Writing challenges are fun, but they’re also distracting as hell. This one, over at agent Janet Reid’s blog, I couldn’t resist. Maybe because of the “prize” — a mystery anthology with some of my favourite writers as contributors, edited by Lee Child.

Do I think I’ll win? Oh, please. There’s no way. First of all, contests over at Reid’s blog invariably attract a deluge of extremely talented writers. Really, go read the entries. And second, concise is just not my forte. I can barely say hello in 100 words, let alone tell an entire story with a beginning, middle and end. Best I can do is try to write a scene, and even that is difficult at that length.

For me, it’s the opportunity to procrastinate fun and challenge of doing something different that’s appealing. Like mental calisthenics, even if I can’t manage to lift anything heavier than the 2.5-pound hand weight. Sigh.

So what was the challenge? Tell a story in 100 or fewer words, and you must include the following words (author names from the anthology):

Twist
Sharp
Slaughter
Say
Law

Here it is:

The man pacing the narrow hallway outside the courtroom went still when he saw us approach. “Karin says you’re pleading guilty.”

I nodded, once. “Yes.”

“Like a meek little lamb being led to slaughter.” His scorn was sharp with anger. And fear.

“I broke the law.”

“Damnit, Mom, don’t twist the truth. It was an accident–”

“A child died, Lee.”

“–and the parents just want vengeance!”

I reached up, awkward with the restraints, and slowly brushed the lone tear off his cheek.

“So would I,” I said.

The deputy at the door cleared his throat. “It’s time.”

No, I’m talking about retailers. More specifically, their marketing departments. This has been on my mind because of the recent disclosure by Google that they are now going to stalk all our internet activity across all platforms and somehow, I don’t know, smush it all together. So they can do a better job of stalking us.

Well, all I can say is, it’s about damn time. Because so far, efforts have been pitiful at best. Retailers need to pay attention and ramp up their efforts as well.

You want examples? You’re in luck. I have examples [and in future, be careful what you wish for when you notice I haven't posted in a while].

Last Christmas — not the one we just had, the one sixteen months ago — I bought my son some clothes. Online, at Macy’s. And for the next eight months, every other week, I got an email from Macy’s telling me about the biggest newest sale they were having. On men’s clothes. This, in spite of the fact that my “real name” is not one of those names anyone would ever mistake for a man’s name. Really.

At the same time, I also bought an Italian cookbook over at Amazon to give as a gift. Last week, way more than a year later, I got yet another monthly email from Amazon telling me about yet another new release in Italian cookbooks.

Okay, first of all, retailers should just assume anything purchased in December — maybe even late November because, incomprehensibly, some people don’t wait until the last minute to shop — is a gift. And not an item of lifelong personal interest. Second, how many Italian cookbooks do they imagine one person needs? If they were smart, they’d think, hey, this customer likes to cook! and offer French or Thai or Indian cookbooks. Or maybe send ads about unique kitchen utensils. Or unusual spice collections. But no. Every month I get an email about the latest Italian cookbook.

Then there was the rental car company that stalked me with big yellow pop-up ads for four months. Thanks for the reminder that your rates were the highest of all the companies I researched. Thanks for reminding me, every day for four months, of a particularly stressful time in my life when my daughter’s car needed expensive repairs and we decided to sell it instead (to a guy who loves to fix cars) but then we had to rent a car at the last minute so she could drive back to New Orleans in relative safety. I was trying to block all that from my memory, thankyouverymuch. You can be sure I’ll remember you next time I need to rent a car.

And last fall, when my son mentioned he was going to an ECU football game and I later wondered who they were playing, so I went to the ECU website because I figured that was the fastest way of answering that question. Yeah, right. Thanks ECU, for stalking me with ads for a few months, telling me what a great educational experience you offer. But it just so happens I’ve already paid you way more money than any one entity truly deserves, regardless of my son’s Econ degree. Thanks for the reminder about that parent loan I’m still paying off.

Oh, and thank you Domino’s for all your advertising stalkery after I had a momentary lapse in judgment and self-control and ordered a pizza from you online. Obviously, you don’t know that my body has issues with gluten. Eating pizza, even a thin crust pizza that has really thin gluten, is a really bad idea. Really. But hey, thanks for reminding me over and over and over again what an idiot I am and just how awful I felt afterward.

