Who's Telling The Truth?

When I read Christian fiction, I've noticed a tendency to wonder which character is speaking or exemplifying the author's worldview.

I don't remember ever questioning the motives of secular authors. With secular books I look for universal truths, but I don't expect them to be presented with intention. That's an odd thing to say, I suppose. I just realized it's an odd thing to think. I expect a secular author to tell a compelling story, but I don't expect him to radically change my understanding of Life, the Universe and Everything.
This bias may be the result of worshipping at the bookshelf of C.S. Lewis and George MacDonald. I seem to believe a Christian author should tell a true story, i.e., a story that expresses some universal truth.

I also seem to expect that truth to come from a particular character, usually the hero.

I don't think I'm alone in this expectation. In the critiques I've received for Star of Justice from authors and non-authors I've gotten questions about "What really happened?," "Are you trying to say...?" or "So, who's the Christian here?"

Ready for the irony? I expect something from others I don't do myself. I cannot point to a single character in Star of Justice who embodies my entire set of beliefs as a Christian. No single character has a complete understanding of God as He exists in the story, let alone a complete understanding of what really happens during the course of the book. Each character has pieces of truth, but none of them has it all.

As an author, I wanted to answer the most pressing questions, but leave room for speculation, too. Maybe I'm the only person in the world who thinks about a book after I've read it. Maybe. At the rate some of my new writer friends turn out reviews I don't know they would have time for processing a book.

(I don't mean that as a slam. Maybe they process faster than I do. Maybe they don't need to process. I have issues with mastery. Part of my OCD. I want to know the why as well as the what. I know why things happen in my stories, whether I state it or not. I want to have those answers to the obscure question at the book-signing.)

There seems to be a tendency in Christian writing (or possibly Christian assumptions about Christian writing) to make the main character The Hero, the good guy. Technically, the main character is the Protagonist. The Protagonist spends the most time in the spotlight but is not necessarily the good guy. The word itself (while being remarkably difficult to type quickly) is neutral.

Caissa is a Protagonist, not a Hero. She does follow the Hero's Journey as outlined by Keven Newsome of The New Author's Fellowship, but I would not classify her as a Hero in the traditional sense. I would not expect any reader to find universal truths about God spilling out of her mouth. Truths about human nature? Absolutely. About God? Not so much.

She also does not overtly express my beliefs about God. She might express my beliefs about what some people believe about God, but that's not the same thing.

I suppose my conclusion is to relax and let the story unfold. I should allow the characters to be themselves and not little projections of the author.  I'll be thinking about the story for days afterward anyway. Why worry upfront?

More on Marriage

I got a little crazy last night. Seems many couples I know are experiencing marital difficulties right now. Some of them are about stupid things. Some of them are serious. Some of them could have been prevented. All of them are painful.

Perhaps yesterday's post belonged in Old Fashioned Thoughts, but my beliefs about marriage are so much a part of who I am they will appear in anything I write.

The sanctity of marriage is a major theme in Elementals. The seriousness of the arranged marriage is the driving force of every character. Divorce is not an option in that society, no matter how complicated or uncomfortable a marriage may be.

I wanted that idea in the book because I don't see it anywhere in today's society. Maybe with the Amish. I don't know. I don't read Amish romances.

Operation Rolling Thunder places marriage as one of the seven major issues needing prayer today. I encourage you to pray for marriage as a whole. Satan understands how important it is. That's why his efforts are focused on destroying it however he can.

Support marriage. If you are married, work at it. Remember your first love - your wife or husband. Remember why you got married in the first place and tend that spark until it once again burns in your heart. If love has faded it's because you let it. Shame on you.

Support married couples, young and old. When someone comes to you to complain about a problem, remind them of their commitment and help them see the long view. Don't commiserate with selfishness. One of the major causes of divorce is friends who encourage it. Don't be one of those.

If you're not married, consider long and hard before you make that commitment. Don't stay in a relationship where marriage is not an option, and for goodness' sake, don't remain unmarried when you have children together. Put on your big boy pants and man up to your responsibilities. Give those children a real name and a real place in your life. Then do the man-lier thing and make your marriage work.

And, women, don't you settle for less than marriage. Marriage is the safest place for you to be - financially, emotionally and physically, and no Femi-nazi has yet come out with a legitimate study that says otherwise. Don't believe the lie that you can have it all with no responsibility. That's nonsense.

Can you tell I'm passionate about this? I may not practice Marriage and Family Therapy anymore, but I know how important strong marriages are.

Dear friends, tend your marriage. Pour your energy into loving your spouse and encouraging other married couples to do the same. Let's turn our society around before it's too late.

And for those damaged by divorce, love them. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, a marriage cannot be endured. A selfish, unreasonable spouse is like dragging a dead ox while plowing a field. If society itself is not structured to force that spouse to conform, divorce may be the only remaining option. Just be sure it's the last option, not the first.

Well, I don't know how to end this second rant in a row. Perhaps with a prayer:

Lord, strengthen marriage. Grant each spouse Your grace and patience to practice within the marriage relationship. Help us to fight for marriage as You fight for us. Help us to remember marriage is representative of your relationship with us The Church. Bless our marriages and keep them holy, as You are holy. In Christ's precious name, Amen.

Marriage

Prepare for a rant, my good readers. I am ready to blow.

