Alex J. Cavanaugh – Letter from a Friend

I just want to know what Alex J. Cavanaugh looks like. Is that too much to ask?


Yeah, I guess that makes me shallow. I can just hear my mom saying, "Cathy, looks aren't everything," but just because I agree with her doesn't mean I don't want to know what the internet's friendliest and most mysterious ninja looks like. 


Look at the photo he sent me. Like, seriously Alex? Could it be any more silhouetted? I can tell you have a long regal nose and some scruff on your chin and you got some of those long-fingered white guy hands noodling on your guitar but I wouldn't know you if I walked by you on a subway. Which I would – walk by, because I don't know what you look like. If I knew, I'd pester you. (Good plan on the keeping your identity secret.)


By adjusting the exposure on your photo I am getting a couple of vibes from you. You could look like Jon Heder, on a good day, only without his teeth. Because only Jon Heder has Jon Heder teeth but really it's part of his charm, don't you think? Wait... I just reread that. I don't mean "without his teeth" because that would insinuate a toothless guy, which I'm not saying. I'm just saying not Jon Heder teeth. Maybe, like, Brooke Shields teeth. Or Jon Heder if his parents had a dental plan.

But you also remind me of James Taylor, back in the days when James Taylor had hair:

That James Taylor. Now he was a hunka hunka burnin' love... sorry, I was all, ahem, overheated there for a moment. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Alex J. Cavanaugh. Any idea what the J stands for anyone? Jon? (As in Heder?) Jeremiah (was a bullfrog)? Jiminy Cricket?


I asked Alex Mysterious J for a Letter from a Friend because I don't know anything about him. Oh sure, he's a published author. In fact, he just released his latest book, CassaFire, TODAY. Talk about hot off the press and all, baby, me and him we are on FIRE. I also know Alex is one of the most popular bloggers in all of blogdom. He has more followers than God. Ok, so maybe not THAT God. Maybe, like a secondary Greek god. Like Zeus, maybe. Or Amadeus. (Note to self: check to see if Amadeus is a god or a musician.)

To be perfectly frank, I know nothing about Alex J. Cavanaugh. I know I like reading his blog. I know that I like it when he shows up and comments on mine. I know I like him. But then again I like pretty much everybody. Our crazy neighbour who grows questionable shrooms in her flower garden, and who doesn't share. My cat, whose hairballs are the same colour as our chesterfield. My liquid Tide, which removes hairball stains from my pants. Frankfurters, even though they're made of eyeballs, testicles and beaks. I like my kids even though they make me NUTS. 


I like everyone. I like everything. If I don't like you, you are seriously disturbed. 


Anyway, I like Alex and today is his special day. So even though I still don't know what he looks like, or anything about him, here's a letter from one of my favourite ninjas. Good luck with the book, stranger – I'm wooting for ya!

Dear Cathy-

I just wanted to thank you for the kind words and cheer. Your comments on my blog always make me smile and remind my of why I do what I do.

I am honored that you continue to return to my blog. Your life revolves around family and the Muskoka River, while mine resides in the world of geekdom. I am just a guy who digs science fiction, movies, music and gadgets. That you find me interesting amazes me. Although I do think we share a sense of humor!

You continue to visit even though I am not always able to return the favor. I try to visit my blogger buddies often, even though that list continues to grow and grow. Preparations for my upcoming book have made it even more challenging.

Your encouragement is what keeps me going. Thank you, Cathy. I hope that I can repay the kindness one day. Repay it a thousand times over.

Just know this Ninja has your back!

Sincerely,

Alex J. Cavanaugh

Today is the Catch Fire Blog Party, celebrating the release of CassaFire by Alex J. Cavanaugh! The goal is to help CassaFire “catch fire” on the best seller charts and achieve the success of the first book, CassaStar. There’s also a special package of prizes being given away at the author’s blog (copies of CassaFire, CassaStar, tote bag, mug, and bookmarks) as well as book giveaways during his two-week blog tour. See Alex’s site for details: http://alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.com/

CassaFire
by Alex J. Cavanaugh


CassaStar was just the beginning…


The Vindicarn War is a distant memory and Byron’s days of piloting Cosbolt fighters are over. He has kept the promise he made to his fallen mentor and friend - to probe space on an exploration vessel. Shuttle work is dull, but it’s a free and solitary existence. The senior officer is content with his life aboard the Rennather.


