The Scribble Pad

On the other hand...

2007-03-05T17:14:00.000-08:00

On the other hand, I hate to say this, but if you want a convincing pro-sterilization argument, have a look at today's blog on my site, called Worse than Fiction

Sterilising Negroes

2007-03-01T17:43:00.000-08:00

An Indian Opposition senator has come up with a solution to our crime problem. All rather simple, really. He proudly stood up in the Senate on tuesday and proposed that the Government offer cash incentives to women "in specific communities that statistically have the highest crime rates in the country" to have abortions or to be sterilised. I don't need to point out that those "communities" are almost without exception poor black neighbourhoods.

Well, let me tell ya, the whole country has gone berserk. And rightly so. I'm not even going to give you a history lesson and bring up the specter of Hitler. I ain't even gonna point out how heinous the whole theory of eugenics it, and how vulgar and offensive it is to even think out loud that the mass sterilisation of black people would be a good idea.

I've only got one question for the Senator, and this is it: How much ya offering, sir? No, really, let's talk dollars and cents here. How much you planning on paying my people to get themselves done? What's a fetus go for these days? A pair of ovaries.? Are sperm ducts worth more or less?

Unfortunately for the crime rate, the Senator was fired by his party in less than two days. Pity. I'd have loved to have heard more. Incidentally, (and amusingly) this Senator had only been there for 3 months, and his first order of business was to bring in a priest to bless his chair because it was cursed. Why was it cursed? Because the last 2 men who sat in it died.

It's not easy living in the third world.

The farm

2007-02-28T14:15:00.000-08:00

Nearly bought le farm today. Well, maybe nearly is a bit of an exaggeration. I had a few feet to spare. But it was disconcerting nonetheless. Had a meeting down in Mayaro today, a 2 hour drive to the south east coast. Always glad to get out of the office, I was pretty excited by the idea. Took my laptop with the fantasy of writing on the beach for an hour or two after the meeting. Wouldn't that have been neat.

Well, I did park on the beach around one, and had lunch there, but it's a very lonely coast, and as the saying goes, in space no-one can hear you scream. I angled my mirrors to let me watch all approaches behind me, just in case anybody had the idea of mugging the stupid single woman. Nobody did, but I scarpered as soon as lunch was over. Ah, well. Here are a few pics just to prove I'm not lying.

Anyhow, that experience wasn't exactly farm-worthy. What was farm-worthy took place along a strip of road called the Valencia stretch. It's a few miles of smooth straight road the brings out the Stiriling Moss in dumb people. I was driving mildly along when the car in front of me went into a tailspin and skated off the road in a cloud of dust. I thought maybe he'd blown a tyre. Then I realized he'd done it deliberately, to avoid the onslaught of a mini-bus (we call 'em maxi-taxis) whose dumbass driver thought it would be a capital idea to overtake 5 or 6 other maxi taxis at the same time.

I pulled and skated, he pulled and skated in the opposite direction, almost going up on two wheels, he had to brake so fast.

Nope, t'weren't a nice experience. Nosiree.

Jackass.

re the pix: I really ought to smile more, eh?

Be safe

2007-02-15T08:10:00.000-08:00

Crime might change us in big ways, but it changes us in small ways, too. I noticed something the other day while I was watching a local talk show. At the end of the programme, the host congenially wished the audience, "Have a crime-free day."

I did a double take. Whatever happened to the standard, if a little time-worn, "Have a nice day?" Then I started listening. I was at the Post Office today. The post lady wished the lady in front of me farewell with, "Be safe."

I opened my ears, and I realise it's all around. We no longer say just "Bye" or "See you," or "Have a pleasant day." People are saying, "Be careful." "Be safe." "Hope you have a quiet night." We're all so aware of the situation, that even our hopes for each other have changed.

Sad, really.

I hate sick days

2007-02-06T12:12:00.000-08:00

I hate sick days. I really do. They're so useless, mainly because when I'm home sick, I really am home sick, due to this annoying work ethic that I had bred into me that it's unacceptable to fake a sickie just for the hell of it. Thanks a bunch, mother.

It's 4 p.m. and this is the first time I've been vertical, other than to get something to eat or to go pee. Laryngitis, brought on by a wetting in the rain I got on Saturday while taking my kids to parade at the Kiddies carnival. (You can read more about that fine fiasco here.)

So here I am, home alone, kids where they belong, Rawle where he belongs, all the time in the world. I should be writing. Walking the dog. Watching baby daddy drama on Maury. But I'm too sick to do any of the above. Barely well enough to be coherent.

Damn sick days.

Madness

2007-02-02T17:20:00.000-08:00

This was never supposed to be a blog about crime. It was supposed to be a cute and funny and even slightly rambling blog about whatever catches my fancy. And yet I find myself writing about little else. In the past few days I've been a little afraid of coming onto this site. Partly because I was worried about what I'd write, and partly because what I wanted to write about was so painful that I was afraid to confront it.

So much happens so fast we can't even digest it any more. Two 70 year olds (distant relatives of Rawle's) beaten to death in a house robbery, found with their 6- and 8-month old granddaughters slipping and sliding in their blood. yesteday, a 1 year old and a 3 year old shot accidentally by police in their own yard during a raid. And the political band plays on.

My birthday was 2 days ago. My grandmother, who is 92, called me with her birthday wish: "I can only hope that you live long enough to see your children grow up. That's all I have for you." Then her voice broke. Is this what we've come to? That we no longer can wish each other health, wealth, and happiness, but our only hope is to survive these terrible times?

I need to find some way to stop this spiral of horror and pain that I go through each time something like this happens. I know that I'm not alone; half the country is numb. We hide behind our burglar proofing and pray it won't be us next. We don't let our children play outdoors anymore. But what worries me is my mental state. I'm afraid to read the papers, and when I do, I wind up almost in tears. My response is not that uncommon, but is it normal? Or am I quietly going mad? Is this the beginning of a slide into depression? And if it is, would I be capable of recognising it?

Shutdown

2007-01-25T04:29:00.000-08:00

I drove to work through ghost towns today. I made it to work in a little over half the time I usually take. When I dropped my son off 10 minutes before the start of school, he was the only child there. People have been staying home today out of fear of the call to shutdown in protest against crime.

I made it a point to come out because although I’m all for protest, and I’ve marched several times and carried several placards in my time, I don’t agree with “Shutting down the country”. It goes against our interest as a people. People aren’t staying home in protest, they’re staying home out of fear.