And then there’s the women’s clothing store where I bought a couple things for myself in early December. Things I really liked. A lot. Happy birthday to me! And I’d shop there again. Maybe next December, on my next birthday. Except . . . I’m starting to fucking hate you because you’ve sent me an email EVERY SINGLE DAY since then, telling me about the latest INCREDIBLE SALE you’re having. Every. Damn. Day. That reeks of desperation. What are you thinking? I don’t even read them anymore before I hit the delete button.

And then there’s all the stuff I click on and look at on the internet that’s a result of research for writing. Or idle curiosity. Or boredom. Someone mentions a pretty necklace or a cute pair of shoes, I go look. I’m not shopping, for godsakes. I hate shoes and most jewelry makes me twitch. I’m procras– um, I’m trying (and failing) to see the attraction.

Or maybe someone used an obscure word in an article and suddenly I’m not sure I remember the precise meaning, given the way it was used (glaringly). So I google it. Because, as a writer, precise meaning is important to me (even if it isn’t to others). That does not mean I want to see six months of ads for the stupid thing.

Yes, I know, I could get rid of much of this nonsense by erasing my history or deleting my cookies or opting out of email. But I don’t want to. As irritating as it is, it’s fascinating to watch companies getting it so very wrong. Like an epic train wreck of grossly ineffective high-tech stalkery.

So I’m delighted and cautiously optimistic about Google’s intention to pay closer attention. I hope they’ll realize that I’m interested in damn near everything. And that they won’t start limiting my searches to things I’ve already seen. Maybe they’ll even realize that until they start asking me what I think about the things I’ve seen, the meaning of a website click is not necessarily what they have so far assumed it to be.

Sooner or later, someone is going to figure out how to do it right. And that doing it right means no restrictions. No pre-determined preferences. No narrowing of boundaries. Because my curiosity and capacity for procras– um, thirst for knowledge are limitless and far more diverse than any search engine or marketing department could ever imagine.

In fact, I’m waiting for the search engine that knows me so well, they’ve discovered I’m a writer. Perhaps they’ll contact me to say, “We noticed that last month you were searching for articles about undetectable fatal poisons — frankly we’re a bit disturbed by that, but we know you’re a writer so we’re trying to stay calm and not contact the authorities, but still, please don’t ever invite us over for lunch — and thought you might be interested to know there have been two new articles on that topic published since then and here are the links.” Because that would be awesome. Also, helpful.

And maybe, eventually, some company will send me an email saying, “Hey, we noticed you’re a writer! We bought your book and read it and loved it so much, we bought copies for all of our employees and our mom too!”

I’m telling you, THAT company will have gained a loyal customer for life. I don’t even care if all they sell are Italian cookbooks.

As I understand it:

Go to page 77 of your manuscript

Skip the first 7 lines

Copy and post the next 7 lines, no editing allowed

Tag 7 other writers to do the same

My gut reaction was not just “No” but “Hell no.” That particular portion of this manuscript hasn’t been touched since I first wrote it, um, well, a long time ago. It’s on the list of sections that still need heavy editing. Or deleting. Or purging by fire.

But then I decided maybe I was being a bit too sensible insecure ornery. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never posted unedited crap writing on my blog. Like, every time I post. Sigh.

So here it is:

Disgusted with himself for getting so involved in his own thoughts, JT’s response was less than gracious. “Be glad you still have enough blood circulating to leave a mark, darlin’. A few feet in the other direction and you’d be headed for the hospital right about now.” If not the morgue, he thought angrily.

“Oh please, that car didn’t even come close to hitting me.”

“My point exactly, and you’re welcome.”

But since I’m still feeling a bit sensible insecure ornery, I’m not going to tag seven other writers to do this. And honestly, if I did, I’d be likely to tag seven writers who: a) don’t know me and would ignore the challenge, b) are grumpy and humourless and wouldn’t participate, or c) are way too busy writing to indulge in this kind of nonsense fun and games. Because someone has to be sensible insecure ornery enough to put a stop to this irritating time suck flattering request to share unedited crap shining samples of fiction.

Instead, since most of you reading this are readers and not writers, I challenge you to find a book you truly enjoyed and go to page 77 and skip the first 7 lines and select the next 7 lines and paste them into a comment. Giving proper attribution, of course. Really. Because I suspect that seven random lines, out of context, even from a really good book that you loved, are going to sound like crap kind of silly.

