Photoshop sez: Happy New Year!

Best wishes for the year of the rat!

RIP Heath Ledger, 28

Heath Ledger, 28, found dead.

I'm not into celebrity gossip that much, but sometimes things just jump out and hit you and you sit there, reeling, trying to make sense of death. You think, cynically, that this must all be a joke somehow. A scam to make big blockbuster bucks.

Nope.

And then I realize...I'm 28.

It's a little detail like this that brings me just a little closer to mortality, to greatness, to sadness. It is both sobering and comforting to know that however illusory and tenuous your connections are to those around you, in the end they will still be severed by death, the great equalizer, the thing we all must live for and face, regardless of how we lived.

Peace be with his family and loved ones.

DO NOT WANT

I didn't believe the news stories that said this was the most depressing week of the year. But now I know what they're talking about. And here is the reason:

My first rejection letter!

See, back in July 2007, I sent off my first Harlequin Romance novel to New York, entitled All in the Details. Two weeks ago, having still received no response, I called the editorial assistant, who fished my MS from the slush pile and sent me back this reply.

I'm crushed (nothing a glass of wine won't fix), but his words are encouraging, and I was already kind of expecting his criticisms.

The highlight, of course, is that he recommended I pitch to the Desire line...if I alter the hero's character radically.

I'm not adverse to revisions, of course, but I'm going to move forward and write some other stuff before I think about editing and resubmitting to another line. Or publisher.

The author's path to success if fraught with rejections. I'm taking this one in strife--now I can become a PRO member of the RWA. And then I'm framing this to go right next to my first letter of kudos. It'll keep me humble.

Is Raptop?

Every now and again, I am startlingly reminded that I am a female minority living in a large metropolis populated mainly by white people.

I was riding the subway and had taken out my new eee pc to work on. A group of teens sorta glanced over and asked among themselves, "What is that? Is that a laptop?"

"No, no way, it's, like, a portable DVD player."
"Naw, naw, it's a translator. She's Asian."

They got off the subway before I could correct them. For some reason, I remained a little perturbed that my very chic little laptop had been mistaken for a glorified translator based on the fact that I was a visible minority.

They didn't say anything outright racist, of course, but it made me think about the assumptions we make based solely on the way people look.

I still encounter the outright racism occasionally, of course. Encountering stupid people can't be avoided in a city of 4 million, statistically speaking. But I figure evolution will kill off the stupids, one day. Or else karma will pay them back tenfold: they'll get hit by a car, lose their legs and have an Asian caretaker to help them pee. HA!

I wonder if I should put a decal on my eee that reads, "Yes, this is a raptop, and I speak Engrish. Now prease stop your stare and have happy spirit day."

Happy 2008

Welcome to the new year, which promises...well, much of what we had in 2007, but new and improved.

And speaking of new and improved, check out what I gots:

That's right, I finally caved to my inner tech junkie and bought myself a laptop. But not just any laptop. This here be the new Asus Eee PC, an ultraportable, Linux-based, flash drive only machine with a 7" screen, Wi-Fi, built-in camera and speakers, and everything I need to get my writing done on the road.

As the reviews have all reported, it's an awesome alternative to what I consider a chunky monstrosity of a uterus-frying laptop. Sure, it kinda looks like a toy, but that's what makes it extra cool.

And yeah, that picture is taken by the laptop camera.

For those of you who don't care, watch this.
Why? Because it amuses me.

Best. Christmas Gift. Ever.

Because my sister rules, she got me a Talking!Zuko doll.

Sadly, he has yet to tell me he loves me.

Thanks, Fi.

Dis-Parity

Warning: angry rant ahead.

Would everyone please STFU about parity pricing for books and read this.

The price of a book, like the price of every other commercially sold item, is determined by two factors: costs and market forces. Publishers price their books high enough so that they cover the costs and make a profit, if possible, and low enough so that buyers will choose their books instead of a competitor's. Costs drive prices up; competitive forces drive them down. Thus works a free market.

