He told me he was going to make breakfast and said he would set up a menu so I could choose.

Of course he mentioned that “gratuities are appreciated.”

I shall now go into his office and scrounge for spare change.

I never thought I’d write a book series.

I’m a standalone book kind of gal.

I invite a bunch of funny / odd / desperate / rebellious / semi-unhinged characters to dance in my head for about a year, write about ‘em, throw the book out to the universe, and hope that a bunch of you wonderful people like it.

Then I invite a whole new group of people to come on in and toss wedding dresses into trees or run naked along rivers, or paint six foot tall dragon chairs, or indulge their premonitions, and I’m off and writing again.

So what happened to make me think about writing a series?
Well, I’d been playing with writing a memoir.

CUE MY LAUGHTER. SEE ME BENT OVER DOUBLE LAUGHING. HEAR ME LAUGH-SNORT.

This is a bit of a lie.

At the very least, an elephant-sized exaggeration.

The thought of writing a memoir about my life lasted about five seconds. Maybe three.

STOP LAUGHING, CATHY. GET CONTROL OF YOURSELF. THIS IS EMBARRASSING. DID YOU SPELL ‘EMBARRASSING’ RIGHT?

The truth is that I will never write a memoir. A memoir means that I will be writing about people that I love dearly. Most are still with us, some are not.

But I just can’t write about my late parents or my brother and sisters. To me, it would be a huge violation of their privacy and of course they would perceive different experiences and relationships in our lives, well, differently.

This could be a very messy literary event for me and I don’t like messy. I prefer nice, neat slices of lemon or chocolate cake.

Plus, and this is a huge deal: I had the best parents on the planet. I loved them dearly. Everyone loved them, especially my mother who was an English teacher to thousands of students and believed in every single one of them. What is there to say?

I’m not being modest when I reveal this next little tidbit, but my life is not interesting enough to write a memoir. That is the truth. I know what makes a gripping memoir and if I wrote mine you’d fall asleep.

I would have to market it as, “I’ve written a memoir that is so tedious and boring it will help all of you with your insomnia. Buy the audio and you’ll be snoring soon!”

My daydreams are pretty entertaining, at least to me, but daydreams do not make a memoir.

So, a memoir was out.

SEMI-HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER AT THE THOUGHT OF WRITING A DREARY MEMOIR NOW QUIETING DOWN.

But I still had a lot of stories from the first ten years of my childhood in Huntington Beach, California zooming around in my head like cats on surfboards that I wanted to write about.

And those memories with neighbors named Wong, Miyashiro, and Ross, a teacher named Miss White, an elementary school named Joseph R. Perry, a sunny street named Deauville Drive and a man down the street who, when I was about eight years old, left his wife and three kids (my friends!) for a girlfriend in his speedy, white Alfa Romeo….well, all that launched the Ten Kids series.

Told through the eyes of 12-year-old Jesse O’Brien, I scooted on my mental skateboard back to my childhood in our mid-century modern home with a magnolia tree in front and jacarandas on the side and wrote “Ten Kids, Two Lovebirds, and a Singing Mermaid.”

The ten kids in the book are not reflective of my three siblings.

The father of one gang of kids and the mother of another gang who fall head over heels in love (lovebirds) are not my father and mother.

There was no singing mermaid except for me who fervently WANTED to be a mermaid with a shiny green swishy tail and to sing like a mocking bird but, unfortunately, neither came to pass.

But those years on Deauville Drive catching butterflies, playing Kick the Can with other kids, and climbing trees so I could write imaginary stories in my curious and wandering little mind were pivotal to my whole life.

So here we are.

Book number three, “Ten Kids, Two Wishes, and a Christmas Pageant,” is now out. It goes without saying, that I do, truly, forevermore, hope that you like it.

I’ll sum it up right quick: The O’Brien and Rossi families continue to find love and laughter amidst chaos and calamities, a hilarious Christmas pageant, and a pair of unfairly wielded handcuffs.

AMAZON ONLY: https://shorturl.at/OJOhF

SUBSTACK ARTICLE: https://cathylamb.substack.com/p/my-new-book-ten-kids-two-wishes-and?r=kayfq&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

LINK: https://shorturl.at/eXOiN

Here’s a little elf info on it:

The O’Brien and Rossi families continue to find love and laughter amidst chaos and calamities, a hilarious Christmas pageant, and a pair of unfairly wielded handcuffs.

Huntington Beach, California, 1979

Twelve-year-old Jesse O’Brien has had quite a year, but her mother, Annie, a full-time waitress and pie baker with five kids, has had a year that turned her life upside down, then shook it like a martini, and ran it through a whirling blender.