"Mawage. Mawage is what bwings us togevher today." For the seven people in America who don't know, that's from The Princess Bride. It's a joke, an ornate priest with a funny voice and speech impediment.

It's not funny today. When did he become the symbol for marriage?

People seem to think marriage is all about love, and happiness, and feeling good. What a load of rot!
Marriage is about commitment. When you say "I do," you commit to do it. To work at it. To suffer through the horrible parts, even when they seem too horrible to bear.

Love helps. Love is why you continue to work, because you love that spouse. But commitment is the reason.

A marriage is the basic building block of society. Marriage - one man, one woman - leads to family, the next building block. Family provides a safe place to create children and rear them into adults.
Most animals don't mate for life because they can't. If a finch only took one mate, we'd be out of finches in a generation because finches die all the time. A finch's life is hard and short and they have to pop out baby finches while they can with any male available at the time. Finches don't get sexually-transmitted diseases, by the way, which means nature intended for them to act like that.

Humans mate for life because it takes a lifetime to teach that little alien what it means to be human. A human child becomes physically mature between 11 and 18, but it spends its entire life becoming mature in other ways. A human needs its mother and father, and grandparents, and siblings to teach it to become human.

Marriage is how that happens. Marriage provides a safe place for a daughter to see how to be a wife and mother, for a son to see how to be a husband and father. Marriage is how children learn to contribute to society within a partnership. Marriage teaches vulnerability to another person, and solidarity when the world is against you. Marriage increases income, shares responsibility and stabilizes society as a whole.

When did it become the norm to view marriage as something you do while it feels good?

You can't trust feelings. If I followed my feelings, I'd eat ice cream and cake for every meal and die of complications from diabetes at 50. Come to think of it, that fate awaits many Americans right now.

Don't trust your feelings. God gave you a brain to use. Humans aren't finches. We are a higher order of animals, able to master our feelings and do the right thing, even we when don't like it.

I'm so sick of hearing "Well, I'm not happy anymore." It makes me as sick as "abortion is the woman's choice," another example of following feelings into a decision that will dramatically worsen her life and eliminate the life of another.

It's not about feelings. Feelings change like the wind.

Marriage is a choice. Once it's made, it should be made forever. 'Til death do us part.

My parents had a saying. "Divorce, never. Murder, maybe."

We need a little more of that kind of commitment today. From everyone. Our society is falling apart because our citizens are putting their own selfish wants ahead of their commitments. Our government pays woman to have children out of wedlock, removing the man from the house and leaving him free to join a drug gang instead of honoring his duty to his children and the woman who should be his wife. Our courts allow divorces of "no fault," so any drunken idiot in Vegas can undo what they shouldn't have done in the first place. Our "friends" council us to leave that terrible situation instead of working through it. I mean, who could possibly put up with a husband who wants to buy a motorcycle? What a jerk!

Good heavens, people, wake up! Don't you see how selfishness is destroying us? Families with layers of step-children and ex-spouses. Children who won't allow themselves to get close to a parent because they don't know how long that parent will be around, a trait they repeat in adulthood, by the way. Adults who would rather live together outside of marriage because the taxes are lower and it's easier to leave when things get too hard. Just pack up whichever kids you like or get welfare checks for and move on.

I don't have the words to express my frustration with that kind of thinking, that kind of selfishness. I don't need the words. The chaos rages around us, and yet we wander along, whistling and staring at clouds.

You've heard "marriage is 50/50."

Wrong. Marriage is 100%. From you. If you can't give it, don't offer it. And you don't give it only if the other person is doing the same. It's your commitment. The only one you control is you.

I am not a "stay married no matter what" advocate. Some things cannot and should not be endured.  But I do believe most of the problems that plague marriage today could be solved if both people believed their only choices were solve it or live with it for the next 60 years. You aren't motivated to work at something when you think you have an out.

Divorce should be hard. It should be harder and more painful than marriage. It should cost money and social standing. It should leave a stigma on its practitioners that warns others not to choose it as an option.

It used to do that, and society as a whole was more stable for it.

Yes, horrible things happened then. But horrible things happen now, too. Divorce doesn't stop violence, end arguments or increase the safety of children. Most of the time, it multiplies those things. We have 30 years of "no fault" examples to prove that.

We will never solve the human condition of fallen-ness until Christ returns. I wish we could stop adding to it.

Marriage is serious. Marriage is hard. But when done right, marriage is the closest two humans will ever come to understanding the Trinity this side of eternity. It is worth fighting for.

Please, please, my friends, fight for it. Encourage your friends to fight for it, too.

10 Hours

I picked up Elementals. I read the whole thing in about 10 hours.

I was a bit annoyed.

Not with the story. With the story, I was pleased. It's been a year since I looked at it, and it's okay. I have some tense issues to work out, and some details to smooth, but for a first draft? Not too shabby.

No, I was disappointed with the amount of time it took me to read it.

I don't remember how long it took to write. I didn't have any huge events by which to mark the time as I did with Star of Justice. I'm thinking between two and three months. That's sporadic writing.
Heavens, when I think about how I labored over that story, it's a miracle it got written at all. I was more inclined to throw my mouse at the wall than tackle one more battle of wills with the Achnoi Queen. Sheer cussedness got me through it. That and a feeling Dyana would slap me if I didn't woman up and finish.

