The Pin Cushion Plant

On Wednesday I went to the launch of Cleavage, the anthology where my first published fiction appears. In addition to the other esteemed authors and their guests, my mother, brother, and sister-in-law were in attendance, as well as my darling husband, and show-stealing son. William has a talent for getting groups of random people (some relations but mostly strangers) to entertain him with food, books and toys. There were mocktails, pizza, and cupcakes and everyone was schmoozing, and asking me and the other authors for our autographs. We were rockstars.

Near the end of the night all the authors that could make it read from their stories (the rest live out of province and couldn't attend). Miraculously, I did not stumble over my words, and people actually laughed at the funny bits.

As a thank you present and souvenir we (the authors) were each given a teeny tiny plant. I was told that this was a pin cushion plant and not to put it in direct sunlight and to water it from the bottom. Clearly, I am not the only one who considers herself more of a word person than a plant person, as I caught more than one of my colleagues eyeing their gift incredulously.

Today I looked up my doomed plant and found its wikipedia page. Apparently there are lots of plants called pin cushion. Mine is a nertera granadensis and, indeed, one should water it from the bottom and keep it out of direct sunlight. I also learned that it is a tropical plant, that would not survive a winter outdoors.

Also the wiki page says "Nertera granadensis is somewhat difficult to maintain, and it is not recommended for beginners." Luckily, I am no beginner. I have killed many many plants.

BTW: Now that I am a serious professional, my talented husband designed me a new serious professional website. www.jennifer.filipowicz.ca

Cleavage has arrived!

I've always thought of myself as a fiction writer, but strangely I've never had any of my fiction published. Unless of course you count that story that got printed in a kids magazine when I was eleven, or the time my husband paid to have one copy of my book published. But now, I have a real short story published in a real anthology: Cleavage: Breakaway Fiction for Real Girls. So now I'm a genuine fiction author.

If you buy the book, or just flip through it in the book store, you can find my story ("My So Not Ballerina Boobs") on page 133. It isn't so much a "story" as it is an account of all the times I went bra-shopping with my mother rolled into one embarrassing excursion. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. "I hope I'm not as loud as the mother in your story," Mom said. Of course not, Mommy, I exaggerated in the name of fiction.

If anyone lives in the Toronto area (and actually cares), there will be a book launch on September 24th, from 5:30pm to 8:30 pm at the Canadian Children's Book Centre (Suite 101, 40 Orchard View Blvd, Toronto -- Yonge & Eglinton).

Now I'd better go read all the other stories quick before the boss wakes up from his nap.