This is the Life!

I believe they call it 'Encore'

2012-02-01T21:09:00.001-05:00

So, I was at my friend Traci's house today, and she tells me that my life is too busy and that I need to slow down and blah, blah, blah.

What??

My life is too busy??

hahahahaha!!

I DO have time to check Facebook 30 times a day. How busy could it be? Still. I'm trying to stretch myself as a writer by writing and following the advice of Ray Bradbury who had a great lecture on writing which can be found HERE.

One of his pieces of advice is to list some things which really scare you, then write about it, and kill that fear. So, I've been thinking about what really scares me, and I remembered a blog I wrote about one of my fears. I wrote this back in 2008.

So, if you will excuse me I'm going to use my blog time to write on my book. I've set a goal to write 1000 words a day. Some days I hit that goal, and some days I don't. If I don't, that's okay. It's not the word count which worries me. It's the characters which are suspended in space until I move them to the next big thing. So let me do that next big thing, and I hope you will enjoy this encore edition of 'This is The Life'.

What's Really Scary

No, I'm not being facetious. Back in 2002 there was an X-Files episode which had to do with The Brady Bunch house. I think it was called "Sunshine Day", a reference to a song the Brady kids sang.

In the episode, there is a house which looks like any other house from the outside, but on the inside it is the Brady House.

Did you ever watch Brady Bunch? I did. Thanks to TBS I watched it every afternoon for years. I loved that show. I loved that a blended family could work! Heck, I loved that ANY family could tie up their crises within thirty minutes. I know of families that stay in crisis for decades, so I love this cotton candy reality we know as escapism. I especially loved that six kids could share a bathroom. I didn't think that so many people sharing a bathroom could happen in reality. Interestingly enough, my husband was one of six kids. He was Peter in the Brady family except it was not a blended family, the dad wasn't an architect, and there was no maid named Alice. But The Brady Bunch didn't have a cow to milk though my husband's family did. Wouldn't that have made for some great episodes? If the Bradys had had a cow, Cindy and Bobby would periodically have to go get on their bikes and look for her as she maybe had gone down the road to visit the neighbor bull. And maybe she gets hit by a car (either Cindy or the cow, either would work). Or, perhaps there would be an argument as to whose turn it was to milk the cow. And maybe Peter would pay Bobby to do this (as what I understand DID happen in the REAL non-blended six kid family). The kicker would have to be, though, when Jan in a fit of rage sold the cow to Sam the butcher because Marsha and the cow had won a prize in 4 H, while Jan and her pig got nothing.

Ah, I loved The Brady Bunch.

So, imagine the uneasiness I felt when I watched this episode of the X-Files in which this house was just like the Brady Household inside. And people found out about it. And sometimes bad things happened to them when they would trespass inside. Oh, my gosh, the goosebumps I got when the special agents went in the house and there were Cindy and Bobby standing at the end of the hall upstairs.

Those kids are grown people now! Something is wrong. You must leave or something very bad is going to happen to you. Ahhh! Get out! Get out!! RUN FROM BOBBY AND CINDY!

And there Bobby and Cindy stand. Silent. And scary because you know it couldn't really be them. And there's scary music, played in the minor key. Bad things ALWAYS happen in movies and TV when the minor key starts playing. I tell you, I hear that kind of music somewhere, I'm making a quick exit.

Hence, I will never star in my own scary movie. Nope. I could only be in a scary commercial. Something creepy happens, I do not go and investigate. I wave goodbye and I'm out within 30 seconds. Blood oozing from the walls? Umm. No. I will call the police from the neighbor's house. I will ask them to please get my pets out, or leave them there. I will look closely at my homeowner's policy and hope there is a clause for paying off the house and selling it quickly (without disclosure) if the house is haunted (by Bobby and Cindy especially).

I met today's goal.

2012-01-30T22:52:00.001-05:00

I wrote over 2,000 words today!

Here are some celebratory pictures from Facebook:

Still hard at work killing people

2012-01-30T09:08:00.001-05:00

I'm working hard on my book so I don't have a lot of time to spend here. So here's a little something for you to ponder:

And here's something else. The words are a little small so if you click on the picture, it will make it bigger and easier to read. Afterwards, click to X near the top right of the shaded area, and it should take you back to the regular blog view.

And this:

Hopefully that didn't offend you too much. Lastly this next one I think I shared on Facebook but not here. and it's cute so....

Have a great day!

Secrets by Jan Scarbrough

2012-01-27T08:07:00.000-05:00

Here's a book by fellow Turquoise Morning Press author Jan Scarbrough. What do I like about this book? I like that it's about people my age. I love the small town setting, and I like long held secrets which finally are revealed and resolved.

Formerly Titled A Father at Last (Same book, new cover and title!)

A 2011 CAPA Nominee from The Romance Studio
With her daughter all grown up and married, single mom Kelly Baron can start her new life in North Carolina, responsible only for herself. But first she must help her mother by returning to the small Indiana town she fled years ago. Newly divorced lawyer, Rob Scott, seeks solace in his small-town roots. The last thing he’s looking for is a relationship—until he runs into Kelly, and the secret she’s been keeping from him for twenty-one years.

Reviews
“Ms. Scarbrough has a way of involving sensuality without going in-depth so that younger readers cannot enjoy the book.” ~The Romance Studio

“I thoroughly enjoyed this story and felt that I was watching it unfold in front of me as if I was another character in the story.” ~NOR Reviews

Click HERE for the link to Secrets at Turquoise Morning Press. There you can find the buy links.

Sequel

2012-01-24T21:49:00.000-05:00

I am now working on a sequel to Rescue Me.

Remember it?

My hope is that it will be good enough to be published in the After Happily Ever line at Turquoise Morning Press. This signature line of books tells the tales of what happens after 'I do'. Here are the submission guidelines for it.

http://www.turquoisemorningpressbookstore.com/collections/after-happily-ever

But the problem is this: I have an affection for my characters. I worked really hard to get Riley and Amy to a good HEA (Happily Ever After). But to make another story go, I have to create a problem to be resolved. After 16 years of marriage, I ought to know about problems and resolutions, right?

Kroger hit-ons NOT withstanding.

The best I get from my husband on that is a wisecrack about my voluntary red hair.

So, I think and write. And sigh because I hate to beat up on these people. But writing two hundred pages of them sitting in rocking chairs drinking lemonade is going to bore the reader to death. How many times can one describe the taste of the drink? The creak of the white painted wood of the chairs? The sun setting serenely beyond the porch?

It reminds me of an old Itchy and Scratchy show on The Simpsons, probably from the late twentieth century. After watching the violent thinly veiled homage to Tom and Jerry, Maggie (the baby) hits her dad with a mallet. This has a great take-off scene from Psycho as well. Anyway, Marge, the mom, launches a massive campaign to stop the cartoon violence on Itchy and Scratchy. She wins, and the cat and mouse then just sit in the rockers with lemonade. It's so boring that all the kids actually go outside and (gasp) play.

I found a clip of this show with a foreign voice-over. Do I love this? More than words can say.

http://www.4shared.com/video/xNnjEx12/02x09_Itchy__Scratchy__Marge_n.html

So, moral of the story. Rocking chairs and lemonade makes a nice picture. But a TERRIBLE plot.

Let the maiming begin....

Dirty Talkin' at the Kroger

2012-01-21T14:41:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I've had Kroger stories I've shared here before.

There was the Heiners Bread Guy, the Meat guy, the Frozen Foods guy, and now I can add to it, the check-out *BOY*

I do not understand this.

Because I am all about the understated sort of beauty which goes with sitting on my butt a lot of time time, not exercising, and loving to eat. Add to that no make-up half the time and hair, though a pretty shade of red, not combed and properly maintained in a becoming manner.

My best features are my brain and my heart, and can these people at Kroger really *know* these features so well when they spend so little time with me?

Perhaps.

Still.

Maybe it's *THEM*. Do they think I will tip them if they compliment me, and thinly veiled sexual innuendos are the best they can do?

Take for instance this morning.

And let me set the scene for you.

Me: just coming up from a horrible bout of the stomach flu. I go to Kroger with clothes picked up from the floor and worn carelessly on my person. Bra: yes-no padding. Deodorant: yes. Socks: yes. So, I have that going for me. Make-up: no. Hairbrush: no. jewelry other than requisite wedding ring: no.

I go through the 20 item or less, and 'Chance' is the cashier. Chance is maybe nineteen. Or he could be seventeen. I don't know. He's young. Very young, but he has a gleam in his eye. I say something about, "Thanks for checking me out."

I say this completely innocently.

He continues to ring up my cat food, dog food, and baby diapers (baby diapers-for a baby shower I'm attending).

Then it hits me what I said. Haha! So I say, "I didn't mean that about checking me out."

And he says, "Yeah. I caught that."

Me: I guess I should have said, 'Thanks for checking my groceries out.'

Chance: Yes, they're worth checking out, too.

Me: (beginning to bag my own groceries. Trying to decide what the heck this kid could mean. The theme song from 'The Graduate' begins to play in my head. Now the word 'groceries' sounds dirty. Finally, I say,) Haha. You're so funny. I could get in trouble for those kinds of things.

I put my groceries in my cart and leave.

Am I the problem? I don't THINK I'm a pervert, but maybe I am. Maybe I've read too many of the books I write. I DO NOT THINK THAT EVERY GUY IS HITTING ON ME. What is it about Kroger that this continues to happen? Is it because I'm there so often?

But, honestly, why would that little kid say that to me, someone old enough to be his mom? It's sick. I tell you. I've a good a mind to go back in there and wash his mouth out with soap.

In honor of my confusion, I share this clip from a show I used to watch a long time ago.

We are experiencing technical difficulties

2012-01-19T21:49:00.000-05:00

People in my house have the stomach bug. It's a very harsh visitor. And I'm getting pretty sick of puke. However, I am thankful that we do not have white carpet such as that of the Grandmother's house which wasn't as white after we left from being sick there.

Since I don't *feel* like coming up with anything profound or funny or funny and profound, I'll link you to a nice article I read today about Kairos moments.

Find it HERE.

Writing Advice

2012-01-16T22:16:00.001-05:00

Every once in a while someone will ask me for advice about writing.

Lots of other people are lots more successful than I am about writing and actually being able to make a living at it.

Such as Ray Bradbury. There is a great video of him giving writing advice. You can find it HERE.

I recommended this video to a friend recently, and in so doing watched it again. Here is what I picked up from it when I watched it this time:

Writing is about having integrity. If you lose your integrity then usually the muse takes a vacation. Ray says Be true to your own fear. Collect up these fears and write about them.

Or gather up those hated things in your life. Pick them up like field mice and bop their heads until their bloody brains leak from their ears. Your stories are going to shine when you write of what you hate and how you killed it.

Or make a list of then things you love madly and write about them.

A true writer understands that writing isn't something you do. It's something you're called to. And the story has some mystical clutch on its creator which I cannot explain even though I've experienced it a lot.

Ray says, "All of my books have been surprises. I've never known where...I'm going. That's the great fun."

I get that. I've had this scene in my head for a couple of years now. It involves a dunking booth and two people who are in love with each other. I pictured the dunking tank as the catylist for a declaration of love. But who?

Well, I thought it was going to be Amy and Riley, my two characters from Rescue Me. Somebody needs to be the first to say 'I love you'. And I was thinking maybe the town needed a new fire truck. Maybe I could have the dunking booth scene here.

So, I wrote and I wrote.

And there wasn't a new firetruck.

But there was a new playground.

But a dunking booth never materialized.

Even when I got to the 'The End'.

But that scene was still there. Who was going to be in the tank? And who would throw the ball? My current WIP (work in progress) was shaping up to having a dunk tank, but even when I had written the setting, I still didn't know who was going to get dunked.

How could I not know?

I agonized over this. I told myself, 'This is crazy. No one can know this but me. I have to be the one to decide, but how?'

I sat down, trudged through the scene, and it happened. And it's just like Ray said. I was surprised. I didn't know it was going to be this way. And, yeah, it is great fun.

Do you like the not knowing of the manufactured world? Do you think it's fun to be the hands typing events which shock the heck out of you? Do you like having the control to kill what you hate, and for it to be completely legal?

Tonight I'm within a cockroach's leg of finishing this book. I've dunked who needed dunking. The "L" word has been mentioned (because, yes, I write those kinds of books). And now I just need to pick out the wrapping paper, find the tape, and tie it up with a pretty bow.

I hope, anyway.

I don't want to get bogged down in the little disgusting hairs on the bug's leg. Or examine too closely the bendy part and wonder what kind of joint a disgusting bug like that has. Is it an insect? I don't see the three parts to the body. Only that gross leg. If I pinch it, I will hear the crisp break and feel satisfaction and revulsion all at the same time.

Gee, I really shouldn't have listened to The Cockroach which ate Cincinnati, should I?

Ummm, what were we talking about?

Remembering Nobody and Nicole

2012-01-14T08:58:00.001-05:00

Nicole was my best friend when we were in junior high. We listened to Mark Thompson, a local radio personality, talked about Hall and Oates, shared hopes of boy crushes, and enjoyed each other in a way which truly defines friendship.

As long as I knew Nicole she had severe diabetes, yet she was a strength to her family and friends, an extremely positive and faithful person, who was very kind and a very committed Christian.

Nicole died a few years ago after many years of struggling with her diabetes. It makes me sad that the world lost such a beautiful person, but it makes me happy that she was here for a while and that it was my privilege to know her.

Here we are many years ago:

Thanks to my bro who is affectionately called 'Bud', I received a reminder of one of the good times with my friend. A cassette tape recorded at Six Flags over Georgia perhaps in the year 1984. My parents took my BFF Nicole and me on the trip to the amusement park, and boy did we have a good time. While there we came across a Karaoke style recording studio so I went in the booth with Nicole as my back-up and sang 'Nobody', a country hit at the time by an artist named Sylvia.

The song is very clever and since I've listened to it again, I appreciate the play on words. Unfortunately, Playlist doesn't have the song so I can't share it with you.

And as for my own singing? Not so great, but I remember how exciting it was to be in a recording studio and to have that memento of me singing one of my favorite songs of the time. I'm glad Nicole was there with me. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for taking me and Nicole. Thanks, Bud, for sending the tape. And thanks, God, for letting me have Nicole in my life for a little while.

Late Harvest by Suzanne Barrett

2012-01-12T08:22:00.001-05:00

Don't we love good books?

Late Harvest by Suzanne Barrett

Blurb:
Kurt von Daniken wants only one thing from Glenna Ryan: The key to making Eiswein - Ice Wine. Five years ago, while working at his family's California winery, she'd begun developing the method to simulate wine made from grapes gathered after a freeze. Now, when the winery desperately needs it, the only person who might be able to duplicate Glenna's process, Kurt's tyrannical Uncle Otto, lies paralyzed by a stroke and near death.

Glenna wants only one thing from the von Danikens: To be left in peace to raise her son, Robbie, who suffers from a birth defect and needs an expensive surgery to repair it. When Kurt suddenly appears at her home, demanding she return to Cresthaven and complete the process, Glenna knows the money she'll earn by doing so will provide Robbie the treatment he needs. She also knows she'll risk having her heart broken, again, by Kurt, the only man she's ever loved. But, what if he discovers the real reason she left Cresthaven?

"... Emotional intensity that will hold you captive...rich characterization...highly recommended!"

It's $1.99 on Amazon Kindle

Amazon Link

This is the book which never ends....

2012-01-10T20:32:00.000-05:00

Notice the weirdo on the right.

He's been hanging with me since I began NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in November. The month ended along with the national challenge, but the book wasn't finished. Even at 50,000 words in December, the book wasn't finished.

Then the year ended, and still....yep, you guessed it. No end in sight.

So, I upped my word count for my little weirdo on the right. But I'm tired of fooling with upping the word count goal even though the book is not done at over 60,000 words. So, I updated the count, and he shows up all celebratory and such.

The freak.

Put down your beer! Pop those balloons! The story is NOT done.

It reminds me of a scene I recently saw in a movie.

Very clever that. It goes something like this....

Ilsa: Can I tell you a story, Rick?
Rick: Does it have a wow finish?
Ilsa: I don't know the finish yet.
Rick: Well, go on. Tell it. Maybe one will come to you as you go along.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find a clip of that poignant scene but it's one of the most powerful moments in the movie for me.

So, I'll follow Rick's advice and tell it. And hope that the finish will come to me as I go along.

My music muse

2012-01-09T14:31:00.000-05:00

That music portion of my brain must be going into overload because I'm loving all kinds of music right now.

And it's keying into the visual part of my brain which I've found expression for at You Tube.

So, while I've had a busy cranking week and weekend (and, yes, into today-Monday), please enjoy how my heart pours out with love and gratitude for the awesomeness of goooooood music.

And variety?

Lotta. Lotta. Lotta.

What a Great Day!

2012-01-06T05:41:00.000-05:00

Rescue Me is now 99 cents as a Kindle download. How exciting! I've been working to promote the sale by coming up with some of the great quotations from the book. But do I have an all time favorite? Well, many years ago, I went home with my college roommate for the weekend. As college folk tend to do, we brought our laundry home to her parents house.

While doing the laundry, their washer broke. It was quite unfortunate, but my girlfriend and I shrugged our shoulders, gathered up our clean and not clean-yet clothes and left. The next day, the repair guy arrived at their house to fix the washer. Apparently, a pair of black undies had plugged up the appliance.

My black undies.

When the repair guy explained the problem to my friend's dad and gave him the evidence, he said this:

"Lord, deliver me from fancy women."

The line stuck with me, and so did its context. And so it ended up in Rescue Me. Here's part of the scene:

Riley stared into the swirly depths of Lon’s washing machine. Well, technically, it was Carol’s machine. Meeting the Chief’s eyes, he gestured helplessly.
“Chief, like I told you on the ‘phone, I don’t know anything about fixing appliances.”
“Oh, what’s to know? A washing machine has four parts to it: the tub, the drain, the hoses, and the electrical panel. I’d do it myself, but my sciatic has been acting up. If Carol even thinks I moved anything bigger than a dinner plate, I ain’t gonna hear the end of it for a week.”
“Okay. So I moved it away from the wall. What else do you want me to do?”
“Feel down in there and see if there are any more clothes in the bottom.”
Riley leaned over the machine and stuck his hand into the cold water. Ignoring the chill, he touched the bottom all around the agitator and shook his head.
“Something’s causing that water not to go down. Let’s take off the back and see what we see.”
Riley knelt on the floor while the Chief sat in a kitchen chair. With a metric wrench, he removed the nuts holding on the back panel. After it was removed, he set it carefully against the wall, and followed the older man’s directions concerning disengaging the hose and catching the water in a bucket.
He had the bucket positioned under the tub, but it didn’t prevent some of it from splashing his arm and most of the front of his shirt. Riley inhaled deeply attempting to absorb the shock of having frigid water soak him. Shake it off, man. Shining the flashlight in the hose, Riley peered inside but there
appeared to be nothing blocking it. He turned his attention to the drain of the washing machine tub. When Riley reached into the drain from the bottom, his hand made contact with soggy material.
“There’s something there. A piece of clothing. It’s caught on something,” Riley reported.
He was half in the machine. Lying on his back, he shone the flashlight in the hole.
Interesting.
Black silk. Wet black silk. He’d bet his life on it. He pulled once, twice, and it was free. Slow as not to kill himself getting out of the washer, he inched out, and stood up.
“Here’s your culprit.”
He dangled a pair of black panties from his finger.
Lon’s eyebrows practically met his hairline. He stared at the panties, then up at Riley.
“Lord, deliver me from fancy women.”
Riley laughed. “Oh, don’t act like they aren’t yours.”
“I’m pretty sure I know who they belong to, as no purty drawers ever plugged up the washer before Amy moved back.” With pained effort, Lon rose
to his feet. “Why don’t you ask her out.” It was more command, than question.
Riley tried to hand the underwear to Lon, but he wouldn’t take them.
“Why? So, she can plug up my washer with silk panties?” He set them on the machine and knelt back down to connect the hose.
“Is them things silk? Lord, no wonder she’s broke. Don’t tell her I said that,” He hastened to add.

