Meet the dog behind Contest 2010

By repeated request, here’s a profile of one of the stars of my recently concluded competition.

Barney: Behind the Contest

The Chihuahua whose buggy eyes hypnotized and terrified entrants in my 2010 contest is Barney. He was photographed in his sombrero, duded up for Santa Barbara’s Old Spanish Days — aka Fiesta, a four-day SB party every August. He is the second rescued dog to find a happy home with my brother Bill and sister-in-law Sleeplessnsb (“What happens in Fresno, stays in Fresno”).

Sleeplessnsb is Barney’s publicist and mouthpiece, so I’ll let her give you the juicy details:

“Wow, Barney is an international ‘blog-star!’ Here are a few Barney bio-bullets…

Namesake: Barney Rubble from the Flintstones (eyes give it away).

DOB: 8.19.2004 — runt of the litter — orphaned by his mother, Biscuit, who was tragically run over by the breeder’s Hummer (no kidding).

Place: Painted Cave area of Santa Barbara.

Likes: cheese, licking toes, dirty socks, snapping at big dogs — especially greyhounds.

Dislikes: flashlights, thunder, anything canine or feline, vacuum cleaners, riding on the freeway.

Life Partner: Monty.”

Monty is rescue-dog #1, found beneath an abandoned mobile home in central California. Now both Chihuahuas live among the towering Gardiner clan in Santa Barbara.

Many thanks to Barney for lending this blog his star power.

Note: Interviews with the other two stars of the contest will not be possible. The bomb-disposal robot has zig-zagged into hiding, and Butterscotch the explodey pony has, well, blown the whole thing off.

Broadband death throes cont., yada yada

My broadband disaster has turned into a death match with my provider. Until it is resolved, watch out for irregular blogging, bolts of lightning emanating from my house, spears being thrown, kittens threatened, etc.

Other than that, everything’s peachy. I’m still laughing over the contest entries and will announce the winners soon. How’s everybody else?

Supernatural collective nouns

Wonderful.

A flurry of yetis, a craving of golems, and, maybe my favorite, an itself of Yahwehs.

Supernatural collective nouns.

Super monkey provides security

Some days, the blog posts just write themselves. Or, rather, the links do.

Delhi deploys ‘super monkey’ for Games security

NEW DELHI (AFP) – Delhi authorities are to deploy a contingent of langurs — a large type of monkey — at Commonwealth Games venues to help chase away smaller simians from the sporting extravaganza.

From Wednesday 10 langurs will be put on duty outside several Games venues in the Indian capital, with the swimming complex seen as particularly vulnerable to monkey misbehaviour, an official said.

Good. I was worried about Rebecca Adlington getting sunk in the 800 freestyle by a pack of ravening spider monkeys.

And y’all think Mr. Peebles is farfetched?

Contest judging begins

Time’s up.

The contest to become a character in The Nightmare Thief is closed. Now it’s time for me to retire to my writing bunker with your entries and determine the winner and runners up.

Thanks to all of you who submitted entries. You have provided me with hours of laughter.

The winners will be announced soon!

Cyberweaponry, thriller plot, or both?

Jason writes: “Sounds like something out of a Meg Gardiner novel.”

All I can say is: How do you know it’s not? And how do you know that my novels are not encoded with instructions for unleashing this malware on unsuspecting villains?

Stuxnet.

Last chance: Enter the contest

You have until midnight GMT tomorrow, September 27, to enter my contest and win the chance to have a character in my next novel named after you. So far there are almost 90 entries. Come on, give it a whirl.

Enter the 2010 contest to become a character in The Nightmare Thief.

Broadband death throes, day 4

Stardate… whatever. Day 4 of dead broadband. Gasping, I crawl from the house, dragging my laptop behind me.

Outside, it’s so bright! The sky is so big! What is that horrid, frightening ball in the sky? It burns!

