A Cabin on the Lake? YES, PLEASE!

I complain a lot. This is not one of my more redeeming qualities. I don't know why that is -- I am a grateful girl, glad for the lovely things and wonderful people in my life. But I'm also a high-strung individual who works a lot, who is always looking for new work and new ways to keep busy. I live in an expensive city secondary to Husband's career choice, so work is very necessary. Good thing I'm not great with sitting still. 

But I sometimes feel like a factory child of the Industrial Revolution (she says from her padded chair in her heated house with access to a coffee pot and an almost-fresh package of American Oreos) who is only allowed to Work and never allowed to Fun. So imagine my great glee when my darling friend Jane said, "Hey. Come out to the cabin this weekend sans enfants and let's chill and watch our favorite movies and eat fun foods and pretend they're calorie-free." Don't quote me. It sounded something like that.

GUESS WHAT I DID? I left my house. For real. And it didn't involve a trip to a child's school, a doctor's office, or the bookstore. I did not stop for tampons or toilet paper; I did not go to the soccer field or piano school. I went instead to Cultus Lake, British Columbia, a scant 70-minute drive from my suburb, where I was given my own room in a beautiful lakefront cabin. For 25 hours, I was quiet. 

It was so nice.

See?

That's me, with my camera. I use it sometimes.

Cultus Lake, very still. Earlier that morning, it was shrouded in fog. Then the sun came out. No polar vortex in British Columbia.

Quiet winter docks, missing their jubilant summer friends.

The willow in Jane's yard, waiting for the sun to stay long enough so spindly arms can yawn and stretch skyward.

Going home, we stopped at the lake's eastern side for a quick snap of the setting sun.

Goodbye, sun. Thanks for a lovely day.

When I wasn't being quiet, we watched this (OF COURSE WE DID):

Jane hadn't seen it. I felt that was a wrong begging for rectification. She enjoyed it, as I knew she would.

Because, well, vitamin Henry. #needIsaymore (See here for more justification.)

The point of this exercise, however, was more than a desperately needed mental health break. It was so I could spend uninterrupted, child-free time with my latest editorial letter. Yes, Sleight, the Little Book That Could, is still having her feathers rearranged. Every time, it stings a bit, but once the sting abates (usually after slathering my internal organs with copious amounts of sugar and caffeine), I LEARN SO MUCH. I don't know what I did right in this lifetime to deserve the editors I'm working with, but yeah ... it's pretty damn awesome. Lots of arguments slap back and forth across the Internet about traditional vs. self-publishing, and while I can happily call myself a hybrid (Jenn Sommersby + Eliza Gordon), I will forever be grateful for the experience traditional publishing has granted me. Every time this manuscript returns covered in Band-Aids, I rip off one at a time, and the skin underneath is so much prettier.

In other words, it's f**king rad what they do. HOW DID I GET SO LUCKY?

Thanks, Hadley, for believing in me. 

And thank you, Jane, so much, for sharing your cabin with me. When can we go again? I have this book that needs another coat of paint here soon ...

IN OTHER NEWS:

If we're not Facebook friends, you're missing out on the fun stuff I've come across. Such as:

Game of Thrones Bad Lip Reading

 

And the Jaguar Superbowl Ad with MARK STRONG et al:

And who doesn't love some MALEFICENT:

And then I rewrote the opening to Romeo and Juliet when my youngest and I decided en route to the elementary school that the drivers of the two daycare buses should have a death match for parking in our very congested school turnaround:

Two daycare buses, both alike in color,
In fair Coquitlam, where we lay our scene,
From months-long grudge break to new pissing match,
Where driver’s fists makes the other driver’s nose weep red.
From forth the yellow tube emerge these two foes
Fighting for prime parking among the strife;
Whose inability to park straight leads to raised voices
Do with warring chants screamed from car windows.
The fearful passage of their tiny charges running in fear,
And the aggravation of many parents' rage,
Which, but their children's safe entry into classrooms,
Is now the two hours' traffic of this congested street;
If only the principal would give an arse about our choler,
What here shall go unscreamed, our horns shall strive to mend.

We learned about the skincare for Throwback Thursday:

And I failed in the kitchen. Again. Like I said, WORK.

Coming soon ~ My rave review of Kenneth Oppel's upcoming THE BOUNDLESS, on sale April 21, 2014:

All aboard for an action-packed escapade from the internationally bestselling author of Airborne and the Silverwing trilogy.