Like what you read? Here's the URL of it. You can download it to your computer, Kindle, Nook, or get the paperback.

On the Twelfth Day

2012-01-05T08:58:00.000-05:00

It was tempting to talk about Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, but I've already gotten hung up on how to spell that word 'twelfth'. Where the heck did that 'f' come from anyway?

Shakespeare wasn't into the church calendar so much unless he could pull from it a diamond that he could polish into a good story. And besides I'm thinking today-this last day of Christmas-about traveling since my 2012 is already filling up with lots of journeys. So far my year is scheduled with trips to Georgia for my 20 year college reunion, Tennessee and Pennsylvania for a national conference and its training, Ohio for the Lori Foster Get-together, and Indiana for continuing education. There's also a wedding in September and a weekend retreat with my husband that I probably need to remind him about. That's a lot of miles for 2012.

And so I'm thinking about those miles and travel. Journey is a powerful tool for tale-telling. Some of the best stories are journey stories because in the journey the hero or heroine discover who they are as well. I wonder about the truth of the Magi and what they may have discovered on their journey as they traveled to a town to pay homage to an infant king. What obstacles did they encounter other than a crazed ruler who tried to trick them into revealing the location of the baby? Did all of them have the same dream not to go back to Herod? Did they ever fight about where they were going to stay for the night on their trip or what toppings to have on their pizza?

Oh, wait. I'm skipping ahead of myself, aren't I? This is the Twelfth Day. The day that the song celebrates 12 drummers. In my mental meandering the pipers and drummers are leading the troops into battle. The pipes can be heard for miles. The mallets beat on sheepskin and echo throughout the hills.

This is not a surprise attack.

The forces are confident in their numbers and training. Adrenaline and blood pump through their bodies as they anticipate the fighting.

They are ready for battle.

In 2012 something big is going to happen. And don't even think Mayan calendar, or I will so get on my soap box and rant. Quit fooling with the end of the world as if YOU could do anything about preventing it.

This is God's realm. That's a given.

But this is YOUR day. This is YOUR journey.

So, I leave you with two questions:

Are you ready?

And what are you fighting for?

On the Eleventh Day

2012-01-04T10:13:00.000-05:00

We are at Day Eleven of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Epiphany is looming like that bright star in the sky. The Wise Men will be here in just a couple of days but for now we still celebrate.

I consider the piper of the eleven pipers piping. I remember the story of the Pied Piper who did his job of leading the rats out of the city. When the city refused to pay him, he changed his tune and led the children away as payment. What an awful tale, but the moral is a good one. Pay what you owe, or the payment you end up making will be much more costly.

In my day job and my moonlighting, too, I feel the debt owed to write-get cracking on that sermon. It's not going to write itself, you know. What are you going to do-stand in the pulpit and stare at the gathered faithful for ten minutes? Quit fooling around. This is God's Word, for goodness' sake. Or else....finish the story. Don't leave your characters in mid-sentence for weeks and months at a time. Resolve their problems. Give them the HEA (Happily Ever After). They deserve it, as much as fictitious people deserve anything. This is YOUR story before it can be theirs. You can't put this off on anyone else. Get busy.

So at 2:20 this morning the piper began to play. That's what I'm calling that Muse or Holy Spirit--whatever that being is who prods me to write. I give her a different name depending on which writing she spurs me toward. And I've been writing enough to know that the words can be very elusive, like smoke in the air. It's impossible to catch it with your hands. When you see it, you better get a bag or something and contain it. The 'something' that works with words is paper or the computer. And I WAS in bed at 2:20-not alone-so in the dark I caught those words in the back cover of a book since I couldn't put my hands on a notebook.

And considering I wrote without visual sight, the words are legible.

The piper played, and I followed.

On the Tenth Day

2012-01-03T08:49:00.000-05:00

I've racked my brain to try to figure out the intentions of what the song The 12 Days of Christmas means-the order of seven days of birds, then one day of work, then two days (ladies dancing and lords leaping) of festive activities perhaps? Then two days (pipers piping and drummers drumming) of possibly men going off to war. That's what I've come up with so far. Birds delivered for decoration and a feast, then the milk maid providing milk for the party, then the party, then sending the men to war led by the pipe and drum.

Different sites would assign Christian symbolism to the numbers of days but I'm not too impressed with the interpretation. Why? Well, they focus on the numbers instead of the object (with the exception of the partridge). A good example of the missed opportunity of a Christian interpretation falls on day two. On the second day of Christmas my true love sends two turtle doves. The "Christian" interpretation talks of the second day meaning the Old and New Testament. It completely disregards the turtle doves, the sacrifice Joseph and Mary took to the temple when the infant Jesus was eight days old so he could be dedicated according to the gospel of Luke. The Law really meant for a family to take a lamb, but if the family was too poor, the Law allowed for them to take two doves or two pigeons instead. But Luke, the Gospel writer is smart. He gives hints throughout his story making a case for who Jesus is. In this infant narrative, the Jews would have known what the Law required. And so even though the family brings what is allowed for the poor, the infant as the Lamb is brought in and dedicated-a strong metaphor for giving over to God, a sacrifice without death and without it being taken away.

This time.

I've been at this for ten days now. And I went back to see my thoughts on the actual day two. Geez. I'm kind of embarrassed about it now. So maybe those powers that be which assigned 12 days of reflection on Christ's birth had a good idea. Maybe we need to have this time to put aside silly notions and ruminate on the gift of Jesus Christ-what his birth might mean, why Luke and Matthew chose to share it in their gospels. Why the Christian year assigns 12 whole days of Christmas instead of only one.

And why is it that most people don't even know about the 12 days except for the song.

Happy Day Ten, world. May your leaping be to good things.

On the Ninth Day

2012-01-02T07:09:00.004-05:00

On this ninth day of Christmas I consider that this really is a 12 day party for the Christ child. The Magi are on their way with their gifts, and they're trying to figure out what they will find as the follow the star.

What kind of King he will be which causes stars to change their cosmic paths?

He's the kind of King who was a baby, then a child. Scripture says that as he grew, he grew in stature and wisdom.

There's a story told that when he was still a child, he sat in a temple and had a conversation with some elders which lasted several days. I know about those kinds of talks.

It is my privilege to be the mother of two children. It is an understatement to say they are cool. They show me things that I'm too jaded and old to notice any more. They think things that I haven't thought in a long time-if ever. This week they go back to school after a two week vacation. Today is their last day at home.

I've really enjoyed having them home, and I'm a little sorry to see it come to an end. So, we've got a monopoly game planned this morning. Maybe we'll pull out the chocolate fondue and make a big mess, then maybe we'll walk around the park if it isn't snowing too much so I can exercise some of the calories off. And we'll have some conversations so I can learn something.

On the Eighth Day

2012-01-01T06:43:00.002-05:00

Welcome to the eighth day of Christmas and a new year.

I find it fitting that this day in the 12 Days of Christmas song is about work because today is a work day for me. Anyone who has had a milk cow knows that there are no days off from the milking. No matter of sickness or death in the family, the cow had to be milked.

And since I'm a city girl, I am reminded again of 'the country' where my granny lived. By the time I remember going there, the cow was long gone, but my mom tells the story of my grandmother's cow who was quite ornery. She was used to my grandmother milking her, and wouldn't behave if someone else tried. My mom would dress up in my grandmother's bonnet and clothes to try to fool the cow. Did it work? That part I don't remember, but the attempt always intrigued me.

This day many of us will eat certain foods to bring good luck. From my own tradition it is cabbage and black eyed-peas. I don't believe eating certain foods on a certain day has a magical power. I believe I make my own luck. Still. The ritual of a shared feast even if that sharing is in ritual unites me with my family, my roots, my upbringing. Out of deference to my roots, I eat the food. And I refrain from doing laundry on this day-another tradition in my family of origin. Any excuse not to do laundry suits me fine.

But duty of another kind calls and so I put on my work clothes, and in the quiet of the morning I go.

On the Seventh Day

2011-12-31T07:10:00.001-05:00

I woke up this morning thinking about this last day of 2011.

And how on this seventh day of Christmas-as the song goes-my true love sends me seven swans a swimming. And so ends the days of arriving birds. Thank goodness.

Why it is tomorrow-in the new year-people become the gift in the song, I do not know.

My writer's mind wants to assign meaning to birds in the old year and people in the new, but I am in a writing mood, and that book isn't going to finish itself, so I need to go work on it.

Here is a beautiful image of seven swans a-swimming by artist Justin Rowe. Here is his website if you would like to see more of his work and learn more about him.

On this last day of the year I am very thankful for what has been. May God grant me a thankful heart for what will be.

On the Sixth Day

2011-12-30T10:16:00.001-05:00

When I was about five years old a rooster attacked me. I remember everything about this event. The color of his feathers-mottled black and white. Where I was walking. The first sign that things were not going to go well. The fear. The inability to get away fast enough. Running down the dusty dirt road to my Granny's house. The scratches that went from my neck to my ankles. And my mom and granny examining my wounds in a calm and matter-of-fact way while I cried from the pain and trauma.

Either the event or my families reaction to it has boosted it into legend in my mind. What happened afterward I'm not sure of the facts, but the truth of it goes this way: My Uncle Pete took his shotgun out and killed that sonofabitch. And my granny refused to cook the bird because he was too mean. For weeks afterward no one could say the word 'chicken' around me without me bursting into tears.

Is this why I love fried chicken?
Is this why I am not a big fan of birds as pets?
Is this why my gut reaction to any black and white mottled bird is a hard swift kick?

Maybe or maybe not.

On this sixth day of Christmas I'm thinking about those legendary experiences which shape us as people. How there are times it doesn't matter how fast you run, you're going to get spurred, but keep running anyhow. How in spite of my malicious rooster experience I-never the less-have entered a chicken pen and allowed my children to do so as well. How I consider that beauty may be skin deep, but evil goes down into the flesh. How I can take the ribbing and kidding of rooster jokes by people who know the story with a grin even if it does make me crave fried chicken.

A good friend of mine has said on more than one occasion, "I don't know if this story is factual. But I know it is true."

I like that. In fact, I love it. I think that's what legend is about-how the facts of a story blur a bit with the truth in the retelling.

A good story teller knows that truth is the raison d'être of a tale. If you shore up that truth, then the story is going to be a good one.

On the fifth day....

2011-12-29T13:31:00.001-05:00

On the fifth day of Christmas I'm thinking about distractions.

Yesterday I spent most of the day at the Cincinnati Children's Hospital being hungry and thankful. My kid was scheduled for surgery. It was minor surgery, but since it was my own kid it felt major. And we were to have the procedure at 1pm which meant no food since 5:30 that morning. One o'clock came and went with apologies for delay. And more delay. And yet another delay. At six o'clock p.m. they finally came with the gurney.

As the surgery continued to get moved back, I thought about the surgeries which were before us-how those children were probably in much worse shape and how complaining would set the tone for my child to also complain and be ill at ease so I worked to stay positive, upbeat, and create a distraction.

I consider creating a distraction as one of my important roles when my kid is in a medical situation which involves pain. This is something I saw my mom do, and do it very well. When there is some intense episode occurring, the child is watching the needle and thinking about how much it's going to hurt. So, the mom pulls them away from that focus to a comfortable place/an exciting place.

Tell me about this video game you mentioned. What was it called? Megadeath Spreaders? Oh. It's not called Megadeath Spreaders. What do you do in it?

Or

What do they have at this restaurant you wanted to go to? A chocolate fountain? Really? So, do you stick your mouth under the fountain, or how does that work exactly?

And so it goes. The distractions yesterday were a little more challenging since it wasn't just as long as getting a shot, but it was about five hours worth of having my child to focus on being in a comfortable place mentally when we were waiting in a room without windows though there was cable TV and a DVD player.

I have to hand it to this hospital. They had children's toys, books, board games, a large selection of movies, and even bead kits to make your own jewelry. This hospital-a children's hospital-is good at distractions.

They even have wagons for parents to pull their kids around in the hall for more distraction.

Even though the wait was incredibly longer than I anticipated, it was bearable. It was bearable because of the ready distractions provided by the hospital, the compassion of the staff, and the inner knowledge we had that our time waiting was meaningful because other people ahead of us needed the doctor sooner than we did.

Today I'm considering that waiting can be a positive exercise in patience, that creative distractions are a better use of time than stewing and getting angry over what we have no control over, and that now on this fifth day we are back home, feeling good, relatively pain-free, and anticipating the chocolate fountain at the Golden Corral.

On the fourth day....

2011-12-28T07:35:00.004-05:00

Hello, and welcome to the fourth day of Christmas.

According to the song there are four calling birds, but you know what? There are a lot of birds in this song. And, seriously, I really don't like the song because it's so annoyingly long-so much repetition which I loved as a child, but now? I'll just start at twelve and work my way down, thank you very much.

Now I can tolerate the Muppets twelve days if I only have to listen to it once a year, and this is because I love Beaker. But I've never been a big Miss Piggy fan, and honestly how much can you milk the whole Miss Piggy wants to be married to Kermit the Frog kind of thing? We're talking decades here.

Another version I heard this year for the first time is by Relient K. I only heard it once, and I did not skip it on Pandora so I guess it's okay.

Now depending on who you talk to, the song the 12 Days of Christmas either has some Christian symbolism to it, or it does not. And if it does not, then what the heck does it mean? Interestingly enough the Christian meaning only assigns significance to the numbers not all the crazy birds/milk maids/leaping lords/etc. So, more investigating needs to happen and by someone who has more time and more concern than me.

Still. Snopes.com is not a bad site for these kinds of questions, and I found some interesting information there. You can go HERE to learn about the myth and fact of the song the 12 Days of Christmas. For my purposes on this fourth day of Christmas and also my little rant about Miss Piggy and her unhealthy long-established desire to marry a commit-phobic amphibian, here is what Snopes has to say:

"The twelve days of Christmas is what most people take it to be: a secular song that celebrates the Christmas season with imagery of gifts and dancing and music. Some misinterpretations have crept into the English version over the years, though. For example, the fourth day’s gift is four ‘colly birds’ (or ‘collie birds’, not four ‘calling birds’. (The word ‘colly’ literally means ‘black as coal,’ and thus ‘colly birds’ would be blackbirds. The ‘five golden rings’ refers not to five pieces of jewelry, but to five ring-necked birds (such as pheasants). When these errors are corrected, the pattern of the first seven gifts all being types of birds is re-established.”

I still do not know what the deal is with all the birds, and now I find out there are even more birds delivered to my true love, but maybe French people like birds a lot.

But I do credit this ridiculous song with one thing-it first made me question what the heck these 12 Days of Christmas was about. And I asked the right person one day who informed me that the Christmas was a season of the church and not a day. More than that, Christmas day did not end the season of Christmas; it began it. And those twelve days lasted until finally those wise men are commemorated in their following of the star and bringing their gifts to the Christ Child. The church calls this Epiphany.

On the fourth day of Christmas I thought of a guy named John because I'm going to be preaching about him on January 8th. I'm not a big fan of John the Baptizer because he shows up a lot in the Advent Lectionary and again during the Christmas season. And I get tired of him, not unlike all of the birds and verses in the 12 Days of Christmas.

Still.

I've been giving him the cold shoulder for a while proclamation-wise so maybe it's time to pull out the camel hair coat and crunch some locusts sweetened with some wild honey and see what happens.

It sure beats the heck out of 4 black birds.

Happy Fourth Day, everyone.

On the third day...

2011-12-27T08:01:00.001-05:00

Here we are on the Third day of Christmas. Ah, the number three. It is the first prime odd number. Or, it that the first odd prime number?

What's special about three? I asked my kid who told me it is the only single digit number which begins with 'th'. So, okay, I'll buy that.

And there's the Trinity. I like the idea of the three persons in one God. I like talking about Neapolitan ice cream with the confirmation class because it's different flavors but it's all ice cream. And don't dwell too much on it because as most analogies it can only do so much.

Three is a magic number, you know. I know this because I grew up with School House Rock.

So, pause my playlist on the right, and you can learn about the magic of three.

Happy third day, everyone!

On the Second Day

2011-12-26T06:59:00.000-05:00

Nothing is as done as Christmas. The radio station which began its caroling on Thanksgiving is now back to its regular fare. The stores already had discount clearance on Christmas decorations, and the conveniently packaged bath sets will be on sale today. As I was looking on the internet for a picture to post here, I found a lot of 'After Christmas' discounts which began on December 24th. What the heck???

Seriously?

But it wasn't in the too distant past that people didn't begin their festive celebration until Christmas eve. The tree wasn't actually put up and decorated until the night before Christmas. Having had a real tree for the last several years, I understand this. Keeping a cut Christmas tree in the house for over a month is painful when it comes time to un-deck its halls. Oh, the pain of dead tree needles. Needles. What an appropriate name for these leaves. Oh, the maddening knowledge of seeing the dry needles pouring onto the floor as I attempt to shove the tree out the front door, then finding those needles here and there for the next several months-or years.

I finally did myself a favor and got an artificial tree this year, so I think the taking down will go a lot better. But I'm not going to worry about it for a little while yet. I'm determined to keep the tree up until into January since the Christmas season which began yesterday actually extends the 12 days and ends the day before Epiphany which is January 6.

So, on the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me two turtle doves. I love the power of two-always have. That's why I write romance. On the second day of Christmas, I celebrate the power of two.

Here's a picture which celebrates the power of two. Merry Christmas!

Oh, come on. Don't act like you didn't want a monkey for Christmas when you were a kid. A monkey beats the heck out of two turtle doves. Especially, Boots the Monkey. First of all, he wears red boots. Secondly, he talks, and he's always cheering Dora on. And third of all, I've never seen a show where he throws poo.

Now, that's a good monkey to have.

