Tag Archive | real life

Spring Spring Spring

In the spring I always get the urge to: 

  • Redecorate my house. 
  • Redesign my blog. 
  • Plant flowers. 
  • Ride a bike everywhere. (After I buy one.) 
  • Go to a farmer’s market.
  • Cook all organic fresh meals. (After I spend all my money on the bike and farmer’s market.)
  • Train my dog.
  • Dye my hair.
  • Sew adorable, quirky clothes that look I share a closet with Zooey Deschanel. (Because I certainly can’t afford to buy them. It’s expensive to look like you shop in a thrift store.)
  •  Learn the guitar.
  • Run around like Rapunzel after she gets out of the tower.

Which is weird, because I live where we don’t have an especially long or cold winter. Our winter weather is kind of on-again, off-again, so it’s not like I’ve been cooped up behind snowdrifts or anything. But real spring just feels different. I think it’s the daffodils and the tulips. 

Flowers and Bike

That’s why March is my favorite month, besides October. (October has the edge because its not a precursor to the summer heat.)  Despite the fact that weather is a roulette wheel. Despite the fact that it’s tornado season. Despite the fact that my roof is leaking again. 

ANyway. The only thing on that list I’ve done is change my color scheme. I never thought I’d get tired of pink and green, but I did. It wasn’t terribly gothic for a ghost story writer anyway. 

What do YOU like to do in the spring?  Tell me in the comments.  You can weigh in on whether I should keep the polka dots or get rid of them, too. 

On the Second Day of Christmas…

So, the Christmas report.

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Here’s my Christmas Tree, with Mom’s present under it. I sort of love that it looks like Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree. We also had an Advent wreath this year:

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Sweet, right? Only yesterday I realized I didn’t have a candle holder for the white candle in the middle, the one you light for Christmas Day. So I improvised:

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Yes, that’s a jigger from my drinks cabinet. I am an Ecclesiastical Maguyver.

We’ve had a very Dutch Christmas. Been enjoying ontbijkoek for breakfast (and tea and more), but Mom bought this special pastry for Christmas morning: basically marzipan wrapped in pastry. OMG two of my favorite holiday things.

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Only when I went to bake it, I discovered the instructions were in Dutch:

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I do not read much Dutch (and I speak even less). But there were enough similar words and context that I could work out I was supposed to warm it up in the oven for about ten minutes. But most important: NIET VERWARMEN IN DER MAGNETRON!!

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Oh my God, I didn’t even know I HAD a magnetron. How awesome is that. From not on, I’m not calling my microwave anything else.

Here’s what else I had: A hot dog in a blanket:

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So, new house, new traditions, and I’ve bored you with my holiday snaps. My holiday is now complete.

One Claw Foot Tub Away From Perfection

LAST week I posted that I’d sold my house.   Yay!

But I didn’t have anywhere to move to.  So I was operating on Contingency Plan B, which was to store everything and stay with my Grandmother until we found the right house.

Which was no where in sight.

So might take awhile.

I'm fine. Really.

I’m fine. Really.

But guess what???  I found a lovely townhouse that’s just perfect for Mom and I.  Great location, near a park, split bedroom arrangement for privacy (a necessity for any roommate situation, times a thousand when it’s your mom).

And look! This is going to be my bathroom!

All this needs is a claw foot tub and it is the bath of my dreams.

Don’t laugh, but I have always wanted a bureau sink. And also, a claw foot tub. This is even painted my favorite color. It is one claw foot tub away from perfection.

 

We’re going to be out of this big huge house, and I will only have to clean and air condition one third the square feet.

Wait.

One THIRD the square feet.

One. Third. The. Size.

One. Third. The. Size.

Anyone want any furniture?

So, in three weeks, I’ll be in a new house.   This has been a year of serious upheaval and change, but this new house—manageable size, closer to my friends, ready to fill with new, happy memories—is a major milestone.  I won’t even say it’s the light at the end of the tunnel, because I don’t see it as an end at all, but a launching pad for lots of awesome things.

Hail to the awesome!

(Also, I’m serious about the furniture thing.)

 

Things that make me happy

It’s been a rough couple of weeks at Casa Del Clement-Moore.  So to remind myself that Life is Good, today I am posting about Things That Make Me Happy.

1) My family and friends. I know this is cliche, but it’s true. Read the dedication of Spirit and Dust (you HAVE pre-ordered your copy, right?) and you’ll know how I feel. Family is a thread that runs through my books for a reason. I have a good one, and that includes the family I’ve chosen for myself in my friends.

2) Young readers.  Okay, yeah, I wouldn’t have a job without them. But the enthusiasm of young readers is unrivaled. Look at this bunch from TLA last week:

Brimstone has these readers absolutely captivated!

Brimstone has these readers absolutely captivated!

3) Knitting.  I got bit by the knitting bug big time. How lucky am I that it’s trendy right now?  I’m going to do this Spring Knit-Along if anyone wants to join me. On top of all the other projects I’ve got going. (And, you know, writing and stuff.)