Despite what happened, Jesse knows that her mother is determined to have a merry Christmas with her family along with Tommy, a handsome and protective Vietnam War vet; his sister, Liliana, a singing mermaid; and his five kids, a happy band of rebels, who all live next door in an old, rambling house in the middle of an orange orchard.

To make the holidays extra special, the Rossi and O’Brien families have the annual Perry R. Joseph Elementary School Christmas Pageant to look forward to, though no one expected it to be quite so… unusual: Angels and hellfire tequila, a rockin’ Little Drummer Boy and talking lambs, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer and Elvis Presley.

Unsurprisingly, the exuberant Rossi and O’Brien kids are right smack in the middle of it and the pageant will be filled with holiday joy…unless it’s an utter and complete disaster.

Jesse knew that her mother had one deeply held wish, that all her semi-wild children would behave appropriately on stage, sing nicely, do what they were told, and make her proud.

But Annie’s worry about how her children would behave in the Christmas pageant paled in comparison to the worry she felt when she was arrested one fine, sunny day for assault against, unbelievably, a pregnant-looking man – her soon to be ex-husband’s attorney. She had used her favorite red ceramic pie pan to protect herself and Jesse from him in their pretty yellow kitchen next to fresh baked apple pies, and now she’s stuck in handcuffs.

Jesse’s mother immediately had a second wish, a much deeper and more desperate wish than the one associated with the pageant.

And that was the kind of problem that only Mrs. Claus could fix

When I feel stressed or overly tired or confused, or when I’m happy and chill, I walk.

I’ve always walked. Endless miles. Call it brain fixing or anxiety calming. Call it outdoor sanity or nature-joy. (I just made that phrase up.)

I have found that walking lets you breathe and think and de-sizzle and manage stress, tears, grief, and problems. It doesn’t take them away. If it did, with all the miles I’ve walked, my life would be a lot easier.

But walking, I have found, eases life. It brings beauty to mind and body.

I like studying flower petals…

…and I like the cool breeze that feels like a blessing.

I like ducks that sound like they’re laughing at me and geese that honk like they’re semi-screaming. I like blue herons because they are the Lamb Family bird and I like the elegance of white egrets.

I like examining the intricacies of tree bark.

When I stand and stare at tree bark I am sure that people nearby think I’m crazy, but I am decades past caring about what people think of my bark studies.

Click on the link for my Substack Newsletter and read for free…

SUBSTACK:

https://cathylamb.substack.com/p/save-your-sanity-walk?r=kayfq

All three short stories in Wanted: Christmas Miracles and my novel, “Bellini’s Christmas Burlesque Show,” are funny and end happy. We all need happy endings, especially during the busy, stressful (?) holidays.

Grab hot chocolate or wine or Christmas cake and here ya go…

Only on Amazon.

https://shorturl.at/R3YvS

Also, I have two standalone Christmas books that you might like. We all need to laugh and escape during the holidays, so these might be just what Mrs. Claus ordered for you.

Wanted: Christmas Miracles has three stories in one. I hope you like it

Okay, I have NO IDEA why I can’t shrink this cover to a normal size. I will just say: Technology is a beast sometimes, and confusing and baffling, so I’m not even going to try to fix this. Too tired. And I need a mocha.

Remember when I asked you to vote for what book I should write next? Here are the winners…

VOTE TALLY:

Number One, book four in the 10 Kids series: 52 votes

Number Two, a contemporary, funny romance like the two stories in “I’m Not Yours: 31 votes.

Number Three, a witch / magical realism / modern life series with a funny main character: 57 votes.

Number Four, a standalone like Ruthie Deschutes O’Hara has Ulterior Motives or All About Evie: 65 votes.

Number Five, time travel. Modern woman thrown in and out of time. 24 votes.

So the WINNER is a standalone book

Here’s a photo of my very professional tally sheet.

So no one thinks there was any ballot shenanigans or sneakiness going on here, I had Innocent Husband hold up the final result. He has testified that all votes have been counted fairly and no trouble was found.

As you can see I’m a real pro at tally marks.

Thanks so much to everyone who participated!

See my Substack article below.

Have a happy day.

https://cathylamb.substack.com/p/please-vote-i-need-your-advice

Please click on the link, below, to become a FREE subscriber on my Substack page and vote for my next book.

Standalone? Funny romance? Book four in the Ten Kids series? Time Travel? Witch/Magical realism?

What do you think?

https://cathylamb.substack.com/p/please-vote-i-need-your-advice

Have a happy reading day.

Cathy

It’s the small stuff in life, I totally agree with everyone else on this. The small stuff brings the smiles, the joy, the relief, the hope, the kindness from one person to another.

Have a good day.