Whimpering, shaking with the digital DTs, I run to the car, turn the ignition, and tear out. Straight across the driveway, the lawn, the neighbors’ croquet set, and the dog obedience class in the local park. I aim for my only hope of rescue, the place where I can find the digital drip of online access I can’t live without. Starbucks.

Yesterday I made it here but failed to log on. My computer refused to connect to the hive mind. I begged, I slapped it around, I yelled words the Starbucks people didn’t like. Nada.

Today I return. This is my last hope. And today I have a secret weapon. With me in spirit, speaking to me from the invisible realm beyond time and space (more prosaically known as a hotel in New York City) is my Internet Jedi.

I order coffee. I fire up my computer. I turn on the targeting radar. Or whatever that radar-looking-thingy is up at the top of my menu bar… wireless! That’s it. I access my head-up display. Network. Advanced.… DNS.

I call to The Master. Obi Paul. Can you hear me?

“Meg…” he says. “Trust your feelings. Use the Force.”

Or maybe it’s All those screaming kids in the Starbucks make it impossible to hear you, but I understand. I press the Return key Fire.

And I light up the sky. I connect.

Thank you, Obi Paul, Husband mine. Now please go get yourself some coffee and breakfast.

Just watch out for that Sith lord in the corner, drinking the mocha Frappuccino.

Friday: last lines and endings

Browsing through my well-thumbed copy of Jerome Stern’s Making Shapely Fiction, I came upon one of my favorite sections: “Don’t write stories in which the last lines are” — with examples such as:

– And then I woke up.

– He realised he was alone, and slowly blinked his third eye.

– The guillotine blade fell swiftly, severing my head from my body.

I just giggle. So bad! So wonderfully bad.

But I’m sure we can come up with more bad examples. So serve ‘em up: awful last lines for crime novels, fantasy epics, and — please — romance novels.

For example: The butler did it.

That’s my romance novel last line. What’s yours?

(Edited because I’m an author who edits everything.)

Broadband death throes

My broadband has seized up and keeled over, near dead. This has caused me to mildly – okay, crazily – panic and spend much time not-quite-yelling at the phone company, and rending my garments, and unscrewing the wall socket where the broadband hooks up, to try to give it CPR. No luck. It’ll be dead for days, looks like. So, just for you, dear readers, I drove through a downpour and flash flood to get a SIM card for my iPad so I could get online and report all my trials… and check Twitter, and Whatever, and Huffington Post.

Hi, my name is Meg, and I am a netaholic.

More random weirdness: today’s animal news

Today’s headlines:

New Zealand school under fire over possum-throwing contest. (Officials: It’s “technically not illegal.”)

Man arrested after picking fight with pet parrot. (Highlight: the bird fought back.)

“Goose shooting interrupts ‘preach at beach’ mass.” (To clarify: it was hunters, not the goose, doing the shooting.)

And finally, the animal story that could theoretically take care of all the other issues raised by the stories above: Crocodiles escape Mexican refuge after hurricane. (Highlight: numbers estimated between 280-400.)

Random weirdness: skeletons and sin eaters

First, I read that the grave of England’s last known sin eater has been restored. Then, driving through town, I see a Mini with Mini-Skeletal-Me hanging from the bumper. Coincidence?

Of course. But if you’re superstitious, or a thriller writer, these things get you thinking. Not thinking in any productive direction, but thinking. And, in the case of the little dancing skeleton, taking photos and laughing.

Reminder: Enter the contest!

My 2010 contest runs for one more week. You have seven days to enter and win the opportunity to have a character in my next novel, The Nightmare Thief, named after you.

Click here to submit your entry at the official contest post.

And in contest-related news, Ron writes: “I just visited the Contest 2010 blog entry and was thrilled to see the Google Ad which had been selected to be there…”

Here’s the Google ad, blown up. Coincidence? Fur real.

Not long, or winding, but what a road

My moment of tourist zen. And my stake in the ground. My husband, mother, kids, and siblings can argue all they like, but this is the best Beatles album ever.