so much derby, not enough skating.

Okay, so maybe I’ll just be writing every weekday. It was just about impossible to get to this thing over the weekend. Sorry about that. Even Dewey got a little quiet after that late-night dance party fun. We’re almost at 100 donations, so please continue to spread the word. I think this book drive will only be for another week, and we’re about to hit 300 books sent. We’ve emptied out three wishlists, which is fantastic, but they still could use some children’s books and YA. Won’t you send a book? Just one book? Look what a difference just one book makes in their after school program! Continue reading


dear internet.

i haven’t gone to physical therapy in two weeks. and i keep going to the gym.

dear internet, i am so bored with physical therapy, as it doesn’t seem to get any harder, and I don’t understand how that ultrasound thing is supposed to do anything.

dear internet, i think today i officially overextended my knee’s range when i tried to prove to myself that i could straighten both legs equally, because right now it hurts all throbby and angry, and i know it’s all my fault but it has been like, two and a half months since i’ve been able to get something from the bottom shelf and i am sick of it. wah. i know. wah. but really, what are those ultrasound things supposed to do? it feels like that shocker videogame that was just a way to take your fifty cents faster than the jurassic park game could.

okay, there. confession out.


Mom just brought me a chewable calcium supplement. Two, actually. “One for later,” she said, because Jason told her that Dr. Oz said somewhere that we can only absorb so much calcium at one time, so we need to take it in two doses. I am terrible at remembering to take vitamins, but I’m even more terrible at them ever since Jason began a sentence (with only the best of intentions) with, “You know, in terms of calcium, once a woman reaches thirty-five…” I hit mute, rewind, delete, deny.

I kind of walk around all day right now with this low-level, stomach-knot anxiety. Part of it must come from me being unable to do anything that feels like actual exercise. I can’t skate, I can’t go for a run, I can’t even go for a twenty-minute walk without regretting it later. So I sit. I sit and wait. I wait for word on the upfronts. Any minute now we find out the fate of Romantically Challenged. I’m under contract there, which means I can only do so much alternate planning in case the show goes from hiatus to cancelled. With the publication of Going in Circles I am finished with my contract, and I’m now writing chapters that will end up in a book proposal. I’ve also written up a pitch for an hour-long tv show based on a novel I love, love, love, but I’m waiting on notes from my agent… who is busy with upfronts. I meet tomorrow with the studio I’m creating a half-hour pitch with this development season, which means I’m waiting to find out what project I’ll ultimately be pitching with them. I’m waiting on responses for a few other possibles here and there. All good things, if only a “YES” would come back. I’m waiting. I’m writing. I’m waiting. And I’m closely monitoring my dwindling savings account. Continue reading

I Didn’t Fall! (But I Almost Fell. Right When I Got to the Podium. (Forward!))

The book signing went well! By the end of the hour it looked like a Derby Gang had shown up to be my bodyguards, and perhaps their intimidating size could be the reason the place sold out my books before everybody got a chance to get a copy. Note to writers: get a gang. When the pretty pants-less lady stares down your audience in a bookstore, it turns out they’ll pretty much do anything for her.

In all honesty, as much as the pants-less lady did her job, I’m really grateful for all my friends and fans who braved misery (aka: The Grove on a weekend) to come out and hear me read a couple of things. They also got a very special letter from Little Pam before a few gifts were exchanged. The derby girls met writer girls, and the few boys in attendance couldn’t possibly have minded… well, mostly because of the pants-less lady. And in all honesty, this book reading really made me miss performing. Continue reading

Possibly the Only Perk About Not Being Allowed to Play Roller Derby.

A quick impression of the lady who just gave me a pedicure. She was like, “OH.” Held up my foot. “Oh.”

That poor woman.

I know. She put on latex gloves. Nobody else was wearing gloves. It was embarrassing. She thought I had some kind of foot condition.

Did you tell her how you got those feet?

I just went, “Yes, please. I know. I’m sorry. It’s… it’s from sports.”

