Tag Archive for: Evelyn David

Oh for Goodness Sakes

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Fair warning: Another judgmental blog.

According to Whoopi Goldberg, Jesse James may have simply been searching for “something different” outside his marriage to Sandra Bullock. On her TV show, The View, she explained, “Hey, listen, I did it five or six times … Yes, I screwed around. Yes, while I was married. I made those mistakes too, yeah. It happens sometimes. It happens. Maybe he was trying to find something different too.”

Well, okay, then. As long as he found what he needed, then the detritus left in the wake of this marital betrayal, the humiliated wife and devastated children, are just unfortunate casualties.

We’ve all been subjected to way too much information about men in the public eye and their mistresses. I’m always left thinking that these guys have too much time on their hands and too much money to waste. I’m not naïve enough to think that men working two jobs and still barely making ends meet aren’t capable of cheating. But maybe if you didn’t have so much household help that frees you from the necessary, but not glamorous jobs required to keep the home fires burning, maybe you’d have less time to dream up loathsome costumes for you and your honey to wear. And please Mr. James, don’t tell me how your Jewish godfather gave you the Nazi hat, so that makes it okay. Rule number one: it’s never okay to wear Nazi uniforms or tattoo swastikas on your body. No exceptions.

When my kids were little, my husband and I spent our evenings doing homework with them (Oy, that second grade project of the planetary system hanging off a wire hangar mobile); or arguing with them over what constituted a sufficient number of green beans that needed to be consumed by children under ten at dinner; or making hundreds of rice krispie treats to be sold at bake sales that would finance something (a class trip, a charity, the school play). In other words, being covered in marshmallow goop was time-consuming, messy, and yes, sometimes fun, but in any case, always used up any spare time that might have been spent on outside nookie.

And not only have these men found the time to fool around, but heck they’re going for world records in having multiple mistresses simultaneously. And the subtle implication that Mr. James was lonely because his wife was in Alabama filming what would turn out to be the biggest role of her life – um, if you’re lonely, pick up a book and read it. Or better yet, pick up several and read them to your kids.

But in any case, I think I can safely speak for many of the Stiletto Faithful when I ask, nay demand, that all these folks should shut up. I don’t want to hear any more public apologies, nor do I want to hear any more demands for personal apologies from mistresses who feel betrayed by their lovers. None of this should be played out in the media – and nobody should be making a buck from this sordid mess (hear that Gloria Allred?).

Indignantly yours,

Marian (the Northern half of Evelyn David)

Abridging Freedom of Speech

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I would like to offer up an amendment to the constitution of the United States. It would tweak the 1st Amendment to abridge the freedom of speech in the following ways and circumstances:

1. No individual or group, especially those claiming to have God on their side, are allowed to protest, disrupt, or interfere with a funeral. Don’t believe it’s happening? Click here.

2. No senator or representative is allowed to heckle the President of the United States during a State of the Union address.

3. Politicians, entertainers, sports figures, religious leaders, and other public figures are barred from making any public reference to any type of “rehab.”

4. No mistress can insist on a public apology from her paramour because he lied to her. Lying is the very foundation of an affair. Corollary: No mistress can hire Gloria Allred to represent her interests in a public discussion of said affair.

5. The word “Maverick” and any form of that word is banned from any usage that doesn’t directly involve livestock or James Garner.

6. The phrase, “Yes, we can” should be immediately retired from political statements and speeches. Just because we “can” doesn’t mean we should or will.

7. [You fill in the blank. What words would you like to hear less of?]

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Welcome to the Matzoh Ball

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Tonight is the first seder. I’ve been cooking and cleaning for weeks. Even the recent Noreaster that tore through my town and left me without power for five days couldn’t put a dent in my holiday spirit. I confess I was momentarily panicked when the lights first went out. I had gallons of chicken soup in the freezer. I could put up with reading by candlelight, freezing showers, and indoor temps of 40 degrees. But lose my soup? Heck no. Thankfully a friend had an extra refrigerator in her basement, an empty freezer, and best of all, power. Passover was saved.

