1. I learned that I don’t have a Bucket list. I thought I did, but as it turns out, all the shit on there is unimportant to me other than the publication bit, and I’m already all over that like maggots on a fresh-turned corpse. Relatedly…

2. SURPRISE!! I have a HUGE problem with death. This baffled the hell out of me, as I’ve been involved in some intense (some say obsessive) study of death & murder since I was about 13. The Grim Reaper and I should be old chums by now. I laugh at his antics, and he at mine. Then I turn 40 and POW! He and I are mortal enemies…literally.

3. I discovered that I heartily dislike this change in our relationship. I miss having Death on my side. I recently lost two acquaintances, one in her seventies and one my age. While the first was personally devastating, the latter was a bit too close to the bone, I think. It rattled me, and set my train of thought on a grim downward spiral.

4. Shockingly, drinking copious amounts of wine while I’m already depressed does not cheer Writerghoulie up. I’m normally a giggly, playful drunk who laughs readily and shakes her tushie and chases mischief. However, drinking while miserable makes me morose, prickly, morbid, jealous, cruel, and downright stabby. I nearly told several dear friends to fuck right the hell off, and I don’t mean the friends who are used to hearing that from me. The damage might have been irreparable. Good to know for future reference.

5. I learned I fit in a king-sized pillow case with room to spare. A fun little fact, but equally serious, in that it implies I can squeak through tiny spaces to escape, should the need arise. (That’s an FYI for you, weirdo Stalker. You’re welcome.)

6. I found out if I take a week off yoga, my knees get cranky on me when I start up again. Boo. This means, no more yoga breaks. Also, it’s extraordinarily hard to get on the carb wagon over and over, so this might be the last time I break up with carbs. It’s over, bagels. I can’t see you anymore, toast & jam. Hit the road, muffins. I can easily live without you, rice. See ya later, pasta…I only pretended to like you, anyways. TOTALLY faked all my lasagna orgasms. (<– that wasn’t pretty, trust me.) And now the hardest of all….potatoes? Oh, potatoes. I love you so much. I love you at breakfast beside my eggs, all fried and crispy. I love you mashed at dinner to sop up the blood from my steak. Oh GAWD how I love you in a cream soup, or crammed in a Yorkshire Pudding. But… this? *grabs the pudgy bit in her side* Yeah, no. I’m not ready to let myself go. Potatoes, you will be missed most of all. To my writer friends in the Booktrope lounge: I am 100% on board with #WellnessWednesday. No more slacking for Writerghoulie. xoxo

7. Some people REEEEALLLY don’t like it if you react to depression by withdrawing. Since I absolutely must crawl into my shell and sulk quietly in order to come around, my depressive episodes have an additional downside: I make people feel helpless. This is really uncool, because it’s bad enough that I’m hurting, I certainly don’t want to create a contagion of melancholy. The only solution I can suss out (so far) is to fake being better in order for other people to feel better, and then steal away for a bit more quiet. It worked this time, but since I’m blogging it to the fucking world, that particular jig might be up. Heh. *Derp.*

8. Reading reviews of Touched, Death Rejoices, or Cold Company is NOT a good plan when I’m deep in the pit of despair (yes, I just heard the Princess Bride albino’s  voice. HE DIED, TOO! Everyone’s dying this summer, dammit.). Someone remind me not to do that. When I’m blue, it takes ten good reviews to quirk my lip up into a half-smile, but one bad one to fucking kneecap me. I should leave myself a big note for next time. <DEAR ME: NO HAPPY? NO REVIEWS!>

