follow up July 4th cookie swap?
I don't mean to sound like I have a (chocolate) chip on my shoulder. I love to bake. But for Pete's sake. The whole idea makes me want to snickerdoodle in my pants.
Is there no limit to the ways to depress a writer who is trying to get her book published? I subscribe to Publisher's Marketplace, a site for the publishing community. It lists current deals, jobs, reviews, pages for agents, editors, writers. And agents can offer books to editors. It's an amazing place for a newbie like moi to troll about, dreaming of the day my name is there along with the words "A very nice deal."
But today there's an offering that made me do more of a "wha-hut?" than the announcement of the OJ book a few weeks ago. Some lovely person/famous chef has written a book about how to run multiple "cookie swaps" throughout the year. Yes, a book devoted to the cookie swap that isn't being sold by The Junior League or The Lutheran Women of St. John's in St. Cloud. A book touting a cookie swap EVERY MONTH! A cookie swap for all seasons. Can you imagine, in your worst nightmare, being invited to a bridal shower cookie swap? A month after you attended a Mother's Day cookie swap. Preceded by the Easter cookie swap. With a follow up July 4th cookie swap?
I don't mean to sound like I have a (chocolate) chip on my shoulder. I love to bake. But for Pete's sake. The whole idea makes me want to snickerdoodle in my pants.
Here's a link to my recent post on Huffington Post. It isn't political, or even related to autism (not directly anyway.) It's my complaint about the overwhelming amount of advertising by the pharmaceutical companies. I was watching a NICK channel with my kids and the ad for Happy Feet, the movie, was sponsored by "Know your Flu Facts." I think we should leave kids OUT of the advertising of pharmaceuticals. Just one woman's opinion.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kim-stagliano/the-drugged-out-voice-of-_b_35960.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kim-stagliano/the-drugged-out-voice-of-_b_35960.html
I've been tagged: Top 5 holiday songs
My top five holiday songs:
1) Holly Jolly Christmas: Because my girls loves it and sing it a lot
2) Silent Night: The Stevie Nicks version. It makes me think of Mary and how she must have felt giving birth in the cold, dark night.
3) Baby It's Cold Outside: Reminds me of my father in law, whom I adored and still miss
4) Santa Claus Is Coming To Town: Bruce's version. Because he's Bruce.
5) Joy to The World: Because we need more of it.
I tag Manic Mom, Trish's Dishes, This Is What I Do and Welcome To The Confessional.
My top five holiday songs:
1) Holly Jolly Christmas: Because my girls loves it and sing it a lot
2) Silent Night: The Stevie Nicks version. It makes me think of Mary and how she must have felt giving birth in the cold, dark night.
3) Baby It's Cold Outside: Reminds me of my father in law, whom I adored and still miss
4) Santa Claus Is Coming To Town: Bruce's version. Because he's Bruce.
5) Joy to The World: Because we need more of it.
I tag Manic Mom, Trish's Dishes, This Is What I Do and Welcome To The Confessional.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Uh oh! Gianna has the hiccups!
For those of you who swing by who have kids with autism, you'll appreciate this. My 10 year old (Miss G) is walking around the kitchen saying "Uh oh! Gianna has the hiccups! Got to get some ice cold water!" And then she gets the water, drinks it and forces herself to have hiccups. Imitates hiccups! Very cool.
Miss G sounds like Bob Dole when she speaks. Always in the third person reflexive. She is a funny kid. My most verbal. The one who is sneaking up on typical fastest. Lord, I adore my Jiggy G. I love the other two -- don't get me wrong. But Miss G gives me those snapshots of typical I crave. The "This is how other parents live" moments that make me shake my head and say "Jiminy Cricket, that's so cool."
Thanks Jiggy G!
For those of you who swing by who have kids with autism, you'll appreciate this. My 10 year old (Miss G) is walking around the kitchen saying "Uh oh! Gianna has the hiccups! Got to get some ice cold water!" And then she gets the water, drinks it and forces herself to have hiccups. Imitates hiccups! Very cool.
Miss G sounds like Bob Dole when she speaks. Always in the third person reflexive. She is a funny kid. My most verbal. The one who is sneaking up on typical fastest. Lord, I adore my Jiggy G. I love the other two -- don't get me wrong. But Miss G gives me those snapshots of typical I crave. The "This is how other parents live" moments that make me shake my head and say "Jiminy Cricket, that's so cool."
Thanks Jiggy G!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
A Very Viagra Christmas?
I've noticed an alarming holiday problem. Actually, two problems. The first is that many people now think that hideous (and now ubiquitous)inflatable decorations are the new bent over garden lady with the fat ass. I can spit from my house to an inflatable Tigger, several Santas and of course, the lowliest of travel souvenirs pumped up to startling proportions; the giant snowglobe.
The second problem is that most people turn off the air supply to these monstrosities during daylight. And this means their festivity goes all flaccid. Droopy decorations sit on every other lawn like grandpa's weenie after a hit of insulin and his statin drugs. It ain't pretty.
I actually miss the old retro plastic Santa pulling the sleigh with four reindeer (they never could fit all eight plus Rudy, could they?) Why? Hell, at least Santa stayed UP all day and night.
I've noticed an alarming holiday problem. Actually, two problems. The first is that many people now think that hideous (and now ubiquitous)inflatable decorations are the new bent over garden lady with the fat ass. I can spit from my house to an inflatable Tigger, several Santas and of course, the lowliest of travel souvenirs pumped up to startling proportions; the giant snowglobe.
The second problem is that most people turn off the air supply to these monstrosities during daylight. And this means their festivity goes all flaccid. Droopy decorations sit on every other lawn like grandpa's weenie after a hit of insulin and his statin drugs. It ain't pretty.
I actually miss the old retro plastic Santa pulling the sleigh with four reindeer (they never could fit all eight plus Rudy, could they?) Why? Hell, at least Santa stayed UP all day and night.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Tuesday: I just learned about the death of a two year old boy who was killed in an horrific car accident while his Dad was driving the car. Dad and a one year old brother survived. This is someone in the publishing industry. Puts life in perspective fast, doesn't it? Say a prayer for a boy named Sam and his family, won't you?
On being a Mom -- extreme style.
All moms piss and moan about how difficult it is to raise kids. And yes, it is work for certain. Even if you have typical kids, there are ups and downs and days you want to run screaming onto the highway (or so I hear from the Moms of typical kids.)
There's a Mom that we see in Church to whom I'd like to tip my hat today. She has an adult son with cerebral palsy. He is in a wheelchair and appears to be completely dependent on her for physical assistance. I saw her getting him out of their custom van today - the sort with the elevator for the wheel chair. It appears to me that he is mentally 100%. He follows the Mass, takes Communion and his eyes take in everything around him. Never assume a disability means "stupid" or "unable to learn."
I kvetch on a regular basis about our trying days in the world of autism. Today, I looked at my three daughters in the pew and thanked God for them. And I said a prayer that the Mom a few pews over finds the strength she needs every day to care for her precious son.
Gifts and blessings come in all shapes and sizes, don't they?
On being a Mom -- extreme style.
All moms piss and moan about how difficult it is to raise kids. And yes, it is work for certain. Even if you have typical kids, there are ups and downs and days you want to run screaming onto the highway (or so I hear from the Moms of typical kids.)
There's a Mom that we see in Church to whom I'd like to tip my hat today. She has an adult son with cerebral palsy. He is in a wheelchair and appears to be completely dependent on her for physical assistance. I saw her getting him out of their custom van today - the sort with the elevator for the wheel chair. It appears to me that he is mentally 100%. He follows the Mass, takes Communion and his eyes take in everything around him. Never assume a disability means "stupid" or "unable to learn."
I kvetch on a regular basis about our trying days in the world of autism. Today, I looked at my three daughters in the pew and thanked God for them. And I said a prayer that the Mom a few pews over finds the strength she needs every day to care for her precious son.
Gifts and blessings come in all shapes and sizes, don't they?
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Homophonia
It happened again.... And I fear I am now homophonic. I was blogging merrily yesterday. All cheery and confident. Left two comments using the past tense of the verb to throw. Which would be? Threw. Easy. So why did I type "through" on both blogs like a poorly educated dingbat? I'm declining Latin nouns one minute and can barely spit out English the next.
By four now.
K
It happened again.... And I fear I am now homophonic. I was blogging merrily yesterday. All cheery and confident. Left two comments using the past tense of the verb to throw. Which would be? Threw. Easy. So why did I type "through" on both blogs like a poorly educated dingbat? I'm declining Latin nouns one minute and can barely spit out English the next.
By four now.
K
Thursday, November 30, 2006
New Bumper Sticker: BEWARE THE BUICK*
Next time you're driving through a grocery store parking lot or limping down the highway behind a slowpoke, check out the name on the car. BUICK. I don't care if Tiger Woods is trying to promote them as hip and happening. You can pretty much count on an older driver, wearing black wrap sunglasses, who is a chiropractor's dream ("Can you turn your head at all, Mrs. Smith? No doctor.") You can just watch her Our Fathering her way into the parking spot. I'm not bashing older drivers (pardon the pun.) Just the older drivers in Buicks. They scare me.
My sister learned to drive on our electric blue 1974 Electra 225. Man that was a great car. But I won the prize. I learned to drive in a 1976 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. Black with red leather interior. I learned to DOCK it, not park it. Tony was the best car ever. I still have a set of keys to Tony in my glove box on a red leather keychain with a tarnished letter K.
*This post does not apply to a certain favorite aunt in Florida.
Next time you're driving through a grocery store parking lot or limping down the highway behind a slowpoke, check out the name on the car. BUICK. I don't care if Tiger Woods is trying to promote them as hip and happening. You can pretty much count on an older driver, wearing black wrap sunglasses, who is a chiropractor's dream ("Can you turn your head at all, Mrs. Smith? No doctor.") You can just watch her Our Fathering her way into the parking spot. I'm not bashing older drivers (pardon the pun.) Just the older drivers in Buicks. They scare me.
My sister learned to drive on our electric blue 1974 Electra 225. Man that was a great car. But I won the prize. I learned to drive in a 1976 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. Black with red leather interior. I learned to DOCK it, not park it. Tony was the best car ever. I still have a set of keys to Tony in my glove box on a red leather keychain with a tarnished letter K.
*This post does not apply to a certain favorite aunt in Florida.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
The Christmas Letter
Do you send those Christmas letters? You know the ones. They tell everyone how your four year old just finished reading the sixth Harry Potter, while ice skating professionally with the Ice Capades, while inching ever closer to a cure for prostate cancer using that neat little chemistry set you picked up for him at the PBS store last year.
Or do you send out the photo card showing your family at the summit of Mt. Everest, or waving wildly out of the Eiffel Tower during your summer vacation? Give me a break.
Holiday cards are supposed to be a lovely way to say "I am thinking of YOU and sending you holiday cheer." They are not intended to be a photoshop version of "In your face sucka! Our life is SO much better than yours!"
Perhaps I'm just a tad envious, and I admit it. Try as I may, it's darn near impossible to get my three girls to look at the camera simultaneously. It's part of that whole "Autism/eye contact" thing. My girls are beautiful with engaging smiles and bright, shining eyes. But I stand a better chance of putting the Loch Ness monster having sex with Big Foot on my holiday card than my three kids in one shot.
But wait! There's hope for us! With digital technology I can now download individual photos onto one holiday card! Or, I can take three photos and reshoot or scan them as one. I have a neat idea for this years' card. Now, how much for airfare for five to Paris?
Do you send those Christmas letters? You know the ones. They tell everyone how your four year old just finished reading the sixth Harry Potter, while ice skating professionally with the Ice Capades, while inching ever closer to a cure for prostate cancer using that neat little chemistry set you picked up for him at the PBS store last year.
Or do you send out the photo card showing your family at the summit of Mt. Everest, or waving wildly out of the Eiffel Tower during your summer vacation? Give me a break.
Holiday cards are supposed to be a lovely way to say "I am thinking of YOU and sending you holiday cheer." They are not intended to be a photoshop version of "In your face sucka! Our life is SO much better than yours!"
Perhaps I'm just a tad envious, and I admit it. Try as I may, it's darn near impossible to get my three girls to look at the camera simultaneously. It's part of that whole "Autism/eye contact" thing. My girls are beautiful with engaging smiles and bright, shining eyes. But I stand a better chance of putting the Loch Ness monster having sex with Big Foot on my holiday card than my three kids in one shot.
But wait! There's hope for us! With digital technology I can now download individual photos onto one holiday card! Or, I can take three photos and reshoot or scan them as one. I have a neat idea for this years' card. Now, how much for airfare for five to Paris?
Friday, November 24, 2006
Men are from Mars, so the family starves. Women are from Venus, I could lop off his....
Today I will use my blog to rant. My husband's family is in the area visiting, staying with his sister about 20 miles from us. We invited everyone over for Frank Pepe's pizza in about 45 minutes. Frank Pepe's is a CT institution and serves the best pizza in the country. Zagats rates the pizza a 27 out of 27 to give you an idea. Almost no one gets a 27 from Zagat, least of all a pizza joint.
We have 9 people coming over including 4 kids and my mother in law (who is a lovely woman, no problems there.) We have 6 here.
I asked my husband to please call Frank Pepe's in advance since the day after Thanksgiving is usually a big "I'm not cooking" day, right? Right. Did he call????? No. Wait. That's a lie. He called them at 4:35pm. And their answering machine says? "We are not taking any take out orders." ARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!
So how far will crudite and chips and salsa go for 15?
AMEN! He raced down to Frank Pepe's and they ARE taking orders, just not over the phone. Mama Mia I'd better put that carving knife down and get ready for pizza!
