Wandering blind in Stockholm (or, My Adventures with Grandma)

Let’s start with the basics: My grandmother was pretty dang cool. A woman who divorced back when my dad was a little kid and set out as a single mom back when you didn’t run across too many single moms. She was a strong woman, and I’m sure that I probably inherited much of my stubbornness and self-sufficiency from her.

But she had quirks. (Fodder for me, as a storyteller, though, so thanks grandma). Her house, when she passed away, was a rat’s nest of things that she’d saved for no apparent reason, and others that she’d clearly saved for sentimental value. The packratty-ness was a major quirk. Also on that list was her odd habit of taking pictures when traveling of parking lots. “Why yes, that’s the parking lot where the bus pulled in in Lucerne.”

Um, really, Grandma?

Her biggest quirk wasn’t even really a quirk—it was her love of traveling, and she passed that love off to me. We have different views over what the point is, though. Me, I like to soak up the destinations. Grandma attacks travel like a checklist. Must see this, this, this and this. Take pictures, get back on the bus.

How determined she was to see The Things That Must Be Seen became painfully obvious to me when I was thirteen and she took me to Scandinavia. Before we left on the trip, I’d gotten my very first pair of contact lenses—the hard kind. The doc was a little concerned because I wasn’t through the break-in period, but the trip was planned, and I was going.

So off I went. Me, at least 50 years younger than everyone else in that Eastern Star travel travel group.

The trip was, overall, a blast. But in Copenhagen, I woke up to stabbing, horrible pain in my eyes. I could barely walk, couldn’t see, and any light made me want to keel over and writhe on the floor in the fetal position. I’ve since given birth and had emergency surgery for a ruptured small intestine. This pain was right up there.

But it was a travel day. So one of the women lent me their cane and big sunglasses (the kind that would fit over my glasses) and off to the airport we went. The pain faded a bit now that most of the light was blocked, but I was basically blind, and tears were streaming down my face the entire time, not from the pain, but just from my eyes trying to heal themselves. I looked a mess, felt like a mess, and was not a happy camper.

It was also early morning, so I was darn tired.

We arrived in Stockholm about 10 am. I think my loving, adoring grandmother is going to take care of me now that we’re settled and not forced to travel with the group.

Um, no.

The bus is scheduled to leave at 11 to take the group to see where they hand out the Nobel Prize. And that place happens to be on Grandma’s list.

Um, hello? Remember me, your blind, thirteen year old granddaughter?

Apparently not.

Off she goes, leaving me not in our room, but in the lobby.

This is before cell phones or the internet, so calling my mom back in Texas wasn’t an option (not that she could have done anything). So I go to the concierge and ask him if there’s some place I can go. He suggests the hospital, and tells me how to get there. Why he doesn’t put me in a taxi, I don’t remember, but I walk. Near-blind. Several blocks. To the hospital. In a town where I cannot read or talk to anyone.

I find the hospital (somehow I find a back door—don’t ask me how) and I end up talking to a guy who was probably an intern. But he didn’t speak English well and I didn’t speak Swedish at all. Somehow, he manages to communicate that I’m at the wrong hospital. The one I need is alllllllll the way across town.

Dejected, I go back to the hotel.

I’m sitting on the ledge of a lobby fountain when I see our Tour Guide. Turns out, she’d passed the group off to a local guide for the Nobel trip.

She sees me, rushes over, and I tell her my sob story, complete with sobbing.

The guide, whose name I’ve forgotten, goes away, then comes back with an eye doctor in tow. Turns out there was a conference for eye doctors In That Very Hotel! He takes a look, tells me I’ve severely scratched both corneas, gives me a prescription and eyepatches and sends me to sleep.

Eye doctors. Swarming. The. Hotel.

Sigh.

But I was happy to be treated. I’m asleep when Grandma returns. Her reaction to my adventure: She knew I’d manage just fine.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, grandma.

The next day, we’re off to Finland.

So I’ve been to Stockholm. I just didn’t see it.

