More Wind, More Rain (Less Mail), Now is the winter of epic redundancy...
Oh, it's raining and the wind is blowing. I wish I could say "again," but that would mean that it had stopped for more than three hours. I guess I'll have to say "still." It did stop for several hours here today, and yesterday there was blue sky for a little bit, but, mostly, it's been a rainy, chilly, dreary winter with not much snow, but plenty of RAIN. But then, I hate complaining because there's some ice/snow/bone-chilling monster named "KHAN!" hammering the east coast where friends and family live. At least, that's what I think is happening. It's pretty surreal to be in sorta-kinda Alaska (not nearly as brutal temperature-extreme and snow-wise as the Interior) and hear all your friends down South tell you how much colder it is where they are....
Which also brings me to this:
A Friend Who'd Read My Book: "Do they call it 'Breakup' here?"
A Friend: "Spring -- do they call it 'Breakup' in Southeast?"
Me: "Wow -- you know what? I can't remember hearing them call it that..."
But that's my Interior slip-up and bias. I called March "Breakup" in my story set in Southeast.
I also said Brett was from "Outside."
That's not a term used in Southeast either. If you're not from here, you're not from "Outside," you're from down South, as in "I'm going Down South [Seattle] to go shopping [or for medical or for a break to get off The Rock that doesn't involve getting on ANOTHER rock--that being Ketchikan]."
You can take the girl out of the Interior, but you can't take the Interior out of the girl --
eBooks are easily edited....
So, wind and rain and that oozing, seeping cold that threads through the viscera and folds in among the blood vessels in your fingers (but isn't enough to make your eyeballs sticky -- I miss THAT kind of cold!) has kept us mostly inside with only the odd walks to keep from going insane. I wish I could say 2013 has calmed down, but I can't....
I released a book. You know, that one I'd been threatening to release for three years now? Yeah, I think it's finally done. I think. I hope. Well, done or not (15 edits, 80 beta readers in 14 countries giving me feedback, and on and on), it's up on Amazon. *cough* The Fishing Widow *cough* so I just thought I'd share that. A Paranormal Sea Story. Right now, it's only an ebook, but plans are to have it in physical form by March -- in time for Sitka Herring. And I'm planning on being there this year (she said with fingers crossed).
The flurry of emails, both good and bad, after the article in the Lawrence World-Journal (which I WILL share here and which hit the wires and not necessarily in a GOOD way (as in: "she forgives her mother." What?? What kind of crap (sorry) was THAT?!?! You know, to "forgive" someone implies that that someone willfully wronged you. What the woman did for me was the best she could think of under the circumstances. There was nothing to forgive! But I digress) ... had died down. I got a funny one today. It was meant to be a slap, but it made me chuckle and look all O_o at it. I've been getting mean emails from people I don't know. Can you imagine? Most are along the lines of "Better timing of Roe v. Wade could have fixed your mother's problem sooner." Seriously? You're going to say that to an adopted person? Whoa. But, they had died down ...until I got one today that I didn't open, but the subject line was "Happy 40th Birthday Roe v. Wade." Um ... if you don't get the irony of that statement, I can't help you. [DELETE]
Wind and rain, while it affects the mail (as in, where's that Amazon order??), it also affects the way we think ... I think. After days and weeks of it, and after all that's happened so far this year, it's kind of made me a little TOO reflective. I mean, the earthquake, the book, the whole story of the abandonment ... then meeting the kids of the people who found me ... it's been a lot. I should share this story -- about meeting the kids, though, because you never know what life's going to hand you. The Houses had a son (13) and a daughter (11) at the time they found me in 1964. I talked to the daughter who lives in NC.
After about 20 minutes, she said, "There's something I have to SAY to you. I didn't want you to read it anywhere, I had to SAY it. Are you sitting down?"
"Yes" (and I was)
"You were born on the floor of the bathroom at the Grover Bungalo Laundramat in the early morning hours of November 16, 1964, right?"
"That's what they tell me," I replied.
"What you need to know is this. My mom's father, Wallace E. Grover owned the laundramat. In the early morning hours of November 16, 1963, he went in to work, walked into the back, hung up his coat, and died instantly of a massive heart attack about two feet from where you were found."
O___O (and I couldn't speak)
I've been staring at the sea a lot these days.