Blgthon 35.48 Interview with E.R.D,

Which of course stands for Emily Ryan Davis. I just want to say a big thank you to her, because not only did she do the interview, but she also did the book donation thingy, plus she has been writing a new book and has spent her down time pestering me in emails which keeps me awake. I have no idea how I found her blog, Rhian maybe, but I could be so far off the mark, it may have just been luck. Anyway...

First, thanks for allowing me to ask some things.

Oh, please, I should thank you for giving me a chance to yak about myself. Have I ever mentioned what a narcissist I am?



1.I know your name is a pen name, though honestly I would not have known that without looking at your bio or having correspondance. But, how exactly did you come up with it?

I don't remember where the Emily came from. I think I might've tried the sound of "Leah," but decided it didn't work with for some reason. Fascinating, right? Ryan-Davis, from a customer database at a previous job. I thought it sounded nice and neutral, not too German or Italian or French - not too anything. My pseudonym is blaaaaaaaaaand with extra aaaaaa. Aaaaa. My real (maiden) name's not exactly a spicy pile of nachos, either, but it is pretty distinct. As in, if I walk into Bed, Bath & Beyond and say "I want you to print my bridal registry" and give them my husband's name, the customer service lady gets about four million responses in her database. My maiden name, though? Pops right up. Not another one of me in sight.



2.You just recently got married. Any fun stories? Did it go off as well as you thought it would or were there any minor catastrophes along the way?

Is it awful to say the best part of my wedding was that it ended? I'm convinced every wedding is a comedy of errors, but mine? Yikes. Life got pretty rocky there for a while. I envisioned this fun, modest event with white dresses, delicious (but modest) catering, a fantastic cake, my family meeting my husband's family for the first time, presents and pictures and tearful I-Do's. Disaster struck in the form of religious zeal (or un-zeal on my part), illnesses in my family, so on, so forth. The pastor refused to marry me to my husband 9 days before the wedding. My maid of honor's husband offered to join the Universal Life Church and rush his Ordained Minister certificate so he could marry us. My coworker offered to ask her Minister of the Church of Satan friend to marry me - fee $50, but I had to be willing to let him wear his Church of Satan uniform: black suit, red tie. (I had no idea a red tie made a man devout, but hey, who'm I to criticize? It was a very generous offer!)

Ultimately we ended up at the Annapolis County Clerk's office, where the most memorable 45 seconds of the entire ordeal (ahem, celebration) occurred. I had my entire (small) wedding party with me, my photographer waiting, the marriage license all ready to go, the county clerk's chapel fee all paid, and a promise that "Your party is next." The next party got called. Not me. The NEXT party got called. Uh, still not me. The next? You guessed it, not me. I sent my husband to find out when we'd be called in; he came back with the assurance that we were (of course) next.

Allow me to state, in my defense, that I was on a tight schedule. My gracious photographer could only stay until 3 p.m. (we met in Annapolis at 1 p.m.) because she had an evening wedding booked as well. This was Friday; my wedding was supposed to take place on Saturday, but the religious disaster hit and I had to split the affair up over the course of two days. So there I was, swathed in satin and tulle, dying of thirst, shiny as a new-polished diamond because every hormone I possess decided to turn my face into an oil field, hotter than a...um...you know, hot thing - and my photographer had already pushed back her "have to leave now" limit by 15 minutes. The county clerk came out, called somebody else's name, and I completely lost it. Dehydration and stress and the oil slick that was my face collided in this massive thunderclap and I stood up, raised my voice over the milling crowd of Annapolis Naval Academy sailors and their floozy brides in fishnet dresses, and said, "I was told I'm next!" (Nope. Nothing more vulgar than that, sorry to say.) The clerk glanced at me, looked at his paperwork, turned to the Sailor Couple, and I thought he was ignoring me. Completely lost my temper. I was shrieking like a trailer park harridan inside my head (my maid of honor assures me I behaved with perfect grace, but she wasn't privy to the banshee between my ears) as I threw my bouquet at my maid of honor, snatched up the voluminous train of my snowy white gown, and stalked across the clerk courtyard. The security guard rolled his chair back to stop me - must've thought better about it as he rolled over the trailing hem of my gown and encountered the (probably feral and rabid) look in my eyes, and backed off. I stormed - stormed! - into the little office place and demanded to know why a sailor floozy (yes, I said it, and I am Unapologetic - she was wearing WHITE fishnet!!) was going ahead of me after I'd been waiting two hours! Two hours! On top of my future father-in-law trying to convince my husband I didn't love him enough because I refused to get married in a ceremony that offered my obedience - OBEDIENCE! the nerve! - and finding out my mother was afraid she'd ruin my wedding pictures because she's sick and has dark circles under her eyes - andandand - did I mention my wedding plans got very rocky?