Christmas Story via Social Networking

2011-12-23T10:57:00.001-05:00

A blog I frequent posted this link to the Christmas story via social networks. It's very cute and clever. I wanted to share it with you so, so click HERE for the link.

Hey, it could have happened this way!

The Longest Night

2011-12-20T05:20:00.001-05:00

December 21 marks the longest night of the year. In the manic cultural celebration of Christmas, shopping days, and merry obligations, many of us get downright depressed at this time of year. And it's not just about the pressure to get the right gift, some people are mourning loved ones who have died within the last year and won't be here to celebrate Christmas. Other people are let down because this holiday isn't the Hallmark holiday that we so wanted it to be. Several years ago, I found out about the Longest Night. It has been the tradition of some churches to have a Longest Night Service, which is also called 'The Blue Christmas' service to commemorate this night in a way which offers a balm to people who are grieving, lonely, or perhaps who simply have a heart ache.

I found an order of worship for such a service, and it begins with the comforting words of Isaiah as its Call to Worship:

Call to Worship (from Isaiah 9) 
     The people who walked in darkness have seen a great

light; on those who lived in a land of deep shadow a

light has shone. For the yoke that was weighing upon

them, and the burden upon their shoulders, thou 
     hast broken in pieces O God, our Renewer.

This is taken from a curriculum called 'The Whole People of God', and the entire worship service can be found HERE.

I was so moved by The Longest Night, the realization of how dejected some people feel during Christmas, and the need for comfort that I included a scene in my book Rescue Me. Here it is for you if you'd like to read it. Consider it a Christmas gift in honor of the Longest Night:

It was past midnight, and no moon lit the black-as-ink sky. Amy sighed thinking how the darkness fit her mood. On top of Toby not wanting her to buy him anything for Christmas, she had gotten a phone call from a collection agency wanting money from the orthopedist who had set Toby’s arm when he had broken it in July. Trey had said he had taken care of the bill, but obviously he hadn’t. How the collection people had gotten her cell number, she didn’t know, but she didn’t put it past Trey to have given it to them.
Lord, where was she going to find almost six hundred dollars to pay it? She was giving Mom and Dad forty dollars a week to cover part of the expense of she and Toby living here, and she knew they would be fine with her not giving them the money. Still. If she used that money toward the bill, it
would be years before it was paid off. She’d have to change her debt reduction plan she had worked out and only pay the minimum on the credit card for a few months and use the rest of the money to pay the doctor bill. Damn Trey Mann for not caring enough about his own son to pay for his broken arm.
With her mind occupied, Amy didn’t realize where she was driving until the headlights of her car illuminated Riley’s entry gate as she turned onto his driveway. She put her foot on the brake. Now why had she come here? Was she so used to delivering a pizza to him at the close of her shift, that
coming here had become a habit?
Amy turned off the headlights, but left the engine running. She peered skyward through the windshield at a break in the trees. Out here without any town lights, she should have been able to see some stars, but could not.
Was there no light anywhere?
Sitting back, she leaned on the headrest and closed her eyes. I am trying to do the right thing here. I don’t want to declare bankruptcy. Please help me.
Moments passed, and the only sound she heard was the idling of the engine until the passenger door opened and Riley leaned down and peered at her.
Amy gasped and grabbed her chest. “Geez, Riley, you scared me to death.”
Reaching down, he grasped the warmers and tossed them over the seat into the back then sat down beside her shutting the door behind him.
“What are you doing out here in the driveway?” He inquired.
Amy couldn’t see his face at all since the dashboard lights didn’t work.
“Thinking. How did you know I was here?”
“There’s a motion sensor at the gate. Sometimes teenagers will come here to park, so if the sensor is activated and no one shows up at the house after a few minutes, I usually come investigate.”
Amy didn’t reply.
“Do you want to come inside for a while?”
“It’s late. I should go home.” But she made no move to do anything.
“Are you okay?”
Amy wiped her eyes, thankful, at least, it was too dark for Riley to see her tears.
“You know what tonight is?”
“Saturday?”
“December twenty-first. Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. You know what they call it?”
Amy shook her head.
“Blue Christmas, the longest night in which darkness reigns, and we weep in grief for all of our losses.”
Amy tried to think of some glib comment, but could think of nothing except how fitting the night was to her circumstances.
“Come on. Drive up to the house. I want to show you something.”
She turned on the lights and put the car in gear, following the winding drive until she parked in front of his house.
“It’s in the house. Let me go inside first and get it ready. It will take me less than a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You won’t leave, will you?”
Whatever was inside intrigued her. What was the secret? What was so compelling that he wanted to show her? “I’ll wait for you.”
For a few seconds they stared at each other within the confines of the car. Though it was still dark, there was enough light from the front porch light to illuminate Riley’s features. His face held a solemn, almost sad, expression. Opening the door, he left the car, and Amy turned off the engine as she watched him stride to the house and bound up the stairs and open the door. She left the keys in the ignition, but exited the car. Riley had left the front door open, and Amy waited on the porch stairs for his invitation. As promised, he was back in less than a minute.
At the door, he held his hand out to her, and she took it. Leading her inside the darkened house, he guided her to the couch and sat her down. On the coffee table three candles burned, their flickering flame the only light in the room. The melted and reformed wax attested to the fact they had been
burning a while earlier in the evening.
“What’s your loss?”
“Happiness. That’s my loss. And Toby’s, too. He won’t even ask for anything for Christmas because he thinks I can’t afford it. I found out today my jerk of an ex-husband hasn’t paid any of Dr. McKenzie’s bill from when Toby broke his arm last summer.”
“That’s tough.” Riley left the room and came back with another candle. He set it next to the other three. “Want to light one?”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “You can commemorate the longest night.”
“I can’t wait for it to be over, or this whole part of my life. I hate feeling like a failure. I don’t think it will ever end.”
Riley pushed the lighter across the table’s surface so that it was within her reach. “Light the candle, and it isn’t as dark. The flame makes it less of the darkest night.”
Leaning forward, she took the lighter, pressed the button, and touched it to the wick. The candle flickered and burned. “What’s one candle in so much blackness?”
“I can see your face in it, and you can see mine... Can’t you?”
Amy had been watching the flames, but Riley’s words brought her attention to his face. The dim light wavered across his features. The bleakness of her life dissipated a bit, and another feeling took its place. A yearning. Warm desire for the man who seemed to know what it felt like to hurt, who
seemed to understand her long, dark night. She dropped the lighter on the table and jumped up. “I better go.”

I love this tender scene, that these two people can share a dark moment with each other and make it less dark, more comforting.

May your longest night be lit by the comfort of hope and love.

Farsighted

2011-12-19T03:08:00.008-05:00

Here's a neat YA book I came across recently.

Farsighted is on a book tour, and stopping by here today. Emlyn Chand, the author of Farsighted is giving away a $50 Amazon.com gift certificate on the tour. You may comment here and throughout the tour for a chance to win the gift certificate. Comment about what intrigues you about the book, or just say 'Hi'. Leave your email so it's easier to get in touch. Want to comment at other stops? Here are the dates of the rest of the tour:

http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2011/10/virtual-book-tour-farsighted-by-emlyn.html

Here's a little about the author, Emlyn Chand:

I’m Emlyn, a 26-almost-27-year old YA author. I am also the president of Novel Publicity and a crazy bird lady too. And, oh yeah, I emerged from the womb with a fountain pen grasped firmly in my left hand (at least that’s what my Twitter bio says).

As an author, what makes a book great in your eyes?
For the most part, I think stories live or die with the characters who populate them. Plot is important. World-building is important. But a story without strong or relatable characters isn’t going to stay with readers in the same way. To that end, it was incredibly important for me to create characters who would feel real to the story. Readers have really identified with Alex and Shapri as feeling extremely authentic. Some people like Simmi too. :-D

Why do you write YA?
I actually just wrote a blog post about that (it’s here). It all comes down to the enjoyment factor. YA is my favorite genre to read, so it’s only natural that I would choose to write it as well. I like the vulnerability and changeability of the characters. I love the ease of language and the connection that is created by writing in first person point-of-view. But mostly, I like the readers of YA. YA readers WANT to enjoy books .Their primary goal is not to dissect the literary merit of a story but rather to find a bit of entertainment. YA readers are also extremely loyal to authors they like and can border on fanatical. It makes you feel good as an author ;-)

In your book Farsighted, why did you choose to make the main character, Alex, blind?

Everything started with a single image—my face in these tacky oversized sunglasses reflecting out at me from the car’s side mirror. I was daydreaming while my husband drove us across Michigan for my sister’s wedding. Something about my image really struck me in an almost horrific way. I felt the glasses made me look blind but found it so weird that there was still a clear image within them; it seemed so contradictory. At the time, my book club was reading The Odyssey, which features the blind Theban prophet, Tieresias. I started thinking about what it would be like to have non-visual visions of the future and began forming a modern Tieresias in my mind. Lo and behold, Alex Kosmitoras was born. I didn’t want him to be alone in his psychic subculture, so I found other characters with other powers to keep him company. Thank God for my poor fashion sense. :-)

And now, Farsighted:

Alex Kosmitoras’s life has never been easy. The only other student who will talk to him is the school bully, his parents are dead-broke and insanely overprotective, and to complicate matters even more, he’s blind. Just when he thinks he’ll never have a shot at a normal life, a new girl from India moves into town. Simmi is smart, nice, and actually wants to be friends with Alex. Plus she smells like an Almond Joy bar. Yes, sophomore year might not be so bad after all.
Unfortunately, Alex is in store for another new arrival—an unexpected and often embarrassing ability to “see” the future. Try as he may, Alex is unable to ignore his visions, especially when they begin to suggest that Simmi is in danger. With the help of the mysterious psychic next door and new friends who come bearing gifts of their own, Alex must embark on a journey to change his future.

Want to see the Trailer? Make sure to pause my playlist on the right before you start the video.

Here's Emlyn's website: www.emlynchand.com

Buy it at Amazon.

Thanks, Goddess Fish Promo and Emlyn for hanging out at This is the Life today.

Biting the Bullet

2011-12-18T07:47:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I met some pretty neat people at the McConnell House, including an Abraham Lincoln impersonator. When Abe was about to leave, someone said, "Hey, Abe, stay away from the theater, why don't ya? Haha" It reminded me of something I heard once that it wasn't the shooting that killed Abe, it was the doctors' efforts to save his life.

Another person brought a lot of Civil War objects including a medical kit. He showed me various pieces out of the kit and how bullets would be extracted from a soldier. I made a few jokes about him doing dental surgery on me, then he pulled out two bullets from a small box. These were obviously very old, and they had marks all over them.

How come?

I couldn't guess. Then he told me the marks were made by teeth of soldiers who had bitten down on the bullets while they were having surgery in the field. Most likely the surgery was amputation. If a person is in intense pain, they might bite their tongue so to save that body part (at least) a bullet would be placed in the mouth to give them something to bite down on which would not splinter or come apart. The soldier was placed on his side so the bullet wouldn't go down the throat and either be choked on or swallowed.

So, the term 'bite the bullet' was a literal term. When we use it today the connotation is 'go for it'. But its origins are 'this is going to hurt like heck, but it will likely save your life so here is something to put in your mouth while the pain happens.'

I'd like something like that for our cat Midnight Rose. She obviously got into a fight with something which bit her on her head and now the wound is pretty bad looking. A few days ago I took her in the house and did my best to clean the wounds, but it must have hurt because she won't let me catch her now for any more medical attention. She's only about three years old so relatively young, and that's to her advantage. Still. I think I could do more good than harm. Unlike Abe's doctor.

Is there any Christmas wisdom in biting the bullet? We're at a week now before the season, you know.

McConnell House Author Showcase

2011-12-17T08:23:00.000-05:00

Need something to do today? This is a really neat annual event at the historic McConnell House which is located just outside of Greenup, Kentucky.

Local Gal Cat Shaffer

2011-12-16T10:08:00.003-05:00

I'm pleased to share with you a book by one of Ashland's own authors. Not only do I know Cat Shaffer, but I know this book Kentucky Blues because Cat would read it to me scene by scene each week that our critique group met. How exciting to see it published and in print.

Here's the Amazon link: http://www.amazon.com/Kentucky-Blues-Cat-Shaffer/dp/1935817043/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1323958973&sr=8-1

Review from Beyond Her Book:

"Once I opened the cover of Cat Shaffer’s book, I was hooked. I liked the characters, the suspenseful situation, and the concept of discovering one’s mother might be a “cougar” challenges the imagination. In the end, Kentucky Blues was touching, intriguing, tense, exciting, and satisfyingly romantic."

You can find Cat's website at www.catshaffer.com

This book is published by Turquoise Morning Press. It's a romantic suspense with a lot of humor as well.

Blurb:

Elise Drummond never forgot her first love—and never expected to learn via the grapevine that he was back in Brookville and living with her mother. Sam McCade had broken her heart, and she wasn’t about to let him destroy her mother’s as well. A quick trip back to Kentucky to lay down the law and she could head back to the safe life she’d built for herself in Kansas City.

Pregnant Pause

2011-12-15T06:44:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about preparing for Christmas and how that means for a lot of us shopping for the right gift. Several people have asked me just lately, "Are you ready for Christmas?" And I missed the opportunity to couch it in terms of Advent, preparing for Jesus' arrival. It's my privilege to meet weekly with a neat group of preschoolers in chapel. This week we talked about getting presents on our birthdays, and how we should think about a nice gift we could give Jesus since it's his birthday coming up.

In searching the Net for a good picture for this post, I found this blog. It talks about the miraculous and unexpected pregnancy of a woman whose name is...Elizabeth. Do you know the story? It's a really interesting one of an elderly couple who could never have a baby. Then the husband whose name is Zechariah goes into the Temple to do his work because he is a priest. While he's there, an angel tells him he's going to be father. And he doesn't believe the angel. So the angel gets mad and strikes him mute, "Until these things shall come to pass."

These things are the pregnancy of his old wife and the birth of his son whose name will be John. John will come to be known as John the Baptizer, and in the picture above we see the elderly Elizabeth reacting to the baby leaping in her womb when pregnant Mary speaks to her.

There are a lot of nifty pearls of wisdom to this story, but one worth mentioning here is God does unexpected things, and sometimes we have to wait a while for those things to happen. Another is that sometimes it's good to shut up and see how God can make the impossible happen.

Waiting is something we don't have to do a lot since we live in a culture of fast food and instant gratification. But waiting is a good thing. Expecting and anticipating helps the soul and body hunger for good nourishment.

So, enjoy the waiting. Don't be frantic. Don't let the steam roller of getting all the presents and hitting all the festive gatherings overwhelm you. Stop it. Take a pregnant pause. And wait.

Decide what your gift will be to the birthday boy.

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

2011-12-12T08:11:00.000-05:00

I'm changing that classic Christmas song to 'feel' because it's looked like Christmas most every where else for months now. But the twenty degree temperature this morning and the frost on the hard ground is definitely putting me in a winter mood.

My dear loving mommy sent me long johns for Christmas, and this morning knowing that there was a chilly walk in store for me, I opened one of the packs and put those duds on. Yeah, we walk our kids to school. It's about a ten minute walk, and it seems silly not to walk when it's that close. My husband is the motivation behind that. He walks a lot, and has sort of shamed the rest of us into it.

So, I pulled out the long johns, the thick socks, my wool winter coat, and the gloves. Even with the gloves, my hands were painfully cold. When I complained, "I'm wearing gloves, and my hands are freezing," my dear mid-Western born husband declared with a smile, "It's almost cold enough to wear gloves." And he pulled a hand out of his jacket pocket and showed me its nakedness.

Last Wednesday I went to Cincinnati with my son. On the way, we saw snow flurries-my first winter snow viewing of the season. I was excited, but then again I was in a heated charter bus. I know the time will come soon when I'm complaining loud and long about how cold it is.

Still.

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas....

Holiday Blog Hop

2011-12-09T09:06:00.000-05:00

Welcome to my blog! If you haven't hopped here from Carly's Holiday Blog, then I'll fill you in on what's going on. I'm one hop, and you can click on the link below to hop back to Carly's blog, then to other hops as well. Each holiday blog hop is giving away a book or some other prize to one of those commenting so if you like 'free' and you like prizes, you have lots of chances to win.

I'm Jennifer Johnson, and I write contemporary romance. I'm giving away an ebook copy of Rescue Me to one person randomly drawn from those commenting on this post. Rescue Me has a great Christmas scene in it so I thought I'd be a nice prize for the Holiday Hop. Here's something about the book.

Sitting in front of her parents’ house in a U-Haul truck at midnight, Amy Mann decides it’s time to break it to them that she’s divorced from her husband and moving back home with her seven-year-old son, Toby. As Amy settles into her hometown, she has a plan to get out of debt, get her college degree, and put her life together.
Enter Captain Riley Pennimon, local firefighter and superhero to Amy’s son. Riley is kind, brave, and civic-minded. The captain does not fit into Amy’s putting-her-life-together plan, and yet he is way too good looking without a shirt. Much to Amy’s chagrin, Toby decides that Riley is just what they need for a happily-ever-after.
Can Amy make peace with the demons of her mistakes and let the captain rescue her? And, can Riley let go of the past and grab onto the family he’s always wanted?
Review
“…chock-full of Southern wit and wisdom, quirky characters who tell it like it is, and good old wholesome humor that is sure to delight…if you liked Hope Floats, you’ll love Rescue Me!” ~Maddie James, Romance Author

Here is a link to some of my other books.

Not sure what to comment about? How about a little on your best Christmas ever.

After commenting, hop on back to Carly's Blog. Just click HERE to go.

Field Trip!

2011-12-08T08:56:00.000-05:00

I had a great time yesterday in Cincinnati with my kid. We went to the natural history museum, then crossed the river to go to Newport to the aquarium.

Something about my kid and aquariums don't quite gel. When he was about five we went to the aquarium in Knoxville. All of the sudden he wasn't with me. We searched frantically for him, then the announcement came over the intercom for me to come get my kid in the lobby. It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life. Where had he been? Playing in the staff elevator.

Yesterday I never let him out of my sight. I watched as he ran around and around in the revolving door going out of the bird exhibit. I told him to stop, then I watched him walk smack into the glass wall then fall stunned to the ground. He was trapped in the revolving door with me on one side and a staff person on the other side.

Still.

There was no visible blood, and he was conscious. So, those seemed like good signs.

I was calm. I waited.

Eventually he stood up and I was able to pull the door open to get him to me.

After a brief examination and a refusal of first aid, I filled out an accident report at the request of the nice aquarium lady, bought the kid a bottled water, and we were fine. We went into the water tunnel and looked at the sharks.

More on Big Fish and Spectre

2011-12-05T09:12:00.002-05:00

I have a few more pictures to share from our visit to Spectre, Alabama. Here's a LINK to my previous post to catch you up if you didn't read it before.

Spectre, Alabama through the imagination of Daniel Wallace (the author) as seen through the eyes of Tim Burton (movie director)

Spectre, Alabama weathered and aged as seen through the lens of my hub's camera.

