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Or how to channel your creative energy, (not) learn to sew, amuse your kids, and give back to the community all in one fell swoop.
Okay, maybe “give back to the community” is a bit of a stretch.  Because, hey, I’m in this play, too, and I’m really not an actress (I let my book characters do that, thank you very much).  Perhaps “torturing the community” would be a more accurate description?  (Insert “oh, Julie, surely you’ll be GREAT“ comments here).  But be that as it may, come the beginning of next month, I will be dancing around on stage pulling two roles in The Wizard of Oz: A (very tall) munchkin.  And a flying monkey.

Those of you who know me are probably staring goggle-eyed at the screen.  Or, at least, wondering if this blog was supposed to go up on April 1.  No, I’m serious.  Why the sudden urge to join the Communal Order of Thespians?  Blame it on the kids.

(You know, it’s really quite amazing how much of my life centers around “Blame it on the kids.” For example, my husband and I converted our bedroom into a playroom, moving our kingsize bed into the smallest bedroom in the house.  Why are we in the smallest bedroom, with the small people in the house filling the biggest room with Lego’s, books, 8 bazillion stuffed animals, puzzles, crayons, and every other tiny toy in the world?  That’s right:  Blame it on the kids.  Never let it be said we’re not dedicated parents....) (And because I feel the need to share my efforts at playroom conversion, here’s pictures of the fruits of my labor.  Day One.  It’s never been this clean since.)


Is that a cool playroom or what (not to mention a walking, talking ad for Ikea ...)

But I digress.  My newly inspired dramatic impulses stem not from a sudden need to learn to be one with my characters, but rather with my oh-so-brilliant idea that my Drama Queen Five Year Old, Catherine, would absolutely love being on stage.  So, I found a class, and off we went.  Because it’s a homeschooling class, there’s a variety of ages, with two older kids (about 9th grade), and the others ranging from 5 (the youngest officially enrolled) to ten or so. 

The first day didn’t exactly go as planned.  At the orientation with several classes combined, Catherine was terrified, but Chenchen – our three year old – was completely into it.  She was dancing around during all the warm-up/get-to-know you exercises.  And, because Catherine was nervous, I joined in, too.  Any mom would, right?

So after an hour and a half, we broke into groups.  Now the group was smaller, and Catherine started warming up to the whole thing.  (I knew she would.  It’s so great being justified with regard to all those little maternal moments!) And lest you’re concerned, by the end of the class, she was doing improvs with no prompting from me, and completely basking in the glow of being a theater gal. 

But this tale isn’t about Catherine’s transition from wallflower to accepting her Best Actress Academy Award.  No, it’s about the fact that several other moms had brought little ones, and John, the director, had the brilliant idea of letting them in the play if they wanted in.  Mine did.  In a big way.  Especially when she found out that she would get to be a Flying Monkey. 

The show, as you might guess, is The Wizard of Oz. 

Now, here’s the thing.  We adopted Chenchen about 5 months ago, and when we first came home, she had no interest in television whatsoever. Not that I ever thought I would bemoan a kid not liking television, but I was really, really, really hoping she’d watch Sesame Street.  I figured it would help with language, alphabet, the whole 9 yards.  But no.  No interest.

Not, that is, until Curious George.  Curious George, as you probably know, is a monkey.  And he’s cute.  And Chenchen fell in love with his (new or just new to us??) show on PBS.  I mean, ga-ga fell in love.  Which opened the floodgates.  Now Sesame Street is cool.  And so is Teletubbies.  And, yes, so is “Doggie” – her sister’s Scooby Doo videos.

So when Chenchen heard “flying monkey,” she about went ballistic with excitement.  She stops perfect strangers and tells them she’s a flying monkey (this is more of a hoot in person, as Chenchen uses sign language until she learns to make proper sounds, the result of a cleft palate only recently repaired – so she’ll go up to anyone I happen to be chatting with, point to herself, flap her arms, and make the sign for monkey.  Strangers usually don’t get it.)