Anyway, too late to make this long story short, but in the end the ceremony itself took about 45 seconds and bam! I was a Mrs. Forty-five seconds. My wedding pictures came out slanted, alas, but my husband's fantastic and I have a photo of him pulling a condom off the tailpipe of his car, courtesy of his friends, so it's worth it in the end. And I have two wedding dates I get to celebrate every year: the marriage certificate says June 15; all the party favors say June 16. Twice the anniversary!

Followup: so the honeymoon had to be swell then, right?

As I said, plans changed vastly over the course of the two weeks prior. We'd planned on a week in Williamsburg, VA, but that turned into a daytrip to Ocean City, MD. The daytrip became an impromptu overnight trip, but we hadn't planned on staying so we had the clothes on our back and swimsuits (in my case, a swimsuit, a pair of clean underwear, the shorts I wore over my swimsuit, and a t-shirt), no hair brushes, no toothbrushes, no nothing. We got a hotel room and the Holiday Inn provides necessities like toothbrush and comb, but they don't provide things like condoms. Just go to a CVS, right?

We were in Ocean City during the tail end of Senior Week and the Fireman's convention. CVS? Not a condom to be found. One box remained on the shelf, and it had been torn open and the rubbers stolen. My wedding culminated in a sexless honeymoon.




3.Would you like some soft shell crabs?

Imagine my horrified expression, wrinkled nose and recoiling posture, toes curling and soul cringing. Imagine it! Now look what you did to me! Their LEGS hang OFF the bread! Dangling! If you're jostled, the legs JIGGLE! It's a prehistoric spider! On a sandwich! Deep-fried and slathered with old bay and mayo and a;gkha;gha;lgha;uqpowiruq!@#$!

marylanders, what is wrong with you people? dear god. alien sandwiches. ew.



4.Who inspired you to be a writer and try to get yourself published?

To be a writer, I'm not sure. I knew I wanted to be an artist of some type; I used to try for "artistic" drawings in crayon on lined notebook paper, and my 8-year-old sense of artistic taste knew that I hadn't a visual-arts bone in my body. I couldn't sing; my mom dashed my Future Stevie Wonder dreams to the ground by pointing out that I was neither blind, black, nor male. Good thing that, too - vocalist I am not. I could read, though, and I figured out I could write when a teacher accused me of plagiarism (falsely) during the course of a "write a short story" class assignment. It's my friend Tom (doktortom on MySpace) who introduced me to How to Write books, and though he's not exactly responsible for my tawdry, trashy romance paying hobby, he is responsible for my coming to view writing as a potential career path.

To be published - I have to admit the final push to get myself published was completely an envy thing. My friend Elisabeth Drake ( www.emdrake.com) secured a contract for a pair of short stories, and I decided that if she could be published, so could I. (Not in a snotty way; more of a "well, what AM I waiting for?" way). So I contacted my current editor and here I am, proud author of two trashy romance e-books, a novella appearing in an anthology sometime this summer/early fall, and a third e-book due out as soon as I can possibly write the thing.



5.We all have influences in our writing, even me and my blog. I find sometimes I am channeling some sort of Bill Maher rant on occasion. When you are writing, do you try to keep yourself from being influenced by other writers so you don't copy there styles, or is it the best form of flattery?

I try not to copy styles in prose writing because I want to be recognized for my voice, not somebody else's. That said, I'm a product of every author I've ever read. The phenomenon is similar to accent adoption - I moved to Massachusetts and lived there for 7 years; now I say Baaaah-ston. I don't say anything else in Massachusetts-ese, just that, but it's something I picked up without even trying. I go back home to West Virginia to visit my mom, and three days into it I'm droppin' my g's and drawlin' my a's, and I can't pronounce "creek" with a long e to save my life.

In writing, I tend to borrow words more than style. I think I got "runnel" from the first page of a Bujold novel. I never would've thought of using it before I read the word in her book. Now it's one of my favorites. In blogging, I tend to borrow topics. You blogged about U2; next thing I know I'm blogging about music.



6.You are trapped in a snow storm with a broken TV set. It only has one channel on it, what channel do you hope it will be?