It's a little sad until I realized that this set (in the latter picture) probably never looked like the first picture. That's the magic of the movie. Whether that vivid beautiful green is artificial turf actually laid down on the ground or whether it was computer generated, doesn't matter so much. Because it just adds to the message of Big Fish. In the movie, Spectre was a not quite real place. The shoe-strung wire across the entrance is telling.

In this place there is no pain and no suffering. Why wear shoes then? There will be no sharp rocks or glass to cut your feet. You can be comfortable in a way only true southern barefoot folk understand. In the movie, a little girl steals Edward Bloom's shoes and throws them up on the wire. In spite of this, he knows he needs to leave the town. As he is getting ready to leave, he's asked, "How are you going to make it without your shoes?" and he answers, "Well, I suspect it will hurt. A lot."

And as he steps over the painful terrain back to the real world, he declares the truth that, "A dangerous path is made much worse by darkness."

I get that because I've fought enough nighttime demons just to see them evaporate at dawn. And thank the Lord when they do. There are few things worse than an uninvited demon who won't leave after plenty of wrestling time. And I'm glad to say that it doesn't happen too often. Something about that rising sun and the obnoxious alarm buzz which hold plenty of grace that way.

Welcome to Spectre, Alabama

2011-12-01T21:09:00.001-05:00

Several years ago my brother was an extra in a movie called Big Fish which was filmed close to where I grew up. I felt it my duty to buy the DVD, and what a pleasant surprise the movie was.

No. Not a pleasant surprise. The movie was fantastic. It was one of those types of movies that you want to slow it down and really pay attention because you know you're probably missing some good parts. If you watch it, my brother is walking across the street just before the bank robbery. If you zoom in, you can't see him. So don't zoom in.

Anyway, basically it's a story within a story. The outer story is about a man who is dying. This man is the story teller, and his son does not appreciate his story telling skills. The son comes home because he wants to make some peace with who his dad really is-not all of the tall tales he's heard all of his life. Then the story within the story begins. The stretched-taffy-flexible-and-tasty-tales which tell the truth of who Harold Bloom is. But according to the son, the fact of Harold Bloom is still a mystery.

And here begins my story within the story within the story. Because part of this movie was filmed less than a mile from the *new* old homestead. You punch in a secret code, and the gate opens.

Behind the gate is a long road and a make-believe village. This village in the movie is a not quite real place called Spectre, Alabama.

To get there, the hero in the story (a young Harold Bloom) goes through a passage way of trees. We, too, found this passage.

Here it is:

Some of what you see is real. Real trees. Real leaves. Real ground. Some is magic. But the magic is wearing thin as the white you notice on the tree is not some blight, but styrofoam. For those trees are fake.

But even walking under the canopy it was hard to discern. And that's how you know that the storyteller is good at his (or her) craft. Because the magic entices you and invites you to take a stroll in a special place. And the magic lingers for a while. Maybe years. Until the styrofoam starts showing through.

Still.

The stroll was pretty amazing.

Boiled Peanuts

2011-11-28T09:08:00.000-05:00

Before I moved to Kentucky, I considered it 'the north'. It was north of any place I had ever lived, and it was right next to my husband's home state which is definitely NOT the south. I mean they eat pumpkin pie there instead of sweet potato. Even though you can buy grits in the store there, the packages have dust on them. And they say things differently than I do. Such as:

Korean. Translation: Crayon.

Traffic Light. Translation: Red light.

Pop. Translation: Coke.

Other things different? No fried chicken at family reunions, nor have the police ever been called at any extended family gathering. Honestly. Is it really a family reunion if neither one of these things occur? The most exciting thing that happened was my husband's grandmother got overheated in her sweater, fainted, and hit her head. They didn't even call in the ambulance. Absolutely no emergency personnel were called in for any reason. No fights. No screaming matches. No throwing the kids in the car and getting out of there before the cops showed up. So, that was weird for me.

What made this even more problematic in my courting days was these people who were to become my in-laws were amused by my foreign language and palate. I tried to teach them how to speak and eat, and, God bless them, they tried, but really it was like trying to teach a pig to bark. We all know that poor sow will never do anything but oink.

After we moved to Kentucky I realized I was still in the south. No, they didn't drink "Coke" here. They called it 'pop' as the Ohioans did, but they knew what 'Bless her heart' meant. And, hey, they eat grits here, too.

So, there was something about the river which separated Kentucky from Ohio. In Kentucky we were still in the south, but when we crossed the bridge into Ohio we had entered (not) the north, but the mid-west. It's weird that way, but true.

However, I've come to find out Kentucky is the south, but it's not the deep south.

Case in point? Boiled peanuts. I've always loved these. I grew up eating them, and I love them even more now because the only time I ever get the opportunity is when I head back to Alabama. Whenever I mention the phrase 'boiled peanuts' in front of these people, they either look at me with:

a)a puzzled expression
or
b)a look of disgust.

Last year as we were about to get on the interstate from being at my parents' house, we saw a plywood sign with the words "Boiled Peanuts" on it. My dear sweet husband pulled over, and I bought the treats. My choice? Regular or Cajun. I bought both which were sold in Styrofoam cups. We happily ate some of them on the trip then when I went to work that next week, I bought a few to share with my fellow workers.

None of them appreciated them. One guy even attempted to eat the peanut in the shell. Now I was the one looking at them in disgust. How can you not like boiled peanuts?

Saturday we left my parents house again after an enjoyable Thanksgiving. Again we took the road to the interstate, and again we spotted the truck and the plywood sign. Again my wonderful husband pulled over to get the boiled peanuts. I jumped out of the car and went over to the guy.

"I got Cajun and regular," the guy said. "You ever had my peanuts before?"
"Are you here often?" I replied.
"Yeah."
"Were you here last year about this time?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Then I have had your peanuts before."

I bought ten bucks worth. And if I had had more cash on me, I would have bought more. After all, Saturday was the day deemed by *somebody* as small business Saturday. It was the day to support your local business man instead of the retail giants or Internet buy sites. I was a little sad we would be on the road because I wouldn't get to participate. I try to shop local when I can because I appreciate the vision and gumption of the person who takes the risk and works hard to make it a success.

So, Boiled Peanut Guy, thank you! Please always be on that stretch of road selling your delicious treats! You allow me to bring a taste of home back with me to the non-deep south. I appreciate you.

On being thankful....

2011-11-23T09:24:00.000-05:00

Recently I was on my way to Kroger. There are two traffic lights between Kroger and me, and if all the stars align in their quirky way, I can get into the parking lot without any stops at all (well, except for that stop sign at the end of my street). So, I was driving, I got the red light, but the driver next to me, gunned their engine and totally ran that sucker.

Running red lights is a favorite hobby of many of my fellow city citizens. This popular practice now causes me to pause when the light changes so that the red light runners don't plow into me. Anyway, it occurred to me that:
1. What the heck is so important that this guy can't wait to get there?
2. It's Kroger, the Chinese restaurant, Big Lots, and Wendy's
3. Seriously?

So, then it was time for a mental/emotional/spiritual self-check. I do these from time to time-not intentionally really-it just happens. It usually goes like this:
* Hello, Jennifer, and how are you doing right now?
or
*Self, are you feeling okay?

So, the red light runner brought on my little self-check, and I realized, hey, I really didn't mind stopping at the red light. I was enjoying sitting in the driver's seat. I was enjoying the twilight of the day. It was just all around good even though I was having to make the trip to grocery shop at the hectic grocery-shopping time of the day.

It really was good.

And I knew it was good because stopping at the red light was an opportunity to think about how good my life is.

Disclaimer: I'm about to get on a soapbox. I do preach. But I do not get preachy very often. However, what follows could be labeled as preachy, so your choice at this point is to a)leave this blog post, or to b)continue reading, but no complaining because I did warn you.

A long time ago, I was complaining about being unhappy, and a very wise person said to me, "Happiness is over-rated." I don't really remember the rest of what he said, but what I got from it was this:

You can pursue happiness, but if you do, you won't really be happy. Happiness is a by-product of being thankful, or working hard to be a blessing in the Kingdom of God, of being active to help other people, to be kind and patient, to appreciate every little thing you have, and finally to realize that this world doesn't owe you anything. Anything you have and anything you do is by God's mercy and love. You are the one who owes the debt of your presence in the universe. So, get your butt off the couch, turn off the TV, and do something. Do something good. Do something productive. And you get bonus points if your good and productive something is to benefit someone other than you and you do it without any credit to yourself.

If you start feeling resentful that the other person doesn't deserve it, stop. That's something evil trying to kill your thankfulness.

Do that good something.

We all are responsible for our own joyfulness. And I think the key to being joyful is being thankful.

I am thankful for my parents, my siblings, the nieces, and GREAT nephews. My own family who have to put up with so much from me because they live with me-I am especially thankful for them and to them. For my church family. For the dog. For a million things which make my life convenient and good. For blogs and FB. But especially to God Almighty who created and loves me and knows me today with the number of hairs on my head, and will know me tomorrow when that number is different.

This is Thanksgiving. I will eat. I will see family. But mostly, I am thankful for what I have and for what I don't have. I am thankful for being stopped and for a continuous journey. I'm just all around thankful for being here.

Thank you, God. You are awesome.

Kicking Not Too High

2011-11-22T10:30:00.002-05:00

A long time ago when I lived in Mississippi, I knew this woman who always responded to my, "How are you?" with "I'm kicking not too high."

What the heck did she mean? That she was doing great (as in she's still alive and her legs are not stiff with rigor mortis)? Or that she wasn't doing so well in that she couldn't do those high kicks like some happy chap might feel like doing gleefully.

And so this blog is about to take an interesting turn as I did a search for 'rigor mortis' to make sure I spelled it correctly and found this interesting image:

So, of course I completely forgot where I was going with the not kicking too high. Not sure exactly what this picture means, but...ummm....I hope he's not getting all that body grease on those nice chairs. And, of course, the picture made me jump to the website and I found this amusing image which I post in honor of the BIG rivalry taking place in my home state on Friday. I think it's on Friday. Anyway, I would love for everybody to act civilly without any yelling or anger no matter what happens. Is this too much to ask?

So, I just read what the website is about. This is the title:
LOLbabez is like LOLcats but with models
So originally these captions were with pictures of cats. Now they placed them with pictures of models.
Now, that is funny.
Here's the link if you want to see the other pictures.

Cammielot

2011-11-20T22:24:00.000-05:00

Saturday night we ventured into that town of Greenup to the square to celebrate Cammielot, an author and reader gathering.

The picture is of my good friend Patricia and me. Her dress was a black and white satin and mine was black velvet. I forgot to look at her shoes. Patricia always has beautiful shoes which is why she usually takes the elevator at work. On this night I was wearing high-heeled boots. But before that I had worn another pair of shoes to drive in as those boots are hard to maneuver the gas and brake pedals on Hwy 23. When I got to my destination, I pulled off those shoes and walked in stockinged feet across the square in Greenup to the author meeting place which was the Greenup newspaper office. My friend Fonda walked with me. "Do you think anyone else has ever walked in stockinged feet across this square?" I asked. She thought that yes, indeed, someone surely had.

We waited in the office until all of the authors arrived. This was where the car was to pick us up to take us to Cammielot.

When we were shuttled to the door of the gala, each of the authors were presented by Colonial Dahnmon Whitt of the Kentucky Whitts, of course! Then the Colonial escorted each of us to the author table. Colonial Whitt and I go way back when I pulled his own gun on him at a book signing back in aught nine, then my husband fussed at me later saying, "You don't pull a gun on a man unless you plan on shooting him." So, the next time I saw the Colonial I apologized saying, "Next time I pull a gun on you, I'll shoot you."

In spite of that, he has invited me out to the McConnell House in December for another author signing.

We talked and laughed and signed books. All of the copies of Currents we had brought we sold and signed. Tanya Pullin, our Kentucky state representative was there as well. She wrote the foreword to our Currents book, and she worked really hard to help get the Ovarian cancer screening program in Greenup. She's just a very hard worker and a genuine person. She seems very humble as well-something not seen a lot in a politician. Anyway, I enjoyed getting dressed up and seeing my writer besties dressed up as well. Most of our families came out to be with us. I hope I'll have some more pictures to show as they become available.

If you haven't gotten your copy of Currents yet, you can order it online! And remember if you are 50 or over, or you have a history of ovarian cancer in your family, you should go and have a screening. Starting in January of 2012, free screenings are available in Greenup. Maybe you can read a copy of Currents while you wait for your appointment!

It was all a very enjoyable night.

An Evening of Fun

2011-11-17T08:55:00.001-05:00

This picture has nothing to do with an evening of fun, but it made me smile so I wanted to share.

Did you know this about me? I consider myself a...

Do I hear an 'amen' from any horticulturalists out there? Anyone?

Okay, here's another hint...

You got it? Think about it. Just one of them in the picture. Okay, you get it now. Good.

So, I consider myself a recovering one of these, and in the past several years it's meant I've stepped out of my comfort zone in a lot of ways, and have found stepping outside the zone and into certain secret yearnings for who and how I see myself actually feels pretty darn good. So, that maybe I'm getting to be more like...

And I do realize it's all a process, so when fellow author and writing buddy Cathie Shaffer-who writes as Cammie Eicher-had this idea to host a gala for authors and readers, well, okay, that sounds all right. But then she's talking about us dressing up in all our pretties and sign our books, then my little flower girl peeks her head out uneasily. Book signings make me nervous because people will look at me. Maybe people I don't know. Or worse, people won't look at me and pass by my table not wanting any of my books I've labored so hard to create, and I'll be like that little orphan kid in the play Oliver,"Please, sir, may I have some more." {insert pitiful yet hopeful expression here while holding up an empty bowl}

What helps with the Oliver bit? Author friends who hang with me in the book signings so I have somebody I know to talk to when no one is buying my books, who is also here and no one is buying any of their books. So, note to self, NEVER share a table with Nora Roberts unless, of course, I could BE more popular than she is. So that no one would be buying HER books because they're saving their money for my books. Here I am NOT being Nora, but having a pretty good time because I'm with my author besties...

Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah. Cammie Eicher-gala for authors and readers which is called 'CAMMIELOT'. We will have our books there. We will dress up and look nice. We (the authors) will come in on a red carpet and be announced by a guy wearing a confederate uniform. Being a girl from the Heart of Dixie, I do like the romantic regalia of this however politically incorrect it may be to some folks, but it's not like we'll have Mammy there even though I have to say, I think I would like to have a Mammy there because I could hide behind her, and you know, at least in Gone With the Wind, Mammy took good care of Scarlet. She was the voice of reason, and she loved Scarlet even when Scarlet was being a total bitch, which was often. Plus, Mammy gave Scarlet legitimacy when she'd put on the curtains and gone to see Rhett that time in prison. Without Mammy, Scarlet couldn't have gotten past the guards. I like that.

But there will be no Mammy. Just Cathie making us come in with all this pomp and circumstance and...ugh!!!! What if no body shows up?? What if it's crowded to the rafters??

The only thing which will save me is that we get to walk in with another author, otherwise I am NOT going to be announced. I will sneak in through the fire exit.

So, if you're still reading, please come out for this fun evening without the Mammy unfortunately. But with a lot of great authors who are fun, and we'll be all dolled up. Admission is free. There is food (also free) and drink (non-alcoholic, but free). There will also be a bunch of baskets that will be raffled off, and I think one of the raffle prizes is a Kindle which I am soooo going to try to win. Most-if not all-of the writers of our anthology Currents will be on hand so you can meet all of us and get your copy of our book. All of the author proceeds of Currents go to the Ovarian Cancer Screening Program at the Greenup Health Clinic. So, your money will go to a good cause if you buy this book, plus you will help me not to feel like such a loser.

So, in summary: I'm recovering. No Mammy. CAMMIELOT. Saturday night, November 19, 8-11pm, Masonic Lodge in Downtown Greenup, KY (address is 611 Main Street). No admission price. Free food and drinks. Raffle baskets and books for sale and signed by authors (if you choose). Music. Good times. Painful feet because, you know, I've got to pull out the pretty shoes if I'm going to be announced on the red carpet.

And in closing:

Hope to see y'all Saturday night!

Book Buzzed

2011-11-16T09:13:00.000-05:00

My book, Double Dog Dare, is featured today on Book Buzzed. Book Buzzed uses Twitter to dispense its information, a new concept for me as any time I've been a guest somewhere it has been on someone's blog or on an email loop.

Although I've had a Twitter account for a while, I don't 'tweet' very often because I don't quite get it. You place short comments on your Twitter (called a tweet) and people following you can read it. Okay, I get that part, but then you can reply to other people's tweets. So, then I think everyone can see the reply. Okay, maybe that's clear enough as you can do that on FB, too. Will my reply to someone else's tweet show up on mine? Should I follow myself on Twitter to see?

I'm a little nervous since I'm not a big Twitter...errr...tweeter because someone may ask a question on Book Buzzed via a tweet, and I am to answer.

One of my colleagues Jennifer Anderson, who has a short story in the Men in Uniform anthology with me, patted me on the back about it, assured me it would be fine, and agreed to hold my hand.

Will she hold my hand via Twitter? What's that look like anyway? Holding virtual hands via Twitter? Is she going to tweet me what to do, and if I don't know what to do, is it a waste of time to direct me with tweets?

Well, anyway, here we go. Bring on the Book Buzz via Twitter. I'll try not to mess it up too bad.

Update on NaNoWriMo

2011-11-15T08:48:00.000-05:00

My writing NaNo buddy Patricia challenged me to 1500 words yesterday. I'm happy to say I met the challenge-1503 words and still got to bed by bedtime.

Here are what my stats are looking like:

Your Average Per Day
942
Words Written Today
0
Total Words Written
14,139
Current Day
15
Days Remaining
16
At This Rate You Will Finish On
December 23, 2011

I'm a tree....

2011-11-14T11:27:00.000-05:00

I live and work in downtown of a small city. My work and worship place is surrounded by concrete, pavement, and brick. But I can cut through this parking garage to where this little grass respite is. Three small trees lived and grew here, and several years I've taken my kids to this place to collect the shells left behind by the cicadas who dug themselves out of the ground and marched up the trees in military precision lines then crawled out of their skins, lived a few hours, made a whole bunch of noise, produced I suppose, then died.

Last week, I noticed men cutting down one of the trees. Then today, the other two are gone, and the men are gathering up the limbs, trunk, and branches.

It makes me really sad because it was a neat little place to walk through and sit. Even our little preschool kids would go there since it was the closest grassy area around.

I know those cidadas-as cool as they are-are not good for the trees. Did their continued presence year after year contribute to the demise of the trees, or are these trees being cut down for some other reason? I'm not a tree hugger really. Well, okay, there have been a few I've hugged. I definitely had hugged one of the three in this grassy area.

Maybe they'll plant some new ones.

Or maybe there are other plans. What could the plans be?