The organizer of the 3-day protest, a broadcaster on an Islamic station called Ishmael, (oh yes, he happens to be Muslim) was arrested last night under the Terrorism Act, which allows the police to hold someone without charge for 3 days. He was taken by 4 armed plainclothes cops in unmarked cars from his business during a barbecue. His friends and families thought it was a kidnapping as they did not identify themselves as cops, and formed a human barricade. Needless to say, it didn’t end nicely. Ishmael has also had his TV programme yanked and his license to rally on Saturday revoked.

When a government reacts to the voice of the people this way, things will only get worse. When the police comply with these draconian measures, we all have to be afraid. I didn’t support the protest, but I support the right to protest. What will happen when we get that right taken away?

Update:
In a desperate bid to save face after the stupid and high-handed arrest of Mr. Ishmael, the government has frantically perused the law books for something they can charge him with. They've come up with a beauty: they've charged him with distributing a flyer without the printer's name and address on it. He is now out on $10,000 bail. I've been in Public Relations for 15 years, and I never knew this was illegal.
I guess now I know.

No place to hide

2007-01-24T05:19:00.000-08:00

Some time in the early hours of yesterday morning four men burst into the home of a female police office and executed her, her family and a visitor who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The hit was ordered from behind prison walls by a man she had just put away for murder. Everyone was riddled with bullets, except a 5 year old girl who hid. A neighbour who heard her screaming says it chilled him to the marrow.

I’ve heard of a mass hits ordered in Jamaica, but it is unprecedented in this country. It is a horror that we have never even imagined, in spite of all that has gone before. The cops are not taking it lightly. They’ve said that their response will be swift and proportionate. They’re not kidding. Within hours they burst in on a man who lived a few streets away from the cop, dragged him out of his bed, set him against his fridge and shot him in the head. This is only the beginning.

We are going to experience a wave of violence like we never have before. When I first heard the news I was driving to work. I felt physically ill. Pains all over my body. My first thought was to stop the car, call Rawle and tell him we have to get out of this place. But where can we go? There’s no place to hide.

There’s a groundswell of protest that’s building. There have been calls to shut down the country for two days, starting tomorrow, in protest against the Government’s inability to stem the tide. People are stocking up on gas, food and water. There will be mass stayaways from work. There may even be street blockages, hopefully no clashes with the cops.

I appreciate the gesture. I’ve done my share of protesting. But I’ve lost faith in the power of protest. Our government, especially our Prime Minister, is so arrogant and so self-obsessed that they have lost the ability to listen to the will of the people. This protest will change nothing.

Downtime

2007-01-18T11:56:00.000-08:00

I really am a hypocrite. Always moaning about downtime this, downtime that, and how I never get any. Ran away on my lunch hour to a nearby beauty salon for a facial. It was glorious: tender fingers touching my face, sweet smelling aromatic oils, mellow CDs, birds twittering, heated, vibrating chair...and I was itching to get up.

I must have Restless Allover Syndrome. I'm lying there with my eyes closed, and this divine lavender mask hardening on my poor mistreated face, in a darkened room. Chair heating up to soothe my aching back. I could have taken a nap. Did I? Nooo. Instead I'm peeping at my watch to see how much longer I have to lie like this. What? You mean I have to lie here in utter luxury in the middle of the day while this stuff soaks into my thirsty skin for A WHOLE FIFTEEN MINUTES? Noooo!!

Incredubly, I actually called the technician and asked her to hurry it up, because I have to get back to work. I must be mad.

Sometimes, I wanna slap myself.

On second thought...

2007-01-12T10:32:00.000-08:00

On second thought, I don't think I like this drug. I got up this morning feeling odd as hell. My hands have been shaking so much i can barely type this. My head feels full of cotton wool. Getting high is definitely not for me. I looked up this tofranil and don't like what I see.

It's really called Imipramine and it as a list of side effects as long as my arm. none of them good. I called my doctor and told him i want out. He says to use it every other night instead. We'll see how that goes, but if I still feel like this in a few days, i'm stoppong cold turkey. I'd make a very bad junkie.

MMMMellowwww.

2007-01-11T10:18:00.000-08:00

I've never been one for drugs. Never been high (childbirth narcotics excluded), never been any drunker than two glasses of wine will get me. Never smoked anything, period, much less anything that could get me jailed. But my doctor is trying a drug on me called Tofranil for a bladder problem I have. (Don't ask. Put that in your Too Much Information file and forget I said it.) And as it turns out, it's also an anti-depressant with some very interesting side effects.

He told me to take it the very last thing before I go to bed. Now, after three nights, I can see why. In fifteen minutes flat, things start to look groovy. Sleep comes a little easier, and even when I'm awake, I'm just chillin' in the dark, feelin' mellow.

Not bad. Not good, though. Groggy isn't a sensation I enjoy. But given the amout of sleep I've been losing to anxiety lately, it's a welcome break. It's a 30 day prescription, so maybe over the next month or so, you can expect more cheerful blogs.

$8 MIllion? No, thanks.

2007-01-08T07:05:00.000-08:00

Last night there were choppers pacing our neighborhood, across the sky and back, across and back. I fell asleep listening to them. When I left for work this morning, there was a chopper flying overhead. Slowly. Searching.

I assumed they were looking for the kidnap victim who as snatched a few miles away from my house on New Year's Eve (Or Old Year's Day, as we call it in Trinidad). But I heard on the news that he was found on Saturday morning, about a mile from my house. He'd escaped his captors and wandered in the forest for a day.

The other lady, who has been missing for 3 weeks, hasn't been found. Even though the ransom has been paid, she was not released. I think about her a lot because although we never formally met, she had her reflexology treatments scheduled after mine, so when I left, she was usually coming in. I remember her as being cheerful, down to earth and talkative, a regular person who didn't let her money give her airs. The police has a suspect who claims that they shot her in the chest more than a week ago, chopped her into pieces and buried the pieces.

And we call ourselves civilised.

Meanwhile, in other news, the state Lotto is now over $8 million, with record lines at the lotto shops. Why? Who would want that kind of wealth in a place like this, at a time like this? This country has made success a liability. When you succeed, you put your family at risk, because there are those who will not forgive you for having what they are too lazy, too cowardly to work for themselves.

Even though we don't gamble, I asked Rawle what he'd do if he won it. He said we'd either have to hide the money or leave the country "for a little while". Lovely. The penalty for having money is either living in fear or uprooting yourself and your children from everything they know.