In Canada, recent changes in the rate of our dollar relative to the US dollar have focused attention on the ongoing disparity between Canadian and US prices. Many people have assumed that parity between the two currencies should mean parity in the retail prices of consumer products. It is, perhaps, an easy assumption, but it is not soundly based. Canada and the US are two different countries, not only with different currencies, but with different tax structures, labour regulations, funding systems. They are two different markets, with two different sets of costs, and two different sets of competitive forces.

For books that originate in Canada, this distinction comes into play at every stage. For example, in Canada freelance editors charge significantly more than American freelance editors (who in turn charge more than editors in India). If you are publishing a Canadian book, and you need an editor who knows what a Timbit is, you are going to have to pay a Canadian editor. Up goes the cost of your book. Canadian publishers face higher costs across the board, but if they wish to sell into the US, they must address the competitive forces that keep book prices lower in the US. They price their books lower for the US market, and count on higher volumes to offset the smaller margin.

Most of the noise around this issue, however, arises from US books coming into Canada. In those cases, most of the costs are incurred in the US, and so consumers expect to pay US prices when the dollars are at par. But there are still differences that come into play. For example, the minimum wage is significantly higher in Canada. The cost of warehouse staff in Canada who handle the book when it comes in from the US and ship it to Canadian stores is higher than in the US. Higher distribution costs mean higher prices....

If you're so goddamn cheap that you can't afford to shell out the extra $2 to $5, then borrow your Oprah pick at the library, get it used, or order it online.

I'm sick of people thinking they can have whatever they want at whatever price they demand in the name of "good business." Underselling a writer's work is not good business. Diminishing the dollar value of the work that goes behind producing a book does not help Canadian publishers.

Face it, you can't have what you want, when you want it, right now, just because you're a customer "who spends lots of money at this store." The argument, "It's not fair" is no argument at all. Mom didn't let you act that way when you were six, so you damned well better not be acting that way at 36.

Stop bugging the poor saps behind the counter at Indigo. They don't have control over this kind of thing and they aren't paid enough to listen to you whine about the money you could be spending on an overpriced latte.

Poster Child

A friend passed this on to me, regarding the awfulness that is Rob Liefeld, comic book artist from my early years of reading.

It's long, but totally worth the read.

Here comes Dr. Tran!

WHY, GOD, WHY?

Coming Soon: Dragonball: the live action movie.

Okay, without going into great detail, speculation, or in-depth analysis let's just list out the possible pros and cons of this flick.

Possible Pros:
Produced by Hong Kong comedy/action god Stephen Chow
Stars James Marsters (i.e. Buffy's Spike) as Piccolo
Directed by James Wong of Final Destination fame
Stars Justin Chatwin (i.e. the whiny son from War of the Worlds) as Goku


Possible Cons:
IT'S FREAKIN' DRAGONBALL.

The cartoon involves so much male posing and "powering up" for "final moves" that most of the show focuses on one character or another growling like he's constipated, only to release "all their power" in "one do-or-die ka-maya-maya" that ultimately....misses.

And the next episode is EXACTLY. THE. SAME.

On the bright side, Marsters might have to show up painted green with bulgy muscles and antannae.

I hope to see ridiculous over-the-top moments like this.

Little Things

SQUEEEEEEEEEEAVATARSQUEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, I've gone the crazy. It was a long weekend of reading about "pleasure jewels" and copulating with dragons and faeries. What an absolutely fantastic book. Everyone: you owe it to yourselves to read Bertrice Small's Hetar series. I've mentioned it before: the last book in the series was The Twilight Lord.***

But then I downloaded the latest episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender, and then my weekend suddenly went from scoring -100 to +1,000,000. Oh, bittorrent, I love you!