If they keep the grass, would they mind if I plant a tree there so the cicadas could climb all over it, lay eggs among its root system and slowly kill it?

Anyone got any ideas?

Six Sentences

2011-11-13T04:53:00.001-05:00

I'm very pleased to share as my six sentences an excerpt from my recent release "The Imposter' from the Men in Uniform anthology.

Ready?

Here we go:

Paige bit her lip. The poor sweetie.
Glancing back toward the bathroom, she pushed the keys on the screen.
I’m thinking of you too. Miss you.
She pressed send and set Giana’s phone down quickly.

Like what you read? Here's the link to the digital download.

Now I send you back to six sentences.

Don't judge me until you've walked in my shoes

2011-11-12T17:39:00.003-05:00

There are slippers, then there are slippers. Now a long time ago, a woman in slippers may have looked like this:

What do these slippers say? They say, 'I'm a long way from home, but I can still kick some serious witch boo-tay without meaning to. I value friends of all species and...errr...umm...types, and I will fight for my dog no matter what. I am brave, but I may need a lesson in the virtues of farm living.'

Or maybe:

What do these slippers say?

They say, 'I'm a victim of my father's poor choices, and I'm no stranger to hard work. Still, I don't let the evil manipulations of others crush my dreams. I love to dance, and I'm a big fan of squash (not the sport. The vegetable. Or is it a fruit?). I also believe in the early to bed, early to rise rule. As we all know, nothing good happens after midnight.'

But today, a woman wearing slippers probably looks like this:

What do these slippers say?

They say, 'I've had a hard freakin' day, and I'm ready to relax at home. What's that? I have to make a Kroger run? But...but...I'm already in my ready to relax slippers. Noooooo!! I am NOT going out again tonight. I'm not. I said, 'I'm not.'

Fine. But I'm wearing my freakin' relax at home slippers.

And all who judge me at Kroger....be it known that I was ready to relax and NOT go out for the rest of the day. If you happen to catch a glimpse of my shoes, be it known that I did not want to go to Kroger for perceived necessary items that couldn't wait until the next day.

Be it known that I was comfortable and in my relax at home mode.

Be it known that I only went under extreme protest that I hope people appreciate how inconvenient it was to even have my pants zipped.

Grrrrrrrrrrr......

Romance on Veteran's Day

2011-11-11T05:09:00.001-05:00

How does a publisher celebrate Veteran's Day? Well, Turquoise Morning Press decided to celebrate the day with a little sweet romance.

Find the link HERE.

This collection of sweet romance stories includes "The Imposter", my story about a liar with good intentions and a medic stationed in Afghanistan.

Several of my books contain long distance love affairs. Perhaps this is because I had one of these myself many years ago, and it turned out pretty well. Or maybe it's just that I love the journey motif. Many great stories contain one, you know, like...
Wizard of Oz
Lord of the Rings
The Incredible Journey
Peter Pan
Monty Python and the Holy Grail

just to name a few.

And so, you know, there is a great journey and usually a great quest on this journey. And the main character grows a little bit, gains some knowledge, and maybe gets a cool ring or a burned up broomstick.

I wanted to be a part of the Men in Uniform anthology because I wanted to write a short story that was a long distance relationship, and what better hero to have than one who is defending our country?

I share this anthology with Margaret Ethridge, Lozi Hart, Patricia Marie Warren, Ruth Hartman, Jennifer Anderson, and Julie Ann Lindsey. I think we've written a fine collection of stories, and I'm very pleased to have been a part of it. You can find links to some of their blogs to the right.

Thank you to all the families who are missing their loved ones who are working hard to defend our country throughout the world. Thanks to those who are serving as well. I hope everyone has a safe and happy day. Remember to thank a vet today or any time you see one.

What does NaNoWriMo Say tonight?

2011-11-10T23:33:00.001-05:00

My writing buddy Patricia and I set a goal to write a thousand words before out heads hit their respective pillows tonight.

NaNo sets up the goal automatically to be 50,000 words to be written in the month of November. But I started out with a novel with about 20,000 so my goal was really about 30,000. For NaNo, I'm only submitting the words I've actually written this month so the stats are showing way below where I should be. But my little guy to the right is showing I'm more than 60% done because I'm counting my entire manuscript there.

Here are my stats from the NaNoWriMo site. Every night I validate my word count. It's a good way to stay accountable.

Your Average Per Day

897

Words Written Today

1,075

Target Word Count

50,000

Target Average Words Per Day

1,667

Total Words Written

8,974

Words Remaining

41,026

Current Day

Days Remaining

At This Rate You Will Finish On

December 25, 2011

So, interesting, huh? If I keep going at this rate, Santa Claus is going to bring me a completed novel.

Trotting along....

2011-11-09T21:48:00.002-05:00

Still typing heartily on the work in progress. Even with the computer hick-up Sunday, I still managed to crank out a pretty decent word count.

But I've been very sick with this stuff called 'Mycoplasma', and it's really kicked my tail. But I went to the doctor, and she fixed me up with some ten dollar medicine though I was so out of it this morning, I had an argument with myself as to whether I had taken my medicine or not.

And I lost the argument.

But I went on to work and survived.

And got a very nice food basket this afternoon from my mommy.

Mycoplasma has already had some unintended consequences. It made me truly take some time off work. I had six groundhog days in which I pretty much was sick and tired and I wrote.

I hadn't written like this in a long time-not in about eight months. So, it feels good to be entrenched in a story again. I think NaNoWriMo has helped get me back on the saddle, but so has the Mycoplasma because I probably would have found ways to do the day job otherwise.

Still, I need to learn to write productively and routinely while I'm well. With this one day back to work, my word count dropped from over a thousand to under 200. At this rate, this story might get finished some time in 2014.

The moral of the story?

Wash your hands often, people! And stay away from people who cough. I wouldn't wish this on anybody.

Okay. Back to my word count.

No one to blame but myself

2011-11-07T09:04:00.001-05:00

I didn't save my work last night and neither did my computer, so my very productive writing day yesterday (over 1,700 words) no longer exists. Still, I did rest since I've been dog sick, and I think I needed that although I'm starting to feel like Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog Day. I've been pretty much living the same day since Thursday. I do different things to try to produce a different result (not being sick), but when I wake up the next morning, I realize nothing has changed.

As the absolute last resort, I am finally going to the doctor today. Actually, it isn't the last resort since I went to the doctor over two weeks ago. Spent money on meds and still got dog-as in 'sick as a'.

In one of my Ground Hog Days, I went to the Hospice Rummage sale and found this treasure:

Isn't it beautiful? And it still works. In fact, my kids have been vying for typewriter time. Three stories were written on this machine yesterday. Do you think they have been lost in some evil computer electronic way because the writer did not hit a 'save' button? No. The stories are preserved on paper.

Still, though, my muse is a tricky gal. I've come to appreciate her quirks. I picture her to look something across between this:

And this:

Maybe the lost 1,700 words was the muse's doing. She didn't like the way the story was going, so she just did what she thought was the best thing and deleted that junk. So, I'll try to do a better job this time so she doesn't get mad at me.

Today, this groundhog is going to do things really, really differently. She's going to:

a) Save her work often.
b) Go to the doctor and demand justice (or at least stronger drugs)
c) Get off this blog so she can do a better job recreating the incredible scene she wrote last night so the muse will be a-mused and not delete her work again.

Cake soothes the soul

2011-11-04T15:03:00.002-04:00

So, I found out about this blog and I visit it from time to time. It's all kind of interesting things like political opinion, gardening passion, the love of cooking, an impressive knowledge of dishes, and, yes, aliens. Here's the link if you'd like to visit. Recently, there was German Chocolate cake on Pull My Chain, and I didn't get any...until today. In appreciation of Pull My Chain's gift cake and in the flavor of her blog, I present....

The Redneck Girl's Cake Experience

Here is the German Chocolate Cake:

It came to me whole, but I made the delivery boy sit down with me so we could enjoy it. So, the missing part is what he and I ate a few minutes ago. The cake was presented on a cut glass plate which I'm sure is a very nice style but since I'm a redneck girl, I'll just say it was very 'purty'. Just above it is a teacup and saucer I bought at a consignment store because it was also 'purty'. The teapot was given to me by a dear lady as a vase with a Mother's Day arrangement in it. when I want to impress somebody, I dust the cobwebs off and display it prettily...er...'purtily'.

Now this was a special occasion because I knew how good this cake was going to taste, and I don't often have visitors, so I pulled out the wedding china. Here it is:

At a very naive 25, I chose this as my every day china. Well, those gold rims do not like the dishwasher so I renamed it 'fine' and it sat in my china cabinet for about eight years until I had an epiphany along about the time Hurricane Katrina came through and wiped out a good bit of the lower part of the state I was living in. At that time I decided the china is getting used. Then if I break it or...break it...or...umm....break it, at least I will have enjoyed it before some tragedy strikes and takes away the china. Then there would be two tragedies-no china at all and all the missed opportunities when I had it. Add your own pearl of wisdom here, such as 'Life is Short', 'Life is precious', 'Life is too short and precious to hold grudges, not forgive, stay angry, or not use the Paradise Tribute.'

True story here: my other wedding china was Ralph Lauren. It was very tasteful, so after Katrina I got rid of the 'common' dishes I had gotten at some local store and started using the Ralph Lauren pattern. The first time my son broke a plate, my husband immediately acted as a buffer anticipating me being upset. But I wasn't at all. Hey, we enjoyed that plate. It had a good life. I'm glad we used it. I wasn't sad at all about it. I mean, it IS just a plate, right? And wouldn't the person who gave it to us for our wedding be so happy we enjoyed it instead of it collecting dust in the china cabinet? Of course! Any time some tiny special occasion presents itself, out come the nice dishes. This pattern is called Paradise Tribute.

In the 'Pull My Chain' fashion, here's this mark on the bottom of the dish.

The dishes are Noritake. I chose the pattern because I wanted something 'different'. It has cheetahs on it. Today I'd choose something less...errr....wild, but it is colorful and whimsical too. And it makes a great surface to scrape off the last vestiges of homemade German Chocolate Cake.

Thank you, Pull My Chain!!! It was delicious.

What did my little girl say after tasting it? "Those Germans sure know how to make chocolate cake."

Day 3

2011-11-03T08:28:00.001-04:00

NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. It's this whole big thing that a lot of authors I know participate in. Basically, you try to write a 50,000 word novel in thirty days. This is my first year actually participating in that I registered at the site, but I'm keeping a low profile with it. Because, really, my goal isn't to write a complete novel but to finish the one I've already started. It's about 23,000 words so the plot is pretty much going strong, and with the types of books I write, the ending is already decided. I just have to get these two characters together in a believable and meaningful way.

Therefore, I won't linger here.

I have a book to write.

Attention: This is NOT a political announcement

2011-11-01T08:29:00.003-04:00

I repeat.

This is NOT a political announcement.

This is how you have wronged me.

Note this below someone posted on their facebook.

Dear person who wants so much to share your political views but comes across looking like an idiot,

If a country wants to paint itself then it's certainly that country's right. If all of the people want to wear make-up, who are you to tell them different and act in any way to force your non-make up ways upon them.

I can't even get past your number one step because of your disgusting choice of spelling. What is wrong with you? You had a perfectly envisioned rant you worked on, and you screw it up because you didn't bother to check your spelling. If you don't know how to spell the word, perhaps you don't know the definition of the word. And if this error is so apparent in step one, honestly, I can't trust what you say in steps two and beyond.

You're not helping your cause for Western Imperialism. And while we're on the subject of Western Imperialism, I just have to say, 'Whaaaaaa?'

Have you not had any history classes? Do you not know the definition of this phrase? Honestly, you probably have no problem with cave men wearing watches in movies. Stop using your terms in a chronologically inappropriate manner. Why don't you take a class to learn what period of time Western Imperialism refers to, when the term 'rogue state' was first coined, and when bombs were invented and used in warfare. And don't give me anything about the 'New Western Imperialism'. First of all, you didn't say 'new' and second of all, geez, can't you come up with an original term for your perspective? Why abuse someone else's term? If you're so clever, make one up. Don't misuse someone else's.

I'm not a history scholar, but, geez, you also don't see me circulating historically insulting posts on the Internet trying to bug people either.

You know the really sad thing about this? It has 133 shares so far on FB and the few I clicked on did not comment on the spelling. Another sad thing? There were multiple comments made before someone caught the error. And did the creator of this travesty correct it? No. She just claimed to be dyslexic 'when it comes to vowels.' Oh, please. And yet, did she correct her rant poster? No, she did not. The only commenter I saw who seemed as upset about this as I was a guy whose FB name is 'Spodie Ninety-nine Percent McCracken' who placed the correct spelling multiple times in his comment in all caps.

You know what I blame? Texting. Texting is killing our ability to spell.

Texting is the Rogue State. You want Western Progress? I say start with annihilating texting.

Sit down. Write a freaking letter and mail it.

Maybe put on some rouge first. You'll feel pretty while you're doing it.

In Case of Zombies...

2011-10-30T08:05:00.000-04:00

The Centers for Disease Control has issued a blog in case of Zombies.

If you don't believe me, you can click the link HERE, or just keep reading as I copied and pasted their complete blog about it because I LOVE practical and clever.

Preparedness 101: Zombie Apocalypse

Categories: General

May 16th, 2011 11:48 am ET - Ali S. Khan

There are all kinds of emergencies out there that we can prepare for. Take a zombie apocalypse for example. That’s right, I said z-o-m-b-i-e a-p-o-c-a-l-y-p-s-e. You may laugh now, but when it happens you’ll be happy you read this, and hey, maybe you’ll even learn a thing or two about how to prepare for a real emergency.

A Brief History of Zombies
We’ve all seen at least one movie about flesh-eating zombies taking over (my personal favorite is Resident Evil), but where do zombies come from and why do they love eating brains so much? The word zombie comes from Haitian and New Orleans voodoo origins. Although its meaning has changed slightly over the years, it refers to a human corpse mysteriously reanimated to serve the undead. Through ancient voodoo and folk-lore traditions, shows like the Walking Dead were born.

A couple dressed as zombies - Danny Zucco and Sandy Olsson from the movie Grease walking in the annual Toronto Zombie Walk.

In movies, shows, and literature, zombies are often depicted as being created by an infectious virus, which is passed on via bites and contact with bodily fluids. Harvard psychiatrist Steven Schlozman wrote a (fictional) medical paper on the zombies presented in Night of the Living Dead and refers to the condition as Ataxic Neurodegenerative Satiety Deficiency Syndrome caused by an infectious agent. The Zombie Survival Guide identifies the cause of zombies as a virus called solanum. Other zombie origins shown in films include radiation from a destroyed NASA Venus probe (as in Night of the Living Dead), as well as mutations of existing conditions such as prions, mad-cow disease, measles and rabies.
The rise of zombies in pop culture has given credence to the idea that a zombie apocalypse could happen. In such a scenario zombies would take over entire countries, roaming city streets eating anything living that got in their way. The proliferation of this idea has led many people to wonder “How do I prepare for a zombie apocalypse?”
Well, we’re here to answer that question for you, and hopefully share a few tips about preparing for real emergencies too!

Some of the supplies for your emergency kit

Better Safe than Sorry
So what do you need to do before zombies…or hurricanes or pandemics for example, actually happen? First of all, you should have an emergency kit in your house. This includes things like water, food, and other supplies to get you through the first couple of days before you can locate a zombie-free refugee camp (or in the event of a natural disaster, it will buy you some time until you are able to make your way to an evacuation shelter or utility lines are restored). Below are a few items you should include in your kit, for a full list visit the CDC Emergency page.

Water (1 gallon per person per day)
Food (stock up on non-perishable items that you eat regularly)
Medications (this includes prescription and non-prescription meds)
Tools and Supplies (utility knife, duct tape, battery powered radio, etc.)
Sanitation and Hygiene (household bleach, soap, towels, etc.)
Clothing and Bedding (a change of clothes for each family member and blankets)
Important documents (copies of your driver’s license, passport, and birth certificate to name a few)
First Aid supplies (although you’re a goner if a zombie bites you, you can use these supplies to treat basic cuts and lacerations that you might get during a tornado or hurricane)

Once you’ve made your emergency kit, you should sit down with your family and come up with an emergency plan. This includes where you would go and who you would call if zombies started appearing outside your door step. You can also implement this plan if there is a flood, earthquake, or other emergency.

Family members meeting by their mailbox. You should pick two meeting places, one close to your home and farther away

Identify the types of emergencies that are possible in your area. Besides a zombie apocalypse, this may include floods, tornadoes, or earthquakes. If you are unsure contact your local Red Cross chapter for more information.
Pick a meeting place for your family to regroup in case zombies invade your home…or your town evacuates because of a hurricane. Pick one place right outside your home for sudden emergencies and one place outside of your neighborhood in case you are unable to return home right away.
Identify your emergency contacts. Make a list of local contacts like the police, fire department, and your local zombie response team. Also identify an out-of-state contact that you can call during an emergency to let the rest of your family know you are ok.
Plan your evacuation route. When zombies are hungry they won’t stop until they get food (i.e., brains), which means you need to get out of town fast! Plan where you would go and multiple routes you would take ahead of time so that the flesh eaters don’t have a chance! This is also helpful when natural disasters strike and you have to take shelter fast.

Never Fear – CDC is Ready

Get a Kit, Make a Plan, Be Prepared

If zombies did start roaming the streets, CDC would conduct an investigation much like any other disease outbreak. CDC would provide technical assistance to cities, states, or international partners dealing with a zombie infestation. This assistance might include consultation, lab testing and analysis, patient management and care, tracking of contacts, and infection control (including isolation and quarantine). It’s likely that an investigation of this scenario would seek to accomplish several goals: determine the cause of the illness, the source of the infection/virus/toxin, learn how it is transmitted and how readily it is spread, how to break the cycle of transmission and thus prevent further cases, and how patients can best be treated. Not only would scientists be working to identify the cause and cure of the zombie outbreak, but CDC and other federal agencies would send medical teams and first responders to help those in affected areas (I will be volunteering the young nameless disease detectives for the field work).
To learn more about what CDC does to prepare for and respond to emergencies of all kinds, visit: http://emergency.cdc.gov/cdc/orgs_progs.asp
To learn more about how you can prepare for and stay safe during an emergency visit: http://emergency.cdc.gov/
Join the CDC Zombie Task Force! The CDC Foundation, a non-profit partner of CDC is offering Zombie Task Force t-shirts (click on the picture to find out more). Proceeds go to benefit disaster relief efforts and other important health programs. Get yours before their gone…
Are you prepared? Tell us…
Have you begun preparing for a zombie apocalypse? Or maybe you have been preparing for a more realistic threat like hurricanes or the next flu season? Tell us about what you are doing to prepare! Enter our video contest here: http://prepare.challenge.gov

Scary Stories

2011-10-28T09:11:00.002-04:00

So, it's been my privilege just lately to work with the youth at our church. Man, they're a neat bunch of folks. They're so cute I just want to pinch their cute faces and say in baby talk, "You're so cute. I just want to maul you, you precious thing."