The Boundless, the greatest train ever built, is on its maiden voyage across the country, and first-class passenger Will Everett is about to embark on the adventure of his life!

When Will ends up in possession of the key to a train car containing priceless treasures, he becomes the target of sinister figures from his past.

In order to survive, Will must join a traveling circus, enlisting the aid of Mr. Dorian, the ringmaster and leader of the troupe, and Maren, a girl his age who is an expert escape artist. With villains fast on their heels, can Will and Maren reach Will's father and save The Boundless before someone winds up dead?

Mr. Oppel and I share the same editor at HCC (I can't believe I get to say that ... is this real life?), and I ADORED this book.

*****

Plus, the fantastic folks at HarperCollins Canada sent me a boatload of books for giveaway during my upcoming participation in a middle school literacy conference. As such, I will put together a post so you can share in the literary fun time and add a bunch of great upcoming titles to your TBR list!

Off I must. Words need making.

Bonne nuit!

(And speaking of Nuit ...)

She won't catch her mouse, but she will catch a BLT. #truth

Film Score Lovers Anonymous: My Healthy Obsession

I would be a much happier (read: saner) person if I could just live in the movies. All. The. Time.

I do this thing where I find a film that resonates for whatever reason -- no matter what the reviews or critics are saying -- and I obsess over it. I watch it again and again, sometimes twice on the same weekend night. In the last year, it's been Pride and Prejudice, The Hobbit, Welcome to the Punch. Past years, Shakespeare in Love, Gladiator, all the Lord of the Rings films. I recognize this is not a healthy habit. But I'm not a drinker or user of substances other than dangerous quantities of sugar, so if movies are my drug, bring on the popcorn.

It bears repeating: our family likes the movies. Pretty Princess blogs (Truly Luminary) and starts journalism school in January toward her dreams in  entertainment coverage. The Other Half of my heart works in the film biz. He's worked on a lot of awesome flicks in the last 25.5 years, including but not limited to The Fugitive, Army of Darkness (for you cult fans out there), Titanic, lots of X-Men films, Tron, Seventh Son, Percy Jackson, et cetera, et cetera. Most recently he did some time on George Clooney's next supersecret project before hopping onto the epic build for a flick based on a VERY popular video game.  When he comes home covered in foam and silicone, it's because he's recreating a world that only exists in our imaginations. Glamorous, huh? Tell that to my washing machine.

In 2012 he worked on Man of Steel. Sculpted the saddle Jor El rides on his winged horse/dragon hybrid (H'raka); built the mushroomy pool where the Codex Skull is kept, the bed/chair structure newborn Kal El lies in when his parents are infusing his cells with the bits and bobs from the Codex. 

Built the EPIC sets we can barely see in the council chambers when Jor El says YOU GUYS THIS IS MADNESS WE'RE DOOMED and naughty Zod storms in and shoots his guns and yells loudly (Michael Shannon, you are the best kind of villain). 

And then there's that awesome spaceship buried in the permafrost where soon-to-be-Superman goes all manly and says to an injured Lois Lane, "I can do things other people can't ... This is going to hurt." All of these incredible sets come from the hands of REAL people. #proudWyfey 

Lately, the object of my obsession has been Man of Steel. I don't even know why. I tear up when Kal El's parents say goodbye and again when -- oh, wait -- no spoilers, in case you haven't seen it. Despite mixed reviews and haters galore, I love this film.

Maybe it's because so much of Husband's sweat went into it. It's special to us.

Ironically, though, I try not to think too much about the reality behind the film. I usually leave the room when the family scoots around to watch behind-the-scenes stuff because I LOVE THE FANTASY of it. When Lord of the Rings was in its prime, and now with The Hobbit and the MUCH-ANTICIPATED Desolation of Smaug, I want to believe that Middle Earth is a REAL place and not just pretty New Zealand, that if I overcome my fear of huntsman spiders, I will go to Mata Mata and see Hobbiton and while there, Frodo and Gandalf and Aragorn (*swoon*) and Thorin (*double swoon*) will appear and we will have wine with fruity bouquets and eat wheels of cheese and sing songs with our pipes puff-puff-puffing away.

Shit, that was a long sentence. Hadley, I'm so sorry.

