Sassy and The Bandit have the rest of the week off school for spring break.  And then they have time off next month for spring break.  I don’t get it.  I spend an awful lot of money to send them to a private school for there to be all these days off.  That wasn’t the point of this post.

Since they are off tomorrow, the real St. Patrick’s Day, they were allowed to wear green today instead of their regular uniforms.  I’d pretty much forgotten all about it since I’d planned my green for tomorrow like everyone else in the Western hemisphere.

We pulled into our parking space and jumped out of the car to hurry into school before the bell rang.  I was hustling them onto the lawn when Bandit stopped cold.

“Darn!”  He stomped his little Transformer shod foot.  “I forgot to wear green.”

“Oh well.” I put my hand on his shoulder in an effort to keep him moving and guide him in the direction of his class.  “I’m pretty sure there’s green on your underwear.”  I remember setting out Incredible Hulk drawers for him this morning with the rest of his clothes.

“Bwwwwwaaaahahahahahahahaha!” His face lit up with a big toothy grin, his evil laughter echoing off the brick of the building.  “I’m not wearing any underwear!”

Honestly, I don’t get it.

I’m here to tell you, when my head hurts this bad it only seems fair that blood should be leaking out my eyes and ears.  I know that sounds dramatic  and maybe a tad excessive, but anyone who gets migraines can understand that one of the most frustrating things about the affliction that people can’t see how badly you’re hurting, thus your pain is pretty much disregarded. 

I can’t tell you how many murders I’ve planned when some idiot suggests to me that I take a Tylenol.  Tylenol might as well be a Chiclets for all the good it’ll do me.  I’ve taken all the prescription meds I’m allowed in a 24 hour period and several non-prescription ones as well.  I’ve done all the folk remedies: caffeine, lavender, whining.  A Percocet won’t do anything for the pain, and for whatever reason, doesn’t really even help me sleep. 

I’ve begged My Honey to get one of those antique augers and drill a hole in my head to release some of the pressure of

My ideal medical instrument

 my expanding brain, but selfishly he won’t.  He babbled something about prison and insurance copays but, quite frankly, I wasn’t listening anymore.  I couldn’t hear with the incessant pounding of the pulse at my temples.

 It’ll pass in several days.  Either that, or I have a brain tumor.  I’ve had this one since Saturday.  I’ll be in tears sometime tomorrow.  The good news is, and how pathetic am I that this is good news, it’s just pain now, no more jacked up vision problems or confusion to contend with. 

You wanna come over and break my neck and put me out of my misery?

Wow! This weekend was exciting and exhausting and exhilarating and overwhelming all at once.  Everything came together very well.  Of course, there were several hiccups, but nothing that wasn’t over come fairly easily.  There were absolutely scads of people that turned out.  I saw several old friends which delighted me immensely (Hey Kristy, Dona and Melissa!)  I gave my two talks which was ridiculously nerve wracking.  I stopped shaking somewhere around the middle of the first talk and I never threw up.  I wanted to when I got the second massive migraine in one day on Saturday.  I had to call My Honey and have him drive me home.  Some of the lovely ladies in my RWA chapter drove my car home.  I don’t know why I have such a hard time accepting help, but they insisted and I’m very glad they did.

The whole thing kicked off Friday night with a dinner at Old Pueblo Grill.  I was so excited to meet all the authors since I’d sort of met them all on line when I did the interviews.  I sat next to Mary Jo Putney at dinner.  She was just lovely and was very gracious over my fawning.  She asked me questions about my writing and Kelli and I talked about research with her and our friend Anita.  Mary Jo signed my book and even gave Kelli and I a taste of her dessert which, I might add, was way better than the one we ordered to share.

I also met Gini Koch, the author of Touched by an Alien and Alien Tango, who turned out to be just as crazy and fun in person as she is in email.  And Glory of Glories, Karen Hawkins was there with Hot Cop.  She was just as nice as could be and even posed for a picture with me.

After dinner, Kelli and I raced to the airport like crazy people to pick up Esi Sogah, Associate Editor for Avon.  Of course, I pitched to her in the car. Why not?  After all, she was a captive audience.  It turns out she’s just as fun and gregarious as can be.  She told me to forwardher stuff which I’ll pass on to My Agent.  Also, note to those of you out there who also pick up Esi at the airport – she loves a good In & Out burger with grilled onions and a strawberry milkshake.

