Hungry For Your Love giveaway at Wisecrack Zodiac

Beth Bartlett, that harridan of horrorscopes at Wisecrack Zodiac is celebrating Zombie Week with interviews from writer/editor of The Undead That Saved Christmas Lyle Perez-Tinic and myself with a signed giveaway of Hungry For Your Love! Today is your last chance to enter with a horrorscope of your own. Show me whatcha got, baby!

12 minute childbirth and how I learned to appreciate epidurals

If it hadn't been for my husband's toothache, I would have crossed my legs and never let my third daughter burst into the world like a bullet. The nurse's tender words, "get your butt over HERE, woman!" and "why did you wait until the last minute to get here, don't you know you're having a baby?" are now carefully recorded in Wynter's baby book, lovingly cherished along with a coffee cup and dried belly button.

Wynter arrived during a lull in the one of the worst snowstorms in Portland, Oregon's long history. Christmas morning lay bright and shiny outside as my husband dragged me from our apartment and into the car, locking himself out and yelling at 5am to reach over and fiddle with the lock. In pain and enormous with the miracle of birth imminent, I was busy trying to not have our baby's first sight that of snowy floor mats while finding a Dora barrette to clip the cord in case I had to deliver the baby myself - he was on his own. Laying the seat down, I counted to ten as the contractions came hard and fast and I promised myself I would never...ever...have sex again. Reaching the emergency room moments later, I leapt out with the grace of a drunken reindeer and staggered bowlegged to the door.

"I'm having a baby!" I yelled to the five people sitting in the cavernous room. The security guards barely looked up, I had interrupted their conversation of whose holiday bonus was less. The admitting nurse had dozed off, drooling against the gray partition, her face partially covered by a festive Santa hat.

Festive, my butt.

"I’m having a baby RIGHT NOW, get me UPSTAIRS!" this time I squatted to give more emphasis to the urgency of the situation. Either the prospect of a healthy lawsuit or the fact that he'd have to clean up placenta pierced the foggy brain of one of the security guards. With lightening speed that would have impressed, well, no one, he swaggered over to me with a wobbly wheelchair and motioned with his coffee cup to jump in. Passing me his cup, he started on the long trek to the Maternity Ward, only getting lost in his own workplace twice.

"The elevators are closed down for the night, think you could walk up to the fourth floor?" he said.

"You're kidding, right? I know you're kidding because otherwise I would have to kill you and bury the body in my backyard and I'm RUNNING OUT OF SPACE!" I answered. I've seen fear in a man's eyes before, usually when I'm buying tampons in bulk and a shotgun. I knew he'd find a way to get me upstairs.

Magically, keys appeared out of a back pocket and opened the elevator and we were swept aloft to the Maternity Ward where I was taken over by a nurse who joked, "We heard you pushing in the elevator." She was hilarious. Really. Reaching my room, I kicked away the wheelchair footplates set up to trip patients in casts and hiked up my nightie while pushing off my boots with my feet. Rolling onto the bed, the nurse laughed as I asked for meds, whatever they had, and lots of it. She thought I was kidding.

My husband burst through the door minutes later, complaining of the toothache that had woken us up twenty minutes before, dodging the boot I threw at him in commiseration.

"You haven't had her, yet? You know, my mom had nine children and never complained once during labor. Why are you so grouchy? It's Christmas!" Vowing to bury his body next to the security guard, I grabbed the sides of the bed and started to howl.

"Where are the drugs? GET ME THE DRUGS!" I pleaded. My guts were being ripped out of my eye sockets and the nurse giggled that they'd never make it in time so I'd better hold onto something. Grabbing my husband by the leg, I punctured his jeans with dagger-like fingers and smiled grimly when I saw tears spring up, so far it had been the only bright spot in my morning.

Finally looking under the sheet, the nurse in her clean pink scrubs had the nerve to look surprised when Wynter's head started its initial push into the world. Coming to stand next to my head to check the monitors she said, "Hey now, you can't push yet. Your doctor isn't here, can you hold it?" Backing away slowly when she saw my hands reaching for her leg, she hurried to the business part of my labor.

"Ok, here she comes. You need to move to your left, your LEFT! Why are you on your side? Get your butt over HERE, woman!" Curling as well as a highly pregnant woman can, I had scooted myself nearly off the bed trying to escape the contractions. Muttering under her breath, I could hear the nurse wondering why some people waited until the last minute to come to the hospital, ruining her breakfast and interrupting the poker game at the nurses' station. Vowing to find more room in the backyard, I moved to the end of the bed and started to yell. Not out of pain but because I couldn't reach anything blunt and heavy to heave at her.

