On the Way to Trick-or-Treating

Last October, I received the most splendiferous email from Linda Sharp, editor, webmaster, author, and all-around Big Kahuna. To wit:

Dear Cathy C. Hall,
Aren't you just the greatest thing since sliced bread?! You absolutely must agree to write for my website, http://www.sanitycentral.com/, an online smorgasbord of hilarious columns about parenting and such. Say yes and you will be well on your way to Fame and Fortune!

Anyway, that's how I remember the email. Linda may beg to differ.

But I do, in fact, have a column called STIRRED CRAZY (more apropos than you can possibly imagine) and Sanity Central really is a wonderful website filled with column after column from talented writers who are sure to make you laugh out loud.

You can read my latest comic ramblings by clicking on the STIRRED CRAZY link. Or treat yourself to my very first SC column, which just happened to be about Halloween. (Like you didn't see that one coming). Oh, and as we say in the South, "Boo, y'all!"


On the Way to Trick-or-Treating

Halloween was right around the corner and I was beside myself. I could not wait to dress Joey, my first-born son, in some fantastic costume and hit the streets for candy. Which for Joey was actually Cheerios, but that’s not the point. The point was the costume. Hooray!

My own lackluster Halloweens dated back to the sixties, when Red Skelton’s Freddy the Freeloader was in vogue. At least, that’s what my mom said when she dressed her four children every year as tramps. For my brothers, it was no big deal. They were in it for the candy. For a little girl with dreams of Cinderella and Tinkerbelle, a smudged face and men’s clothing was downright embarrassing. But my mom wasn’t exactly creative in the costuming department, so it was the ideal solution.

I, on the other hand, consider myself a talented and imaginative mom, even if I am a bit deficient in sewing skills. That’s what glue guns are for, I figured. So for Joey’s Halloween, I had BIG plans. No store bought costume for this little toddler. I would think up something boo-rific and sit back for the oohs and ahhs sure to follow. Unfortunately, I had to do my thinking-outside-the-box within a pretty tight budget. Still not a problem for an inventive type like me.

First, I scrounged around in my T-shirt drawer where I found a bright green one that would hang all the way down to Joey’s cute little tippy-toes. Perfect! Then, with my curious tow-headed darling beside me I snipped a little of this sparkly scrap and a little of that glittery patch and glued it all securely on the shirt. We stepped back to admire my handiwork. Joey would go as a Christmas tree for Halloween! Now isn’t that just about the cleverest thing ever?

Just a quick try-on for adjustments and a-haunting we could go. Over his head slipped the masterpiece. Through the sleeves slid his chubby little fists. Right past the diaper, and oops! Houston, we have a problem. Joey started to cry. Not that tired whimpering kind of cry, either. This was full throttle, in your face, gasping-for-air crying. What in the world?

I checked for pins. Nope. I turned my festive T-shirt inside out looking for anything that might be uncomfortable. Nothing. Joey hiccupped. We’d try again. Whoa! Joey split the air with his screams before the shirt even touched his precious face.

I pulled a pair of blue pants up and a blue toddler-sized T-shirt down over my unappreciative tyke. I dabbed a circle of blue paint on both cheeks and called him “Little Boy Blue." Boring, I know, but Joey was smiling.

There’s always next Halloween, I mused, munching Cheerios. Be afraid, Joey, be very afraid.

A Sweet Tea Story

When I opened my mailbox and found a check from Chicken Soup for the Tea Lover's Soul, I squealed, "Wheee, wheee, wheee," all the way home. Not that I look anything at all like a little piggy, but I may have sounded a lot like Petunia today.

It's just that the Fortune-O-Meter hasn't budged in awhile. So a little celebratory "wheeeeing" seemed in order.

But maybe you'd like to hear more about Chicken Soup for the Tea Lover's Soul? I'm probably the teensiest bit partial, but I think it's Tea-rrific...(Yeah, that was bad. Really bad. It'll probably get worse.)