But 10 hours?

That's a pretty fast read. Right now, it's about 108,000 words. Simple words, too. No big plot complications. No mysteries. No in-depth character back story. No plans for other stories with these characters (although I might be able to squeeze one out if I had to). I don't even have a name for this planet.

But 10 hours?

I tried to keep it short. My goal was "fast and easy." I suppose I achieved it.

But 10 hours... It doesn't seem like much, does it? That's shorter than the LoTR extended trilogy. Way shorter if you watch the special edition items about fashion, horses and weapons like I do.

Maybe 10 hours is okay. I mean, that's a weekend book. A "start it in the reading room and take it with you into the living room" kind of book. A book that keeps you up to the wee hours on a work night because the chapters are so short you imagine you can afford to turn one more page.

That's the trick, after all. The page-turning. You want a reader to become absorbed in a story. That leads to word-of-mouth promotion and happy thoughts the next time she sees your name in a bookstore.

I expect this to publish before Star of Justice. I kind of hope it does. My greatest concern with my first book is that readers would expect me to always write books like it. Frankly, I don't know if I could.

But books like Elementals? Yeah, I have a few more of those up my keyboard.

Right now, I need to polish this rock and see just how shiny it will get.

When Did I Stop Reading?

New writers hear it all the time. Good writers are good readers. Read all the time. Never stop reading.
So when did I stop reading?

I'm gonna have to blame college. Pre-college I had spending money (spelled A-L-L-O-W-A-N-C-E), I had time (spelled N-O-J-O-B) and I had no friends (spelled L-O-S-E-R).

During college, I had money only for textbooks, a whole dormful of people who started to become interesting the longer we spent together, and a brain full of my own story ideas demanding to be written on my newly purchased for college laptop computer.

TT: If only I'd had the maturity I have now, I would have finished those stories then instead of revisiting them now. Oh well. I choose to believe those stories will find new depths. Yeah, that could be arrogance talking.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I stopped reading altogether. I read about 6 textbooks in their entirety in my 6 years of college, and most of those were for the same class.

I could also blame Mr. Freidline, I suppose, from 7th grade. He was the first teacher who made me write a book report that included a critique. I remember telling him I wasn't qualified to judge someone else's writing. He said I was the only one qualified to give my opinion about it.

Wrong thing to teach me. That's when my "journey of disgust" began, but it took college to really get me climbing that mountain of disdain.

I have become that "two pages or else" reader. Pre-college I always finished a book, thinking if someone took the time to write it, the least I could do is read it. No more. I have thrown books away after a chapter. I don't tolerate inconsistency, poor grammar or stupid characters anymore. I called that an "occupational hazard" in an earlier post.

I doubt I'll find much argument that the quality of literature as a whole has declined in the last 15 years. Many books nowadays are garbage, plain and simple. I blame the writers, of course. When you write from a post-modern worldview of "nothing matters" and "everything is meaningless including grammar," your writing will be garbage.

Cost was another factor. Pre-college books were $2.95 or $3.95. Post-college books were $7.95 and part of a series of 12. That's a lot of money to invest in something I might throw away after 20 pages.
You might argue I could go to the library, but I've explained before I keep books I like. You can't keep library books, and most of them are out of print, which leaves me out of luck. Why would I do that to myself?

And the topics! Again, the post-modern worldview shows up as immorality as a matter of course, unquestioned macro-evolution in the sci-fi realm and goddess/pantheism in the fantasy realm, and I can't blame myself for not reading anymore.

At least, I couldn't.

See, college was where I got broke and gained friends. Now I'm alone and occasionally have a little spending money. I've discovered some good writers are out there if I'm willing to look for them (my thanks to Splashdown Books and Marcher Lord Press for giving them a chance). My only reason for not reading now is I'm out of the habit.

And FV is free.

Difficult People

Yesterday's sermon was presented by a guest pastor on 1 Sam 24. He introduced his sermon with the sentence "This is a passage about dealing with difficult people."

Difficult people? Yeah, right. I Sam 24 is one of the numerous occasions Saul is trying to kill David and David spares his life.

Saul was a homicidal maniac. That seems a bit more than "difficult" to me.

However, the pastor's points were valid, possibly even for dealing with homicidal maniacs.

His point, and I would agree it is one of the points of the passage, is forgiveness trumps revenge. I might argue other historical accounts show it better. Joseph's treatment of his brothers, for example.
The desire for revenge is so strong God limited it in his legal code for the Israelites. "An eye for an eye" wasn't a command to take someone's eye. It was a limitation of you can only do as much as was done to you. Even that isn't God's desire for us.

According to Jesus "You have heard it said 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy,' but I say love your enemy and do good to those that hate you."

Jesus knows forgiveness is the only way to regain power over your own life. To hate another person damages you far more than it damages him.

One of my favorite statements from yesterday's sermon was "Hatred is like acid. It destroys its container before it destroys its object."

Forgiveness doesn't come easy to Turtles. Doesn't matter. It is imperative to master it. My own life, my own health, my own eternity depends on it.

"Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors..."

It is in my best interest to forgive others. Even homicidal maniacs.

TUTAW: Not Everyone Makes It

It's been a while since I wrote one of these. So long, I had to rack my brain to remember the meaning of the acrostic The Ugly Truth About Writing.

