Katy McKenna Raymond  
Personal blog of christian writer Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri


Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary

Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net

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So After You Sign With An Agent, Then What? (#1209)

Several people have emailed me (or written a message on my facebook wall) asking “Now that you’ve got an agent, when is your book coming out?” It’s such a typical question, I thought I’d address it here at fallible. After all, I know quite a number of you are writers and hope to be published one day. Why not make the waters a little less muddy?

Another comment came from one of my sisters, and I think it might be a common observation, as well. “I really don’t know what it means to have an agent.” It was hard for her to get very excited for me, because it seemed of very little consequence.

She may imagine it’s kind of like acquiring a real estate agent to sell your house. Typically, if you put a For Sale By Owner sign in your yard, you will be inundated with calls from agents wanting to list your house. As you are probably aware, it’s rarely the “listing agent” who actually ends up selling your house. The listing agent will be only one of several people who will split the commission when your house finally sells.

Getting a literary agent isn’t quite that easy, but it’s becoming ever more important to those who want to sell their manuscripts. Even a few years ago, many more publishing houses were open to looking at the work of unagented authors than are willing to now. It’s getting so the only way to get your manuscript in front of an acquiring editor is to meet with him in person at a writers conference, garnering his permission to forward your work at a later date.

But unless you are made of money and can attend many conferences per year, there are only so many editors you can realistically hope to chat up on your own. (During a typical three-day conference, an attendee gets to sign up for fifteen-minute meetings with one editor and one agent. Other contacts occur at meals, wandering the halls, in the elevator, but NOT in the bathroom! At least, SOMETHING is sacred!)

Many agents, however, will look at the work of unpublished authors, although even then they prefer it if you’ve met with them at a conference or if you come recommended to them by an author they know and trust.

The statistics I’ve read on the subject seem to indicate that agents, on average, end up representing 1% of all the submissions they see. So, yes, even signing with an agent is something of a long shot. But once you’ve signed, your chances of ultimately getting published increase dramatically. All of a sudden, publishers are willing to at least take a peek at your book, which is being presented to them by an agent who studies the markets for a living and knows what the different publishers are looking for at any given time.

Still, even with a great agent in your corner, there are no guarantees your book will find a home. My understanding from what I’ve read is that agents tend to sell approximately 50% of the books they attempt to place.

The way I look at it, that’s fantastic. Especially since, without an agent in my corner, I understood my chances of making a sale to be only 1%.

So, the answer to the big question of when my book will be published is “I have no idea…” I hope that’s not ALWAYS the answer, but while I’m waiting to see what happens with the book my agent now has in her hands, I will be writing the next one.

‘Cause THAT’S what happens when you sign with an agent!

Posted by Katy on 03/15/08
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Kathryn Harris, Come On Down!! (#1208)

Hey, Kathryn! You have won a free copy of Michael Snyder’s fun novel, My Name Is Russell Fink. Congratulations! Email me with your postal address, and I’ll ship your prize to you.

Thanks to everyone who commented, and a special thanks again to Mike. What a great sport, and an awesome author!

Posted by Katy on 03/15/08
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Michael Snyder Is WAY More Than Michael Number Five Of The Michaels Who Comment Here! (#1207)

I’m betting a few of you know about debut fiction author Michael Snyder and his wonderful novel, My Name Is Russell Fink.

Let me say, first of all, that when I met Mike at an American Christian Fiction Writers Conference in Nashville a couple of years ago, I was instantly smitten. Not in a weird-crush kind of way, but in an excited-to-see-what’s-gonna-happen-with-him kind of way. Mike has one of my all-time favorite personalities: a well-proportioned mix of LOL funny, self-deprecating, humble, and audacious. He says and writes stuff no one else could get away with, and does it with aplomb.

And maybe even a plum, I don’t know. Of all the things we discussed, we managed not to get into fruits.

There’s something else you should know, too. I asked Mike about a month ago if he would like to appear here on fallible, after his book hit the market and I’d had a chance to read it. He agreed. By then, I’d gotten an agent, and had a March 1 deadline by which I needed to have my finished manuscipt in her hands.

