Happy New Year, Guys!

I'm off to talent show practice number one for my Urchins. It should prove to be interesting, if not headache inducing.

The Breeches fall tonight at midnight. Five foot tall yellow pants. From a flag pole. A good time will be had by all I'm sure.

I hope you guys have a safe and happy new years eve!

via GIPHY

See you in 2016!!

Update To The Update

Okay guys. My father-in-law is back in the hospital and some other crazy things have cropped up around Chez Quinn to completely tear me away from practically all social media at the moment. So please know that I'm really missing you guys and will be doing my utmost to visit over at your sites as soon as I can.

Hope you all are doing well... 'cause, this is me right about now.

via GIPHY

When Did I Say The Crazy Would Die Down?

Ok, this post is all excuses reasons I've been away.

1. My father-in-law was back in the hospital for his heart last week. They released him, but didn't solve the issue, so he's been weak and I've been trying to help out as much as possible.

2. One of my blue-haired-old ladies went into the hospital this week. She's the one who runs the Britches meetings. You remember. The meetings that go on forever about the party we throw on New Year's and drop a gigantic pair of yellow breeches from a huge flagpole? Yeah, those britches meetings.

Well apparently, I'm now in charge. God save us all!!!! This is more proof that little old ladies are truly my kryptonite.

3. Pitch Wars. It's finally wrapping up, but I've been working like a fiend to improve, and I've definitely seen some strides in my writing. My manuscript is so much better, and I'm ready to send it out. After one last nit-picky-completely-obsessive read through. Which I'm still working on.

Then it's getting sent out. To several places that requested it.

Some of said requests came from pitching at the NJ Romance Writer's conference I attended last month.

Then my mom was in visiting from Montana.

And the Urchins are still alive. Which, as you know means I had to take them places. All. The. Time. Still do as a matter of fact.

And the whole time in the back of my head I'm whimpering, But, but, my blogging friends. I wanna go see what they're up to and tweet about them and possibly friend them on Facebook since that massive regime finally broke me and I joined their evil ranks. 

So this is what I feel like at the moment. Me against all that stuff.

via GIPHY


I'm probably not making much of an impression, but I'm not getting taken down by the tentacled monster that is life at the moment.

I'm calling that a win.

So how have you  guys been? Catch me up in the comments!

I'm Not Dead...Yet

Hey guys! My mom is in from Montana, visiting. Since I only get to see her once a year, I''ve been mostly ignoring the internet.

I'm also down to the wire for Pitch Wars. The agent round is November 2. All my stuff has to be in on Halloween. And I'm still working. Every spare second.

So in case you never hear from me again, it's because revisions actually do kill. I will forevermore be a cautionary tale to all writers.

via GIPHY


Until next time, Citizens!

Tooth Fairy Motels and Other Happenings

So there's too much to tell. #PitchWars has been a phenomenal experience. But edits and revising is taking up every spare minute I have. The agent round is November 2nd. And I still have so much to do. (Excuse me a moment while I hyperventilate........Ok, I'm back.)

One of the things that happened a little while back is that Youngest Urchin finally lost a tooth--albeit somewhat unwillingly--that had been hanging on for months. Mostly because she refused to wiggle it, eat on it , breathe on it or otherwise touch it in any way, shape or form.

So the dentist pulled it out at her cleaning. She kept it together. No sobbing. Or biting.

Translation: Win!

So then the real craziness begins. Because the girls don't just put their teeth under their pillow for the tooth fairy. No. They have an entire Tooth Fairy Motel. It's set up 24/7 under Youngest's bottom bunk.

It's even labeled, just in case the Tooth Fairy doesn't know it's for her.

To get to the bed, just slip past the elephant and giraffe on the right.

There is also a tooth pedestal. Again, properly labeled, just in case the Tooth Fairy might have questions.

And of course, there's a note.

It's the note that leads to more work, because the Tooth Fairy writes back. In 5 pt. font. And it's always from a different Tooth Fairy, since there are loads of them. Personalized with a picture of themselves.