KS
Today I will use my blog to rant. My husband's family is in the area visiting, staying with his sister about 20 miles from us. We invited everyone over for Frank Pepe's pizza in about 45 minutes. Frank Pepe's is a CT institution and serves the best pizza in the country. Zagats rates the pizza a 27 out of 27 to give you an idea. Almost no one gets a 27 from Zagat, least of all a pizza joint.
We have 9 people coming over including 4 kids and my mother in law (who is a lovely woman, no problems there.) We have 6 here.
I asked my husband to please call Frank Pepe's in advance since the day after Thanksgiving is usually a big "I'm not cooking" day, right? Right. Did he call????? No. Wait. That's a lie. He called them at 4:35pm. And their answering machine says? "We are not taking any take out orders." ARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!
So how far will crudite and chips and salsa go for 15?
AMEN! He raced down to Frank Pepe's and they ARE taking orders, just not over the phone. Mama Mia I'd better put that carving knife down and get ready for pizza!
KS
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
You Should Write a Book...
A writer needs a certain level of confidence to put words onto paper. After all, think about it. A writer creates an entire universe in her fiction book. Unless of course the writer is James Frey, and then you mostly create controversy.I decided to write a book about 2 years ago.
I wake, eat, breathe, and sleep autism, 24/7. I'm not just mother to my 3 girls, I am therapist, drill sgt., doctor, ringleader, zookeeper and security manager. So when people in my autism world kept telling me "You ought to write a book about autism." I cringed. No thank you. I live it, who the heck wants to write about it? And then it occurred to me. "I" can't write about autism, but maybe there's someone in me who can? And in a sneaky "hide the medicine in the pudding" kind of way.
I do use humor and a sharp sarcasm to surmount some of the challenges our family faces. I've always been a smartie pants who leads with her mouth instead of her brain. My babysitter from way back when still tells people that as a five year old, I told one of her pimply boyfriends "You're ugly you ass." Charming, yes? And yet my parents never sold me to the gypsies, so I figure I can manage my own unusual family.
The book idea was tumbling about in my head when the proverbial lightbulb turned on. Not a fluorescent lightbulb, mind you, because they contain and emit MERCURY, the evil metal that just may be the root cause of a lot of today's autism. Let's not get into that today though.Kat Cavicchio was born. She's the protagonist in my book called "Extra Sensory Deception." Kat is the aunt to two children with autism. She can observe her sister's life and better yet, comment on it with a wit and zing that, were it to come from my mouth, as a real live Mom, would surely get my Mother of the Year certificate revoked. And then I'd have to return that pretty apron.
So, the book tumbled out of my head onto my screen over many, many nights. But what a feeling when I was done. Elation! I had written a book. Of course, now comes the hard part. Find an agent who won't return my SASE with just a glance at the word autism in my query. But I'll get there. I'll get there.
KS
A writer needs a certain level of confidence to put words onto paper. After all, think about it. A writer creates an entire universe in her fiction book. Unless of course the writer is James Frey, and then you mostly create controversy.I decided to write a book about 2 years ago.
I wake, eat, breathe, and sleep autism, 24/7. I'm not just mother to my 3 girls, I am therapist, drill sgt., doctor, ringleader, zookeeper and security manager. So when people in my autism world kept telling me "You ought to write a book about autism." I cringed. No thank you. I live it, who the heck wants to write about it? And then it occurred to me. "I" can't write about autism, but maybe there's someone in me who can? And in a sneaky "hide the medicine in the pudding" kind of way.
I do use humor and a sharp sarcasm to surmount some of the challenges our family faces. I've always been a smartie pants who leads with her mouth instead of her brain. My babysitter from way back when still tells people that as a five year old, I told one of her pimply boyfriends "You're ugly you ass." Charming, yes? And yet my parents never sold me to the gypsies, so I figure I can manage my own unusual family.
The book idea was tumbling about in my head when the proverbial lightbulb turned on. Not a fluorescent lightbulb, mind you, because they contain and emit MERCURY, the evil metal that just may be the root cause of a lot of today's autism. Let's not get into that today though.Kat Cavicchio was born. She's the protagonist in my book called "Extra Sensory Deception." Kat is the aunt to two children with autism. She can observe her sister's life and better yet, comment on it with a wit and zing that, were it to come from my mouth, as a real live Mom, would surely get my Mother of the Year certificate revoked. And then I'd have to return that pretty apron.
So, the book tumbled out of my head onto my screen over many, many nights. But what a feeling when I was done. Elation! I had written a book. Of course, now comes the hard part. Find an agent who won't return my SASE with just a glance at the word autism in my query. But I'll get there. I'll get there.
KS
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
HuffPo: The Grateful Voice of the Autism Mom. (It's not a political post)
Here's the link to my latest (hee hee!) post on the Huffington Post super-blog. It's in the Fearless Voices section. Many thanks to Fearless Voices editor Romi Lassally for the privilege of posting on their blog. Along with other autism Moms, including my writer friend Susan Senator. (www.susansenator.com)
If you can't open the link below, simply go to www.huffingtonpost.com and click "Fearless Voices" at the top right. You'll see my smiling face on the left hand column. Yipeeeeeee!
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kim-stagliano/the-grateful-voice-of-the_b_34607.html
Happy Thanksgiving.
KIM
Here's the link to my latest (hee hee!) post on the Huffington Post super-blog. It's in the Fearless Voices section. Many thanks to Fearless Voices editor Romi Lassally for the privilege of posting on their blog. Along with other autism Moms, including my writer friend Susan Senator. (www.susansenator.com)
If you can't open the link below, simply go to www.huffingtonpost.com and click "Fearless Voices" at the top right. You'll see my smiling face on the left hand column. Yipeeeeeee!
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kim-stagliano/the-grateful-voice-of-the_b_34607.html
Happy Thanksgiving.
KIM
Friday, November 17, 2006
For an Italian gal whose kids STILL watch Sesame Street this is beyond priceless. NOTE: R rated language. "Grover" was my eldest daughter's first word. But you've never heard him sound like Joe Pesce before! Dispels all the Ernie and Bert rumors FOR SURE.
Thanks to Bella Stander's www.readingunderthecovers.blogspot.com for sharing this link.
Shortcut to: http://glumbert.com/media/sesamestreet
Thanks to Bella Stander's www.readingunderthecovers.blogspot.com for sharing this link.
Shortcut to: http://glumbert.com/media/sesamestreet
Mommy, what did you do in the war?
I'm hoping to generate authors stories of how they landed their agent, contracts, etc. from a large writing group I'm in on Yahoo. How many queries did you have to send? Worst rejection? So ladies and gents, have at it! And if any agents should wander by (see Kim praying on her knees?) you can share your own good, bad and uglies. Feel free to use anonymous on this one!
Thanks.
I'm hoping to generate authors stories of how they landed their agent, contracts, etc. from a large writing group I'm in on Yahoo. How many queries did you have to send? Worst rejection? So ladies and gents, have at it! And if any agents should wander by (see Kim praying on her knees?) you can share your own good, bad and uglies. Feel free to use anonymous on this one!
Thanks.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
"Would you like some Merlot? I make it in the toilet."
That's a line from a movie opening this weekend about prison. And I find it awfully funny. I'm not sure how a 40 something woman came to have a 16 year old boy's sense of humor. Is there a beleaguered, bullied high school Sophomore somewhere in Duluth or Chatanooga crying himself to sleep at night because his friends don't think The View is must-see TV? I think I have a range of funny - I'm dying to see Borat (when will it be out on DVD? See Babysitter troubles in previous post) but I also adore "Keeping Up Appearances" on BBCTV. Monty Python? The best. American Pie movies? Eat 'em up. 40 year old Virgin? Adored it. This morning Grover on Sesame Street had me roaring.
But I can't watch a network sitcom for more than 35 seconds without flipping. Flipping? Loved Larry Sanders. Hell, I thought Pulp Fiction was a comedy and I was 8 months pregnant when I saw it. Did my fellow theatre go'ers send out silent prayers for the unborn child whose mother thought Bruce Willis in a ball gag was the funniest thing ever?
My MS is funny. Kim funny. Not nice funny. Sharp funny. I wonder what that will mean as I continue the get published journey?
That's a line from a movie opening this weekend about prison. And I find it awfully funny. I'm not sure how a 40 something woman came to have a 16 year old boy's sense of humor. Is there a beleaguered, bullied high school Sophomore somewhere in Duluth or Chatanooga crying himself to sleep at night because his friends don't think The View is must-see TV? I think I have a range of funny - I'm dying to see Borat (when will it be out on DVD? See Babysitter troubles in previous post) but I also adore "Keeping Up Appearances" on BBCTV. Monty Python? The best. American Pie movies? Eat 'em up. 40 year old Virgin? Adored it. This morning Grover on Sesame Street had me roaring.
But I can't watch a network sitcom for more than 35 seconds without flipping. Flipping? Loved Larry Sanders. Hell, I thought Pulp Fiction was a comedy and I was 8 months pregnant when I saw it. Did my fellow theatre go'ers send out silent prayers for the unborn child whose mother thought Bruce Willis in a ball gag was the funniest thing ever?
My MS is funny. Kim funny. Not nice funny. Sharp funny. I wonder what that will mean as I continue the get published journey?
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
More catalog gems.
I love catalog shopping. I usually order online - but I take great joy in reading the bazillion catalogs that hit my mailbox every day, especially now that the holidays are upon us.
I'm pleased to report that the "FUK-U-OKO" finger shaped, travel sized "neck massager" with multiple "tips" is still in stock in more than one catalog. I've yet to hear from any Japanese blogger whether "oku" means "good" in their native tongue. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
So, today's lovely items for your perusal include:
1) "Authentic Redhead" t-shirt. Panties might convince me, a T-shirt? Not so much.
2) A needlepoint pillow that reads "50 years together." I'm thinking a brick would be a better medium for that message. I'll ask my Mom.
3) The "Forest Spirit" skirt, made of tiers of woodsy colored scraps of material that make you look like a compost heap. Available in size 18, in which case you will resemble a giant redwood. Be careful, if you fall while wearing this skirt no one might hear you.
4) Damn you and your technology! How about an old fashioned, giant telephone receiver that sticks onto your cell phone? If they can figure out a way to make it vibrate, I might be interested.
5) A laser pointer that beams a mouse shape so that you can torment your cat by singing "Three blind Mice and One Blind Cat."
6) Oooh, sexy! A shimmery, dangly anklet "as glamorous as any necklace" (that you ordered at 2:00am on Home Shopping Network.) AND it comes with a three inch "extender" so I can wear it around my waist, while Betty Sue can fit it onto her cankle. Excellent!
7) A sweatshirt that I actually like a lot: "Be careful or I'll put you in my novel." Hmmmmmm.
I love catalog shopping. I usually order online - but I take great joy in reading the bazillion catalogs that hit my mailbox every day, especially now that the holidays are upon us.
I'm pleased to report that the "FUK-U-OKO" finger shaped, travel sized "neck massager" with multiple "tips" is still in stock in more than one catalog. I've yet to hear from any Japanese blogger whether "oku" means "good" in their native tongue. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
So, today's lovely items for your perusal include:
1) "Authentic Redhead" t-shirt. Panties might convince me, a T-shirt? Not so much.
2) A needlepoint pillow that reads "50 years together." I'm thinking a brick would be a better medium for that message. I'll ask my Mom.
3) The "Forest Spirit" skirt, made of tiers of woodsy colored scraps of material that make you look like a compost heap. Available in size 18, in which case you will resemble a giant redwood. Be careful, if you fall while wearing this skirt no one might hear you.
4) Damn you and your technology! How about an old fashioned, giant telephone receiver that sticks onto your cell phone? If they can figure out a way to make it vibrate, I might be interested.
5) A laser pointer that beams a mouse shape so that you can torment your cat by singing "Three blind Mice and One Blind Cat."
6) Oooh, sexy! A shimmery, dangly anklet "as glamorous as any necklace" (that you ordered at 2:00am on Home Shopping Network.) AND it comes with a three inch "extender" so I can wear it around my waist, while Betty Sue can fit it onto her cankle. Excellent!
7) A sweatshirt that I actually like a lot: "Be careful or I'll put you in my novel." Hmmmmmm.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Blog Fog
Last night I was blog hopping and found myself at "reading under the covers", the blog of book reviewer Bella Stander. www.readingunderthecovers.blogspot.com Yes it was Saturday night and I should have been out painting the town red, or a least a pale, sickly pink. No such luck.
We're new to our town and finding a sitter for three kids with autism is, ah, a challenge. And while we have one lovely, highly capable young woman who has sat for us, when we go out I spend the evening fretting about my youngest who is extremely attached to me and often cries the entire time I'm away. She doesn't speak, which is both pleasing and horrifying to your average sitter. And then I get panicky for the babysitter and say stupid things like, "Here, let me pay you $20 an hour" or "Sure, invite your boyfriend over next time and what kind of beer does he like?" to cover my awkwardness that she might have a rough night with my kids. But, I'm also the woman who makes the hotel room bed so the maid doesn't think I'm a slob. A middle child, must-please-the world-at-any-cost-to-myself" oddball. Damn I miss our au pair!
Anyway. Ms. Stander had a post about her birthday, her 39th/again kind of birthday. And instead of commenting that in 2006 I celebrated my "second 21st" birthday, I said 21 squared, which would make me 441. On my worst days I don't feel a minute over 94. Bella responded that I must have meant 1681, which is 41 squared. And no where in my math calcs did any number look wrong. I mean I was in a complete brain fog. Could have been the chocolate malt? That crazy Saturday night beverage? :)
Last night I was blog hopping and found myself at "reading under the covers", the blog of book reviewer Bella Stander. www.readingunderthecovers.blogspot.com Yes it was Saturday night and I should have been out painting the town red, or a least a pale, sickly pink. No such luck.