4) Travel. I’m going to England in three weeks. I haven’t been talking about it, because it’s like I’ve won the  lottery. (I’ve definitely won the friend lottery.) More on that to come. First…

5) I get to do what I love, and what I’m best at, and I get to do it as my job.  Talk about winning the lottery!

I just got a big box of Spirit and Dust! Tell me in the comments what makes YOU happy, and on Friday I will draw one commenter to win a copy! 

Truth vs Fiction

Recently, for reasons that I will let you wonder about, I have begun a vain attempt to wedge a small gap between Rosemary Clement-Moore the (amazing! talented!) author of (award-winning!) books and what let’s call, for purposes of this post, “Private Life Rose.”

Here’s the first problem with that process. There IS no part of me that is not a writer. I wrote stories before I ever dreamed anyone but my friends would read them, without an inkling how you became an author AS A JOB. Heck, even my Barbie dolls were always going on space-faring, dragon-slaying, Evil Empire Defeating adventures. (The Barbie Mobile Home, with just a little paint and some decals, made a great Millennium Falcon.)

Those of you who do any kind of art–heck, those of you who dance, or play sports, or weave baskets underwater know what I mean.  What you love to do is intrinsic to who you are. Private Life Rose is still a storyteller and nothing short of a brain transplant would change that. 

However, there’s a difference between the writer/artist and RCM the Published Author who doesn’t really want people to know that all her efforts to house train her latest dog have met with utter failure. (Oops. Now you know.)

So there’s that. I had an online social life long before I had to think about things like a professional image or an author “brand.”  Pretty much, what you see is what you get with me. The only difference is that online, I have the benefit of a delete key which saves me from posting things that I have a tendency to blurt out when I’m in public.  So it’s not that I’m a *different* person online. But I am slightly more edited.

That doesn’t mean I’m fake, just that I’m aware if I say something like “I have to pee like a racehorse” in person, it’s not going to be preserved forever on the Internet. Though that’s not really true anymore, because anyone can Tweet: Ha! @rclementmoore just said she has to pee like a racehorse!

Which is the other thing. In the WiFi world we live in, we–all of us, not just people with a professional public image–are not entirely in control of our online content. If I’m at an event, anyone can take my picture. And it’s a sure bet, the one where I’m making a face like this… 

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…will be the one that ends up tagged on Facebook. (There was this time I was at a party at a convention and I was telling a story. Someone snapped a pic. Not a big deal, except that (a) I was standing in front of All The Liquor Bottles In Texas and (b) I was making a weird face so that I look like I had drunk All the Liquor in Texas.

Which I hadn’t.

Not that night, anyway. 

I don’t care that you guys know I drink. But I would like you to think I look adorable when I do. 

Though I actually like this one, where Sarah Rees Brennan is looking at me like I’m crazy and she can’t move far enough away without causing an inter-author incident.

Sarah Rees Brennan and Rosemary Clement-Moore at a Smart Chicks Kick It event.

One of us is saying something incredibly witty and droll here. I swear.

Which if you’ve ever talked to Sarah Rees Brennan, or seen one of her dramatic book reenactments, is kind of ironic, her looking at anyone this way.  (I adore Sarah, and UNSPOKEN is one of my favorite books of 2012.) 

So… Where was I?  Oh yeah. Online vs. Offline. 

It’s not so much that I care to keep my Offline Life a secret from readers. What you see is what you get with me. You know my mom lives with me (or me with her, depending on who you ask). That my dog is a revenge pee-er. That I’ve rented my upstairs apartment to Sister Maria Von Trapp. (Minus the singing.) 

That I was a nerd long before it was cool, back when I had to keep it a secret or get beat up after school. 

It’s not even that I worry about someone from college showing up on my blog and posting in the comments: Hey! Rosie*! Remember that time you drank All The Liquor In Texas and we had to carry you home on your shield? 

It’s far more likely that someone will show up and say: Hey! Remember when you wrote all that Mary Sue Star Wars fan fiction in junior high?  Or I’ll get a Tweet from my mother that says: Hey, little missy! Remember to pick up toilet paper while you’re at #Target! 

That last one will never happen. My mother doesn’t know how to use hashtags. 

 

 

*If you ever call me Rosie, in person or online, I will never speak to you again.

The Real Me

So, here’s a nugget of Real Life Info for you. Not only does my mother live with me (or me with her, depending on who you ask), but I rent my upstairs apartment to a nun.

Let’s just let that sink in for a minute.

I live with my mother and Maria Von Trapp.

Then there’s the dogs. I have one, Mom has two, Sister Maria Von Upstairs has one. All of them small and puffy, except Sister’s who is a twenty pound chihuahua rescue who was raised on nachos and lard, from all appearances.

