2 Compliments.

Yesterday I had an early lunch at Jeremiah’s Pub before heading in to work. E had a student coming, and I hated my novel and wanted it to die, so I ignored it and went to have a BLT.

As is my wont, I took a book with me. I love going out to eat and reading as I eat. Love, love, love it. My friend Michelle in Port Hardy always used to try and dissuade me, on the grounds that people might not think I was popular, (WTF?) but whatever.

When I got up to pay my bill, an older gentleman smiled at me, and in a London-bred accent, said, “I always admire a lady who comes into a restaurant with a book.”

I smiled and said thank you. I inclined my head in a gracious manner. (How was he to know I’m not really a laydee?)

Tonight on the phone to Em, we were coordinating our Saturday, as we are going to a ginormous Christmas bazaar, where I will be buying all of my ‘homemade’ baking. Yeah, it was made in someone’s home, just not mine.

She mentioned the DefCon-alert-causing fact that her mother was coming on the trip. I expressed my misgivings, and she said, “Whatever. You’re Liz. You’ll handle it. You always handle it.”

She’s right. I do always handle it. Pretty cool.

Plus some old British ExPat thinks I’m an admirable lady. I can live with that.


So tonight at work, I thought I would save our lovely secretary, Su, some work and re-file some stuff that had accumulated in my classroom. I strode purposefully out the door, checking what levels the grammar exercises were. And ran straight into the open bottom drawer of our mahoosive filing cabinet. Momentum was such that my other leg wouldn’t support me, and I went into a clumsy ninja roll in an attempt to save my glasses from being crushed beneath my face.

I am now sporting a huge gash on my left shin, which crowns a swollen area roughly the size of my palm. I have always hated filing cabinets.

Life’s Too Short.

Life’s Too Short Day is December 8th.

It’s being organized by one of the women I chat to on my British wedding site. It’s the first anniversary of her husband’s death.

After he died, this young widow remembered all the times she and her husband said, “We’ll do that later.” And now they can’t.

So December 8, if you want to, do something you’d ordinarily put off because you can ‘do it later’.

Tell someone you love them.
Call a friend and catch up.
Have a manicure.
Go to a really nice restaurant.
Walk the Seawall. Backwards.
Smile at strangers.
Try skydiving, or watercolour, or pastry making, or whatever you want.

Just make it something you know you’d regret if you never got to do it.

Because life really is too short.

You Know What I Love?

Discovering an author I really enjoy reading. Because then I get to catch up on all of his or her books!

Nora Roberts, writing as JD Robb, could you please write a little faster, because I’m finished the “In Death” series now. Plus, I want to see how Mavis’ baby is.

Jilly Cooper, please get the new book out PDQ. I need to know what happens to Xav and Bianca. Oh, and the demonic little Cosmo. I do not need to be going through a major life change in order for you to publish, you know.

William Gibson, I know you’re in town writing abecause I saw you on Broadway the other week looking for an open pizza joint at 10:AM. You know they only open at 11, Bill. So come on, get that manuscript published!

Katie McAllister, vite, vite! I am simply languising for the new Aisling Grey installment. Can she balance being a dragon’s mate with her girl-on-the-go lifestyle?

Judith Merkle Riley, why is your latest only available in German? If it were in French, I’d get it, just for the exercise, but I want to know what happens to Margaret and I really can’t do that if the verb is all the way at the end of the book.

Julia Quinn, you have run out of Bridgertons to write about. Please tell me this isn’t the end for you, too?

Terry Pratchett, I loved the Hat Full of Sky books, but I’d like to know if Lady Sybil had a daughter or a son, or what. Also, I have the worst crush on Sam Vimes, but you totally knew that.

Speaking of what I love, I love meeting someone who likes the same books as I do, and we can have one of those conversations where you quote the books at each other and everyone else thinks you are mad as a hen because you growl “Hmine!”(Like a werewolf guarding her boyfriend, you know, that sound) and then yell, “Pink bunny rabbit sippers, Fred?”(You know, like a prep school boy who’s on the lawn because of a fire alarm) and then collapse, crying with laughter.

You know, this is empirical proof that the Dark Ages were caused by the lack of dissemination of information. If more people were able to read, Europe would probably not have plunged into several centuries of dispair and ignorance. Think about it. If they were all staying home reading, so many fewer people would have gotten bored and started wars.

Alright. I’m going to go teach some kids to read.