We're new to our town and finding a sitter for three kids with autism is, ah, a challenge. And while we have one lovely, highly capable young woman who has sat for us, when we go out I spend the evening fretting about my youngest who is extremely attached to me and often cries the entire time I'm away. She doesn't speak, which is both pleasing and horrifying to your average sitter. And then I get panicky for the babysitter and say stupid things like, "Here, let me pay you $20 an hour" or "Sure, invite your boyfriend over next time and what kind of beer does he like?" to cover my awkwardness that she might have a rough night with my kids. But, I'm also the woman who makes the hotel room bed so the maid doesn't think I'm a slob. A middle child, must-please-the world-at-any-cost-to-myself" oddball. Damn I miss our au pair!
Anyway. Ms. Stander had a post about her birthday, her 39th/again kind of birthday. And instead of commenting that in 2006 I celebrated my "second 21st" birthday, I said 21 squared, which would make me 441. On my worst days I don't feel a minute over 94. Bella responded that I must have meant 1681, which is 41 squared. And no where in my math calcs did any number look wrong. I mean I was in a complete brain fog. Could have been the chocolate malt? That crazy Saturday night beverage? :)
Friday, November 10, 2006
When Books are Like Drugs (good drugs)
Is there an author out there that you know, when you pick up his or her book, you're going to be completely taken away? I'm currently reading Ray Bradbury's collection of short stories in "One More For The Road", a newer collection. His writing feels to me the way drug addicts explain that first shot of heroin. A warm infusion of content. Fortunately, reading is both legal and leaves no tracks on your forearm. Whether Bradbury is writing science fiction, literary fiction or commercial fiction - his ENDINGS are what blow me away. The last sentence of his stories are beyond magnificent. I started reading him in High School. Golden Apples of the Sun and I Sing The Body Electric. I remember his characters, their words, their actions, their emotions even today a couple of decades later.
Today my hat's off to Ray Bradbury. To whom would you tip yours?
Is there an author out there that you know, when you pick up his or her book, you're going to be completely taken away? I'm currently reading Ray Bradbury's collection of short stories in "One More For The Road", a newer collection. His writing feels to me the way drug addicts explain that first shot of heroin. A warm infusion of content. Fortunately, reading is both legal and leaves no tracks on your forearm. Whether Bradbury is writing science fiction, literary fiction or commercial fiction - his ENDINGS are what blow me away. The last sentence of his stories are beyond magnificent. I started reading him in High School. Golden Apples of the Sun and I Sing The Body Electric. I remember his characters, their words, their actions, their emotions even today a couple of decades later.
Today my hat's off to Ray Bradbury. To whom would you tip yours?
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
Marvelous Monday!
Good things today! A) My 6 year old said "more please" at school. She has no speech yet, has said a few words but never two words together (I'm floating on air over this!) B) my 11 year old said "You're welcome" after I told her "Thank you" before school today. She rarely answers/responds to anything we say, although she can speak in sentences of up to 4 words and C) I sent two partials and prepped a full to send tomorrow with my new found confidence and info from Backspace.
VOTE TOMORROW! Whatever your position on the issues, exercise this important right!
Good things today! A) My 6 year old said "more please" at school. She has no speech yet, has said a few words but never two words together (I'm floating on air over this!) B) my 11 year old said "You're welcome" after I told her "Thank you" before school today. She rarely answers/responds to anything we say, although she can speak in sentences of up to 4 words and C) I sent two partials and prepped a full to send tomorrow with my new found confidence and info from Backspace.
VOTE TOMORROW! Whatever your position on the issues, exercise this important right!
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Thursday, November 02, 2006
This was my first blog post. Since I have a lot of newcomers stopping by I thought I'd re-run it. Welcome! Play nicely.
Hello, Blogosphere. Is this mike on? Helloooo helloooo helloooo?
OK, here I go.I'm Kim Stagliano. No wait, that sounds too much like the start of an AA meeting.
Hi! Noooo. Way too E-harmony.com.
Hey there. Iccckkk, bad pick up line meets Freddie Boom Boom Washington.
Alright. Take 4. I'm Kim Stagliano, and my current claims to fame are as follows.
1) I have written and am shopping a manuscript called "Autism Is Murder." (unless an agent or editor asks me to change the name, in which case, I will toss that title into the trash faster than Joan Rivers ran to the plastic surgeon on her 40th birthday. Or was it her 35th?) NOTE: Since changed to "Extra Sensory Deception."
2) Mimicking. I can mimic almost any voice. Have you ever heard Zoe from Sesame Street tell Elmo to stick it where the sunny days don't shine? I can do that. And I can sing in about a zillion voices. I once sang nursery rhymes to my kids in Cher's voice. Cher is particularly adept at "Baaaa Baaaa Black Sheep" as you can imagine. When Alanis Morrissette sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" my youngest daughter cried. But Alanis did get a little morose during the "down came the rain" part.
3) I can still fit into my wedding gown, although that little trick is starting to tread on Miss Havisham's territory if you get my drift.
4) I am the proud mom of three beautiful daughters who just happen to have autism. Yup. Not one, not two, but a hat trick! Stop shaking your head and thinking that I did way too many drugs in college. I've already taken that guilt trip, thank you very much.I'd like to think we are a freak of nature, but I know plenty of families with multiple children with autism. Even 4 or 5 kids! Scary stuff people. Please note, I will rarely if ever refer to my girls as autistic. After all, kids with cancer are not called "cancerous." My children have autism. That means I can help them GET RID OF IT. Which is really how I spend my days when not blollygagging on this new toy called my Blog. More on that later.
5) I have a husband, whom my best friend and the gal who really encouraged me to write my book referred to this morning as, "your Division I husband." I refer to him as my man of steel for all the right reasons. Most of all, because he can weather any storm life throws at him, and we've had a Katrina of a life together, since the kids arrived.
So, welcome to my blog. Drop me a line. I'm off to use my Dyson. My life isn't all glamour you know.
Hello, Blogosphere. Is this mike on? Helloooo helloooo helloooo?
OK, here I go.I'm Kim Stagliano. No wait, that sounds too much like the start of an AA meeting.
Hi! Noooo. Way too E-harmony.com.
Hey there. Iccckkk, bad pick up line meets Freddie Boom Boom Washington.
Alright. Take 4. I'm Kim Stagliano, and my current claims to fame are as follows.
1) I have written and am shopping a manuscript called "Autism Is Murder." (unless an agent or editor asks me to change the name, in which case, I will toss that title into the trash faster than Joan Rivers ran to the plastic surgeon on her 40th birthday. Or was it her 35th?) NOTE: Since changed to "Extra Sensory Deception."
2) Mimicking. I can mimic almost any voice. Have you ever heard Zoe from Sesame Street tell Elmo to stick it where the sunny days don't shine? I can do that. And I can sing in about a zillion voices. I once sang nursery rhymes to my kids in Cher's voice. Cher is particularly adept at "Baaaa Baaaa Black Sheep" as you can imagine. When Alanis Morrissette sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" my youngest daughter cried. But Alanis did get a little morose during the "down came the rain" part.
3) I can still fit into my wedding gown, although that little trick is starting to tread on Miss Havisham's territory if you get my drift.
4) I am the proud mom of three beautiful daughters who just happen to have autism. Yup. Not one, not two, but a hat trick! Stop shaking your head and thinking that I did way too many drugs in college. I've already taken that guilt trip, thank you very much.I'd like to think we are a freak of nature, but I know plenty of families with multiple children with autism. Even 4 or 5 kids! Scary stuff people. Please note, I will rarely if ever refer to my girls as autistic. After all, kids with cancer are not called "cancerous." My children have autism. That means I can help them GET RID OF IT. Which is really how I spend my days when not blollygagging on this new toy called my Blog. More on that later.
5) I have a husband, whom my best friend and the gal who really encouraged me to write my book referred to this morning as, "your Division I husband." I refer to him as my man of steel for all the right reasons. Most of all, because he can weather any storm life throws at him, and we've had a Katrina of a life together, since the kids arrived.
So, welcome to my blog. Drop me a line. I'm off to use my Dyson. My life isn't all glamour you know.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
My Fearless Voice
I am pretty excited today. I have a blog post (with photo no less!) running on the Huffington Post "Fearless Voices" section. It gives you an idea of the voice in my novel -- although the post is my reality, not fiction.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/becoming-fearless/
Click on over and leave a comment, won't you?
I'm off to the Backspace writers conference on Friday and I think that now I can answer "Yes, I am published."
KIM
I am pretty excited today. I have a blog post (with photo no less!) running on the Huffington Post "Fearless Voices" section. It gives you an idea of the voice in my novel -- although the post is my reality, not fiction.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/becoming-fearless/
Click on over and leave a comment, won't you?
I'm off to the Backspace writers conference on Friday and I think that now I can answer "Yes, I am published."
KIM
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Joe Barton was voted out of office on Tuesday. Perhaps you can find him wrapping chalupa's at the Richardson TX Taco Bell come January.
Here are the contact numbers for Joe Barton, Republican Congressman in Texas. Take 2 minutes - call his office and just tell him that denying access to a constituent is wrong - and stomping out the unanimous Senate vote for the Combatting Autism Act by refusing to release the bill to the House for a vote (there are enough votes in the house for it to pass) is playing GOD with our legislative system.
What is MAKING him hold onto this bill? What pressure keeps him from keeping his word to Suzanne Wright of Autism Speaks? No politician would put himself through the public excoriation Barton is getting without someone holding a very large GUN to his head. So, what is it that's WORSE for Barton than being tossed about the Internet like the cheap gal at the saloon? I'd like to know. Money? Some horrible secret? Someone's got something on him.
Please, for my 6 year old who can not say "Trick or Treats" and the 1 in 166 autistic kids in America's sake -- call his office.
Washington Office2109 Rayburn BuildingWashington, DC 20515(202) 225-2002(202) 225-3052 fax
Arlington Office6001 West I-20, Suite 200Arlington, Texas 76017(817) 543-1000(817) 548-7029 fax
Ennis Office2106 A W. Ennis Ave.Ennis, Texas 75119(817) 543-1000(972) 875-1907 fax
Crockett Office303 N. 6th St.Crockett, TX 75835(936) 544-8488
THANK YOU - Kim
Here are the contact numbers for Joe Barton, Republican Congressman in Texas. Take 2 minutes - call his office and just tell him that denying access to a constituent is wrong - and stomping out the unanimous Senate vote for the Combatting Autism Act by refusing to release the bill to the House for a vote (there are enough votes in the house for it to pass) is playing GOD with our legislative system.
What is MAKING him hold onto this bill? What pressure keeps him from keeping his word to Suzanne Wright of Autism Speaks? No politician would put himself through the public excoriation Barton is getting without someone holding a very large GUN to his head. So, what is it that's WORSE for Barton than being tossed about the Internet like the cheap gal at the saloon? I'd like to know. Money? Some horrible secret? Someone's got something on him.
Please, for my 6 year old who can not say "Trick or Treats" and the 1 in 166 autistic kids in America's sake -- call his office.
Washington Office2109 Rayburn BuildingWashington, DC 20515(202) 225-2002(202) 225-3052 fax
Arlington Office6001 West I-20, Suite 200Arlington, Texas 76017(817) 543-1000(817) 548-7029 fax
Ennis Office2106 A W. Ennis Ave.Ennis, Texas 75119(817) 543-1000(972) 875-1907 fax
Crockett Office303 N. 6th St.Crockett, TX 75835(936) 544-8488
THANK YOU - Kim
Monday, October 30, 2006
UPDATE:
Here is the link to the YouTube video of Representative Joe Barton, R, Texas calling the police on a constituent, a father with a son with autism, who calmly requested that he join the "Town Meeting" that was held at Barton's Office.
We was denied access. Imus aired the entire 4 minute clip this morning (10/31). My stomach is sick - and I've barely started on the giant bowl of Halloween candy.
http://imusblog.com/congressman-joe-barton-calls-police-on-autism-parents/
Thanks, Big Roy!
Hmm, I don't have a lot of friends with names like "Big Roy." But I want to thank the owner of the Imusblog for adding a link to this blog. Like a lot of parents of kids with autism, I am grateful to Imus and his wife Deirdre for his constant message about the politics of our kids' lives. Not sure if Big Roy and Imus know eachother -- or if Big Roy is just a FAN (pun intended). But his YouTube link to Joe Barton and "get the word out" approach is most appreciated.
KS
Here is the link to the YouTube video of Representative Joe Barton, R, Texas calling the police on a constituent, a father with a son with autism, who calmly requested that he join the "Town Meeting" that was held at Barton's Office.
We was denied access. Imus aired the entire 4 minute clip this morning (10/31). My stomach is sick - and I've barely started on the giant bowl of Halloween candy.
http://imusblog.com/congressman-joe-barton-calls-police-on-autism-parents/
Thanks, Big Roy!
Hmm, I don't have a lot of friends with names like "Big Roy." But I want to thank the owner of the Imusblog for adding a link to this blog. Like a lot of parents of kids with autism, I am grateful to Imus and his wife Deirdre for his constant message about the politics of our kids' lives. Not sure if Big Roy and Imus know eachother -- or if Big Roy is just a FAN (pun intended). But his YouTube link to Joe Barton and "get the word out" approach is most appreciated.
KS
Huffington Post
I'm waiting to hear if The Huffington Post is going to run my "Fearless Voices" submission, titled "Why President Bush Should Have Appointed an Autism Mom to run the war."
The submission is a blog entry that talks about what it takes to lead three girls with autism through the grocery store. The planning, the mental telepathy, the Kevlar shield over my heart as people stare at us. It's powerful and says so much about both the political world AND the autism world, which now, seem irrevocably twisted.
I'll link you if/when it runs.