This year we are having 25 family and friends join us for the first seder, 14 for the second one. It’s a bit daunting, but the part that keeps me going is the joy and love I feel when I look around the room. I delight in all the singing, praying, laughing, and eating! I kvell, Yiddish for swoon, at the wide-eyed enchantment on the faces of the children.

The search for the Afikomen (a piece of matzoh that is hidden during the seder) is one of the highlights of the night. The matzoh is put in a little pouch, made by one of my sons when he was in nursery school, and then hidden by the adults. Once the kids find it, they hold it “ransom” because according to tradition, we cannot complete the seder without it. “Heavy duty negotiating” ensues, until a “fair price” is set – usually either a few dollars or a small gift. As the kids get older, you’ll see the teenagers “help” the younger ones hold out for a good prize. My husband and I often joke that we knew two of our sons would be good lawyers given their Afikomen negotiating skills!

And the food – Oy, the food. Five courses and my kids would seriously object if I attempted to eliminate any of them – even if they personally don’t eat some of the delicacies. Two of my four wouldn’t touch a piece of gefilte fish with a six-foot pole, yet they’d be the first to express horror at the very concept of omitting that course from the seder menu. Listening to my kids, I can almost hear the chorus from Fiddler on the Roof singing “Tradition!” I ask you, Stiletto Faithful, regardless of which holidays you observe, do your children cling more to tradition than you do?

And it’s not just the age-old traditions. I mean the ones that I added a couple of times over the years and have now been informed are set in concrete. Luckily, I looked back at my blog from two years ago and found a recipe for Persian Charoset – something I had entirely forgotten, but which son number two told me was always a family tradition (um, what family was he in?). Anyway, I’m making it, as always!

All best wishes for a Zissen Pesach (a sweet Passover) – and a wondrous spring.

Marian (the matzoh ball-making Northern Half of Evelyn David)

Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Some Basic Rules

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I know that my daughter (and yours) already understands these concepts, but apparently Rielle Hunter did not, so I’ll spell them out.

1. If you take off your pants in front of a photographer, he’s not shooting a headshot. It makes you look even dumber than dirt when you then complain that his focus was elsewhere.

2. If you have an affair with a married man and get pregnant, don’t then tell the world in an interview that he wanted you to have an abortion. It makes you heartless when you consider that an already rocky, if not impossible, father-daughter relationship will forever be tainted by the information you provided. (Corollary Rules: anything put in print is in print forever; if it has ever been on the Internet, it can always be found. Kids, stop sharing stupid photos on Facebook).

3. If you have a child, and this applies to homewreckers and politicians alike, don’t photograph her for a magazine spread as part of a campaign to “humanize” you. That’s not your kid’s job. Bad enough she has to grow up with the craziness of two self-centered parents.

4. If the man is still married, don’t describe your love affair as “till death do you part.” It’s just tacky (although you may not have a clear grasp of what’s tacky).

Since I’m in a judgmental, but helpful mood, I’ll add the following: if the rumors about Jesse James, husband of recent Oscar winner Sandra Bullock are true, here’s a tip: if your intended extramarital love object has more tattoos on her face than eyes, don’t expect her to be discreet. Corollary Rule: If she is featured on an adult web site, don’t be surprised if nothing is “sacred” between the two of you.

And last rule for the day for those who stray: If your annual income has more than six figures (or you’re married to someone who earns that much), and you troll in bars for company, here’s the bottom line: money talks, fast and loud. Are you listening, Tiger? There may only be fifteen minutes of fame allotted to those who have sex and tell, but they can be a lucrative 900 seconds if you play your cards right. Ugh.