And that will cheer me right up. Or, you know, depress the hell out of me if they don’t. One of those.

I’ve written many words about Quincy on this blog and those of you who follow along are familiar with the stories. My heart is too heavy tonight, my vision too blurred by tears, to tell more. My daughter said it best earlier on her FaceBook status:

“RIP Quincy, you were the best and silliest dog, I love you and miss you so much.”

Yes, so do I.

Since that’s not enough of a strain, I am also trying very hard to re-focus on writing fiction. Now that the holiday season is over. Especially since this most recent holiday season seems to have started way back around Labor Day and lasted well past New Year’s Day. Ahem.

So I’m kind of busy here and feeling horribly deprived of that precious nebulous thing called “spare time in which to write blog posts.”

Luckily for you, sometimes I take a break — a very short break, hardly a blip on the timeline, really — and wander aimlessly around the interwebs while my brain tries to recharge itself and sometimes I find interesting things to share. This is one such thing. A swoon-worthy thing, actually. A video of a guy named Mark Grist, a spoken word poet, reciting a poem about how what he wants is . . . a girl who reads.

As if being smart and funny are somehow not seductive enough, he also has a totally charming Brit accent. It’s like a trifecta of awesome.

I wonder how he feels about a girl who writes?

The program is titled Remaking America: From Poverty to Prosperity and is moderated by PBS talk show host Tavis Smiley.

The panel is diverse and features some familiar names as well as some I’d never heard before, all of whom have impressive credentials. They are (alphabetically): Majora Carter, Roger A. Clay Jr., Barbara Ehrenreich, Vicki B. Escarra, Michael Moore, Suze Orman, Tavis Smiley, Cornel West.

I can’t remember when I’ve heard a more intelligent, articulate and passionate group of people discussing issues of great importance without the entire thing devolving into petty argument and one-upmanship.

Yes, there are a few odd moments when you have to ignore the egos and overblown rhetoric and just focus on the content. I think that’s to be expected with a group like this. I mean, c’mon, Michael Moore and Cornel West on the same stage? But those moments are rare and Smiley as moderator does a masterful job.

The focus is on how we got here and what we can do about it. They discuss the demonization and criminalization of poverty, the inescapable downward spiral of debt, the peril and permanence of student loans, the connection of food stamp application information to criminal databases, the impossibility of improving a bad FICO score, the implications of poverty on hunger and malnutrition and obesity, the effect on education and innovation. On and on, connecting one issue after another like dominoes on a giant game board of failure. The discussion is fascinating and sobering.

Some of the facts are shocking. There are currently 150 million people in the United States who are living in or near poverty. That’s half our population. Half. How can that not be at the top of our list of concerns? How can that not be at the forefront of national debate? Yet it’s a problem that is largely ignored. The poor and near poor are a group that always has been and still is marginalized. Allowing, expecting them to struggle daily, perennially, hopelessly, with the crushing debilitating effects of poverty verges on criminal negligence and it is indefensible.

Yet the composition of that group who are poor, especially the racial makeup, is changing. The middle class is disappearing and poverty is fast approaching a tipping point where it will no longer be possible, or politic, to ignore the problem. How shameful for us as a society that this problem might now gain wider attention and perhaps attract solutions simply because it currently affects more white people than ever before.

This discussion is frank, if unfailingly polite, and might make you uncomfortable. That’s a good thing. Probably it’s a necessary thing.

I don’t want to debate politics here. This shouldn’t even be a political issue. It’s an issue of social injustice. A matter of human decency. Poverty is a huge festering sore that we must address, regardless of political leanings.

Watching this symposium and digesting the facts and opinion presented by the participants is a damn good place to start. Yes, it’s 2-1/2 hours long. So bookmark the page and pause and re-start as you are able.

If you’re like me and find articulate thoughtful discussion to be compelling and can’t hit the pause button in spite of your best intentions to do so, I suggest you not start watching it at 2:30 AM. Really.

But given what’s at stake, I don’t think any of us can claim we are too busy to give this issue a mere half hour of our attention every day for a week. That’s the least we can do.

Part of my brain apparently thinks they’re still here. I’ve had to stop myself three times now from getting up to let the dog in from the backyard. Their dog loved my backyard. Well, she loved the sticks. Which she piled up on the deck, right outside the door, like an offering to the tree gods. Or a barricade to keep us in.