Nature gives us plenty of examples of "the survival of the fittest." Probably one of the reasons macro-evolution seems to work at first glance. Salmon, rabbits, sperm...whales. Just kidding. I meant sperm. In fact, almost everything that exists does so in large numbers because life is hard and things die in all manner of ways. I've figured out rabbits are the popcorn of the wild kingdom. Not terribly filling unless you eat two or three buckets' worth. Poor little bunnies.

The concept applies to people, too. Not that we're getting eaten, but that in any given situation very few "make it." Not every good sports' player makes it into the professional world. Not every job applicant gets hired. Not every writer gets published.

Nowadays, the odds of getting published are better in some ways and worse in others. Someone determined to see his name in print can always self-publish. The Internet has opened up a whole new way to connect with that niche market you want to reach. According to...oh, what's his name...Seth Godin? you only need a certain number of devoted fans to maintain you. The trick is keeping them happy enough to remain devoted.

However, the same Internet that opens possibilities to you opens them to others. More people than ever may dream of publication, and now they can submit as easily as you can. The market is flooded with baby writers looking for a break.

Of course, I'm speaking of people determined to get published. I haven't taken into account writing skill, storyline, marketable audience, or any other factor.

The fact is, you can be a fabulous writer with a great book, but if you never submit, you can't be published. And I've read enough horrible books to wonder how many of the authors are related to the publisher or sleeping with the editor. There is no other explanation for how they got printed.

I've become convinced of two things.

First, getting published requires perseverance. P.A. Baines of The New Authors' Fellowship is a perfect example. The man has written for 14 years (if I remember correctly) and is finally getting his first book Alpha Redemption published by Splashdown Books. Congrats on that, P.A.  He persevered and soon he'll be a published author. The hard part will be Book II. Good luck with that.

Second, sometimes it doesn't. We've all heard about the lady who tells her book idea to the guy in the elevator who ends up being the head of a major publishing company and she gets published without even sending a query letter. Hey, it's the exceptions that prove the rule, right? Don't assume that'll be you, though, even if you spend your free time loitering in the elevator at major publishing companies.
Fact is, most of us who write will never get published. We'll get eaten by something along the way, even if it's only our own indolence.

But that's how it is. As Tom Hanks said in A League of Their Own: "Of course it's hard. If it was easy, everyone would do it."

Frankly, I'd rather see the prize go to someone who worked for it than someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time. But I'm funny that way.

Call Me Samson

Not really. Samson is one of the more despicable people in the Old Testament. He was a terrible judge and a terrible person. If anybody deserved to get his eyes gouged out and spend his life grinding wheat, it was that guy. I suppose he's proof that God uses anyone to get His will done.

He is a bit of a puzzlement, though. I mean, God picked him. God told his mom to follow the rules of the Nazarite because Samson would be one. But Samson sure didn't honor God with his life. One of those stories of the Bible where you get to work at it. Lots of places like that. Study is good for growth.

That Samson and I should have anything in common is not flattering to me.

However, my mood has brightened in direct proportion to the length of my hair. Now that I am able to pull it back into a -albeit stupid-looking - queue, the depression has lifted and I can view the future with optimism. My strength is returning, as it were.

How sad! I knew I was vain, but I had no idea my hair was so much a part of who I am.

When watching V for Vendetta, I couldn't understand what the big whoop was about Eve getting her head shaved.

Totally get it now. Lord grant such a fate never befalls me. This is as close as I want to get. I can promise you, I won't get this close again. Not deliberately.

It's Not You

You've heard the same rumors I have. Sometimes authors put real people into their books. They put that little disclaimer in there - you know the one - to assure people they aren't the bad guy or the village idiot or the hunky studmuffin, but we don't really believe it.

Well, believe it with me. 

The reason is simple. I'm far too self-centered to know anyone else well enough to put them into my books.

All characters are me. Different bits of me but definitely me. Me as I am, me as I wish I was, me as I could be if... All me.

Sorry if I burst your bubble. Happy if I prevented a lawsuit.

Just relax and enjoy the book, okay?

'Cause trust me, you're not in it.

Unless I tell you you are.

Agatha Christie? Really?

I've heard from two sources (both British, so maybe "grain of salt" time) that Agatha Christie is the best-selling author of all time.

Is that true? How can that be?

I have 3 Agatha Christie novels: Poirot Investigates, The Patriotic Murders and Why Didn't They Ask Evans? I must have gotten them on sale somewhere.

These are not what I consider classic literature. Granted, I've heard she wrote 39 books featuring Poirot, so maybe these aren't top quality, but I don't see it.

The format is odd. Everyone but Poirot is written in broad, stereotypical strokes. The story is advanced by sacrificing detail. I'm not impressed. I put Poirot Investigates back on the shelf, and I'm forcing myself to read The Patriotic Murders just to see if it gets any better.

Maybe it's the volume of books she wrote that make her the best-selling. Maybe all British schools require a class on her. Maybe she has a head start on other writers because she wrote in the 1940's.
Maybe it's that the books are short. A 100-page paperback is hardly intimidating. It fits neatly into purse or briefcase for those unexpected waiting room delays.

