AletheaKontis.com

If you haven’t gotten your fill of Valentine’s Day candy on sale yet, well, that’s nobody’s fault but your own. Lucky for you, Easter’s just around the corner, with a significantly smaller proportion of Red Dye Number Five.

I had a lovely Valentine’s Day, thank you, in no small part because of my father. I don’t remember when the tradition started, but I remember waking up for school on Valentine’s Day and coming downstairs to find a silly little present on the island in the kitchen. It might have been a flower or a card or a bag of candy or a teddy bear stuffed into a coffee mug with a bag full of candy AND a card (with a flower on it), but there was always something and it was always from my daddy.

The best part is that this tradition has continued beyond our formative years into the time when we can tell the world how much we appreciate this small, silly, not-so-insignificant thing. Last year, Dad sent all his girls (there are three of us, plus my mom) a  big heart (pictured here) and an original poem for each one of us. This year was a bit of a blast from the past — a little panda teddy bear in a giant red coffee mug with sweet kissy expressions all over it. (Which means IN NO WAY can anyone mistake this one for theirs!) There was a poem enclosed this year too:

Her direction?

Keeps you guessin’

Where she’ll stay?

She finds a way.

What she’ll do?

Surprises you.

Thinks she’s beat?

Lands on her feet.

Amazing, huh?

ALETHEA.

Yes, folks, my father actually took the time to find a rhyme for my name. And if that’s not real love I don’t know what is. For me, Valentine’s Day is far more than just a cheesy Hallmark-created luvfest. For me, Valentine’s Day is Father’s Day.

Coincidentally, where last year’s Valentine’s Day had me on the front page of the Living Well section of the Murfreesboro paper and leading a teen-oriented paranormal romance discussion at the Bleeding Hearts Club, This year’s Valentine’s Day culminated in a FANTASTIC (and exceptionally long) interview with Greg Hall of The Funky Werepig. We had a lovely date, laughed a lot, covered an AMAZING amount of ground (yes, we probably talked about you), and sang.

That’s right, Greg made me sing. And it’s here for all time on the internet, if you want to have a listen. Turn it on and clean out that junk drawer you’ve been meaning to tackle — the interview clocks in at about 2 hours (including the 30-minute afterparty), so it is not for the faint of heart (or the exceptionally busy). And while the Werepig is usually For Mature Audiences Only, I’d rate our date at about a PG-13. As always, listen at your discretion.

In the meantime, I’m going to go make myself some smiley, kissy-face red coffee. Love you, Dad. xox

…your Stoker Award Final Ballot is stupid. I’m not saying that because I don’t agree with the finalists (although I don’t but I can’t complain about that because I was too busy having a nervous breakdown, fleeing the state, and piecing together the aftermath to think about nominations), but because the method of voting is stupid.

For those of you who are not Active members of the HWA (Horror Writers Association), let me explain: there are three ways to vote for the Stoker Awards. You may:

1.) Choose a first and second place in every category

2.) Abstain from voting in the category

3.) Let the HWA folks know that you don’t believe any work in this category deserves a vote (which smells a lot like option B, but whatever. It’s an option.)

The option you DON’T have is to decide to only vote for ONE item in each category. That’s right — even if you have decided you have a clear winner, you still have to go with a second place pick. This is ridiculous and I’ll tell you why. Because if 13 people pick Jane Doe for 1st place and 13 people pick Stephen King for 1st place and 26 people pick John Schlocky Spamsalot for 2nd place because they recognize his name, guess who has a REALLY good chance of walking away with an award? Have you folks not taken statistics? Look it up.

I’ve notified the HWA. We’ll see if they decide to fix this particular glitch. In the meantime, I honestly can’t place my vote. And that’s a shame.

Yeah.
I’m kind of ready for it to be spring now.

This, for example.

It’s a minor squee for those of us who used to be librarians…and the amazing ones who still are.