Judgmentally yours,
Marian (the Northern half of Evelyn David)

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

My Common Cold Diary

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Friday – March 5, 2010
The world gave me several signs that I should never have gotten out of bed. A dropped contact lens, a broken glass … One of a set I purchased at Overstock.com and have had to buy a replacement set. Love the way they look, but if you even tap them with disrespect, they shatter. I hate to give up on a relationship, but … Skipping ahead to my drive to work – four blocks from my destination, the radio went dead. I thought it was probably the radio station. NPR always has transformer problems and it seems like it’s time for a pledge drive. I hate that week. I always feel really guilty for listening without making a donation. But it wasn’t the radio station that was the problem. Only seconds after the radio stopped, so did my turn signals, my power windows, and my fuel gauge did a happy dance. I avoided my usual stop at McDonalds for coffee and headed straight into the office parking lot. So in summary, by noon my day was less than stellar. A highlight was my Dad who came and fixed my car (needed a new alternator). Thanks, Dad. During the afternoon I worked on a powerpoint presentation I was giving the following Wednesday. Little did I know that the secretary helping me, the secretary that everyone thought was recovering from a mild case of the sniffles, was really “Typhoid Mary” in disguise. Cue ominous music.

Saturday – March 6, 2010
The term “post nasal drip” didn’t really describe the drowning sensation I was experiencing. Raiding my medicine cabinet I brought out my supply of Mucinex, Sudafed (the good stuff they keep behind the pharmacy counter so the meth-heads can’t get at it. I understand the “protect the stupid” principle but it seems totally unfair to regular sinusitis sufferers), and Afrin nosedrops. I also had a new bottle of Robitussin. Early implementation of this anti-cold arsenal should have been enough to fend off the “common cold.” It wasn’t. By the time I’d made my weekly grocery store run and my regular 6-week root touchup at the salon, I knew I was in trouble.

Sunday – March 7, 2010
I woke up every two hours all night long – sneezing, coughing and filling up two trash cans with Kleenex. (Soon I’d used all the Kleenex and moved on to rolls of Charmin – even the “squeezable-ly soft” kind rubs your nose raw after a few hundred yards are swiped past it.) My throat was sore, my lungs were filling, and if I were anything but vertical, I risked instant death. I warned my co-author via a virus checked email that when someone came to search for my body, they should look under the pile of used tissues. She was more worried about where my notes were for the third Sullivan Investigation mystery.

Monday – March 8, 2010 I needed to go into the office to practice my powerpoint presentation. I was schedule to speak for an hour on Wednesday to representatives of two federal agencies and several of my staff – you never want to embarrass yourself in front of your own staff. But besides the fact that my voice was now gone, I just didn’t care that much anymore about my career. I just wanted to make it until Tuesday – a scheduled appointment with a new G.P. I hoped to talk him into an antibiotic for the sinus infection, tonsillitis, or ear infection that I knew was headed my way like an out-of-control Prius.

Tuesday – March 9, 2010
My new doctor doesn’t have a great office. (My HMO suggested him – he was close to my house and accepting new patients). The waiting room needed a good vacuuming and I might have been his only non-Medicare patient, but the doctor was unexpectedly nice. He took my medical history himself. He listened to what I was saying without any hint that I was taking up too much of his time. He prescribed a “Z pack” and advised me to stop chasing the Sudafed with Robitussin. I went home, took my first dose of “Z” and tried to rest. My co-author warned me that I probably shouldn’t be considering leaving my house on Wednesday.

Wednesday – March 10, 2010
I got no sleep. There wasn’t enough makeup in the world to disguise my Rudolph red nose or dark circles, but my hair did look nice. As one of my last acts, the trip to the salon was well worth it. Baptists have open caskets and good hair is important. But back to my powerpoint presentation – I did it. The audience was attentive even if everyone kept their distance. I managed not to sneeze too much. I had a big roll of Charmin in my purse and I used most of it in the first four hours. But later in the afternoon, I could tell I’d started running a temperature and I was doing a lot of mouth-breathing. At about 3:30 pm, I called it a day and made the 45 minute drive home from Tulsa and crawled into bed, ignoring the phone calls from people wanting to know how sick I was. I was plenty sick – and no, there was nothing anyone could do for me. It was just the common cold, after all.