Can Somebody Tell Me

Why the Internets are now plural?

Instead of one all-consuming cassoulet of knowledge, there’s more than one?

Was there a schism in the Church of Information that I didn’t notice?

Gah, I just need to keep my head down and write. 23,504 NaNo words as of right now. Good God, what if I actually make it to 50K? The mind boggles.

Also noted: The MC and werewolf love interest don’t actually have to do it in order for her to be carrying werewolf DNA. He just has to turn her into a werewolf.

So cool, without the whole extended foreplay writing embarassment!

You Know You’re Among A Certain Crowd…

When there’s a serious, yet laughing, discussion of the speed of your first modem. And everyone knows what you mean when you say ‘baud’.



Lord of the rings
J.R.R. Tolkien: Lord of the Rings. You are
entertaining and imaginative, creating whole
new worlds around yourself. Well loved, you
have a whole league of imitators, none of which
is quite as profound as you are. Stories and
songs give a spark of joy in the middle of your
eternal battle with the forces of evil.

Which literature classic are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

What does it say about me that I skipped most of Tolkien’s songs and poems, flipping past them to get to more storyline?


I just broke 20K in my NaNo novel. All my neuroses are coming out on the written page. It’s like therapy, only forced.

MC and werewolf: Still no nookie. Who knew I was such a prude?

Now what happens?

New Interior World.

I know, it sounds like a furniture store, but no. After thirty odd years of having my dream landscapes distinctly coastal, last night I dreamed of a big old wooden house somewhere where there are mountans and marshes. There was a lake nearby because at one point I was in a speedboat on it.

I was in a big rambling house, which I seemed to own, for a writing festival. Or something. Maybe I just knew it really well, because I totally knew where all the closets and light switches were. I’m not sure, because my family was there, and it might have been their house instead. (I was an aunt to some children who were other races than white, and I was enlisted to make their beds for them). I also was training a large, wolf-like dog to become socialised with the other dogs in the house. There was this amazing shower that you got to through a closet, and it had a screen door looking out on the front yard of the house. Many people were showing up for the conference. One of them was a mentally retarded teenaged boy. For some reason, I was happiest of all to meet him.

I blame the fact that many of the bloggers I read have gone to academic conferences this weekend. That and I wrote almost 5,000 words on my NaNo story yesterday. And I ate cheese before bed.

I will be eating cheese before bed again tonight, and (I hope) writing another 5,000 words. I want to go back to that house!


What happens when a girl is recounting the tale of her first Rememberance Day ceremony in Canada?

For one thing, her tutor collapses in hysterical laughter at said girl’s insights and observations. Political Correctness was not in my pocket for this little foray into cross-cultural (mis)understanding.

J: You know this thing? (Holds up plastic poppy on a pin)
Me: Yeah. The poppy. It’s tradition.
J: I thought they were saying puppy. How do people wear puppies for Rememberance Day?
Me: (giggling) Um, They don’t. It’s these flowers. They’re because of a special poem, written by a Canadian.
J: Um. I thought they were asking for donations for our new playground, because we have a new playground, right? So I, like, didn’t pay very good attention. And then one boy and one girl came around and they had this envelope. But I didn’t know anything. And they said there was going to be puppies. But then they gave me a flower.
Me: (progessive hysterics) Didn’t you wonder about the sense of celebrating with puppies?
J: Yeah, I kinda did, bt there’s lots of things different here, so I never really thought about it You know, Canada.
Me: Yes, Canada. It’s traditional for us to wear those poppies because of a famous poem: In Flanders Fields, the poppies grow, between the crosses, row on row.. Um, I forget the rest.
J: (brightens) I think I heard that today. Something about poppies.
Me: That’ll be it. It’s traditional.
J: Oh, and we sang, too.
Me: Oh Canada?
J: Jeah, but I haven’t learned any of it but Oh Canada, so I just kind of lip-synched it.
Me: That’s okay. (trying to be supportive, aware that I may laugh at the wrong time)
J: Then there was another poem. It was about teaching the world or something. I didn’t really understand it. (shrugs) Whatever.
Me: (losing it again) Probably there was something about teaching the world not to kill each other?
J: Yeah, probably. It was boring. Hey! Look what I can do! (makes fake lips from plastic poppy)
Me: (crying with laughter) That’s traditional too!

Bad Behavior has blocked 3 access attempts in the last 7 days.