Friday I'm attending a Backspace writers conference in NY. Not only is this a chance to meet agents and editors, it's a chance to interact with grown ups for several hours without ever having to utter "flush the toilet or did you wipe?" Joy!
KS
I'm waiting to hear if The Huffington Post is going to run my "Fearless Voices" submission, titled "Why President Bush Should Have Appointed an Autism Mom to run the war."
The submission is a blog entry that talks about what it takes to lead three girls with autism through the grocery store. The planning, the mental telepathy, the Kevlar shield over my heart as people stare at us. It's powerful and says so much about both the political world AND the autism world, which now, seem irrevocably twisted.
I'll link you if/when it runs.
Friday I'm attending a Backspace writers conference in NY. Not only is this a chance to meet agents and editors, it's a chance to interact with grown ups for several hours without ever having to utter "flush the toilet or did you wipe?" Joy!
KS
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Joe Barton, (R) Texas Calls Police on Parent of Autistic Child
Imus and Miss Snark share something in common - passion and a sense of justice. Check out the Imus fan post including a YouTube video of Joe Barton calling the cops on a father who tried to attend the meeting of congressman. Imus will not let Joe Barton forget this one.
I realized two weeks ago that I have logged over 243,300 hours on planet autism. I have not one, not two, but a hat trick of beautiful, brave daughters with autism. I adore my three girls and will work until the very last breath I draw to help figure out what the hell happened to them and how can I make their lives a little easier.
That's why I write. That's why I weave autism into my writing -- with a humor and passion and sharp bite of the mother who is relentless. I am an autism Mom. LOOK OUT.
http://imusblog.com/congressman-joe-barton-calls-police-on-autism-parents/
KIM
Imus and Miss Snark share something in common - passion and a sense of justice. Check out the Imus fan post including a YouTube video of Joe Barton calling the cops on a father who tried to attend the meeting of congressman. Imus will not let Joe Barton forget this one.
I realized two weeks ago that I have logged over 243,300 hours on planet autism. I have not one, not two, but a hat trick of beautiful, brave daughters with autism. I adore my three girls and will work until the very last breath I draw to help figure out what the hell happened to them and how can I make their lives a little easier.
That's why I write. That's why I weave autism into my writing -- with a humor and passion and sharp bite of the mother who is relentless. I am an autism Mom. LOOK OUT.
http://imusblog.com/congressman-joe-barton-calls-police-on-autism-parents/
KIM
Friday, October 27, 2006
Caveat Emptor -- Especially to aspiring writers.
A NY literary agent who hosts a blog under the pseudonym "Miss Snark" posted twice today about a new scam that threatens the prospective careers of writers along with the integrity of the industry she holds dear. It's not NICE to fool Miss Snark. And she is PISSED. Rightly so.
The nutshell version goes like this. Scam literary agents exist. They charge "reading fees", refer new writers to for-pay-editorial-work houses who kick back fees or are on their payroll and general run scams that seldom if ever lead to legit publishing. They operate for a while, close their doors, reopen with another name. Like any flim flam business, like "Wobistics"the stock scam run a few seasons ago on The Sopranos.
There are websites dedicated to flushing out the scammers. Preditors and Editors is one such site.
A new site has been launched as a counterpoint to Preditors and Editors, by several of the agencies known throughout the industry as on the "low side of integrity" -- capsica? This site announces a "new" literary association called the International Independent Literary Agents Association. www.iilaa.com.
Perhaps an analogy would be if 20 doctors who had been sued for malpracticed and LOST announced that they were part of the AAALP, The American Association for the Advancement of Live Patients". Their name sounds nifty, until you peel back the layers to find the rotten core.
I am a unpublished writer (for now.) I've joined groups that have helped me learn the do's and don'ts of how to get published on the "up and up." Sending your query to agents takes chutzpah -- the rejection level high and the process is daunting. But to submit to a scammer and be taken for a costly ride because you didn't know they weren't legit? That's just wrong.
So, as a dedicated Snarkling -- I am blogging this so that writers will spread the word. There's a new virus in town. Mind your firewalls.
KS
A NY literary agent who hosts a blog under the pseudonym "Miss Snark" posted twice today about a new scam that threatens the prospective careers of writers along with the integrity of the industry she holds dear. It's not NICE to fool Miss Snark. And she is PISSED. Rightly so.
The nutshell version goes like this. Scam literary agents exist. They charge "reading fees", refer new writers to for-pay-editorial-work houses who kick back fees or are on their payroll and general run scams that seldom if ever lead to legit publishing. They operate for a while, close their doors, reopen with another name. Like any flim flam business, like "Wobistics"the stock scam run a few seasons ago on The Sopranos.
There are websites dedicated to flushing out the scammers. Preditors and Editors is one such site.
A new site has been launched as a counterpoint to Preditors and Editors, by several of the agencies known throughout the industry as on the "low side of integrity" -- capsica? This site announces a "new" literary association called the International Independent Literary Agents Association. www.iilaa.com.
Perhaps an analogy would be if 20 doctors who had been sued for malpracticed and LOST announced that they were part of the AAALP, The American Association for the Advancement of Live Patients". Their name sounds nifty, until you peel back the layers to find the rotten core.
I am a unpublished writer (for now.) I've joined groups that have helped me learn the do's and don'ts of how to get published on the "up and up." Sending your query to agents takes chutzpah -- the rejection level high and the process is daunting. But to submit to a scammer and be taken for a costly ride because you didn't know they weren't legit? That's just wrong.
So, as a dedicated Snarkling -- I am blogging this so that writers will spread the word. There's a new virus in town. Mind your firewalls.
KS
Thursday, October 26, 2006
People from Harvard really ARE smart.
A poor student fell out of an 11 story window at 10:00 in the morning. Nothing to joke about there, it's someone's son and I hope he's OK.
However, the news reports "Police have been on the scene investigating, but Harvard officials called the incident an "apparent fall.""
An apparent fall? Let's see. He was on the 11th floor, then he was sprawled on the ground right below his window. Gentlemen are we in agreement on this? An "apparent fall?" Yes. OK, now we can talk to the police.
Why do I write fiction when the news is so ripe with stories??
A poor student fell out of an 11 story window at 10:00 in the morning. Nothing to joke about there, it's someone's son and I hope he's OK.
However, the news reports "Police have been on the scene investigating, but Harvard officials called the incident an "apparent fall.""
An apparent fall? Let's see. He was on the 11th floor, then he was sprawled on the ground right below his window. Gentlemen are we in agreement on this? An "apparent fall?" Yes. OK, now we can talk to the police.
Why do I write fiction when the news is so ripe with stories??
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
CLA$$ TRIP$
My kids are in Kindergarten, grade 4 and grade 6. Their Fall field trips have totalled $70. $12 x 2 to go to a local pumpkin farm and McDonalds (where they can't eat), $16 to go to Hartford, $10 for an IMAX movie and $20 payable now to see A Christmas Carol at the famous Westport playhouse. I think these are fantastic trips. I'd spend $100 for a field trip to Radio City Music Hall. But what about the families who can't afford the extra $70 in a week's time? Maybe a list of the out of pocket expenses that occur through the year could go home in September so parents can prepare? $70 might be a week's groceries or the gas bill. Kind of bothered me.
KS
My kids are in Kindergarten, grade 4 and grade 6. Their Fall field trips have totalled $70. $12 x 2 to go to a local pumpkin farm and McDonalds (where they can't eat), $16 to go to Hartford, $10 for an IMAX movie and $20 payable now to see A Christmas Carol at the famous Westport playhouse. I think these are fantastic trips. I'd spend $100 for a field trip to Radio City Music Hall. But what about the families who can't afford the extra $70 in a week's time? Maybe a list of the out of pocket expenses that occur through the year could go home in September so parents can prepare? $70 might be a week's groceries or the gas bill. Kind of bothered me.
KS
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Typing out of key. I'm PATHEIC!
Yesterday I Starbucked my keyboard. It died a dignified, Venti House death. My husband boughyt me a new keybaord,k. The kind that is ergonomically cporrect. That menas it slopes to the left and rioght with a chasm between the place where my pre-arthritic fingers (very pre, I'm not that old) recall the 6,t,g,b and the 7,y,h,n.
I no longer need fear carpal tunnel syndrome. I simply risk looking like my parents pulled me from schopol in the third grade. I'm not sure if the space shuttle has been launched since I started hitting the numerous, unexplaincxed keys nefore me.
I miss my old QWERTY. It has told the Y to take a hike over the other side. My spell vheck is going to be very veru sisu. Ah, busy.
Now where the heck is the button to make Sunday dinner?
Kim STalgtiaho
Yesterday I Starbucked my keyboard. It died a dignified, Venti House death. My husband boughyt me a new keybaord,k. The kind that is ergonomically cporrect. That menas it slopes to the left and rioght with a chasm between the place where my pre-arthritic fingers (very pre, I'm not that old) recall the 6,t,g,b and the 7,y,h,n.
I no longer need fear carpal tunnel syndrome. I simply risk looking like my parents pulled me from schopol in the third grade. I'm not sure if the space shuttle has been launched since I started hitting the numerous, unexplaincxed keys nefore me.
I miss my old QWERTY. It has told the Y to take a hike over the other side. My spell vheck is going to be very veru sisu. Ah, busy.
Now where the heck is the button to make Sunday dinner?
Kim STalgtiaho
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
The Curly Girl Cut
Three years ago about now I read a book called "Curly Girl" by Lorraine Massey, a stylist in NYC. I picked it up at the library in Hudson, Ohio where I lived at the time. You know how sometimes you glimpse a book on the return cart and pick it up? That was "Curly Girl." I'd never gone over to whatever shelf it was headed for on that cart. Let's see. Mystery, Fiction, Horrible Hair.
NE Ohio is where I had gotten the second worst hair cut of my life - at a salon in STOW Ohio where the owner bragged that he had clients coming to see him all the way from Nebraska. I should have dropped the Grape Nehi and Saltines with Velveeta he was serving and run when I heard that. I didn't, and instead of a Debra Messing curl, I got a mushroom cap with Carol Brady wisps.
If you go to www.devachansalon.com you'll link into Lorraine Massey's salon in Soho (short for South of Houston, a trendy area in NYC. And Houston is pronounced HOUSE-tin, not HUSE-tin.) NY really wants little to do with Texas. She trains hair stylists around the country and now there are even stylists in Cleveland and Akron. Although in typical New Yorker view of the world, they spell it Cleaveland. (Cleveland is actually a nice little city, loaded with cultural gems, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and a housing market that makes me cry with regret now that I'm in CT.)
My cut is next week at a salon in CT with a trained "curl consultant." I'll let you know how it goes. Pray for me.
KS
Three years ago about now I read a book called "Curly Girl" by Lorraine Massey, a stylist in NYC. I picked it up at the library in Hudson, Ohio where I lived at the time. You know how sometimes you glimpse a book on the return cart and pick it up? That was "Curly Girl." I'd never gone over to whatever shelf it was headed for on that cart. Let's see. Mystery, Fiction, Horrible Hair.
NE Ohio is where I had gotten the second worst hair cut of my life - at a salon in STOW Ohio where the owner bragged that he had clients coming to see him all the way from Nebraska. I should have dropped the Grape Nehi and Saltines with Velveeta he was serving and run when I heard that. I didn't, and instead of a Debra Messing curl, I got a mushroom cap with Carol Brady wisps.
If you go to www.devachansalon.com you'll link into Lorraine Massey's salon in Soho (short for South of Houston, a trendy area in NYC. And Houston is pronounced HOUSE-tin, not HUSE-tin.) NY really wants little to do with Texas. She trains hair stylists around the country and now there are even stylists in Cleveland and Akron. Although in typical New Yorker view of the world, they spell it Cleaveland. (Cleveland is actually a nice little city, loaded with cultural gems, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and a housing market that makes me cry with regret now that I'm in CT.)
My cut is next week at a salon in CT with a trained "curl consultant." I'll let you know how it goes. Pray for me.
KS
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Short Bus - near miss!
I'm typing this in bold because my heart is still pounding. In an earlier post, I told you that my kids ride the special ed bus, and take a little extra time loading and unloading - and drivers get impatient (see "blowing by the short bus" post.)
Today, on this slick, chilly rainy day, my daughter's bus was stopped in front of our house (oh, yes, one of the best perks of autism is that you get the bus to come right to your front door, no sharing a bus stop with the neurotypical riff raff.) A police car happened to be directly behind the bus. I smiled at Johnny G man and waited for my daughter to get off the bus.
SCREEEEEECCCHHHH came a piddly shit Dodge Neon over the small hill before our house. Driver slammed on the brakes, slid half way off the road and narrowly missed the car behind the cop car. A chain reaction collision would have smashed right into my daughter's bus as she was climbing carefully down the step, left foot right foot stop, left foot right foot stop.
The cop cited the driver and now, I hope might consider a sign - not that "bus stop" or even "Slow children" (never did like that sign) will prevent drivers from speeding down my street.
Thank you Guardian Angel -- probably Archangel Michael, sent by my dear, departed father in law.
KS
I'm typing this in bold because my heart is still pounding. In an earlier post, I told you that my kids ride the special ed bus, and take a little extra time loading and unloading - and drivers get impatient (see "blowing by the short bus" post.)
Today, on this slick, chilly rainy day, my daughter's bus was stopped in front of our house (oh, yes, one of the best perks of autism is that you get the bus to come right to your front door, no sharing a bus stop with the neurotypical riff raff.) A police car happened to be directly behind the bus. I smiled at Johnny G man and waited for my daughter to get off the bus.
SCREEEEEECCCHHHH came a piddly shit Dodge Neon over the small hill before our house. Driver slammed on the brakes, slid half way off the road and narrowly missed the car behind the cop car. A chain reaction collision would have smashed right into my daughter's bus as she was climbing carefully down the step, left foot right foot stop, left foot right foot stop.