Thursday – March 11, 2010
The meeting I was attending was a two day event. But not for me. I had moved into the “coughing up my toes” stage of my “common cold.” I stayed home and proceeded to do just that – in private and to my heart’s content.

Friday – March 12, 2010
I’m still on sick leave from work, but I can breathe again through my nose. Okay, I’m holding a heating pad to my chest when I cough now (can people really break ribs from coughing?) but I feel so much better. No fever. No headache. The one thing that really worries me is that tomorrow, Saturday, is my last day for “Z.” My antibiotic pack will be emptied. Sunday could be the first healthy day of the rest of my life or the day the sun went black. Either way I’m uploading this blog on Saturday for a Monday posting date.

Leave me a comment and I’ll let you know how I’m doing Monday – if I can.

Rhonda
The Southern “overly dramatic” half of Evelyn David

p.s. – I know this blog entry is way too long. But, hey, be grateful I cut out most of the really gross descriptions of my illness. There is nothing pretty about the “common cold.”

p.p.s – Just when are scientists going to spend some time developing a cure for the common cold? I’m just saying … Maybe that’s a health care change we could all believe in.

Cheez Doodle Fingertips

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I bet you know someone like her…or maybe YOU are her. The woman who can walk into a room full of strangers and not immediately head for the punchbowl in the corner. Of course, now that we’re growunups instead of eighth graders, there really isn’t a punchbowl in the corner, along with potato chips and onion dip. Instead if you’re lucky, there’s a bar so that at least you can get some liquid fortification to help you during the dreaded cocktail hour (I miss the onion dip).

I just signed up for a mystery writers reception. Amongst the 200+ people in attendance will be editors and agents, as well as fellow authors. Should be a fascinating and fun evening except I never know what to do at these occasions. Put me at a table with a person to my right and a person to my left, and I can figure out how to make conversation that lasts through dessert. But a reception? Everyone seems to already know everybody else and are engaged in meaningful conversation that seems rude to interrupt. Sure I want to meet Mary Higgins Clark, but she’s undoubtedly chatting with Carolyn Reidy, President of Simon and Schuster, her long-time publisher. Do I break in to simultaneously gush about the longevity of Ms. Clark’s career and to beg Ms. Reidy to check out the newest manuscript of Evelyn David?

If I had any guts, I would do just that.

If I had to classify myself as an extrovert or introvert, I’d probably check “none of the above.” With friends and family, I can be the life of the party. But in a large social gathering, whether it’s a professional meeting or even a wedding, I am at sea, looking around for a lifeline of someone to talk to — but not wanting to be a leech.

I was recounting my worries to fellow writer and Huffington Post contributor, Kate Kelly. She commiserated, but pointed out that she had recently met a well-connected New Yorker at a major event in the city. This lady also confessed that “sometimes I go to these things and know everybody; and sometimes I know no one.” And under those circumstances, she too gets the jitters.

So I ask faithful Stiletto Gang readers: what kind of parties do you prefer? And do you still get the eighth-grade flashbacks of fear that no one will ask you to dance and you’ll be left with Cheez Doodle dust on your hands and a Hawaiian Punch mustache at the end of the evening?

Thanks,
Marian aka the Northern half of Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Being Medal Worthy

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Did you watch the Winter Olympics?

I did. I enjoyed watching most of the events even if I didn’t like the way NBC broadcast them – here, there, everywhere.

Like reading a book, I prefer to start at the beginning and read each page – good, bad, or ugly. I never skip to the back. I even read Tom Clancy’s mechanical descriptions. If I’m going to read a book, I’m going to read it – all of it.

If I’m going to watch an Olympic event, I want to watch all of it. I want to see all the competitors, not just the ones who NBC decides have “medal” potential. How can I judge how good the winners are if I don’t see the losers? Hey, maybe today’s losers will be the winners next time, and I was denied an opportunity to see them when they were inexperienced, awkward, and just starting out. And what about their mothers? Don’t you think they wanted to see their kid on television?