“I won’t even be able to read Russell Fink until after my deadline,” I said, hoping that wasn’t too late for him in terms of getting the good word out about his book on a timely basis.

“That’s great,” he said. “Anytime will be fine.”

Then, as you know, my mother became critically ill, which meant I needed a bit longer to finish my work. So Michael waited, but as it turns out, he had a terrible turn of events happening in his life, too. On February 16, his 47-year old brother died completely unexpectedly. I did not know this until Mike and I reconnected this morning.

Some of my interview questions actually refer to the death-of-a-sibling thread that runs through his novel, since I have also had a brother die and have been deeply affected by it my whole life long. As you read our interview, please know that I asked the questions without knowing about Mike’s brother, and he answered them with grace, compassion, and his trademark wit.

Katy: I am not a fan of discussion questions in the backs of novels. Reading them only makes me want to discuss how awful they are. But your discussion questions ALONE are worth the price of the book. Here is your own Discussion Question Number Two. Please answer it for us: “If someone told you to quit your current job to do something you really love (like Dr. K. advises Russell in your book), would you do it? What if the thing you really love to do is to scam people in the name of God?”

Mike: I guess one could argue that my job as a novelist for a Christian publisher really is to scam people in the name of God, right? I mean, I’m trying to get people to believe a made-up story.

Katy: Just so you know, I totally believed it. But I’m easy that way….

Mike: As hokey as it sounds, my ideal job would involve helping people, encouraging people, and writing. So really, between my day job as a manufacturer’s rep and my other job as a novelist, I get to scratch all those itches with some regularity. I do try to avoid scratching in public though.

Katy: I’ll go ahead and admit that I don’t know what kind of products you sell. But I do know this: in Russell Fink, you helped and encouraged me through your writing alone. Seriously, the whole time I was laughing, I was applying the story’s truths to my own life and heart. So if you were only selling books, I’d be a happy customer.

Mike: To actually answer the question however, I’m mostly content—or at least as content as we humans can be on this side of eternity. I’m an unrelenting realist, so it’s hard to imagine that the vocational grass is greener anywhere else. Although I did read a story just today about this company that sells these very cool handmade shoes, then uses one hundred percent of the profits to pay for heart surgeries for kids in Iraq. That’s a pretty darn good example of missional living.

Katy: Speaking of a man on a mission, Russell Fink seems to be on a mission of perpetuating his funky case of survivor’s guilt. He is a fully adult man who believes he “gave” his twin sister cancer when they were kids. I share this trait with Russell. Not the giving my twin sister cancer trait, but the survivor’s guilt trait. My older brother died when we were little, and I swear I’ve felt guilty about it every day of my bloomin’ life.

Mike: If I had to pick one thing that defines Russell’s odd batch of neuroses, it would be this belief about “killing” his sister. You could call this misguided belief a crutch, a shield, or even a security blanket.

Katy: In Russell’s mind, maybe if he takes the blame, it keeps him from blaming others—like his father or God. No matter, it stops him from moving forward.

Mike: We all have something (or someplace or someone) we’d rather plug our umbilical cords into. But if a Snickers candy bar merely satisfies, God satiates. He quenches, fulfills, forgives, loves, embraces, and even tickles us. We just forget—or refuse—to go there.

Katy: Russell does seem rather adept at avoiding God, huh?

Mike: In Russell’s case, as sad and painful as the death of his sister is, it’s still his favorite excuse. It’s way more convenient to convince himself he’s not worthy of anything better—work, art, relationships with girls, parents, or even Jesus—than to actually do and say (and eventually pray) the right things. Wow, that all sounds way more preachy than the actual novel, no?

Katy: That’s the beauty of Russell Fink—there’s no preaching! Russell’s father, who was a faith-healer at the time his own daughter died, also feels responsible for the family tragedy. He and Russell have been estranged for many years, and barely communicate on even a shallow level. But I nearly cried when Russell’s dad tells him, in a moment of seeing things clearly, that “When something bad happens, it’s not always someone’s fault.”

Mike: Man, I wish I could remember writing that. And I wish I were joking about not being able to remember.