To be honest, though, I've always said how much I love Trinidad, and how I'd never leave it, no matter what. Now, I'm not so sure.

Inso-mania

2007-01-05T05:45:00.000-08:00

Couldn't sleep last night. Third night in a row. Turned up for work an hour and a half late this morning. Third day in a row. I used to be an insomniac, back in the days when having no children allowed me the luxury of staying up all night and worrying about stuff. I hadn't thought I'd be visiting that planet again.

But I couldn't sleep last night. I lay there worrying about this country and what a scary place it has become, and about the two kidnap victims we're still hoping will come home. One of them has been missing since a week before Christmas. At night, I lie in bed and hear the helicopters pass over my house. Lookng for them.

Murders have kept pace with the number of days in the year. People are killing people in such an off-hand manner that you'd think it was all a game. Two government councillors shot in seperate incidents. One survived seven bullets, one didn't live after he took three to the head. One girl shot in the face for being a police informant, another man disemboweled in an argument over his dog.

As a nation, we're losing our soul. What will be left for my children by the time they grow up?

An even uglier tree

2007-01-02T11:21:00.000-08:00

I thought I had the ugliest Christmas tree in the world, but it seems that I was suffering from delusions of grandeur. Have a gander at the one in my office. No, I did not Photoshop it.

Segregation of books?

2006-12-28T03:59:00.000-08:00

A debate has opened up on my comments page that I’d be really interested in sharing with others. The issue has to do with the segregation of books in American book stores by the race of the author and, to a lesser extent, the characters. Now, remember I’m not American, and in Trinidad the practice is almost unheard of. So I’m fascinated by the whole thing.

I’m inviting you over to join the debate and make some observations of your own.

What do you think of the practice of racial/ethnic segregation of books?

Also, I remember as a young girl reading romance, the only books available to us were written by white women, about white characters, as the African American romance genre pretty much hadn’t been invented yet. I cut my teeth on Janet Dailey, Kathleen Woodwiss and Barbara Cartland. Now we as black women have a genre of our own, and yet many of us still read “white” romances. My question is; do white women read black romances? What about black mainstream fiction?

In the world of rap music, a significant proportion of the consumers are white. What’s it like in the world of black fiction? Do we have a large white readership? And if not, why not?

I’d love to hear your views. Why not drop by and chew the fat a little?

I'm taking back Christmas

2006-12-22T18:42:00.000-08:00

You know, for several years now I've grown more and more leery of Christmas. The cost. The obligations. The family pressures. The mega marketing. The strident music that's more and more about partying, drinking and pork and less and less about a little baby shivering in the hay.

It got to the point where even thinking about Christmas brought on a sickening feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. I used to find every excuse to get out of as much as I could. What I couldn't get out of, I dreaded, had nightmares about, and trudged reluctantly toward. Then I'd come away grumbling.

No more. Having children who are just about old enough to know that something special's going on has changed everything. For their sake, I've decided that I'm taking back Christmas. I won't let the unsavoury elements get me down. Henceforth, here is my Christmas pledge to myself:

I am not changing curtains or cushion covers. I am not painting or varnishing anything. My house is fine as it is and Christmas will come and go whether the house smells of new stuff or not.
I will not buy presents I don't feel like buying, just because I suspect someone is going to get me something, or because it would be rude not to. If you get me something, and I got you nothing, I'm going to say a grateful "Thank you," and leave it at that.
For those people I am getting presents for, I will not buy ashtrays, vases, or body lotion/perfume/hand soap sets. I will buy things that I think they want and need, even if that is something as mundane as a pair of pot holders.
For those who will appreciate the gesture, I am making a contribution to a charity in their name, rather than buy one more useless thing they'll thank me for and never use.
The kids (others more than mine) will get toys. Christmas is all about them, and they'll damn well enjoy it.
I will not spend one minute in the presence of someone I don't like just because I feel obliged to. I will not pay courtesey visits to people who manage ask me at the very second I don't have a plausible excuse not to. I will not invite anyone over unless I really want them here. I will not make a single phone call to someone I don't like just because not doing so will piss them off.

Starting this year, I'm doing Christmas my way, for my children and for me. I loved it as a child, and I'm going to make sure my children have only happy memories of it. I'm taking it back.

Have I lost my edge?

2006-12-21T08:06:00.000-08:00

My old editor from the Guardian has asked me to take up my old Sunday column. I asked her to hold that thought for a while. I need to think it through. I enjoyed my column for two years, although I can't say how many other people did.

For practical reasons, it might be hard; I have my new romance due in July, and I'd like to get back into the literary game, and I haven't even started on that one. Where would I find the time to turn out something weekly?

But that's just half of it, and the smaller half to boot. The thing is, I don't have enough confidence in myself to make that leap. What if my columns are no good? What if I've lost my edge? Did I ever have an edge?

I've posted a few old columns on my website here. See for yourself.

Universal mother

2006-12-19T04:54:00.000-08:00

Trinidad can be hell sometimes. We just closed down our national airline and paid the pilots large sums of severance pay. Within days the wife of one of the pilots was snatched from her home, on her birthday at that, and held for ransom.

This woman has a 5 year old and a 7 year old. They're traumatised beyond imagination, and every day the poor husband begs for her release. The problem for me is that once children are involved in any crime or any tragedy, I internalise it to the point where I grieve as though it's happening to me. I lay awake in bed last night, thinking about her children. Feeling guilty because I was in a warm bed cuddled up with mine, and she's out there somewhere, chained up in a shack, if she's lucky. If she's not, she's buried in a shallow grave. She's been gone two weeks. It looks worse by the day. What will these children do? How will this poor man raise his children alone? Christmas will be just awful for them.

I don't know why I latch on to these things so. Maybe it's my writer's capacity for empathy. Maybe my imagination is just too acute. I wish I wouldn't torment myself, but I also don't want to lose the sensitivity. What good is a writer if she can't feel the emotions of others?

But it isn't just writing. It's motherhood, too. If there's one thing about me that has changed since I had children, it's that. I think in some way all mothers are linked by motherhood into a single universal entity. We feel each other's pain. I don't pray much, but I prayed for that woman last night.

UPDATE: I heard on the evening news that they found her and she's still alive! Oh, my god, I ached so hard for that lady. I can't help but wonder what the scene at their home is like tonight. Is she home or is she still in hospital? At least her children will still have christmas. Poor things. They'll never be the same again.