I want to believe that hunky Kal El is a real guy, that the sonic booms that ring over our neighborhood are him blasting through the atmosphere, that if an oil rig falls on my house, he will -- shirtless and beautifully muscled -- be there to catch it.

Hello, Kal El. Thank you for saving my house from that collapsing oil rig.

I'm not a purist. Hell, I'm not even a FAN of Superman. Never read the comics, didn't swoon over the earlier movies with the late Christopher Reeve. Didn't care a sniff. Not until Zack Snyder gave us Henry Cavill and Russell Crowe in tights.

Seriously. You GUYS.

THIS is why I'm a writer. I was not beautiful/thin/talented/smart/brave enough to make it in Hollywood, though I dreamed those dreams so hard, I would cry myself to sleep after working at one of three jobs to save the money to move to LA. (I tend toward the dramatic. And I really did work at three jobs at one point to save money to move to LA. Then I moved to LA and had to get another suffocating job to pay the rent. I'm not great with planning, I know this.)

Along with these movies, though, is THE MUSIC. Let me set the scene:

INT. - CHURCH BASEMENT

Banner made of dot-matrix printer paper hangs haphazardly from wall. In crayon, reads "FILM SCORE LOVERS ANONYMOUS." Chairs set around a table holding docked iPod. Side table with silver coffee carafe; plate overflows with frosted cookies shaped as musical notes.

JENN walks in. Chooses a cold chair.

GROUP LEADER

Today I'd like to welcome our newest member, Jenn.

JENN

Yes. Hi. (waves) I'm Jenn, and I'm a film score lover.

GROUP

(in unison)

(many in costume; looks like ComicCon in here)

Hiiiiii, Jenn ...

And so on and so forth.

Thanks to the demigod we mortals call Hans Zimmer, Man of Steel has a FANTASTIC score. Oh, people, honestly ... if you're not listening to Zimmer, I'm not sure if we can continue this thing we call friendship. The Dark Knight/Rises? Gladiator? Inception? Pirates of the Caribbean? Sherlock Holmes? The DaVinci Code?

I KNOW.

It feeds my obsession. The music is the meaty leg warm with pumping blood; I am the leech. I am insatiable. 

And so it has gone for the last months, my thirst unquenchable, as I've labored over yet another draft of Sleight. I quietly turned it in yesterday. No, I do not know what this means. Other than I LOVE it. Other than we wait. This freight train is not under my control.

But the music is. Because when I write, I imagine the actors playing the parts I have breathed life into. I dream about the book being made into a film (we all do) and who we'd get to do the film score. (I have my short list.) Because of this weird obsession, you can see why the movies and music and words are all on one plate for me. Like the bacon with the lettuce and tomato. I cannot have one without the other.

Recently a friend made the mistake of asking for recommendations for music to write by. As a proud film score lover, I answered accordingly:

~ ANYTHING by Alexander Desplat (though Tree of Life is a little odd for my taste); the Twilight Saga's New Moon is arguably one of my top five faves. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is beautiful. Oh, and Zero Dark Thirty. Awesome.

~ EVERYTHING by Hans Zimmer, as mentioned -- but especially Man of Steel

~ Harry Escott's Welcome to the Punch. (I may have peed when Harry Escott followed me back on Twitter. I'm afraid to check if he's still following me. I don't think I can handle any more rejection.) This score narrates brilliant action sequences, stitched seamlessly alongside haunting emotional overtones. (OMG, I love it when the boys cry.)

Now for crying-boy montage:

Mark Strong (my sweetie). Crying because he is a bad good man. (Low Winter Sun)

Cries over dead son. (Welcome to the Punch)

Russell Crowe (Jor El, Man of Steel) almost crying over sending son away to a foreign planet.

Definitely crying here. It's okay, Kal El. C'mere. Let's hug it out.

DAAAAAAAAAAD! More crying. *swoony sigh* If you don't tear up in this scene, you're soulless.

 Something is wrong with me if I like it when pretty boys cry.

MORE MUSIC PLEASE JENN:

~ The score for the film Oblivion (M83 and Anthony Gonzales) is great, as is the score for Disconnect (Max Richter).