Katy: Trust me, you wrote it. “When something bad happens, it’s not always someone’s fault.” This is a hard truth for both Russell and his father, and for me, too. How did you come up with it?

Mike: Forgive me while I stall around for a second with one of my pet theories…I’ve been accused of saying funny things from time to time.

Katy: I would think so.

Mike:  And I don’t deny it because I love to say or write things that make people laugh. However…I try to never claim credit for creating funny things. Rather, I think there all just sort of floating around out there in the ether waiting to be observed and articulated.

Katy: That said, you are quite the amazing observor and articulator.

Mike: Thank you, Katy! I really do prefer themes in literature that sort of happen organically. This little nugget from Russell’s dad, I think, may be one of those things. When that line was born, I’m pretty sure the muse had taken over and I was merely the resident typist.

Katy: That’s a job I’ve always wanted. Nice work if you can get it. 

Mike: But you’re right. It is a hard truth. One that I haven’t thought about in a while, which surprises me some because my brother passed away less than a month ago. That was a very bad thing. And frankly, the only one to “blame” would be God. And I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea.

Katy: I am so sorry about your loss, Mike. It makes me wonder if, in real life, we don’t sometimes try to “protect” God from blame by taking guilt upon ourselves. Not the best plan, either. I am sure your brother would have loved My Name Is Russell Fink.

Mike: You wanna know a cool irony about my brother? His Name Is Russell Snyder.

Katy: I’ve gotta think he loved that your character shared his name. Now, another irony: You use several words in your text that I have also used in my first novel. For example: behemoth and confection. I believe you also have at least one use of the word plethora. Explain.

Mike: Okay, but you won’t like it…My agent and I negotiated a deal with the entire book industry, basically garnering exclusive rights to all three-syllable words in the English language. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to report that all three of the words you mentioned are on the list.

Katy: Are my precious two-syllable words still safe?

Mike: You owe me money, Katy. Isn’t that cool? (For me anyway…)

Katy: Hey, I bought two of your novels, buddy!

Mike: My cash register dings every time you write your last name! McKenna, McKenna, McKenna!

Katy: I’m feeling a bit nauseous, not to mention broke, but it could be psychosomatic. Which reminds me: Russell’s hypochondria is also typical of those suffering survivor’s guilt, I think. We pretty much believe we owe it to the world to be croaking on a timely basis. At one point, Russell says (after a girl offers him her phone number) that “the lead ball of fatalism pounds my insides, reminding me how little time I have left to live.” Are you reading my mind, or what?

Mike: Yes, I am! And I’m happy to report the plethora of three-syllable words pinballing around in there too! Writing a hypochondriac was fun. I just hope it wasn’t over the top or anything.

Katy: I found it quite realistic. But then, I would…

Mike: The thing with Russell’s moles is semi-autobiographical. I really did have a doctor say “Oops!” while filleting one of my pectorals (if you can call them that…they feel more like water balloons these days). It was one of the only times I yelled at someone in authority over me.

Katy: Really? You are obviously not a child of the ‘60s.

Mike: And it was the only time I ever yelled at a guy with a scalpel in his hand! I think my voice cracked and I yelled something brilliant like, “Don’t say ‘oops’!”

Katy: I am not quite to the end of My Name is Russell Fink. I’d really like to know if Russell gets the girl and if so, which one. He is weirdly wired and wonderful, and deserves true love. Will he find it?

Mike: I wish I could tell you but I can’t. It is interesting when people want to know about events that happen to Russell and his pals after The End. But I have to say, I really don’t know. In fact, I had this conversation with a fellow the other night. He was vamping along on one of the themes of Russell Fink when I noticed he was talking about Geri’s (the love interest, for those of you who have not yet read the book) health situation after the end of the written story. My friend’s foregone conclusion was different than the one in my head.

Katy: For the sake of your future interviews, Geri’s health is completely restored. Seriously, don’t you think?

Mike: I think that’s the beauty of writing and reading fiction. We read the same book, were both moved by it, but came away with totally different experiences and assumptions of “Life After Russell.” And that’s okay by me. I like fiction that asks more questions than it answers.

Katy: I agree, Mike. Keep ‘em asking and thinking and laughing and crying, just like you do with Russell Fink.