Oh, I haven't told you yet, but I have a new short story up on my website. It's called Playing Dead, and you can't tell it from the title, but it's a Christmas story. You might like it.

The Hypocritical Oath

2006-12-08T11:45:00.000-08:00

A 72 year old friend of mine has been suffering from back pain and sciatica for the past few days. When it got too bad for her to move around, she asked me to drive her to the doctor. I dropped her off, popped into the office, and then picked her up again when she was done. I wish I'd stayed.

This doctor, who operates out of his sprawling mansion, didn't even look at her leg or back. He informs her that she's just got a little touch of old age, hands her an envelope with huge unmarked white pills, and writes her a prescription. Not even a pharmacist could identify the pills or say what they were for. The prescription? Its for vitamins. Ten days' worth.

That'll be $100 please. Thank you Ma'am.

First off, Doc, this lady is a pensioner, and that kind of money represents a huge chunk of her income. I don't even want to think of what she has to go without since she's paid you. Second, when a patient comes to you in pain, you damn well should examine her - and TRY TO HELP! Third, isn't it a legal requirement that all pills prescribed to a patient should be clearly labelled, and that patient should be told what they are, what they're for, and what sort of risks they pose? For all we know, that shit could be horse medicine. Oh, and you gave her a shot in the ass, but wouldn't tell her what it was. Saline?

Then there's those vitamins. You don't have to go to med school to know that 10 days worth of vitamins couldn't possibly have any effect on the body, much less improve leg and back pain.

So, wassup, doc? Is that that you're so busy that you don't think it's worth the effort to explain yourself to a little old lady? Or is it that you're so smart that you think anyone who doesn't have the letters MD after their name is just too stupid for an explanation?

Where do you get off treating an old woman like that? You treated her like a fool, and she left your office still in pain, bewildered and humiliated. She called you back, and you say "Well, I don't know what to tell you, but you can come back in if you like". Bam, another hundred bucks. Thank you Ma'am.

Didn't see that in the Hippocratic Oath.

Greater love

2006-12-07T09:06:00.000-08:00

I can't tell you how sad I am about the death of James Kim. if you remember, he's the man who left his snowbound wife and two small children in their car last week in Oregon to try to get help. He was out there for about a week, wandering. I got up at about 4 a.m. this morning and lay in my bed, worrying about him, only to hear later today that his body was found. He'd wandered 8 miles in the snow, and died just 1 mile from the car.

I feel so sad. Rawle knew of him because of his work in the computer industry, but my only connection to him is the similrities between his wife and me. I can only imagine sitting in a car for days with my toddler and my baby, just like she did. (Hers were 7 months and 4 years old.) Freezing cold, lost, having to comfort two restless, irritable, cold, hungry children, wondering where your husband is, and hoping that he'd come back. I keep asking myself, what would I do?

She breastfed hers, as I would have. But oh, those long, dreadful cold days.

And I can't help but feel great admirtion for Kim. It is a commentary in a nutshell on gender roles and responsibilities, if you want to look at it like that. He did the manly thing. He did what a man would do. Step out, step up, and venture into the cold to save his family. Greater love had no man than this, that he laid down his life for those he loved.

The ugliest tree

2006-12-04T17:39:00.000-08:00

We've got the ugliest Christmas tree in christendom. I let my 3 year old, Riley, decorate it this year, since it's the first time he's been aware of Christmas and all the trimmings. So I let him throw on everything but the kitchen sink. It went up on Saturday, and since then, it's had a dozen revisionings, with all the tinsel hanging at about three feet off the ground, stuffed toy ornaments roaming the house like the Roaming Gnome and the mercifully unbreakable ornaments being kicked around like footballs. I've got glitter dust in my bed.

I think this Christmas is going to be loads of fun, seeing it all through his eyes again. He's learning all the Carols, and lies in bed at night rehearsing his lines for the Christmas play on Thursday. He's the Wise man with the gold. His line? "I bring you gold." I can't wait.

Bang Bang! (No kiss, kiss).

2006-11-28T09:18:00.000-08:00

I had just put my kids into the tub on Saturday evening round about 7 o' clock, when I heard two loud pops. Then I heard my neighbour screaming as he ran down the street, shouting for someone to call the police. Turns out that two young men relieved him of his car as he tried to enter his yard, put him to lie on the ground with a gun in his face, and discussed the merits and demerits of shooting him. He said he had a wife and kids and begged for his life. They said they didn't care.

So he ran.

They fired two shots at him, grazing his shoulder, and made off in the car. Incidentally, it was the same brand as my own. I didn't have a good night. These shots went off so close I felt the pop in my ear, even though I was indoors. My kids were about. My husband ran outside to find out what was happening, and I trembled until he came back.

One of these young men lounged outside my house until his victim came home. I don't even recall seeing him. I can't help but ask myself, were they targeting that specific car, or would mine have done as nicely? And what would happen if my turn came up in the crime lottery and my kids were with me? This place has become a nightmare. I love standing out under the stars with my children and looking up at the moon. When they're in bed I like to go outside and breathe in the scent of orange blossoms and garlic vine flowers. Now I look both ways and case the joint before I put the garbage out.

It's sickening, this sense of waiting your turn. Terrifying.

Bad day for babies

2006-11-16T18:04:00.000-08:00

Today somebody gave birth to a baby boy and threw it in the trash can on the sidewalk of a major street near where I live. A vagrant fished it out (I guess he decided it wasn't good to eat) and put it on the pavement. People walked up and down, shook their heads, and tut-tutted about who could have done something like that to a poor innocent baby. Nobody picked it up. Didn't want to get involved, I guess.

Somebody finally called the ambulance. Instead of rushing him to hospital, they called the police and hung around until the cops came. By this time, he was already dead.

Somewhere along his nightmarish few hours of life on planet Earth, somebody managed to bash his face in.

And you wonder why I can't sleep.

Where's the medical morality?

2006-11-13T17:31:00.000-08:00

Crabby today. Having a spot of medical bother, so of course I have begun the ritual of dancing through the hoops while doctors play the tune. And I'm not enjoying it.

More and more I ask myself: where's the medical morality? Whatever happened to relating to your patient, whatever happened to truly wanting to help, and hatever happened to practicing with a conscience?

