Many thanks in advance.

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Writing from Philadelphia, Poe blames his friend William Ross Wallace, a poet and lawyer, for making him drink too many “juleps” and for misbehaving on a visit to New York.

“Will you be so kind enough to put the best possible interpretation upon my behaviour while in N-York?,” Poe asks New York publishers J. and Henry G. Langley. “You must have conceived a queer idea of me — but the simple truth is that Wallace would insist upon the juleps, and I knew not what I was either doing or saying.”

I am so stealing that line,
“…but the simple truth is that Wallace would insist upon the juleps, and I knew not what I was either doing or saying.”
now all I need is a friend named Wallace and a good julep recipe.

While packing for my recent writing conference in Florida, I did the three things any smart gal does: check weather.com’s extended forecast, choose the prettiest shoes, and bring lots of books. I was ready for some sunshine, as Atlanta’s teaser of Spring went from 60 degree days to 30 degree days and I hate being teased.
The conference was called Sleuthfest, sponsored by the Mystery Writers of America, the Florida Chapter and was geared to the detective/police/PI/thriller/suspense market… more suited for the novel I’m almost done with, not really the one I wanted to pitch, but the agent list was very respectable and I had at least one friendly face in Florida to look forward to seeing, an author pal who told me most of the business gets done in the bar. SO that was one thing I could look forward to. He also promised to show me this cool place. Vizcaya.
One of the statues at the entrance. Boob Anole extra.

Of course, I enjoyed the workshops, learned some new stuff, made some new friends, got the requisite author photos and signatures,
Big name to watch out for and a great guy, John Hart.
Super funny and talented Brad Meltzer, who taught me the value of giving.
did some shopping and went to the beach where we saw this guy catch a snapper, though he had no idea what kind of fish it was until someone told him.All the things you cannot do on the Pier. And now you KNOW I wanted to do them all.


Yes, it was a great trip. Fun times, good food, a bed to myself. Coupled with the fact that my reading of a chapter of We’re Not Waving, We’re Drowning was very well-received by my peers and I didn’t choke on pitch day, nabbing me two agent requests, while two others came in electronically. I also scored some points with a positive and encouraging critique of the work in progress. It’s always good to know you are on the right path.
It may have cost a bit of money, time away from the family, and the bitch of a delay getting home on blizzard day… a delay in a terminal where some guy almost died- when no one could heimlich the chicken sandwich out of his throat.
I am dead serious. That guy is going to have the sorest most bruised chest when he gets out of the hospital. Freaked me out. All I could think about was Palahniuk’s book, Choke.

When the people near me invited me to join them for dinner before we flew out, I declined saying there was no way I could eat after seeing what happened with that guy.
“Are you sure?” they asked, “We could bring you back some chicken wings.”
“Great,” I said. “Chicken bones. Thanks.”

So, to wrap it up, I’ll say this. I’m glad I went, though coming home in high-heeled sandals to snow drifts and my son’s Hooters Snow Girl was a bit unexpected.

Anyone who has spent any period of time with me knows I am stubborn- though I prefer to call it “determined.”
I knew a guy once who made his Queensland Blue Heeler attack a deflated soccer ball hanging from a tree on his farm in Southern California with a simple whistle command. That dog ran and leapt into the air, snagging the ball and clamping his jaws onto the scarred leather. His hind legs hung two feet off the ground as he spun in slow circles.
We sipped our beers and watched, waiting for him to understand his predicament and give up, until the guy said, “He’ll hang there all day. Once he’s locked onto to his prey, until it gives, he can’t open his mouth.”

I’m like that dog.
I’ve been swinging under the publication tree for seven years. It’s what I want and it’s what I’ll get. Sure, along the way there have been a fair share of hits and accomplishments for my short stories and essays, but my deflated soccer ball is the elusive book contract dangling from the branch of the perfect literary agent.
And after a few years of hearing, “It’s not for us.” and “Great writing, but…” my jaws are getting tired.
But here I am. Sending out the novel to a bulldog of an agent, another who wears pink and two secret links, continuing to hope for the best.

The good?
I will get a literary agent this year, someone I will meet at an event in Feb.
He will sell my book in or by June. It will make me money.
I will have a whirlwind year from June 09 to June 2010.
IRS problem will end in our favor.
Money will never be a problem.
Health is all good.
I married the right man.
Something to do with horses or dude ranches.. .( maybe I’ll adopt a cowboy?)
Ocean good place for me to write.
Will get a brand new house in new 1-2 years and have no problem buying it or
selling existing one.