Mike: See? You’re like great fiction that way…some really good questions. Thanks for letting me play along!

Katy: Mike, thank you so much for sharing with my fallible readers!! We truly appreciate you joining us here.

And now, I am giving away a completely unlaughed over and unwept upon copy of My Name Is Russell Fink to one of the randomly chosen commenters on this post. I’ll probably wait 48 hours or so before choosing a winner. So get your comments in, and enjoy one of my very fave authors, Michael Snyder.

Posted by Katy on 03/12/08
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So What Do You Suppose It Means When Your Entire BOOK Flashes Before Your Eyes? (#1206)

If you’ve had a near-death experience, you may have had your whole life flash before your eyes. My younger sister, after a dreadful surgery, actually had her on-the-brink life appear in snippets, each tiny still-life contained in a fragment of a rapidly turning kaleidescope.

I’ve never had that happen, several near-death experiences notwithstanding. But last night, after shipping a hard copy of my finished book off to my agent (and after Doug took me out to a fantastic steak place to celebrate), I fell into a fitful sleep. All through the night, each and every scene of my story flashed before my eyes.

There are maybe 100 scenes in the book, and I swear I saw them play out in order. Very bizarre.

Any guesses what THAT might mean? Please do not respond if you’re inclined to believe that the interpretation is the likely near-death experience of my future in publishing.  :)

All that to say that I’m thrilled beyond words to have gotten this far, and grateful for the constant encouragement my fallible friends have faithfully shared.

Thank you, one and all!!

Posted by Katy on 03/06/08
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Sunday Morning Coming Down (#1205)

Mom was moved into a nursing home yesterday, but that is not a subject for The Lord’s Day, is it?

No. A subject for The Lord’s Day is Doug.

I just went in to awaken him. I’ve been up for eons, but Doug is not one to rise without a bit of encouragement.

“It’s nearly twenty till eight,” I said. “You’ll want to be getting up if you plan to go to church.”

He rolled over, looked at the clock, and said, “It’s 7:37.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“No, you said twenty till eight. There’s a difference. In the MORNING, it sounds much better if you say it with the 7 than with the 8.”

“But it’s the same thing.”

“No, Katy. It’s very, very different.”

This is the second new and very extremely weird thing I’ve learned about my husband of 31 years in the past couple of weeks. Here is the other:

If I decide on a complete whim to flip the roll of toilet paper so that it’s hanging against the wall rather than the correct way, Doug will flip it forward the next time he’s in the bathroom.

Then, if I flip it again (ten minutes later) just to see what he’ll do (remember, we are the ONLY TWO PEOPLE in this house), he will return it to the correct position on his next visit.

Furthermore, if he hears me laughing uproariously from the vicinity of the toitie multiple times per day over a five-day period, he will NOT ask me why I’m laughing.I guess he figures I’ve got a new issue of Reader’s Digest or something.

And when I cannot bear the hysterics any longer and confess that I’ve been flipping the TP for five days, he will admit that IT NEVER OCCURRED to him that ANYONE was switching it up—only that it was hung incorrectly.

I hope you have enjoyed this little peek into the lives of an empty nesting couple. Now, I’ve got to go give Doug another wake-up nudge.

It’s five minutes till eight.

Posted by Katy on 03/02/08
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Part Trois (#1204)

Late Sunday night, at 1 am, my sister Liz lay on my mother’s couch, listening to Mom’s frightening sleep-apnea-induced snoring and gasping. (Mom is non-compliant as far as wearing her c-pap apparatus). Suddenly, Mom’s breathing started coming in shorter, stranger snippets.

Liz went out to the nurse’s station and asked the nurse to come listen to Mom breathe. The nurse turned on Mom’s bedroom light and together they found her in the middle of a grand mal seizure. Grand with a capital G.

The nurse called 911, and the paramedics were there, for the second time that night, within approximately 60 seconds. Liz called me and said, “They can’t find any vitals. Get to the hospital as fast as you can.”