Whatever. I suppose, to be fair, I should find some of her better-known works, like Murder on the Orient Express, before pronouncing judgment on all her writing. Obviously, if she's The best-selling author, she did something right.

I'm just not sure what it was.

Interruptions

I stood on a street corner yesterday in the middle of the day and waved a sign for a candidate I support. It was hot, although thankfully God sent a lovely breeze and partly cloudy skies. I took my green umbrella as a sunshade, and I was glad to have it.

I had plenty of time for reflection on that corner. I've participated in the Chain of Life Network twice, so I know how to stand and pray in public while holding a sign. My sign this time was far less controversial than those times.

I prayed for those cars passing by. I prayed for our country, our judges, our President, our lawmakers, specifically those fighting the good fight. I prayed for family and friends and their futures. I asked for mercy on those who will sooner than they think feel the full force of this administration's terrible laws.

I couldn't help but wonder why I stood mostly alone. There were some other campaigners there, but my candidate had only me. Where were those who said they supported him? It was only two hours. Yes, it was hot, but not Mojave Desert hot. Could no one be interrupted for two hours on a Saturday? What else was so important?

Now, I don't have a lot of room to throw stones here. Actually the one who throws stones is generally the one with the most stones to throw (I think that's a quote from one of my books). We emailed almost a 1000 people about this event and got one "yes" back. I don't think that "yes" even showed.
I don't like to be interrupted. Call it my "linear nature," but I move in one direction at a time, and I don't care to be knocked off course.

But Jesus got interrupted all the time. He didn't whine or pout or snarl about it. He adapted. He used the time to good advantage and advanced the kingdom.

I am trying to be more open to interruptions when they happen. After all, is it more important that I harvest my FV crops or visit my remaining grandmother? I try to plan my day to do both.

It's called Eternal Perspective. It's hard to maintain in a time-limited world where life flies at us from all directions, but maintain it we must.

So, even when it's hot and annoying, I'm going to go wave that sign or hand out those water bottles or attend that judicial committee meeting. Does it interrupt my day? You bet. But it's important.

When I can apply this to sharing my faith, I'll really have achieved something.

Go To Bed

Why is our culture so hostile to sleep?

I like sleeping. I like dreaming. I like 4-hour naps with the cats surrounding me and the dog beside me. I don't always get those, but I like them when I do. I guard my sleep time, sometimes with sleep-deprived hostility.

I seem (once again) to be the exception. My Lamb has fought sleep all her post-womb life. My Friends regularly post to FB in the wee hours of the morning, and I'm not talking my wee hours of 4 AM, 'cause that's when I get up. For these folks, if they're posting at 4 AM, it's because they haven't been to bed yet. According to the ratings, somebody is up watching The Tonight Show. Is that really necessary?

I learned in college that sleep prior to midnight is worth more than sleep after midnight by a 2-to-1 ratio. One hour of 10 PM sleep is worth two hours of 2 AM sleep.

It's no wonder the world is so cranky. I'd suffer from road rage, too, if I'd had a three-hour nap where my good night's sleep was supposed to be. I'm cranky right now after two days of missing my bedtime deadline by more than an hour.

I recently heard this author on Focus on the Family. He recommends turning off all stimulus at least one hour before bedtime. That means radio, TV, computer, IPhone: all of it. We can't sleep because we don't give our brains time to slow down and get ready for it. I can attest to that. After a day of inputting, I need some time to process. If I don't get it while I'm awake, I pay for it at bedtime.
It was a fabulous interview, and, I suspect, it is a fabulous book. You can also get it through Focus on the Family.

Anyway, that's my musing for the day. I have to decide whether to see My Lamb's play tonight and miss my bedtime or tomorrow night and miss my bedtime.

Tough choice.

Just saw this on FB. My thanks to David James for putting it up there. Takes about four and a half minutes. She does mention sleep...

Baby Girl Babbling About Some Hilarious Topics

Just click on the link and enjoy! Then go to bed.

Normal? Not Me

My parents were relatively normal. I had a relatively normal childhood. My brothers... well, they're not that normal, but they do seem able to integrate into normal society with little fuss.

Why, then, do I continue to be the weird one?

Is it my firm belief that most people are, at the least, unaware, and therefore I should not model my life after theirs?

Is it my belief that current culture is inherently unhealthy in every sense and therefore should be eschewed?

Is it my determination to live my life according to natural and Biblical principles because I've learned doing so allows me to function at my best?

I don't know.

I do know I go to bed when it's dark and get up when the sun rises, whenever those times happen to be. I could never live in Alaska. I'd go insane.

I know I keep my house at 82 in the summer and 68 in the winter because seasons exist. Having the technology to maintain a constant temperature doesn't make it right to do so. (Doesn't make it wrong, either, but why live in a place with seasons when you ignore them?)

I know without enough sleep I get cranky, baggy-eyed and haggard. Don't call me after 9. I'll be in bed, and I will make you pay for the interruption.

I know practicing respect for all life makes me calm. I don't allow flies to live because I think they're reincarnated souls. I allow them to live because killing them harms my soul. I hate death. I hate contributing to it.

TT: Oddly enough, I am not a vegetarian. I think God's permission to eat animals was real. But I do advocate the respectful treatment of animals, even those we raise for food. And I could never eat an animal I've known. If I had to kill it, I would starve to death.