The cop cited the driver and now, I hope might consider a sign - not that "bus stop" or even "Slow children" (never did like that sign) will prevent drivers from speeding down my street.
Thank you Guardian Angel -- probably Archangel Michael, sent by my dear, departed father in law.
KS
Sunday, October 15, 2006
HAIR CARE (an excerpt)
“She looks like Donald Duck.” Those were my father’s words when my mother brought me home from the hospital. My mom relates the story (wine glass shaking in her hand) with raised eyebrows and a slight scowl that telegraphs her disbelief even today, a zillion years later. He wasn’t completely wrong, from what my sister tells me. I had tufts of reddish brown hair fluffing out around my ears. As if to corroborate the story, I have no newborn photos of myself, only those with a small black dateline “April 1964” or later imprinted in the border of the fading Kodak black and white photos in my album.
My baby hair became dark and just unruly enough to make you wonder if my mother had ever received or purchased a soft bristled, silver baby brush. If she had, my older sister Michele, she of the lush, shiny tresses, must have hidden it under a bed round about November 1963, just prior to my arrival in the family. My saving grace? My eyes. I had large, blue eyes that really caught everyone’s attention. When they weren’t “tisk tisking” over my hair.
I can barely recall a time in my childhood when I didn’t envy everyone else’s hair. Starting in my own family, where many selfish, unpleasant thoughts are born. My mother had the most wonderful hair I had ever seen. A thick tumble of dark brown, straight hair that hung to her waist. It was as luxurious as a mink coat. And to my adoring eyes, as elegant. This was the 1960’s, when 26 year old married women who didn’t get the memo about free love and pot wrapped their long hair into giant buns on top of their heads a la Audrey Hepburn. My mother was no exception, with her mysterious widows peak that added to the dramatic effect of her hair. She had hair pins the size of pliers that she embedded into her swirl of hair with practiced ease.
My grandmother had been a hairdresser and continued to ply her trade long after her license had expired. Grandma Yoli cut my sister’s and my hair for years. She called it a pixie cut. We always had the pixie. Short, swept to the side, just nipped around the ears. My sister’s pixie was beautiful. Her well behaved hair fell softly and smoothly around her face, framing her almond shaped, green eyes. My pixie never sat politely on my head looking all pretty. My hair flitted about my head in nilly willy flips and curves and turns, never landing in the same spot twice.
My hair envy only deepened when my brother was born. When he, the exalted boy, arrived home from the hospital, everyone was aghast at his shock of thick black hair. I was delighted at this glaring defect that eclipsed even my own. The kid’s hair looked like a burnt, blackened, thatched roof. But the hair gods smiled upon him, and his hair gently faded into a poker straight caramel colored picture perfect blond. BLOND!
My hair slowly grew out, and by fourth grade, I naively thought I had left my hair cares behind. My fifth and sixth grade school pictures show my brown hair neatly pulled back into a half ponytail, softly draped on my shoulders. Not bad! And then came junior high. And the hormones. And the horrible little man at the Walpole Mall hair salon who took my long hair and cropped it into the hair style that my family dubbed “the bubble.” I still don’t know if the short cut was my idea or my Mom’s. I don’t have the nerve to ask her. I love the woman and don’t want to know that it was her decision to throw me under the coiffure bus.
“She looks like Donald Duck.” Those were my father’s words when my mother brought me home from the hospital. My mom relates the story (wine glass shaking in her hand) with raised eyebrows and a slight scowl that telegraphs her disbelief even today, a zillion years later. He wasn’t completely wrong, from what my sister tells me. I had tufts of reddish brown hair fluffing out around my ears. As if to corroborate the story, I have no newborn photos of myself, only those with a small black dateline “April 1964” or later imprinted in the border of the fading Kodak black and white photos in my album.
My baby hair became dark and just unruly enough to make you wonder if my mother had ever received or purchased a soft bristled, silver baby brush. If she had, my older sister Michele, she of the lush, shiny tresses, must have hidden it under a bed round about November 1963, just prior to my arrival in the family. My saving grace? My eyes. I had large, blue eyes that really caught everyone’s attention. When they weren’t “tisk tisking” over my hair.
I can barely recall a time in my childhood when I didn’t envy everyone else’s hair. Starting in my own family, where many selfish, unpleasant thoughts are born. My mother had the most wonderful hair I had ever seen. A thick tumble of dark brown, straight hair that hung to her waist. It was as luxurious as a mink coat. And to my adoring eyes, as elegant. This was the 1960’s, when 26 year old married women who didn’t get the memo about free love and pot wrapped their long hair into giant buns on top of their heads a la Audrey Hepburn. My mother was no exception, with her mysterious widows peak that added to the dramatic effect of her hair. She had hair pins the size of pliers that she embedded into her swirl of hair with practiced ease.
My grandmother had been a hairdresser and continued to ply her trade long after her license had expired. Grandma Yoli cut my sister’s and my hair for years. She called it a pixie cut. We always had the pixie. Short, swept to the side, just nipped around the ears. My sister’s pixie was beautiful. Her well behaved hair fell softly and smoothly around her face, framing her almond shaped, green eyes. My pixie never sat politely on my head looking all pretty. My hair flitted about my head in nilly willy flips and curves and turns, never landing in the same spot twice.
My hair envy only deepened when my brother was born. When he, the exalted boy, arrived home from the hospital, everyone was aghast at his shock of thick black hair. I was delighted at this glaring defect that eclipsed even my own. The kid’s hair looked like a burnt, blackened, thatched roof. But the hair gods smiled upon him, and his hair gently faded into a poker straight caramel colored picture perfect blond. BLOND!
My hair slowly grew out, and by fourth grade, I naively thought I had left my hair cares behind. My fifth and sixth grade school pictures show my brown hair neatly pulled back into a half ponytail, softly draped on my shoulders. Not bad! And then came junior high. And the hormones. And the horrible little man at the Walpole Mall hair salon who took my long hair and cropped it into the hair style that my family dubbed “the bubble.” I still don’t know if the short cut was my idea or my Mom’s. I don’t have the nerve to ask her. I love the woman and don’t want to know that it was her decision to throw me under the coiffure bus.
Friday, October 13, 2006
WEEDS
Do you watch the Showtime series "Weeds" with Mary Louise Parker, Elizabeth Perkins and Kevin Nealon? Monday nights at 10pm but we Tivo it. It's about a well to do, suburban woman who starts selling pot to make money after her husband dies. Desperate Housewives meets Cheech and Chong. Best TV on TV until the Soprano's returns.
K
Do you watch the Showtime series "Weeds" with Mary Louise Parker, Elizabeth Perkins and Kevin Nealon? Monday nights at 10pm but we Tivo it. It's about a well to do, suburban woman who starts selling pot to make money after her husband dies. Desperate Housewives meets Cheech and Chong. Best TV on TV until the Soprano's returns.
K
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Mr. Fred Head (honest to God that's his name) accuses a Romance writer who is running for office in Texas of writing PORN. She wrote a mass market paperback called "A Perfect Romance" that was probably in every CVS in America. Back in 1990!
Check out www.votefredhead.com to see this dental disaster of a man and his allegations about a Romance writer.
I’m sorry. I’ll say it up front. I know this is not a political blog. But this Fred Head is just a symptom of a much larger issue.
A) Mr. Fred Head needs to learn to spell – his extracts from the book are spelled Extraxts. Sooper, yes? Guess its that fine Texas education (ranking close to last in America)
B) He says this book goes against the Christian values of Texas? On a list of of divorce rates by states, Texas is #14. The Northeast, including my home state of Massachusetts ranks the LOWEST (#50) in divorce. Seems to me that staying married is a true Christian value as virtually all Christian wedding ceremonies have that “let no man put asunder” line, right? The top of the divorce pile are the bible belt states.
"Massachusetts and Connecticut rank first and second, respectively, for having the lowest divorce rates in the nation, according to new 1994 divorce data from the National Center for Health Statistics. Both states experienced a moderate drop in divorce rates between 1992 and 1994 to remain at the top of the list. Massachusetts fell from 2.8 in 1992 to 2.4 in 1994, while Connecticut fell from 3.1 to 2.8. Nevada once again had the highest divorce rate in the country, even though it experienced the most marked drop in divorce rates during the two-year period. Nevada fell from 11.4 in 1992 to 9.0 in 1994. The divorce rate per 1,000 population for the entire United States was 4.6 in 1994, down from 4.8 in 1992. Generally, rates were lower in the Northeast and Midwest and higher in the West and Southeast. "
C) Mr. Head ought to take a peek at Florida, a state as red as Mr. Heads face when we read that thar porn, and its Rep. Foley, who was allowed to ply his trade in young boys in exchange for fund raising dollars and a sure vote for an important state – and the leadership in Washington who turned a blind eye.
The hypocrisy is staggering. I’m willing to bet my last penny (it’s in my purse right now) that Mr. Head has watched Debbie Does Dallas on his Betamax more times that my kids have thrown their peas onto the floor. Here’s a thought, Mr. Head, want to protect marriage? Outlaw divorce. Hmmm, maybe not, huh?
Texas Christian Values? An insult to Christians, God fearing Texans of all faiths. Y'all gotta be kiddin me, raght?
(PS) The Combatting Autism Act DIED in Texas last week. Held ransom by Rep. Joe Barton after sailing through the Senate unanimously. He killed it and would not release it to a vote in the House, where it would have passed. A giant FU to my 3 kids and countless others.
Check out www.votefredhead.com to see this dental disaster of a man and his allegations about a Romance writer.
I’m sorry. I’ll say it up front. I know this is not a political blog. But this Fred Head is just a symptom of a much larger issue.
A) Mr. Fred Head needs to learn to spell – his extracts from the book are spelled Extraxts. Sooper, yes? Guess its that fine Texas education (ranking close to last in America)
B) He says this book goes against the Christian values of Texas? On a list of of divorce rates by states, Texas is #14. The Northeast, including my home state of Massachusetts ranks the LOWEST (#50) in divorce. Seems to me that staying married is a true Christian value as virtually all Christian wedding ceremonies have that “let no man put asunder” line, right? The top of the divorce pile are the bible belt states.
"Massachusetts and Connecticut rank first and second, respectively, for having the lowest divorce rates in the nation, according to new 1994 divorce data from the National Center for Health Statistics. Both states experienced a moderate drop in divorce rates between 1992 and 1994 to remain at the top of the list. Massachusetts fell from 2.8 in 1992 to 2.4 in 1994, while Connecticut fell from 3.1 to 2.8. Nevada once again had the highest divorce rate in the country, even though it experienced the most marked drop in divorce rates during the two-year period. Nevada fell from 11.4 in 1992 to 9.0 in 1994. The divorce rate per 1,000 population for the entire United States was 4.6 in 1994, down from 4.8 in 1992. Generally, rates were lower in the Northeast and Midwest and higher in the West and Southeast. "
C) Mr. Head ought to take a peek at Florida, a state as red as Mr. Heads face when we read that thar porn, and its Rep. Foley, who was allowed to ply his trade in young boys in exchange for fund raising dollars and a sure vote for an important state – and the leadership in Washington who turned a blind eye.
The hypocrisy is staggering. I’m willing to bet my last penny (it’s in my purse right now) that Mr. Head has watched Debbie Does Dallas on his Betamax more times that my kids have thrown their peas onto the floor. Here’s a thought, Mr. Head, want to protect marriage? Outlaw divorce. Hmmm, maybe not, huh?
Texas Christian Values? An insult to Christians, God fearing Texans of all faiths. Y'all gotta be kiddin me, raght?
(PS) The Combatting Autism Act DIED in Texas last week. Held ransom by Rep. Joe Barton after sailing through the Senate unanimously. He killed it and would not release it to a vote in the House, where it would have passed. A giant FU to my 3 kids and countless others.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Mailing List Troubles
It seems that my oldest daughter is on a list of high academic acheivers in the county in which we lived in Massachusetts last year. Flattering, yes?
As such, she has been invited to travel to Australia with "other outstanding 5th and 6th graders" with People to People, an international exchange program. Hmmmm. What exactly constitutes an outstanding 5th grader? Dodge ball champ? Got her sewing badge at girl scouts without pricking her fingers on the needle?
Let me get this straight. Based on this thick, resume quality paper, I am to attend a meeting to learn how my child can "see koalas and kangaroos" (got those at our local zoo) and "bond with other delegates while cruising spectacular Sydney Harbor." The word cruising, in a sentence that involves children is, ah, troublesome. Oh, she can "interact with Australia's Aboriginal Peoples" too. Or, she can visit with my great-auntie Mary and interact with Southern Italy's Alcohol imbibing peoples.
Do people really fall for this shit? "MY Johnny was selected? Oh he really is so very, very special."
We received a similar letter last year inviting her to Hawaii based on scoring in the top percentile of students in Ohio on her 5th grade testing. The letter did not tell us whether the children would get lei'd upon arrival, their parents having sent them thousands of miles from home with strangers.
I called and politely asked them remove her from this list. All they needed was our "pin" number from the letter. Yes, she already had her own pin number, proving to me that she would be treated like the precious young woman we know and love.
Did I mention that my child has fairly profound autism? Uh huh. Like I said, sometimes those direct mail lists just aren't up to snuff. Like that catalog with the vibrators that I got a couple of weeks ago (see "OKU" post). Well, maybe they DO get the list right sometimes.
KS
It seems that my oldest daughter is on a list of high academic acheivers in the county in which we lived in Massachusetts last year. Flattering, yes?
As such, she has been invited to travel to Australia with "other outstanding 5th and 6th graders" with People to People, an international exchange program. Hmmmm. What exactly constitutes an outstanding 5th grader? Dodge ball champ? Got her sewing badge at girl scouts without pricking her fingers on the needle?