9. Lastly, I learned that I know some pretty amazing people. The very fact that I have people who try to nudge me out of my sulking, who threaten to come drag me out from under the bed, who text me non-stop (“Better yet? How ’bout now? How ’bout now? Want a picture of my wiener? No? Smiling yet? I called it ‘wiener,’ can’t not laugh at that. You’re not laughing at my dick are you? That’s mean. YOU’RE MEAN! Feel better? Wanna see me hump a rubber ducky in the bathtub? Smiling yet? HOW CAN YOU NOT SMILE AT THAT, MY BALLS ARE ON HIS BEAK! He squeaks when I teabag him. Nothing? Hello? I’m warning you, I’ll text you pictures of body parts until you tell me to stop. First up: ye ol’ starfish. Hey? How does one take a picture of one’s own arsehole? Text me immediately, I need to know. IT’S IMPORTANT. IT’S FOR A JOB INTERVIEW!”). I have people who order me to phone them post haste, and they say “post haste” for fuck’s sake, how awesome is that? I have people who show up on my porch to struggle me into their embrace (Heather: “Hug me, dammit! STOP FIGHTING ME! WE’RE CUDDLING, YOU DIPSHIT!”) …well, that’s all fucking awesome, isn’t it? I wasn’t able to appreciate it fully last week. I appreciate it now. You people are the bestest. *love and smooches*

(Editor’s note: A.J. Aalto is not nearly as tough as she pretends; thankfully, she balances this by having even fewer scruples than you’ll ever know.)

And Now, We Celebrate!

Howdy, folks (whoa, Writerghoulie went Cowboy there for a second. Yeee<murder music> hawww!). Just a quick note for today, since it is the day I came squawking into this world and I plan on doing next to diddly-squat … in fact, I will do what Diddly Squat does when he’s slacking right the fuck off. Won’t be nothing. In fact, since I’m blogging, I can claim I “worked today.” I’ll sound all productive and shit; meanwhile, my kids know I’m lounging with my feet up on the desk, listening to dubstep, creating a new Warcraft character, eating a breakfast I forced them to make me (granted, it’s an untoasted bagel half smeared with enough Nutella to murder someone with a cocoa allergy, and tea so strong I am expecting to use 3 Crest White Strips to remove the resulting stains…). But still! Blogging = writing = work. So there.

Anyhoo, yes, today’s release! Far less scream-inducing than my release from the womb, I assure you. Well, I guess that depends on how easily you scare. Cold Company is the first Marnie Baranuik “Between the Files” novella. I will warn regular readers: ’tis a tad darker than Touched and Death Rejoices have been. This does not mean that I am becoming a homicidal maniac. That happened decades ago. NO!! That’s not what I–hotdiggitydangit, there goes my oh-so-clever cover. What I mean is, Marnie (like most people, fictional or not) has her grim days and her goofy days, and in Cold Company she is absolutely less ridiculous than she has been in the past. The subject matter demanded that the silliness go poof, and while it didn’t entirely go poof, it did go splurf, accompanied by a barely audible pifft! As her author, I felt compelled to respect that slurf-pifft (what kind of an author would I be if I IGNORED the fuckin’ splurf-pifft?), and to follow the story where it wanted to take me.

As a kid, I lived next to a stretch of forest near the Welland Canal. Not, you know, in a ditch or a culvert or something, but with my family in a house. (Damn. The ditch would have been a great Writerghoulie backstory. I shouldn’t have dispelled that idea so quickly, I fear. But I digress.) My mother always told me not to follow strangers into the woods. I disregarded this wise warning on more than one occasion, as I am a fear junkie going way back. Part of me wants to take Marnie to darker, more serious places, although I suspect she’d make a royal mess of it and would wind up being goofy despite my intentions. As her author, it’s a strange crossroads for me to arrive at. Can I make my beloved ditsy dickjockey, like, a for-realsies super-pro?

*blinks*

*rereads that final sentence*

BA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *gasp, pant* ahahahahaha. Fear not: Marnie is a perpetual spaz, and her life is a non-stop parade of demon sock-puppetry, old lady crotch punches, and zombie goop; it would be impossible for her (or me, frankly) to remain serious for long. Now, I have slacking off to do.

I hope you enjoy Cold Company as much as I enjoyed dabbling with it.

-aj