Saturday was soooooooo0 long.  My Honey and I packed the kids in the car while they were still in their jammies at 6:30 in the morning to get down to the University to load up the booth and my day didn’t stop until 6:00 that night.  The weather was gorgeous, if not a little hot.  We hit the high 80’s.  Our guests from the East coast were in seventh heaven. 

I took care of Deb Werksman, editor from Sourcebooks, while she was in town.  We were conversationally walking toward the Author green room so she could get checked in, when she asked what I wrote.  I told her and she asked me to tell her all about it.  I instantly went from a confident, self-possessed event organizer to a blithering idiot.  She still asked for my agent to send her my stuff.  I don’t get it.

All four of our favorite ladies were present for one panel: Not Your Mother’s Bodice Ripper: The Evolution of the

Sabrina Jeffries, Julia London, Karen Hawkins, Sabrina Jeffries

 Romance Novel.  The ladies certainly didn’t disappoint, either. 

I also, got the chance to see two more of my favorites, Jennifer Ashley and Vicki Lewis Thompson who gave hopeful writers helpful information about what to do now that they’ve finished a book.

Sunday was a little less stressful.  The weather still held out and this was the day My Honey was able to come down with Sassy & The Bandit.  They had a great time and had their pictures taken with a bunch of their favorite storybook characters: Curious George, the pig from Give a Pig a Pancake, Little Critter, Maisy and a bunch of others.  They got a bunch of free books and other goodies.  My personal highlight was when they each got to ride a pony named Dillon.  It wasn’t Dillonwho was so special, it was

Little horsey tennis shoes!

his friend, Snickers.  Snickers is a miniature pony who works in therapy by visiting hospitals and nursing homes, etc.  Snickers wears tennis shoes.  Yes, tennis shoes and you haven’t seen cute until you’ve seen a miniature pony wearing red Keds. 

Karen Hawkins and Julia London gave a talk I moderated in the afternoon about research, a topic I don’t need any help with, but of

Julia & Karen

 course, I wrote down several of their suggested reference books I currently don’t have in my arsenal.

I also finally was able to meet Susan Wiggs, Erin Kellison, Erin Quinn, and Caris Roane. 

This event may be completely exhausting but, this it’s all just so much fun for me to meet all these people.

After everything wrapped up on Sunday and I’d taken Esi to the airport and Kelli had taken Karen Hawkins and Julia London back to the hotel, we took Sabrina Jeffries out shopping and to dinner.  We had the best time.  Sabrina is honestly one of the funniest people I’ve had the opportunity to schmooze with.  She told us horror stories about agents and publishing, gossip about the industry, and stories of her personal triumphs and defeats that only strengthened our resolve to keep on writing and submitting. 

Sabrina tried to pick up the check, but we refused.  I slid on my best Godfather impression and told her, “Someday I may call upon you to do a service for me.”  She has such a great sense of humor, she didn’t find that at all terrifying.  She did promise to write my front cover book blurb when I’m finally published.

One fabulous bit of trivia about Sabrina Jeffries: just like me, she also hates cilantro.  She thinks it tastes like bug spray!

Karen, someone, Sabrina & Julia

The Tucson Festival of Books was a phenominal success, our super-duper famous authors were fabulous and generous and funny and charming.  The weather was stupendous.  The editors were very interested in my work. 

Also, I’m exhausted.  My head hurts as only the sufferer of two migraines in one day can hurt.  And I’m not sure I can string anymore words together than this.

I have tomorrow off from the soul-sucking day job to recover from this whole adventure, so I’ll tell you the tale with pictures then.

I promise.  For now, ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Wow – I’ve been so busy I forgot to post yesterday.  Probably won’t be much of a post today either.

This is why.