Let me get this straight. Based on this thick, resume quality paper, I am to attend a meeting to learn how my child can "see koalas and kangaroos" (got those at our local zoo) and "bond with other delegates while cruising spectacular Sydney Harbor." The word cruising, in a sentence that involves children is, ah, troublesome. Oh, she can "interact with Australia's Aboriginal Peoples" too. Or, she can visit with my great-auntie Mary and interact with Southern Italy's Alcohol imbibing peoples.
Do people really fall for this shit? "MY Johnny was selected? Oh he really is so very, very special."
We received a similar letter last year inviting her to Hawaii based on scoring in the top percentile of students in Ohio on her 5th grade testing. The letter did not tell us whether the children would get lei'd upon arrival, their parents having sent them thousands of miles from home with strangers.
I called and politely asked them remove her from this list. All they needed was our "pin" number from the letter. Yes, she already had her own pin number, proving to me that she would be treated like the precious young woman we know and love.
Did I mention that my child has fairly profound autism? Uh huh. Like I said, sometimes those direct mail lists just aren't up to snuff. Like that catalog with the vibrators that I got a couple of weeks ago (see "OKU" post). Well, maybe they DO get the list right sometimes.
KS
Monday, October 09, 2006
Babee Naymes, from the Cleveland news on Yahoo
"A local baby is a finalist in the Babytalk/Good Morning America cover contest for America's cutest baby. Thirteen-month-old Brooklynn Coleman was selected as one of the three finalists from about 125,000 photos submitted from parents across the country.
Her parents, Markeya Walker and Anthony Coleman will receive a $2,000 shopping spree at Babies 'R' Us on Tuesday."
First off, what's up with the name BROOKLYNN? What if she marries a boy name John Bridge? Can you imagine the junior high sexual taunting "Hey, guys, now entering Brooklynn!" If Dad walks out on her and Mom will he leave a note? Or steal a green sign that says "Now leaving Brooklyn" to announce his departure?
And if I'm a pedophile -- I'm RACING to that contest to see the photos of my next disgusting obsession. It's a like a freaking yellow pages for perverts. Hmmm, Brooklynn in Cleveland? Hey, that's just an hour north of here, maybe I'll hop in my 1978 Monza and go see if I can find her for some fun, that is if my Mom lets me out of the basement/if Congress isn't in session." STUPID PARENTS ADVERTISING THEIR KIDS FOR $2,000 in diapers and size 3T T-shirts that say "I'm a brat in training."
Not my best day here. I have a corrupted pst file that is wreaking havoc on my Microsoft Outlook. I had yet another "crapisode" with the kids. And the whole "N. Korea might have nukes but at least when they obliterate us the two gay guys living next door WON'T BE MARRIED." just makes my head want to spin right off my shoulders.
KS
"A local baby is a finalist in the Babytalk/Good Morning America cover contest for America's cutest baby. Thirteen-month-old Brooklynn Coleman was selected as one of the three finalists from about 125,000 photos submitted from parents across the country.
Her parents, Markeya Walker and Anthony Coleman will receive a $2,000 shopping spree at Babies 'R' Us on Tuesday."
First off, what's up with the name BROOKLYNN? What if she marries a boy name John Bridge? Can you imagine the junior high sexual taunting "Hey, guys, now entering Brooklynn!" If Dad walks out on her and Mom will he leave a note? Or steal a green sign that says "Now leaving Brooklyn" to announce his departure?
And if I'm a pedophile -- I'm RACING to that contest to see the photos of my next disgusting obsession. It's a like a freaking yellow pages for perverts. Hmmm, Brooklynn in Cleveland? Hey, that's just an hour north of here, maybe I'll hop in my 1978 Monza and go see if I can find her for some fun, that is if my Mom lets me out of the basement/if Congress isn't in session." STUPID PARENTS ADVERTISING THEIR KIDS FOR $2,000 in diapers and size 3T T-shirts that say "I'm a brat in training."
Not my best day here. I have a corrupted pst file that is wreaking havoc on my Microsoft Outlook. I had yet another "crapisode" with the kids. And the whole "N. Korea might have nukes but at least when they obliterate us the two gay guys living next door WON'T BE MARRIED." just makes my head want to spin right off my shoulders.
KS
Friday, October 06, 2006
FRESH EYES
There's nothing like letting someone "new" read your work. In this case, my query letter.
Have you ever been in the bathroom at a bar during a date and you've checked yourself out 42 times to make sure everything is A-OK? Lipstick? Shiny. Mascara? Not Raccoony. Hair? Curling out of control but nothing I can do about that except pretend I look like Carrie Bradshaw which I don't. Forehead? Matte. OK, time to head back out to the table. And then when you bend down at the table to pick up your napkin you see the tile comet sticking of the left heel of your boot. CRASH!
I'm re-working my query letter. Even changing my title. The book was called "Find My Eyes" (which is a term related to autism encouraging eye contact and also connotes mystery.) Then I renamed it "Autism Is Murder" that title seems to be falling flat.
The query letter itself pretty good as is (the good stuff is thanks to JG, a fabulous writer friend) but isn't generating enough requests for partials, so clearly it's not good enough. This week I got some fantastic editing from a writer in Australia (isn't the Internet cool?) that I think will really help. It was her fresh look and detachment that helped her say "this works, maybe this doesn't" and with courtesy and kindness at that.
I'm feeling upbeat again about my book after a week of horrible news and sadness on TV and general malaise. Here's to a G'day mates!
KS
There's nothing like letting someone "new" read your work. In this case, my query letter.
Have you ever been in the bathroom at a bar during a date and you've checked yourself out 42 times to make sure everything is A-OK? Lipstick? Shiny. Mascara? Not Raccoony. Hair? Curling out of control but nothing I can do about that except pretend I look like Carrie Bradshaw which I don't. Forehead? Matte. OK, time to head back out to the table. And then when you bend down at the table to pick up your napkin you see the tile comet sticking of the left heel of your boot. CRASH!
I'm re-working my query letter. Even changing my title. The book was called "Find My Eyes" (which is a term related to autism encouraging eye contact and also connotes mystery.) Then I renamed it "Autism Is Murder" that title seems to be falling flat.
The query letter itself pretty good as is (the good stuff is thanks to JG, a fabulous writer friend) but isn't generating enough requests for partials, so clearly it's not good enough. This week I got some fantastic editing from a writer in Australia (isn't the Internet cool?) that I think will really help. It was her fresh look and detachment that helped her say "this works, maybe this doesn't" and with courtesy and kindness at that.
I'm feeling upbeat again about my book after a week of horrible news and sadness on TV and general malaise. Here's to a G'day mates!
KS
Thursday, October 05, 2006
The Christmas Book.
No, no. Nothing cheery and holiday'ish that I've written. The NEIMAN MARCUS Christmas book. This year I'm supposed to be impressed with a huge, $40,000 skyscraper made entirely from pencils. Thanks, if I want lead poisoning I can just lick the wall in my folks old house. No need to drop $40K on it. How about that $100K water park for your backyard. Someone alert the homeowners association of a major infraction that could occur in Ashbrooke, my old neighborhood in Ohio. We spent the better part of a year there debating the scourge of satellite dishes and horror of all horrors, FENCES! I don't have a homeowners association any longer -- hell, I can paint my front door with purple and green stripes without some Yukon driver do-gooder huffing and puffing her way to my front door to file a complaint. Such freedom.
But I digress. The CHRISTMAS BOOK arriving in my mailbox really does mean something to me. You see, two years ago, as Christmas approached, my sweet husband was out of work. Ran a big European company and got let go by EMAIL one Friday morning. Auf Weidersehen! And then they never called him. But don't get me started on the Germans, cause I really do like beer and Rutger Hauer.
So, we had no job and frankly, autism sucks out every last penny you've ever had. Certainly got ours. So that year we were in a tight financial spot. Someone, I don't know who, told our church that we were having a rough time of it. We were still eating, drinking and trying to be merry, but we were struggling. So I got a call from the head of the holiday giving tree telling me I was to show up at Church on a Saturday to pick up my giving tree goodies. Wha-Hut? Yes, we had been assigned a number and were a "family in need" at our church.
At first, second and third I was completely mortified and horrified. That Saturday arrived and I did not go to the church. My phone rang and it was Kelly S. "WHERE ARE YOU KIM?" "Not coming, Kelly, give the stuff to another family." "I'm coming to your house, Kim. Get over here." (Note to self, send Kelly to N. Korea to chat with folks about nukes.) I got into my $36,000 minivan and drove to my church to pick up my charity. With a leaden heart and a pit in my stomach. I GIVE to the tree, I don't GET from it, right?
I thanked everyone, and loaded my minivan to the brim. I mean I've never seen so much stuff. A wreath for our door (we had one) food, household supplies, wrapped gifts, envelopes with gift certificates for movies, dinner and the one thing that made Mark and me laugh like hell. About 36 bars of ZEST soap. Do well off people think not so well off people don't bathe? We're still using the soap, 22 months later!
I sat down and looked at everything we had been given. And at my beautiful girls, who, while laden with issues related to their autism, are healthy and well and at my husband who was working so hard to find a job I felt a bit like the Grinch when his heart grows right out of his chest. I learned to ACCEPT that Christmas. Accept help. Accept kindness. Maybe even come out of my "I can do it myself" mode for just a moment or two. And it felt kind of good. Far better than receiving any item in the Neiman Marcus Christmas catalog for sure.
KS
No, no. Nothing cheery and holiday'ish that I've written. The NEIMAN MARCUS Christmas book. This year I'm supposed to be impressed with a huge, $40,000 skyscraper made entirely from pencils. Thanks, if I want lead poisoning I can just lick the wall in my folks old house. No need to drop $40K on it. How about that $100K water park for your backyard. Someone alert the homeowners association of a major infraction that could occur in Ashbrooke, my old neighborhood in Ohio. We spent the better part of a year there debating the scourge of satellite dishes and horror of all horrors, FENCES! I don't have a homeowners association any longer -- hell, I can paint my front door with purple and green stripes without some Yukon driver do-gooder huffing and puffing her way to my front door to file a complaint. Such freedom.
But I digress. The CHRISTMAS BOOK arriving in my mailbox really does mean something to me. You see, two years ago, as Christmas approached, my sweet husband was out of work. Ran a big European company and got let go by EMAIL one Friday morning. Auf Weidersehen! And then they never called him. But don't get me started on the Germans, cause I really do like beer and Rutger Hauer.
So, we had no job and frankly, autism sucks out every last penny you've ever had. Certainly got ours. So that year we were in a tight financial spot. Someone, I don't know who, told our church that we were having a rough time of it. We were still eating, drinking and trying to be merry, but we were struggling. So I got a call from the head of the holiday giving tree telling me I was to show up at Church on a Saturday to pick up my giving tree goodies. Wha-Hut? Yes, we had been assigned a number and were a "family in need" at our church.
At first, second and third I was completely mortified and horrified. That Saturday arrived and I did not go to the church. My phone rang and it was Kelly S. "WHERE ARE YOU KIM?" "Not coming, Kelly, give the stuff to another family." "I'm coming to your house, Kim. Get over here." (Note to self, send Kelly to N. Korea to chat with folks about nukes.) I got into my $36,000 minivan and drove to my church to pick up my charity. With a leaden heart and a pit in my stomach. I GIVE to the tree, I don't GET from it, right?
I thanked everyone, and loaded my minivan to the brim. I mean I've never seen so much stuff. A wreath for our door (we had one) food, household supplies, wrapped gifts, envelopes with gift certificates for movies, dinner and the one thing that made Mark and me laugh like hell. About 36 bars of ZEST soap. Do well off people think not so well off people don't bathe? We're still using the soap, 22 months later!
I sat down and looked at everything we had been given. And at my beautiful girls, who, while laden with issues related to their autism, are healthy and well and at my husband who was working so hard to find a job I felt a bit like the Grinch when his heart grows right out of his chest. I learned to ACCEPT that Christmas. Accept help. Accept kindness. Maybe even come out of my "I can do it myself" mode for just a moment or two. And it felt kind of good. Far better than receiving any item in the Neiman Marcus Christmas catalog for sure.
KS
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
The Sh*t hits the fan, er, floor. (If it's mealtime please read this later.)
Those of you who know me well, know that my life often revolves around icky, poopy incidents. My book actually opens with a crazy, chaotic poop scene that I plucked out of my own unusual version of motherhood.
Today, I was peacefully watching the Republican party tap dance faster than Mr. Bojangles on crack on CNN when my sweet, youngest child sidled up to me. "SNIFF." OH NO. She was dripping wet and smelled like the 10 foot perimeter that surrounds every porta-potty in America. LIKE CRAP.
I grabbed her and raced her into the bathroom. Sure enough. My middle love duck had used the commode and sauntered out of the bathroom sans flushing or closing the lid. And teeny girl moved in for the kill. I really do need to explain to her that poop is ALREADY DEAD! She went for a toilet dive and came up a winner. All over the floor. Great googly moogly poogly!
I had JUST scrubbed the three bathrooms in the house this morning. I stripped Miss Poopasaurus Rex and plopped her into the tub. Then I mopped and cleaned and wiped and flushed and fished and returned the poopy mess to its rightful home, the TOILET.
Why do I write? It's cheaper than therapy, more legal than pot and if I actually TOLD anyone my stories no one would believe me. So I might as well call them "fiction" and try to make some money. After all, someone has to pay for all that Lysol.
Now where's my beer?
Those of you who know me well, know that my life often revolves around icky, poopy incidents. My book actually opens with a crazy, chaotic poop scene that I plucked out of my own unusual version of motherhood.
