First sale!

My So You Think You Can Write submission sold to Harlequin Mills&Boon Medical Romance line this morning!

I had an uncertain inkling it was coming since Wednesday morning.

I was composing a post for the SubCare thread at the Harlequin forums--just a roll call post announcing what I had out where--and before I hit Submit on the post I got an email from the lovely Suzanne Clarke, who has been working with me through the revisions. The email said basically, I want to call you.

At that point, I had an out-of-sanity experience.

In my mind: Upon reading the email, I gracefully sail into the other room and mention in completely casual tones, "Oh, by the way, this wonderful editor wants to talk to me." La la la

What really happened: I jumped up and ran through the house, but before I got to the other room, I forgot how doors worked. So I slammed into the door a couple times before I realized that I had to, oh, I don't know... TURN THE KNOB. And then I blurted out "SHE WANTS TO TALK TO ME ON THE PHONE!" Message delivered(sort of), I barreled back to my computer like Animal from the Muppets. She who? Who needs coherent details?

Later, I missed the call. You know, like a sane person who can't figure out what phone to answer when she hears ringing. Or doesn't hear ringing, because the phone I took with me through the house(and back yard) was the wrong phone and too far from the phone base to ring.

Rescheduled call for next day, but germs conspired to thwart our plans that day. Germs are devious little monsters. I know these things. I write medical romance. (heee)

Today she called and I giggled through the whole conversation, I think. Fairly certain I sounded like an escaped mental patient. But she said wonderful things, some of which I kind of remember! After I squawked a few monosyllabic words, she told me the new title and scheduled release date.

From here on in, Mountain Man has been new-named: Craving Her Rough-Diamond Doc, and shall be born into paper and ink October 2013 :)

I have a few tweaky revisions to make yet, which I'm fixin to tackle(when my brain resumes functioning). After that, I'll be brainstorming next story so I can whip up a short outline to pitch(Did I mention: Two book contract? YAY!!).

Maggie(my dog) has no idea what's going on, but she's very excited that there's lots of giggling and happiness today. She keeps doing the Maggie-dance: this involves hopping, massive tail wagging, occasional barking for no apparent reason other than she wants to make noise too.

P is for ... Party Games of Survival

My little brother was born on Halloween. When we were little, we'd have his party, then get dressed up and Trick or Treat. But at around ten, he didn't want to Trick or Treat, but we all still wanted to get dressed up and eat sugar. This began big Halloween parties with lots of candy and danger.

First party was in our old farm house with 10ft ceilings. For the game, they put prizes into balloons stapled to the ceiling, which we popped with the aid of metal rods with a nail on the end.

The balloons popped, candy and quarters rained down on us. No one lost an eye, but there were a few light stabbings. Well, light pokings. Some Scrapings. Holes in costumes... But we did alright! No one got tetanus. Good time for all! Oh, and there were also a bunch of holes in the ceiling after that. Whoops. Every little kid loves being given a tiny sword with a really long handle to stab the ceiling with. It was AWESOME. Everyone remembers this game.

A couple years later we had another party, this time in the barn. Mom and my aunt spent a week decorating and converting the barn(it had four rooms) into a haunted house/birthday party. Not just for all the many cousins this time, friends came too! It was actually very impressive. I'm still impressed with what they managed to do to the barn that week. But what everyone remembers is THE GAME.

Open rafters meant a new game. Popping balloons had been a hit, so they tried a new game: spinning metal wheel with balloons tied to it. And a bb gun. For the kids to shoot at the metal wheel. Well, to be fair, they tried darts, but it didn't work so they switched to the bb gun(forgetting the wheel was metal).

After the first shot, which ricocheted, each shooter wore safety glasses and mom shouted... DUCK AND COVER YOUR EYES! Then we'd hear POP... PING! ... OW! (bb's sting even after bouncing off a few surfaces). In short? Another hit! We loved that game too. But I think mom feared having to top it--we stopped having big dangerous Halloween parties after that.

People Are Strange

Today, I went to the grocery store to pick up one thing. Ahead of me, walking away from the cashier, was a man who also bought One Thing. He was on his way out as I was on my way up to the check-out lady.

As she rang up my terrible-for-you diet soda, I watched the man open his bag of One Thing, extract said One Thing, and begin tearing into the packaging without a care for tabs or perforated lines. Just outside the automatic door, he began eating it with his fingers.

Okay, strange, but not so strange until I say... the One Thing was a half-gallon carton of mint chocolate-chip ice cream.

And he didn't wait to get in his car to dig in. Nope. He stood in the parking lot, eating that ice cream with his fingers.

It was just like the photo, only with fewer roses and more mint-green ice cream dripping off his fingers. Also, it probably wasn't Mickey Roarke. Just sayin'.

Things I should consider before judging:

• It was 85 degrees today(surprising after our recent crap weather). That's ice-cream weather.
• Maybe he didn't have a car and walked to the store for that ice cream
• Maybe he was having low blood sugar issues and thought... To hell with plastic spoons! (like ya do)

But why commit to a half-gallon? There were smaller containers. And that carton was never closing again after the way he mangled it. So, he was in it for that whole half-gallon of mint chocolate-chip ice cream, in the parking lot of the little family-owned grocery store.

I try to look at least somewhat presentable when I'm in public. And I know I'm irrevocably weird, but I really try not to look crazy(in a bad way) in front of people--especially people I want to think well of me. But since seeing this strange(&probably stoned) dude with his ice cream, I've been wondering, in my whole life, what have I wanted badly enough to stop caring what other people think of my efforts to obtain it? I can't even regularly shut off my internal editor to write without reservations, even when I'm the only one who will read it. I might judge me! I know what a harsh critic I am, and I'll give me hell if I write something exceedingly stupid. Or somewhat stupid, if it's not also funny at the same time.

I kind of want a little of what he has, that Don't-Give-a-Damn-I'm-eatin-my-ice-cream spirit.

Like a cup of it, not the whole half-gallon.