Doug and I had a 45-minute drive this time, but it took us maybe 20. They would not let us into Mom’s room for the first 1.5 hours, she was so unstable. Liz had seen enough and would not go into her room for quite a long time after we were allowed. Mom’s heart rate was 165, her temp was 103.7, her blood pressure was low and falling. Her O2 stats were pathetic. Her breathing was so bizarrely labored that we did not know how her body continued the effort. Her chest x-ray and EKG looked great, but everything else? Yikes.

There wasn’t a bed in the hospital to be had for love or money. She spent 18 hours in the ER before a bed became available in pulmonary. During that time, the ER doc asked to see DNR papers and an advanced directive (she has the first but not the second), because he felt certain the need to be put on life support was fast approaching, if that’s what she wanted.

Mom would never make a direct decision about life support when she was in her right mind, so my brother and I (who are her powers-of-attorney) had to go on record with the hospital that she is not to be put on a respirator. Thank God, we both agreed about this.

Tuesday was one of the most fascinating days of our lives. My sister Bridget chronicled some of the things Mom said, but all five of us, including my brother John, witnessed the insanity. Whether we die laughing or crying when we read over her comments now depends upon our frame of mind, I guess.

I will not disprespect my mother by repeating any of her inappropriate language in this space, but I am very grateful that it seems to have moderated. It was probably attributable to her extremely high blood sugars. What I feared was that perhaps the seizure had altered a frontal lobe in her brain, the one responsible for inhibitions.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure every one on earth wants their mother to have a few inhibitions!  ;)

When some parts of her conditions stabilized, others rose up to taunt us. Her blood sugar rose to 500 and stayed there for two days, no matter what they tried. Plus, she went into respiratory failure, and was found to have renal insufficiency, hypercalcemia (when the calcium in your bones leaches into your blood), and e coli. Tuesday night, because of all these issues, they transfered her to ICU—the only area in the hospital where they could do an insulin drip.

By last night, her blood sugars were much better and so she was moved yet again to a med-surg floor. Today, someone (a nurse or doctor in another unit, I guess) had asked for a psych consult, so I got to answer all that doc’s questions (out in the hallway…) since Mom thinks she’s at the Ritz and is, according to the good doc, “delusional.”

And so, my friends, am I. OK, maybe not delusional. I’m pretty sure I’ve still got a toe-hold on reality. But sometimes, it feels like just barely. Nevertheless, I am certain of the faithfulness, love, and kindness of God. I’m clinging to Him with all my soul.

If Mom makes it out of the hospital (she hasn’t made it out of the bed yet…), I am certain we are in for another nursing home stay. Then we will see if she can safely transfer back into the assisted living setting. She’s not a happy girl in any way, shape, or form, but when in a nursing home, she is downright miserable. And she pretty much takes me down with her, big girl that she is.

That’s all I have to say about this. Any and all prayers for my mother are GREATLY appreciated.

I need prayer, too. I’ve gotten exhausted this week (the daily migraines aren’t helping) and unfortunately, Mom always seems to have a lot more where this came from.

Posted by Katy on 02/28/08
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Mama Land, Part Deux (#1203)

Because Doug and I had been at Mom’s for three hours before she actually left her facility in the ambulance, my sisters Liz and Mary took the next shift.

They were in the ER for five hours or so on Sunday night. Sure enough, Mom had another UTI. They started her on antibiotics and sent her home. Liz and Mary scared me to death (and yet, I live…) when they said Mom could not take a single step from the ER gurney to the wheelchair. She had to be lifted, then lifted again into Liz’s car.

Mary called me when they were on their way back to Mom’s to tell me this.

“How will you get her into her apartment?” I asked, always one to foresee the end from the beginning. “And will one of you spend the night with her?”

“We don’t know how we’ll get her in,” Mary said, “But Liz is staying with her.”

It never occured to me from then until now to ask how they got her into her place, undressed, and into bed.

But I thank the dear Lord that Liz didn’t leave.

Posted by Katy on 02/28/08
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A Week In The Life: A Serial Account, Due To The Frequent Timing Out Of The Wifi (#1202)

It all started (sure, it did…) on Sunday afternoon. A nurse at my mother’s assisted living facilty called me to say Mom hadn’t been feeling well all day.

