The Cuteness of Little Ones

Bowie's Got Talent:

Bowie's Got Talent

Avery's First Word:

Avery's First Word!

Best. Birthday Card. Ever.

Proof that my little sister shares the same DNA: we have the same morbid sense of humor.

WOO HOO!

My first book, Her Cinderella Secret, made the finals in the Toronto Romance Writers' Golden Opportunity Contest in the Contemporary Category!

YAY! Peer recognition!

Even if I don't win, I consider this a real accomplishment. Something to put on my resume.

Mind you, I still haven't heard back from Mills & Boon Tender Romance about it--I've emailed a couple of times, hoping to get a response. Next step is to write a letter, I suppose, to let them know the book (or at least the first three chapters) did pretty well.

Meanwhile, victoryessex.blogspot.com and vickiheat.blogspot.com are up and running! For now, each will get a posting on alternating weeks, unless something big happens, like this. HCS will likely be published under the Victory Essex label...if and when someone buys it...*hopes*

In other news...

My third book, Fighting for Her Love, is still awaiting a verdict (aka rejection) from Harlequin Superromance. It's still the best book I've written until now, and lots of people who've read the first chapter really like it. Big sister Fiona read the whole thing and told me it "kept her up at night," which is good.

I'm working on a second "Fight" book, tentatively titled Wrestling with Attraction. A brief overview:

Kyle Peters has a new student: Charlie Handover was sent to him with promises that ol' Chuck would be the next big thing in mixed martial arts. Just one thing: Charlie's a girl. Kyle refuses to get into it with another female fighter. The last one accused him of sexual assault and nearly ruined his career as a coach.

Charlie Handover has never been good at anything except fighting. The tomboy has a real chance to be an MMA star. But to get there, she needs Kyle to teach her. He can train her to grapple and hold an opponent in submission. But it seems her untrained heart has other ideas when she falls for her reluctant coach.

...And then an extra horrible thought came to me...

...Is my new house okay? It hasn't been insured yet...

...And did someone close the window in the basement? Because last time we were there, it'd been left open (not by us, though we left it on the assumption that someone had left it open for a reason) to get the damp, musty smell out...

Aw, hell, homeowning is aging me superfast.

WHO'S YOUR MOMMA? WHO'S YOUR MOMMA???

MOTHER FUCKING NATURE, THAT'S WHO.

Welcome to my nightmare: Tornados in the GTA. The sky coming down for a little stroll in your neighborhood. The sky wears big boots.

It's nice to know that all over this city, this province, this country, THE WORLD, the reaction to tornadoes and doom weather is the same, no matter what language you speak or where you hail from:

"HOLY FUCK! OMIGOD! HOLY SHIT! THAT'S A TORNADO!"

Yeah. Yeah, it is. Now y'all know why I have reoccurring nightmares about them.

I am now a homeowner

John and I have been keeping this news to ourselves until the official day, but we decided to make it official via Facebook.

We bought a house!

It's at Main and Danforth, semi-detached 3 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, unfinished basement, with a garage and small backyard and front yard. It was a terrific find. It needs lots of work--the wiring all has to be replaced and we're planning a whole new kitchen. But it is undeniably ours, thanks to my parents' help.

The story goes like this: we were heading out to see a bunch of houses when my funcle Simon (that's fake Uncle Simon) sent along this listing that had just gone up. It was the first house we saw that day, and we fell in love. The next day, we went to the bank, got our mortgage approved, saved a man's life*, and won the bid in a nail-biting round of bidding that ended with us still bidding beneath the asking price.

Closing date's Sept. 11, at which point we'll be sending in the troops to fix things up. We're knocking down a wall, stripping out wires, and ripping up the kitchen floor. Fun times ahead!

So if I've been kind of distracted lately...well, now you know.

*(Yes, we did, in fact save a man's life. A guy pitched forward and fell in the middle of the street in front of my father's car on our way to the bank. I called 911 while John turned him over and Dad redirected traffic. Something similar happened to us the day after John and mine's first date. I'm sure John will blog about it.)