HAHAHA!! Seriously. No. Really. Ha. I'm joking about the above.

I would never pinch their cute faces.

Anyway, we were given the task of telling scary stories to the younger kids during our recent Halloween carnival. And no one was coming up with anything. They just stared at me and said, "I don't know." Then they'd shrug and look cute and clueless at the same time. To which I would want to do the above in the first paragraph.

Well, I'm a story teller so I thought I'd find some stories and hand them out to tell. But they couldn't be that scary because the hearers are little kids. So, here's a pretty short one, and it's straight from the Internet hence the atrocious cell-spelling:

So ur in bed reeding a book and ur dog licks ur hand. Then u go to the toilet and wen u come back u get in bed. Ur dog says “Can I lick ur hand again”. Wait a minute… DOGS CANT TALK!

When I give the punch line, I get puzzled looks. A few crickets begin to chirp.

"Okay. Here's another one," I say.

"One day these kids went to an abandoned youth camp. This old guy tried to warn them that it was haunted by a killer and had a curse. But they didn’t believe him. After a week they went home and everything was fine. But then 46 years later one got cancer and died."

Now the puzzled looks are accompanied by shaking heads. Erik, the oldest one of the group says something like, "That makes no sense. The guy might have died from cancer anyway."

"Well, yeah," I reply. "See the point of the story is you think it's going to be scary, but it's really not. It's kind of a joke story."

Dying from cancer isn't a joke.

Yeah, but....see you expect something bad to happen at the youth camp, but it doesn't. See? That's the joke part.

I don't get it.

They went on to live regular lives, come on!

It's not funny or scary. It makes no sense.

And on it went. So, I moved on to the next one not allowing their 'In the box' perspective to kill my enthusiasm for these clever 'scary' stories. When I started to read the next one, I started laughing so hard, I had to hand it over to one of the youth to finish reading it. Here it is:

One day there were a couple of scuba divers who saw a sign that said “No scuba diving” and they had such poor parenting that they didn’t even look at it. Just when they were having a good time scuba diving they found a secret place where all the bad guys live. When they saw the bad guys coming out of it and looking around they got so afraid that they never scuba dived again. However, years later some of the bad guys came and found them and broke some of their scuba gear.

Again with more "I don't get it" and "These aren't scary" from them. Again I reiterated they couldn't be too scary as we're telling them to little kids and they are more 'clever funny' than scary. Again with more puzzled looks, head shaking, and a lot of crickets chirping.

So, I fell back on a dumb story told on a Halloween episode from Sponge Bob Square Pants and a lame story about Bloody Mary from a book one of them brought, then I sent them out into the fellowship hall to play eyeball putt-putt and decorate cookies.

I could rant about our youth having no soul or having dust in their veins instead of blood, but I think when I was their age, I probably wouldn't have gotten the stories either. And I probably would have thought this crazy woman laughing her butt off at the scuba story had lost her mind. But with age comes wisdom and, apparently, a wonderfully cool sense of humor. At least I think my sense of humor is wonderfully cool. My friend Lee told me yesterday he didn't think my stories geared toward younger listeners were that funny. And he's older than I am. Oh, well. At least, I thought they were funny.

The moral of the story?

I probably should not try to write YA books.

What's Really Scary

2011-10-26T09:17:00.000-04:00

I haven't read the book The Exorcist, but I did see the movie recently. It was the cut version on the History Channel, so I was spared from one or two of the most gruesome scenes. I suppose those scenes were cut because it is the History Channel, but I think other scenes were cut because of time. And some of those cut scenes would have helped me figure out what the heck is going on.

Now when I was a kid I remember seeing part of this movie, and of course, it scared me so bad, that I didn't watch the rest of it. When I was watching it recently, I kept thinking, 'How the heck did this kid get picked to be possessed?' 'Was it some random selection?' 'Did it have something to do with the movie the mom was in?' 'Where's the connection?' 'And, hey, wasn't there something about a Ouija board?' Other questions percolated in my head throughout the movie, like 'How did the Crucifix get under her pillow?' and 'Who defaced the Madonna in the church?' and 'Why would plain tap water hurt the demon?' I figured those answers were in the book, but I also figured the Internet would be quicker.

And so I read about Reagan playing with the Ouija board and about Captain Howdy. Oh, yeah. I DO remember that from when I had watched it before. The questions about the crucifix and the Madonna were actually not answered in the movie-even the uncut extended version. Would it really be so important for most movie goers? Probably not, as the intense and terrifying effects made it a horror sensation immediately. Linda Blair's swollen and slashed face as well as her unearthly color of eyes and skin overshadowed pretty much everything else in the movie. People loved that it was so horrible.

But the real story really was the exorcist, the young priest who was having a faith crisis. He sees himself as failing his mom because he wasn't there when he perceived her as really needing him. She lived alone near the end of her life, and she died alone. As a son, he was torn between getting her out of that terrible little apartment and respecting her wishes to be in the place where she'd lived for many years.

His issues with helping his mother are only part of his faith struggle. He confides in a colleague that he wants to 'get out', that he needs to leave. Today we ministers call that 'burn out'. I've lived those moments, and, thankfully, it wasn't a green spewing foul-mouthed demon that brought me back from the brink, it was seven months of respite.

As I was Googling The Exorcist to find out if Father Karras' faith was the main plot of the book, I found some interesting information about the priest whom William Peter Blatty based the book on. A lot of people have searched for the boy whose exorcism was the basis of this book and subsequent movie. Did he really live in this city or that one? Was his name this or that? The priest who performed the exorcism was known, and he supposedly kept a diary of the possession and event. At one point when the demon was moving a piece of furniture around, he commented to it, "Now you stop that right now." In his retelling of it, he did not portray it as a terror-inducing experience, but laughed about it.

Now that impresses me, and I think maybe that's the point of the telling. This priest witnessed a power which invaded a person causing that person to do and say things out of character and moved objects around a room without touching them. And yet, the priest shows no fear-in fact, even laughs at the displayed power so convinced is he that the evil is not a threat and can be overcome.

The thing about Father Karras-in the movie at least-is he's scared out of his mind. He never would be able to exorcise the demon because he allows it to mess with him. The older priest-Father Merrin-is matter of fact about it. He's serious, but never shows fear. And he's very confident. I'm kind of sorry that he died in the midst of it, because I think it makes it seem the demon won over him. But, really, the story is about Father Karras' struggle in his faith and how he has to be the one to overcome it. I think this is why the author had the older priest to die. He sets an example of strong faith, then he withdraws. This isn't HIS story. This is Father Karras' story. Unfortunately, he's not quite insightful enough to resist the mind games or his own fear, so he reverts to his roots as a figher/boxer then demands it to come into him and throws himself out the window, reminiscent of the exorcism Jesus performs in Mark 5 in which the demons are cast into a herd of pigs.

So, I think the point of The Exorcist is not the Linda Blair character. Her value was in showing how destructive evil forces can be. It's easier for us to perceive it when we see it marked on a person's face. But the audience became so distracted that they missed the point of a priest who was lost, and the irony of being found in the midst of such ugliness, even to the point of giving up one's life to save a life. It's too bad this is considered one of the scariest movies of all time because it distracts from the deeper message. It is called The Exorcist after all.

So, that's my take on it.

Intelligent Murder

2011-10-24T09:02:00.000-04:00

In one moment of the many time-wasting ones I spend on Facebook, I learned that a gathering of Crows is called a 'Murder'. Interesting! So, I searched to find what other animal group names are. Here's a site which appears to be reputable giving this information.

I looked for a picture of 'Attempted Murder' which shows two crows standing next to each other. Alas, I had some technical difficulty pasting it here, so you'll just have to use your imagination. As I searched for the picture, though, I found some other interesting things on crows. They're very intelligent creatures. And here's a sweet story link about crows. At the bottom it links to a Ted Talk about crows which is worth your ten minutes if you have time to watch it. I've embedded it below. If you want to watch, make sure to pause my playlist to your right so the music doesn't compete with the lecture.

Smell of comfort

2011-10-21T05:25:00.001-04:00

Mommmmmmmy, I'm cold!

So on top of fighting the sinus crud-and losing-since I went to the doctor yesterday and left with a promise of meds being emailed to the pharmacy, it's

soooooooooooooooo cold! When I let the dog out this morning, there's frost on the windshield of the car-eeek!

As I lay in bed last night feeling horrible and hoping to elicit a little sympathy from somebody, I heard my husband going through the house closing storm windows. And the smell of burning dust hit my nose. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what it was. It's not a terribly pleasant smell, but it made me happy because it meant in addition to the storm windows being shut, he had cranked on our Methuselah of a heater located in the bowels of the house to kill the nippy chill.

So, I have come to associate the smell with comfort.

Another smell of comfort lately?

Vicks Vapor Rub. In desperation the other night, I pulled it out hoping to be able to have some night time freer breathing. Some of it must have gotten on the edge of the blanket because my son wrinkled his nose when he came to tell me good night. This was the second nose wrinkle of the night. He didn't appreciate the burning dust, and he didn't appreciate the hint of Vicks in the bed. I love the smell of Vicks. Thanks to my dear Mum who rubbed that salve on me as a kid, the aroma of it brings out all kinds of warm cozy feelings of being taken care of, maybe even being able to breathe well again. When my kids have stuffy noses at night, I happily get out the Vicks. Their response is less than enthusiastic. It goes something like this:

Noooooooooooooooooooooooo! GET THAT STUFF OFFA ME! IT STINKS! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

My response: But this is the smell of love.

Their reply: Your love stinks.

Soon though. Just a few more applications, and I know their association with it is going to change. They'll begin to smell the love and comfort as well.

How Cool is This...

2011-10-19T21:37:00.002-04:00

The local writers chapter of Romance Writers of America has put together this anthology of stories inspired by the river which will be available in November. All author proceeds of this book will go to help prevent ovarian cancer in our area. How? Well, today it was announced that the Greenup County Health Department will be able to offer free ovarian cancer screenings for Greenup and the surrounding counties in Kentucky (as well as two Ohio counties).

All women who are over 50 or who have a family history of ovarian cancer will be able to go to the Greenup County Health Department to get a free screening. The next closest place to get a screening is in Lexington, so this is a great service which will be provided to all women in our area. It is made possible through several grants and a lot of work by Tanya Pullin who is one of our Kentucky Representatives.

Here is a picture of Mrs. Beshear presenting a check to the Health Department. Beside her is Doctor Van Nagall who is over the program in Lexington and also some other satellite screening places throughout the Commonwealth. I can't remember all of the other locations, but I do remember Elizabethtown and Paduca. Representative Tonya Pullin is on the other side of the first lady. Tanya was the driving force behind Greenup getting the money for the ovarian screening. Both Representative Pullin's mom and Mrs. Beshear's mom have had ovarian cancer.

With early detection, ovarian cancer has a 90% success rate of survival. But if it is not detected until later, the survival rate is really low. Ovarian cancer is called 'The Silent Killer' because doctors can't often detect any problem just by what Doctor Van Nagall called 'palpate' the ovaries. Well, I had never heard of palpating the ovaries before, so I Googled it just now. And, holy cow, I found a picture of the palpating. Thankfully, it was just a drawing as I'm pretty sure I do not want to see an actual photograph of this...errr...event.

Anyway, I'm so pleased that women in our area now have ovarian cancer screening available at no charge to them, and that it is a lot closer to us than Lexington. Do you need to be screened for ovarian cancer? The answer is 'yes' if you are a woman over 50 or a woman who has a history of ovarian cancer in your family.

After the presentation and while everyone was enjoying the summer sausage, crackers, cheese, and fruit tray down the hall, I examined the big check pictured above. It's not a real check. There was no place to endorse it on the back. As I was clowning around with the check while my friend Fonda laughed, I found out the other people in the room were the mayor and Representative Pullin's mom. Boy, was I embarrassed. So, I made sure they knew I was just joking about stealing the oversized check. Still. It was neat to hold it. It was super cool to be at the announcement this afternoon, and it's really wonderful to know that our book Currents will help pay for cancer screenings for women in our part of the Kingdom.

I'm so thankful for where I am and the people around me who make life pretty awesome.

!*Group Hug*!

You have wronged me-creepy edition

2011-10-19T09:08:00.001-04:00

Dear person who sent me a creepy note via the Internet,

No, my recent status update was not about you or your present situation. Everything is not about you or people judging you even though when you send unsolicited creepy salutations accusing us of doing so, you make it difficult not to judge you. And see, now that makes me and Jesus have some issues because he told me not to do that. But you let him tell me. It's not your place to, especially because you haven't earned the right to correct me. My original plan was to ignore your note, but I've been told this will just make you more convinced my unrelated update WAS about you. Still, I really don't think I want to go down the path of defending myself about something that had nothing to do with you. If I want to put pretty pictures of, say, Johnny Depp or Hugh Jackman on my blog, it is my right to do so unless those pictures are copyrighted, then I could get busted for it. Or my computer could contract a very bad virus for downloading a seemingly innocent pretty picture. Still. This is my issue. Not yours. If I want to post about deer crossing, why would I do so with you in mind? Do you really have an issue with parking spaces? I do, but it's just because the occupy people could be parking in my spot, and there's so little parking as it is. I could rant about them, but so far, they haven't wronged me personally unless you want to talk about proximity or potential offenses which haven't happened so far. Maybe they're going to be good neighbors-interesting, if nothing else. But back to you, creepy message Internet person, please don't ruin a perfectly good song that I might have even liked except you accused me of judging you because of it. This will not be a song I want to associate with you or this event. And speaking of songs, I chose 'You're so vain' for this rant. Does anybody else think the song is inaccurate? I mean, the song IS about the vain guy, so he DOES win the bet, right? And it wasn't about James Taylor, even though a lot of people thought so. Maybe that was the irony. He thought the song was about him, but it was really about that other guy, which I had never heard of. Man. There is a lot of irony in that. He was really vain, yet I didn't know who he is. But it wasn't Carly's ex-husband. Hmmm. Maybe I should have chosen a JT song for this blog today. Ummmm, where was I?

Oh, yeah.

**Disclaimer to Leona**, this isn't about you either. You've earned the right to be creepy to me. So, before you fire off some creepy email or comment saying something about me hurting your feelings with this, or me criticizing a Bruce Springsteen song, or some other interesting comment, NOT about you, either....And don't tell me how THIS hurt your feelings, or else I shall have to label you 'high maintenance' and maybe plant a couple of special message flowers for you.

To the person who assumed inaccurately--Just drop it, and move on. Let us put this awkwardness behind us and let bygones by bygones. Life is too short, and all of that.

It really wasn't about you, though this present rant is. It is yours. And here is the sticker for you.

Ruminations in the Alley

2011-10-17T21:17:00.001-04:00

I live pretty close to downtown. Lately I've been going to the walking place. This is a place in which I say to myself, "hey, you COULD walk to this place because it really isn't that far", and so I do. The walking place could be work or school or the hospital or simply the journey itself. So, the other day I had a quest and figured I could walk it, and came across this beauty:

Isn't this a beautiful door? It leads to the alley next to where I live. The door, however, is a few blocks away. What you can't see in the picture is the ivy hanging over the wall to the right of the frame. Alas, I only had my cell phone with me and could not step back far enough to get the door and the ivy.

I kept walking and oh, my goodness, I found a treasure-a flower garden. Here are some picts:

This 'bead' is actually the bud which (I'm pretty sure) is going to look like the white flower above it if the frost will hold off for just a little bit longer.

Aren't these gorgeous? And to the right you can see more beautiful colors. I'm sorry to say I don't know enough to tell you the names of all these flowers, but I enjoyed them anyway.

As I walked up and down the paths in this flower garden, behind me on another street a man and woman were having quite a spirited discussion. Unfortunately, the man had a limited vocabulary which consisted of some graphic language. For myself? I found it rather tragic that my treasure garden walk was being hampered by the *ANGRY* potty mouth up the hill. I might have disregarded it and continued looking at the pretty flowers except I had my daughter with me, and I hated for her to have to listen to such colorful language just because I wanted her to see more beauty.

I think there's some ironic epiphany that should flash before me in the contrast of beauty and offensiveness. But maybe the epiphany is going to come in stages, in the footsteps down the alley. Perhaps the better walking time would be early in the day when *ANGRY* guy is still asleep. Or maybe the importance of having the treasure garden in a neighborhood which needs bricked walls because of offensiveness in several different forms is so beauty grows mightily in spite of the ugliness of hurtful words and concrete patches amidst the pretty blocked lane.

Maybe that crazy lady who works so hard every year to plant hundreds of flowers in her alley garden does so to thumb her nose at every ugly moment and space.

Maybe every dahlia she plants and stakes and ties so deliberately is her way of saying '*%$@ +#!'

What a lovely way to drop the F bomb.

Six Sentence Sunday

2011-10-16T05:56:00.001-04:00

Here are my six sentences from my short story "Finders Seekers", from the Halloween anthology Something Spooky This Way Comes.

If you'd like to see my six sentences from last week which give a little background on what's going on, you can read those HERE.

As I pick up this scene, Garland visits Catherine on Halloween as she passes out candy on her front porch.

“What kind of costume is that?” Catherine asked as she studied his jeans and T-shirt.
“It’s my regular guy costume. Too scary?”
“You have to say Trick or Treat if you want a Snickers.”
“Actually, I’ve got a treat for you, from your trick earlier.” Garland set the small bag next
to Catherine, and she leaned over and saw her underwear inside.

Now I send you back to Six Sentences.

Cold Feet

2011-10-13T22:01:00.002-04:00

Well, here it is Autumn again with the heavy hues of fall color in the leaves which are more often on the ground these days. I've a good a mind to pull out Robert Frost as he wrote a lot of poems about raking his leaves and the changing of seasons. But in actuality another poet/storyteller has been running through my mind of late. See if you can identify him by his work:

"My hat is old. My teeth are gold. I have a bird I like to hold. My shoe is off. My foot is cold. My shoe is off my foot is cold. I have a bird I like to hold. My hat is old. My teeth are gold. And now my story is all told.

As summer gives up its fight to the brisk breeze of fall, I am a little sad that my feet will now stay cold until well into 2012.

I look at my pretty open toed sandals and snazzy pumps in the closet. I don't wear these often anyway, but when it's warm I know I COULD. But as the temperature drops, I can't even live in the *COULD*.

All decisions for footwear are based on warmth.

And also, my marriage is tested because of my determination to use the husband as a foot warmer. The picture above is a pretty accurate depiction of how it goes on these chilly Appalachian nights in our hundred year old house.

Perhaps it isn't fair that I put my cold feet on him. But is it fair that he is so toasty warm and available? Does he appreciate how nice it is to be comfortable in one's own body temperature? I'm pretty sure my marriage vows included 'for richer, for poorer, for colder, for warmer, in sickness, and in health", right? Shouldn't I be allowed to place my feet next to him or even-on particularly cold nights-underneath his legs while I grab the dog and place him in between my feet for extra heat? Of course, I should. The dog does not complain. The dog understands about usefulness and proximity.