The bad?
Brand new house not near ocean.
Someone older and sick who I am not close to ( not parents) in my family will not make it through the year.
No time to travel this summer.
My daughter will be a pain in the ass for 5 years.
My son probably won’t be a gynecologist.
My father in law really was a stubborn man with issues that never would have been resolved.
Some friendships weren’t meant to be.

Best 55 bucks I’ve ever spent.

My gift:
You can read your future too.
Go here for a Free Tarot card reading.

This year was a series of trials, sort of like the Olympics, but with less Chinese food and more Southern accents.
We had our technical challenges, beginning with Linda choosing to defect from Samsung to the BlackBerry team. There was a moment when she was wooed by a competitor, but even with its snazzy looking stylus she still couldn’t cope with the Microsoftness of it. She battled the internet to create a website for her new venture, scratch and maintain her own site.
More techical hi-jinx took center ring on the day C’s Guitar Hero 3 dongle died, reducing Slash shredders to the PS2 version and a 32 inch screen instead of the PS3 and 130 inch screen- all of which will only make sense to 64.8% of newsletter recipients.

The Olympic Torch fiasco of 1879 was re-visited on Lochwood Trail when the last of the Alabama Fireworks misfired causing severe injuries to the butt and lower leg of the lady of the house who happened to be comfortably ensconced, beer in hand, in her beach chair in the driveway. The dance display she put on when hit with the fiery balls was worthy of a gold in the Special Olympics. The resulting scars will be her medal of honor.

In Wrestling:
When Vishnu and David tear out your bathtub, it’s a whole new Olympic event, falling somewhere between Greco-Roman wrestling and judo. With underhooks, crossfaces and cutbacks, we broke through skill, language and tile barriers to pull off a victory in the heavyweight division.
C was taken to the mat by cellular phone roaming fees and ring tone downloads, while P used a whizzer attack in her attempts to break/lose her free mobile so that she might join the team of US Texters.
Coming up with the silver, M’s back door offense ruled over the Russians when he dropped his second or third walkie-talkie phone and may have even managed to run it over in a Cajun parking lot.
But Linda took the gold with the one step back and circle defense when her flanked Macbook crashed and she lost everything, leaving her with nothing but a mysterious flashing question mark- not only on her blackened screen but also floating above the heads of the Apple Genius Staff at the mall.

In Taekwondo:
Linda wanted to do a little martial arts on those guys, but didn’t want to end up banned for life from the sport. Instead she pulled a Matos and spat on the floor and was escorted out. Apple countered that the match was fixed and accused her of offering them money.
She took her high flying moves to the local bars and restaurants of her fair town where she only managed to get thrown out of two of them all year, definitely deserving of a medal.
On the other side of the stadium…

In Gymnastics:
There were some rhythmic gymnastics happening in the meat packing district when Linda went to NYC for the AWP which sounds like a lot of FUN. It was.
Meanwhile on the balance beam, M managed to keep one foot in front of the other performing trick after trick, despite landing on a rickety economic base. C showed off his talents on the bar, as a new high schooler. All that spinning and flipping was good until the flipping was aimed at the bus driver, then the spinning resulted in a disqualification by the principal.

In The Steeplechase:
We had our share of interactions with horses and horses’ asses, from our nonjumping horseback riding on the beach in Cape San Blas, to a government-issued obstacle course in which we’ve been leaping fences, creeks and secret hedges chased by our new friend Mr. Tax Auditor, whose favorite phrase is “I’m almost done.”

In Basketball:
“Any time you get beat it’s embarrassing and that’s enough,” Bosh said. “And we can really use that as a tool … no matter how you’re shooting the ball you’re going to be in the game.”
M took his game to the golf course. From weekend outings with friends to weekdays with clients, he chased the little white ball all over Georgia, even scoring tickets to a PGA event where he and Linda followed Phil Mickelson and Camilo Villegas and ducked when Anthony Kim’s errant shot on the ninth hole whacked a spectator in the head. Kim might be arrogant little man, but he was kind enough to autograph the ball after someone cleaned off the blood.

In Swimming:
No Michael Phelps stylish strokes here. Our events were held in the Florida Panhandle on a deserted Cape and in the Georgia mountains where we rode tubes down shallow rivers and fell into off-road gullies cushioned with poison ivy. Though there was a Phelps-like amount of pizza consumed.

In The High Dive:
P competed once again in the Odyssey of the Mind competition. All the practice in the world could not have prepared any of the kids or their ever patient, loving parents for the hurricane that ripped through the small Georgia town on the day of the meet up. Lucky to not be selected as the team who would wait out the storm in the boys locker room, Linda snuck her group out the door past security and all the way down the road to the Mexican restaurant, where she felt they would be best protected by cheese dip and Margaritas.