And then strapped on those gloves.

Yes. But look! Cute feet!

Cute feet. Pam, I don’t even recognize those feet.

I know.

Those look like someone else’s feet. Whose feet are those?

They’re mine!

You know, I’ve never seen you with cute feet.

Yeah, I guess that’s true.

It is true. I’m used to “Feet that belong to a Ukranian man who’s been working in the trenches.”



PAMIE: [Answering phone] Hello?

MOM: Do you have something you need to tell me?

PAMIE: … Um… uh… well, uh… do you want to maybe give me a hint or a topic? Because this seems like a trick.

MOM: Your knee.


MOM: I do read your website, you know. I didn’t, but I do now. Again. And you’re right. I was watching that game going, “My baby’s hurt! Don’t show other people, show my baby!” But you got back up and skated again so I wasn’t worried.

PAMIE: That’s why I got up.

MOM: I know. But you were hurt. You were lying. Continue reading

a very quick play about my knee.


Okay, so how’s your knee?

Well, it feels really wonky. And after some consultations with Dr. Google, I think it might be my PCL.

(instantly skeptical)

Look, I know. I know. But my knee was injured here, like this, with the kneepad, and that’s like a dashboard injury. And I just, in my defense, need to say that the last time I self-diagnosed, I had to go all the way to a specialist putting a camera inside my urethra before they would admit that perhaps I had been right the entire time that the marathon training had caused internal damage, and that people shouldn’t mock me when my research includes the Internet and the consultants on House.

Then what do you need me for, right?

Alright. I get it. I’m sorry. Go ahead.


Okay, well, let’s schedule your MRI for next week. I want to see exactly what we’re dealing with here. The good news is I don’t think you’ll have to have surgery. But I have to hand it to you. I think it’s your PCL.

Oh, really?

If it is, I’m going to be impressed, because that’s not an easy thing to diagnose.

My dad would be so proud of me right now. Suck it, Med School!

I bet that move looks more impressive when you have two working legs.

Not really.


(Hooray for probably no surgery!)

The Knee

I have to write about my knee. I have this list of things next to me that I want to write, some that I actually have to write, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to write about anything until I write about my knee.

My left knee. It’s on my mind all the time, because it’s currently not working. By that I mean I can’t bend it. I injured it at the bout a week and a half ago, and I’d hoped that by now I’d be back to running, jumping, squatting, kicking, hopping, and skating. But no. Continue reading

Go, Meteorfights!

“Yikes, Holla. That’s a bruise.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you taken a picture of it yet?”


“You need to. And put it on the Internet and tell people to come to the bout.”


Right now I’m staring at my uniform which is hanging from the doorway to my kitchen. My gear is by my side, brand new helmet already scratched in the places where it saved me from harm. And I’m stoked. Continue reading

Called Out (or: soup and Vicodin for breakfast)

I am hurting. Hurting, people. My body is bruised and contused. I am kind of a hot mess, and I think I have about ten minutes before this Vicodin kicks in proper, so let me try and get these stories out. Our little rookie game needs ticket sales. It’s a cheap game, it’s all ages, it’s on a Saturday afternoon, and it’s way more fun if you are there.

Please buy tickets to the Baby Doll Brawl. Send your friends, grab a group, make an afternoon of it. Something. Because there’s been a tremendous amount of blood, sweat and tears (no really, all three) put into this bout. Ticket sales pay our rent. We skate for you and we can’t skate without you. And thanks for those of you who have been supporting us all this time, coming to our games or buying merchandise.

So, three quick stories.

I’ve learned that while I normally bruise extremely easily, my face seems to be the exception. I’ve taken a few accidental blows to the head over the past couple of weeks — an elbow to the temple, and elbow to the other temple (same girl, one week later, opposite elbow), a skate to the chin, a shoulder to the cheek, a full-on forehead-to-forehead smack that seemed straight out of a deleted scene from Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and lastly… oh, man. Continue reading