“But I just checked her vital signs, and they are all good,” she said.

I waited upwards of 30 seconds before calling Mom’s room. She was completely incoherent. Doug and I arrived at her place within 15 minutes, a much shorter trip than if we hadn’t broken the law by speeding.

Upon seeing her, I was instantly on red alert. She could not lift her head from the bed, where she lay mostly naked. She could not utter more than two words in a row, and those words made no sense. I felt her forehead. Dear God.

I called the new nurse on duty to take her temp. The nurse who called me, claiming her vitals were good, had not charted a temp for her. How charming.

Immediately suspecting another UTI, since she’s had two recently although she did not run a temp with them, I had the nurse call the doc to authorize a run to the ER. The doc on call said, essentially, that it would be up to me to decide, but that it was OK with her. Huh?????

So I decided. I always decide. I am often considered to be overreacting. However, I rarely am.

Because the nurse considered Mom’s trip to the ER to be a non-emergency, she expressed it that way to the paramedics. It took them 1.5 hours to arrive. I thought we’d be going 5 minutes down the road to the hospital she always goes to. It took me the full 1.5 hours to get her dressed and her hair combed.

When the EMTs arrived, they said she’d be going to St. Luke’s or no where at all. It’s a 30 minute ride from Mom’s place, but EVERY ER in the KC metro between here and there was shut down to new patients. Overflow crowds all over town. The craziest thing I’d ever witnessed.

At least, up until then.

Trust me, a lot can happen in four days.

Posted by Katy on 02/28/08
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Testing The Wifi From…You Guessed It…The Hospital (#1201)

Don’t know if I can successfully post from beautiful St. Luke’s Hospital on the historic Country Club Plaza in Kansas City or not.

If this works, I’ll post more…...

Posted by Katy on 02/28/08
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Agents Are Funny People, Too (#1200)

You may have noticed that there has been a veritable dearth of blogging going on here at fallible. If you are a long-time reader, you may also remember that I have referred to a “veritable dearth” of blogging on at least one other occasion in the past seven plus years. It happens, sometimes. And when it does, I love nothing better than to refer to it as exactly what it is: a veritable dearth.

Believe me, I will be posting something of substance again soon. Because tons of substantive stuff is going on. Really. Why, just three days ago, Doug and I celebrated our 31st wedding anniversary. Except for, we didn’t celebrate. Actually, we skipped out on Valentine’s Day, too. But we did so happily, and with a vision for a future celebration, not too many days hence, which will more than make up for it.

When Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary offered to be my literary agent on Tuesday, February 5, 2008, at 4:30 p.m. Central Time, she said she would not be able to read the rest of my novel (she’d read three chapters) until March 1. So, since that hour, I have spent every waking minute and most of the sleeping ones getting my book in the best shape I can.

So that’s my excuse for not blogging much, but what I want to share is one of the first things Rachelle said during our phone call that day. It threw me completely, and until she explained what she meant, I was my typical fallible self.

“I want to read that scene,” she said.

I knew she’d already read many more scenes from my novel, so I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I don’t understand…Which scene?”

“The one you say you’ve used to pitch agents, in your blog post called ‘An Open Letter To All The Remaining Literary Agents I’ve Not Yet Contacted.’”

It’s really bad when you have to ask the woman who might be about to offer you representation what the heck you wrote in your own blog post, but um…I had to ask her.

“You indicated that you’ve got exactly one scene written, and you sure aren’t going to go to the trouble of writing more unless someone signs you. I wanna see that scene!”

You know what’s crazy about spoofy Open Letters To Literary Agents? It could actually happen, because of the kookiness known as the Internet, that The Agent who ends up representing you READS THAT LETTER.

So, if you’re going to write one, make it memorable. And it wouldn’t hurt to write a really good scene, either.

Posted by Katy on 02/22/08
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It’s The Meme Thing! (#1199)

My new friend Christa Allen tagged me to do a meme. Because I felt an instant kinship upon my online meeting with her, I agreed.

Here are the instructions: “Find the book that is nearest to you. Turn to page 123. Read five sentences, then write the next three. It must be the book NEAREST you right now. No cheating!!!”