* * * * * * *

On a totally separate side note, today is Remembrance Day. I haven't bought a poppy this year because I tend to stab myself repeatedly during the month until I look like a diabetic with bad aim, or else lose the darned thing before November 11. Every time I saw someone wearing one, or spotted an old veteran with his collection box standing in a drafty TTC station, my conscience would be nudged. But then I realized that I don't need a velvet-fuzzed plastic heroine blossom to actually appreciate those brave men and women who served. All I need is my innate guilt at being alive, making my home in a country blessed with freedom and abundance....and a little show called Avatar.

So thank you, men and women who served. You fought and died were maimed and survived so that we would all have the opportunity to bitch about little things, and rejoice in little things; to actually care about little things, like whether we should buy lil' pins. I think we owe you a little more than the spare change in our pockets.

***Disclaimer: The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent Harlequin’s positions, strategies or opinions. One would think this was evident, but new blogging guidelines at work force me to post this every time I mention what I do for a living.

RIP Fabulous Moolah

Sadly, one of the great wrestling femmes of WWE (formerly WWF) has passed away at the age of 84.

I will always remember her for her female presence on the Hulk Hogan's Rock n' Roll wrestling cartoon.

Bionic Failure

I finally managed to view the first two episodes of Bionic Woman last night. If I could sum up the show in a few words, I would do so and simply leave it at that. But because this ill-conceived remake was so phenomenally bad that I actually woke up this morning thinking about how bad it was, I am forced to blog about it ad nauseum.

Warning: Spoilers Ahead.

Banking on Super Girl Power themes that made shows like Buffy and Dark Angel so popular, the first episode of Bionic Woman follows the soon-to-be-no-longer-ho-hum life of Jaime Sommers, a young woman struggling to juggle living with her stereotypically whiny teenage sister who was abandoned on her doorstep by their absentee father, with her lackluster job, which she's taken on in lieu of going to Harvard because she feels some kind of obligation to said whiny teenage sister.

We see Jaime at her job, working as a bartender at a really wild looking nightclub. She is not only the most conservatively dressed bartender I've ever seen, but she's the slowest one, too. Is it possibly, Jaime, that all those people crowding the counter are waiting for you to pour that shot with just a little more urgency?

Cut to dinner with the boyfriend of 5+ months where she drops a bomb that's sure to complicate her boring life. Shocker! She's pregnant! How will that affect her life?

By some turns of the wheel, boyfriend--conveniently-placed nano-biologist/mad scientist guy whose name is unimportant and who is even duller than Jaime--drives her home and they are involved in a car accident that (insert medical montage here) results in said mad scientist replacing her legs, ear, eye and one arm with $50-million worth of implants that swirl through her newly-healed flesh like the cooling dredges of a phosphorescent lava lamp.

(Insert some boring conflict stuff here about why the mad scientist was allowed to install all that hardware into his now not-pregnant girlfriend. Question how or why he was even allowed to bring her to this super-secret underground complex.)

Some more turns. Boyfriend helps Jaime escape, but obviously has an ulterior motive. Whiny teenage sister freaks out on her about where her sister's been. The explanation: skiing. This coming from the leader of the "clandestine organization dedicated to protecting the world from threats." Or something like that.

They lost me at the word "clandestine."

At some point, Jaime and mad-scientist boyfriend have boring bionic sex. Not even remotely interesting to watch. I was expecting her to...well, maybe that part of her wasn't replaced. But c'mon! The possibilities for comedy were ignored as much as the opportunity to give Lee Majors a cameo.

Then, boyfriend gets shot by--ta-da!--Katie Sackoff, "the first bionic woman" tasked to end his life, and the only really bright spot to the whole first episode.

Now, instead of using her newfound powers to rush her critically wounded boyfriend to the hospital, Jaime goes after Starbuck--I mean, bionic woman #1. They have a big catfight in the rain on a rooftop. It's a draw. Some more turns and boyfriend is whisked off to the hospital. End of first episode.

By the beginning of the second episode, boyfriend is dead, Jaime finds out that he has a dossier on her as thick as her skull, and whiny teenage sister is still as whiny as ever. Some more stupid stuff happens, Isiah Washington of gay-bashing fame is introduced, and nothing makes sense. At this stage, you can probably tell I'm too tired to explain the rest, but suffice to say, I was not impressed, especially when Isiah speaks a copyeditor's key freak-out phrase: "It was just merely a testing ground."