My story is a long-ago memory of my mother-in-law, a seriously fine Southern cook who never served a meal without her big pitcher of sweet tea on the table. I, on the other hand, was just the opposite: an open-the-can cook who loved her unsweetened tea. We had little in common back then, mom-in-law and me, but the beneficent Mr. Hall, who one day let it slip that his new wife did not like sweet tea. Oh, the ignominy of it all!

Until wonders of wonders, a big pitcher of unsweetened tea appeared one Saturday noon on the dinner table. That's the moment I knew I was truly one of the family.

These days, my mother-in-law lives a few blocks down the road in an assisted living facility. By now, she's given away most of her belongings. But not the pitcher. That's full of unsweetened tea, sitting on my kitchen table, reminding me of family.

The Least I Can Do

I know I'm supposed to fill you in on Cathy C. Hall's roller coaster ride to Fame and Fortune. But this weekend, the roller coaster took a detour and ran smack dab into another writer: William Rawlings, Jr.


William Rawlings, Jr. and I have a shared interest in the beneficent Mr. Hall.


Well, actually, I don't know that Dr. Rawlings is particularly interested in Mr. Hall now, unless Mr. Hall's beneficence extends to purchasing one of the doctor's suspense novels. But 28 years ago, it was a different story. Dr. Rawlings, Jr. plucked a young man from the jaws of death (or at least a serious, snarky infection) and sent him on his way in the world to find love, wealth and happiness (or at least a cheap date).

Anyway, I guess you've figured out who that young man is, give or take a few pounds and a few gray hairs. Meanwhile, William Rawlings, Jr. is an accomplished author with four books under his belt. The author and I came face to face for the first time at the inaugural Gwinnett Reads Book Festival.

You can read all about the good doctor's books at http://www.williamrawlings.com/. I figure a plug is the least I can do, considering what he did for me.

Take A Card, Any Card

When I saw the little, itty-bitty box in the mail today, I had no idea what was inside. That's the great thing about getting older...I'm constantly surprised!

Anyway, it was my blog cards!

Sure, I could just tell friends and family about the blog. But here's the thing. Nobody remembers details like a web address. Even if most of it is your own name. (Maybe that's just my friends and family...) Still, then you have to look around for a pen and end up using your lipstick to write on the back of a takeout menu you really, really needed for supper tonight.

For eight bucks and change, not to mention the brilliant fun of playing with designs and such, I've got these great cards with my blog info. Actually, I have cards with my name and picture, too, since I read somewhere that when one attends a writer's conference, one should have a card with photo, in order to promote oneself in a memorable manner. And friends, I am all about the promotion. Especially when it comes so, how shall I put it? Well, cheap.

Now all the terribly important people I hobnob with on my way to Fame and Fortune can find me, one way or another.

Assuming they don't lose my card(s).

Finding Something Fridays Begins

I don't know what other writers do on Fridays, but Cathy C. Hall spends her Fridays finding something. (Mostly because the beneficent Mr. Hall is underfoot on Fridays. And since I'm rather keen on his beneficence, I try not to complain about his underfoot-ness. Even though I can't possibly concentrate enough to write brilliant, much less scathingly so, pieces of perfection.)


So I wander around on Fridays, finding things...overdue library books, sticky notes with terribly important messages, candy under the couch cushions... Today I found writing markets.


One particular market, Everyday Fiction (http://www.everydayfiction.com/) was exactly what I'd been looking for! Not too la-ti-da, seeking short fiction (1,000 words or less) and published on the wonderful web with a link to your website. It just so happens that much of my fiction is tantalizingly short and leaning to the genre side. Kind of heavy on the horror, hold the literary, please.

The Fortune may be small, but the Fame factor is not. Think of all those lovely readers clicking on the link to Cathy C.'s Hall of Fame. It boggles the mind.

Not that Everyday Fiction has accepted my little works yet. But wouldn't it be keen if they did? Then I could pay the fine on my overdue library book. If I ever find it.

Fame and Fortune From the Asylum

Sally may not be the brightest dog in the world, but she knows a good story when she sees it.

She's totally engrossed in my fiction piece "Language Barrier" from Loving the Undead, An Anthology of Romance...Sort of.

I know what you're thinking. It must have just been released by those spooky folks over at From the Asylum Books and Press. Perfect for Halloween!