So, I remain Weird Robynn (or Weird Aunt Robynn to the nieces). I'm totally okay with that. Normal is vastly over-rated in my opinion.

I Told You So

I knew it was coming. I said it was coming. Guess what? It's here. The Time Crunch.

Crafting Cottages appeared finally (WOO-HOO) on FV, but all the recipes have 6 hour maturation rates. That's not okay for those of us (I use "us" loosely) with a real life. It hasn't stopped me from making 4 batches, but, still...

Plus, some of my neighbors are stumped by the Cottage concept, so I wrote a quick primer late last night on Virtual Buttercups and posted it to FB. Later than usual for me, but apparently I care enough about FV to stay up. If only that were true for things that really matter.

It's the first time I've posted something to FB from one of my blogs. I've added buttons that let anybody do it, so, if you're a FB Friend and you think I've written something your Friends would want to read, feel free to post it to your Wall.

It's one week before the Kansas Primary, and all the campaigns I work for need that last-minute volunteer push to get people out and voting (hopefully for the right person, but, hey, who am I to know who that is?). We decided last night to hold two rallies in the next 3 days. That's time. Time well-spent, I hope, but time.

Allow me to put in a little plug for Kris Kobach, running for Sec of State. He is the guy who helped Arizona write the new immigration law that's causing all the fuss. He is also the guy who will work to safeguard Kansas elections from voter fraud. He's spent his entire professional career doing just that as a Constitutional professor and lawyer. I personally agree with him that voter protection is a civil rights issue. If my vote can be cancelled by a dead person, my right just got infringed. I'm not okay with that.

And, last but not least, the revision bug is biting me about Elementals. I read the mss this weekend. I have some work to do and I'd like to get it done and move on to Past Ties.

I was listening to an interview yesterday with a Christian author who has written 49 books. After the interview was over, the interviewer was joking about writing two books at once and getting the plots confused. It was a silly joke (sorry, Tim) but it was true. I could not possibly write two books at once, any more than I can ride a bike and drive a car at the same time. I doubt any author could do it (or do it well). But I also don't believe people can "multi-task." Everybody does one task at a time. Some may do it faster. Some may do tasks within tasks, such as washing and folding clothes. But it is still one task at at time. Anyone who can do something else has a brain disorder. That could be my professional opinion.

So, I will focus on my one task at a time, doing my best to use each minute well.

I wish I were the kind of person who could put my unrushed time to better use. But this is why I would make a lousy vampire. I need the deadlines, and they have to be imposed by someone else.

I Win

Over the years, mom may have regretted giving me this book as a child. I took it to heart. It's the story of Helen the Spider, who started life as a boy's pet and ended up Queen Spider at the zoo, keeping everybody happy by catching mosquitoes.

Seems it's out of print now. That's too bad. It was a good book with a "green" message I can actually support.

I have spiders. I'm an organic gardener, and that means I want spiders in my yard to deal with insect pests. Spiders do that, you know.

At one time, my house was surrounded by trap spiders. I call them "tunnel spiders," although I'm not sure that's what they are. Their webs form tunnels that drop the prey into the spider's waiting jaws. They are hunting spiders: long, lean and scary-looking.

Over the last few years, the trap spiders have vanished. I don't know why. I leave their egg sacks when I find them. I rarely kill them. Even the ones who find their way into my house get escorted back outside with the help of a glass and a thick piece of paper. Maybe it's the cold weather.

Now I have garden spiders. But they are weird-looking. The first time I saw one, I thought it was a spider eating another insect. Garden spiders have giant, round abdomens, but these guys have abdomens shaped like a Minbari bone crest. But, they're spiders, so I leave them alone.

Except, two of the little critters have been spinning their webs across my front door. I have a porch with a post outside my door. You can approach the door from two sides. The post hosts a huge Jackmani clematis (and a tunnel spider at the very top). These little spiders have each taken a side of the porch on which to spin their lovely little webs.

As I said, I don't kill spiders. I try not to kill anything (that's another post). I've been trying to convince these little guys to spin their webs somewhere else. Even three feet higher would do. It's a bit of a gamble. Every time I destroy a web, I'm destroying its food source and forcing it to use energy to spin another web. I've done my best to be very careful to keep as much of the web intact as possible when I move it. Yes, I'm weird. We've established that.

Yesterday, I succeeded. One spider has found enough bushy bits of clematis to hold a respectable web, and the other has moved its web up about three feet. I haven't been out this morning, but I'm hoping this is still true.

They aren't Helen, but they could be her cousins. And they're welcome to all the mosquitoes they can catch. I have 15 bites on me that attest I have more than my share available.

A Little Depressed

Over the last week, it's occurred to me, I've been a little depressed.

Well, yeah, you're thinking. Your grandma died.

Yes, she did, and that's part of it. But Grandma is in heaven. Her troubles are over. Mine just keep on going.

Not that I have it bad. I have a job, a home, family that love me, money in the bank. I live in America, the greatest country in the world, even if I'm the only one who thinks so. And I know Jesus Christ as my personal Savior, which pretty much trumps everything else.

So what do I have to be depressed about? Let's see.

My job is becoming more stressful by the day (in this economy? Shocking!).