Ms. Surly

A whole bunch of updates on me and various other things I pretend you all care about…

The Bandit went to the doctor today and it turns out he has the same crud the rest of the world has plus an ear infection.  Don’t kids ALWAYS get an ear infection?  At least the infection is something we can give medicine to cure.  I know he feels better because we had a good gigglefest while we worked on some of the school work he’s missed.  That’s the first time he’s really been silly since this whole thing started last Thursday.  Come hell or high water, the boy is going to school tomorrow.

BECAUSE I have taken the rest of the week plus Monday off from the soul-sucking day job to deal with the Tucson Festival of Books this weekend.  Not only am I the co-chair of the romance committee which has an amazing showing of 40 authors speaking this year, but I’m speaking on two panels, moderating two more, and tackling any number of insane organizational tasks.  We are all really, really proud of the festival – this is only the third year and already we are the fourth largest book festival in the country. 

I plan to be tweeting like a mad person through this whole weekend.  I’ve promised myself I’ll tweet every inane, amusing or snarky thing I can think of.  If you’re interested (God help you) then follow me @amylynnbright. 

I did tweet something this evening.  Sassy said, “We’re like the family of coolness!”  What prompted this exciting declaration you ask?  Do you remember doing cat’s craddle games when you were a kid?  You know, the game where you made complicated and intricate designs with a knotted string?  She has learned a few of them in school and she was dully impressed when I showed her a really complex one I can still remember (with my eyes closed) from the 4th grade.  That’s 32 years ago, people.  Sassy is absurdly impressed with all the stupid crap I know.  I’m going to revel in it now because it’s only a matter of time before I become the stupidest person on the planet.

I saved the best thing for last.  Some of you may know I’ve been having some problems with my current publisher.  I haven’t mentioned it on this site up till now in any detail at all because I was making a very concerted effort to be the mature one throughout all the dealings.  I petitioned for my rights back using the procedure as defined in my contract and was refused. 

*(&^$@@$%^&*^$@#$^%^%#$#&^^#@%^&&*%##

The above line is not a typo, it’s me editing myself.  This whole thing has been a real test to that bullshit idea that I’m trying to be more Buddhist.  The reason for the refusal was insane.  INSANE.  I got my fabulous agent involved who got nowhere.  I got my local and national representatives of Romance Writers of America involved who wrote a very sternly worded letter to the publisher promising sanctions if they didn’t comply.  Honestly, I didn’t think it would work and that I’d end up employing the lawyers that work for the Author’s Guild.  They are the wunderkind that successfully sued Google for author’s rights.  I was prepared to go all the way to court.  But, with a huge sigh of relief, everything worked out and today all my rights were reverted to me.

YEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After the festival winds down this weekend, I’ll send those two novellas off to my agent who plans to send them to the big name e-pubs.  Ones with accurate accounting of royalties and who employ grown-ups.  That was little nod to snark.  I didn’t say I was a successfully practicing Buddhist.

Anyway, stay tuned…..  I promise to have stories of me going fan-girl on my favorite authors and trying not to vomit during my public speaking engagements.  How’s that for enticing?

Poor little Bandit.  He’s really pitiful.  This cold of his has been waxing and waning since Thursday last week.  Friday he stayed home from school, missing a field trip and everything.  He didn’t have a fever this morning so, mean mother that I am, I made him go to school, even though he was just pitiful and weepy.  I even had to peel him off me when I left him at kindergarten. 

At 11:30, the school nurse called and said the teacher dropped him off with her because he couldn’t stop crying.  Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve heard today?  I went to pick him up and the nurse agreed that he was just pathetic.  He still didn’t have a temperature, but it was obvious he wasn’t well.  You could see it in his eyes, the unshed tears waiting to spill over.  He looked very small sitting on her couch, his Transformer backpack on the floor next to his dangling feet. 

I got him a Happy Meal, the Lego car and the chocolate milk the only thing he was interested in, and took him to my

Like my very own Mini Al Bundy - complete with his hands down his pants

office to wrap a few things up.  I brought a desk chair from one of the empty cubicles and placed it next to mine, where he promptly fell asleep.

By the time I got him home to a pair of comfy jammies and some cartoons, his temperature was up to 103. 

We’ve been bribing him with popcicles and Sponge Bob Square Pants chicken noodle soup to get fluids in him.  He’s got a doctor appointment in the morning and Daddy is taking the day off work to keep him home. 