"If you push too soon, you'll damage yourself and the baby. Let's take some cleansing breaths...one...two...how did you get that oxygen tank over your head?" She was looking more concerned. "Er, I think you're ready to push now."

One mighty push later, my husband caught our slippery daughter as she exploded into the world. Whisked away for a quick rubdown by the nurse, we watched as she slowly became aware of her surroundings, blinking in the gray light of dawn outside our window.

Wynter still wakes at sunrise to drink hot chocolate from the coffee cup we snatched from the hospital security guard. Her enthusiasm for each new day reminds me to fully participate in life, becoming aware of the beauty that surrounds us...and to move to a larger backyard with each subsequent pregnancy.

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This column first appeared at An Army of Ermas.

Murder at Mansfield Park: book review

Photo credit: Amazon.com

Wrapped in the delicious language of Jane Austen, Lynn Shepherd's MURDER AT MANSFIELD PARK takes the insipidity of Fanny Price and exposed her for what we all knew lurked inside: a raging mean girl with a hint of the devil. Turning Manfield Park on its ear with Price's murder, Shepherd introduces us to a heroine whose mettle is equal to any man - Mary Crawford. Many familiar with Austen's Mansfield Park have wondered why Crawford wasn't the true heroine; her wit, charm and resourcefulness drew us in even though we knew she was inherently bad for us - almost the perfect Austen bad boy in that respect - but we see in MURDER AT MANSFIELD PARK that her character is deeper, her sensibility unmatched and her loyalty unwavering when faced with questions regarding the demise of Price and its ultimate conclusion with the assistance of thief taker, Charles Maddox.

Maddox brings a new dimension to the usual Austen-esque stories. His methods of extracting information cross the boundaries of socially acceptable and the inhabitants of Mansfield Park are uncomfortable with the man they've chosen to help solve the mystery and bring the murderer to justice. That feeling of unease helps to keep the reader on edge. Maddox softens toward Mary as her reliable spirit and keen eye help him to sort through information but does it blind him to her involvement? His own prejudice forged from experience in the streets of London may have him chasing the wrong man...

Shepherd's skill as a storyteller is excellent. I was looking forward to this book before its release and I was not disappointed. The ending was suspenseful and well crafted, the characters rich and fully developed. I can't wait to read more from Shepherd, I'm saving space right next to my copy of Austen's PERSUASION.

King Nerd

My husband is a bit competitive when it comes to er, most everything, and this fall's chili cook-off at his work is no exception. Last year's entry of pumpkin chili in a carved pumpkin bowl was stunning but he forgot to enter it on time and it became a lovely centerpiece in his cube. Yeah. He's competitive but doesn't own a watch. Luckily for his ego, he entered and won the costume contest as King Nerd. Guess what he does for a living? That makes me Queen Nerd. Yaaay.

This year, we're making vegetarian curried chili. He's concentrating on his pumpkin carving skills and my job is to cheer him on in a low-cut witch costume. I'm not sure how I got dragged into the equation but he swears the other wives will be there doing the same. I think I'm being set up.

Writing-wise:

• The book proposal for ZDG has been spiffed up and sent on its way with an affectionate smack on the bottom
• The Undead That Saved Christmas will be out October 1st. Look for my short story And To All a Good Fright plus two zombie Christmas Carols (more carols to come on the website in December)
• Hungry For Your Love will be unbound and staggering toward your favorite bookseller September 29th
• I'm folding up Undead Fred into my carry-on! I've been asked to appear as a panelist at zomBcon, Halloween weekend in Seattle. Come and see me!

Zombie wrastlin' and author interviews

I love doing interviews. My husband would call it "narcissism" but I prefer to think of it as me sharing my awesomeness with the world. You're welcome.

Now that my husband is happy that he's made it onto the blog, I'll get down to why I really like interviews. Aside from answering [usually] silly questions, I meet wonderful people that really *love* books. Many are authors themselves so they know it's not all fast cars, cheap hookers and booze in my daily life - okay, maybe the fast cars and booze - and they're supportive of friends and the authors they admire. It's a great way to get to know an author while we are able to wave hello and show off our literary tattoos. I know I've found many excellent new books via interviews and look forward to blog tours to add to my towering to-be-read pile.

Slush Pile Hero, had me on her blog today where I discuss hot button topics such as cupcakes and rolling zombies for change. Soon, Beth Bartlett  from Wisecrack Zodiac will shake my bad thing in her followers' general direction as she announces Zombie Week and a giveaway of HUNGRY FOR YOUR LOVE at her facebook fan page.

So, Internet, what kind of questions do you like to see authors answer?

Give me a holler if you'd like goofiness on your book blog, I'll make a fresh batch o'cupcakes.  =]