Um, no. (Although of course, it's perfect for Halloween!) Actually, it was released in February (Nothing says "Happy Valentine's Day, Poopsie!" like horror).

So now you're thinking the writing connection must be that I wrote the story last October. What better time for creepy thoughts to snake through your brain and out onto the page?

Not exactly. I wrote "Language Barrier" in the summer of 2006 when birds chirped and butterflies flew round my head. Which just goes to show what birds and butterflies messing with my head can do.

But there is a connection. Remember when I mentioned going down The Road to Publication twice in one night? (Yes, you do. It was my last entry, for Pete's sake.) "Language Barrier" was the other story accepted at the eleventh hour for inclusion in a book mere minutes from going to press. It's weird, don't you think, that two stories written in the same summer would both be accepted on New Year's Eve night? (Cue The Twilight Zone theme song.)

If that's not creepy enough for you, then crawl on over to this website: http://www.fromtheasylum.com/. Nothing like a little horror to get one in that Undead mood. And don't forget to check out the "My Sweetie Wears..." Contest results. I think you'll be frightfully surprised.



Uh, oh! The thrills and chills must have been too much for the beneficent Mr. Hall. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

A Dog, A Book, and Me

Sally Hall is giving me a look as I sit here typing away. If I'm correct, the look is "Are you gonna eat that?" Or maybe it's "Somebody needs a bath." It's hard to say since I'm not the Dog Whisperer.

Yes, Sally is the dog. And while Sally herself has nothing to do with October, the story of Sally has something to do with writing. It even has something to do with a tad of Fame and a little Fortune. And it began in October. Sorta.

Last October, around this time of the month, I waited anxiously to hear if my Sally story had been accepted. I'd sent it, way back in August, to the Cup of Comfort for Dog Lovers. By October 5th (Remember how I said the first of the month is a reckoning time for me?) I reckoned my story was a bust. Especially since another member of my writing group had had her story accepted the month before.

But you never know in the submissions business. Smack dab in the middle of December, I got an e-mail saying my story was being considered. After a quick edit, I sent "The Cost of a Dog" back to Colleen Sell and waited again. On New Year's Eve night, I opened my inbox to find an e-mail saying Sally would be in the book! It was perfect timing, since I was celebrating anyway.

Funny thing about that night. I ended up going down the Road to Publication twice. But that's another story...and besides, Sally was right. Somebody definitely needs a bath.

A Tale of Two Goals

It is the best of times; it is the worst of times, to paraphrase Mr. Dickens. Worst of times may be stretching it, as I hardly think the first-of-the-month writing-reckoning can compare to getting your head chopped off in a revolution. But turning the calendar to the new month always seems like the best of times. Goal-setting giddiness is upon me.

Since I'm a very goal-oriented person, I use goals to achieve Fame and Fortune on my Road to Publication. For example, I may say to myself, "Self, you must finish at least one chapter of your book today. Then, and only then, are you allowed to leave this chair and take a shower. And maybe grab a Milky Way to eat along the way to bathing."

Mr. Hall is not too keen on shower-taking being a writing goal. Come to think of it, the Milky Way goal doesn't work very well when he's around, either. But that is not the point. The point is the goal-setting. So getting back to that, the first day of the month is a time to check markets, when publishing hopes spring eternal! Unfortunately, that day coincides with my writing-reckoning.

To put it another way, that's when I reckon I've been rejected. Sometimes it's spelled out for you: "If you haven't heard from us by (insert first of month date here) you can assume we have passed on your submission."

Well, there's no mistaking that one, is there? Other times, it's a little wishy-washy: "We have so many submissions, we can't possibly read them all, much less reply. If you still want to submit, please realize that you probably won't hear from us unless you are John Updike. And even then, there are days when we are in a very un-John Updike kind of mood. Attention John Updike: You may hear something from us around the first of the month. Or not."

Naturally, I submit. Because, like I said, I have goals to reach. And being rejected by at least 10 markets a month is (apparently) one of them. However, I also have a goal of being accepted by at least one market a month. When that happens, I treat myself to two Milky Ways (and possibly a nice leg-shaving in the shower).