I know there were more than 6 female figure skaters at the Olympics, but the “powers that be” decided I didn’t need to see them. I don’t even know what I missed.

What if “writing” was like competing in the Olympics? What if the major publishers were like the broadcast networks – they only promoted a few books – the ones they decided had “medal” potential? What if the newbie writers, like the young skaters, couldn’t get seen unless they did the writer’s equivalent of a triple axel, triple toe-loop? Or had a compelling story? A perp-walk? A comeback from a terrible injury? A “bad-boy (or bad-girl)” attitude?

Wait.

Writing is like the Olympics. Sigh.

Good starts are vital. Keep a tight form, pay attention to detail, follow the rules so you don’t get disqualified, keep up your speed, keep your cell phone turned on in case your agent/coach calls to tell you about your big break, and finish – always finish.

And it doesn’t hurt to get in front of the camera every chance you get.

Yep.

Writing is like the Olympics.

Sigh.

Evelyn David
(Off to sharpen her skates, uh … pencils.)

p.s. Why do the bobsled athletes wear capri pants?

p.p.s. Please excuse a little self-promotion. Evelyn David won a mini-writing contest this weekend!! The short-short story had to be under 200 words. But don’t be fooled by the length. Mac Sullivan doesn’t need a dictionary to solve the whodunnit. Check it out at the Working Stiffs blogspot.

Call Me Old-Fashioned

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I guess Mazel Tovs are in order. Nicole Richie announced on The Letterman Show that after two kids together, she and Joel Madden have decided to tie the knot.

Marriage-phobia to me is weird. You get married, and if you don’t like it, you get divorced. I’d like for folks to take it a little more seriously than Brittany Spears first Vegas 25-hour nuptials, but assuming no children are involved, it’s paperwork.

I can even understand those couples who take a principled, anti Prop-8 stand and declare “we’re not getting married until all couples have that choice.”

Where I get confused are those men and women who feel like the commitment to each other is harder than a commitment to a kid(s). Frankly, without children, you never have to see each other again. Once you have a baby, if you intend to be an involved parent, you’re going to be seeing a lot of that other person for the rest of your life. And if you really are committed to being a good parent, that means not bad-mouthing your ex- no matter what a jerk he/she may be. Are you listening Kim Basinger and Alec Baldwin? How about you Sherri Shepherd? Putting kids in the middle is always, always wrong – period.

Sean Combs, of Puff Daddy/P Diddy/Diddy fame, delayed marriage until “the time is right.” He made that declaration while his long-time girlfriend, Kim Porter, was pregnant with twins. As he carefully explained, “I have to be ready to get married.” So, in the end, Kim and he split, and he’s the father to five kids by three different women – but doesn’t have a divorce paper in his safety deposit box. Now maybe he’ll get the Father of the Year award, but I have to wonder about anyone who gives his sixteen year old son a $360,000 car as a birthday gift. Actually, I’ve got questions for anyone who gives a car of any vintage or price to a 16-year-old. Maybe he didn’t want the kid to practice on his Rolls?

But the point is, parenting is more than money – although obviously, I expect all parents to financially support their minor children. I’m not even going to say Bravo, Sean, for working out child support arrangements with all the mothers. He’s supposed to do that.

Nor am I suggesting that having kids precludes divorce if the marriage is unworkable or unfixable. (I understand that for gay couples, marriage, and therefore divorce, is not yet an option is most states). But a clear, strong commitment between parents pre-kids would certainly be on my list of prerequisites prior to deciding to have kids. If nothing else, it tells your children that commitment to another person is not only possible, but wonderful.

But in the meantime, is Nicole registered at Bed, Bath, and Beyond?

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
www.evelyndavid.com

Very Taxing

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Turbo Tax and I have started working on my 2009 income taxes. I say “started” because ever since I added “fiction writer” to my resume my taxes have gotten complicated.