Today, I was peacefully watching the Republican party tap dance faster than Mr. Bojangles on crack on CNN when my sweet, youngest child sidled up to me. "SNIFF." OH NO. She was dripping wet and smelled like the 10 foot perimeter that surrounds every porta-potty in America. LIKE CRAP.
I grabbed her and raced her into the bathroom. Sure enough. My middle love duck had used the commode and sauntered out of the bathroom sans flushing or closing the lid. And teeny girl moved in for the kill. I really do need to explain to her that poop is ALREADY DEAD! She went for a toilet dive and came up a winner. All over the floor. Great googly moogly poogly!
I had JUST scrubbed the three bathrooms in the house this morning. I stripped Miss Poopasaurus Rex and plopped her into the tub. Then I mopped and cleaned and wiped and flushed and fished and returned the poopy mess to its rightful home, the TOILET.
Why do I write? It's cheaper than therapy, more legal than pot and if I actually TOLD anyone my stories no one would believe me. So I might as well call them "fiction" and try to make some money. After all, someone has to pay for all that Lysol.
Now where's my beer?
All I want for Christmas is a kick ass agent who will sell my MS. Really.
I've been reading several agents blogs recently. Kind of my attempt at FBI style profiling. If I know how agents think, maybe I can craft my query in such a way as to make several of them, OK a handful, maybe just one good one, say "I need to represent this book from Kim Stagliano."
The thing of it is, I already know how agents think, having been in sales and promotions for many years, prior to becoming an autism Mom and having to trade my day job for a day and night job.
Agents want a query that says "I and my client can sell many, many copies of this book." Fairly simple. Agents, like writers, want to sell books. I've got to believe that every agent hopes the next JK Rowling's query is in that stack of envelopes piling up on his/her desk. And perhaps they are as disappointed/frustrated by crappy queries as we writers are by the sight of our own SASE's back in the mailbox? Can you see them plodding down Fifth Avenue, eyes down, hardly daring to look in the windows at Saks, knowing that big payday just passed them by as yet another boatload of fokakta queries just hit the in-box?
I'm struggling with my query -- which I thought was quite strong, to the point and frill-free. Just the facts, ma'am. Here's the book, here's the plot, here's the conflict, here's why I'm qualified to write it and here's how I plan to market it and why it will sell. I don't go out of my way to be witty I just wrote it following the guidelines of the industry. Is it the the "A" word; autism that is a turn off? Is it the title? How do you SHOW an agent that your book is funny and sharp and fresh in one paragraph without committing the cardinal sin of TELLING them "trust me, my book is sharp and funny and fresh and saleable." You might as well say "But my mother reeeally likes this book and my writing teacher at Tick Tock Tech online authors school promises me it will be a best seller."
Maybe I'll just go watch Finding Nemo today. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.
KS
I've been reading several agents blogs recently. Kind of my attempt at FBI style profiling. If I know how agents think, maybe I can craft my query in such a way as to make several of them, OK a handful, maybe just one good one, say "I need to represent this book from Kim Stagliano."
The thing of it is, I already know how agents think, having been in sales and promotions for many years, prior to becoming an autism Mom and having to trade my day job for a day and night job.
Agents want a query that says "I and my client can sell many, many copies of this book." Fairly simple. Agents, like writers, want to sell books. I've got to believe that every agent hopes the next JK Rowling's query is in that stack of envelopes piling up on his/her desk. And perhaps they are as disappointed/frustrated by crappy queries as we writers are by the sight of our own SASE's back in the mailbox? Can you see them plodding down Fifth Avenue, eyes down, hardly daring to look in the windows at Saks, knowing that big payday just passed them by as yet another boatload of fokakta queries just hit the in-box?
I'm struggling with my query -- which I thought was quite strong, to the point and frill-free. Just the facts, ma'am. Here's the book, here's the plot, here's the conflict, here's why I'm qualified to write it and here's how I plan to market it and why it will sell. I don't go out of my way to be witty I just wrote it following the guidelines of the industry. Is it the the "A" word; autism that is a turn off? Is it the title? How do you SHOW an agent that your book is funny and sharp and fresh in one paragraph without committing the cardinal sin of TELLING them "trust me, my book is sharp and funny and fresh and saleable." You might as well say "But my mother reeeally likes this book and my writing teacher at Tick Tock Tech online authors school promises me it will be a best seller."
Maybe I'll just go watch Finding Nemo today. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.
KS
Monday, October 02, 2006
The Toilet Seat Donut. (The edible kind, not the one they send you home from the hospital with after you have a baby.)
Does anyone know what a toilet seat donut is? All I'll tell you is that they come in a pink box (when you buy a dozen anyway) and used to be my favorite. Can't find 'em any longer. Sad. I miss them. I guess I'll have to eat a biscotti instead. I hope I don't choke on it. (www.illwillpress.com -- see coffee house propaganda for a hint.)
KS
Does anyone know what a toilet seat donut is? All I'll tell you is that they come in a pink box (when you buy a dozen anyway) and used to be my favorite. Can't find 'em any longer. Sad. I miss them. I guess I'll have to eat a biscotti instead. I hope I don't choke on it. (www.illwillpress.com -- see coffee house propaganda for a hint.)
KS
And The Kids Lose -- Again.
What a weekend for children. The Combatting Autism Act (CAA) withered on the vine in the House. Many of us in the autism community were dissatisfied with the CAA anyway , since it had no money research into the environmental triggers for autism (See www.evidenceofharm.com). The men who told my 3 kids and tens of thousands of others to go to hell (as if they aren't already there, the have AUTISM for God's sake) Boehner, Ohio (R), Joe Barton, Texas (R), and Hastert, IL (R).
And for those of you who think autism is just nifty, another way of "being" (the neurodiverse community as they are called) find another blog. When my precious six year old broke her arm and couldn't tell me, when my bright, happy 10 year gets zero party invites, when my affectionate 11 year old can not walk the halls at school with out an aide at her side I FAIL to see the beauty in that. You folks can sit on your asses and accept the diagnosis while you sip latte, I am fighting to make my kids life as full as can be, and that means fighting the autism.
Children with autism get NO health insurance coverage for illnesses related to their autism. Autism is classified as a psychiatric illness, not medical. Also, Speech, OT, PT, ABA therapy (proven to help kids with autism) are NOT covered under insurance either. Parents are going broke caring for their child(ren) with autism. Yours truly included. Private autism schools run about $90,000 a year.
More kids will be diagnosed with autism in 2006 than childhood cancer, diabetes, CF, MD, Spina Bidifida, Downs, luekemia COMBINED. 1 in 166 births today, 1 in 90 boys versus 1 in 10,000 20 year ago. And these kids will require LIFETIME care costing YOU dear reader a boatload of money over the the next 75+ years.
Then there's that charming chap in Florida, Foley (R) who resigned after having sent inappropriate emails to an underage page. A predator on the committee to protect children from child molestation. Perhaps the Pope with give him a position in the Vatican like our pal from Boston, Cardinal Law?
It's Yom Kippur, think any one who SHOULD WILL atone?
More reasons to get my book published. There's a message in them thar pages, people. Now, to find the agent will will decode that.
Shalom, friends.
What a weekend for children. The Combatting Autism Act (CAA) withered on the vine in the House. Many of us in the autism community were dissatisfied with the CAA anyway , since it had no money research into the environmental triggers for autism (See www.evidenceofharm.com). The men who told my 3 kids and tens of thousands of others to go to hell (as if they aren't already there, the have AUTISM for God's sake) Boehner, Ohio (R), Joe Barton, Texas (R), and Hastert, IL (R).
And for those of you who think autism is just nifty, another way of "being" (the neurodiverse community as they are called) find another blog. When my precious six year old broke her arm and couldn't tell me, when my bright, happy 10 year gets zero party invites, when my affectionate 11 year old can not walk the halls at school with out an aide at her side I FAIL to see the beauty in that. You folks can sit on your asses and accept the diagnosis while you sip latte, I am fighting to make my kids life as full as can be, and that means fighting the autism.
Children with autism get NO health insurance coverage for illnesses related to their autism. Autism is classified as a psychiatric illness, not medical. Also, Speech, OT, PT, ABA therapy (proven to help kids with autism) are NOT covered under insurance either. Parents are going broke caring for their child(ren) with autism. Yours truly included. Private autism schools run about $90,000 a year.
More kids will be diagnosed with autism in 2006 than childhood cancer, diabetes, CF, MD, Spina Bidifida, Downs, luekemia COMBINED. 1 in 166 births today, 1 in 90 boys versus 1 in 10,000 20 year ago. And these kids will require LIFETIME care costing YOU dear reader a boatload of money over the the next 75+ years.
Then there's that charming chap in Florida, Foley (R) who resigned after having sent inappropriate emails to an underage page. A predator on the committee to protect children from child molestation. Perhaps the Pope with give him a position in the Vatican like our pal from Boston, Cardinal Law?
It's Yom Kippur, think any one who SHOULD WILL atone?
More reasons to get my book published. There's a message in them thar pages, people. Now, to find the agent will will decode that.
Shalom, friends.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Did you lean in? Are you still with him/her?
I was reading the NYT wedding announcements this morning and took my usual test. How many couples are leaning into each other - touching heads. How many are apart - by how much. And worse, now many wedding announcements exclude the groom altogether? Are those the worst Bridezillas or what? Look "I" had a wedding!
Check the announcements in your own newspaper and check out your own photos. Still married? Still leaning in? I hope so.
KS
I was reading the NYT wedding announcements this morning and took my usual test. How many couples are leaning into each other - touching heads. How many are apart - by how much. And worse, now many wedding announcements exclude the groom altogether? Are those the worst Bridezillas or what? Look "I" had a wedding!
Check the announcements in your own newspaper and check out your own photos. Still married? Still leaning in? I hope so.
KS
Saturday, September 30, 2006
NEW RULE. (Thank you Bill Maher.)
No rejections are to appear in the mailbox of an aspiring writer over the weekend. Monday - Friday? Fair game. Saturday? Giant buzz killer. Today's tidy little pre-printed card from a NY agent reads: "I have reviewed your material and it is not anything I wish to work with at this time." Alrighty then.
K
No rejections are to appear in the mailbox of an aspiring writer over the weekend. Monday - Friday? Fair game. Saturday? Giant buzz killer. Today's tidy little pre-printed card from a NY agent reads: "I have reviewed your material and it is not anything I wish to work with at this time." Alrighty then.
K
Friday, September 29, 2006
Submitting to Miss Snark.
You're standing on the high dive. Your friends have all jumped before you. So, do you climb back down the ladder, run to the snack shack and devour a frozen Charleston Chew (crack it!) or do you walk to the edge, give a small "boing" and just get it over with and jump? Today I jumped.
In the writing world there's a "mystery agent" known as Miss Snark. She eviscerates writers' queries upon command. Today she had some info that I found really helpful. So I responded, on her blog with my own name. No more anonymous climbing back down the ladder.
SPLASH!
You're standing on the high dive. Your friends have all jumped before you. So, do you climb back down the ladder, run to the snack shack and devour a frozen Charleston Chew (crack it!) or do you walk to the edge, give a small "boing" and just get it over with and jump? Today I jumped.
In the writing world there's a "mystery agent" known as Miss Snark. She eviscerates writers' queries upon command. Today she had some info that I found really helpful. So I responded, on her blog with my own name. No more anonymous climbing back down the ladder.
SPLASH!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Homophoning it in?
Has this ever happened to you? Lately I can't use homophones correctly. My mind is blanking out. I'll write, "He lost his site when the stick hit his eye." Or did you brake your arm? Even the word write has become a problem, as I found myself writing "wright" which of course, is wrong. Brain overload? Quick neural-blip? Scary, since I'm trying to write for a living and spellcheck has abandoned me on this one. KS
Has this ever happened to you? Lately I can't use homophones correctly. My mind is blanking out. I'll write, "He lost his site when the stick hit his eye." Or did you brake your arm? Even the word write has become a problem, as I found myself writing "wright" which of course, is wrong. Brain overload? Quick neural-blip? Scary, since I'm trying to write for a living and spellcheck has abandoned me on this one. KS
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Does "OKU" mean good in Japanese?
I gotta ask. Got a catalog in the mail today. I shop online and get a lot of catalogs, since dragging my kids to the mall often leads to escalating blood pressure for all concerned. Along with my two rejections, I got a catalog today called "Catalog Favorites." A hodge podge of items from various catalogs, thus the catchy name. Average looking stuff, a lot of junk.
I'm turning pages loaded acrylic toilet seats with embedded sea shells (in case you want to shit the oyster bed), T-shirts decorated with bon mots such as "Nobody listens to me until I fart" and a delightful soap and bath towel set where half is white and says "FACE" and the other half is brown and says "BUTT." The perfect gift for your buttfaced brother in law, yes?
None of this concerns me in the least. And then I turned to page 25. And there, on the lower right hand corner is a vibrator. Yes, a vibrator. Oh sure they call it a "massager" but we've all seen the Sex and the City episode where Samantha returns her "neck massager" to Sharper Image. It's a vibrator people. Called "The Fabulous Fukuoku." Which I read as "fuk-u-oku" leading me to my question, "does Oku mean good in Japanese? It's a Johnson shaped tip that sits on your finger. Well, actually its three of them, with varying stimulation tips. If only men were so versatile! "This go anywhere massager arrives in its own zippered carrying pouch." Handy! But will it get past security at the airport?
I plunged deeper into the catalog. Plage 46? Another vibrator! Called "The Liberte!" Well, Merci Beaucoup! A whole new way to get doinked by the French! Copy reads: "Designed by women, for women." 'Cause our necks are shaped different from men? And then on page 47? A KEGEL exerciser with a photograph that shows enough skin to terrify me.
From that point on, all the Kokopelli necklaces in the world couldn't make me feel safe opening that catalog again. I couldn't even enjoy the sparkly red, sequined baseball cap or the Bibleopoly game.