The detection of alien ruins sends the exploration ship to the distant planet of Tgren. If their scientists can decipher the language, they can unlock the secrets of this device. Is it a key to the Tgren’s civilization or a weapon of unimaginable power? Tensions mount as their new allies are suspicious of the Cassan’s technology and strange mental abilities. 


To complicate matters, the Tgrens are showing signs of mental powers themselves; the strongest of which belongs to a pilot named Athee, a woman whose skills rival Byron’s unique abilities. Forced to train her mind and further develop her flying aptitude, he finds his patience strained. Add a reluctant friendship with a young scientist, and he feels invaded on every level. All Byron wanted was his privacy…


CassaFire is the sequel to Cavanaugh’s first book, CassaStar, an Amazon Top Ten Best Seller:



Book trailer available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qa6VINRGtyE.


Barnes and Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cassafire-alex-j-cavanaugh/1034742568


Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/CassaFire-Alex-J-Cavanaugh/dp/0982713940/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1329417150&sr=1-1


Amazon Kindle - http://www.amazon.com/CassaFire-ebook/dp/B007A2TSNG/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1329663355&sr=1-1

Completo el poopo

Chuck Wendig knows how to finish his shit.

If you had one more day off, what would you do?

I'm thinking on that this morning... the last morning off from work since what feels like forever, or at least a month. When I first realized I was looking at a substantial break from work due to my cataracts, it seemed like such a looooonnnnnng time. I had ideas to fill that time. Some goals. And yet here it is at the end and I haven't accomplished anything.

I was hoping to lose weight in an intensive home training regime but I think I've gained eight to 10 pounds. (I find out tonight when I drag my sorry ass back to Weight Watchers after a three week hiatus. Oh gawd, I don't want to go ... I know I have to face the music but I really, really hate that song.) I've fallen off the Good Ship Motivation and it's time to get back on before I fall off completely and drown.

I was also hoping to have done some writing on my novel ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I've been watching The Biggest Loser on TV because even though it's horrendously stupid it motivates me. The show's theme this year is No Excuses so I'm trying to live by that. Yes, I was told not to exercise following the surgery but no one told me to eat everything in sight. And yes, I couldn't see the darned computer so it was hard to do any writing – but that didn't stop me from blah-blah-blahing on this blog. So you see, I really don't have any excuses, other than I am lazy and unmotivated.

Feeling this way isn't nice. It's rather depressing, in fact. Last night Dave asked me, "What's wrong?" And I said, "nothing," because it was easier than going into a big song and dance about never finishing my novel and gaining all my weight back and generally spouting into tears and wailing and moaning and such.

As much as I complained last November about being crazy busy, writing NaNo and exercising like a fiend, I was in my element. I was on point. I was happy as a pig in you-know-what.

Today it all changes. I shall exercise today. I shall write today. I shall go to Weight Watchers tonight and face the music. Tomorrow I will go back to work with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step. I have accomplished so much these past months. Instead of thinking, "woe is me, it's all over," I shall get back on that horse and, as Chuck Wendig so eloquently put it in a recent blog post called 25 Things I Want To Say To Aspiring Writers, FINISH MY SHIT. COMPLETO EL POOPO.

(Thanks to Helen Howell for pointing out that post. That Chuck guy, he's a ripper.)

COMPLETO EL POOPO.
GET 'ER DONE.
QUIT WHINING.

Ah feck it.

Shannon Esposito – Letter from a Friend

Dear Shannon, writer of light, artist of air, willowy pale sunshine in a state of sun:


I see you dancing in your best bare feet at the ocean's edge, peach toes touching white sand, diaphanous skirts lifting on a salty breeze.


You are grounded, yes. Earth mother, chauffeur of future all-stars, mother of a blushing bride – hard to tell, who was the mother, who was the daughter, thank god for white dresses.


And yet something in you soars, the words, I think, the words. The poetry of your fingertips on  keys of inspiration. 


Write me a story, Shannon. Write me a story as big as your heart, as colourful as your dreams. 


Write me anything. 


Write me a letter.

Dear Cathy,

I hope this letter finds you well and recovered from all the holiday cheer! A new year always brings with it a sense of possibility, doesn't it?  We have a jumping off point with a fresh slate to change anything we want. This year, my resolution was going to be to lose weight, as you were so inspiring with your own weight loss! But, instead I've decided to focus on health and let weight loss be a side effect.