Carpe Demon a-go-go! Kate’s coming back!

Pax Demonica - Carpe Demon series, Book 6, picks up not long after Demon Ex Machina ended. Now Demon Hunting Soccer Mom Kate Connor must face one of her most trying challenges yet: international travel with a toddler!

I’ll admit it, I was totally bummed when Berkley decided to drop my demon hunting soccer mom series after book 5 despite decent sales and the fact that I know folks (me included!) want to keep following Kate’s adventures. (Thanks so much to everyone who sends me email about Kate and company!). That was the bad news. The good news is that the rise of indie publishing means that Kate’s stories don’t have to be stuck in my head and, yes, Kate is back in action!

If you’re not already familiar with the series, I hope you check it out, starting with CARPE DEMON (which, cross fingers, will be a movie soon! Andre Ovredal, whose Troll Hunter has been getting all sorts of buzz, is set to direct and is working on the script with producer Chris Columbus — you can read more about that by following the link in the sidebar to the right). I could give you a back cover copy blurb, but I think Charlaine Harris (the New York Times bestselling author of the Sookie Stackhouse novels now airing as True Blood on HBO) summed it up beautifully: “This book, as crammed with events as any suburban mom’s calendar, shows you what would happen if Buffy got married and kept her past a secret. It’s a hoot.”

I’m currently working on Book 6 in the series, PAX DEMONICA, which picks up not long after DEMON EX MACHINA ended. Kate and family are off to Rome, and I’m having way too much fun with this book and this setting.

I’ve also already started thinking about Book 7 (title ideas anyone?) so I’m hoping that this dive into the deep-end of the epub world works out, because Kate’s like a best friend to me now, and I don’t want to abandon her stories!

CALIFORNIA DEMON, Carpe Demon Book 2 re-release plus bonus content!

So, when is PAX DEMONICA coming out? I don’t have a firm release date, as I’m still navigating the epub and Print-On-Demand waters, but I’m shooting for late Spring, hopefully the last week of April.

THE DEMON YOU KNOW, a demon hunting soccer mom short story featuring Kate and allie

Before that, though, I should have some other Kate nuggets up, including a short story, THE DEMON YOU KNOW, and a digital release of CALIFORNIA DEMON with some bonus content added at the end.

I’m also working on THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS, which will be an anthology of short stories featuring Kate, Allie, Eddie and others!

The Trouble With Demons, a demon hunting soccer mom anthology

The covers were done by Hot Damn Designs, and I think they rock.

I’m super excited about this venture…hope you are, too! And since TROUBLE isn’t finished, if you have characters you’d love to see in a story, hey, shout it out! For that matter, shout out titles (if I use it, you’ll get a the book free!). For that matter, feel free to comment about anything at all! I love to hear from you!

Forget “Hi, Bob!” – my kids inspire my own drinking games…

Do you remember “Hi, Bob?” It was popular when I was in college, back when reruns of the Bob Newhart show would frequently play about the time that Happy Hour (or after-hours) was kicking off in various bars near campus, or at home where students were kicking back, ignoring the fact that there were essays to write, books to read, things to learn.

Hard to avoid the lure of “Hi, Bob!” The rules were simple: every time someone on the show said (you guessed it) “Hi, Bob,” the folks watching drank a shot. In my world, it was a shot of Tequila, but really anything would do.

Life goes on, and shows go off the air, and “Hi, Bob!” is no longer part of my life (thankfully, neither are drinking binges, which were usually followed by ice cream binges, which were usually followed by the need to buy new jeans as the alcohol and ice cream went straight to my thighs…but that’s the subject of another blog).

Fast forward to now. I’m a mom…and yet (or maybe “and therefore???”) I find myself compelled to remember my old drinking game. Motivated even to invent my own. Motivated by….da da da DUM…my kids.

Yes, folks, that’s right. You can use your own children’s idiosyncrisies to get well and truly wasted. In fact, I’d bet a Venti Nonfat Latte that you’d do more shots playing my game than “Hi, Bob!”