Looks like I have a cartoon reprieve – at least until I get home at 5:30.

The Bandit is already telling me what he wants for his birthday.  It’s coming up in May.  I already know about the puppy.  If you recall, he

Oh dear, look what just wandered into the yard.

 desperately wanted a puppy from Santa this Christmas and that didn’t work out.  I’ll guess he figured he’d give it six months and try again.  But in all honesty, the campaign has never really ended.  I almost had his daddy convinced that Roscoe the Idiot Dog really needed a friend.  I still think that, and not just because I really want another dog.  I’ve never, as an adult, only had one dog.  I’m a dog person.  My Honey acknowledges this.

“If I let you have your way, you’d be running a kennel,” he tells me. 

I’ve done everything I can to help the boy out, but he constantly shoots himself in the foot and ruins all my subversive campaigning by refusing to feed the dog we do have.  Stupid boy.

In the last several weeks, though, he’s been coming to me with something else he’d like just as much.  What do you suppose a five year old boy would like for his birthday just as much as a real-live puppy?  You’re thinking horse, right?  Yeah, he wants a horse, too, but that’s not it.  Hold on to your socks.

He wants a jackhammer.  Yes, a jackhammer.  Don’t ask me what he thinks he’s going to do with a jackhammer, but he really wants one.  He’s brought it up to me no less than seven times.  I asked him if he knew for sure what a jackhammer was, and he demonstrated, with sound effects and everything, exactly the right thing.

Maybe he’s more conniving than I give him credit for.  Perhaps he’s picked something completely ludacris and out of the question so that the puppy

Oh crap! Look what I just found on the Internet

 seems completely feasible.

I tell you, he’s working the wrong parent.  His dad is more likely to find a “Your First Jackhammer” on Ebay or something.

Every once in a while I’ll come across a blog that amuses me so much I must share it with you.  Last time it was Jenny at www.bloggess.com.  She remains one of my favorite places to waste time.

I’ve encountered yet another one.  Holy Moly – this site is so funny.  My favorite so far is The Ducks in the Bathroom are Not Mine.

Go check him out.  He is a very amusing Australian.  Click on his different posts on the left.  Enjoy.

You’re welcome.

The Bandit has started riding in the third row seat of our Durango all by himself.  This has been going on for a couple of weeks now.  I suspect he got tired of his sister torturing him in the seat next to him.  God I wish there had been a third row seat when I was growing up, but we never had station wagons. 

From way back in the back of the car, I hear his little voice.  I turned down the radio so I could hear him.  “Mom, are you and Daddy going to have any more babies?”

I snorted.  “No.”

“Why not?” he asked.

I looked at him in the rearview mirror.  “Because we have you and Sassy.  Two is plenty enough babies for me and Daddy.”

“Two is for quitters, Mom!” he hollered.  “You’re a quitter!”

I barked out a laugh at how adamant he was.  Honestly, this was the first conversation we’d had of this kind.  He’d never asked about more brothers or sisters, consequently, I had no idea of his strong feelings on the matter.

At dinner I told his father about the earlier conversation.  The Bandit again expressed a desire for a younger sibling.

My Honey began to inform the boy of all the things he would have to give up if we had a new baby.  As far as I am concerned, all of this conversation is a moot point.  The baby factory is closed.  I’m too old and too selfish and too desirous of never having another nine months of torture to go through that again.  I’ve successfully made two miracles, I have no need to tempt fate again.  But The Bandit doesn’t know any of this history, so his daddy hit on all the things that would matter to a five year old boy.

“You’d have to give up your room and half your toys and move in with Sassy.  All those vacations to Disneyland would stop.  Santa Claus couldn’t bring you as many presents…”  The list went on and on.

Still The Bandit wasn’t deterred in his opinion that his father and I were quitters and he deserved a younger sibling.

But I hit on just the thing to make him see the light.  “You know, Bandit, there’s no guarantee the baby would be a boy.  You might end up with another sister instead of a brother.  Then what would you do?”

“Yeah,” My Honey agreed.  “Then you’d be doomed!”

That did it.  The conversation is off the table.  Apparently, he’s not a gambler.