Holiday Fails and Other Epic Moments
Posted on December 26, 2013 4 Comments
In my family, we ARE the Griswalds. You know – that family, headed by Chevy Chase’s character “Clark” in which the saying, “What can go wrong, will go wrong” applies to everything. The most famous Griswald movie is probably Christmas Vacation and let me tell ya – we’ve just about got them beat.
As a general rule, my mother leads in the most mortifying moments points, and still holding tight to the crown thanks to the ceiling incident, which she fell through on Christmas Day. No worries though – she only came through to her belly-button, though the Christmas Tree shaved off every one of its nine lives since she nearly crushed it. Poor evergreen.
My mother was also there when one massive tree, laden with her nine-million ornaments, started to fall over. In an attempt to save the suicidal leaping of all the ornaments, she tried to hold up the tree (I was at K-Mart buying lights because one twinkle light had died and thus the whole strand mutinied). Anyway, as she clung desperately to the tree, my then five-year-old brother (who was down right hysterical) managed to answer the ringing phone. Apparently one of my father’s clients was calling and my brother (drama queen that he was back then), sobbed into the phone, “CHRISTMAS IS RUINED!!” and hung up. I don’t think the man called back – can’t imagine WHY. Finally pulling in with the new lights, I looked through the bay window to where the tree had been, and one thought went through my head: Where the heck did the tree go and why is my brother plastered to the front glass door screaming at me?
Other disasters included getting stuck on the roof of the house, in the dark, with my dad who had convinced me that we could see Rose Kennedy’s fireworks from the skid-row area of Hyannis where we lived. While I think I did see a drug deal go down, I couldn’t see the fireworks OR MY HAND IN FRONT OF MY FACE. Convincing me to feel my way down off our steep roof to the ladder took a few years. Needless to say, the neighbors found us entertaining . . . probably as they weighed out a few Speed Balls.
We also had a hot water tank crap out an hour before my Christmas concert, all the power fail while cooking Thanksgiving dinner, our breaker box catch fire on Christmas Eve, and a tree nearly come through the roof of our house on New Years.
We laughed at everything, because this is life – Whadda ya gonna do?
So THIS Christmas, having escaped most holiday disasters myself, I should have known my time had come.
You see, I had asked for warm socks and fuzzy slippers for Christmas (hey – I am a simple gal with simple needs). Anyway, I got them and was wearing them while cooking (I hosted dinner – dumb idea #1). As the time drew near for guests to arrive, I grabbed my crock pot full of steaming, sweet and sour meatballs, and began to head upstairs to our family room. It turns out fuzzy socks and new slippers are an unwise choice for me.
I slipped half-way up the staircase.
The crock pot went flying. Meatballs sailed like comets. Sauce repainted the walls.
For crying out loud it looked like a serial killer had a field day in my stairwell!
As the last, lonely meatballs hopped down the stairs towards the now thrilled dogs, I burst out laughing. I was covered in sauce (and stripping because the stuff was friggin HOT), my new socks were marinated, and my fuzzy slippers were roadkill. I looked entirely ridiculous and all I could do was laugh to the point of almost peeing. While my husband was still scrubbing the walls, company arrived.
I had joined the ranks of my own mother’s historic catastrophes and I didn’t care.
Because this is life. And life is sometimes ridiculous and hilarious and all we can do is laugh at ourselves.
I will say this however: If anyone is crazy enough to ask me to carry a crockpot full of meatballs up the stairs, I plan on channeling my inner raven and muttering, “Nevermore.”
Why negative book reviews are bad for the reviewer.
Posted on November 6, 2013 20 Comments
*** FYI – this post is about reviews that are BRUTAL – 1 and 2 stars that are just riddled with scorn for the book. That said, here we go! ***
It is no secret that I love to review books I have adored. If you kick around on this blog, you will find them. And yes – they are raves, because I loved the books and the authors deserve the praise I have given them. Because ultimately a review IS about the ability of the author, and that is what is often forgotten. Which is why I don’t write bad reviews, choosing instead to simply NOT review the book at all.
Because a bad review (and I mean THE BRUTAL ONES), in the grand scheme of things, does nothing for the other potential audience members. I mean – what I may hate (a certain series about 50 gray window coverings comes to mind), they may love and vice versa, right? So, while a great review applauds the work of the author, a scathing review serves only to slap them.
And it is a slap.
The surest way I know a reviewer is not a writer, is when they pen a brutal review and then add “this is not about the author.” *SNORT*
Let me tell ya – IT IS ALWAYS about the author TO THE AUTHOR. I have seen writers be destroyed by a bad review and I tell them, “the person who wrote this is obviously not a writer.” Somehow that makes them feel better . . . briefly. But then they go and write down the reviewer’s name, making sure to find their book IF he / she ever writes one. Sigh . . .
But I do get it, because a brutal review is to kick the tar out of someone’s baby – tell them their kid is scum and ugly to boot. Because a novel is a literary child, raised from infancy, in the eyes of the person who gave it birth. Someone who slaved over it, adored it, and finally gave it life. Sure, their “baby” COULD be the ugliest thing on the planet, BUT I AM NOT TELLING THEM. And quite frankly, I would never slam anyone’s book (okay – well maybe Mein Kampf, which I haven’t read and my review would be ENTIRELY about the author . . . bad me).
First of all, who says I am so brilliant to know what the heck I am talking about? Secondly, if I wrote a bad review, it reflects poorly on me as a person because I am choosing to ignore the fact that someone, somewhere in this universe, WROTE it. There is a real human being behind those pages. And a scathing review reads as excessive grandstanding for attention. Most potential buyers see such reviews as bs and the reviewer’s credibility falls through the floor. And while the book itself is rarely hurt by such reviews, the author is – and so is the reviewer.
So, while I do not write bad reviews, I also do not write many reviews AT ALL because I simply didn’t like the book. If I am backed into a corner by a writer begging me to read their novel (FYI – bad idea in the first place), and I don’t like it, I simply let them know the story wasn’t for me and I was going to pass on reviewing it. I’ve done this on NetGalley, but I sent it as a note to the publisher (always with praise, followed by a “but” line).
Oh – and one other thing. If you write a bad review of someone’s book, and you yourself are trying to become a novelist / author / journalist / etc remember: author’s are like elephants – what you say about their book, they will never forget.
Cheers all!














