My cutie doctor has referred me to a specialist. Okay, no probs. Only he's on the other side of the island, so to get there for my 9 am appointment I'm on the road at 6:30 a.m. this morning. I get there and, wonder of wonders, I don't have to wait. And then what happens? This guy sees me for 3 minutes tops, just long enough to peep at my doctors referral letter and write out a request for an ultrasound. Then he sends me packing, with an instruction to come back Friday. That'll be $200 Ma'am, thank you very much. For THREE minutes work in which he lays not a hand on my and barely asks me a question. Talk about being dis-MISSED. (NB $1 US = $6TT)

So I trot into the city for my ultrasound. During the test I make a mistake (How was I supposed to know what to do? I'm not a medical worker). And have to deal with the sarcasm, irritation and plain old churlishness of the doctor administering the test. I leave with my tail between my legs feeling small and stupid. That'll be $400, please, Ma'am, thank you very much.

The medical fraternity in this country is one huge grinding money machine, and God help you if you don't have enough money to pay. If you wind up at the mercy of the public health system, cross yourself and start to pray.

Why must it cost so much to stay healthy? Why must health care be such a chore? Why must I pay $200 for you to see me for 3 minutes, and then another $200 for you to decide what's the next step?

I had a baby 3 years ago, and my OB-GYN charged $2,500 to pull the kid out of me. 25 months later, he charges $4,000 for my second kid. I'm still reeling. Why the steep price increase? Same doctor, same patient, same hospital, same delivery method, same service, same healthy pregnancy and delivery. Same damn vagina. WHAT CHANGED?

Cost of living went up? Did the Benz need tyres? Did he want to take his wife to St. Vincent for the weekend? Did he just feel he was worth more, or did the entire gynecological cohort just get together and decide they were charging more for their service?

I understand that you went to school for longer than I did. I understand that you are charging for your knowledge, experience and expertise. I understand that your service is valuable. But when you charge these kinds of fees, you force more and more people to rely on the cursed, stinking farce that is public health. I can barely afford all this, and I have a good job and insurance. What happens to people who have nothing?

They die, that's what.

Sinfully gorgeous

2006-10-31T12:54:00.000-08:00

Had a visit with my gynecologist yesterday. Oh God, that man is one of the most gorgeous humans alive. Between you and me, he was the inspiration for Jacob in A Thirst For Rain. I came home from my first visit with him (Was it really 10 years ago?) and wrote a description of this criminally handsome man. The description grew into a character sketch, and the character sketch grew into a book.

Life really is wonderful sometimes.

But I'm thinking this man's in the wrong profession. They should have told him that in med school. "You want to be a what? Get out! Go be a cardiologist instead. You can's spend your day around women's Whoopsie-daisies!"

Can't even look the man in the eye....

Hurry up and rest

2006-10-26T06:06:00.000-07:00

Some blogger I am. A whole damn month and not a peep out of me. I suppose I could offer up the whole copper wire stealing spree that went on in our neighborhood as an excuse, and then all the work I've had to contend with at the office. But the truth is that I just couldn't be arsed to write anything. I'm just uber-lazy these days.

Now I'm on vacation. Ha ha! Three lovely, lovely weeks. Oh, no! Three lousy stinking weeks. So much to do. So little time. I'm suffering from vacation anxiety. Seriously. I'm actually getting panic attacks, and this is just the first day.

So much to do! I have to finish my new novel by the 30th of November, and then I have to deliver the proposal (the lethal 3 chapters and an outline) by December 15th. Who came up with that little timeline?

Added to that, I have all these little mundane tasks to do. Like my taxes...6 months late. And some cooking and freezing, so when I get back to the office I won't be so frazzled in the afternoon. And some tidying and organising...

And some resting. Better hurry up and get some of that done, too.

Stinking copper bandits!

2006-09-19T18:57:00.000-07:00

Been away from my blog for a whole month. NOT a good thing. Want to know why I've been away from my blog a whole month? because of those lousy stinking copper bandits, that's why! These assholes have been climbing up the telephones in the middle of the night to steal telephone wire to sell for scrap. It's pure copper, you know. They mosey in at about 1 a.m. when decent folk are asleep (or, at least, gettin' busy) and chop up whole chunks of the stuff. And the telephone company takes 5 whole days each time to fix it, and my entire neighbourhood is without phones or internet access the whole time.

What pisses me off is the utter callousness of it. These men steal corporate property without care for the 200 houses on our street, just because they can make a buck off of it. And it's a pretty penny, I'm told. Utterly anti-social, utterly selfish. So much for the future of our youth.

Mildew. Yeeech.

2006-08-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

Does anybody know how to get mildew stains out of clothing? I did a duuumb thing. My daughter got the cutest little pink outfit from some friends, and what do I do? Put it in the laundry hamper with the intention of washing it just to get out the shop dust, then I leave a washing machine valve open and flood the washroom, and then A WEEK LATER discover said cute little outfit stuck to the bottom of the hamper, all mildewed. And she hasn't even worn it yet!
Oh horror! Any advice?

Poor little rainbow boa!

2006-08-11T19:39:00.000-07:00

A neighbour of mine just honked outside my gate, to tell me there was this "huge" snake trying to scale my wall, and that I'd better watch out because it was going to come get my dog. Riley and I went outside (yes, he's still up!) and there was a beautiful young rainbow boa againt my outside wall, all shiny and new; it had obviously just shed its skin. It wasn't that big, less than 5 feet tall, and really gorgeous.

The lady who called me was sitting transfixed in her car, with her hand over her mouth, horrified, and unable to understand why I didn't run screaming or go for my cutlass and hack it to bits or something. (She had tried to run it over with her car.) I tried to explain to her that I liked snakes but she was so upset that I felt embarrassed. So I thanked her kindly for calling me, explained that it was a constrictor and not a viper, and therefore little threat to my family or even my dog. Tabby is probably a greater threat to it than it is to her. I tried to curb my enthusiasm for the gorgeous, sleek, shiny creature, so gracefully curled up against my wall. I could see she was going to be sick.

I'm hearing Tabby outside barking, so I guess she's spotted it. I can only pray that it diesn't make it over the wall, because it would be done for. And that it doesn;t go by anyone else, because then somebody will certainly kill it. I hope it makes it to the river or something, unchallenged.

Snakes get such a bad rap.

Maljo

2006-08-07T17:45:00.000-07:00

Riley's teacher thinks he has Maljo. That's a West Indian word for the Evil Eye. She thinks that's why he's been so sick and fussy lately, and that he needs to be taken to a priest to get blessed. I'm not able to disprove the concept, so I respect it, but I can't say I think it's the answer to my worries. I am concerned about him, though. He's been so miserable lately, and today he complained of a headache. Tonight he was rolling around on the floor holding his head and screaming. Poor kid. If you ask me, it's all those meds he's been taking. 10 days on steroids, plus antihistamines for a month and a whole bunch of crap, has got to be hard on a 3 year old.