I find myself waiting for the escalating volume of the spit-hiss-growl that meant the cats were having another close encounter of the curmudgeonly kind. And I swear I can still hear the faint chiming riiiiing of that Civ5 computer game — not quite a bell tone, more like someone running a wet fingertip around the rim of a wine glass. Over and over and over and over. Bells bells bells.

It’s not just me. My cat enters every room with extreme caution, not convinced the enemy has abandoned the field. She’s still spending the entire night snuggled up to my side instead of resuming her duties stalking odd noises in the night. This morning she hissed at a pair of shoes. Poor thing, she’s half-blind with old age and has to get right up next to a piece of furniture before she’s sure it isn’t occupied by The Intruder Cat, who is sort of like the Spanish Inquisition of cats. As you can see below. Totally unexpected.

I’ve been trying to get back into writing the past few days [yay. go, me] but the silence is distracting and I’m having trouble concentrating. Even as I sit here writing about how they’re gone, I half expect to hear the whir of a hair-dryer or the slam of a closet door or the sound of my DD yelling from upstairs, “Mom? Is there more laundry detergent somewhere?”

I know, wishful thinking on my part. But as much as I miss all that noise, I have to admit, the silence is rather . . . blissful.

Probably I’d enjoy it more if I weren’t suffering miserably with this sniffling sneezing aching shivering head cold from hell.

I’m telling you, allowing people to invade your solitude has consequences.

But that’s for another day. I’m sure you all are as tired of hearing about it as I am of telling you about it. Even so, this post is related to that effort.

Every year, Neil Gaiman writes a wish for the New Year. These posts are unfailingly excellent, in their simplicity and honesty and charm, but also in their ability to inspire the artist in each of us.

Drawing attention to something Gaiman wrote on his blog feels as absurd and presumptuous as re-tweeting something he said on twitter. I mean, really, the man has 1.67 million followers on twitter. Probably more than that read his blog. Is there anyone who hasn’t seen this?

Actually, yes. I suspect there are a few people who read my blog who don’t read his. Who might not even be entirely sure of who he is. In other words, people who don’t read any of the forty-billion genres in which he writes and people who are not writers.

There are two or three. And yes, they read my blog. Probably.

But the main reason I want to share a part of Gaiman’s 2012 post over here is because it struck a very personal chord with me this year, more so even than other years, and that’s saying something. Because this is something I decided for myself last fall. Not to set out to make a mistake, necessarily — I doubt anyone intends to do that — but to be willing to do something that might be a mistake. And do it anyway. With the intention that if it turned out to be a mistake, it would be the most awesome and remarkable and unique mistake in the entire history of– well, of all my mistakes at least. So far.

Hell, Gaiman says it better:

And for this year, my wish for each of us is small and very simple.

And it’s this.

I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.

So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.

Whatever it is you’re scared of doing, Do it.

Make your mistakes, next year and forever.

Feels amazing to realize Neil Gaiman finally caught up with me. [I'm kidding, people] But it does feel like a small benediction. And sometimes that’s all we need.

The rest of his post — yes, there’s more to it, including wishes from past years — can be found here. Go read it. There’s a reason he has all those followers.

And then go out and make some mistakes of your own. Because I could use the company. But mostly because it feels incredibly good to Do Something.

Sorry. Got a bit carried away.

It really is exciting, seeing my book over there looking all official. I sort of feel like Pinocchio, becoming a “real boy” after years of wistful dreaming. And telling lies making stuff up.

Here’s the link at Amazon:

How Did This Happen? Lunch with Imaginary Friends and other (mostly) True Stories

I hope it will also be available over at Barnes & Noble . . . someday. Maybe even one day soon. I’m currently in limbo there, waiting for approval. I can’t decide whether this means they have higher standards than Amazon or simply a more convoluted process. Or maybe they’ve already closed up shop for the holiday break and my book won’t get processed until after the New Year.

For those of you curious about the process, Amazon had it online in about two hours. Not that I’m impatient or anything.

UPDATE: My book is now also available for Nook at B&N: go HERE to buy it!

I was mistaken.

It’s an awesome feeling, well worth gushing about!

I LOVE this cover! It’s weird and quirky and irreverent and a perfect fit for my sense of humour. It is exactly what I wanted for this book. Jeroen ten Berge is amazing to work with and I’d recommend him to anyone.