In The Pentathalon:
The animals in the house had their own pentathalon, though none of them are named Andrejus or Edvinas, they managed to shoot, fence, swim, ride and run us around, from dying hamsters to adoptable-via-Craig’s-List-you-know-you-want-one Guinea Pigs to hand-fed baby doves and aging dogs with pirate eye conditions that make them look like the homeless guy on the corner who says he’ll work for samwitches.
Linda’s annual birthday celebration had at least five events: dinners, lunches, drinks, a party that began on a tavern rooftop and ended at a comedy club. Instead of a gold medal, she received her first pearl necklace- in a box- from the store.
A few months later she competed in the pentathalon-like planning of the anniversary day. Highlights: tequila tasters, an hour of blindness (Dialog in the Dark), an hour of incredible sights (Biplane ride).

In Synchronized Swimming :
P’s love for the dance took a nosedive as her love for the grades won out in late Fall. The family’s love for the non-generic cheese thanks her. Ditto C’s guitar lessons AKA that-weekly-source-of-money-flinging. It had something to do with video games, web surfing and girls- and maybe a little to do with five hours of daily high school homework.
We finally managed to synchronize some extended family time starting with a surprise New Year visit by Mom, Dad and Alex, followed by summer in Baldwinsville where the cousins got to play, though synchronized would probably be the last word the grandparents would choose to describe those weeks.
It was a good idea until C came down with a 24 hour bug the night before departure- which meant 24 hours of puke gag puke, which is especially lovely when you’re stuck on the tarmac for over 3 hours.
Linda battled the same bug while making a synchronized exit to Southampton where she’d won a scholarship to write with the pros. There was lots of reading and writing and listening, moderated by totally non-equal amounts of drinking, dancing and exploring.

In Fencing:
Though some would argue that there should have been, there was no wearing of straitjacket-like fencing outfits here. Instead we
drove straight to crazy with a trip to the sandy Florida Panhandle with a hairy dog, and spent days eating hundreds of Apalachicola oysters, an Olympic feat in itself.
In a counter parry, we returned home to more work for M and more writing events for Linda- a few that included sports cars when she was hired by both Porsche and GM. Touché.
She takes a few more awards and publication credits, and the gold after a year old blog post about a huge mean Cichlid garnered her more hate mail and free press than she could have imagined. En garde! Fish Keepers!
C had his own personal jab and parry when he pierced his own ears- at least a few times.

In Canoeing:
Unlike the Olympic canoers who overexerted themselves and fainted, we stayed relatively upright on a luxury houseboat for Cinco de Mayo. Being up a creek without a paddle is just fine with us, especially when you’re floating along with a captain, a bartender and lots of high end Tequila. (Partida!)
There are many different ways to traverse a watery plain, including the old slalom course approach which the kids nailed during a week at Church Camp. They managed to avoid any Eskimo rolls and returned a bit holier in hearts and clothes.
P did some fancy paddling when she hosted her birthday party at a kid’s beauty salon. Embarrassment, wild hair and nail polish reined in the river of youth.

In Track:
M’s increased muscle size made competitors wonder if there was something extra in his kool-aid, but his slow pace in the 400 and ability to crash on any couch removed any doubt that the man is all natural. C’s race approach was more hamster wheel than track and field, while P and her friend competed in javelin, hammer and discus in an outdoor meet at the fort in the woods, or was that saw, hammer, box of nails?
Linda sprinted from event to event, from literary venues to girl getaways, even joining the DragonCon team, where she competed in the Irish Car Bomb category, taking the bronze, while the gold was awarded to one very large Storm Trooper.
There was pole vaulting and high jumping and the throwing of a few discuses when the house became a 1920’s speakeasy for the annual murder mystery party, moonshine and tommy gun vodka included.

In the Triathalon:
Georgia gave us a triathalon from lake drainage to water shortage to gas shortage.
House repairs and maintenance continued to challenge in all three events of carpet, paint and remodel. The events may have been steroid enhanced by tours of re-fabbed Sears and Roebuck mail order houses in exclusive neighborhoods, or the million dollar estate homes with indoor basketball courts, arcades and private beauty salons.
We swam to the new Georgia Aquarium, biked to the World of Coke where we downed a few Beverlys, then ran to the finish with seats at So You Think You Can Dance and Neil Diamond.

All in all, it was a good year, breaking 43 world records, 132 Olympic records and earning multiple medals for endurance. We still have our hurdles to overcome and continue training for success.

Life is a marathon. Lace up your shoes and warm up your muscles, the race is on.

note: most of these events were written up in detail on this site and can be found in the tabs.. I’m just too lazy to insert the links