Poor, poor darling. We've got our doctor's visit on Wednesday, so we'll see. Until then, I'll be blessing him myself.

They buried those twin babies today, the ones I told you about. They were left by their grandmother in the "care" of their six year old sister for several hours, during which she tried to give them a bath. Naturally, they both drowned.

The media, of course, were all over the funeral like the insensitive vultures that they are, hovering to take photos of the poor mother, weeping for her children. How horrible. What have we come to, as a society, when this tragic woman can't bury her babies in peace? My God, must EVERYTHING make it to the front page? The poor woman ran outside and smashed a camera and screamed at them to go away. Of course, that only made them more happy. NEWS! More shit for the front page! If they try to charge her for damaging that camera, they will have lost the last shred of respect I can muster for them.

Endolphins

2006-07-31T19:26:00.000-07:00

There's a scene in Postcards from the Edge where this little blonde bubblehead comments on how much she enjoys jogging...because of the endolphins. I can't get that word out of my head. And I've decided that it is imperative that I start exercising again - I haven't been on the treadmill in a month - if I am to haul my sorry ass out of this pit of self-pity I've fallen into. So I just did a light 25 minute canter on the thing. And guess what, I'm full of endolphins.

A terrible thing happened today that reminds me that no matter how down I am, at least everyone is healthy and happy in my family. Some woman in the news left her 9 month old twin grand-daughters in the care of A SIX YEAR OLD, and went to the doctor. The poor kid decided to give them BOTH a bath. The phone rings, she goes to answer it, and yes, you guessed it, they both drown. That's terrible on so many levels; part from the suffering of the babies, and the loss of the mother, who's abroad studying, and think of the kid. She's scarred for life. I even feel sorry for the Grandmother, as asinine as I think she was in leaving them. I know how frustrating it is to be caring for children and not even having a moment to attend to anything for yourself. My eyebrows look like shrubbery and my toenails look like fish scales, I haven't been able to go see about myself. Poor old woman, took a stupid chance, and look what happened.

It's things like that that remind me to thank God for all His blessings on my family. Something to remember next time I start feeling sorry for myself.

The bleeding tree

2006-07-30T16:30:00.000-07:00

My plum tree is bleeding. My gardener came while I was out on Friday, and took it into his head to quote, prune, unquote my trees. It was a wholesale massacre. I'm not even going to get into what he did to the glorious 20-foot tall pine out front. And the carambola tree that isn't even mine, which hangs over the neighbour's wall, providing a handy screen between my house and theirs. But what he did to my plum tree made me weep.

He butchered it. I counted 17 major limbs that he has lopped off, for some obscure reason assuming that I wanted them gone. Oh, my god, I have been complaining to everyone (except him, he conveniently doesn't have a cell phone) but nobody seems to understand how I feel about it.

Now, it isn't the plums you might be thinking about. It isn't one of those round purple things you get in North America and Europe. It's what we call a Jamaica plum, a fat red thing with an outie navel at the end. I planted that tree when I first moved into here, 8 years ago. It was just a stump. And it blossomed into a glory to behold.

And it is deeply entrenched in my heart. The day we brought Riley home from the hospital, my mother was up in it, picking plums (it bears in May) waiting for us. Throughout my maternity leave, I used to go there in the morning and sit under it in the shade, and let him look up into the branches.

With Megan, same thing. We used to walk out there in the morning and enjoy the coolest part of my yard. And when plums came into season we had an embarrassment of plums, a carpet of them covering the ground. People used to come and help themselves to those that hanged over the fence. It was always full of birds. And the branches were low enough for Riley to pick his own, and even Megan used to reach up and touch the leaves.

No more. He's gone and butchered it like Jack the Ripper, lopping off limbs ad hock, with not a branch within reach being allowed to survive. and I feel as though I've been physically attacked. I went to visit it today, and it's still bleeding, hugs gobs of sap falling down to the earth. Oh, my. I feel like I'm grieving for someone I lost.

A total babe!

2006-07-28T18:59:00.000-07:00

Oh, man. It's a good thing I decided to be more positive in my posts, because I've got got tell you, I just met this total, total, proof-that-there-is-a-God babe. I mean, a blow-your-mind, can't stop staring at him, suck me into his universe babe!

Problem is, I can't tell you who he is, how I met him, of what he looks like, because if for some one in four hundred million chance he just happens to surf by here for no reason whatsoever, and recognises himself, I'll be so embarrassed I'd have to change my name, leave the country, and go live under a foreign rock.

Suffice it to say that he's got skin like coffee, perfect teeth, a smile like a Botticelli angel, enough testosterone to enrage a whole hive of killer bees, and eyes that make me want to forget I've got a husband and kids. If you want to know any more, you're just going to have to get my next book, because I can guarantee you that he's gonna be in there.

Ah, yes. God still loves me. My heart can still race and my body can still flush with a simple hello, and after two pregnancies in a row and all the resultant demands of momhood, it's good to remember that I'm still female and can still fall head over heels in like. And it's even better that this was a random, isolated, chance meeting that won't happen again so I can enjoy my hot little fantasy with impunity, knowing that my virtue is above suspicion.

Hooooha! It's good to be back!

Think positive

2006-07-27T18:58:00.000-07:00

I am looking back at the last five posts or so, and I realise that all of them are of me complaining about how awful everything is. That's not me. It depresses me that for some reason i have started bitching and complaining about everything. But sometimes I feel so wiped out that it's a long long climb upwards toward normal.

Riley's doctor thinks that his bouts of coughing and gagging at night could be, at the very positive end of the spectrum, an allergy combined with an adenoid problem that can be treated with drugs and, failing that, surgery. On the other end, however, he is even entertaining the possibility of a bizzarre heriditary disease called neurofibromatosis, which nobody in my family has, or epi-freaking-lepsy. I know my son doesn't have epilepsy. I know he's going to be just fine. I'm going to have to go online and look up all I can about allergies. I've been feeding him chocolate milk or peanut punch every day for a month, because he doesn't eat and it's his only source of calories, and now it seems that I have been torturing him, since he's quite possibly allergic to milk. I feel a little guilty about that, like I've been slowly poisoning him.