It was the “No cheating!!!” clause that got me. Ever since I read the meme rules, I’ve been tempted to cheat my brains out.

The book nearest to me did not happen to be The Holy Bible. Or “My Utmost for His Highest.” Or any other devotional-type book, like one by Max Lucado or something.

What can I say? I’m afraid I keep Dave Barry nearby. Garrison Keillor is close, too. And others of their ilk.

So I almost cheated. I found Utmost on my shelf and nearly presented you with Oswald Chambers’ profound insights on surrendering utterly to God’s will, after which I would have expounded on how it must be more than coincidental that his words so perfectly reflect what God is doing in my life right this minute.

But I couldn’t go through with it. Instead, I offer you lines from the book actually nearest me. And believe me, fallible readers, these are words to live by just as certainly as if I were reading something…else.

“A reader once wrote to Ann Landers asking her advice about what she should do if a married man had a heart attack while having sex with her in the bed. Do you have any idea what the odds are of that happening? About the same as Mister Rogers dancing on the table with Madonna.” Erma Bombek, All I Know About Animal Behavior I Learned in Loehmann’s Dressing Room

So there you have it. No cheating!!! Anybody else wanna play?

Posted by Katy on 02/19/08
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Flummoxed (#1198)

Without checking your online dictionaries or consulting your linguist sons (You do have one of those, don’t you? Because I sure do…), I’m hoping you’ll answer my pop quiz for the day.

My question concerns the usage of the words ingulge and endulge.

To my mind, the difficulty here is the same as with the words insure and ensure. I was taught (and still practice) that insure is only used as a verb if one is literally speaking about an insurance product. “I’ve decided to insure my car with Geico.” In all cases in which a verb is not meant to convey the idea of procuring insurance, the correct word is ensure. “I’d like to ensure that I use the correct word.”

My understanding of indulge and endulge is similar. Unless the Sisters of Saint Joseph of Carondelet were sadly mistaken, one should use endulge as a verb, and indulge…not. A correct usage, therefore, would be to say, “I think it’s about time for me to endulge in an indulgence.”

What say you?? Did the nuns and my British father ruin me for the language? It wouldn’t matter to me so much, except I’m about to endulge in shipping my book off to my agent and, well, these things matter.

So what do you think? Please, endulge me in a little indulgence.

Posted by Katy on 02/16/08
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Bath Day For The Moms (#1197)

“Who ratted me out?” It’s my mom on the phone. She’s furious, but I’m thinking you knew that.

We’ve been having a lot of trouble recently with the facility where my mother lives. So, conversations with the staff members and director are ongoing. One thing that needs to happen is a method needs to be established for verifying when/whether Mom is actually receiving the services she is paying for.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mom…Um, hold on for just a second. The other line is ringing.”

“Yes, this is the nurse at your mother-in-law’s facility. Adele won’t stop arguing with us about her bath. You need to call her—now.”

“Give me thirty seconds,” I say to the nurse, before switching back to my other Bathing Beauty.

Mom takes up where she left off. No memory loss whatsoever, at least not on this subject.

“You do, too, know what I mean! When Cha-Cha came in here to give me my bath—”

“Cha-Cha?” Sometimes, I have to take my laughs where I can get them.

“You heard me,” Mom says. “Cha-Cha tried to get me to sign a card to prove I was gettin’ a bath. Like I was a little kid or something.”

I’ll tell you right now, my mother is deathly afraid of water. She has panic attacks on Bath Day, for fear the dreadful stuff might splash on her face. The attendants can barely coerce Mom in and out, and it only happens twice a week. Less often, if Mom has her way.

Plus, Mom’s paranoid. She thinks we tattle on her when she’s naughty, instead of that we’re holding the facility accountable to meet her needs. She thinks if she’s having a sad day and sheds a tear, she’ll get reported. And that then they’ll put her out on the street.

Of course, just because she’s paranoid doesn’t mean everyone isn’t out to get her.

“Stay on the phone, Mom. I’ve got to use the other line. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not signin’ anything, either, bath or no bath.” Some days, Mom’s humor strikes me as dry.

