New Book Announcement: I Hate Summer #amwriting
While the final touches are being done for the paperback of The Leaf Flute, there is another book I am currently editing, one which dictates all my animosity for the abomination that is the summer. Anyone who knows me understands that summer and I have a longstanding adversarial relationship. Summer might mean many exhilarating things for others, but summer means heinous allergies, seasonal depression, and profuse sweating for me. I often catalogue my violent hatred for the season on my personal page. Many readers seem to think my anguish is hilarious, and therefore, after much provocation, I've decided to compile my most unabashed misadventures with the wreck of a season into a book. Below is an excerpt. It will be out when this hell of a season is over.
I have just had an argument with a child, which went thus:
"But I don't want chocolate!"
Instantly, my ear caught the obnoxious sound. It belonged to a child about five years old. The kind woman at the counter was piling ice cream on a cone for her. The mother of the officious little gruffler was hovering near, and the moment the child complained, she slapped a hand over her eyes and gave up on the world.
"I don't want chocolate!" the child whinged.
The woman at the counter glanced at the mother, who was on the precipice of throwing the child into the nearby pond, and then glanced at the cone in her hand. "Okay, then," she conceded. "I'll give you vanilla." She scraped the chocolate off the cone, much to my horror, and said, "Is it okay if I just put the vanilla on this cone?"
"NO!" the child shouted.
"But there's only a little chocolate--"
"NO!"
A drawn out sigh escaped the mother's lips. "She won't eat it," the mother lamented. "She doesn't like chocolate."
This, I felt, was a grave sin, and I looked suspiciously at this little abomination of life.
"I DON'T LIKE CHOCOLATE!" it shrieked.
"That will change," I said quietly to the mother. "She will learn to appreciate it when she gets older."
The mother made a weak smile.
"NO I WON'T!"
A foot was stamped, the mother went to bang her head against the window, and my patience with this little stain of childhood had done.
I gave the child a fierce look. "Do you want ice cream?"
The child pouted and trumpeted a whine through her nose.
"Then there will be no more foot stamping or whining or all the rest of it."
The child glared at me. "I can do what I want!" it huffed.
"How clever you think you are. You say you don't like chocolate, but don't know you know that the cone has chocolate coating inside of it."
"I DON'T WANT CHOCOLATE!"
"Then you will have no cone."
"I WANT A CONE!"
"Then you will have to have chocolate inside of it, as there are no plain cones."
"WHY NOT?"
"Because life is trying to get you to understand the joys of chocolate."
The child kicked her foot against the counter and glunched. "Chocolate is stupid."
My nostrils flared. "No," I said, "you are."
"NO! YOU ARE!"
I leaned down. "No," I seethed. "You."
I returned home to prepare the armada.
I have just had an argument with a child, which went thus:
 |
| The face I make all day, every day during summer |
Instantly, my ear caught the obnoxious sound. It belonged to a child about five years old. The kind woman at the counter was piling ice cream on a cone for her. The mother of the officious little gruffler was hovering near, and the moment the child complained, she slapped a hand over her eyes and gave up on the world.
"I don't want chocolate!" the child whinged.
The woman at the counter glanced at the mother, who was on the precipice of throwing the child into the nearby pond, and then glanced at the cone in her hand. "Okay, then," she conceded. "I'll give you vanilla." She scraped the chocolate off the cone, much to my horror, and said, "Is it okay if I just put the vanilla on this cone?"
"NO!" the child shouted.
"But there's only a little chocolate--"
"NO!"
A drawn out sigh escaped the mother's lips. "She won't eat it," the mother lamented. "She doesn't like chocolate."
This, I felt, was a grave sin, and I looked suspiciously at this little abomination of life.
"I DON'T LIKE CHOCOLATE!" it shrieked.
"That will change," I said quietly to the mother. "She will learn to appreciate it when she gets older."
The mother made a weak smile.
"NO I WON'T!"
A foot was stamped, the mother went to bang her head against the window, and my patience with this little stain of childhood had done.
I gave the child a fierce look. "Do you want ice cream?"
The child pouted and trumpeted a whine through her nose.
"Then there will be no more foot stamping or whining or all the rest of it."
The child glared at me. "I can do what I want!" it huffed.
"How clever you think you are. You say you don't like chocolate, but don't know you know that the cone has chocolate coating inside of it."
"I DON'T WANT CHOCOLATE!"
"Then you will have no cone."
"I WANT A CONE!"
"Then you will have to have chocolate inside of it, as there are no plain cones."
"WHY NOT?"
"Because life is trying to get you to understand the joys of chocolate."
The child kicked her foot against the counter and glunched. "Chocolate is stupid."
My nostrils flared. "No," I said, "you are."
"NO! YOU ARE!"
I leaned down. "No," I seethed. "You."
I returned home to prepare the armada.
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