Buyt in this post I'm going to think positive. He's going to be fine. And I'm going to find my energy back. Today, for work, i took 21 college students on a tour to the east coast, the farthest point on the island, to see the natural gas installations there. It's a three hour drive each way. Probably why i'm so exhausted that this post isn't making any sense. I'm going to quit while I'm ahead.

Meltdown?

2006-07-14T19:53:00.000-07:00

Stupid gate. Stupid rain. Stupid flood. Four days after being forced to walk through surprisingly cold flood waters to manually open my electric gate because it has been malfunctioning for ONE MONTH and the gate guy can't be arsed to pass by and fix it, I am still sick as a dog. This is my third sick day in a row, which means I will have to hike my sorry ass to the doctor tomorrow for a medical certificate in order to get my sick leave signed. And what a day it was. So hoarse that it wasn't even worth it to try to talk, I sent my kids off once again and slept through the morning, waking up at noon for the first time in years.

The rest of the day has been a blur of exhaustion - and even resting doesn't make me feel rested - and hunger, and I'm too tired to cook, so it has been french fries, freezer remains, canned tuna, crackers and jelly for me all day.

I'm not having much of a happy streak these past few weeks; it's just been one thing after another. I was wondering if I'm having some sort of breakdown...or maybe a meltdown?

Wipeout!

2006-07-12T10:42:00.000-07:00

Just as I expected: I've crashed and burned. When I fell asleep at my desk again yesterday, for the second day in a row, I knew I was in trouble. It just didn't make any sense, going at this pace and thinking I wouldn't collapse. Woke up this morning with a raging cold and a case of laryngitis. Sent the children off to day care, and have been in bed in a stupor all day. You know you're really sick when you can't even relax and enjoy a sick day.

And the rain! It's been raining steadily all week, so much so that the rivers have burst their banks, the roads are congested with traffic that has no way to go, and three adults and a 9 month old baby were killed by a tree brought down by the rain. How awful! It's grey and dark and miserable, and my backyard is under water. My electronic gate has been malfunctioning, so on Monday I had to get out of the car and walk through flood waters to open it manually. Hence the laryngitis, I suppose.

110 E-mails

2006-07-10T10:10:00.000-07:00

Awright, here I am, back at my desk. In the cold air-conditioning instead of out in the fresh air. Sitting upright at my computer instead of loafing around the house drooling. With 110 e-mails to open. The last nail in the coffin of my vacation has officially been hammered in.

Aauuuugh!!!!

Later

Fell asleep face forward onto my desk! Woke up with the imprint of my watch on my cheek. At least it's a nice watch.

Whine, whine, whine

2006-07-09T19:30:00.000-07:00

Well, here it is; the last day of my vacation. Although technically, Friday was the last day of my vacation, since Saturday and Sunday are free anyway, but let's not split hairs. I'm a little down, because it hasn't been easy. The kids were sick for such a long time, with their gastro.

They were still under the weather when I left for Jamaica more than a week ago. So I got there exhausted, and then the programme itself wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I was disappointed to the bottom of my heart to be making my presentation to just 2 people, after 3 weeks of hard work on it. I don't know what went wrong, but the whole thing just fell apart. Not enough advertising, not enough marketing, something. It just didn't seem as though anyone knew it was taking place, or cared. The next day, with the open mike poetry readings, was slightly better, but I still can't shake the Twilight Zone sensation of things being out of sync. The rest of the visit was a blur of fatigue, and I never felt that I had gotten into my stride, and never really felt at ease, even on my last day, which was a free day and I could have done the tourist thing. It was lonely, and not a whole lot of fun.

Then after a predictably late and arduous flight (BeeWee (our beloved local airline) as usual was hot, crowded, nasty, with graffitti on the seats, grime all over the place, and absolutely unpalatable meals) I was home again. Three days left of my vacation, I slept off the Jamaica jag on the first, and then sort of milled around for the other two.

Then Riley got sick again. Some sort of flu that has him coughhing and gagging at night, waking up screaming, and needing to be held and comforted. So long, sleep. As a matter of fact, it's 10:30 p.m. and he's still up, playing with my mouse and asking a million questions.

So I'm beat, in a bad mood, and feeling a general sense of non-accomplishment. Like nothing really turned out right. And I'm back t work in the morning. Hooray. But all I've done all vacation has been to clean up puke and change diapers and deal with other people's needs and take care of everyone else but my own. And I wonder if there will ever come a time when someone will see about my needs, and cater to my fancies and make me feel better.

Anyway, if you're of a mind to read any of my blogs from the trip, and see some of my photos, you can stop by my website here.

Florrie Nightingale

2006-06-27T18:39:00.000-07:00

It's been ages since I blogged, but at least I've got a good reason. Both kids AND their dad have been sick with gastroenteritis all week,and I don't need to tell you what THAT entails. Been slaving away cleaning up gallons of projectile spew and baby shit. And it's exhausting, because a sick child is a demanding child. but, thank God, They seem to be over the worst, because Riley is once again yelling at me, Mummy do this, Mummy do that, and Megan is dancing and singing to herself again. So that's good.

But they're so thin. The only thing that's still big on Megan is her bubble butt, and it would take a famine to diminish that! As for Riley, well, he was never exactly a big boy. At the age of 3, he normally weighs about 27 pounds. Try to imagine what he looks like with 5 less.

Poor kids.

Proud to be Red, White, and Black

2006-06-15T18:54:00.000-07:00

Well, our Soca Warriors lost to England in the World Cup today, but damn, they put up a good fight. We, the smallest country ever to play in the World Cup finals, held one of the world’s greatest teams – including “Bend It” Beckham, and trust me, he can bend me anytime – at bay for 82 minutes. It hurt, badly, to see us lose a game that was so critical to the hopes of this country.

But you know, I’m proud of them. They’ve won the respect of the world, who thought we’d be pushovers, a nothing side, a guaranteed win, especially after we held a team like Sweden to a Nil-Nil draw last week. The world has sat up and taken notice. And not just of the courage of our players, but the character of Trinidad and Tobago’s people, both here and abroad. Our supporters have been met with nothing but warm, open arms by the Germans, and everyone else we’ve met.

I went to see the match in the cinema today, we had a live feed on a huge screen. What a way to watch a match! And again, my people made me proud. We were all so full of expectations, so happy, all wearing our national colors, red, white and black, all leaping to our feet to sing along with the national anthem when it played on that football field thousands of miles away. And in the Cinema lobby, a true Trini party was going on. Faces being painted in our national colors, T&T flags waving, and, most of all, an “Engine Room”, what we call a percussion musical group, who beat out rhythms while we danced. It was beautiful. And even though we lost today, the way my people conducted themselves made me very proud to be a Trinidadian.

