It’s been a busy week for me; Howling at the Moon is finally out (yea!), my children have come home with science projects that require parental assistance (enough said), and I’m working hard at getting another book written. So in the spirit of multitasking and time management, I decided to make a phone call while changing out some of the water for my son’s Betta.

Of course, because I was on the phone, I didn’t scoop the water out with a glass. I just poured a little of it out of the top of the tank.

Which would have been a triumph of efficiency, except for one minor detail that I’m guessing you’ve already deduced. That’s right. The stupid fish went too. And let me tell you, there’s no worse feeling than watching your son’s favorite blue betta literally circling the drain — particularly when you’re the one who put him there.

I hung up (a tad late, alas) and spent the next ten minutes with my hand down the disposal, wondering (a) if it would be more humane to run the disposal or just keep the water going to send the fish downstream; (b) how quickly I’d have to drive to replace the betta before Ian got home from school (answer: not a legal or even physically possible speed); and (c) which slimy thing was old egg noodle or something even more disgusting and which was fish. Something did flip around from time to time, so I knew not all hope was lost, but all I kept coming up with was egg noodles. At least I think that’s what they were. Although we haven’t had egg noodles in weeks, come to think of it. Best not to think of it, actually…

Anyway, after the twelfth egg noodle, it finally occurred to me to use a flashlight. To my (massive) relief, there the poor thing was, blue and forlorn, marooned between two egg-noodle-like objects and the jaws of the disposal. After another few minutes of him squirting through my fingers to even more difficult corners of the disposal, I managed to extricate him.

Firetruck, I am happy to say, is back in his tank now, and despite the missing scales on his nose and a couple of places on his back, he’s remarkably undamaged. And nobody has noticed. Thank God.

I’d stay and write more, but I have to go slice potato and apple chunks for a science experiment and then find a bug to feed the gecko now. Cheers, and hope you’re having a great week!

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

I was just thinking last night as I perused the card section of the grocery store and selected eight (yes, eight) valentine’s cards, four colorful potted plants, and two 24-count plastic bags of candy valentines (which I later filled out and hotglued together for my children’s classmates) that the romantic aspect of this particular holiday is somewhat diminished for me these past few years. And I’m thinking the problem is that I’m a mom.

Most — not all — men feel they have managed a coup when they (a) remember that February 14 is a holiday that theoretically requires some action on their part and (b) show up with anything — including the rubber chicken they substituted when they discovered the store had sold out of actual flowers — in hand. And if they purchase a card that does not involve raunchy comments about female anatomy, they’re in great shape till the next Valentine’s Day — or at least till the next anniversary. I saw several of these valentine-savvy men tonight as I waited in line to buy a drink at the local supermarket. (You can recognize them by the furtive glances at their watches and the plastic-wrapped, luridly colored roses.)

A mother’s responsibility? Purchase, label, and distribute trinkets and/or live greenery to all the people capable of creating future psychoanalysis bills for one’s children. And relatives, of course. Who I guess fall into that category, come to think of it.

Now, I can’t complain — my own sweet spouse arrived last night with a lovely, anatomy-free card and a beautiful bouquet of the same flowers that were in my wedding bouquet. Had he not had a meeting in Temple until ten last night, I’m sure he would have joined me in the hot-glue-a-thon. And it’s not like I’m totally on top of things (exhibit a: my blog record for the past, oh, three months or so).

But you know what the worst of it is? Valentine’s may have come and gone, but the Easter stuff is already in the stores.

Calgon, take me away…

Hi, everyone.

Just checking in — I’ve been working on books rather than blogs lately, so if you’re missing me, that’s why — to say hi and let you know what’s going on!

On the writing front, I’m currently working on the third book in the Gray Whale Inn series and the third in the Wolves in the City trilogy (hence my rather ghostly presence here); I’m also thinking of ideas for future projects (which is always fun).

I’ve also been working with my web designer to retool the web site, and hope to have the new version up next week. Fingers crossed!

On the publishing front, I just got some exciting news this week. HOWLING AT THE MOON, the first in the Tales trilogy, is already in its second printing… and the book isn’t out until February 26th! It’s also getting some great advance reviews, which is wonderful — and a huge relief. MaryJanice Davidson, who writes the fabulous UNDEAD series and who’s sold more books than God — okay, well maybe not that many, but a whole lot — wrote: “Sophie was a delight, and HOWLING AT THE MOON was like a big bag of potato chips…I kept reaching for the next page, and the next, and the next…”

And here’s another one, from Reader to Reader Reviews: “…you’ll have the reading time of your life with talented author Karen MacInerney’s tale about a female werewolf who’s caught between the world of werewolves and humans. She has a foot in each and her balancing act will keep you howling too. With laughter, that is.”

After being closeted with Sophie Garou for two years, it’s wonderful to hear that other people enjoy her as much as I do. Whew!

At any rate, I just wanted to stop in and let everyone know that despite rumors to the contrary, I have not been crushed by a fallen piano or suffocated by the twenty cases of Girl Scout Cookies I’ve been hauling around town for the past month. Isn’t that a relief? And come to think of it, does anyone want a few dozen boxes of shortbread cookies? I think I know where you can get them…

I hope all is well with everyone out there — and if you have any favorite light recipes, please feel free to send them on; I’m working up the light fare for the third Gray Whale Inn mystery, MURDER MOST MAINE, so any and all ideas are much appreciated.

Stay warm, read lots, and I’ll be back soon!