Author: Rossandra

It’s About Time (don’t you think?)

Posted on by Rossandra

It has been awhile, hasn’t it, since I posted anything here? Books written, published and sold, well, still selling, here and there. And then there’s my third novel, Mine Dances, sequel to Monkey’s Wedding, finished for the most part, but I’m going back through it. Holy moly! It’s amazing how time away is s. Way back before my memoir, Loveyoubye, which was actually the last book I wrote. There’s some famous quote about writing a million words before a writer finds their voice. Though that is probably true, for me it was finally getting comfortable with the whole process. And trusting myself.

Meanwhile, COVID has come upon us. Sent us all scurrying into our shelters as best we can. Just so you know, I see this as a huge opportunity for all of us to attune to the big change that’s coming, not the shitass change that’s been happening since 2016, which is actually grist for the mill for us to sort through the crap and realize what’s important, to get a grip on what’s important in life. To claim our God given sovereignty.

As a semi-hermit and writer, COVID hasn’t been much of a change for me. I miss going out to dinner with friends, the summer ritual of dancing at Music in The Park, swaying to the various Sunset Serenaders while perched on the cliff above the ocean in Heisler Park. Aah! those sunsets! And hugs. I miss those full body hugs.

Meanwhile, I’m writing and studying and gardening, and exercising. And trying to decide what to eat for dinner. Treated myself last week to a pair of million dollar seafood enchiladas from Nick’s South, downtown, (OMG! their food is fabulous!) and a mezcal margarita. In a plastic cup. With a lid. Had to a wait a tad ’cause they fucked up my order, sort of, anyway, had to restrain myself from taking a sip right there in the wait line. Would’ve, but it meant I’d have to lower my mask and I didn’t want somebody yelling at me. Must say I do like my drink in a glass. And cold. And no lid.

I’m working myself up to another dining splurge, either ZPizza, cadillac of pizzas, or so I’ve heard. They deliver, but I’m way too cheap to pay the delivery charge. And then there’s the whole flash-fried Tilapia at Ricardo’s, eyes and all. Crispy, belly button tingling good! But it’s a bit of a drive. Will have to wait and see. I’ve been threatening to walk down to the brew pub a block away and have a beer. By myself. Just chug it down and then walk home. But it doesn’t really sound that good once I give it a second thought.

As I write this, Fergie, aka Fergalicious, is stretched out on her donut bed, next to me, snoring. I’m thinking of dying the white fur around her chops, can’t take that she’s showing her age (unlike me, HA!), eleven next month. Still haven’t gotten over losing Jake, three years ago this month. New addition to the household, teenage Cooper, an absolutely delightful, loving, brilliant black cat, keeps us both entertained.

Sending everybody who reads this much love and a virtual hug!

 

 

 

 

Monkey’s Wedding Gets The Bronze!

Posted on by Rossandra

I’m tickled. Little Monkey’s Wedding won an Independent Publishers (IPPY) Bronze Medal.

I worked so long and hard on this book, and suddenly it’s successful. It has turned out to be the little book that could. First, it was picked up Kindle Scout and published, and now it has won an award.  I want to thank everyone for your support, you’ve been part of my success.

 

 

A Momentous Occasion!

Posted on by Rossandra

A batch of paperbacks for Monkey’s Wedding arrived today!

Now I can finally send the book to my brother, Garth, who lives back home in South Africa. He’s been waiting for a copy for twenty-two years, ever since I told him I was writing a book about us. A book that started out as a memoir (and ended up as a mystical, political, historical, family story, with him as a fictional character). You can read about it here.

“Where is your book,” he’d ask in every letter over the years. You could almost hear his slow deliberate way of talking coming through his barely legible text. The couple of years he spent in that small classroom at Frederick Knapp School with all the other “slow” kids in Nkana, Zambia, where we were raised, hadn’t taught him much beyond his letters, which in his dotage has regressed to mostly scribbles. Soon, I would tell him.

It wouldn’t have helped to tell him about all the near misses Monkey’s Wedding had gone through on its way to publication. From being picked up by an agent to a near miss with Time Warner Publishing, to enthusiastic interest from the editor of Harper Collins (until she had to get smart and back off from this niche title that didn’t promise a big payoff). Nor could I have told him how I’d relegated Monkey’s Wedding to a fantasy of being a #1 NYT bestseller (the newspaper clipping I pinned to the wall with Monkey’s Wedding’s blurb pasted over the top bestseller at the time now brittle and yellowed).

“Maybe they will never publish your book,” he finally wrote a year ago.

I’d come to the same conclusion. His health was deteriorating. This was the guy who wasn’t supposed to live past twenty anyway. It was time to fulfill my promise to my brother. I would self-publish. I had the book professionally edited and set about researching the whole self-publishing route. But it was hard giving up my dream of having the book published by an agency. I made one last mad dash and submitted Monkey’s Wedding to Kindle Scout–the American Idol of publishing–with hope in my heart, yet believing that there was no chance in hell my novel would get selected.

Against all odds, Monkey’s Wedding was selected by Kindle Press for publication (of the Kindle), along with more popular titles like Necrospect, Cowboy Sanctuary, Devil’s Glen, Trapped in Love, Eternity Prophesy. Books so unlike Monkey’s Wedding it’s laughable. And wonderful.

With the might of Kindle Press/Amazon Publishing behind me, I went ahead and self-published the paperback. Garth will finally get his book.

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