And as I was driving home, reflecting on how important it is for us to keep up the self-esteem of our people, and make sure that whatever we did, we did well in the eyes of the world, I wished I was athletic, so that I could find myself somewhere on the world stage, doing something that would make my country proud of me. And then I thought. . . oh, you know what? I don’t have to be an athlete to do that. I write! I work damn hard, and I am a multi-published author, and I write about my country for people to see, and sit up, and take notice. That’s good enough, isn’t it?

Jamaica, me soon come!

2006-06-14T19:37:00.000-07:00

My Jamaican patois might be lousy, but I've got a good excuse: I haven't been to Jamtown in donkey's years. Not since I was 18, as a matter of fact, and believe me, you don't want to know how long ago that was. I've got a whole bunch of hazy but happy recollections of it. I remember walking barefoot up Dunn's River Falls, and finding a Jamaican dollar bill floating there. I remember standing at the side of the road somewhere on the North Coast with my girlfriend Monique, waiting for a minibus, eating a whole, warm, sweet pineapple with a penknife, and then finally catching the minibus and being so crammed in that Monique had to sit on my lap...and she wasn't a tiny girl.
I remember a midnight hike to the top of the Blue Mountain Range, and because of the altitude it was so cold we found peaches and strawberries growing near the summit - on a Caribbean island! I remember trying to see how many boys I could kiss over the course of a 2-week vacation, but that's another story for another time.
Well, I'll be retracing my steps at the end of June. Hooray! I've been invited to conduct a workshop on short story writing at something called the Coconut Festival near Montego Bay. Mo'Bay, one of my favorite places! And a Coconut Festival, of all things. Everything there will be about coconuts: coconut races, coconut craft, coconut cooking, and, yes, all the short stories will be about coconuts. That will be something to experience. I'll also be doing a reading of some of my work, so I'd better get that voice in gear.
I'll definitely be blogging - and Plogging on Amazon - from there, so stay tuned!

The incredible elasticity of time

2006-06-14T13:04:00.000-07:00

Anybody who thinks time is fixed and linear needs a clonk on the head. Let me tell you something; time is more elastic than my drawers. Time can be stretched at will. Ask any doctor, dentist, radiologist or OB/GYN. These guys have the secret to fitting 5 or 6 patients into every hour, and still give them appointments in 15 minute increments.

That’s how I managed to turn up at 2:01 for a 2:00 p.m. mammogram, which is supposed to take, maybe 10 minutes, and left at 4:30. I was greeted by a waiting room full of other people, who obviously had also been given 2 o’clock appointments in another dimension of time. Then the technicians gaily surfed the great wormholes in time and serviced us all, simultaneously. Because, God forbid they confine themselves to this plane of existence and only schedule 4 15-minute appointments in one hour, and miss out of all that wasted income.

I swear to you, “Appointments 101 – How to Fill Your Waiting Room Beyond all Reasonable Levels of Practicality” is a compulsory course in Med school. It’s strictly a Pass/Fail course and you need it to get your degree.

As for time’s ability to contract, how else do you explain how I wake up around 5 a.m., breastfeed, pack school bag, lunches, blah blah blah, shower, dress, get two toddlers dressed, skate out of the house like a mad cow, only to realize that although physically I have only lived through about 35 minutes of real time, the clock has leaped ahead almost 4 hours and I am heinously late for work?

How else do you explain the fact that, just a few weeks ago, I was holding a pale, scrawny, docile newborn in my arms, and the next moment I am trying to keep a boisterous, talkative, demanding one year old from hurling herself down the stairs?

Einstein, please, a little help?

Love's labour well worth it

2006-06-13T03:02:00.000-07:00

Unbeleivable! One year ago, today, I was lyng in bed in a labour ward, bawling, screaming, shitting, throwing up, forgetting every second of my Lamaze classes, and swearing that I would NEVER do this again. Yep, my daughter, Megan, is one year old today. I can no longer count her age in months. Feels good. She's got a little less hair than I'd have expected, given her momma's genes, but she's a wonderful baby... and it was all worth it.

But of course, I will be true to my word. I will NEVER do that again!

Got a real fun blow-by-blow commentary about a typical dayin my life, on my website here. Drop by if you feel like a laugh.

Spider season

2006-05-30T20:44:00.000-07:00

It must be spider season. For the last several weeks, I've killed at least one spider in my house every day. Bug lovers; I'm not a wholesale murderer of little creatures. As a matter of fact, I am notoriously lenient with them, as well as a wide range of other pests, such as snakes, rats and mice, who I usually spare the death sentence and escort outside to the empty lot next door. Yeah, I'm soft that way.
But Arachnids? Death becomes them. They represent probably my most irrational phobia. And for some reason, maybe it's the change in the weather from the dry season to the rainy season, but they're heeeerrrreee..... A whole bunch of freshly hatched baby ones, small versions of the bug buggers that sometimes plague my home like evil spirits. And I shudder at the thought that, statistically, it is extremely likely that before the season is out, I will stumble upon the granddaddy of all the little ones I've been smacking. And I'm not looking forward to it.
Ah, life in the Caribbean. Anyhow, in honour of this creepy circumstance, my new short story for May is called Webs. And no, it's not creepy at all. In fact, it's rather romantic.
Have a look at it here.

If you like, you can read one of my opinion columns (yes, also about spiders) here.

Beautiful, beautiful me

2006-05-29T15:33:00.000-07:00

Oh, And I forgot: this is what I look like.

The mind boggles!

2006-05-29T03:05:00.000-07:00

Unbelievable. Just unbelievable! What an awesome day it is. First, my new novel goes on sale - it's called May Summer Never End, written under my romance pseudonymn, Simona Taylor. Here it is! have a look! What a cover! Isn't it a beaut! You can also take a look at it on Amazon.

Then I stumble onto Blogspot - okay, I admit I haven't exactly been here before - and decide to post a blog. After all, if my agent, Deidre Knight, can do it, I can, too!

Having a new book out is like having a new baby. You walk around all excited, proud, nervous, and exhausted, with a grin on your face, because you did it!

I just can't stop smiling...

Hey, you can read an excerpt here on my website, www.scribble-scribble.com