I’m thinking the two types of monkeys aren’t exactly the same: 

Here’s Curious George

Here’s a Flying Monkey.  (These dudes SCARED me as a kid!)

A tad different, huh?  But no matter.  Flying monkeys had tickled her fancy, and this kid was insistent!

The only thing is, a three year old can’t really be in the show by herself.  So me and some of the other moms were recruited into the roles as well.  Yikes.

But, I put on my big girl panties.  I can do that.  After all, Chenchen is DYING to be a flying monkey.  So I will make the ultimate sacrifice for my child:  I will be in the play with her.

Honestly, it’s been fun. 

But here’s the hard part.  The part that stopped my heart.  The part that had me having anxiety attacks worse than realizing a book is due in one month and I have 300 pp left to write.  What caused such stress and worry?  Costumes.

That’s right.  Community theatre for the five-year-old set apparently does not come with a costume mistress.  Who knew?  So not only did I suddenly have to deal with a Tinman costume for my eldest, but I had to deal with Flying Monkey and munchkin costumes for my littlest ... AND for me.

The munchkin costumes I managed.  (One trip to Wal-Mart, a bunch of fake flowers, and a needle and thread to sew them onto old shirts.  Voila!  Flower munchkins!)

But while I can sew and glue flowers onto shirts, the OhMyGodIHaveToSew factor was much higher for flying monkeys and Tinmen. 

Realizing I did not have these basic skills, I did what any sane, intelligent, competent woman would do.  I called my mother. 

My mom suggested I pull out my sewing machine and do it myself.  Um, yeah.  Not only is the machine in the back of the storage shed, but as I pointed out to her, every time I use it (for, like, sewing a straight seam to hem curtains) she has to come over to thread it.  Why, I suggested, didn’t she just do it herself and save the trip to Georgetown to teach me how to thread the thing.  Especially since, you know, she’s basically responsible for my complete and utter lack of sewing skill anyway.  Right?  (And, yes, I realize that will hold no water whatsoever twenty years from now when my girls blame me for some lack of domestic skill.)

And, because she is a Goddess, my mom agreed with my faulty, wimpy, whiny logic.  Better, she created the cutest Tinman costume out of silver quilted material.  Chenchen, of course, was more interested in the monkey aspect, and Mom nailed that, too.  It’s not Laura Ashley, but Chenchen and I now have matching brown felt tunics, complete with upholstery cord and tassel tails, and soft fur chests.  (In my own pathetic defense, I did go with to the fabric store and pick all this out, and figure out WHAT we were doing.  I mean, isn’t that what delegating is all about?). 

Here we are, Chenchen looking adorable, and me looking ... well, NOT how I’m going to look for any of the RWA parties this July, that’s for sure.  Monkey tunics are decidedly Unflattering ...

Also in my defense, I did create the hat and the wings (not the green army hat I’m wearing; that’s because I’ve been sanding our floors and you guys SO don’t need a picture of me in my extreme unkemptedness.  You’re getting no make-up as it is.  Be scared.  Be very scared.)

Here’s a pic of the wings.

And, because she doesn’t look too happy in the first picture, one of her grinning in full costume:

From a distance, I think they both look pretty good.  Fortunately plays are not movies; there will be no close-ups, Mr. DeMille… The hat is a wedding centerpiece thingie covered with red felt and black grosgrain ribbon.  The wings are cardboard, painted with the same latex paint I just painted the wall, and covered with feathers.  My basic tools of the trade here were glue and little adhesive Velcro dots.  Amazing what one can do with little Velcro dots ...

Of course, I still have to get the rest together.  Underthings (leotards?  tights?) and I have to be prepared for the inevitable ripped seam.  Which means I probably don’t get to escape sewing after all.  On performance day, I’ll be the lady schlepping our costumes (the excellent ones created by my mom, and the tossed together hats and wings created by yours truly), along with a needle and thread, too.  Just in case.  And stickyback Velcro.  Lots, and lots of stickyback Velcro ....