You see, I do it to myself. I can't say no to little old ladies or toothless children. It's part of why I'm always over extended.

Like now.

Hope you all are doing well. I'll be trying to hop around to your blogs soon. Once I train myself to write and revise faster. (I'm such a slow writer, it's ridiculous!!)

Until next time, Citizens!!

I Survived The Birthday Party!

Oldest Urchin's pool birthday party was last Saturday night, and I did not walk away unscathed. (Shocking, I know.)

First, as we came to a stop at the end of our street on our way to the pool, the crockpot containing hotdogs that I'd been cooking most of the day, tipped over and spilled its entire contents--greasy water and all--onto the floor of the minivan. (Our beleaguered van is over a dozen years old, and apparently angers the local deer population as its been attacked by one deer and had numerous near misses.)

Based on smell, and yes, a little on appearance, I am now the pilot of the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile.

Ahh, the glory of my life.

Since the hot dogs and mac-n-cheese were the main staples of what I was serving that night, we had to stop and buy emergency pizzas on the way.  Little Caesar's was the only place en route. I'll just say here, I'm not a fan.

In the over-exuberance of Oldest Urchin and her friends, the beginning of the party resembled the caddy swim in Caddyshack. Thankfully minus the doody.



And what is it with giving cash to an eleven year old? At least 3 of the kids gave Oldest a card with five bucks inside as their present. Totally weird.

In the end though, a good time was had by all. And as we drove away into the sunset, the smell of overcooked hot dogs wafting from our open windows, the girls declared it a rollicking good time. So for my sanity and the sake of the photo album, I'm calling it a total win.

So. How was your weekend?

This Isn't A Post

Really. Go to the previous post. Or click on the topic appropriate re-runs below. This is just a post about how I'm going to post soon.

I'm home from vacation. The back yard carnival is over, and Oldest Urchin's birthday is coming up. Which means, not only am I getting around to your blogs again, Tongue In Cheek will be chock full of epic craziness soon.

But for now, you can enjoy an epic craziness post from last summer's vacation to tide you over involving dueling banjos and a crazed muumuu search.

And new posts will be coming soon. (You've been warned.)

I'm Scared I Might Grow A Chrysalis

And I can't figure it out. I want to watch Hee Haw re-runs and eat lemon Jello. I want to wear my Slayer concert tee shirt with fuzzy bunny slippers. I want to eat shrimp puffs while downing tequila shots.

I'm in a mood.

But what I'm really afraid of is that it's a metamorphosis. I'll fall asleep and somehow grow a chrysalis.

Or like Gregor, awake to find myself a cockroach. What does a person feel like before taking on some hideous physical transformation? Do they crave Ho Ho's and tomato juice?

I guess I'm just not feeling like myself.

It doesn't help that where ever I go, people look at me like this:

Hold on while I consult the Magic Eight Ball to see how this will turn out. Hmmmmmmmmm. "Outlook not so good".

Not what I was hoping to hear. Seems strange things are afoot at the Circle K, I mean Chez Quinn. Let's hope it straightens itself out soon. But if you happen to look out your window and see something like this:



You may want to run too.

Psst..Secret Confession Number Four

Just in case you're keeping track:
Secret Confession I
Secret Confession II
Secret Confession III

Now onto Secret Confession IV

I still use hair scrunchies. And I even, on occasion, wear them in public*.

Any shocking revelations you'd like to share? The comments are all yours.



*Please don't judge me.

What Songs Do You Turn Up?

There are certain songs you just have to play loud. Ones you wish you could turn all the way up to eleven. Here are a few of my favorite songs to jam - in no particular order.

Who Are You - The Who
Got My Mojo Working - Muddy Waters
Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Jet
Thunderstruck - AC/DC
Love Struck Baby - Stevie Ray Vaughn
Master of Puppets - Metallica
Nessa Dorma - Luciano Pavarotti
Institutionalized - Suicidal Tendencies
Been Caught Stealing - Jane's Addiction (Though, this is tied with Coming Down The Mountain)
When The Levee Breaks - Led Zeppelin
Shadow of the Season - Screaming Trees
Voodoo Chile - Jimi Hendrix
Higher Ground - RHCP cover


Honorable Mention
Blitzkrieg Bop - The Ramones
A Little Less Conversation - Elvis
Bad Girls - Donna Summer
Even Flow - Pearl Jam
Bitch Better Have My Money - Amg (I hang my head in shame, but I can't deny enjoying this song.)