I read a quote that stuck with me about how our body is the vessel that carries us through the world so we must take ownership of how we treat it. I can tell you, I've only been intermittently kind to my own body and have viewed it mostly as a nuisance that must be punished and deprived in order to squeeze it into the proper size jeans. How much nonsense is that? And why has it taken me forty.. ahem... something years to realize this? Instead I've thrown myself into the world of health food. I've discovered things like chia seeds are not just for sprouting scary green hair onterracotta pets. (Is this just an American thing?) The little buggers are actually a super food, high in fiber, protein and Omega 3 fatty acids. And spirulina is not a venereal disease. It's a blue-green algae!

I know, not much better, right? But, it's actually another super food that fights aging, cancer, removes toxins from the body, drives your kids to their soccer games...okay, maybe not that last one. But speaking of the kids, it's so easy to slip some algae into their green smoothie and feel good about taking care of them. How seriously cool is this stuff?

As you can tell I'm excited about changing our eating habits this year and making sure the boys live long, healthy lives( so they can take care of us when we're old).

Sending you some Florida sunshine! If you're ever on our end of the map, we can sit on the beach, drink green smoothies and ogle the dolphins together!

Much love and good health to you and your boys,

Shannon

Shannon Esposito is a Florida-based writer who pens novels and short stories and never ceases to amaze me since I first ran across her work in Friday Flash.
She is the proud author of four novels:

Karma's A Bitch

The Monarch

Strange New Feet

Sahara's Song

They are all available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords. You can find more about them at her blog, Murder in Paradise.

Carrie Clevenger – Letter from a Friend

In her letter, Carrie Clevenger mentions that I am an inspiration to her but, Carrie dahling, you've got things all twisted and screwed up here. 

YOU are the inspiration to me. 

Who's about to publish book number three while I struggle with number one?

Who continues to put out a new Friday Flash short story, every week, on top of editing a novel and working at a job that pays bills, not to mention being a wife and a mother? 

Who has a cool tattoo?

Carrie is, without a doubt, one of my favourite writers on the Friday Flash circuit. Her words are built strong, like railroad tracks laid down in rocky slag – never too many, never too few, all connected to lead the reader to a place Carrie wants you to see. The destination is always different but it never lacks soul. She makes writing look easy, Carrie does, and to me that's the best kind. You never get pulled out of the story, you never have to cheer her along; you just lose yourself in the words.

I have read two of Carrie's books, Just My Blood Type and Blood and Fire (both collaborations with another talented writer, Nerine Dorman). Read maybe isn't the right word because I whipped through them; they were that good. And like all fans of the Clevenger, I am waiting impatiently for the August 2012 release of Crooked Fang. Like everything Carrie does, I know it will be outstanding. 

Some day, when she's a household name, I'm gonna be able to say I once got a letter from her – a letter from a friend.

Dear Cathy: 

I can’t remember the last time I wrote an actual letter.

It’s 2012, that year that everyone has been talking about since they figured out that it could quite possibly be the end of the world. Am I concerned? Not really. Every other date which was sworn to be The End has come and gone, and we’re either left looking incredibly foolish or jaded, I can’t decide which.

I’m double-working, working on work-work, and this letter. A Perfect Circle is playing tonight on loop because it seemed just right to listen to. I wake up with music in my head more often than not. I blame Xan Marcelles for that recent development. Speaking of which, I’m in the real-time edits for Crooked Fang, and I can’t believe I’m about to join the ranks of other novelists out there. I really did it. It’s going to be published and out in the big wide world, and people will love it, and hate it, and I will face one of my greatest fears: receiving attention from people.

I’m a wallflower, always have been. Ever since I was that nerdy girl in school whom no one deemed cool enough to be seen with, to the point that I said ‘fuck it’ and did my own thing, fed-up with the whole trying to fit in with everyone else thing. It happens. Childhood is rarely a full beam of sunshine, but it does build character, for better or worse, and it’s important for me to remember that every day in my life with my daughter.

I’ve been reading lately. My latest read is American Gods, by Neil Gaiman. I wish I hadn’t hesitated so long before trying a new author. I tend to stay loyal to who has always written the fail-safe stuff. It’s like that with a lot of factors in my life. I’m somewhat of a shut-in, and I get teased by Luke, my husband, whenever I get dressed up to actually leave the house.