Maybe the problem is him (husband) trying to sleep on top of a dog and two ice cube feet.

Perhaps I should look into those battery-operated heated socks I saw at the Army/Navy store downtown....

You have wronged me-Extended Stay edition

2011-10-12T05:47:00.002-04:00

Meet Angie.

Angie manages several extended stay hotels which obviously is good fodder for 'you have wronged me' situations. Last week one of her Facebook rants snagged my attention. And before my Wednesday 'You have wronged me' blog could roll around, she had posted another one. Below I've pasted both of them. Be warned they contain some colorful language.

Angie, take it away:

Dear extended stay hotel guest... Its not the freakin' Ritz. Daily housekeeping is NOT included. We don't wash your dishes. We are not picking your crap up to clean the room or make the bed. Im not your mother or wife and frankly, I dont give a rats ass. If you dont like it after 8 weeks, get out. Yes, that is what I consider customer service. Yes, I kiss my kids with this mouth. No, I will not give you a refund. Click...

And 'You have wronged me' 2:

Dear Pissed-off past guest... where to start. 1st off, the sign in the parking lot clearly says the hotel is not responsible for your car and parking is for registered guests only. 2nd, and more importantly, you were not a registered guest at the time you decided to leave your truck at my hotel while you went out of town. So yes, when your truck was broken in to and we realized you were no longer registered at the hotel, I had it towed. No, this will not be an insurance claim at the hotel and yes, you will pay the tow bill. Yes, I will be happy to show up in court. Im positive I can be this "big of a bitch" in person... have a good day.

More of the story is revealed in the comments she responded to which I've posted below.

Guy is a truck driver. Left his tricked out, fully loaded suburban in the parking lot... it was pretty much stripped.

Mr. Truck driver called back... if he gets his truck out he wont have the money for a room. can i give him a room for a few days for having his truck towed. Really? Uh, no... when will people learn...

I told him to sleep in the truck. He cant, all the windows were broken out. I couldnt help but laugh... what a day...

Thanks for playing, Angie. As your prize, I award you the Statler and Waldorf Sticker. These guys kept everybody humble on The Muppet Show. Here ya go.

6 Sentences

2011-10-09T05:18:00.002-04:00

Here are my six sentences from my short story, "Finders Keepers." It's from the Halloween anthology Something Spooky this Way Comes from Turquoise Morning Press.

The set-up: Garland McGuire confronts Catherine Sheppard after he finds her naked in his locked office. Catherine offers her explanation below.

“Viv asked me to find the check. I…I have a gift for finding things. Sometimes it’s easier without any barriers.”

Garland’s eyebrows shot up. “Like clothing?”

“Yes.”

Intrigued? The download for the entire book is only $2.99. There are 8 short stories in all.

Now I return you to Six Sentences.

The invasion

2011-10-07T10:16:00.000-04:00

So, you've heard the saying a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, this picture taken recently at our house tells a story if ever there was one.

And just in case you need another thousand words...

Life doesn't get more interesting than this.

How you have wronged me-Church edition

2011-10-05T20:13:00.000-04:00

I stumbled upon this and thought it made a pretty good 'how you have wronged me'. I'm cutting and pasting it from the UCC/feed your spirit website. The writer is Lilian Daniel. Lilian, take it away....

Matthew 16:18

"And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it."

Reflection

On airplanes, I dread the conversation with the person who finds out I am a minister and wants to use the flight time to explain to me that he is "spiritual but not religious." Such a person will always share this as if it is some kind of daring insight, unique to him, bold in its rebellion against the religious status quo.

Next thing you know, he's telling me that he finds God in the sunsets. These people always find God in the sunsets. And in walks on the beach. Sometimes I think these people never leave the beach or the mountains, what with all the communing with God they do on hilltops, hiking trails and . . . did I mention the beach at sunset yet?

Like people who go to church don't see God in the sunset! Like we are these monastic little hermits who never leave the church building. How lucky we are to have these geniuses inform us that God is in nature. As if we don’t hear that in the psalms, the creation stories and throughout our deep tradition.

Being privately spiritual but not religious just doesn't interest me. There is nothing challenging about having deep thoughts all by oneself. What is interesting is doing this work in community, where other people might call you on stuff, or heaven forbid, disagree with you. Where life with God gets rich and provocative is when you dig deeply into a tradition that you did not invent all for yourself.

Thank you for sharing, spiritual but not religious sunset person. You are now comfortably in the norm for self-centered American culture, right smack in the bland majority of people who find ancient religions dull but find themselves uniquely fascinating. Can I switch seats now and sit next to someone who has been shaped by a mighty cloud of witnesses instead? Can I spend my time talking to someone brave enough to encounter God in a real human community? Because when this flight gets choppy, that's who I want by my side, holding my hand, saying a prayer and simply putting up with me, just like we try to do in church.

Prayer

Dear God, thank you for creating us in your image and not the other way around. Amen.

End quote.

Lilian, I'll be your flight buddy. Here's your Waldorf and Statler sticker. Thanks for playing.

I need to be 'Making Strides'

2011-10-03T10:12:00.002-04:00

And there may be some books sent to your door if you help out.

That's right. Click here.

I'm walking for the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk, and my donation page looks pretty pathetic since I'm the only one who has donated to it.

So, here's what I am doing to entice you to donate your money for the Making Strides Against Cancer walk.

I will send your choice of three of my books-signed in whichever way you want, but be reasonable-to the person who makes the biggest donation to my Online-Walk page. The link is under the cool button up there or the previous sentence. I'm including in those three the choices of books which will be in print in November-Holding Out for a Hero, Men in Uniform (which includes my short story called 'The Imposter') and Currents (which includes my short story 'The Rescue') as well as the books already in print. You can go HERE to my website to view all of my books. If you choose any of the November releases, you'll have to wait until they are actually released in print, but I will (right hand held up here) send them to you as soon as I get them. Of course, if you choose the books in print now, I can send those out sooner.

For each person who makes a donation, I will put your name in a hat, bowl, or some similar object for the chance to have your choice of one of my books-signed if/as you like-sent to you. When all of the names are in the hat, bowl, or similar object, I will have one of my kids (with eyes closed) draw a name out. That name will be the one who gets the book. If you do not live in the United States of America, I will send you digital copies if you make the biggest donation or a digital copy of one book if your name is drawn. If you live in the USA, and want digital copies instead of print books, I can do that, too.

The walk is October 22nd, so I am giving you until then to donate. The October 24th date is after the walk, but that is the day I'll pick the donors. I'm not sure if the American Cancer Society will close the donation page when the walk concludes, or leave it open a few days longer, so go ahead and make the donation just in case.

I'm going into such painful detail here because this is a contest, and when you put things like that on the Internet, you have to be really clear about certain things, such as:

1. Not everyone who donates money is going to get a book.
2. I'm going to be fair and impartial about who wins. Even if it's someone who I don't like, I'll still suck it up and send you what I agreed, if you donate and get your name drawn or else make the biggest donation.
3. Somebody is definitely going to get the books. Hopefully, it won't be me because no one else donated for this cancer walk.
4. If you don't live in the USA, the books coming to you will be in digital form unless you and I make other arrangements privately.
5.Please send me your email when you make the donation. That way I can get necessary information from you like your mailing address and how you want the book signed IF you are the one who is the biggest donor or gets your name drawn. Here's my email: jennfrancesca@gmail.com. Put 'Cancer Walk' in the subject line. I'll check my donation page to back up your claim, then go from there.
6. If I figure out something else I need to put here as a 'disclaimer', I will do so.

Six Sentence Sunday

2011-10-02T05:23:00.000-04:00

Hello, Six Sentence people.

I'm drawing from The Jinx for my Six Sentences.

The set-up: This is what happens when your plumber, who faints at the sight of blood, cuts his hand in your bedroom.

Rick reached for something—anything—solid as he realized his
legs were wobbling. He almost made it to the door, when
everything went black.
****
Ellen looked at the man sprawled on his back on her
bedroom floor. Good heavens! He fainted. He actually
fainted.

This romantic comedy is available at The Wild Rose Press.

Now I send you back to Six Sentences.

Have a doughnut

2011-09-30T08:55:00.000-04:00

Double Dog Dare got a great review from Long and Short Romance Reviews. YIPPEE!!!
Here's the link to the review. Please leave them a comment so we all can feel the love.
http://longandshortreviews.blogspot.com/2011/09/double-dog-dare-by-jennifer-johnson.html

Or leave me a comment here. Favorite line from the review. Or favorite flavor of doughnut. I'm just happy to see ya.

To celebrate the nice review I'm having a virtual doughnut party. These are the best kind of doughnuts because they are fat free and calorie free so you can eat at many as you want. Me? I looooove bavarian cream filled. MMMMMM.

You have wronged me big time

2011-09-28T21:28:00.001-04:00

Dear AT&T,
I think I pay you enough money to expect to have a signal any where I need one. I pay you enough not to have
a) missed calls
b) dropped calls
c) general and maleficent wonkiness such as (but not limited to)
1. having multiple texts out of order show up.
2. having multiple voice mails appear after two weeks

If I had always had to deal with this crap, maybe I wouldn't feel like your service and phone should be in the toilet, but until this week, things were pretty good.

If you're working on a tower, fine. If you are having problems, I'm sorry. Maybe you ought to call me or text me and let me know.
Oh, wait. Maybe you did. Perhaps I'll get that text in a couple of weeks.

Oh, and by the way, you better not charge me for any texts I may or may not get from you in an appropriately timed manner.

This week I'm awarding Statler and Waldorf to AT&T. I'd like to connect to you in ways that will make you sooooo sorry.

Ruminating

2011-09-27T08:51:00.002-04:00

I've been doing a lot of walking lately-preparing for the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer 5K which is coming up in October. I'm not at my money-raising goal yet, so if you have a mind to (and a few extra bucks), click on the link there. I've been impressed with what the American Cancer Society does since I've been involved in this walk. Though I'm not a breast cancer survivor, I know people who are. And really I'm not just walking for them, but I'm walking for myself, my daughter, and any of us who know the fear of the 'C' word and want to stomp that sucker in the ground.

Also, I'm walking because my car is sick so it's in the car hospital being treated with tender loving care and a new water pump.

As I walked the kiddos to school this morning, the fog and cooler temperature created a nice Autumn-promising setting. It put me in a poetic mood. Here is a poem I wrote which I included in Double Dog Dare. It's called "Fair Use".

In the black expanse Orion, that great hunter, waits with arm raised,

Arrow poised and twinkling belt— silent, his prey in sight.

While below I pull my sweater to me thinking soon I’ll see my breath.

The hunter pays me no mind, so intent on his focus and aim.

Trembling, the crisp leaves beside me hang on for dear life.

They know the eminent fall and crunch underfoot.

And I’ll strike a match to them, breezy cinders, and bitter smoke

Will rise, rise, rise to that great one who may, at last, turn and look on me

And have his turn to gaze and wonder

Six Sentence Sunday

2011-09-25T04:48:00.000-04:00

Just a little set up for the six sentences from my book Rescue Me, published by Turquoise Morning Press.

Newly divorced Amy Mann has moved back home with her parents. She's had it with men, including Riley Pennemon who spends a lot of time doing chores around the house for her dad. In this scene, Amy is in her bedroom watching Riley through the window as he cuts up a fallen limb in the yard.

Here we go:

When he shed the shirt, Amy’s forehead hit the glass.

Was he younger than she was?

Not that it mattered.

Amy ran her finger across her lip and wiped the drool on her jeans.

Drooling over a man? Come on!

Now back to Six Sunday....

Don't help me

2011-09-23T03:32:00.001-04:00

Okay. This is really about Big Bang Theory. Sort of.

Big Bang Theory is a show on TV. Do I know what channel? No. Because I am NOT the TV-anything. If it were up to me, we wouldn't even own one of those things-TVs. But my DH likes to watch TV at night, and on Thursdays he watches this show called Big Bang Theory. What do I hate about it?

It's got a laugh track.

Give me a break! Don't help me to know when to laugh by putting on there a laugh track. If I need help, I'll ask for it, thank you very much. A laugh track is just insulting. Like I don't know what's funny. As a matter of fact, I have a very distinguished and high threshold of what is funny, and when the laugh track is enacted every thirty seconds, it is NOT amusing, I tell you.

So, I went into the TV room to see what the DH is doing, and here is this show--Big Bang Theory. I sit down and watch it. Not because I don't have better things to do, but simply because I haven't sat in the same room with that guy in a while, and well, you know, sitting in the same room is a good thing to do when you want to--Oh, I don't know...connect...stay married...and such.

So, I sit next to him and watch the TV as he is doing, and watch and listen.

And I start to get irritated by the laugh track.

Honestly.

It is used too freely, I tell you. I mean, I guess some of the things are mildly amusing, but...really, do they deserve THAT kind of chortling? No way.

It's exactly how I feel about LOL.

People, stop abusing LOL. You know it's not that funny. So stop using that acronym like you think it is to laugh out loud. You know it's only mildly amusing. Why would you cheapen your laughter by putting 'LOL' next to something that, at the most, would elicit a smile from your lips? Or maybe not even a smile--maybe only a little quirk of amusement in your brain.

The excessive laugh track on TV and the abusive use of LOL on the Internet is your fault. Why? Because you overuse LOL and ROTFLMAO.

Stop it. Stop it right now.

Unless you are laughing out loud or rolling on the floor laughing your ass off, then PLEASE do not use the acronyms. You only cheapen your comedic threshold.

If you are mildly amused, then say so with a *chuckle*. Otherwise, save it for the really funny stuff. Such as the latter part of Big Bang Theory which was so funny, I forgot about the laugh track and woke my kids up with too-loud guffawing.

That Blossom chick--she's pretty good.

How you have wronged me now

2011-09-21T07:35:00.006-04:00

Dear Typhoid Mary,

Thanks so much for infecting my kid. I realize that your name is probably not Mary, nor is the infectious disease you spread all around typhoid flu. However, whatever it is, it had my kid waking me up at two o'clock this morning because she had a 102 fever.

I can put up with a lot of things, but trying to be the compassionate mother between the hours of midnight and five-thirty am is extremely difficult for me.

I either blame you for choosing to get out in public and spreading your hacking coughing fever-producing germs all around, or a blame you for sending your germ-infested child to school because you:
a) didn't want to fool with the kid, and didn't care that your sick kid would infect every other kid your kid came in contact with.
b) have a job where you can't take off to be with your kid and have nobody else to help out. In this case I feel sorry for you for we have both been wronged by forces larger than the germs your kid gave to mine.

I HATE YOU, GERM!!! I hope you are uncomfortable in the 102 degree heat. I hope it hurts you so bad that you die a dis-eased death along with your disgusting ability to make people miserable.

INCLUDING THE MOM WHO DID NOT GET A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP.

I have further been wronged by my Kroger shopping experience as I stock up on sick-kid stuff. All of this before I have had ANY coffee whatsoever. My grievances are numbered below:
1. I could not find any acetaminophen pills with less than a 500 mg dosage. It's important to have a kid friendly pill as I have tasted the children's liquid acetaminophen, and believe me it's horrible. Much worse than the symptoms it treats. It's cruel to make kids drink this stuff--I don't care if you do let them wash it down with Coke. It's gross. While I'm perusing the shelves for pills which won't damage my kid's liver....
2. I have to listen to Styx' "Don't Let It End."

Seriously? This song gets old about a third of the way through. The irony of the title is not lost on me either as I want it to end. Very, very badly. Just when I thought I couldn't stand it any longer, the theme from "Splendor in the Grass" begins. Oh, my gosh, I almost ran out screaming without my sore throat lozenges, grape juice, and 200 mg ibuprofen (which I already had some of, but since I couldn't find....well, just refer to number 1 above).

Does that theme music remind anybody else of being in the dentist's office? I think Dr. Finkle must have played this a lot when he was filling the cavities in my teeth when I was a kid because I have these flashbacks of being in the dental chair and hearing that drill and tasting the grit of tooth and smelling smoke from either the drill or the friction of my attacked tooth, I'm not sure which. Suffice to say "Splendor in the Grass" disturbs me.

You know who I feel sorry for? The people who work there because they can't get away from the bad music being piped through the speakers in the store. Not only do they have to be on their feet and dealing with irate people like me, they also have to listen to dental-flashback inducing music. The injustice of it is bothersome.

And I haven't had a lot of sleep, as I think I've mentioned.

Waldorf and Statler are awarded this week to all sick-inducing germs everywhere and poor shopping experiences which are likely caused from lack of sleep.

So Random is sooo hilarious

2011-09-19T19:11:00.001-04:00

I think I quit following the cultural herd in about 1995. So, I don't really know who is hip and hot, and who has been uncool for about 15 years now. I don't know who all those people are on the gossip magazines. I don't know anyone on the awards shows or any of the great movies that have been made and shown unless my kids drag me to the theater under protest.

And speaking of which....

Thanks to my kids, I don't quite live in a cultural vacuum. They've introduced me to this really funny show called So Random. Since I cut my comedic teeth on Carol Burnett and The Muppet Show, I looooooove So Random a lot.

Here's just one funny clip. Before you play it, you'll want to pause "Dancing Queen" to the left so you can hear So Random in all of its hilarity.

Six Sentences

2011-09-18T05:53:00.001-04:00

I had a great six last week. I'm continuing my six sentences this week with Holding Out for a Hero. Enjoy it because next week, my six will be from a different book.

And here we go!

Oh, wow, did he know how to leave an impression.

I ran to the bathroom, stripped my clothes off, stood in the shower, and turned the tap on as hot as I could stand it. Did the guys at the shelter really say such things about me? Or was Eli just trying to get me to be more careful? As I soaped up, I gasped as a sudden realization hit me.

I hadn’t given Eli directions to my apartment.

And now I send you back to Six Sentence Sunday.

You have wronged me...

2011-09-15T16:07:00.004-04:00

No. Wait. I have wronged the 'you have wronged me' post.

I was supposed to post my 'You have wronged me' blog on Wednesday, but I COMPLETELY forgot to scout around for something to be ticked off about then to rant about it via the world wide web.

So, I think I'll post a few possibilities about how I have wronged others.

1. I hollered at my kid for waking me up last night when he got scared because he had read that urban legend about the roommate who came home late and didn't turn on the light when going to bed. The next day the bloody wall reads, "Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?" over the mangled corpse of his roomie. Honestly, it was so hard to work up true compassion for my kid in being scared over this. Does anyone really believe the killer would:
a)write such a long message on the wall? Give me a break. Just stick with 'Helter Skelter' or "Redrum' and be done with it.
b) be able to write it legibly in a completely dark room? Come on, people. I've tried to write in the dark-not with blood or on walls-but it's not easy. I could barely read what I wrote, and I know my mind. Why should any killer expect a sane innocent roommate to translate the weird question written on the wall in the victim's blood?

