Hello dreamers, readers, innovators, excavators, those-with-hope, those-with-dope, or just those–
Hi.
11.11.11 is coming. What does it mean?! For those who are Type-A and have OCD, it’s probably a satisfying day and they’ll be writing out the date over and over again all over everyone and everything they come in contact with. Be sure to give markers, sharpies, crayons, or cans of spray paint to all of those you love with Type-A and OCD!
For the whole world, I believe it may signify a kind of synchronicity. Yes, I do mean that seminal 1983 album by The Police, one of the most influential albums of my life….
“A connecting principle
Linked to the invisible
Almost imperceptible
Something inexpressible
Science insusceptible
Logic so inflexible
Causally connectible
Yet nothing is invincible”
I’m headed overseas for a spell, but before I go, I wanted to send a shout-out and an update.
I just finished a major edit of my full-length work of fiction, searing off nearly 17,000 words in the process. It wasn’t that bad, actually. Remove unnecessary adjectives, adverbs, and modifiers, and there’s real magic at your fingertips. Who needs ‘Stupefy’ and ‘Expelliarmus’ when you’ve got the Delete button?
My agent has been sent the edited book, and with a lot of love & luck, hopefully that one will be in your hands before I’m 78.
The reading for ORPHANS at The Last Bookstore in downtown Los Angeles was awesome. So many amazing and esteemed guests came down to hear some extraordinary people read from the stories. I thought it would make the stories pop more to hear them come from the mouths and hearts and minds of others, rather than myself, and I was right, because the stories came alive vividly. They soared. It was epic. I sold a nice amount of books that night, and even gave out free Orphans magnets to those who bought a book! That was fun, cos I love magnets. Don’t you?
MAGNETS!
Here are some pictures, taken by my fave uber-artist, Christine Deitner. {Click ‘em to see ‘em real big}
Thank you to Adam Hass Hunter, Milena Hunter, John Kern, Deb Knox, Derek Schreck, Will Collyer, Erin Noble, and Paul Keeley for taking part and making it amazing.
For those of you are still looking for some good holiday reading, or looking for some early holiday gifts, go here to getitgetit.
It’s cheap, too. $2.99, $4.99, or $10.79
I’m doing a holiday giveaway with special prizes, too. Be on the lookout for that in December! :0)
* Amazon.com for the new Kindle Fire and Print edition
* Barnes and Noble.com for the Nook and Print
* Apple iBooks for your iPhone and iPad
* Smashwords, for all other digital formats
Hey, if you’ve read it, raise your voice. Share your words, share your heart. Write me a review on the book’s Amazon.com page. Also, if you have not yet LIKED my Facebook page, hop over and clickety click. People like those likes.
I’ll leave you with an excerpt from my new book, a story about an emotionally stilted family who can only experience their crushing loss through the depression of the family cat. Yikes. But you know what? It’s true. I read this book called, “The Cat Who Cried for Help: Attitudes, Emotions, and the Psychology of Cats” by Nicholas Dodman and it was really freekin’ cool. Here’s a little bitty from Chapter 2. Let me know what you think. HAPPY 6-ELEVENS!
The abandoned house on the corner of Poppy and Saint Anthony was supposedly haunted, and rumor has it that that’s the reason it was abandoned in the first place. It’s been that way for about seven months—since St. Patrick’s Day, the day after my mom died. Halloween was right around the corner, so the house had smashed pumpkins on the stoop, a bloody dummy’s head hung by a noose in the broken bay window, and weather-torn old white sheets hanging from the huge oak on the front lawn and blustering in the wind like…well, like ghosts.
Asinine. The kids in this neighborhood are so sinus supremus.
I headed up the front lawn, around to the side of the house, and I removed the same wooden slat in the fence that I tore off last time I came here to get Alice. I walked around back and over to the hole in the ground against the house that some person or creature dug, which exposed the foundation underneath. The hole was big enough to slide my whole body through, and then I was under the house again, where a maze of concrete slabs and columns made up the whole groundwork of the house. It was all very cement-gray and smelled like skunk, damp soil, and something unnatural like rotted flowers and animal bones. I inchwormed along the centermost column until I was right in the middle. My stomach was all scraped up from the roughness of the slab. I could feel my hoodie stuck to my body from the little droplets of blood that were seeping out. The concrete columns went down really far—why did they go down that far? Do all the houses have columns that go down so far?
Alice was curled up in a small ball on the lower set of beams. I couldn’t get down there. Last time she was on upper level of beams and I picked her up and brought her out. Now she was lower, and unless I could find a way to shimmy down the slabs like a squirrel or a monkey… A few rats came down the beam across from me and I hissed at them. They stopped, sniffed the air in my direction, squeaked, and went the other way.
“Alice,” I called out. “Psss psss psss.”
She lifted her head, so slowly, looked around a minute, then over her shoulder up to where I was. She was sitting in a tiny pool of sunlight that was raying down from outside somewhere—I looked around and then discovered a window…where the basement of the house was, I guessed, and in the smoky light Alice’s eyes were milky and pink. She blinked and then curled into herself again.
“Alice, please. I can’t come down there to get you. Please. It’s me, Tess.” Alice sighed. I saw her little head raise up and down. “Please, girl. It’s okay. It’s okay. Please.” Nothing. “Crap, Alice!” My voice didn’t exactly echo in the space, but it sounded small, swallowed up and afraid, like how I imagined voices must sound in the catacombs under ancient European cities. (We’d been learning about those creepville places in Social Studies.) “Alice, please. Aww, crapper!”
I shimmied backwards back out, scraping my belly more and thankful that I was wearing my red hoodie and not my white one, because if I had been wearing my white one it would’ve been ruined by bloodstains. As soon as I made it back out the hole, and pulled myself off the ground, I turned around and gasped to find someone standing there covered in one of the white sheets that had been hanging from the trees on the lawn of the house….

