Now if I can just remember my lines ...

Below is the official bio but I have to say that I tell you that Julie at the turn of the century (when she was like five and I was not.) She came to Minnesota and she, Susan Kay Law and I had lunch. As soon as I got home, I turned the car around and ran out and bought a copy of RECKLESS. Am I glad I did! Not only is she a fabulous author, she a great ‘uman being. Wise, witty and and funny as hell, please join us in welcoming Julie Kenner!

Julie Kenner’s first book hit the stores in February of 2000, and she’s been on the go ever since, with over twenty books to her credit. Her books have hit lists as varied as USA Today, Waldenbooks, Barnes & Noble, and Locus Magazine. Julie is also a two-time RITA finalist, the winner of Romantic Times’ Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Contemporary Paranormal of 2001, the winner of the Reviewers International Organization’s award for best romantic suspense of 2004 and best paranormal of 2005, and the winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award for best mainstream book of 2005. She writes a range of stories including sexy and quirky romances, young adult novels, chick lit suspense and paranormal mommy lit. Her foray into the latter, Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom, was selected as a Booksense Summer Paperback Pick for 2005, was a Target Breakout Book, was a Barnes & Noble Number One SFF/Fantasy bestseller for seven weeks, and is in development as a feature film with Warner Brothers and 1492 Pictures. The sequel, California Demon is currently a finalist for the RITA award. Julie lives in Georgetown with her husband, two daughters, and several cats.

Julie Kenner’s website

Jullie Kenner’s Blog

Julei Kenner’s My Space

Okay, I know that Butch’s LOVER REVEALED is out just now, but Vishous is the Brother on my mind.  Why?  Because I’ve written fourteen books over the past six years or so and V has been, hands down, the WORST writing experience I’ve ever had.  I think he’s a GREAT book.  But the process was just grueling.

And YET, even with the pain V put me through (and let’s face it, he hurt me so good), I think he’s off the chain hot.  Here’s the top ten reasons why I think Vishous is fabulous:

10.  The Eyes Have It- I love those diamond white irises with the navy blue rims.  And the tats on that temple?  Makes me swoon.

9.  Black Wax- I think the V fans out there know EXACTLY what I’m talking about here.  Feel me?

8.  The Hand- come on, like you can’t adore a male who could incinerate a house for you.  Takes the pressure off starting grills, bonfires and flares.  Plus, excellent night light.

7.  Crazy IT Skills- with him around, you’d never have to worry about your hard drive crashing, your identity being stolen, your internet sacking out or your wires getting crossed.  Plus if you ever decided you wanted to hack into something?  He could do it and make you breakfast at the same time.

6.  His Music- but then I love rap and hip hop, too.

5.  Sixteen Languages- which means you could go pretty much anywhere in the world with him and order what you wanted for dinner.  Plus maybe he’d feed the entree to you.  Or the dessert.  Or even better- you know, I’m going to stop right here.

4.  His Magic Dagger- okay, okay, that sounds rude.  But he’s a stone cold lesser killer and I dig that.

3.  Black Wax- had to bring that one up again.  Because once just isn’t enough.

2.  The Butch Connection- I think Butch and V are hot together.  And the fact that V found Butch in those woods and rescued him?  And now heals him after he does his special biz with the lessers?  *sigh*

And the number one reason?

The way Vishous falls in love with Dr. Jane Whitcomb.  Of course, you’re going to have to read LOVER UNBOUND to find out the precise details.  But let’s jut say, V as a bonded male?  Hottest thing around.

Anyone else into Vishous?

KITTY: Yeah! That’s right, Squawker Losers. This here’s a picture of me and my pal, J.R. WARD catching a little girl time on the beach. After we trolled for beach bikers, I loosened her up with a little herbal “tea” and we got chatty. The following is taken verbatim from the taped conversation. Brockway added the sound effect descriptions and, I might add, took a little creative license.