It’s been a good year so far. I’m hoping to take a trip to Colorado sometime soon, in order to see the area I describe in Crooked Fang which is Pinecliffe. It looks beautiful in the pictures I’ve found online.

I bought a bag of cooked shrimp on sale at Target last week. I wanted to do a stir-fry, but I’m afraid I’ll ruin it. So the shrimp has gone bad in my fridge, due to my reluctance. It’s a symbol, I think. To try new things and not be afraid to make mistakes. I try not to. But I still do.

I hope this letter finds you well, Cathy. You are always such an inspiration to me. Good luck with your cataract surgery.

Kind regards,

Carrie

Crazy Eyes

How's your eyeballs?

"WHY THEY'RE SUPER-DUPER AWESOME!" I say with a high-beam-voltage, night-skiing kind of stupid-ass grin. Cause there's no point telling people what's really going on. I tried that ... a couple of times. Even with my cockamamie eyeballs I could see their expression gloss over like the meringue on a well-made lemon pie. They don't CARE – they're just asking to be polite. No, seriously, they are.

But then I had someone comment on this blog who was genuinely interested in how my cataract operation fared because she had her cataracts removed and wanted to compare notes. So I'm posting this public service announcement for her sake, and for yours too because, unless you die when you're 54, like me, you're eventually going to get old and get cataracts. Because life sucks that way, in case you hadn't noticed.

The scoop on cataract surgery is thus: if you have to have surgery, pick this one. It's bloodless, it's almost entirely pain-free and it makes an immediate and major improvement in your life. Like, if you have your gall bladder removed, it makes no tangible difference in your lifestyle. You aren't thinner when the anesthetic wears off. You don't hear better. Your boobs certainly aren't bigger. All that's different is you're missing some organ that you didn't use in the first place. It's like the appendix – I have no fecking idea what it does. It's just this lumpish liverish thing that has a free ride in your abdominal cavity, sucking on your blood like some weird internal vampire, until one day it decides it's going to piss you off and hurt like the raging buttocks of Hell. Then you get it chopped out and life continues with no difference except a big fecking scar and the end of the bikini as you knew it.

I had my appendix and gall bladder out at the same time. A two for one deal. The doc promised me I would have an itty-bitty scar. When he took off the band-aid aprés surgery I had a fecking scar from boobs to bellybutton.

Cataract surgery isn't like that. Not nowadays. When my parents had theirs done a few years ago the doctor cut into the whites of their eyes and left big nasty stitches. They don't do that now. With teeny tiny knives they cut into the pupil, I think, and then chop up your lens while it's still inside your eyeball. I know, it sounds gross, but you don't feel a thing. You're all hopped up on drugs and all you can see is pretty lights. It's so psychedelic, man. Like you've just done heroin. Or maybe you have done heroin – who knows what they're shooting into your IV when you're not looking?

Once the lens is chopped up like eyeball sushi they suction it out with a teeny tiny vacuum cleaner. I think my doctor used a Hoover Windtunnel. The reason they do it that way is so they don't have to make a big cut in your eyeball. I know, brilliant, right?

When the old one is out, the eye-doc inserts a new lens that is folded up like a teeny-tiny umbrella. (Everything's teeny-tiny in Eyeball Land.) He pops it open using the magic umbrella button and it sproings into place. He doesn't even have to stitch it. It just sticks there. I don't know how – pressure, I guess. Like shower curtain rods. Or maybe Krazy Glue.

And that's it. End of operation. He sticks a clear plastic pirate shield over your eye and sends you home with a month's supply of eye drops and a pleasant leftover drug buzz that makes you sleepy, happy and dopy.

I was worried about it, I was. Because I am a big poulet. But it was no big deal. I arrived at the hospital, filled out some forms and then the nurses came and inserted an IV and drenched my eyeball with a bathtub load of drops. Some of them froze my eyeball (the drops, not the nurses), some of 'em dilated my pupil, some of them were somebody's used bathwater. Then the eye-doc wrote some graffiti on my eye with a magic marker. He was quite precise about it – said he was measuring stuff. I thought, gee, all this high-tech teeny-tiny stuff and he's writing on my eyeball with a magic marker.

