Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Idaho Author is a Winner in the Erma Bombeck Humor Writing Competition

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Elaine Ambrose, a bestselling author and humorist from Meridian, Idaho, is a winner in the prestigious Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. Her essay titled “A Pain in the Foot” won Honorable Mention in the 2020 Global Humor category. Entries were submitted from 559 writers from 11 different countries and 49 states as they attempted to capture the essence of Erma’s writings.

Erma Bombeck was an American humorist, newspaper columnist, and bestselling author who gained popularity through her newspaper column that described home life from the mid-1960s until the late 1990s. Bombeck died in 1996, but her humor endures through a bi-annual writers’ workshop in Dayton, Ohio.

Ambrose will read her winning essay at the Workshop in April at a reception hosted by Betsy Bombeck, Erma’s daughter. Ambrose has participated in the conferences since 2014 when she performed Stand-Up Comedy at the event. In 2016, she taught two writing workshops, and in 2018, she was one of the authors chosen for the bestselling book Laugh Out Loud. The award-winning book debuted at the 2018 conference.

Ambrose adds this honor to numerous other awards for writing humor.

“Don’t Fart During an MRI” – This essay on The Huffington Post went viral in 2014 with more than 800,000 likes and was translated into six languages around the world.

“My Mothers Body Got Lost” – This essay was a winner in the “Voice of the Year” writing competition sponsored by BlogHer. Ambrose accepted the award at a conference in New York City.

For three consecutive years, her humorous essays have won writing awards for humor from the National Society of Newspaper Columnists and Bloggers.

Receiving Award from Pulitzer Prize Winning Writer Maureen Dowd

Her book Midlife Happy Hour was a finalist for “Book of the Year for Humor” from Foreword Reviews received a rare 5-Star National Clarion Review. The collection of humorous essays also received two writing awards from the Independent Press Awards program.

Her book Midlife Cabernet won the Silver Medal for Humor from the Independent Publisher Books Awards program. Publishers Weekly reviewed the book as “Laugh-out-Loud Funny!” Foreword Reviews wrote that the writing resembled Erma Bombeck.

Ambrose co-authored Menopause Sucks, a national bestselling book.

Ambrose is an internationally recognized syndicated blogger. She was voted one of the top three authors in the “Best of Treasure Valley” contest sponsored by The Idaho Statesman in 2016 and 2019. She owns Mill Park Publishing and was named a “Business Woman of the Year for 2014” by the Idaho Business Review.

A founding member of the Idaho Writers Guild, Ambrose also organizes and hosts writing workshops and speaks at events across the country. She’ll be teaching writing workshops in Ireland for two weeks in April through a tour group knows as Wayfinding Women.

Ambrose has authored or coauthored 15 books, several eBooks, and three audiobooks. She writes in three genres: humor, memoir, and children’s books. She’s currently working on the third book in the Midlife Trilogy with a book titled Midlife Reboot – How to Unplug and Start Over. Her new children’s book titled Melody’s Magical Flying Machine should be released before the end of the year. Find details on her website: ElaineAmbrose.com. She lives in Meridian with her patient husband.

Children’s Book Stars Delightful Girl with Down Syndrome

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I’m excited to announce my latest children’s book, Melody’s Magical Flying Machine, will be released in September. The chapter book for children ages 7-12 introduces 10-year-old Melody, a spirited girl with Down syndrome. Written in first person, the story describes how Melody meets an enchanted bird named JuJu who helps her create a magical flying machine pulled by two green dragons. Melody blossoms with confidence and a sense of adventure as she soars over the playground to amaze her friends, frighten the teachers, and terrorize a group of bullies.

Melody’s creative ability in storytelling empowers her to entertain other children while sharing her tall tales. She also proves why she is the most marvelous hugger in all the Universe. The character is entertaining, energetic, and funny.

Few books feature a main character with the perspective of a child with Down syndrome. A comparative book would be Wonder, the New York Times Bestseller by R.J. Palacio, published in 2012.

The cover illustration by award-winning British illustrator Wayne Anderson, is courtesy of Bridgeman Art Gallery of New York. The captivating interior artwork is being created by Caroline Zina. The 100-page book will be released by Brown Books Publishing. The publisher intends to market and distribute the book to hundreds of bookstores, schools, and libraries.

Naughty NextDoor: Candy Culprits and Deadly Ducks

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Watching for Naughty Neighbors

When I get bored watching the circus in Washington, DC, I glance at my NextDoor account to read about what’s going on in the neighborhood. The comments provide the best entertainment in town. Here are examples of recent online conversations (with my added comments) from actual adults who are allowed to own homes and walk among us:

Neighbor 1: Someone left a Secret Santa gift on my porch but a neighborhood kid stole a candy bar!
Neighbor 2: You don’t have to get snotty about it. Maybe the child was lonely and hungry.
Neighbor 3: Neither of you should eat a candy bar. I’ve seen you in shorts. Ghastly!
Neighbor 4: Give everyone a candy bar, just like the Communists. Is that why your door is painted red?
Neighbor 5: I think the Secret Santa gift was intended for me. Please bring it over after 3:00 pm.