What is the game? It’s called, “I forgot.”

“Daughter dear, did you take out the trash like I asked?” “Oh. I forgot.”

“Daughter dear, did you clear your place?” “Oh. I forgot.”

“Daughter dear, did you do your math?” “Oh. I forgot.”

“Daughter dear, did you bring your purse?” “Oh. I forgot. (Will you buy me X?)”

“Daughter dear, …” Well, you get the picture. Just pop back a shot every time the kid says, “Oh. I forgot.” (And let’s not even get started on the “Can I have candy?” game inspired by the other daughter….)

So to all the local college students, the party’s at my house! But bring your own Tequila. These days, I’m a wine drinker.

How about y’all? Has your life inspired any drinking games? Wanna vent about your kids? About college? About the inability to tolerate tequila once you pass college age?

Image: Boaz Yiftach / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Because you can never have too many cute kitten videos

Our kitten Izzy was fascinated when I changed the slipcover on the couch. I wish I’d grabbed the camera up earlier, but I still managed to catch oodles of cuteness! And what I really love is how she reacts to me egging her on!

Got any cute vids of your own (or that you know of out there in Internet Land?) Feel free to share links (or embed in the comments if Word Press will let you!)

Me and Milli Vanilli. See, we really couldn’t sing….

Yup, that's me doing the high school musical thing. Second from the right.

There’s a line in the original Fame that always struck me. Something mortifying happens to the girl who’s the star, and she says something to the effect of “I must remember this and use it in my acting.”

That’s how I feel about the time I was cast in a musical. I must remember it and use it in my writing.

Actually, if you want to be really accurate, I feel like that girl in A Chorus Line: “See, I really couldn’t see, I could never really sing, what I couldn’t do was sing….”

So, picture this. I’m a senior in high school. For years, I’ve been doing techie stuff in drama, but I think our drama teacher and director figured after all that time I ought to get a shot on stage, and she and the choir director cast me in the high school musical. We were putting on Working, based on the Studs Terkel book, and I was the Mill Worker. I even had a solo, right there at the beginning of the show. But they were smart, and the “solo” was more of a chat to the audience. Whew! I was safe.

At the end of the first act, though, there’s a big number with the whole cast right there at the edge of the stage. And one day at rehearsal, Mr. Choir Director stood beneath us doing his choir directing thing, turned his focus to me, and said, “Julie, I think it might be better if you would just lip sync.”

Yes, I was the Milli Vanilli of high school years before Milli ever thought about Vanilli-ing.

Now, Mr. Choir Director is a lovely person and I bear him no ill will for revealing this truth. I have, however, forwarded to him all of the medical bills resulting from the deep emotional scars and years of psychological counseling.

Needless to say, I lip synced. Also needless to say, he was soooooooooo right.

Can't you just imagine how off-key I am?

Not that I really needed a professional to tell me I couldn’t sing. My friends were happily informing me of the same for years. Once, Stephen Carver, one of my absolute best friends with a solid singing voice (hi Steve!) and I were driving along in his car, and I’m singing to the radio. We stop at a light, he looks over at me, and says in a voice reflecting a world of Shock and Awe: “Hey! Julie! I think one of those notes was actually on key!” Color me so very proud …

Fast forward many years, and now I have a daughter…who wants to sing. Can she? I think so, but then again, I’m not really trusting my judgment. So when she announces that she wants to join a local Glee Club/Show Choir, I tape her singing Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer and play the tape for one of my best friends, Dee Davis, who has an awesome voice. The verdict? My kid can sing! Just for proof, here’s a performance of her Glee club this past Christmas. She’s 10, by the way, and is the tallest of the group, and the second kid to sing.

Breakfast with Santa

And no, I’m not the least bit jealous. Really I’m not. Now excuse me while I go sing in the shower…..

Got any I Was Mortified In High School stories to share? Come on…you know you do!