Then there’s my crafty side, and I don’t mean sly. I bake, I knit, I sew. I’m polite, dutiful, tidy, I go to church, help old ladies across the street…

So, you’d be excused for thinking, from outward appearances, that I’m a future sweet spinster dog lady. Maybe not so future.crazy dog lady

Okay, it’s true I’m a nice, polite person who loves dogs and children. But I also love violent movies, racy novels, rock and roll and everything science fiction. I have a (small) tattoo. I am overly fond of the f-bomb when I’m with my friends, and the word ‘crap’ when I’m in public. (I try not to say it on school visits. I try.)

There is, however, no getting around the fact that I live with my mother (and a nun). So integrating The Good Girl with The Twenty-First Century girl is sometimes awkward.

Not long after mom moved in with me (or me with her), I was cleaning the kitchen and singing along to Ben Folds Five “Song for the Dumped.”  It’s a great song. But maybe not so much when you forget your mom has never heard you use a particular word in a particular phrase. (By now she’s heard me use that word a lot.)

Then there was the incident with The Tudors. There I was happily watching guilty pleasure TV, when Mom comes in the living room and asks if I’m watching porn.

Me: Oh My God NO!  And if I was, I wouldn’t be watching it in the living room! (Though she had a point. I’m thrilled see books into TV like True Blood and Game of Thrones but seriously. So. Much. Naked.)

It’s not so much that Mom (or anyone else) tells me what I can and can’t watch or listen to. It’s just that living with a parent is… inhibiting.

It’s also probably why I write YA. I have conversations like this all the time:

Mom: Is that what you’re wearing?

Me: No, it’s what I put on to annoy you before I put on what I’m wearing.

Or

Me: *yawn*grumble*moan*

Mom: If you worked steadily instead of waiting until your assignment is due, you wouldn’t have to stay up so late to get it done.

Or

Me: I’m going out tonight.

Mom: Text me when you get there. And before you start home. And at hourly intervals. And don’t ride in cars with strangers. Or boys. Or strange boys.

Hang on. There was a point to this story. Oh yeah…

So, this morning, I have the house to myself. No Sister Maria Von Trapp upstairs. Mom is off at a quilting bee or whatever. Just me and the dogs and the irresistible urge to dance around in my socks and underwear like Tom Cruise in Risky Business.

Or maybe I’ll sing along to songs in the key of F-bomb.

Or maybe I’ll watch historical costume porn.

Or maybe I’ll ride in cars with strange boys.

Or maybe I’ll sit here in my bathrobe and write a blog post about the things that I could do while I have the house to myself.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

(Read all the way to the bottom for a chance to win a copy of Brimstone, which comes out next week!)

Whenever I go too long without Tweeting, my family and friends call or text to make sure I haven’t fallen down the stairs and/or been eaten by my dogs.

This says a lot about how often I tweet. It also says a lot about how I get distracted and forget to tweet. Or, you know, blog.  My Friend Kate (this is an official title, because friendship with me incurs certain privileges and responsibilities) pointed out that I haven’t blogged in two months and since my last post concerned a Potentially Life Threatening Incident, maybe I should put up an entry to say I wasn’t dead yet.

(See how smart my friends are? They have to pass a test. Also, this is the kind of responsibility that falls to them: Remind me of the passage of time. Tell me when people think I’m dead. Dynamite me out of my cave now and then.)

So, here is the recap of my summer since I last posted:

  • Did not die from idiopathic angioedema. (Or as we call it in my house: swelling up for no good reason. And also: take two Benedryl and cancel your plans for the day.)
  • Did not die from bug bite that turned out not to be a bug bite but a staph infection. Did not die from humiliation that a clean freak like me got a staph infection. (Right after being in the hospital. Coincidence?)
  • Had to cancel going to RWA National Conference and presenting the Golden Heart Award. Tragic because I had the most adorable dress. Also tragic because I was supposed to spend the week afterward hanging out with My Friend Kate.
  • Turned in final revision of Spirit and Dust. (Yay!!!!!)
  • Made a playlist and a Pinterest board for Spirit and Dust.
  • Was called for Jury Duty. Was not picked, possibly because I write for teens (case concerned teenagers), or because I have a Twitter and blog, possibly because I’m a smart ass.  (During the selection questions, the defense counsel asked what I did that I had a blog. I answered that I wrote books for teens. Counsel: So you tell lies for a living. Me: I’ll bet people say that about your job, too.)
  • Celebrated the paperback release of Texas Gothic!!!  (If you’re too cheap (like me) to buy it in hard cover, now is your chance.)
  • Did not die from a recurrence of the not-bug-bite.
  • Managed to keep my plants alive all through the summer!  This is a record for me!
  • Received a ginormous box of copies of BRIMSTONE which comes out on September 11th. That’s next week.  OMG THAT’S NEXT WEEK!

Brimstone Cover

 

Tell me in the comments what you did with YOUR summer vacation. It doesn’t even have to be true. I will randomly draw one name from the comments to win a copy of Brimstone for your very own.