Kitty: Okay, I’m gonna be honest here, first impression of J.R. Ward? Disappointingly elegant. J.R., babe, the whole vampire loving Brotherhood of the Black Dagger thing misled me into thinking you’d be a girl with tats. Prison tats. Like mine. So, how’d a nice girl like you develop this fiendishly dense, 3-D vampire world? Did you wake up one morning and say, “Today, I create worlds?” And while you’re at it, pour me another cup of that herbal goodness, too.

J.R. WARD: Actually, I was struck by lightening and decided to go with the madness.  And you know what the added bene was?  I now glow in the dark- without having my butt plugged into the wall.  Very handy attribute especially during tornado season.  I mean, previously I was SOL if I didn’t have an extension cord or if the electricity was out.

(unpleasant snorting sounds)

KITTY: J.R. you’re suppose to drink the tea, not snort it. Atta girl. Did you build the Black Dagger world slowly or did you pre-plan the rules before Book One? And how the hell do you keep everything straight? Have you paneled your office in dry erase board?

J.R. WARD: I keep it straight because my brain is like a filing cabinet.  I think it’s the lawyer in me.  And my office is paneled in… well, hell, a whole lot of nothing.  I need a decorator.

KITTY: You got these six enormous, powerful stud muffins with teeth. Do you own a Hog?

J.R. WARD: Yes.  I keep it in my basement and feed it chunks of mailmen and meter readers- oh, wait, did you mean motorcycle?  Ah… strike that last response.  Yeah, I don’t know anything about hogs.  Or mailmen.  (unpleasant slurping sounds) Um… meter what? And you’re right, tea goes down easier this way.

KITTY: Forget it. I digress. You started with DARK LOVER, then went to LOVER ETERNAL, then LOVER AWAKENED, and now you’re at LOVER REVEALED. Vamps are dying, but more are being exposed, if you know what I mean. How many more Black Dagger books will be forthcoming?

J.R. WARD: Originally there were just going to be ten, but now the series is open ended.  Because let’s face it- writing about male vampires with tats and leathers is the best job on the planet.  Well, except maybe being Hugh Jackman’s tailor.  Now there’s an inseam I’d like to meas- damn, what did you put in this tea?  It tastes a little funny and I have this mad urge to gum flap.

KITTY: Nuthin’! You, ah, don’t have a urine test scheduled this week, do you? (J.R. Ward’s response at this point is unintelligable) Good. So, wanta reveal a few juicy clues? Come on, honey. Liz promised me a bottle of tequila for every exclusive I dug, I mean I charmed out of you. Be sweet. Reveal.

J.R. WARD: Reveal?  Um… I don’t really know you that well but here.  (flapping sound like she’s ripping open a raincoat) Hey!  You don’t have run screaming from the room!  Look, you wanna buy a watch?  How about a knock-off handbag?  Two for one and I promise you I’m wearing a bikini under all this black market stuff.

KITTY: I’m screaming because Eloisa gave me one of those Gucci bags for Christmas! She said it was from Florence! That cheap (expletive deleted) !  Stay on focus, Kitty...Your books make with the details and, well, the testosterone. One disaster falls on another. Reading you is sort of like watching CSI Las Vegas. Or Snake Pliskin. You a fan of either? What do you read/watch/do for inspiration and ideas?

J.R.WARD: I’m inspired by- what?  Oh, yeah, sure.  I’d like some tea.  What were we talking about?  You don’t remember either?  Well, what do you know, we both suffer from the neurological disorder CRS.  Go fig. 

KITTY: Yeah. Fine. Don’t Bogart that teapot. Hand it over. Come on! That’s better. Now, before you were J.R. Ward, you wrote straight romance and still do. What’s with that? You have a really strong work ethic, a huge mortage or, as Medeiros suggests, the creative process is enhanced by the, er, double-dipping. Okay, she didn’t say ‘double-dipping,’ but she was starting to wax eloquent and I fell asleep. You get my drift, though, right?