There are a lot more on my list, but I figured I wouldn't share them all. Leave an air of mystery surrounding me. So, give. What songs make your arm have that involuntary reaction to turn up the volume as soon as you hear them? I promise not to tease you, even if it's Tunes by Englebert Humperdink to Hum in the Shower.

Is That A Train?

I'm coming to the light at the end of the tunnel, or the end of my rope. Whichever comes first.

Got back yesterday afternoon from chaperoning 30 Girl Scouts through tours of Corning, NY's glass museum and Niagara Falls. It was awesome, yet exhausting.

Now I'm back on the horse getting all the last minute prep stuff done for the final science day. 200 third through fifth graders this time. Possibilities of thundershowers every day, including the day we're scheduled to go. And this morning one of the park naturalists asked if it was possible to change her station so that the kids--all 200 of them--could go into the water and look for macro-invertebrates. Which I would love for them to do. But not with TWO DAYS NOTICE!!!!

So I'm emailing people, including the principal--who has not yet mastered the mystery that is the reply button on said emails--and trying not to lose my ever loving mind.

Writing, you say? What writing? Is there such a thing? Why yes, yes there is. Just not a lot of it going on at Chez Quinn at the moment.*

But there will be.

Soon.

I'm determined.

Book revisions. Blog posts that are funny and not complaints. IT WILL HAPPEN. Very. Soon.

You've been warned, Citizens.

For now, I have to get back to drowning in crazy. Thanks for stopping by! Come again!



*Two weeks ago I was in writing paradise-aka writing retreat. MUCH revising got done then, just not this week. Next week? Look out!

What? A Re-Run You Say?

While all my blogging buddies are working their tuckuses (Tucki? Tuckus-es? hmmm.) off for the awesome April A to Z Challenge, I'm busy passing off a 2013 re-run. I bow my head in shame. All the same, enjoy this medicinally induced trip down memory lane. And to all my A to Z friends, I'll be stopping in tonight to root you on!!

Curse You, Head Cold I Was Unprepared For!

So I was sitting on the floor of my bathroom two days ago, rummaging around in the cabinet under the sink, looking for cold medicine. Which we apparently hadn't restocked from last year. I sat there, in my mucus haze, cursing the little three year old glazed-doughnut-monsters that had passed on their crusty germs to me and looking for anything that might provide relief.

This is how The Man stumbled upon me as I dazedly contemplated the decade old Benadryl in my hand, trying to remember what I knew about half-life potency of certain drugs. Which, whether sick or healthy, is pretty much diddly over squat.

Cautiously, like approaching an injured animal in the wild, The Man asked, "Whatcha got there?"

Clutching the medicine that expired in 2003 to my chest like it's My Preciousssss, I replied, "Nothing."

"Nothing, huh?"

"Just some medicine I think I might take."

"Lemme see it."

I shook my head, wishing immediately that I hadn't.

He gave me that disapproving look, the one he saves for when I've really gone off the reservation. The one that's part, "Do we really have to ride this train?" and "Why do I always have to be the responsible adult?"

After much coaxing and bribery by alcohol, he got me to release the medicine and brought me some whiskey with honey and lemon in it, which I sipped until he came back from the store with Nyquil and day time cough medicine.

That Man, I tell you. He's a keeper.

So I've been sick and wishing I could stay in bed, but nursery school duty calls and I must obey--since I'm hoping to give the germs right back to those little critters!

Anywho, until next time, Citizens, when I'll be talking about music and writing. Stay healthy! And if you see any little glazed doughnut monsters wiping their noses on their sleeves. . .  head the other way!

There's An Old Saying...

When you're ass deep in alligators, you tend to forget that your original job was to drain the swamp.

