I have no idea where she is. But I, Vanessa, have not been here lately and some of you are starting to wonder why. First off, thanks. It’s good to be loved, or at least somewhat tolerated. Or maybe just wondered about very occasionally when you have nothing else to wonder about.

Anyway, writing wise, actually, I’ve been making good progress on the first draft of my new novel, which is very exciting. I love the rush that comes with meeting new characters and seeing how they get in and out of trouble. As I’ve said before, it’s almost like being in love.

I have been slack on many other aspects of my life though, mostly because my family is relocating to Florida from Virginia. This will be the biggest move we’ve ever done as a family so it’s been pretty daunting, but we’ll make it work. Until then, it’ll probably be pretty quiet around ye olde Coffee and a Keyboard. But don’t worry, we’ll be back very soon.

In the meantime, I hope you’re all safe and happy and enjoying summer!

Oh…and I don’t usually toot my own horn, but this is too big not to share. One of my favorite singers in the world, Martin Page, wrote about me in his latest blog. I’m still pinching myself!!!

I had several flashes of my daughter’s future this morning as she walked down the stairs. She was going to the mall with her friends, then going to prom, then graduating and following her dreams. But then she returned to the little smiley six year old that she is. Care-free and singing to herself a song she learned in school.

She slid on her Little Miss Sunshine backpack and I walked with her to the bus stop. Back in September it was raining, but she shone so vividly with her pink umbrella and dazzling smile. Kindergarten. A new adventure. So much potential, so much anticipation.

Today is the last day. It’s bright and sunny out. There’s no umbrella but the smile is still there. When she started the journey, she could read a few words, but now, she reads full chapters.

She started the year with all of her baby teeth, and now she has lost six of them in total. The four bottom ones are growing in, the top two still missing.

She’s made friends, found new interests and started to truly become her own person, separate from her father and me. It’s sad and beautiful all at the same time, but mostly beautiful. I love when she uses a new word or shares with me a new bit of knowledge she’s gained.

The bus pulls up. In September I worried so much. Would the other kids pick on her? Would she pay attention in class? Would the teachers like her? Would she like them? I cried on the walk back from the bus stop, the rain masking my tears.

Today, the same flutter rumbles in my belly as the yellow and red lights blink on the bus.  I wave at the bus driver when she opens the door and she waves back. We’ve done this all school year. Sort of an unspoken agreement that she’ll get her safely to and from school and she has.

The bus pulls away and the tears well again. Not for any fear or concern, but that universal sense of pride that all parents feel when their child completes their first year of school.

I don’t know about you, but I go to my library almost weekly. It’s a great way for me to check out different books for free. Lately, I’ve been getting a lot of audio books to keep me company on my commute. I’ve listened to books I probably never would have picked up before, just for sheer lack of time, and because of this, have made some great discoveries.

My daughter also loves going to the library and not only does she love the books, she likes to participate in many of the activities that the library puts on like story time and even Lego event!

No…it’s not library appreciation week. Yes…there is one, it’s in April.

But…Galleycat has put together a great list of The Best Library People on Twitter.  It’s a very comprehensive list including writers, library students and even some libraries themselves. Be sure and check it out.

Hey everybody…no #fridayflash this week, but that’s ok. I’ve actually been working more on the first draft of my new project. I don’t have a title yet, but it’s a post apocalyptic faerie story. Sound crazy, but it’s fun so far.

So…what are you all working on lately? Anything interesting. Tell me all about it!

The man was back. He comes here to my home often. Always with human things. We do not have such things. Things called, “cameras” and “microphones.”

This man, he is called, “Mitch.” He has been coming here for a moon’s time. At first he was quiet. Then he started talking. I think he talks to me, but I have seen other humans talk to trees or birds or other things here in the woods. He says things like, “I know you’re out there.” And, “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

My kind does not trust humans. We have seen them kill animals with their shooting sticks. There are not many of us left. There were not many of us to begin with.

I do not think Mitch wants to hurt us, but our hearts tell us to be wary. When Mitch talks, he talks of his “wife.” He talks about his “children.” I have never seen them here. I do not know all of his words, but I think his family does not like him coming here with his “camera.” He talks about people “laughing” and “ridicule.” I do not understand these things, but I know they are not good.