Any channel that will play on loop the Family Guy episode where Peter's hiding in the refrigerator, saying "There is no Peter, there is only Zuul," and Lois screeches, "Peteh, get outta the refrigeratuh!" Because that? Endless - endless! - source of amusement to me. I don't even need the whole episode. Just that scene. Barring that, I don't care as long as it'd entertain the people who were trapped in the snowstorm with me. I'm honestly not a TV watcher. Can never remember what channel corresponds with what network, and really, who has the time to sit and watch the TV Guide channel, even if you could make it through the 17-minute scroll without stabbing yourself in the eye over the fifth revisit to the Crocodile Whatshisface's memorial thing?



7.Since my blogathon entry has a loose theme of Philadelphia, I need to ask a couple of Philadelphia type questions. Have you ever visited our lovely city? What did you think? If not how come already?

I think I have, but I honestly don't remember whether it was Philly or Pittsburgh. It involved a salsa cruise, a junior year Spanish class field trip, and that's all I recall. No, they weren't serving full-rum daiquiries to the 17-year-olds. Sad to say.



8.On your cheesesteak, do you have cheese whiz or cheese slices?

Are you kidding me? Cheese Whiz is an option? My mother-in-law makes this godawful concoction called Beer Cheese Soup that's Cheese Whiz, half 'n half, bear, and onions. Could serve it up with a Playboy and a sixpack of Sam Adams and just skip the niceties, call it what it is - Man Soup.

On cheesesteak, though - I've only ever had cheesesteak Boston style: white american cheese, full grease soaking up into the bread, pepper, salt, and fried onions. Steak-Ums, not real steak. No peppers. What's the authentic Philly style?



9.Being a music nut like I am, how in the world did you get such a cool sounding day job?

I have good luck with jobs. I don't quite understand how some people can't get anything more entertaining than flipping 'em at McDonald's; I've written obituaries, poured coffee, waited tables, tutored writing and statistics, "sold" credit cards via phone, admin-assisted a music school for young kids - all interesting things (to me, anyway). I guess I know how to write letters? Say the things people want to hear? I'm adaptable? My coworkers think it's a riot that I have no clue how many strings come on a bass guitar; one coworker thinks it's a mortal offense that I didn't know who Keith Richards was 'til he pointed it out to me. Maybe I got it because I'm a likeable person. :) Don't tell my brother - he'll want to know what I paid you to say it.



10.Lindsay Lohan, Idiot, victim of a crazy family and her needs to be the family bread winner, or a little of both?

Eyeliner chemicals have seeped into her brain via her ocular fluid, rendering her useless as a human being, but useful as a pop icon. After all, Human Being isn't a job requirement in the Icon field.



11.Anything new on the horizon from your imaginitve brain?

A novella, as yet untitled, slated to appear in a less-than-PG-13 anthology with an alternate sexuality theme. I hesitate to give titles or descriptions for this interview because I'm not sure who's blogging, and I am all for not making a neutral crowd uncomfortable. I'll keep updates at my website, though, http://www.emilyryandavis.com , and there's a newsletter link and all that good stuff, for people who want to seek it out of their own free will. I don't like to smack unsuspecting people in the face. :)




Aside from that, though - more serious things are brewing. I grew up in a town shadowed by an insane asylum, and I very much want to write about that - the poverty, the isolation, the ability of people to pretend their surroundings don't exist. I want to write about the strange and bizarre crimes committed in the vicinity, while I was in high school; about the community events like baseball games and Oktoberfest that took place on hospital grounds. I want to write about my mother, a mental health nurse, and her own struggle with mental health. Meaningful things. I will, some day, but it's a story I still have to grow into all the way. In the meantime, I'll hold onto the fantasy and escapism, the fluff of dragons and princesses and fairies and things like that. A love story's easier than a semi-autobiography, right? Easier to read, easier to write, and at this stage of my life, I am ALL about easy.

I may re-evaluate next spring, after the retail Christmas season is over, my third dragony book is written, and I've had a good long regenerative winter sleep.