Two women neighbours talking over a white picket fence in the 1940’s. (Photo by FPG/Getty Images)

Neighbors used to chat over the fence or take a casserole next door to discuss issues. Now they lob accusation, insults, and childish comments over the Internet instead of walking across the street. Here’s another enhanced example:

Neighbor 1: My crime camera caught a teenager prowling my porch. When I posted it here, a neighbor complained that I was publicly shaming a child.
Neighbor 2: It was cruel to post the video. His parents are drug addicts. Have some compassion.
Neighbor 1: Well, if this brat is held accountable, he won’t turn out like his loser parents.
Neighbor 3: Who are the drug addicts? Do they live on my street? Are they the ones with the purple hair and tattoos? I never liked them.
Neighbor 6: Does anyone know a good pest control company? I think there are fruit bats with rabies in my attic.
Neighbor 2: This is the “Crime & Safety” section. Post your question in the “Recommendations” category.
Neighbor 1: What? We have rabies-infected creatures in the neighborhood? What do we do?

Beware of rabid bats.

I was tempted to run away and live in the forest without any neighborhood chat groups after this haunting exchange:

Neighbor 9: Stop feeding the ducks! They need to migrate. We have too many male Mallards and they gang-rape a female and hold her head under water until she drowns.
Neighbor 10: You idiot. It’s not mating season. And if male ducks raped and killed the female ducks, there wouldn’t be anymore ducks. Get a life.
Neighbor 11: Well, I’m never taking my grandkids to the pond again to feed the ducks. They don’t need to see any duck rapes.
Neighbor 4: You liberal crybabies want to feed the ducks to keep them dependent on the government.

Around the world, people live in fear of famine, wars, natural disasters, and lethal diseases. Here, in my little corner of Meridian, Idaho, all I need to fear are candy thieves, fruit bats with rabies, gang-raping ducks, and communists. It’s not Bedford Falls as portrayed in the delightful Christmas movie with Jimmy Stewart, but still, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Don’t Take Photos in Public Restrooms

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Grocery shopping is at the top of my list of “Things Never to Do During Thanksgiving Week.” Of course, I seldom obey my own rules, so I was at the store on the afternoon before Thanksgiving squeezing my laden cart through the aisles full of intense people all in a mad frenzy to spend hundreds of dollars so they could work several hours to prepare food some guests wouldn’t like in order to give thanks.

I was half done with my long list when my body betrayed me as it usually does during stressful times. I had to go to the bathroom. I maneuvered my cart close to the restroom and parked it near the door, hoping no one would take the cans of water chestnuts because they were too difficult to find. In a hurry to finish my business and return to shopping, I accidentally dropped my precious list into the toilet.

Under normal circumstances, I would have flushed away my problems, but I needed that list. I still could read the words but didn’t want to reach in and pull out a soggy piece of paper, so I did the next best thing: I took a photograph on my cell phone. Yes, I did.

I continued shopping while focusing on the photo of the essential items. I found everything except a spice identified with a complicated name. I needed the spice for a new recipe. A busy store employee dashed by, and I grabbed his arm and showed him the photo on my phone.

“Do you know where I can find this?” I asked.

The employee stared at my phone and then at me and back at the phone.

“Do you need to find the restroom?” he asked, backing away.

I looked at my phone and there it was: a photo of a toilet bowl. Apparently, he assumed the floating list was used toilet paper. I stammered apologies and quickly pushed my cart to the next aisle, almost wiping out a senior citizen riding a travel scooter. I decided I didn’t want the spice with the fancy name.

While waiting in the checkout line, I frantically tried to delete the photo from my cell phone. Somehow in my flustered desperation, I accidentally posted it to my public Instagram Account. I regularly post photos to Instagram, so it was a natural habit.

“Oh, no!” I wailed. “I just showed my toilet on the Internet!”

As I was pounding the delete button on the now-public photo, a kind customer service representative came over and pushed my cart to a special checkout line. She spoke in a soothing voice usually reserved for manic shoppers in need of medication. I finally deleted the photo, paid for the groceries, and found my car. As I drove away, I waved farewell to the grocery store. I can never return.

Next time, I’ll chose a short shopping list.

“Frozen Dinners” Memoir Wins another National Award

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Frozen Dinners – A Memoir of a Fractured Family is the winner of the 2019 New York City Big Book Award. The Distinguished Favorite Award places the memoir among the best books written and published by independent authors.

The winners were announced November 11, 2019 in New York City. The award program recognizes quality books and notes that New York City is synonymous with the global publishing industry.