I worry about my home, what will happen to it and my little ones if the Cap and Tax bill gets pushed through Congress this winter as predicted. I'm already bracing for my employer to drop my insurance and force me into a government plan (what employer wouldn't? Keep my insurance, my big toe). A useless government plan that won't cover the mammograms I'll need to find the breast cancer I'm 65% likely to develop in the next 10 years or the treatments I'll need when it is finally found. Which is fine, because who wants to live as a socialist anyway?

My family and friends are facing their own stresses: some economic, some relational, all difficult. They aren't my problems, but they feel like my problems because I love these people.

Money in the bank never feels like enough. That's the problem with trusting in money.

America is falling into such a state of decadence and decay we may never recover. I turn on the news or the radio and I see and hear evil. I don't want to live in the end times, but I wonder if I am.

I tend toward the melancholy naturally, and when I look around, it is far too easy to see the bad things. Makes a turtle not want to get out of bed in the morning.

But I'm not called to look around. When Peter got out of the boat to walk on water, all he had to do was keep his eyes on Jesus. It was when he looked around that things got troublesome.

So, I'm going to keep my eyes on Jesus. Doesn't mean I'm going to hide in my shell and let the world do what it wants, but it does mean I don't have to be responsible for everything and everyone. Shoot, I'm barely responsible for myself.

Reading Elementals, a book I wrote while studying the power of prayer, I am reminded of God's awesomeness. He is where we are not. He sees what we cannot. His plans will unfold in His time and His way. And as His child, I may suffer here, but I will glory there.

Go away, Depression. I don't have time for you anymore.

Later that day...

It occurred to me the bad hair could be a major player in this. I had no idea just how vain I was.
How depressing.

Best Friends

I am blessed to have several best friends (three at the moment, and one pending). I know technically there can be only one "best" of anything, but I have no other way to describe them.

A best friend is one who knows what you're thinking before you open your mouth.

A best friends puts up with your rants until you're done, then reminds you to grow up and get over yourself when you're ready to hear it.

A best friend gives you her FB password without hesitation.

A best friend understands why you're upset.

A best friend knows how much you can take.

A best friend listens even when you're rambling a bit.

A best friend takes 3 tries to actually hang up the phone.

A best friend doesn't pay attention to distance or time. Neither have any relevance to true friendship.

I don't know why I have best friends. Some days, I don't know why I have friends at all. I certainly wouldn't put up with me if given the choice.

It Starts

I cannot think that sentence anymore without hearing Nathan Lane as Timone from The Lion King. You know the line. It's right after Simba abandons them to hang with Nala. I can't reproduce Lane's accent, but it does play in my head, every time.

Thanks to Elder Brother, I've loaded Word onto my new computer, and subsequently, all my Word files, i.e. stories.

I can't find my printer software, so I don't yet have the ability to print from my new computer. That is a problem. Oddly enough, whether I intend to print or not, not being able to print bothers me. I do my writing on the computer, but my editing is done on paper. This problem will eventually be overcome, I'm sure. Even if I have to buy a new printer.

Kansas primary elections are August 3, and I support several candidates who have primary competition. The next week may be quite busy. After those votes, election season will begin in earnest for the general, unaware population, and I suspect my weekends and probably evenings will be spent walking, calling, emailing and praying for candidates. I would hope my readers' time will be similarly spent in their own states. This is not an election to ignore in favor of FV. None of them are, really.

Which is unfortunate, because FV is getting ready to release the much-anticipated (by me) Crafting Cottages, and those will take play to a whole new level. A friend of mine posited that FV is controlled by liberals trying to keep conservatives occupied while they take over the world. If the timing of the Cottages is any indication, she may be right.

All of these converging events mean I will be possessed by the Muses shortly. They always show up when I don't have time for them.

That's okay. As long as I'm writing.

Bad Hair

I am not a fancy lass. I don't wear makeup. I prefer soap to perfume. I have no piercings to fill. I wear two rings and a 10-year old watch. I keep my hair long for two reasons: it's cheap and it's easy. Kinda like me.

Long hair doesn't have bad hair days. Worst comes to worst, you gather it into a ponytail and wait 'til the next day to try again. Actually, Phoebe Buffet and the late 90's are the best things that ever happened to my hair. With the emergence of decorative banana clips and artistically mussed stylings, I gained the confidence to try French twists, quick buns and dangling side tails. They were fast and they worked, two things I like in a hairstyle.

Earlier this year, I got it into my head to cut my hair short. The last time I did this was November 27, 2003. I'd just put my dog Wicket to sleep, and I performed the American equivalent of shaving my head in grief. I donated the hair to Locks of Love.

It was a great cut. I blew it dry with a brush, the hair curled under in a perky pageboy without effort, and I got loads of compliments I believed.

I let it grow out because...it's cheaper and easier. I have better uses for $25 a month than my hair. Feeding six cats to prevent them from eating me in my sleep comes to mind.

So, when a co-worker who is also a stylist told me she'd cut my hair for free, I considered it. What did I have to lose? I kept thinking of that famous philosopher from King of the Hill, Bill Deauterieve, the Army barber. He told Hank's niece not to worry about cutting hair because "it will grow back." No matter what happened, I thought, it will grow back.

I got the cut. I liked it. It was shorter, it was perkier, and I could still pull it away from my face if it was acting naughty. Then I got a little crazy. Hoping for a repeat of 2003, I cut it short. Very short. Too short.