J.R.WARD: Double… er… dip?  OMG I feel so dirty.  I knew I was going to like you. (unpleasant sounds of mutant species recognizing one of their own kind followed by a low five and a knuckle pound)

And I’d have to go with the work ethic response.  I hate down time and if I’m not writing I get twitchy.  Which is not pretty.  And makes strangers think I belong in a mental ward… or working as a model for bobble head dolls or as a paint mixer or a Fribble machine… or ...

KITTY: You’re twitching.

J.R.WARD: More tea please?  That (expletive deleted) is very calming.

KITTY: (sound of crockery clattering) Crap! I spilled. (sigh) How are writing the two different? Either one more fun than the other?

J.R.WARD: No, they’re both good.  I mean, how do you pick between Twister and Monopoly?  Both are equally fun when played naked- what?  I’m just keeping it real!  Oh, come on like you’ve never taken a ride on the Reading RR in your skivvies?  And everyone likes to land on green.  Admit it.  You’ve done it and LOVED IT.

(unpleasant sounds of Kitty giggling) KITTY: Ohhh. Lookee here, Xtina (aka the Troll) has just texted me with the following question: “How tall are you and can I have some?” You know when I met Christina she was at least three inches taller but time and gravity…

J.R. WARD: Yeah, I’m a long/tall, all right.  Kind of like a good gin & tonic.  Well, except I don’t sweat in the heat. (Background sounds as if Kitty is saying “Well, not too much.” ) And I don’t make your ankles swell.  Hey, that happens if you drink too many T&Ts in the summer!  (T= Tanqueray of course.  And I’m not speaking from personal experience with the ankles.  Not.  At.  All.)

KITTY: Sure. I believe you. I know you were involved in hospital administration and are a lawyer. Aren’t they like as dry as ...well, doctors? I mean, did you develop your rich interior life a means of coping with the fact that you had to deal with health care all day?

J.R.WARD: Are you kidding me?  Doctors are hot.  They’re real life heroes.  (Kitty snorts)Plus they have clean hands which is always a plus.

KITTY: Okay, time for the fun part of the interview, where we get up close and personal.

J.R.WARD: Wait, you asking about my hog wasn’t personal? 

KITTY: Finish your tea. If you were a U.S. coin which one would you be?

J.R. WARD: Um… I’d have to say a silver dollar.  Why?  Because then I wouldn’t have to worry about getting fed into a vending machine, dryer or old fashion phone.  I have a fear of cramped dark places. 

KITTY: Hell Boy or Dr. Strange?

J.R. WARD: Hell Boy.  Defo.  Can’t beat a big guy with sawed-off horns in his forehead.  You’d always have a place to hang your Red Sox hat.  Plus he was kind of f-ugly so you’d want something in front of his mug.

KITTY: Eat in or take out?

J.R. WARD: Neither.  My art sustains me- (unpleasant sound of coughing) I feel a little dizzy.  But in a good way.  Can I have more of that tea?

KITTY: Later. Ski Vermont or Aspen?

J.R. WARD: Are you insane?  Wait, you think I’m going to plug myself into a pair of two-by-four filets, drag myself up the icy puss of a mountain, and swish-diggity down the thing until I yard sale in front of a bunch of hot men dressed in front-zipper Gortex pants- while breaking a leg?  Look, there’s a reason that sport has a term called a “Fall line” and it’s not because people keep have it easy keeping their snowsuits on the vertical.  BLEH. 

The question should be Ibiza or St. Tropez?  Answer: Ibiza.  With a certain friend of mine.  Two words:  Sling-shot.  Viewing.  Or is sling shot two words?  (giggling. Impossible to tell if it’s Kitty or J.R. Ward as both are equally unpleasant) Wheeeeee I like this tea… hit me again there, your Earl Grayness.  Or is that Greyness?