If I think any more about this stupid urban legend, I may just have to rewrite this blog so I can be wronged by its stupidity.

2. I whipped the dog for:
a) getting on the table and trying to eat left-over birthday cake.
and on a separate occasion,
b) getting in the trash, pulling out, and licking clean the Styrofoam tray which had previously held raw chicken.

He's a bad dog. Bad. And yet, I whipped him way after the fact, therefore he likely had no clue why I was doing this as I did not follow the "If you don't catch him in the act, he'll never learn" Dog-Wisdom. And I also used corporal punishment. Not to be confused with corporate punishment which is whipping CEOs of major companies for being greedy and being jerks then expecting the government to bail them out.

3) I offended my health coach who calls me once a week as we work on our mutually agreed upon goal of ME losing weight. I told her I gained a half a pound because I've been putting away a delicious zombie birthday cake. When I type "putting away" I do not mean placing the cake in
a)the garbage
b)the mouths of neighbor kids, my own kids, the mouths of dogs (see #2) or any one else
c)the breakroom at work with a nice note saying, 'please eat'

I do mean eating it myself and enjoying it immensely.
AND I'm not even sorry for eating so much of it because it is so good.

4) I injured my husband psychologically because while he was at work Monday I moved a computer desk across the floor and out of the house. In the process I gouged the hard wood floor he had worked SO HARD to sand and refinish. I'm a bad, bad wife. However, I should get some credit for not lying about it or denying it as I was really tempted to do.

5) I offended my neighbor by leaving a computer desk next to the street for three days in the hopes that some poor schmuck would come by and pick it up and junk up their own house with it. HAHA! The desk is magically gone now. And there is no evidence of its presence other than 4 above, plus some gouge marks in the grass and dirt outside which could also be my neighbor's property and therefore more offense given.

6)I eye-rolled and huffed several times at church when people wouldn't do right. I worked really hard to place artificial sheep throughout the church for a community hunt later in the day. AND THEY KEPT BRINGING THE SHEEP TO ME BEFORE THE SEARCH AND RESCUE EVEN STARTED. STOP BEING SO HELPFUL. GEEZ!!! So, I AM sorry for rolling my eyes and sighing in frustration when they were only trying to be helpful and get cardboard sheep out of the way so people wouldn't trip on them. So, I hope they will forgive me for not appreciating their well-intentioned efforts which caused my nerves some serious fraying before 10:30am.

So, here is the Waldorf and Statler sticker to various people and creatures I probably ticked off this week.

I'm SORRY!!

Thankful for November

2011-09-14T08:12:00.001-04:00

November is going to be a month of releases for me!
First off is the River Anthology my local writing group has put together.

It includes my short story "The Rescue". I'm very proud of this book because not only was I a contributor to it, but it's the first anthology I edited. All of the stories and poems were inspired by the idea of river, and that was the only requirement we gave ourselves (other than length). The final collection, then, has an incredibly wide variety of tales-Applachaian, historical, paranormal, satirical, sweet, and mine which isn't quite a romance, but close. Another cool thing about this book? All of the author royalties will go to fighting cervical cancer in our area.

Next up? A release of another anthology.

I also edited this collection, and because of my established persona as a looooong-published author (harhar) my name got to be first on the cover. That's funny to me, but it also tells you that all of the authors in the collection are relatively new and fresh. I'm proud of this collection, and of my story in it which is called "The Imposter".

And lastly, my print release of my book Holding out for a Hero.

Holding Out was released digitally in April 2010, and I've been waiting patiently all this time for it to be in print. I finally got the word that the print release will be in November. This book is somewhat different than my other romances. It's spicier, and has some action/adventure in it. It's also told in first person. I love this story because I pay homage to Abba and my time spent in Atlanta. Although I renamed Atlanta, that was the city I pictured as I was writing the book. The new name? Clavania. And, honestly, how can you not be happy when you're listening to Dancing Queen?

Six Sentences of Holding Out

2011-09-11T04:30:00.001-04:00

I just found out my book Holding Out for a Hero which is available digitally will soon be released in print. YAY! To celebrate, I'm devoting my six sentences to it.

Here we go:

"The men at the shelter talk about you. They wonder what you taste like.” His low voice reverberated through me. He paused and let that bit of information sink in. My heart skipped a few beats. “You should stop making yourself so available,” he whispered before stepping away, picking up the paper wrapped food, shoving it in his pocket, and letting himself out of my apartment.

Well? Did it hook ya?

Now I send you back to Six Sentences.

Ten Years Later

2011-09-09T09:02:00.000-04:00

A decade after planes flew into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, the media directs us to reflect on that day. For my generation, it is the 'Where were you when...?' as previously only those who were cognizant of such events asked each other on the day that John Kennedy was assassinated. Ten years ago while the nation grieved and agonized, I went into labor. The next day I gave birth to my firstborn child, my only son.

Did I go into labor from the shock of all of it? No. I went into labor because it was time to have the baby. Immediately he was a metaphor to me of hope in the midst of so much ugliness and pain. I focused on this perfect little boy and learned-really learned-about what it meant to love. I began to understand why God's most popular relational name with us is as Parent, when Jesus said, 'When you pray, say Our Father....' I appreciated more deeply Psalm 139 which speaks of God as the One who knits together the creature in the secret place, who knows fully and creates intricately.
And I am so thankful for all of that. For God who placed us here in an Ecclesiastical puzzle of timely loving, hating, birthing, dying, planting, reaping, laughing, weeping, dancing, mourning, and all of the rest of those Seasonal doings.

Ten years later I still can't really comprehend buildings as large as the WTC. I can't comprehend hatred which would motivate massive murder and destruction.

But I do comprehend this. We all hurt at times. We all find ourselves in the bloody, shitty mess of life. And it is our choice how we respond. We may mourn, weep, and hate for a little while. But then it is time to redeem the shit so that it lends itself to new life, fertile green growth.

On this Sunday, September 11th I honor every person who lost something precious that day-whether their lives, their ability to breath without effort, their sons, daughters, moms, dads, their security, their peace of mind. I honor every single thing we lost that day by living that day to its fullest-squeezing every ounce of beauty and joy out of it and catching it in my open hands. And my open hands I will extend to someone who can't do a thing for me except to accept. And if I'm lucky, that person will never know I was the one who gave the blessing. It will be my secret-haha! Then I can be the good will Ninja and thumb my nose at idiots who would fly planes into buildings and hurt people that were minding their own business. I will wear black-but not for mourning. White is the color for mourning because that's the color of Resurrection. No. I will wear Ninja Black because it's slimming and looks great with silver jewelry. Plus, I can do a cool Ninja pose while my kids are still young enough not to be embarrassed by me.

I will paint my nails glittery red. I will eat doughnuts. I will worship God with the fellowship of faith. I will look for cardboard sheep hidden strategically throughout the church building. I will rally. I will eat artery-clogging breakfast casseroles while mildly protesting that we're calling it 'brunch' and eating at noon. I will enjoy Sue Moon's peanut butter chocolate squares which contain beer nuts. I will drive kids to Billy Bob's. I will dispense coins so kids can play games. I will play laser tag. I will lead the birthday chorus. I will eat a birthday cake decorated with zombies. I will remember to bring the candles and matches. I will remember that life is precious, and this is the only one I get. I will be
Thankful.
Joyful.
Grateful.
Content.
Peaceful.
And thankful some more.

You have wronged me, even if I missed most of the party

2011-09-07T05:54:00.002-04:00

Dear parents of the neighbor kid,
Thank you for inviting my kids to your kid's party. Sorry I didn't bring them until 4 minutes before it was over, but it was a busy freakin' day. Still. Your kid got some nice presents from my kids. So, when you send each of my kids home with a small bowl containing a fish as a party favor, all I can think is, 'What in the heck are you freakin' thinking?' And, no, it does not make it better by you telling them 'If your mom says you can't have the fish,you can bring it back'. Geez, would you give me a break here? You've already done the damage by putting the fish bowl in their little needy hands and putting the idea in their heads that they own the fish.

You further wrong me by telling me these are 'feeder fish'. Feeder fish? Oh, great. Now, THAT'S an ambitious name for a fish, is it not? You give my kids fish whose very name connotes its entire reason for existing is as food for other fish. Well, thanks a whole lot for that. My kids named their fish 'Bob' and 'Mr. Cool' and now these meal fish are probably going to die since they have no other reason TO live except to be eaten. So, thanks a lot for helping my kids to learn how to grieve for something they have named and now claim to love.

What the heck are you thinking when you give out fish as party favors? Are you insane? I don't care that the party theme was 'Under the Freakin' Sea'. You want to stick with the theme, put some freakin' fish stickers on a balloon or something. Don't give out fish unless they are battered and fried with a side of slaw. I ought to knock on your door and hand your kid a puppy for her birthday.

The Statler and Waldorf Sticker this week goes to me, the unfortunate person who is absolutely NOT taking care of fish, fish bowls, fish tanks, fish food, or any freakin' fish paraphernalia that is in this house. I protest the fish. They are NOT welcome here.

Yard Man

2011-09-05T07:20:00.006-04:00

Thanks to my brother, Bud, who reads my blog. Last week I put the call out for yard men. Good looking yard men. And Bud came through for me. I don't know what search engine he uses, but it's a good one.

Having a good image helps. Because, you know, when you're writing a story, and you have an idea in your head, it's good to have a an actual picture to look at. The picture can inspire because it's so similar to the mental workings.

Or, it can inspire because it's waaaaaay off the mark. You know. What NOT to imagine. And I don't want to be cruel so I'll just stick this picture in.

As I write on my story about the yard man, I picture Mike Rowe. I like him because he doesn't mind getting dirty and working up a sweat. Still. This is the best I could do of Mike and grass.

Ideal? My absolute ideal would be Mike Rowe wearing shorts, black dress socks, and tennis shoes while cutting the grass with a push mower. I think Mike Rowe is a cutie pie. I've heard he can sing opera, and he seems to have a great sense of humor. I would love to see him on a dirty job outside my window.

Shirt is optional.

Six Sentence Sunday

2011-09-04T05:13:00.000-04:00

Here are my Six Sentences taken from my short story called "The Rescue" in this River Anthology which will be released in November.

And here we go:

"Just kill me and p-p-put me out of my misery.” Emma turned her back to him and closed her eyes.

Behind her the man moved about. His shoes thumped on the floor, then sodden clothing landed as if—

“Scoot over, Emma Rose. I’m no blanket, but I’m the best thing we got.”

Now I send you back to the Six Sentence website.

$18.00

2011-09-02T04:48:00.000-04:00

As much fun as I'm already having with 'You Have Wronged Me' I realize the lens through which I look to create such a post. It's negative. Funny, but negative. And even though I love a good rant, I already know if I keep up 'You Have Wronged Me' I want to include as a regular post some gratitude or similar reflection as a corrective. Why? Because I believe that life is sometimes crappy. For all of us. But the difference between those who are content and those who are not is attitude. I work to see the glass half full because my natural tendency is to see that sucker bone dry.

I am so blessed. Even if sometimes I don't feel blessed, I am. And life has a way of reminding me of how much I have to be thankful for.

Today that reminder was Joseph who approached me as I was going into my work building, which is, as you may know, a downtown church. Joseph, who is 19, needed money to get home to his Dad's in Pennsylvania. He had no ID, no receipt to back his story up (got on the wrong bus), no cell phone (stolen on the bus) and no person to vouch for him. All he had was 18 bucks. What to do? I'm a big believer in being a good steward of money-mine and other people's. So I had to be sure Joseph wasn't pulling a fast one. This wasn't an easy task because life is complicated, and he had no verifiable way for me to believe him. So I gave him a quest. Since he'd initially given me a wrong number to his mom's house in Maryland (where he was coming from), he had to come up with her telephone number so I could talk to her to verify his story. And, no, I wasn't going to let him cold call Maryland to try to remember the number. I was firm. It was hard, but I told him if he wanted my help, I needed a working number in Maryland to a woman who claimed him as her son. He left on his quest, and I left to do a funeral-yeah, it's been a tough week.

When I came back, Joseph's mom had called and had given us two numbers to reach her. I looked it up, and one of those numbers was from Maryland so I called her back, and we talked.

Joseph's quest was successful. By this time, the clock indicated my work day was done. But my part of the deal was not done. I left word with the secretary at the church, if Joseph comes back, tell him to go to the bus station. Then she was to call me so I could meet him there to buy the ticket. I was sweating it a little bit because I wanted all of this to go down before I had to pick the kiddos up from school. And also not wanting to go by myself to the bus station. Anyway, I went to the bank, withdrew the cash, took my good friend, and we drove.

When we arrived, there was Joseph. When he saw me, he said, "I didn't think you were going to help me. I spent my last $18 on food and cigarettes because I thought I'd be sleeping on the streets tonight."

I laughed and shook my head and tried to shake off how awkward it all felt. Me having $124 at my disposal to buy a bus ticket. Him having a grocery bag of $18 worth of cigs and food-which is not much of either cigarettes OR food. I dealt with my unease by keeping my purse close, my friend close, and talking with the ticket lady to get the ticket bought. Joseph dealt with my unease by talking. Maybe he was a little uneasy, but mostly I think he was relieved and surprised. He wouldn't shut up. He thanked me. He wanted to hug me. I said no. He did it anyway. He wanted to thank my friend. She's pretty tall, and she wears killer shoes, so he just shook her hand.

My friend and I left. Joseph would hopefully catch his bus at 3:05 the next morning. I was glad my part in his quest was over. I was ashamed for wanting to wash off the contact he'd made with me and for being so cynical that I still wasn't sure my money had been well spent. And yet wondering if I should have given him more for the trip.

If only I could have been Good Witch Glenda, he could have been Dorothy, and the key to getting home was clicking those ruby slippered heels together. Then I wouldn't be awake at 4 in the morning amidst all my clutter wondering what I would spend my last $18 if I was in a foreign place with little prospect of getting back home.

Or, I don't know. Maybe Glenda didn't get any sleep that night. If you can wave a wand and transport shoes or make it snow in a poppy field or ride around in a bubble, well, maybe you don't worry about stuff. Or maybe you worry too much about the munchkins, even if you don't stick around too long to protect them from bad witches. Did Glenda stare at the ceiling and think, "Maybe I should have given her a map along with the shoes. What if she gets lost again? Will she make it home? Is clicking the heels enough? And with the homecoming, will Dorothy be able to sustain her happiness at being content to be on a farm in Kansas?"

You know what problem wasn't solved in that movie? Mrs. Gulch. She's still going to come back and get Toto. Evil still lingers. Or, perhaps I should say, Being accountable to our actions-or the actions of our dog-doesn't disappear with the heel clicks.

Still. Maybe I'm over-thinking it. All of it. But as 5am approaches, I still wonder what I'd do with my last eighteen bucks, and hope to God I never have to find out.

You have wronged me

2011-08-31T05:48:00.000-04:00

Here is a fanciful post from my four-legged friend Beethoven.

Dear Dog who is only here temporarily,
You suck. I thought I liked you because you let me hump you even though both of us have been 'altered'-whatever the heck that means. When I stayed at your house, it was cool except that woman wouldn't let me sleep on the bed. Then you show up at my house and act all cute so my people will pet you. You even jump on our beds and cozy your fat self on our couch even though you have a killer big fat dog pillow to lay on. You know your woman doesn't let you get on the furniture at your house. Why do you think it's okay to do it here? You also eat my food even though your woman bought you that really expensive stuff and brought it with you so you could eat the food you're used to, and I am stuck with the Kroger brand crap. And yet you eat it, and I have nothing. You are stupid because you run all over the place. HaHa! You have to stay on a chain while I get to run free. I wish you would leave because you are not in our pack. You whine and bark at night and wake me up. I have to get out from under the covers to make sure everything is okay, but it is only the cat who lives on the porch. Why do you chase her across the yard, and then get your fat neck jerked back because you are on the chain? The cat belongs here. You do not. Please leave and quit acting all cute and doggy sweet. No one likes you except as a guest. I only hump you now to humiliate you. Don't get any bright ideas about living here. I may be smaller than you are, but I can bite really hard, then I can run fast across the yard. And you can't reach me because you are on the chain. I hope you choke on that pepperoni bag you pulled out of the trash.

This week's Statler and Waldorf sticker is awarded to Beethoven the dog. Don't worry, buddy. She's only staying til Labor Day.

A Picture tells a Thousand Words....

2011-08-29T10:18:00.001-04:00

However, when you have the thousand words and you need a picture to illustrate it, what do you do? I've had this scene in my head for about a week now. It has to do with a man cutting the grass. He's good looking because he is the hero. As of yet, I haven't been inspired to write of a physically ugly hero, but maybe one day....
Not today though.
Where was I? Oh, right. Good looking guy. Cutting grass.
So I'm Googling the heck out of the Internet trying to find "Good looking guy cutting grass."
I got nothing.
"Sexy guy mowing lawn"
I got this:

This guy is NOT mowing the lawn!

I got the Google hit because the caption said something like: 16% girly. I can fix a faucet, pitch a tent, and mow my lawn, but I like perfume and lingerie. So, I'm thinking, 'Is a man or a woman writing this, and did they just post a picture of this man because admiring a picture such as the above would make this person *more* girly?

What I've concluded is cutting the grass is apparently NOT considered a sexy Internet picture. But for me any manual labor around the house is attractive because it's less I have to do. HAHA!!

Geez, is it too much to ask to have a beautiful man cut his grass and have someone with a decent camera take a picture of it then post it on the Internet? Shirt IS optional. HONESTLY!!

So, since I can't have it, you must use your imagination.

Picture a nice looking guy mowing the lawn. The perfect bored housewife fantasy-at least the housewife without a pool. Because as we ALL know, women with pools have their pool man to drool over, so the have-nots only have the yard and grass as potential.

The man is perfectly sculpted and all of that, so that the woman has this great expectation of sexual goodness...until the day he shows up to cut grass in these...

Black socks. Shoes aren't quite right-I was thinking tennis shoes, but black socks and shorts to mow the lawn. What a HUGE breech of lawn mowing etiquette. So, that's the scene, and so we shall see what becomes of it. If anything. I know it's not a lot to go on, but I can tell you from personal experience every one of my books has begun with one image--one scene--somewhat like this, and with months (sometimes years) of thinking and reflecting and typing, the muse and I have crafted entire novels.

It's pretty cool how it all works out-in a mystical, practical sort of way. So, I'm off now to record the scene from keyboard to electronic file. See you soon!

Six Sentence Sunday

2011-08-28T04:57:00.001-04:00

Welcome to my Six Sentences. I'll be drawing from my contemporary romance, Double Dog Dare.

Ready?

"You didn’t do anything crazy last night, did you?” Janie asked.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Cheris formulated an answer as she stepped to the door and opened it. On her porch stood what she did crazy last night.

And now, back to Six Sentence Sunday.