That's it. I'm calling them to get off their mailing list. Hmmm, now where's my credit card?
KS
I gotta ask. Got a catalog in the mail today. I shop online and get a lot of catalogs, since dragging my kids to the mall often leads to escalating blood pressure for all concerned. Along with my two rejections, I got a catalog today called "Catalog Favorites." A hodge podge of items from various catalogs, thus the catchy name. Average looking stuff, a lot of junk.
I'm turning pages loaded acrylic toilet seats with embedded sea shells (in case you want to shit the oyster bed), T-shirts decorated with bon mots such as "Nobody listens to me until I fart" and a delightful soap and bath towel set where half is white and says "FACE" and the other half is brown and says "BUTT." The perfect gift for your buttfaced brother in law, yes?
None of this concerns me in the least. And then I turned to page 25. And there, on the lower right hand corner is a vibrator. Yes, a vibrator. Oh sure they call it a "massager" but we've all seen the Sex and the City episode where Samantha returns her "neck massager" to Sharper Image. It's a vibrator people. Called "The Fabulous Fukuoku." Which I read as "fuk-u-oku" leading me to my question, "does Oku mean good in Japanese? It's a Johnson shaped tip that sits on your finger. Well, actually its three of them, with varying stimulation tips. If only men were so versatile! "This go anywhere massager arrives in its own zippered carrying pouch." Handy! But will it get past security at the airport?
I plunged deeper into the catalog. Plage 46? Another vibrator! Called "The Liberte!" Well, Merci Beaucoup! A whole new way to get doinked by the French! Copy reads: "Designed by women, for women." 'Cause our necks are shaped different from men? And then on page 47? A KEGEL exerciser with a photograph that shows enough skin to terrify me.
From that point on, all the Kokopelli necklaces in the world couldn't make me feel safe opening that catalog again. I couldn't even enjoy the sparkly red, sequined baseball cap or the Bibleopoly game.
That's it. I'm calling them to get off their mailing list. Hmmm, now where's my credit card?
KS
Ugh, if I had balls they’d be aching right now. As it is, my stomach is in my shoes. TWO SASE’s back today. One did have a very nice handwritten note from the agent on it though “I regret this one isn’t a match.” Oh how I wish she’d just say “This is sophomoric drivel that will never be published.” Or “My uncle Cedric writes better than you and he only went to the third grade, in Latvia.” or "If you think anyone on the planet wants to be amused by autism you are sorely mistaken you moronic twit." (Hmm, sounds rather Snarkish doesn't it?)
THIS IS TORTURE! SEND CHOCOLATE.
Kim
THIS IS TORTURE! SEND CHOCOLATE.
Kim
Have you ever seen "Foamy the Squirrel" at www.illwillpress.com? I often turn to Foamy for comic relief when the going gets absurd here.
Or when one of my query SASE's turns up in my mailbox. I now hate the sight of my own handwriting as much as Sr. Lourdette did back in my grade school penmanship classes. I might have to figure out how to get my computer to print the damn envelopes for me to soften the "blow of the NO" from agents.
Head on over to Illwillpress, Click on "toons" and check out "Coffee House Propaganda" and "Small Medium Large" to start. Especially funny if you're part of that "Dunkin Donuts versus Starbucks" universe. Best line ever uttered by a squirrel? "I hope you choke on a biscotti."
KS
Or when one of my query SASE's turns up in my mailbox. I now hate the sight of my own handwriting as much as Sr. Lourdette did back in my grade school penmanship classes. I might have to figure out how to get my computer to print the damn envelopes for me to soften the "blow of the NO" from agents.
Head on over to Illwillpress, Click on "toons" and check out "Coffee House Propaganda" and "Small Medium Large" to start. Especially funny if you're part of that "Dunkin Donuts versus Starbucks" universe. Best line ever uttered by a squirrel? "I hope you choke on a biscotti."
KS
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
BLOWING BY THE SHORT BUS
My kids ride the short bus to school. Yes they do. They're safe, in good hands and frankly, some mornings, when the three of them are whisked away to their autism programs, leaving me with complete silence in the house, I don't care if it's the short bus or the Freddie Kruegger limo service. I grab my coffee and I start querying agents in peaceful bliss.
But the last two days have really burned my behind. PEOPLE DRIVING AROUND OR BLOWING BY THE SHORT BUS! WTF!? We live on a busy two lane, double yellow line road. When the bus stops it has a stop sign that swings out like every other GD school bus. People blow their horns in frustration. I want to invite them in for a few hours in my house to see if they'd like to live here for awhile.
You know what? My kids need seat belts and they take a little time to get off the bus. It's the short bus, for God's sake. Give the kids, and the mom a break, will you?
KS
My kids ride the short bus to school. Yes they do. They're safe, in good hands and frankly, some mornings, when the three of them are whisked away to their autism programs, leaving me with complete silence in the house, I don't care if it's the short bus or the Freddie Kruegger limo service. I grab my coffee and I start querying agents in peaceful bliss.
But the last two days have really burned my behind. PEOPLE DRIVING AROUND OR BLOWING BY THE SHORT BUS! WTF!? We live on a busy two lane, double yellow line road. When the bus stops it has a stop sign that swings out like every other GD school bus. People blow their horns in frustration. I want to invite them in for a few hours in my house to see if they'd like to live here for awhile.
You know what? My kids need seat belts and they take a little time to get off the bus. It's the short bus, for God's sake. Give the kids, and the mom a break, will you?
KS
Writing a novel?
We writers all think we've written the next great novel, trashy or otherwise, right? A writer needs a certain level of confidence to put words onto paper. After all, think about it. A writer creates an entire universe in her fiction book. Unless of course the writer is James Frey, and then you mostly create controversy.
I decided to write a book about 2 years ago. I wake, eat, breathe, and sleep autism, 24/7. I'm not just mother to my 3 girls, I am therapist, drill sgt., doctor, ringleader, zookeeper and security manager. So when people in my autism world kept telling me "You ought to write a book about autism." I cringed. No thank you. I live it, who the heck wants to write about it? And then it occurred to me. "I" can't write about autism, but maybe there's someone in me who can? And in a sneaky "hide the medicine in the pudding" kind of way.
I also hear rather frequently, "Gee, you're funny, Kim." Yeah, like that fancy opera clown with the long Italian name. I do use humor and a sharp sarcasm to surmount some of the challenges our family faces. I've always been a smartie pants who leads with her mouth instead of her brain. (My babysitter from way back when still tells people that as a five year old, I told one of her pimply boyfriends "You're ugly you ass."Charming, yes?) And yet my parents never sold me to the gypsies, so I figure I can manage my own unusual family.
The book idea was tumbling about in my head when the proverbial lightbulb turned on. Not a fluorescent lightbulb, mind you, because they contain and emit MERCURY, the evil metal that just may be the root cause of a lot of autism. Let's not get into that today though.
Kat Cavicchio was born. She's the protagonist in my book called "Autism Is Murder." Kat is the aunt to two children with autism (See, I didn't call them autistic, did I? Remember, children with cancer are NOT cancerous.) She can observe her sister's life and better yet, comment on it with a wit and zing that, were it to come from my mouth, as a real live Mom, would surely get my Mother of the Year certificate revoked. And then I'd have to return that pretty apron.
So, the book tumbled out of my head onto my screen over many, many nights. But what a feeling when I was done. Elation! I had written a book. Of course, now comes the hard part. Find an agent who won't return my SASE with just a glance at the word autism in my query. But I'll get there. I'll get there.
KS
We writers all think we've written the next great novel, trashy or otherwise, right? A writer needs a certain level of confidence to put words onto paper. After all, think about it. A writer creates an entire universe in her fiction book. Unless of course the writer is James Frey, and then you mostly create controversy.
I decided to write a book about 2 years ago. I wake, eat, breathe, and sleep autism, 24/7. I'm not just mother to my 3 girls, I am therapist, drill sgt., doctor, ringleader, zookeeper and security manager. So when people in my autism world kept telling me "You ought to write a book about autism." I cringed. No thank you. I live it, who the heck wants to write about it? And then it occurred to me. "I" can't write about autism, but maybe there's someone in me who can? And in a sneaky "hide the medicine in the pudding" kind of way.
I also hear rather frequently, "Gee, you're funny, Kim." Yeah, like that fancy opera clown with the long Italian name. I do use humor and a sharp sarcasm to surmount some of the challenges our family faces. I've always been a smartie pants who leads with her mouth instead of her brain. (My babysitter from way back when still tells people that as a five year old, I told one of her pimply boyfriends "You're ugly you ass."Charming, yes?) And yet my parents never sold me to the gypsies, so I figure I can manage my own unusual family.
The book idea was tumbling about in my head when the proverbial lightbulb turned on. Not a fluorescent lightbulb, mind you, because they contain and emit MERCURY, the evil metal that just may be the root cause of a lot of autism. Let's not get into that today though.
Kat Cavicchio was born. She's the protagonist in my book called "Autism Is Murder." Kat is the aunt to two children with autism (See, I didn't call them autistic, did I? Remember, children with cancer are NOT cancerous.) She can observe her sister's life and better yet, comment on it with a wit and zing that, were it to come from my mouth, as a real live Mom, would surely get my Mother of the Year certificate revoked. And then I'd have to return that pretty apron.
So, the book tumbled out of my head onto my screen over many, many nights. But what a feeling when I was done. Elation! I had written a book. Of course, now comes the hard part. Find an agent who won't return my SASE with just a glance at the word autism in my query. But I'll get there. I'll get there.
KS
Hello, Blogosphere. Is this mike on? Helloooo helloooo helloooo? OK, here I go.
I'm Kim Stagliano. No wait, that sounds too much like the start of an AA meeting.
Hi! Noooo. Way too E-harmony.com.
Hey there. Iccckkk, bad pick up line meets Freddie Boom Boom Washington.
Alright. Take 4. I'm Kim Stagliano, and my current claims to fame are as follows.
1) I have written and am shopping a manuscript called "Autism Is Murder." (unless an agent or editor asks me to change the name, in which case, I will toss that title into the trash faster than Joan Rivers ran to the plastic surgeon on her 40th birthday. Or was it her 35th?)
2) Mimicking. I can mimic almost any voice. Have you ever heard Zoe from Sesame Street tell Elmo to stick it where the sunny days don't shine? I can do that. And I can sing in about a zillion voices. I once sang nursery rhymes to my kids in Cher's voice. Cher is particularly adept at "Baaaa Baaaa Black Sheep" as you can imagine. When Alanis Morrissette sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" my youngest daughter cried. But Alanis did get a little morose during the "down came the rain" part.
3) I can still fit into my wedding gown, although that little trick is starting to tread on Miss Havisham's territory if you get my drift.
4) I am the proud mom of three beautiful daughters who just happen to have autism. Yup. Not one, not two, but a hat trick! Stop shaking your head and thinking that I did way too many drugs in college. I've already taken that guilt trip, thank you very much.
I'd like to think we are a freak of nature, but I know plenty of families with multiple children with autism. Even 4 or 5 kids! Scary stuff people. Please note, I will rarely if ever refer to my girls as autistic. After all, kids with cancer are not called "cancerous." My children have autism. That means I can help them GET RID OF IT. Which is really how I spend my days when not blollygagging on this new toy called my Blog. More on that later.
5) I have a husband, whom my best friend and the gal who really encouraged me to write my book referred to this morning as, "your Division I husband." I refer to him as my man of steel for all the right reasons. Most of all, because he can weather any storm life throws at him, and we've had a Katrina of a life together, since the kids arrived.
So, welcome to my blog. Drop me a line. I'm off to use my Dyson. My life isn't all glamour you know.
KS
I'm Kim Stagliano. No wait, that sounds too much like the start of an AA meeting.
Hi! Noooo. Way too E-harmony.com.
Hey there. Iccckkk, bad pick up line meets Freddie Boom Boom Washington.
Alright. Take 4. I'm Kim Stagliano, and my current claims to fame are as follows.
1) I have written and am shopping a manuscript called "Autism Is Murder." (unless an agent or editor asks me to change the name, in which case, I will toss that title into the trash faster than Joan Rivers ran to the plastic surgeon on her 40th birthday. Or was it her 35th?)
2) Mimicking. I can mimic almost any voice. Have you ever heard Zoe from Sesame Street tell Elmo to stick it where the sunny days don't shine? I can do that. And I can sing in about a zillion voices. I once sang nursery rhymes to my kids in Cher's voice. Cher is particularly adept at "Baaaa Baaaa Black Sheep" as you can imagine. When Alanis Morrissette sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" my youngest daughter cried. But Alanis did get a little morose during the "down came the rain" part.
3) I can still fit into my wedding gown, although that little trick is starting to tread on Miss Havisham's territory if you get my drift.
4) I am the proud mom of three beautiful daughters who just happen to have autism. Yup. Not one, not two, but a hat trick! Stop shaking your head and thinking that I did way too many drugs in college. I've already taken that guilt trip, thank you very much.
I'd like to think we are a freak of nature, but I know plenty of families with multiple children with autism. Even 4 or 5 kids! Scary stuff people. Please note, I will rarely if ever refer to my girls as autistic. After all, kids with cancer are not called "cancerous." My children have autism. That means I can help them GET RID OF IT. Which is really how I spend my days when not blollygagging on this new toy called my Blog. More on that later.
5) I have a husband, whom my best friend and the gal who really encouraged me to write my book referred to this morning as, "your Division I husband." I refer to him as my man of steel for all the right reasons. Most of all, because he can weather any storm life throws at him, and we've had a Katrina of a life together, since the kids arrived.
So, welcome to my blog. Drop me a line. I'm off to use my Dyson. My life isn't all glamour you know.
KS
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