Frozen Dinners describes how an entrepreneurial father rose from poverty to build a mult-million-dollar trucking empire hauling frozen food throughout the Northwest. His determination, combined with generosity and strict punishment, leaves his family in a state of emotional paralysis. After his untimely death, his survivors implode in a maelstrom of brutal courtroom drama, illness, and dementia. Using actual courtroom transcripts, author Elaine Ambrose portrays the tragic consequences of greed, estrangement, and family competition.

Ambrose Trucking, 1952

The memoir is the story of a woman who spends half a century searching for love and warmth beyond the contaminated legacy of her fractured family. The book, published by Brown Books Publishing Group, is available in hardcover, eBook, and audiobook read by the author. Copies can be ordered through local bookstores, independent bookstores, or online.

Frozen Dinners earlier won a writing award from the Independent Press Award for Memoir. Author Elaine Ambrose has written five books in the past five years in three genres, and the books now have won eight national writing awards.

Eight national writing awards for five books

My New Car is Haunted

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Remember the olden days when you jumped into your car, turned a key, and drove away? Those were good times. Now I drive a haunted car controlled by mischievous gremlins, strange voices, and nefarious computerized systems designed to destroy my delicate balance of sanity.

The car caper began when I cheated on my long-time dealer. During the past twenty years, I’ve purchased a dozen vehicles from the same dealership in Boise. I drove a Lexus SUV because it was dependable and I needed extra room to haul books, my mother’s wheelchair, car seats for the grandbabes, and numerous loads of household goods while moving eight times and also moving my mother eight times. I usually traded to a newer model every few years; however, the design of recent Lexus SUV models began to resemble an 18-wheel truck, were too wide to park, and had bad gas mileage.

I felt guilty looking around at other vehicles, but then I saw a splendid, emerald-green Audi Q5. The SUV was small, so it would be easier to park and could get better gas mileage. It looked sporty and featured a fancy interior with a huge skylight. I researched details and the vehicles rated high for safety, performance, and value. I had sold some property, so with my trade-in I could pay cash. Because I paid the balance with a check, the process took less than 30 minutes. Financing a car at the dealership can take hours, involve a stack of documents, and take years off your life. Being a woman without a male escort adds an entire new level of scrutiny.

I drove away, enjoying the toxic chemical smell of a new car. The problems started when I stopped at the grocery store. I couldn’t figure out how to lock the car.

Here are a few of the frustrating issues I’ve encountered with the new car:
I couldn’t lock the door so I had to search the 388-page owner’s manual for instructions. I learned how to touch the outside of the door handle but not put my fingers inside the handle. This design feature should be changed.

The automatic car wash is a nightmare. I tried to put the gear into Neutral but the “S-tronic dual-clutch transmission” went into Park instead of Neutral and the car wash track tossed the tires out of alignment. This happened several times, and the patient attendant finally learned to shut down the line whenever he saw me coming.

I purchased a car wash membership but the sticker on the windshield wouldn’t work because a speed limit display projected on the windshield interfered with the electronic eye at the car wash. I needed to watch an online tutorial to learn how to turn off the display. The electronic eye still doesn’t work.

During the car wash, the seat belt suddenly tightens when gremlins in the engine sense the washing equipment getting closer. The first time this happened, I thought someone in the back seat was trying to grab me. I may have screamed, fearing my dead body would be discovered when the car was propelled out of the dryer.

Mysterious voices and warning bells occur at random times. The “Audi pre-sense front” is a safety feature that soon became an annoying nag. The car’s lecturing voice tells me if my cell phone is still plugged in when I make a quick exit to get the mail. Bells ring if the car thinks I’m too close to a car in front of me. If I slow down, another car will cut in front of me, and bells go off again. Warning lights flash if I go over the speed limit when I pass a car on the freeway. Bright red danger signs appear for no reason and go away before I can react. They are mocking me.

The navigation system requires a college course to understand. I’ve watched several online tutorials, but I still use my cell phone for directions to a new address.

The owner’s manual was edited by 100 bored lawyers and contains multiple warnings. The serious text states to “NEVER drive when impaired by medications, alcohol, drugs, etc.” Who knew? The manual also says “Do NOT drive when you are tired, under pressure or when you are stressed.” The only thing that stresses me is this car.

Finally, I miss a V6 engine. Yes, the lighter 4-cyclinder Q5 gets better gas mileage, but the vehicle wobbles in a strong wind on the freeway. I have a bit of buyer’s remorse, and I’m not impressed by the Audi dealership but I can’t return to my old dealer. I suspect they’ve moved on, too, and I’m no longer welcomed in my favorite service department. I’ll continue trying to learn the complicated mechanics of the new car, but I have fond memories of my first car: a 1973 Pontiac Firebird. I simply turned the key, popped in an 8-track cartridge, and traveled – stress-free – down the road.

My first car – 1973 Pontiac Firebird