That about sums up life over here at Chez Quinn. Urchins are still sick. Youngest also has an infected ingrown toenail. My father-in-law was in the hospital again, but has been discharged. Two full critiques to finish before the end of the month. And Environmental Field Day.

What's that last one? (Feel free to skip this boring paragraph and watch the video below. It says the same thing, only differently.) 140 first and second graders one day. 190 3rd - 5th graders another. I write a curriculum for each on an environmental theme. Same topic, different age appropriate activities. I shop for all supplies, but create most from scratch. All outdoors at the local state park. 20 or so volunteers to make it work. 10 teachers. 4 buses. I'm in the activity and learning creation stage right now. Lots of research and lesson planning. When I can find the time.



But I'm refusing to let the Tongue In Cheek Year In Review Post be one day later than it is. So without further whiny excuses, here it is.

2014 Tongue In Cheek Year In Review

January
I revealed that I got an R and R from a publisher and asked you all to chime in on how to achieve balance in my life. I heeded all of your advice, applied it and am now a better person. (see above. Then see name of this blog.) I also went on a convoluted, conspiracy ridden tangent on why people should start wearing desks as the ultimate wardrobe accessory. I also did the 2013 Year in Review, and posted two reruns featuring Elvis sightings and dangerous polkas.

February
I lost a wonderful friend to ALS. I took notes on how to party hard from the 3 year olds and wished I could sport a rockin' diet coke mustache. I shared the conversation I had with my youngest Urchin in the public restroom about best uses of The Force for toilet flushing. And I expounded on the intimate relationship I was developing with the spinning beach ball of death on my dying computer. Among other things.

March
I wondered if I should AtoZ. I got a new computer. (yay!) I wished everyone a Happy St. Patrick's day via certain Muppets singing Danny Boy. Then the Scottish had their hilarious, bawdy say. I revealed my AtoZ theme, asking all the probing questions that arise here at Tongue in Cheek re: Polkapocalypses, 'Possum Queens, super villany, etc. And I shared something beautiful.

April
April was the A to Z Challenge. I am so glad I participated (but I won't be able to this year). My theme was "She Actually Posted That?-The best reruns this blog has to offer." There was super villainy, Hostile Polka takeovers, Zombie Stinkbugs, The merits of the mullet, my tribute to sideburn art, awkward taxidermy, conspiracy theories linking Bratz dolls to the imminent alien invasion, much 'Possum Queenin' and lots more of the run of the mill craziness that ensues here at Tongue In Cheek. And a good time was had by most.

May
Author interviews prevailed during the merry, merry month of May. Melissa Maygrove, Sara Walter Ellwood, and Victoria Smith all rocked the Sea Monkey SAT portion of the interview. I tortured harangued took complete advantage of The Man as he was trapped in the mini van with me for four hours by bouncing ideas off him about a plot point for my next book. The conversation went like most of our conversations. Those of you who've been around a while, know what I mean. I also went to paradise, aka writers' retreat.

June
The fabulous Marci Koski nominated me for a Liebster Award. I accepted. With vigor. And a side of crazy, but you guessed that already, I'm sure. I helped reveal Carol Kilgore's cover for Secrets of Honor. Beautimous! And I treated you all to another rerun. Wasn't that nice of me?

July
I found out that Earth has a club. And most likely a manifesto. A long one. Crystal Collier revealed her cover for Soulless. Gorgeous! I reposted an enduring question for the ages and used Barbie, Ken, GI Joe and The Princess Bride to illustrate it. Then I gave you a rerun in which we have even more fun with taxidermied squirrels. Plus lamented about the difficulties that dog every one of The Urchins' birthday parties. All while I was camping for two weeks. ...Why are you looking at me that way?

August
I was kidnapped by Carnies. And then some other stuff happened.

September
While on vacation, I saved my family from a goat reeking devil phone pole. When asked to describe myself for the wonderful Melissa Maygrove's Follow Fest, I wrote, "I recently escaped from evil kidnapping carny folk. I love roller derby, the hermetically sealed environs of my happy place and riding my motorcycle."

