Stop PUPPY Biting NOW.

WARNING: Sharp language.

Puppies have milk teeth, did you know that? Indeed they do: tiny teeth that fall out when their adult teeth come in, around 5 months of age. And they use them for everything - eating, playing, communicating. I knew that! But somehow (in my floof-induced stupor) I'd forgotten just how bad it can get. Those motherfuckers are sharp. I'm talking hypodermic-needle-fangs. I'm talking dragon-slicers, piranha-biters, shark-slashers and alligator-gnashers. Basically I'm totally perforated.

I'm trying to look on the bright side here.

And if you think this is bad, you should see The Huz; he foolishly waved his schnoz back and forth in a tantalizing manner in front of the puppy and basically he can now wear that nose-ring he never wanted.

Yeah, yeah, I can hear some of you saying, "it's your own damn fault, spoiling that puppy." Blame the victim, right? Or, "you need to grab his maw with long-handled tongs and tell him NONONONONOBADPUPPY." Because puppies understand tongs and shouting.

"Just whimper like a puppy when he bites you! It will teach him that biting hurts!" Um, yeah, it worked at first, but since Inkling snagged The Huz on the hooter, the subsequent howling and bloodletting tipped the beast over the edge. Mad dog!

Things have improved somewhat since I discovered my little newf doggie will do anything for tiny bits of cooked chicken, also known as ...puppycrack. He's basically a total slut for the stuff! I carry some around in a little pouch on my belt and give him a morsel every time he doesn't snack on my ankles and fingers. He certainly has me well trained.

It's a good thing he's cute; his survival depends on it.


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How self-publishing a book is like giving birth.

WARNING: Partial nudity.

As you know, I made a book. Making a book is just like making a baby. Perhaps not the making part...

...but probably the growing part. And most definitely, the pushing out part. Especially if you're self-publishing.

I won't lie to you; it's really fucking painful. Nothing can prepare you for the torture leading up to the actual release. And yes, you will probably shit yourself. (I decided not to draw that part because I am nice.)

You can beg and plead for an epidural or hardcore narcotics, or even pray that a falling piano will knock you out and take the pain away.

But you won't get any drugs, because you're self-publishing! Ha ha.

"I'll never have sex again!" you vow.

Yeah, yeah. Everyone says this while giving birth, but you can't deny that even as you endure the awful thunder in your blood, there's already a glimmer of another sexy book lurking in the creative soup of your consciousness.

And then, just when you think you can't take it anymore, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Literally.

The book is about to launch - bear down! Bear down!
Give'er one last push.

Push!

PUSH!!

You did it! Your book is out!

And you're still alive.

Welcome to the World little one!

It's a goddamn miracle.

You're overcome with maternal joy. (Even if you're a dude.)

Congratulations on what seems to be a happy, healthy baby book, to have, to hold, and to share. Possibly even destined for the New York Times bestseller list - you never know, right?

Let's celebrate! Champagne! Enjoy the moment.

Because the real work has only just begun.

You have to keep the baby alive - feed it and give it lots of love and attention. By attention, I mean publicity; make sure folks know about the book-baby. Get that fucker out there!

Don't banish the baby to forgotten boxes in the dusty shadows of your garage or basement. You mustn't let the baby die! It's counting on you - you're all it's got.

And... don't forget the afterbirth!

Notes on self-publishing:

• It's not easy; but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it.
• You probably won't make money; but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it.
• Your first book might not be very good; but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it. 
• Although self-publishing e-books is free, you will probably have to give up something you love. Like sleep. You might want to think about that one.

Life is short people. Go forth and tell your stories.

The LAST Snowman is my first book. These folks all yelled "PUSH!" and deserve my thanks. Smack me if I've forgotten someone...but not too hard, because I'm still post natal:

Jill Smokler AKA ScaryMommy, Annie @ PhD in Parenting, Tracy Beckerman from Lost in Suburbia.
Virginia, Mona, Gigi.
Sandi, Derek, Stephie, Brandie, Åsa, Kristin, Judy, Susie, Julia, Dean, Tracy, Tanya, Brooke, Scotty, Tanya, Susie, Julia, Virginia, Michael, Sarah.
Everyone who took the time to read my blog and tell me they liked it.
Uncle Simon, The Huz, all our children and my mom.

But most of all, I want to thank the fourteen-year-old girl.

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Growing PAINS.

Oh to be young and able-bodied!

What do you do when you're feeling creaky?

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The DREADED Weever Fish.

I bet you're all wondering how my first day of surfing lessons went.

I went with two of my kids - the 10 year old boy and the 13 year old girl. The husband came along to take photos and no, I won't post those here unless you get me really drunk. Anyhow we got there early, donned our full body wet suits and yellow "first time surfer" rash vests, and followed the Shore Surf School gang down to the beach at Godrevy, Cornwall. Everyone had to carry their own boards down, and that is why one of my arms is now longer than the other. Hurrah!

First part of the lesson went really well. We did "prone surfing" where you leap onto your board like a mermaid and lie there riding the wave in. Although much bigger than a boogie board, it was pretty easy to handle and I was having fun.

And then....I stepped on something sharp.

I could feel three tiny needles going into the soft flesh where my toes join my foot. And I thought, "could this be the dreaded weever fish?" It didn't actually hurt much more than a stinging nettle, so I ignored it and caught another wave.

And then it started to sting and and I couldn't even stand on it anymore. "Uh...Mr. Surf Coach dude? Hey, Mr. Surf Coach? Um, excuse me hello Surfie Coachie? Pardon me yoo hoo? HEY MAN I STEPPED ON THE DREADED WEEVER FISH!!!" That got his attention.

I sat down with the very young, very blond, very fit, very tan dudes with "Surf Coach" on their t-shirts and we all looked at my foot. There were three puncture holes and one was even bleeding. It hurt more and more, but I was very brave and didn't cry. Yet.

By now I'll bet you're wondering, ok JC, what the heck is a WEEVER FISH?!?

It's this teeny weeny fishie that likes to lurk under the sand in shallow waters, especially at low tides. The Echiichthys vipera has three spines on its back fin, and if you step on it, the spines inject VENOM into your foot!! How exciting is that, right? Apparently it's the nastiest thing the UK has to offer. Grown men sailors fling themselves in the ocean and drown rather than suffer the excruciating pain of the DREADED Weever Fish.

First aid: kinda lame actually. When you can't stand the pain anymore, you must hobble off unaccompanied down the long, long beach, scramble over a bunch of barnacle covered rocks slippery with seaweed and climb up a steep cliff to the dunes. There's a Life Guard up there and he will put your foot into a tub of boiling hot water. Very hot water will neutralize the protein in the venom by cooking it.

Folks, I don't mind telling you that halfway up those rocks, tears were streaming down my cheeks. This was almost as painful as childbirth. But after 20 minutes of soaking my foot in the Life Guard's tub of hot water the stinging began to subside and I was able to walk again.

On my way back over the rocks, I noticed a little girl about 3 years old, crying her eyes out - she was stuck in the rocks and the tide was coming in. Because she was inbetween the rocks, no one could see her and the waves were so noisy, no one could hear her. The poor thing was really frightened! So I plucked her out and carried her through the deep water to her mom (who was quite some distance away, believe it or not).

So, if I hadn't been stung by the DREADED Weever Fish, who knows what fate may have befallen that poor little girl.

Going back for my second surf lesson tomorrow!

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