I could go on and on about the nonsensical plot, poor writing, and the characters' utter lack of personality. I got no sense whatsoever of who any of these people were, or what they were about. Everyone was annoying or boring or both. Moments that had real potential to be awe-inspiring or different fell completely flat or were ripped off from some other show or movie. (See Jaime's jumping the rooftop moment a la Peter Petrelli/Spider-Man/Neo/The Tick.)

Does this mean that the female superhero genre is at its end? No. The problem with Bionic Woman is not in its concept, but in everything else. As a viewer accustomed to the intricate drama of Heroes and Battlestar Galactica, the witty dialogue of Buffy and Angel, and the angst and layers that permeate a simply children's cartoon like Avatar: The Last Airbender, I am forced to have a higher expectation for all my wicked sci-fi robots and chicks and crime and secret organization shows.

To the Bionic Woman writers and producers: please, please, please, pull it together, and for god's sake, give us something worthy to watch!

Thankful that it's not the clap

It's not strep throat.

That, at least, is my prediction: I went to the doctor this past Monday and they took a swab to check for strep, but since they haven't returned any results on the test, I'm assuming they've found nothing to be concerned about.

Of course, it always raises red flags when the doctor asks: "Is there any possibility of gonorrhea or clamydia?"

I stared at her blankly. "No."
Doc: "Are you sure? Is there any strange discharge or burning sensation?"
Me: (thinking) Aren't you the doctor? Shouldn't you be telling me if it's the clap? And wouldn't strange discharges and burning sensations be the first thing I'd tell you about? "I'm sure."
Doc: "Well, ask your partner about it."
Me: "Uh...okay."

So thus far, I've ascertained it is not the clap or whatever euphemism they use for clamydia. It seems to be getting better, and I can swallow solid foods now with only a little difficulty (still working on toast and hard, rough foods).

Of course, now I'm actually sick with a touch of a cold/cough, so it's hard telling one way or another. On the other hand, yay for food! Healed just in time for turkey!

Into the mouth of madness!!!

At this stage, you are thinking to yourself, "We really need to take that digital camera away from Vicki because that last thing I want a picture of is her god-awful dentistry."

But I'm posting this because I have to share the INCREDIBLE PAIN THAT HAS BEEN PLAGUING ME ALL WEEK.

That white spot in the back of my throat that looks like a cross between the Sea of Serenity and a reverse nipple is a canker sore that popped up on Tuesday and has been steadily growing in size. Right now, it's about 0.5 cm in diameter.

It's so swollen and painful, I get stabbing pains in my right ear canal and burning aches through my throat. Swallowing has become a serious issue. Food tends to rub and irritate it--anything more abrasive than soup puts me in tears.

I've been drinking fluids and taking ibuprofen to try to bring the swelling down, but nothing's worked so far. Gargling with salt water is ineffective, as I learned quickly, since my tongue blocks off my throat exactly where I need the saltwater to go.

You are probably saying to yourself, "Vicki, go to a damned doctor already!" Or else you are making jokes of a sexual nature, and sniggering about some sort of venereal disease. Haw haw herpes...yeah, yeah.

But man, this thing is enormous and really starting to hurt. I'm working with the theory that I have "yeet hay": too much "hot" energy in my body that causes breakouts. Crazy Chinese balance medicine thing, but 5000 years of Chinese history can't be wrong. So I'm trying to take in some "cold" foods, but relief is a long time coming, if the size of this thing has any bearing on my recovery.

Anyone out there have any suggestion on how to deal with this effectively? My stupid brain seems to think sticking a knife back there is a bad idea, so my tongue keeps pushing it away. I'm desperate, here, people. Help!

More Romance? Gee, what a surprise....

Harlequin is hosting its annual Romance Report Survey for 2008.