Here's a list of brilliant composers to make it simple:

• Danny Elfman (Oz the Great and Powerful, Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride, 9, Silver Linings Playbook, tons more -- he's Tim Burton's go-to composer)
• Clint Mansell (The Fountain and Requiem for a Dream are my faves)
• James Newton Howard (most recently Hunger Games: Catching Fire releases 11/29; also Snow White and the Huntsman and a zillion others)
• James Horner (Avatar, Titanic, Legends of the Fall, Aliens)
• John Williams -- ICONIC -- Harry Potter, Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, et cetera. You know his music.
• John Debney (Passion of the Christ is beautiful; Elf, Iron Man 2)
• John Powell (Shrek, Bourne franchise, PS I Love You, How to Train Your Dragon)
• Andrew Lockington (Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters)
• Henry Jackman (X-Men First Class, Wreck-It Ralph, Captain Phillips, Kick-Ass 2)
• Marc Streitenfeld (Robin Hood, Prometheus, Body of Lies)
• Michael Giacchino (Star Trek / ST Into Darkness, Up, The Incredibles, Super 8)
• Howard Shore (all the Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit films, Twilight Saga: Eclipse)
• Thomas Wander (Anonymous)
• Marco Beltrami (The Wolverine, World War Z, I, Robot)
• Carter Burwell (Twilight fans rejoice!)
• Ramin Djawadi (Game of Thrones!!!)
• Bryan Tyler (Thor, Iron Man 3)
• John Ottman (Jack the Giant Slayer, X-Men 2)
• Craig Armstrong (A gorgeous orchestral score for DiCaprio/Luhrmann's Gatsby)
• Steve Jablonsky (Ender's Game, Transformers)
• Johann Johannsson (Prisoners)
• Steven Price (Gravity)
• Olafur Arnalds (short but powerful score for the BBC's Broadchurch)

Not to be overlooked: video game scores. Assassin's Creed Revelations is awesome. And it's a TON of music for an incredible price. Halo is solid too.

If you're a film score lover like I am, and you think you might need an intervention, we meet twice a week in the church basement on the corner of Angst Avenue and Brokenheart Blvd. Bring your appetite for cookies and inspired tears.

Before we go:

This blog post is a rambling mess. I'm sorry. But today I'm sort of a rambling mess. Turning in a beloved manuscript after yet another round of painful rewrites causes this. Some people cheer when they write the end. I never write those two words because they make me too sad. I've spent most of the day fluctuating between joy and desolation. Giggles and tears. Sunshine and darkness. I did, however, stop feeling sorry for myself long enough to shower and apply makeup. You know, in case that oil rig thing happens and Superman shows up on my porch.

One more for the road:

Hey, Superman ...

Au revoir, mes amoureux ...

With Respect to the Day of My Hallowed Birth

When it's your birthday, I hope someone special does something like THIS for you. Because for this year's Big Day of Marking How Bloody Old I'm Getting, the amazing humanoids in my house woke me with hot coffee and PRESENTS.

Here we go.

GIVE US THE CUPCAKE.

This card also informs me that I am the "greatest person in the universe as a hero and a mom." Just so you know. You can stop trying so hard now. Go ahead. Be a slacker. The role of #1 Human has clearly been filled.

The baby came into me the other day, feeling creatively vexed about what to do for my birthday, so I gave him this:

What I call a seed list. A few words to get the ideas flowing. THIS was the result:

You may have to click it to see it better. Does that work?

If you can't see it, he's incorporated everything from the list into this comic except the otter, plus he added scissors and a piece of paper to complete the rock's storyline. The magical jellybeans have LEGS. Omigod. These kids? MAGICAL MAGIC.

Pretty Princess, not to be outdone by her pesky little brothers, presented a Sephora gift card, which is quite decadent for my drug-store-makeup-department palate, but I am twitterpated to go spend $75 on a powder compact. BRING IT. I will be very fancy soon. Oh, and allegedly, there will be sushi at some point today. She also did a lovely collage of wonderful moments from my momentous life, but it's kinda depressing because I was really cute and skinny, like, 10 years ago. Has anyone seen my collarbones?

My darling writer friend/walking buddy/shoulder to cry on knocked on the door with FRESH STILL-WARM-FROM-THE-OVEN CAKE. Seriously? I KNOW! And when she called to see if I'd tried it yet, I was all like, no it's morning I can't eat cake, and she was all like, yes you can it's your birthday you can eat morning cake, SO I DID. And it was delicious, yo. Only I forgot to take a picture and now there's a big gaping hole in the cake where my face might have gnawed out a sizable chunk.