October
I asked for advice on how to hide all my crazy when talking to agents and editors at the NJRW conference. And then I took you on an unholy trek to the land of hideous mumus. And it was epic.

November
Crystal Collier traversed the author interview and Sea Monkey SATs. I shared how I mercilessly tortured Peeps over a campfire, and I related a crazy childhood story to illustrate the power of words. Among other things.

December
I was very distracted. I wished you Merry Christmas using Elvis. And I shared the concept of one word new years resolutions. All while presiding over the infamous New Year's Eve Breeches Drop hosted by the blue haired old ladies and their overworked minion. (me)

So that's all the crazy of 2014 in a really huge nutshell. Thanks for coming along for the ride!

As for 2015, I may have some really exciting news to reveal in the next couple of weeks.

AAAANND, Loni Townsend will be here next month to take the Tongue In Cheek author interview, complete with Sea Monkey SATs. Be sure to stop in to check it out.

Until next time, Citizens!

Distracted

Is there some holiday coming up soon? Every once in a while as I come up for air I hear something about it. I know for a fact that The Urchins want in on it. Just can't put my finger on what it is...

I've been a bit distracted lately. The blue-haired old ladies have commandeered much of my spare time. I'm sure I've mentioned once or twice that little old ladies are my personal Kryptonite. These particular ones run long, rambly meetings and send me all over town on errands for the New Year's Eve Drop they do for the community each year. (They drop pants from a flagpole. I kid you not.) I'm in charge of children's crafts and games, among other things.

I've also been playing the "Where's My Spy Camera Game" for the past month.



Refreshing my email every twenty-seven seconds to see if the people who requested my manuscript have rejected me yet has my nerves frazzled. It hasn't done much good for my sleeping habits either.

Most of my writing efforts have been used up on refraining myself from re-editing the manuscript I submitted. That's been an effort of Herculean proportions. So I've been focusing on how to improve my query letter for when the rejections come. I'm not pleased with the second paragraph describing Ethan. It seems choppy, but I've looked at it too many times to make improvements. Though I wouldn't be adverse to suggestions in the comments. ;)

Searching for home…

Weary pool hustler Sheridan Ward craves a normal life. Her ticket out? A high stakes underground tournament. Working her way across Texas from honkytonk to pool hall and all shady points between, she’s almost earned enough for the buy-in. Until she hustles some good ole boys who aren’t so good. Now she’s got an injured wrist, a truck that’s trashed, and a handsome sheriff dogging her to press charges.

Searching for justice…

Sheriff Ethan Bankert doesn’t have time for a woman. But the beautiful hustler picked the wrong men to con. He should know—they’re the main suspects in his father’s murder. A case that’s gone cold. Whether she wants to believe him or not, tangling with them has painted a bulls-eye on her back. Now, with Sheridan under his roof, protective custody takes on a whole new meaning. If he could just convince her to press charges, not only could he keep her safe, it would be the opening he’s been looking for to continue his investigation.

Searching for forever…

As their nights heat up, Sheridan’s walls of distrust start to crumble, but this sexy-as-sin sheriff still won’t convince her to step foot in a courtroom again. Not after the humiliation she went through there as a child. The road is calling as her last big score nears. Never mind that since she stumbled into this town her deepest dreams have grown to encompass a life with Ethan.

But their future is jeopardized by the same threat that ended his father’s life. Only this time, it’s Sheridan in the crosshairs.

A SHOT AT FOREVER is a 97,000 word adult contemporary romance, and the first stand-alone book in my series of Hard To Tame Heroines set in small town Texas. I am a member of RWA and the former (2013) president of my local chapter. A SHOT AT FOREVER was a finalist in the 2013 Sheila Contest held by the Valley Forge Romance Writers.

~~*~~

Present shopping and wrapping, Christmas play practices, not to mention the frightening levels of Christmas-crazy enveloping the three year olds I teach have all taken their toll. I'm frazzled and jittery and a donkey on the edge.

