I haven’t been an RWA (Romance Writers of America) member for about a decade. I haven’t entered the Rita for ages and ages. I don’t enter any contests. I don’t have a problem with them; I just don’t enter them.
The Rita is kinda/sorta odd in that anyone can enter, even non-RWA members. You plunk your $40.00 down (or however much it is now) and you are entered. If you’re a published author, however, you’re expected to judge, too, so you get a box of books and have to read and score them.
Then they tabulate all the scores and the resultant “winners” are called Rita finalists. Everyone who gets this far in the process gets a phone call. I actually got a phone call once, for Heaven Forbids. It still amuses me that a book featuring adultery was an RWA Rita finalist.
The day of the phone calls there is much flurry in the Force. Twitter goes nutso. Who got the call? Who got the call? Who got the call? Author boards go nuts.
This year, I was completely unaware that today was the day of the CALL. (That’s the bliss part.) Here is the list, if you’re interested.
Where the ignorance comes in is here: I’m a little shocked to realize I haven’t read one of these books.
How about y’all?
I found this article about cats and women and thought it was fascinating.
Do you think more women than men have cats?
Do you think more writers have cats than dogs?
Guess who just ate a paper plate filled with french fries?
Nope, not me.
I did get a hamburger from a fast food place today, though. There, a confession. I piled the french fries on a plate (medium order) and left it on the table as I answered the phone. When I returned to the kitchen, the french fries were gone.
Good grief. First ice cream last night and french fries today. Remember the diet he and I are both on? I take full responsibility for my descent into madness, but a whole plate of french fries?
He won’t meet my eyes.
So, this week is almost over. Can I hear an amen?
I was stung by a bee two days ago and my forehead is still swollen. Big whoop. My eye, however, looks a little weird. Kinda sorta like a Cyclops.
I’m recuperating from one of the worst ear infections I’ve had in a long time. We go back awhile, ear infections and me. I had a couple of surgeries on my ears as a child. I have some hearing loss in the right ear and that’s the one that decided to give me grief.
I have page proofs that have to be back on my editor’s desk lickety split.
I also have a manuscript to finish with the same lickety splitness.
So, today I dosed myself to the gills, heated up my lavender wrap (and promptly caught it on fire), and got on my comfy couch. My son, bless his heart, insisted on coming over, tending me, listening to me whine a little, (he brought me ice cream!!! Love that kid), and mopped the floor with me when we played Wii archery. It’s hard to hit the bullseye when one eye isn’t working right. (It didn’t matter that one ear wasn’t working right, either.)
The balance issue is a biggee, though, so it’s a good thing I didn’t try walking very much. I have a tendency to run into walls.
Tonight, I just got tickled at the situation. I’m in a comfy chair, a heating pad against my ear, leaning toward the lamp with my good eye, flicking kibble to the Best Dog in the World, and trying to do one page after another of the page proofs.
Let’s recap, shall we?
I look like living HELL.
I don’t care.
I am grateful for:
Flash the Wonder Pooch.
A sense of humor.
And the fact that I’m now going to bed. Nope, I didn’t get as much done as I wished but at least I was conscious most of the day. I’ll take my victories where I can find them.
I’ve been thinking a lot about friendship lately. Relationships of any sort intrigue me. I want to know stuff that’s probably goofy.
For example, when do you know a friend is a friend? Is it a shared enemy? A shared vocation? A shared problem?
When do you realize that the friend you thought was a friend wasn’t? When you discover that she’s saying things about you behind your back? When she simply disappears into the ether?
What are the boundaries of friendship? Can someone say anything to you? Can they ask a question no one else would dare?
Opening yourself up to friendship can be scary, especially if you’ve been hurt by people pretending to care for you. But it’s the only way I know to live. Besides, it’s much better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, right?