Many times, his eyes leak water and he makes sad sounds. Something inside of me hurts when he does this. My eyes do not leak water like his, but when my sire died, I made sad sounds like Mitch makes.

My kind has feelings like that. Sad, happy, fear. We are like humans or they are like us, but we cannot exist together. For many years, there were not so many humans and we lived without fear of them. Ancient humans, who looked different from Mitch, and talked different from him too, knew of us, but did not seek to harm us. But more humans came, and they changed and they wanted more land to live on, so we went deeper into the forest.

Some humans come here and live in things called, “tents.” Sometimes they leave things behind. Sometimes not good things like old food holders and drink vessels. One time they left a box that makes human voices and something called, “music.” I like this human thing very much. I turn the round thing on it and different sounds come out. The sounds are like nothing here in the woods. I felt sadness when the thing stopped making the sounds. Maybe one day Mitch will bring one of those things.

But not today. Today Mitch sits on the old tree stump. His “camera” is on the thing with three legs. He looks old and tired. Mitch has never brought a shooting stick. Only his “camera” and “microphone.” I do not fear Mitch. I believe that Mitch is different from other humans. I have communicated with others of my kind who see others like Mitch, looking for us. Some of them bring shooting sticks, talk about “trophies” and “money.”

Mitch never talks of these things. Mitch is talking now, like he often talks. He says, “I just need to know you’re real. I don’t want to kill you, I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve given my whole life looking for you and never made a goddamn dime. If I was in it for the money, I would have quit by now. My wife has left me, my kids think I’m crazy…I have nothing left.”

Mitch’s eyes start leaking and he makes the sad sounds again.

“Sounds like a bad country song, doesn’t it? My wife and kids left me, and I’m going to die looking for Sasquatch.”

This is what Mitch calls us. Sasquatch. One time he brought another man who said, “Bigfoot,” and laughed and that man never came back with Mitch.

“I’ve believed in you my whole damn life.  Ever since I was a kid. I went camping with my family and I saw you. I got lost in the woods and hurt my leg real bad, broke it. And you helped me. You took me back to my family but snuck away when they weren’t looking. They never believed me, but I knew you were out there. You saved my life.”

He speaks of my mother. She was a gentle one. Always fascinated by humans. I was still growing inside her at this time, but she told me the story when I was young. I think she wanted to communicate with humans, but was afraid, like we all are, of what would happen.

But I believe Mitch when he says he won’t hurt us. And I smell something different about Mitch. Something sick. My sire smelled similar before he died. I know he might not have long to live and it makes me hurt on the inside when he makes the sad sounds. I don’t want him to make the sad sounds anymore.

I step out from my hiding place and he sees me. His eyes leak more than ever now. I step closer and he makes more sad sounds that turn into happy sounds. I don’t understand this, but I know he means me no harm. He doesn’t go to his “camera” or to his “microphone.”  He walks over to me and smiles. His smile makes me happy on the inside and I know I have done the right thing.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Author’s note: This story is dedicated to Billy Willard, who inspired this week’s #fridayflash.

Hey everybody…sorry, no time for a #fridayflash today, but I will be around and reading some. In the meantime, as a follow up, here are the winners for the Moby Awards, which I mentioned last week.

And the winners/losers are…

Until next time, drink lots of coffee and have a great weekend. 

I’m a listener. I don’t know what else to call it really. I’m not a shrink, I never got a degree in psychology, or anything else. I’m not a social worker, counselor, life coach or anything like it. I just listen.

I never set out to do what I do, people found me. Much to my chagrin, really. I’m not a “people” person.  I never have been. I don’t hate other people or anything, but I’m totally ok with going long stretches and not having to deal with other people. I even buy my groceries in bulk and freeze a bunch of it, just so I don’t have to go out every week and deal with whatever comes my way.

Let me give you an example. I’m standing in line at the grocery store. The lady behind me just starts talking. Something about buyer’s remorse over her car. I sneak a sidelong glance, because I know if I make eye-contact, it’s all over. But there’s nobody with her. By all outward appearances, she’s talking to herself. But I know she’s not. She’s talking to me.