Thursday Thirteen #43-The Beach One

Thirteen Beaches Sparky Has Visited Its Summertime, which means alot of lucky dudes and dudettes are off running around on various beaches enjoying themselves. So, to sort of connect with all those lucky you know whats, here are 13 beaches that Sparky has visited over my lifetime. If pictures are included, they are pictures I have taken. Enjoy and wash the sand off your feet before you leave. 1.Wildwood Crest, Wildwood Crest, NJ- For about 10 days every summer from 1979 to about 1987 or so, our family vacation every summer would include spending time with the Grandparents in a one bedroom, one bathroom suite in Wildwood. While it sounds unappetizing now, it was loads of fun when you were 10. 2.Jekyll Island, Georgia-I can barely remember this trip to the beach, because it was so long ago and I think it was actually raining when we were there. But the beach itself was small and kind of rocky. With limited memory, this was not one of my favorites. But, lets rememebr I was like 13, and at 13 you dont like anything. 3. Daytona Beach, Florida-A weird little beach, but again I was there with my parents and brother. So while the fact that the cars could drive on the sand was cool, I missed out on alot of the other "activities", so to speak. 4.Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey-This was where we would hang out on the summers in High School. If you wanted to hook up with a New Yorker under the boardwalk, this was one of the places. 5.Canon Beach, Oregon. This place is best known for Haystack Rock, as well as the fact that part of the movie Goonies was filmed there. It was gorgeous, but very cold on the feetsies. I have to find my pictures from there, they were cool. 6.Harrington Beach, University of Delaware-Ok, this is not a beach in the sense that there is sand and water. It was a grassy location between three dorms at my alma mater. They call it a beach because it is more dirt then grass, plus the coeds would always lay out here whenever it was close to warm enough to wear a bikini. 7.Sarasota, Florida-It may or may not be Sarasota, but it was darn close to there. Amazing Sunsets over the bay. 8.Hilton Head Isle, South Carolina-I have been to these beaches a couple of times and what I can remember is the waves really were kind of sucky. The sand was gorgeous and the sun was warm, especially for April. 9.Waikiki, Oahu, Hawaii-I know I have mentioned this multiple times before, so just enjoy. 10.Estrella Mountain Golf Course, Goodyear, Arizona-Ok, again, it is not really a beach with waves. But, I consider it a beach because the last time I played golf here with my father, I spent most of my time in the giant sand traps. 11.Ocean City, Maryland-It was not exactly beach weather when we were down there this year, and to me it was an odd little place if you were looking for the beach feel. I think it was because of the high rise condos right on the water. But, dipping your feet in the sand did make you long for summer. 12. Wailea Beach at The Fairmont Kea Lani, Maui, Hawaii-This was the beach that was right off of our hotel. Breathtaking! Technically I believe it is called Polo Beach. 13.Black Sand Beach, Maui, Hawaii-Found on the Road to Hana. I would have sat here and looked at all the beautiful natural colors exploding around us for hours, if I could have. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!)

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50 Hotties 50 States-Maryland

A new week, a new set of hotties. Maryland was the first one on our list today, can anyone tell me how I am picking the states so far? Maryland itself was a bit more difficult then the last few states, because there was no wow, yes, thats it moment. A final decision was made that Laura Wright was close but no cigar and that Parker Posey was born in Baltimore, Maryland on November 8, 1968.

The OCMD Experience, postscripts

Some minor thoughts that I might have forgotten, plus I keep hearing a clamoring for details.

-As usual, I grasp onto something and just worry and worry and worry all over it. This time of course, it was what to wear to the wedding reception. Luckily, the choice was made very easily. The weather never rose above 65, so I was able to wear the long sleeve button down mint green shirt, the tan khakis and the sport coat, which was quickly stripped off just after the first dance. The most casual thing worn was some very nice Tropical print shirts, so all was right with the world.

-You could tell where the Philly people were sitting. We were the loud side of the room.

-As for "The Incident" I am not going to get all macho or conceited here, but my best attributes have always been on the lower half of my body. I have always gotten butt compliments and I even know my legs look good, in a runner/soccer player sort of way. So I guess my butt was just irrestiable in those khakis. The slapper got more wallet then anything else and I was not her only victim. So I would guess it was in the fun joking way. It was just odd because we are really not in this girls crew of friends, so it was totally out of a drunken haze of nowhere. And, I think it may have been better that Mrs Duck was tipsy. She didn't get near as pissy as if it was a sober incident.

-Ocean City was nice, but I don't think I will be heading back any time soon. I might be a beach snob or something, but it just didnt have that shore town feel. And it was way too cold to feel like a nice resort town.

-and now to figure out how to share the pictures without the whole internet seeing em.

The OCMD Experience, Part 2

If you are curious about Part One, just click here.

Some people have asked why more then one part. Well, I have found that when I get a bit too wordy, people lose interest and just skim. Why have that? Plus, it was a nice enough time to go in a few parts.