A different nurse gave me one of those gobsmack ugly blue hospital hats to wear and still another one put more freezing drops in my eyes. I was worried she didn't give me enough so I grabbed her arm and hissed, "I NEED MORE." So she gave me more. Because she was afraid.

Then they wheeled me into the operating room and the anesthesiologist asked me how high I'd like to be.

"Gimme everything you got," I said.

He gave me a nice dose of IV bubbly and I was feeling like that time when I had too much rye and was laying flat on my back in an open field watching the stars spin, but then they started duct taping my forehead to the bed and propping open my eyeball with some prop-open-THING and that's when I got scared and yelled, "IT'S NOT ENOUGH."

I remember the anesthesiologist and the rest of the surgical team discussing the matter ... "she had the proper dose".... "I don't know if she really needs more or if she's just a big poulet ..." Then that's all I remember, except for the pretty lights. I think they probably gave me more because, when I had a bath the next day there was this electrocardiac sticky-thing on my back next to my ass and I don't remember anybody being that close to my ass. Despite repeated showers and baths the black mark from that sticky-thing remained. I finally had to scrub my skin raw to remove it. Since I'm having the other eyeball done tomorrow morning I didn't want the nurses to see the dirt from the sticky thing still there... they would think I'm a dirty pig.

The lights... I can't tell you enough about the lights. You do not see any of the eye-doc's tools coming toward you. For some reason, you don't see a bloody thing. Just these lights. Have you seen any of the Austin Powers movies? You know how each break in the action is marked by psychedelic backgrounds for Austin's bimbo dance moves? That's what it looks like and it's grooooovy, baby.

For a few hours after the surgery I couldn't see anything at all out of the new eyeball. Gradually my eyesight returned and I was stunned, absolutely stunned, by the clarity of my vision. The colours were off – the first couple of post-op days everything was red, like looking through cranberry glass. The next couple of days things were yellow. Two weeks later and the colours are normal but incredibly VIVID.
When you have cataracts you don't realize how badly you see things. It's like looking through a steamy window and all the colours of everything are pastel versions of themselves. When the old lens is gone the world is a bright and beautiful place.

The morning after my surgery I went outside and started bawling like a baby when the sheer breathtaking beauty of my part of the world hit me upside the head with a resounding slap. Mist was rising off the river, coating nearby trees with a sparkling patina of ice. Everything was so clear, so crystal-fecking-clear that I was dazed. I thought, how can anyone who can see this BEAUTY not want to live in this gorgeous, gorgeous world?

But I digress.

I wanted to tell you how my vision is. Well, here's the scoop: I used to be nearsighted in both eyes. Now I'm not nearsighted in the left. I can see things in the distance with stunning clarity. Only I can't see anything close up. Like my computer screen? Can't fecking see it with the new lens. Will need pop bottle bottom reading glasses to be able to see anything close up. In the meantime I am using Dave's old reading glasses, which are not my prescription but they're better than nothing, right? As for my right eye, for now it's still clouded with a cataract and it's nearsighted but is good with close-up. Dave's glasses make my right eye downright crazy. Like Steve  Buscemi as Crazy-Eyes in Adam Sandler's Mr. Deeds movie.

So, to summarize, I've got nearsighted and farsighted, cataract and non-cataract, all going on at the same time. It's all going to be fine, though. Tomorrow I get the other cataract removed and then in six weeks, when everything's healed up, I'll go to the optometrist and get fitted for new glasses. In the meantime, I'll get some reading glasses from the drug store to get me through the next month or so at work.

Oh, and I've figured out why I had the stupid cataracts so early in my life. I've been taking Solumedrol, a type of steroid, every two months for several years to combat my Crohn's disease. Apparently steroids speed cataract growth. That's the thing about drugs – they help you but they never come without risk. My son asked me today about medication for acne. I told him to wash his face more often before thinking about medication because you never know how it might affect you in the future. Besides, he's only got a few zits. Nothing a bit of soap can't handle.

(C'mere, baby, I'll pop 'em for ya. Nothing Mama likes better than popping a few juicy zits.)

***

Just a quick shout-out to some folks who have been having a rough go of it lately. To Mark and his family, and to Tammy and Richard and theirs, I send all my love, hugs and wishes. You are in my thoughts, my dearest, dearest friends.