And, while whining the other day about the age I have achieved this year, my super-big-brained, Mental-Floss-writing, Editorial Colleague of Genius and Doom reminded me that I am That Number, the one that is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Here's proof:

Seriously. Google the number 42, and see what comes up. Douglas Adams, we bow. (And thanks, Adrienne. I'm sorry I'm so late for the party.)

September the 19th is also shared by famed writer William Golding (Lord of the Flies), the original Batman (Adam West), Hermione Granger (!!!), James Lipton, Jeremy Irons, Jimmy Fallon, supermodel Twiggy, Canadian heartthrob Kevin Zegers, actor David McCallum, musicians Tegan and Sara, and a bazillion other people.

SO, happy birthday to all my birthday twins, ESPECIALLY my lovely London Sarah across the pond. THIS is what my Sarah gave me:

AND THIS:

 

Because no post on Planet Jenn would be complete without Mark Strong and a cat picture. (Mr. Strong, I am not a stalker. I swear. Well, maybe a little stalker. Tiny stalker. Only not so tiny because I am eating cake in the morning. I PROMISE NOT TO BOIL YOUR RABBITS.)

I mentioned cats. Hence, I give you Naughty Nuit, just because I'm feeling generous:

 

And to close out the week, because tomorrow I have children home from school and thus no thoughts will be strung together without 147.5 interruptions, I give you this. 

GO AND READ AND PEE FROM LAUGHING. 

Here--first pull on this lovely Depends undergarment--I got a whole box for my birthday.

Xs and Os, lovelies ...

Proof that I do yardwork.

The Summer of Tasks ... and Critters

And so it begins.

A new school year is imminent. It's coming. Depending on your geographic spot on Third Rock, some of you have already embarked upon this annual ritual (and yes, others of you homeschool your minions so "education never sleeps" and we know your kids are smarter and better adjusted than ours and they don't cuss or play Call of Duty or make snarky comments about that one kid in the back of the class who eats paste and boogers YES I KNOW). With this restart of institutionalized sanity for the Mom Class comes the inevitable questions:

How was your summer? Did you go anywhere?

I hate these questions. I really do. I hate it when my kids come home and talk about their classmates who spent a month in the French Riviera studying local flora and fauna or a month traveling all over the country in a Winnebago to better understand their heritage or a week in Mexico diving with venomous sea creatures to build an artificial reef or two weeks saving orphaned alpacas in the Peruvian mountains or a week building shelters for neglected hyenas. YES. FINE. You left your house during these last 74 days. Here's your medal. Go ahead. Polish it. I'll stand here and wait. You can use the salty tears of my neglected children -- I have a vial here. Hang on while I dig it out of my Walmart sack ...

We left the house to venture as far as the grocery store, the bookstore, the coffee shop, the local pool (twice!), the ice creamery, the park, the golf course, the movie theatre, the Museum of Anthropology, Vancouver's answer to a "zoo," and the Vancouver Aquarium/Stanley Park. (Evidence below.) 

Mountain lion. Puma concolor. Greater Vancouver Zoo. She was pacing, watching the caretaker, waiting for lunch.

Jellies. No peanut butter anywhere.

Two-toed sloth, climbing around the sprinklers in the Amazon exhibit. VERY cute. And slow.

ELFIN! He's beautiful. Read more about Elfin here: http://www.vanaqua.org/experience/shows/spotlight-on-sea-otters.

Pretty jellyfish. Quite little. Maybe the size of a small lemon?

Pissing match ongoing. Apparently, these two sea lions had just been moved into the same enclosure a few hours prior, so they were howling at each other (sounds like a really long belch) about who was boss. Pretty funny. Until it became annoying.

 

Penguins! Quite warm for the little fellas this day.

 

HUG ME. (Giant Pacific octopus)

I ask my kids, "Am I a terrible mother because I didn't take you windsurfing in the Columbia River Gorge or to sweat alongside 1.3 million other angry people at Disneyland?" Their answers, thankfully, have been, "No, Mommy, we love you. You're pretty and your voice chimes like the bells of Notre Dame. Can we get Slurpees?" Which means my kids are awesome. Not entitled little shits. Before you polish those medals I handed out earlier, ask yourself if your kids are awesome. If they are, polish away. If they're not awesome, then you might want to melt down that medal and pawn it to pay for a behavioral interventionist.