So as this wonderful holiday approaches at warp factor 8, I hope you all have the opportunity to enjoy your time. Don't be like me and let the outside world avalanche down around your ears.

Wishing you all peace and happiness and


Until next time, Citizens!

An Explanation And Some Crazy

I haven't been out on the interwebs recently. I'm actually still not over my bronchitis completely, and it's left me pretty exhausted. I of course haven't slowed down in real life, so when I'd sit for a moment to visit all you cool cats in the virtual world, I would  promptly fall asleep.

Also, I got some pretty big nibbles on A Shot At Forever at the NJ conference I attended last month. I sent out three requests for fulls to major houses this week, and I just sent the full to a NY agent. (As in right now. She emailed me at 4:59pm and I sent it at 5:21 pm.) EEK!!! I'd also sent queries to four other agents on Thursday. So I've been sludging through this illness, trying to remind myself that my mc, Sheridan, drives a pickup truck, not a unicorn as I got submission packets ready. 

So with my excuses out of the way, are you ready for the crazy? Remember my Trek Into The Unholy Land Of Hideous Mumus? Of course you do. Well, before we left last July on that two week rustic camping trip, I was overly determined (Nice way of saying crazy-eyed and almost demented) to use the last of the Easter Peeps.

Okay, yes, we had an overabundance of Peeps. And yes, in a slightly roundabout way that was my fault.

1. I don't like to eat Peeps.
2. I can't resist their marketing.

They were offering adorable stuffed animal peeps in a package of eight to ten marshmallow Peeps. These stuffed animals were so stinking cute, I couldn't resist.

(Damn you sophisticated marketing gurus! I've fallen into your marshmallowy clutches again!
As such.)

How can you resist a sparkly, speckled Peep in a Santa hat? I mean, c'mon!!

So now I'm back in the same boat. I'm in a destructive cycle. We have ten peppermint Peeps that I won't touch and will only ration sparingly to the rest of my family since they're nothing but unadulterated sugar.

Which leads to disgruntledness from all fronts. The family because there's Peeps to be had, and I won't dole them out.

Me because packages of Peeps are cluttering up my already severely cluttered domicile. AND since I was raised like I was a child in the 1940s who just barely survived the Great Depression, I cannot willingly dispose of them without bursting into flaming hives of guilt.

So to solve my problem, I took them camping. And tortured them over the campfire as they'd done to me since April.

Revenge! REVENGE!! (said like K-K-K-Ken from A Fish Called Wanda*

 The Urchins, wonderful Urchins that they are, assured me they were delicious.


*

A Trek To The Unholy Land Of Hideous Muumuus

I had a crazy camping meltdown back in July. Shocking, but true. Two weeks in a pop up camper without tv or internet will do that to a girl.

We were in Maine, having a grand old time. Only problem? The bathhouse was waaaaay far away from the camper. And I was getting weirded out walking there in my pjs due to some of the cro magnon tent campers who opened their beer bottles and cans of corned beef hash with their teeth as they eyed us wimmin folk (me and my two young daughters) on our way to the bathhouse.
 
So my fevered camping brain decided my best defense was a truly hideous muumuu. Because, really, what other defense is there? Nothing trumps hideous muumuu.

The man, reading the crazy in my eye, correctly chose to take me looking for one. Five stores and three hours later, the family tromped into Walmart. Now, I'm desperate beyond all comprehension if I'm willing to walk into a Walmart in the first place. On principle I refuse to shop there and contribute to the decline of Western civilization.

The Urchins are about to become unglued, The Man has that determined manly "I-will-fix-this-if-it-kills-me" crazed glint in his eyes, and I, who despises shopping, am ready for the loony bin.

Then, I see them. And, they're indescribably hideous.

The horror!!

Look at the varied selection behind these two winners.

This one has a zipper opening for easy on and off. Umm, off, please.

I mean, Mrs. Roper's muumuus had nothing on these. Faced with their hideousness, I just...couldn't pull the trigger. I couldn't buy, let alone wear, any of them. So, disgruntled and defeated, we trudged out of the evil store, into the dark night and back to the campground.