I dial my mother-in-law’s number. “Adele, the nurse says you’re being stubborn.”

“I wanna take a bath. Without help. ALONE.”

“You know it’s too slippery. That’s why you need help…”

“I DON’T need help. I WANNA TAKE MY BATH ALONE!”

Adele loves her nurses, and she’d hate it if she caused any of them to get in trouble. That’s how I’m gonna play this when I get back to her.

“Can you stay on the line for just a minute?” I ask. “Don’t turn on the shower yet, OK?”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU.” I hate to say it, but I could almost picture her fingers stuffed into her ears.

I switch back to my mother. “Mom, think about this. We’re just trying to make sure you get everything you’re paying for.”

“You ratted me out.” Dang if she didn’t sound like Jimmy Cagney. “I’ll have you know I’ve never had a dirty day in my life.”

“Congratulations. You ain’t gonna have a dirty day today, either.”

Then I pushed Adele’s button, in more ways than one.

“I’m getting in that bathtub by myself NOW, and you can’t stop me.” Adele is modest. Stubborn and modest. She abhors nakedness as much as my mother despises clothing.

“It’s the nurse’s job to help you. If you don’t let her do her job, she might get fired. Wouldn’t that be awful?”

“I don’t care! I wanna take my bath ALONE!”

“If you don’t let the nurse help you, I’m going to have to come over there and help you myself,” I say.

“Oh, no you don’t. I will NOT let you see me nak-nak-nak…” She can’t even say it, much less do it.

I put on my best Cagney voice, learned from my mom, the master. “Oh, yeah? Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

Two Moms. Two phone lines. Two baths. And me.

I believe my work here is done.

Posted by Katy on 02/13/08
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A Very Super Tuesday For One Fallible Woman (#1196)

OK, in my previous post called The Evolution of the Rejection Letter, I kind of neglected to mention something.

But as of right this minute, I am abandoning my neglectful ways! I have a story to tell you, and—even though I’m still so thrilled I can hardly see straight—I’m reasonably sure it’s all true.

Around January 1, coinciding with the time I was busy dropping out of the Psych classes I’d enrolled in largely because of frustration with my stalled writing career, I got an email from a dear author buddy.

“Send me your proposal and three chapters,” she said, “and I’ll forward them on to an agent friend of mine.”

Now, if you’ve ever tried to get an agent (I’ve made four previous attempts), you may realize that a referral from a respected author can make a big difference. I didn’t want to blow this chance, so I worked on my chapters yet again until I felt like they were in really good shape. Then I flinched and hit “send.”

Last Friday, my friend cc’d me a copy of the email she sent to the agent. She’d included a short but VERY sweet comment about me. I would say it made me blush, but unless I’m looking in a mirror seeing red, that would be an unacceptable use of point-of-view. Ha.

Anyway, since then Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary has read my materials, emailed, and called me on the phone.

“Send me the rest of your book,” she said, after we talked more than an hour. “But I won’t be able to read it until March 1.”

I spoke over her as she continued to talk, and when I realized it, I said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

And she laughed and then said very seriously, “Katy. Listen. To. Me. I am offering you representation.”

Then I said something stupid like, “Um…starting when?”

And she said, “I’ll get the agreement in the mail in the next couple of weeks, but I’d like to be your agent starting today.”

I was stunned half to death. (Maybe further, it’s hard to say. Death is funny like that.) We chatted some more about how to get the rest of my book ready to submit and then I said, “Rachelle, I have to ask this directly, so there’s no confusion. What EXACTLY do I say when I’m telling my friends and family and fallible readers what’s just happened during this conversation?”

And SHE said the most delightful words I’ve heard, maybe, EVER. “Tell them, I HAVE AN AGENT.”

So that’s what I’m telling you! Let it ring from the fallible rooftop: 

!!!!!!  I HAVE AN AGENT !!!!!!

Thanks to all of you who have continued to believe that maybe SOMEDAY this might actually happen for me. Your encouragement means so much!

And Rachelle, it’s my highest hope to do you proud.

Posted by Katy on 02/06/08
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My Favorite YouTube Ever (#1195)

Posted by Katy on 02/06/08
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