I COMMAND YOU to take it right now! It's anonymous and will take maybe about 10 minutes (perfect time waster for those slow work days.)

Go to it now! Click on Romance Survey to do it! DO IT, DO IT!

There's also a neat little "Confessional" section where you can divulge your deepest, darkest secrets to the world anonymously!

And if you want to read the 2006 and 2007 findings, they're available, too. Check them out here.

Hypothetically speaking... ( AKA the post that might scare John)

Working at Harlequin and having read my share of bad breakups, I came to wonder: how does one go about picking a day to break up with their long-time partner?

The answers and reasoning behind each will differ greatly, of course. In some jerkier Harlequin instances, heroine's former male counterparts will simply blurt out their intentions to ditch them at the worst possible moment; or the man will leave them at the altar with a note, or else there's a stoic caught-you-in-bed moment where the character just picks up and leaves to find themselves in Alaska or Montana or some such.

But how does it work in real life?

Say you've been together for years. You've developed what you once thought was a meaningful relationship and you still care for your mate, but perhaps you've fallen out of love, or your partner has begun to smell of a decaying beaver, or you simply loathe everything single thing about them, or whatever. But since you consider yourself a relatively sympathetic human being, you try to take their feelings into consideration. Do you say to yourself:

1) "Hmm, Monday afternoon's a good time to dump him (hypothetical him, John, stop worrying). Mondays already suck. Might as well have a fresh start to the week. Then again, I don't want him to brood about it all week and not get any work done...."

2) "Hmm, Fridays are good. Though I don't want him to brood about it all weekend. That would just ruin his time off."

3) "Hmm, Wednesday at lunch isn't bad. It's over the hump, he can have a day in shock and then get drunk on Thursday, and call in hungover on Friday. Long weekend...to brood. Crap...."

In addition, there's always a choice of when in the year to break up. Statistically speaking, most divorces and separations happen around the major holidays when families are forced together and often fail to be civil to one another. But what's suckier than being dumped just before Valentine's Day? Or Christmas? Or being dumped on either of those days?

Yet another factor would include your personal tolerance for continuing your aimless and lackluster relationship. For whatever reason, you've decided to cut ties with your partner. Maybe you had some grand personal revelation. Or maybe you realize that after X years together, you really don't see yourselves getting hitched. Do you march right up to your soon-to-be-ex and say, "Hey, you, we're through" ASAP? Or do you brood over it until you can't take it anymore and explode in their faces and tell them how much they suck?

Having never been through a real breakup, I can't say I completely understand this thought process. And before a hundred people jump on me to ask me what's wrong with my relationship, nothing is: I'm trying to write a few more books and I'm toying with this breakup scenario that I can't comprehend. I love John very much, and he is probably reading this right now and wondering what he's done wrong this time.

Nothing, my love. You've done nothing at all. I luvoo lots!

All this thinking kind of makes me wonder if people should apply for licenses to have a relationship--ones that need to be renewed every year. That way couples can just let them lapse if they don't want to be together anymore. Plus, they'd get nifty cards for their wallets reminding them exactly when their anniversary is, along with favorite color, shoe size, inseam length, allergies, birthdays and other vital stats.

Yeah. Best plan ever. Yeah.

Pimpin' products

Have time to waste? Have too much body hair?

This site is for you.

Check out the music video. The Philips Bodygroom song will be stuck in your head for hours after.

More Bowie cuteness

So cute you'll get cavities.

Video courtesy of my sister Jenny. Bookmark it for those dreary days when you need a smile and a little persepctive.

Watch it here.

I need a young priest and an old priest...

Baby Bowie at 6 months is rapidly developing oral communication and motor skills. Her favourite pastime is to combine the two skills while sitting in her high chair and eating (and thus spraying her feeder with food), or whilst in her bouncy chair, doing her baby thing and acting like she's all that.

Which she is, obviously.

Of course, in addition to her very cute babbling and laughing, she's also taken to scaring the beejebus out of us with her impression of Linda Blair. Have a look.