Where--we found that the insane, monkey-toed, inbred, knuckle-dragging, banjo-dueling, tent campers had vacated the premises. Leaving behind scary remnants of their encampment for future archaeologists to puzzle over.

So we were all winners in the end. The Man earned good-husband points for attempting to fix my crazy. The Urchins learned that power-shopping doesn't pay, and I could walk un-ogled to the bathhouse.

Moral of the story? Muumuus trump inbred evilness by proximity alone.

Until next time, Citizens!

A Craziness Level Update and Other Stuff

I won't be offended if you skip to the fun part. But for now...

Craziness Update:
I'm almost over my stomach bug I picked up last week.
It still didn't stop me from taking the Urchins to their all-day corn maze Girl Scout event in the rain yesterday.
Tonight, they're in the Halloween parade with the Girl Scouts, and I'm picking up my mom at the airport. We will then be driving straight to the parade.
Tomorrow, dropping Mom off at the train station before work.
And I'm still trying to pack and get ready for the NJRW conference on Thursday.

Speaking of the conference, that's the other stuff.

I will be leaving early Thursday afternoon. (The chimney sweep had better be here and gone before that time on Thursday.)

I will be having either an agent or editor appointment. So I need advice on how not to blurt out any of my crazy conspiracy theories in the ten minutes I get to talk to one of them.

What? You, Ava? Conspiracy theories? Never!

Ahem. As such.

Bratz Dolls as the precursor to the alien invasion.

The inherent and obvious dangers of polka music.

The contagious properties of redneck.

Do I need to go on?

I also have the Lloyd Dobler nervous talking thing. You know, Say Anything?




Except my verbal diarrhea would probably include, but not be limited to, polkappocalypses, carny folk, my 'Possum Queen reign, sea monkey warfare, the many uses of taxidermied squirrels, and the high number of people in history who have been shanghaied by Sasquatches.

So I now have to figure out how to shove my crazy down and act normally. Hmmm. Should be a challenge. Wish me luck!

It's Follow Fest Time!

 Hi everybody! At this point right now, I wish I were still kidnapped by carny folk. It'd definitely be easier being the bearded lady than what's going on at Casa de Quinn at the moment. Which is why I'm so late to THIS party!

The fabulous Melissa Maygrove has brought us Follow Fest again!! She's so awesome. So in the tiny moments of sanity, which were few and very far between, I pulled together my post. Be sure to click on the graphic below and see all the awesome participants.

Blog button designed by Carrie Butler.

Name: Ava Quinn

Fiction or nonfiction? Fiction

What genres do you write? Romance, baby! Contemporary Western.

Are you published? Not yet.

Do you do anything in addition to writing?

I'm the web mistress and children's game and crafts coordinator for our township's New Year's Eve drop where they drop their pants. Yes, five foot tall yellow breeches. From a huge flag pole. I kid you not.

Tell us a little about yourself.

Last year I said I mommed. Which I still do. (Yes, momming is a verb.) I now also teach preschool (3 year olds) part time and write whenever I can. I blog about crazy nonsense that goes on in my world. (Polkappocalypse, anyone?) I recently escaped from evil kidnapping carny folk. I love roller derby, the hermetically sealed environs of my happy place and riding my motorcycle.

What are you reading right now? I'm doing a bunch of "the craft of writing" related reading and just finished up a critique for a friend.

Which authors influenced you the most? The authors from my local writing group: Delynn Royer, Natalie Damschroder, Susan Gourley, and Misty Simon.They've been so generous with their time.

Where can people connect with you?

Blog

 Right here at Tongue In Cheek readavaquinn.blogspot.com

Twitter @AvaQuinnWrites

Facebook- Still not on Facebook. Am I the only one left on the planet not on there?

Goodreads Ava Quinn

Google+ Ava Quinn

LinkedIn Ava Quinn

Sick of seeing my name yet?

Website avaquinn.com

Is there anything else you’d like us to know? 
 I have a crazy author interview, complete with a Sea Monkey SAT portion. So hit me up if you're promoting! Thanks for stopping by and checking out all my crazy. Sorry if I got any on you. If I did, it was completely accidental.