“I really like the car, but I probably should have gone for the cheaper model.” Heavy sigh. “Has that ever happened to you?”

I pretend not to hear, even though I not only hear but feel her regret, and know exactly which car she’s talking about. The blue deluxe sedan in the parking lot. It has a cutesy flamingo air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

“I said, has that ever happened to you?” She’s tapping my shoulder. Now it’s my turn to sigh and I say, “No.” It’s really best to give one word answers. Anything more just encourages them.

“Well, I don’t know, I guess I can’t do anything about it now. Maybe I should just enjoy it. After all, cars cost a lot. I go to work, I earn my money, why not spend it on a nice car, right?”

“Right,” I say and hope that’s it.

But it’s not.

She goes on and on, diving from one topic to another, from the car, to her house, to her mani-pedi’s to her cute dog, to why she’s never been married, and on and on and on.  A half hour later, her cell phone rings. I’ve never been so happy to hear the “Sex and the City” theme song in my entire life. She smiles at me and says what they sometimes say, “Thanks for listening.”

That was an easy one. Sometimes they’re not. I moved to a new apartment, after some trouble with a neighbor. That’s another story.

So off to my new apartment I went, just a few streets down actually. It was bigger though, so I had to get new furniture. I went to the local cheap furniture store and somehow, I knew there’d be a talker here. I knew it would be a bad one too, so I turned around to leave, but walked right into her.

“I don’t know if I should leave my husband or not.”

Whenever this happens, I am always tempted to say, “Why are you telling me these things? I don’t even know you! I’m just a girl who goes to work, comes home, reads a book and goes to bed just like everybody else. I don’t want your drama!”

But I don’t.

“He’s been cheating on me. And now he’s gotten one of them pregnant, but I can’t just kick him out. We’ve been together for so long.” Tears start streaming down her face. “What should I do?”

I know what you’re thinking, that she wants me to give her advice. But no, she doesn’t. And I don’t have any advice to give. I just want to get my coffee table and go home, but it’s too late. She has my hand now and I don’t know what else to do but give her a hug, which is completely anti-me. I am not a hugger, but something tells me that’s just what she needs. So I do. And I feel all of her sadness and pain, the betrayal, the way she found out about her cheating husband, thoughts of throwing him out, even thoughts of killing herself as she sobs into my shoulder and babbles on about this piece of crap man she’s wasted so many years on. I don’t say anything.

When she’s done, she smiles. Not a “well, I guess I’ll just muddle through” kind of smile, but a real, bright, sunbeam of a smile. “Thanks for listening. I guess I just needed somebody to listen to me.”

Yes, this is awkward when it happens. People gawk and comment I’ve tried everything I know to prevent it. One year, I got an eyebrow ring, wore black eyeliner and lipstick and wore shirts with dead bodies on them to make myself pricklier, less approachable. That actually had the opposite effect. I don’t get it.

On airplanes, I put in my earbuds and close my eyes, the international signs for “Please don’t talk to me. No really, don’t talk to me.” But it doesn’t work. One weasel pulled my earbud out of my ear to get my attention. He wanted to tell me about how his cat was the only one who still loved him, how his wife and daughter treated him like garbage. It was a non-stop flight from DC to L.A. Dear god…it was a long flight.

But I figure that somehow, this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to listen, to hear them. And hopefully, it helps.

Get out the black tie and get ready to check out the red carpet, it’s the first annual Book Trailer Awards, aka, The Moby Awards. This show is presented by Melville House and will feature the following categories:

Best Big Budget Book Trailer; Best Low Budget Book Trailer; Best Cameo in a Book Trailer, Best Author Appearance in a Book Trailer and Least Likely to Actually Sell the Book.

The awards are tonight, so it’s too late to enter, but I’m sure they’ll give it a go next year too, so be sure and get your trailers ready!

Which brings up an interesting point, I’ve started to see more and more of these trailers, but I’m curious if authors are seeing success with them. Do you have a trailer for your book? Do you feel as though it’s brought attention to your book and helped generate sales? Basically, how has a book trailer enhanced your book or marketing?

You can read all about the Mobys by clicking here. Good luck to all the finalists!!