KITTY: Yup. I got another thermos right here. I think we’re done here. Stupid Squawkers should be happy with this. If they’re not they can get (expletive deleted) themselves.  Thanks, J.R.  Hey. Wanta see my “Beavis and Butthead” tattoo?

J.R. WARD: For God’s sakes woman!  Who told you that’s Beavis and Butthead??  Looks like two pigs fighting under a blanket.  And I mean that in the nicest, most supportive way.  Here, take this towel and um… yeah, wrap that (expletive deleted) back up, girl.  There you go.  God, this tea’s made me sleepy.  I feel like I need to just put my head down for a minute.  I’m really tir- ZZZZ z ZZzzzzzZZZZZZ *snort* ZZZzz

On Tuesday, March 20 and Wednesday, March 21, be here to welcome J. R. Ward, the author of the hugely popular Black Dagger Brotherhood series of vampire books. Watch the Battle of the Titans as she faces off with Kitty Kuttlestone in one of Kitty’s infamous interviews. Get a front row seat as J. R. blogs and chats with her most dedicated fans. (That would be me.)

Following a career in hospital administration, J. R. now lives in the South with her incredibly supportive husband and her beloved golden retriever.  Writing has always been her passion and her idea of heaven is a whole day of nothing but her computer, her dog and her coffee pot. Her current release, LOVER REVEALED, follows her other three Black Dagger Brotherhood novels into bestsellerdom and is #5 on the New York Times.

Tell your friends and settle in for a lot of fun.

I’m hopeless.  The Squawkers invited me to blog here several months ago. Knowing I’d just be getting off my book tour a few days before the posting, I wrote the blogs before I left.  A waste of time, as it turns out, because I have something else on my mind now. (Note to Squawkers: If you need two emergency blogs, I have them ready and waiting to go!)

For the past two weeks, I’ve been traveling from Miami to Memphis on the NATURAL BORN CHARMER tour, visiting eight cities and meeting hundreds of readers as well as some amazing booksellers and librarians. The warm welcome I received everywhere was so heartwarming that it made me think about the way women extend themselves for other women.  (Let me note that men do this, too, but there’s frequently a fart joke attached.)

Several years ago I was autographing one of my books at Book Expo, the yearly trade show sponsored by the American Booksellers Association. Patricia Gaffney’s THE GOOD-BYE SUMMER had just been released.  I loved this book and had been telling people about it.  A woman approached me for an autograph and started telling me about her book club. I enthusiastically recommended Gaffney’s book as their next pick.  The woman moved on, and I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I turned around to see Jane Friedman, CEO of Harper Collins, beaming down at me.  I had no idea she was even there.  She’d overheard my conversation and let me know how touched she was that I was promoting another Harper author and not just myself.  Fortunately, I was too taken aback to say that I would have promoted Pat’s terrific book even if she wasn’t a Harper author.  Completely by accident, I’d made myself look darned good in front of the most powerful women in publishing.

Move forward a few years.  Right here at Squawk Radio, Teresa Medeiros wrote an incredibly generous blog about NATURAL BORN CHARMER that brought tears to my eyes. I knew there was no reward in this for her. She’d done it because she liked the book.  And guess what happened?  (I don’t think Teresa even knows about this.) Last week while I was on tour, the Harper publicity department took Teresa’s NATURAL BORN CHARMER blog and fired it out as a press release to dozens of media outlets.  Right at the top was a credit to “New York Times best-selling author Teresa Medeiros.” Yes, this press release primarily benefited me, but it also imprinted Teresa’s name on a hundred media outlets. Did Teresa have this in mind when she wrote the blog?  Of course not.  Instead, this was a perfect example of getting an unexpected reward for doing something nice.

Which brings me to this… Take a few moments for introspection.  When have you done something good with absolutely no thought of personal reward only to receive something good in return?