When We Last Left Our Intrepid Heroine...

She was escaping from crazed kidnapping carny folk. (As such)

Okay, that's not quite the truth.

What is the truth is that life around here at Chez Quinn has been hectic to say the least.

The BFF is getting married Saturday, and the Urchins and I are all in it. Youngest Urchin is in freakout mode. She cannot do the wedding walk and toss petals at the same time. So now it's become this huge psychotic psychological block. Which I have done every good mom thing there is to assuage her fears, and now it's just funny. My girl apparently can't walk and chew bubble gum.  I have not informed the bride. Waiting to see how it pans out on Saturday. Hilarity will, I'm sure, ensue.

My mother-in-law had her cancer surgery, and it looks like no radiation treatment will be necessary. Hooray!

My father-in-law has finally gotten over his month long pneumonia, but it put his heart back into atrial fibrillation. He had his heart converted with the paddles of life/AED last week. Receiving an electro shock while awake. This is the 6th time they've had to do it. He's still recovering, but his heart is back in rhythm.

Back to school has been bumpier than usual. The three year olds are still crying. My job is now officially called Snot Sweat and Tears. Decontamination showers will be installed outside the door to my house  shortly.

Youngest Urchin is having her back to school separation issues, which twists the knife in me but good as they say.

Oldest Urchin loves school but has enormous amounts of homework and wants to start playing an instrument.

Lots of other goings on have been taking over my life, but I've bored you enough already. Time to dive back into the crazy.

And here it is.

While camping for two weeks this summer, at our first stop, I found an example of the importance of the proper use of commas. This sign was posted at the first campground we stayed in.

Way to insult your guests, there, campground.

Were all the adults of the campground deemed "slow"? Or was there a subset of adults in the slow group? Did they drive the short campers? And most importantly, was I included in the description of slow adults? I refused to believe my mental capacities should be called into question, especially after I discovered something even more significant than the improper exclusion of a comma.

This pole, with its insulting sign, is secretly a portal to hell. Why? Because it smelled like goat. Yes. Goat. And no I didn't sniff the pole. It emanated goat smell. And as anyone who has watched the episode Red Rum from The Mentalist knows, Cho, my favorite character, has declared goats are of the devil. And I believe him. (I can't find that particular clip anywhere on the web, so here's a different equally funny Cho clip. Just pretend it's the other one.)



Anywho, back to the pole. We had to pass it on our walk to the pool. And every time I came near it, there was the smell of a thousand goats. But the horrific stench wasn't everywhere, like when a skunk gets flattened on the roadside. No, this was in one specific spot. Two steps in any direction from said spot, and the smell...disappeared.

Me walking, stops. To the Man: What is that smell?

The Man: What smell?

Me: The one that smells like the insides of a hundred goats in the middle of the desert.

The Man, gives me the look he saves for when he really thinks I've gone off reservation: Yeah, I don't smell anything.

Me: Come here. I'll watch the girls. Just stand right here and tell me that stench wouldn't knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.

The Man, vaguely standing in spot in middle of road where I placed him: That's Epoxy or something.

Me: You are so wrong.

The Man staunchly refused to recognize the imminent peril our family was in and instead made his way blithely with the Urchins to the pool. But I knew. I knew there was evil emanating from that pole. It was only because of the constant vigilance on my part that we weren't sucked down into the bowels of Hell every time we passed that bad boy. And thus we were able to continue our vacation as I, the unsung hero, herded the young 'uns past that pole with all due haste.

So to my family I say, "You're welcome."

And since we survived the devil's telephone pole, I was able to go on and have other crazed camping adventures which I will reveal in my next post.

Until next time, Citizens! Stay away from goat reeking devil poles!

Help! I've Been Kidnapped By Carnies!

Okay listen carefully. I've been taken prisoner by some sinister carnival folk who set up in the back yard last week. I've stolen one of their phones and plugged in remotely to the blog. They're debating on whether to make me be the bearded lady

or wear the two headed goat costume.

Send help! Quick!!