So Saturday was the only day that the two of us could manage to get enough sleep. We ventured off to breakfast, where the foursome (Mrs Duck, The Senator, Red and your feathered friend) had some of the biggest omelets I may have ever seen. And they were tasty too. Good times, though maybe not on the cholesterol front. Then, it was seeing some of the sights, searching for a hat for Mrs Duck, since she left her sunglasses, prescription no less, at home. I was stunned I did not get blamed for that. Though, we never did see the boardwalk, we did see the beach, again Brrrrr cold!!

After a near alarm malfunction, thankfully fire girl woke us up, we shuffled the whole crew off to the wedding. The ceremony itself was beautiful, right on Assawoman Bay. It would have been nicer if the sun came out, but everyone was just thankful it did not rain. The future Mrs Terrapin was very nervous, you could see it from how her hands were shaking, but her honey seemed calm and cool and did a good job of keeping her calm. Plus, the officiant was just like Judge Judy in voice and demeanor, which added a nice dose of levity.

The reception was nice as well, with plenty of food and heavy heavy pours on the drinks. The food was unremarkable, but also edible. Nothing really stuck out in my mind, besides the roast beef which was near perfect. Their was a moment when we were seated at our table, the group of 10 and we all sort of had this thought, this was the last wedding. It made us feel old, as well as pushed us to make sure we kicked the evening up another notch.

The Bride was beautiful, the toasts made me verklempt, the DJ was good, though you should never end a wedding on Last Dance by Donna Summer, because it is just too fast a song. Their was an odd moment when I got my butt slapped, and not by Mrs Duck. I have a nice ass, I know, but sheesh, its not a piece of beef that needs to be tested out for tenderness. Mrs Duck was none to pleased, and in her drunken state later on, she mentioned something to the Slapper. Luckily, no one came to blows, though I know the Philly crew would have had her back.

Only one of us threw up at the end of the night, though I think we were both drunk when we woke up for the breakfast buffet. That by the way, was a mistake, all breakfast buffets should be avoided when its Mothers Day.

Congratulations to the new Mr & Mrs Terrapin. They both provided everyone with a special weekend to enjoy their happiness. I will post some pictures in the coming few days, once I give them all a little touch up.

So, would you have gone after the Slapper?

The OCMD Experience, part 1

As you can see, we are back safe and sound from our little weekend sojourn to Ocean City, Maryland. As I usually love to do, I will provide you, my faithful readers, with a travelogue, so you can see how much fun we had and also so I can give my memory a little jump start in the future. So, away we go...

Traffic in Center City Philadelphia is always bad, now with all of the construction and walkers. Traffic on a sunny Friday afternoon is even worse. Traffic on a sunny Friday afternoon, after a political rally in Love Park is at its most possible worst! So, it should not be at all surprising that I was a tad bit cranky by the time I picked up Mrs Duck from her Center City office at a little bit after 1:30 pm. I could have already used a drink! Luckily, their was little issue getting out of the city and then the state.
Then, their was Delaware. If you ever travel on I-95 you think Delaware is just a little blip on the map that you could easily miss while snoozing. Oh contrare! When you have to drive the whole state, Delaware is just as long and as boring as cutting through New Jersey. Mind numbing 2 and a half hours. And once you get south of Dover, their is very little going on. The lack of Target/Wal-Mart/Lowes makes the chances at a rest stop less likely. I now see why when I was in college, Northern Delaware people could easily make fun of Southern Delaware people. All that was missing was a kid on a porch with a banjo.
One good decision I, the navigator as well as main pilot, made was to take 113 south as opposed to Route 1 south. We were able to avoid the stop and go traffic of Rehobeth and Dewey Beach, which made us able to arrive with a chance to freshen up before the happy hour on the bay at Macky's. Which was nice, because by the time we got there, I could have used a drink (as I mentioned above) Free Drinks are even better.
It turned into a beautiful night, spent catching up with the Senator and Red, The Cardinal family, the Judge and Fire girl and all the rest of the cast of characters that Mrs Duck has known for many years even before I graced her life. Plus, we were able to smoke at the bar, something unheard of in the city of Brotherly Love. Drinks, a good dinner at the Shark Restaurant and a chance to get to bed before midnight all made for a nice start to the weekend of celebration.

Now, I know your wondering, how was the wedding and what did your favorite feathered friend end up wearing. Oh, I guess that will have to wait for part 2, now wont it?