Newell worked from home today so that I would help him stay on task. He did very well. 😉 And since he was presenting such a good example, I actually put on my Acquisitions Editor hat today and started through the slush that had accumulated. I am bad about getting to it…I usually let it build up a bit before going through them. Weeded out half of the submissions in my box today though, so that was an intense bit of working.
Also got the cover for the story I sold over the weekend today. This is one of a series of “steamy” shorts to be released one a day in July, so they all have the same cover for continuity. I am not sure what day my story will be released, but I will let you know when I find out. Since this is a “steamy” story, it is written by my erotica alter ego. I try to keep her separated from my other work, but I am proud of the things Tysche has done — I try to have at least a little plot in my erotica. 😉
Here is the cover:
If you are interested in reading it, keep an eye out at http://mochamemoirspress.com/ to see when it is available. There is also another of Tysche’s stories on their website, and one of my favorite of my non-erotic stories, Drink My Soul…Please — a science fiction story about a very dystopian future.
UPDATE: Oops. I had my facts a little skewed. This is the accurate info straight from the publisher’s email: Â “The stories will go live in clusters every Friday and Saturday in July. Yours goes live first on 7/6/12 with three other stories…there will be a new blogpost and most will be steamy, each of the 31 days.”














6/20/12
Washing clothes now. Washed dishes already today. Feel like I have done well for the day, but I still have a ways to go to get ready for tomorrow’s trip to Houston. This is going to be another of those convention weekends which means not a lot of cleaning in the traditional sense, but I’ll be working on cleaning up my laptop a bit, I hope. 🙂
Since this is a short entry, here is a poem for you. This is from my Take Out From the Writer’s Cafe collection.
Poet Laureate of the Laundromat
Poetry full of iridescent imagery
awes my mind.
Words that sing an unknowable cadence
but speak volumes.
Intricate tapestries woven of words
creating miraculous visions…
But they are not my poems.
My poems speak fairy tales,
or slyly offer sarcasm to
prick a pompous bubble.
My poems offer philosophy,
but cracker barrel, not heavenly.
My poems weep remembered tears,
or share forgotten songs.
My poems tell of laundromats,
not Luxembourg.
The pictures they paint
aren’t by the numbers,
but they aren’t Degas either.
More Norman Rockwell than
Andy Warhol…
I leave surrealism to
those that speak in riddles.
I am a meat and potatoes girl,
uneasy in the banquet hall.
But my poetry is my own,
and to me, it shines like diamonds.
I am poet laureate of the laundromat
and I am content.
I’ll pop in a bit later if anything needs updating. Â See ya!