That sounds funny, doesn’t it?  Like she’s misplaced or under the bed or wandering around a state park somewhere with a giant purse and a flashlight wondering how she got talked into going for a walk in the great outdoors in the middle of February.  Except it’s hard to laugh today.  Judi McCoy passed away due to complications from diabetes and… it’s hard to laugh today.

I’m running out of tissue.  I’m weeping like a fool…except when I’m not.  Except when I’m remembering the bathtub incident at RT in New York that year when she and I roomed together.  Except when I remember that voice, like nails and glass in a metal coffee can sometimes…that accent that could cut through wire…but oh, god, she was so sincere and so funny.  She was so generous to everyone.  She could drive you crazy one minute and then make you thank every angel in heaven that you had her close at hand.  She’d argue that she was “nobody” in the industry and that no one knew/cared who she was until you wanted to throttle her.  Then she’d just laugh at you and bask in all the compliments and praise… and she deserved every word of it.

I’m remembering the beginning writers she invited up to our room, an impromptu extension of the class that she just didn’t want to turn away…she was so amazing to all of them, so patient and so blazingly blunt with her advice and critiques…they fell in love with her, I think.  I know I did.  I already had, but seeing her in action–I knew she was one-of-a-kind.

When Rudy died, we cried and cried together.  She practically ruined an entire weekend event, The Chocolate Affaire, in Arizona as an entire booth of romance authors sobbed through a two day book signing because every dog that walked by set Judi off and then we’d cry because she was crying and… well, you get the picture.  We cried until it was funny that we were crying.  We cried until it was safe to tease her a little about it and then she was laughing and crying…and then it was okay.  I remember that it was okay and saying something impossible like, “Come on, Judi! He’s not gone! He’s right there, curled up at your feet and so excited about your new series coming out and so thrilled for you!  He’s there, you just can’t see him.  And he still loves you and he’s probably wondering what in the world you’re fussing about.  You made him immortal, Judi.  He’ll never be gone.  He’s not leaving you.”

So, now I’m just going to cry.  I’m going to cry until I laugh.  I’m going to cry until it’s safe to tell myself, “Come on, Renee! She’s not gone!  She’s right there with Rudy and she’s cheering you on with the books and the new series.  You just can’t see her, but she’s immortal on those pages and she’ll never be gone.  And she’d kick you under the desk if she caught you crying… or she’d make a joke about the Chocolate Affaire and turn the tables…”

I’m out of tissue.  Still crying.  But I’ll get there.  Judi wouldn’t want to be remembered in a weep-fest.  She’d want me to wrap it up with one last joke about how I seem to be the only person on the planet who ever accused her of snoring.  Swear to God, she could peel the paint off the walls…  (See, Judi?  That one was for you.  We can argue about it later.)

I love you, Judi.

A couple of days ago the girls decided to get into the cat nip and needless to say, there was a little bit of a party.  Otter and Blue were wide-eyed with happiness at the generosity of my five year old as she filled a bowl and set it out “just for them.”  And by the time I found our older cat (nineteen years old!!) Bonkers in the living room, he was covered head to toe with the green herb of pure cat joy.  The two year old was sitting next to him, petting him and talking in her sing-song way and the animal that usually avoids toddlers/children like the plague was purring like a champ and “hanging out”.

On closer inspection, I realized he’d fallen asleep with his face in a pile of the stuff.

I asked all my FB friends if an overdose was something to worry about, but no alarms sounded.

What can I say?  They are fed and brushed.  Their “bathroom” gets cleaned a lot more regularly than my own (I’m a writer = terrible housekeeper) and their every meow is interpreted and responded to.  They sleep on MY BED during the day taking endless fantastical naps and have more toys to ignore than is moral.  And on top of all of that, they apparently get to legally and without judgement enjoy recreational drugs.

I’m rethinking how I want my afterlife to go.  I’m wondering if I should put in an application for “Reincarnation as House Cat”.

I’m wondering how amazingly saint-like I’ll have to be to earn a shot…hmmmm….

Too ambitious?  Should I put in for dog instead?

Okay, taking a break to vent because there’s a law against driving out into the national forest and leaving your DH out there with a water bottle, a sleeping bag and a flashlight.  There shouldn’t be, but I looked it up.  There’s a law.

Wow, that felt good.

Okay, back to the book.

So when he said “goats”, I’ll admit it.  I just nodded and said, “Yes, dear.  Goats are nice.”

Ummm.  So it appears that the goats arrive in the next few days.  And I have learned a valuable lesson about turning my back on the ocean.

So, now when he advised me that the chicken coop is next, I swear I sat up and started paying close attention.

Watch out, world.  I’m about to become a pioneer woman.

Hmmm, I wonder if I can redirect him to that cold fusion concept…

I never imagined having my small daughters sporting their “ink” and showing off for friends…like little mini-bikers on their plastic push cars….but here we are.

My secret goal is to make it “no big deal” so we don’t have a battle when they’re teenagers and asking for the real thing.  I can give them “the look” that says, “umm, isn’t that stuff for two year olds??”

I didn’t say it was a brilliant plan.

San Antonio Romance Authors – Feb. 6-10

Join me for an online seminar running for just a week with SARA on Feb. 6-10th!  I’ll be working directly with participants via the magic of the internet on believe it or not “Body Language”!!  As a writer’s tool (and sometimes sneaky enemy), we’ll address all the twists and turns that go into transmitting/translating body language and movement onto that page!  Challenging, yes.  Funny, I’m afraid, yes. Will there be frank discussions of tabs and slots, no avoiding it unless my students insist on it.  Lots to learn, always.  Come join me for a week of lessons and laughs and let us pray, great information on how to hone your craft.   Contact me if you’re interested in “attending” and I look forward to seeing you there!

Renee

Okay, let’s try this again.  Rather than just popping in and embarrassing myself on other people’s blogs (and thank you again everybody for the opportunity which I shamelessly plan on continuing to do whenever you ask) I  thought I’d “own” it… After all, if you’re going to be a goof-ball, you may as well own it, right??  So welcome, to the few of you who might find this.  And just to warn this small intimate circle, I don’t think I’ll edit much.  So when it’s a day where I’m pulling cheerios out of my cleavage (ah, the joys of motherhood!) or I am banging my head on my desk because the Scotsman has once again decided to “help” his darling wife with her deadlines by starting a construction project outside her window–you’re getting it all.

So for the (let’s be optimistic and say three) three of you who are reading this , WELCOME.  And for the big FAQs:

No, I am not currently taking any medications.

Yes, I hear voices in my head All The Time and more importantly, talk back to them and debate who gets to hang out with me next.

AND No, I don’t need any story ideas.  Really.  List of things I need: Vast.  Need for More Ideas in My Brain: Practically Non-existent.  But thank you for offering

Okay!  Blog on!

]]> http://www.reneebernardauthor.com/2012/01/10/seriously-im-blogging/feed/ 5 http://www.reneebernardauthor.com/2011/11/16/passion-wears-pearls/ http://www.reneebernardauthor.com/2011/11/16/passion-wears-pearls/#comments Wed, 16 Nov 2011 00:16:39 +0000 cosproductions http://www.reneebernardauthor.com/?p=104

Coming Soon!

After the darkness of a dungeon in India, artist Josiah Hastings found that years of imprisonment left his eyesight weak and failing. So when the fiery beauty of Miss Eleanor Beckett appears in his vision amidst the bleak grays of a London winter, he knows he’s found his muse and one last chance at a masterpiece…

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