In my professional I-watch-people-all-the-time-so-I-know-these-things way, I have decided that there are four personality types: 

1) Snogger Dodgers – people who get things done and get them done right, the first time, the only time, and b’god the best time.

2) Slooper Snails – people who never get things done and, frankly, don’t seem to care.

3) Spoinker L’Doinks – people who are always trying to get things done, but can’t because they either don’t know what really needs done or can’t decide what needs to be done first.

And, last but not least, the

4) Snickety Wiggins – people who get things done, but barely on time and usually leave skid marks as they sliiiide into their deadline, hair on fire and butts in a sling, hearts beating a frantic pace.

My cousin, Marty, is a Snogger Dodger. She’s had her wedding planned since she was three years old, and has all of her tax forms are from the last twenty-seven years color-coded. She has the clothes hanging in her closets from longest to shortest, puts up her Christmas ornaments the day after Thanksgiving and takes them down the day after Christmas. She eats wholesome, home cooked meals and has never been a pound overweight. We all hate her.

My mother is a Slooper Snail. She enjoys life, does what she wants, when she wants, and doesn’t really care about troublesome things like deadlines. She takes a lovely nap every afternoon, never stresses over things, rarely raises her voice, and looks like she’s thirty-two even though she’s sixty+. We think she made a pact with the devil.

My next door neighbor, Matilda Headly, is a Spoinker L’Doink. Her entire life is in chaos. She’s always TRYING to get things done, but never seems to get there from here. Oddly enough, she THINKS she’s good at organizing and so is in charge of an awful lot of things – the Girl Scout cookie sale, the church bazaar, the local animal shelter’s Pets N Pats day.
She has folders, file cabinets, a Palm Pilot, and really big hair (I don’ t know why the big hair is a part of that scheme, but it is).  However, even while carrying around all of her organizational bounty, she’s forever telling us how tired she is, how people let her down, the way things didn’t/don’t turn out right because of the weather or a misunderstanding or some signs that were missing or place wrongly, or some other misfortune. Things seem to get done, though not well and usually not because of her. Things are much more likely to get done in spite of her.

I’m a Snickety Wiggin. I get things done, but barely. It takes every ounce of strength to push that rock up the last few inches of the hill. I can’t multi-task because that would mean I’d have to ‘change gears.’ Snickety Wiggins don’t ‘change gears.’ We strip them. Therefore we cannot ‘change gears’ until we finish our project, whatever that may be.
For example, I began to put up the Christmas Tree but then, while hanging the second strand of lights, someone called. I put down the decorations and answered the ten minute phone call. Three months later, my tree was still not decorated and I had lost the phone. I’m probably the only person in Orlando who put up their tree December 25th at eleven p.m.  Worse, it’s mid-February and It’s still up today.  And when I was writing my book (just out this month!) HOW TO ABDUCT A HIGHLAND LORD, if I got one email, it would distract me so badly that I wouldn’t write another word all day, EVEN IF IT WAS SPAM.

So, which are you? Are you a Snickety Wiggin procrastinator, too? Or are you a Spoinker L’Doink, the seems-organized-from-a-distance-but-isn’t-really? A Snogger Dodger, organized with a vengeance? Or a Slooper Snail, unorganized and doesn’t care? How does this affect the way you do things? Which would you be if you could chose? And, most importantly of all, when did you take down your Christmas Tree?

(Under extreme duress, we at Squawk Radio have gracefully bowed to nagging insistence of guest blogger Karen Hawkins and have agreed to shill for her newest venture...some blog she’s doing with some other people. Geesh. Some guest, huh? Anyway, you can go look. If you want to. You don’t have to. I just said I’d stick in the link, I didn’t promise anything after that. You know, you do have other things you ought to be doing. Just a reminder. You’re not getting any younger and you’r not getting anything done cruising around the internet gawking at the efforts of ....other people.  Or. you could stay here. We like you. We’ll take care of you. SqR)
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oh, yeah
www.thegoddessblogs.com

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