Title shamelessly taken from the new Michael Buble song, “I Just Haven’t Met You Yet,” which they’ve been playing relentlessly on the radio.

-V.R.

He sat at his usual table at the café and she sat at hers. He sipped his coffee and enjoyed a Denver omelet. She had a latte and a muffin. She ordered different things every day. He liked that about her. When he finally got up the nerve to talk to her, he’d tell her that. Or maybe that would be creepy.

“More coffee?” Janet asked.

He shook his head, not taking his eyes off of the girl who for whatever reason drew him in completely. She was pretty, but not gorgeous. She seemed nice, but maybe she wasn’t. He didn’t even know her name.

Janet laughed. “You know, she’s not going to bite you. You’ve been making goo-goo eyes at her for two weeks now. Just go talk to her.”

“She’s probably got a boyfriend.”

“Nope.”

“She’ll think I’m a weirdo. How does that conversation go? Hi, I’ve been watching you for two weeks? Not a great intro. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity.”

Janet shifted her weight. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, haven’t you ever asked out a girl before?”

“Janet, I’m a cop. I don’t date. Partly because of the job, and partly just because nobody has ever really caught my eye before.”

“Want me to introduce you?”

“No! Well, maybe. Not right now. That might help though. Once I met her, I could relax. It’s the introduction I don’t know how to do.”

Janet set down the carafe of coffee and sat next to him in the booth. “Let me tell you kiddo, women like confidence, and you’re not exactly oozing a whole lot of it.”

“I know. I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t over think it. I’ll just go and—”

“All available units, all available units, please respond…” A crackly voice came over his walkie-talkie.

“Damn, gotta go.” He scooted out of the booth, threw a twenty on the table and left.

“Go get ‘em,” Janet said.

He turned to her, gave her a wink and a nod. “That’s my job, ma’am.”

She watched as he dashed from the café. He was like a different person when he was in action. Brave, confident. Just in the moment. Not over thinking the situation, like he was with this girl. Not over thinking… The corner of Janet’s mouth came up in a half smile.

The next day he arrived a little late for breakfast, and the girl wasn’t there. He sank in the booth. Maybe today would have been the day. He opened the menu, something he hadn’t done in a few weeks. He always ordered the same thing, there was no need to look at the menu. But today, maybe today was supposed to be different. Maybe he should try something new. Maybe that’s what this whole thing was supposed to teach him, that you have to be open to opportunities, or they just might pass you by. But now it looked like it was too late. Perhaps the lady had found another place to eat breakfast. He’d had a two week window of opportunity and blown it. He closed the menu and put it back between the wall and the napkin holder. When Janet came to take his order, he’d just get the regular…

“Hey, I need your help.” It was Janet. She looked concern, but there was something else to her expression he couldn’t quite interpret.

“What is it?”

She tugged at his arm. “Just c’mon, some one’s got a flat tire and I know you’re not a mechanic, but I don’t know how to change the darn thing…” she kept rambling as she pulled him through the door and into the parking area in front.

The arrived at a gray sedan with the front tire slashed.

“Can you help?” Janet asked.

He smiled and gave her a wink. “You bet. Gotta spare?”

“I do. It’s back here.” But it wasn’t Janet who spoke. He turned toward the trunk and there she was. She smiled at him and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Lisa. I really appreciate your help.”

He felt a sharp poke in his back. “You’ve been introduced. Go get ‘em,” Janet whispered.

He smiled and took Lisa’s hand. “Nice to meet you Lisa, I’m Eric. Let’s get this tire replaced.”

They got to removing the slashed tire and discussing who would have gone and slashed her tire. Janet strode back toward the café, tucking her trusty little pocket knife back into her apron pocket.

I know many of you are writers, but we’re also readers, right? And who is going to turn down the chance to win a free book?

The Girl From the Ghetto blog has a giveaway going on now. The deadline is May 16th, at midnight, and the book is “Manhood for Amateurs” by Michael Chabon.

I have the book on my “to-read” list on Goodreads.com (friend me if you haven’t already), and it sounds great. The blog post for the giveaway (click here) mentions various ways in which you can enter the contest. So get to it. The book sounds like a lot of fun.