The weekend that Tomo came to Awesome Porch and brought my Favorite T-shirt ever (“Self-Rescuing Princess”), he also brought me and Gypsy some colored bubbles. Mine are pink. Hers are blue. And while we were lying on a blanket in the snow earlier catching some rays (which is the only way to do it, really), Gypsy jumped up and fetched them. They were GORGEOUS. Observe:

Of course, when we were finished, the area around us looked liked we had killed a unicorn. Those pics still to come.

We’re gonna go throw snowballs at the icicles on the roof now.

Testing out WordPress iPhone photos while we wait for the butt-ton of Chinese food I just ordered.

This blizzard called for Chinese.

Im here in the at& t store with Gypsy and the kids, who are getting new phones before the blizzard. Of course, we still have to do Wal Mart and the grocery store…this ought to be fun! (I’m just glad Gypsy’s driving.).

While I’m waiting I figured I’d download the Wordpress app for the phone and give it a test run. So…hello, world! Wish us a safe trip home.

Xox love, the princess

I often get asked where I got the inspiration for AlphaOops. It’s true, it did really come out of a discussion at Orson Scott Card’s Boot Camp, but the seed of the idea has been germinating inside me all my life. If your name starts with “A”, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

Those of us whose names start with “A” get special privileges. We get to be first in line. We get picked first to give our reports in school. We’re not shelved first in the bookstore, but that’s okay, because we get called first when the one we ordered comes in. And as “L” is in the first half of the alphabet, only Abigail, Adelaide, and Agnes get their books before I do.

We’ve heard the intimate moments and jokes at business dinners when you’ve accidentally pocket-called us. And while I will never tell the now happily married couple that I cried when I heard them arguing in the car, I have called my father back and asked him to repeat the punch line so I could tell it to a friend.

We get all the invitations on Facebook. ALL the invitations. I get so many freaking invitations I can’t block the applications fast enough. I’m okay with it — some of them are fun, when I have the time…which is rare. But if you ask me to be a fan of your page more than ten times, I will defriend you just because it’s easier. No hard feelings — they just haven’t come up with a better way to block that yet. Or maybe they have. The new Facebook interface hasn’t rolled out to me yet.

The most fun, though, is the emails. I get accidentally emailed all the time. Most of the time, I just ignore it and delete it. If it’s a newsletter, I’ll simply unsubscribe (you should ALL have an unsubscribe option in your newsletters). If I notice that it was misdirected, I will email the sender and mention that it should have gone to someone else.

But sometimes…I’m torn.

For instance, a friend of mine is a teacher at a university here in the US. A few weeks ago, I got an email from him with the subject line “For Tuesday.” Attached were two powerpoint presentations. I thought perhaps he had taken a trip and was sending us slides…until I opened it and realized I had accidentally been put on his class email list. I forgot to tell him, and laughed when the next one came in, with everything I needed to know for the test. I couldn’t think of a great joke to send back…and now it’s too late.

I received another one today. I kind of like getting them. They’re very informative, and for a writer that’s pretty valuable. It’ll only last a semester anyway.

So the question is…do I tell him?

Nice!

“Black Hole Sun” by Alethea Kontis & Kelli Dunlap
“For Restful Death I Cry” by Geoffrey Girard
“Tasting Green Grass” by Elaine Blose
“Endangered” by Robby Sparks
“Nostalgia” by Gene O’Neill
“Beautiful Girl” by Angeline Hawkes
“Father’s Flesh, Mother’s Blood” by Aliette De Bodard
“Terra Tango 3″ by James Reilly
“Love Kills” by Gill Ainsworth
“Memories of Hope City” by Maggie Jamison
“Do You Want That in Blonde, Brunette, or Auburn” by Glenn Lewis Gillette
“Marketing Proposal” by Sarah M. Harvey
“The Monastery of the Seven Hands” by Natania Barron
“A Futile Gesture Toward Truth” by Paul Jessup
“Hydraulic” by Ekaterina Sedia
“Alien Spaces” by Deb Taber
“Virtual Babies” by Maurice Broaddus
“Personal Jesus” by Jennifer Pelland
“Meat World” by Michele Lee

My Nana always called my sister “Sweetie Pie.”

I was “Angel Cakes.”

This angel is for you, Nana!! xox