Oh, I always itemized. But my “items” were few and simple – mortgage interest, property taxes, interest income and a couple of other things. Click a few keys, hit print, then send and my refund would arrived in 2 to 3 weeks.

Now I have a “home office.” I have to sort through a drawer-full of crumpled receipts. Promotion expenses are the worst – I have receipts for tiny rubber ducks (they were wedding ducks used in the promotion of Murder Takes the Cake). I also have actual “cake” receipts. My co-author and I ran a promotion last summer for librarians – “Have Your Cake & Eat It Too.” Very successful, if expensive. We sent Smith Island Cakes to a half dozen very happy librarians.

There were also flyers and bookmarks. Not cheap, but deductable. And the postage to mail all those flyers and bookmarks, yep I’ve got piles of those receipts. Just need to find my calculator and total them up.

And books. Note to the public and authors’ relatives – authors at small publishing houses (and many large ones too) don’t get a lot of free authors’ copies of their novel. So when a reviewer needs a copy or a charity wants to raffle off an autographed copy, it’s more likely than not, the book being supplied is one the author purchased. The costs of those promotional copies also get itemized.

I attended the Love Is Murder Conference in Chicago last February. I drove so there’s a rental car receipt in that file drawer somewhere, along with the hotel receipts. And gas receipts. Note to self – include the fuel costs from Oklahoma to the Windy City.

What’s next? Website hosting fees? Nope, my co-author paid for that. I paid for the Constant Contact newsletter service. I’ve got those receipts in my desk drawer, along with copies of my annual dues payments to Sisters In Crime and Romance Writers of America (don’t ask – at some point I was considering writing romantic suspense).

Then there’s the toner costs, paper costs, posters, poster frames, a folding table and two folding chairs for book signings, and the cost of some netting material to stuff those little yellow rubber ducks into.

Since authors usually only get two royalty statements a year, adding up the income is easy. I’m sorry to say I don’t even need a calculator for that.

Sigh. Nothing like tax time to discourage an author.

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

A Little Respect Please

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Wow, this year there are ten movies nominated for Best Picture by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences – and I’ve seen exactly one, Up. I loved it. Did you know that it’s only the second time that an animated feature has been nominated for a Best Picture Oscar? Can you guess the other one? I actually think that one was more deserving of one of those gold statuettes.

Like most kids, I grew up on animation – when there were artists who actually sketched each cel, and computer-generated graphics hadn’t been invented. Think about how labor-intensive each animated movie was. Lady and The Tramp is beautifully and lovingly drawn, with a story to warm the cockles of the hardest hearts. Is there a child who hasn’t cowered under the seat at Maleficent transformed into a dragon in Sleeping Beauty? Many a youngster (and Mom) cried when Bambi’s mother is killed (and what is Walt Disney’s problem with mothers?). But I always found the scene in Dumbo, when Mrs. Jumbo is chained and unable to comfort her baby at least a two-hanky sob fest.

Animated features, like comic books and now graphic novels, still seem to be the illegitimate children of cinema and literature. And yet, some of the best stories are to be found in these media. Graphic novels have captured an audience of young readers, especially boys, long lost to more conventional books. Graphic novels are among the highest circulating collections in public libraries. Today graphic novels cover a broad range of subject matter – fiction, nonfiction, sci-fi, fantasy, almost every classification found on library shelves. The 1986 publication of Maus, by Art Spiegelman, may have been told in comic book format, but the subject matter was anything but comic. In using this format to describe the horrors of the holocaust, Spiegelman forever changed the impact that this type of literature could convey. It won a “Special” Pulitzer Prize – but today, I wonder if it wouldn’t have competed with conventional books for the Literature Prize – no need for a special category.

Whatever you like to read and watch – I guess short of porn, but then I shouldn’t be judgmental on that either! – is a personal decision. Enjoy the escape!

Marian, the Northern Half of Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com