This just in...

Chef Gordon Ramsay stabbed through heart by Stingray

ReallyFakeNews, New York--Celebrity reality TV chef Gordon Ramsay was stabbed to death while filming his newest reality cooking show, Shut the Fuck Up and Cook Shit While I Scream At You. He was 48.

"It's really no surprise," one witness at the fake five-star restaurant said as Ramsay's eviscerated body was carted away. "This was a long time coming."

Fans and foodies alike concur. "He was always handling dangerous, high-strung people with his trademark in-your-face attitude," says Bob Green, a stage hand who's worked with Ramsay on his other hit shows You'll Take It and Like It, and You Can Eat My Ass. "He never had any fear. That was probably his first mistake. I mean, the man wrestled with egos armed with fire and sharp knives. Did he really think he was going to keep doing that and not get stabbed one day?"

Ramsay was chewing out one of the apprentice chefs who was cooking steak when the man, 25-year-old Scott "Stingray" Smith turned on the man and jabbed a boning knife into Ramsay's chest.

"Is that well-done enough for you? Is it too raw now, Chef? Huh, huh, huh?" Stingray screamed as he twisted the weapon like a corkscrew.

Police are treating the death as an accident.

"If anything, the deceased fell victim to his own inflated sense of invulnerability," Police Commissioner Bruce Redding said. "You just don't go poking rabid dogs with sticks...especially if they're skilled with Five-Star Henckles."

Ramsay is survived by four children and his wife.

THAT'S in a name!

The people have spoken. My pen name is:

Victory Essex

But since the votes were so close, I'll be taking on Vicki Heat for more salacious contemporary fiction, and using Victory Essex for more family-oriented romance. Special thanks to Xiao Pangzi for the name suggestion: she'll be receiving a special Harlequin vintage print T-shirt as thanks for the suggestion.

Thanks to everyone who voted!

Stay tuned for victoryessex.blogspot.com!

Best. Book review. EVER.

From Smart Bitches, guest book review on PREGNESIA, which I proofread.

Frickin' hilarious.

Carla Cassidy's comments are included. What a sport.

Just a quick note to say...

...that like John, shit is getting real. I'll be back soon with more silliness and non-Dymaxion-World type musings about nothing to waste your day away.

In which I beg forgiveness

I fucked up.

I was supposed to arrange for a weekend getaway with my bridesmaids to my parents' cottage. But in the hubbub of house hunting and thinking about the wedding, I totally dropped the ball, forgot all about the trip, and double booked the weekend to go to Ottawa.

I feel like an idiot. A complete and utter moron. I've been feeling terrible about it all weekend, and I can't forgive myself this humiliating lapse in friendship. For one, I know my two girls needed the getaway to de-stress from a long and hard summer; and two, I wanted to be, you know, a friend. Not the girl who just forgets the people who are supposed to be close to her.

In the mire of life, of balancing work with play and family with friends, it's easy to lose sight of the important things. Not only did I lose sight, I was totally and utterly blindsided by the spectacle of home ownership, and then, instead of looking around and getting my bearings, I put on blinders and focused on one thing.

Fuck. I hate disappointing others, and I hate being a disappointment. I hate feeling like I'm unreliable, and I hate that I've just totally let this slip through the cracks. This is almost as bad as that nightmare I had about leaving my babies in the trunk of the car, and them turning into frozen chickens.

To my ladies, if they're reading this: I'm. So. Sorry. Please, just beat the crap out of me next time you see me. I'll come bearing steak and crepes and the saddest hang-dog face ever.

Conversations with the fiance

Me, watching John, playing Super Mario World:

Me: That's just the stupidest design for a castle. I mean, how dickish is it to have a floor that sinks into a pit of lava? You're killing all your minions!
John: Well, this way they don't have to pay union dues.
Me: Huh?
John: It's cheaper to give the families of the minions a small payout rather than continue paying out benefits and salary.
Me: ...I'm going to blog this conversation now.