But the point here is not how awesome my kids are, or how unawesome other people's kids are. Instead, it's a wrap-up of What I DID and Did NOT Do on My Summer "Vacation*," those things I set out to do, some achievements unlocked while others not, before we face the Big Dark that will lock us indoors and under protective shelters along soccer sidelines until the sun revisits in nine months' time. 

(*By the way, vacation implies that there were days off. Maybe I should call it the Summer of Tasks, because I do not usually take days off. Except today. Although I should be working. I'm way more awesome than you, aren't I? Sitting here telling you how fantastic I am because I don't take days off ... mwuahhh ha ha ha. Slacker. Certain former members of my life would say, "Oh, please, let us erect a plaster statue of you in the garden." To them, I say, GET THEE SOME PLASTER AND STOP FLAPPING YOUR WINE-STAINED LIPS.)

SUMMER 2013: WHAT I DID AND DID NOT DO OVER THESE LAST 74 DAYS:

1. I did not lose 15 lb. Instead, I gained 5. 

2. I did finish writing another book. Under a pen name. Stay tuned.

3. I did not teach my children the fundamentals of grammar as planned. #fail

4. I did edit eight projects for clients, including one that is floating around the NYT bestseller list. Congratulations, Samantha Young!

5. I did not exchange the wrong math book for the right one. Hence, no math was done.

6. I did take a thousand more pictures of my cat. DUH.

Pretty Nuit.

I believe I can flyyyyyyy ...

7. I did not plant flowers in the bed of death at the front of the house. Nor did I waste water trying to keep my lawn alive. Unlike my neighbors. Seriously? LET IT DIE. It will be green the other nine months of the year. Oh, and the dandelion forest looks so pretty in the early-morning sun.

8. I did begin exhaustive research from a completely scientific/historical standpoint about Jesus and the Romans. It's for a new book. And wow. Who knew human beings have been douchey to each other forEVER? Let's hug. ((HUG))

9. I did not watch Welcome to the Punch every single night. Although I wanted to.

10. I did take the kids to see The Croods, Despicable Me 2, and Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters (Husband worked on this one--built the sets for Camp Half-Blood and Polyphemus's cave (photos here)).

My Brennie, meeting his heroes on the set of Percy Jackson, Logan Lerman and Alexandra Daddario, June 2012.

11. I did not write Mark Strong any weird, obsessed fan letters or emails. Although, I was so excited about his new AMC series Low Winter Sun that I may have tweeted/Google+'d about it, and my girlfriend sent me this after she Googled Mark Strong (she didn't know who he was--horrors!). This came up. Third entry down, that is MY GOOGLE+ comment, you guys. BEFORE Wikipedia. I'm actually kind of embarrassed that I'm so weird. Okay, not really. It will allllll make sense once this rewrite is finished, I PROMISE.

Low Winter Sun publicity still. Adorable.

12.  I did make sure my soccer star made his way into two awesome soccer camps so that I wouldn't be labeled a complete failure. (This counts as one of my accomplishments, right? I'm running out of "dids" here, friends. Way more "did nots." Shit.)

13. I did not read a single book for pleasure. Okay, that's not true. I finished a Sophie Kinsella back in July because it was fun. 

14. I did, however, buy a stack of new books because I am addicted and YES the first step in treating an addiction is recognizing you have a problem and promptly returning to the bookstore for more books. Cheaper than therapy, baby.

Saw this on one of the shelves in the YA section. Funny.

15. And another did, because this was a good one: I did get to see my oldest boy, who I don't see much because he's growed up and lives in Washington, and he went fishing in Squamish and caught us fresh salmon (called "pinks" or "humpies"). Delish.

Blakey caught 'em. We ate 'em. Thank you, Blakey.

SOOOO ... with the remaining days of this Summer of Tasks, I will continue forth with more research, take a nap, do laundry, get the kids' school supplies (yes, we've waited till the very last minute because I want to SAVOR the office supply store), drink a beer, maybe two, and probably walk around my chair trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to finish this book. 

Rarely do we get comments here, but please, share what you did this summer so I can live vicariously through your adventures. The grander, the better. Or, if like me you stayed home to work and tend the home fires, share that too. 

Fall is coming. And then winter. Although, Winter Is Coming but not until spring 2014. Curse you, HBO! #gameofthrones

Xs and Os, lovelies ...