My hair isn't what it was seven years ago. I've gained wave and coarseness and neither of those are inclined to settle into a perky pageboy. Add that to the five cowlicks (I just realized I don't know how to spell that) dotting my head and you have a recipe for disaster.

I should point out I also cheated on my stylist by going to someone else for this Very Short Cut. This daily exasperation may be my penalty for folicular adultery.

My bad hair day became a bad hair month, bad hair quarter and looks to be a bad hair bi-annual event. My hair is refusing to grow back. Shocking that The Billdozer could be wrong. I've had 3 cuts in the meantime to shape and trim the ends in the hopes that this will encourage new growth. These are little, bitty trims, too. I'm talking millimeters here, not inches. Nothing. I still have to shave my neck before I leave the chair.

The compliments I've received in the meantime only make it worse. Those who comment are either a) commenting because they noticed the cut (how could they not? We're talking 18 inches of hair gone) and know a comment is expected, b) not really looking at the hair or c) dumber than I thought they were if they think this is an improvement. Okay, "c" is snotty, but four months of bad hair has made me extremely cranky about the subject.

I've tried hair dryers, curling irons, flat irons, mousse, gel, hairspray, smoothers and leave-in tonics. My 60 second hair care routine has become 20 minutes of swearing at the mirror every morning only to finally pull the top section into a barrette anyway. The same barrette. Only one is the right size to hold such short hair. The rest of the hair curls and twirls every which way unchecked and infuriates me whenever I see my shadow. Have I mentioned it's been sun and clear sky since The Cut? Mr. Murphy had something to say about that phenomenon.

Commenting on my hair has become a life-threatening event. I think mom actually pulls people aside to warn them now.

I hope one day to awaken and find my hair finally brushing my shoulders. I suspect at this point everyone hopes that.

What have I learned? If it ain't broke, don't fix it. And, most importantly, if they have to shave something, it's too short. That's true for more than hair, by the way.

Behind the Scenes

When I was puppet director for our church puppet team, I added a special performance to our general offerings. If our team was performing for an audience without children, which we did on occasion, we would perform one song twice - the first time as usual and the second without curtains. For those who aren't familiar with puppetry, the curtains hide the puppeteer. We used two sets of curtains, higher in the back for the tall puppeteens and low in the front for the shorter ones. I wonder if I can post one of our videos here. I wonder if I have one of our videos. We were quite something. Hmm.

Without fail, the performance without curtains got the most attention. I chose our "coolest" song - the one with all the puppets, all the signs, all the special effects - the song that people generally loved and talked about afterwards when performed as usual. But seeing the behind-the-scenes of that song brought a whole new understanding to our viewers about puppetry, and hopefully a whole new appreciation for the skill required.

My father was a hobbyist photographer. We have many beautiful pictures of skyscapes he took while on the islands. One picture is of another friend, Don, lying flat on his stomach in a field of grass, camera aimed as sweat pools along his back under the tropical sun. What could Don be going to all that trouble to capture?

Turns out - nothing. We have Don's picture from that time. It is of grass. Not even interesting grass. Now, maybe whatever he was trying to photograph wandered off while he was getting ready, but the two pictures tell very different tales.

I love the SPFX shows from the 80's and the special features of today's dvds that give back story to the movie. I love to know how the monsters work, and the inspiration for the various wardrobes, and how the actors get into character before filming.

I am curious, but not about the kinds of things most people find interesting. I don't care how old your children are, or where you went on vacation (unless it was the moon), or what kind of car you drive. I want to know how FV programming works, or why words mean what they do, or how that guy inside the giant cloth slinky makes it move like that (you've seen the youtube video. I know you have).

TT: Oddly enough, this does not translate into a desire to know how magic tricks work. Yes, I'm weird. Get used to it.

This blog is my behind-the-scenes. Here you will glimpse what goes into that story you hopefully enjoyed so much. Maybe knowing how I struggled to write Elementals will make it more special for you. Maybe knowing my writing process will help you find your own. Maybe just knowing there is someone weirder than you in the world is worth the price of admission.

I have no other reason for writing here, really. If it doesn't work out, I can always go back to puppeteering. I was pretty good.

Horror Novel

I have an idea for a horror novel. It started as a nightmare - a real, honest-to-goodness nightmare where you wake up all sweaty and heart-racing and grab for the nearest dog or cat just to know something alive is nearby.

Once I turned on all the lights and checked the doors, I jotted down some notes. I saw potential.
But the story remains unwritten.

Those who know me will think this is just my normal procrastination kicking in. A little, but not as much as you might think. Fact is, after reading the wonderful book How To Survive a Horror Movie, I got the urge to write a humorous horror novel. I'm pretty sure I could do it, too.

Yet, I hesitate. Why?

My answer may amuse those of my readers who are familiar with my fictional work, but I don't want to put horrible images in people's heads.

Yes, I remember the slaughter of Laos in Star of Justice, and the vermin hunt from Elementals. Those are horrible images. I grin and apologize at the same time. However, a horror novel exists for the sole purpose of exploring horrible things. They aren't addendums or side trails. They're the whole point. I don't know that I want to do that to a reader, even one who picks up the book after seeing the scary cover or reading the ominous title.

TT: Oddly enough, I don't have a title for that story. I just call it "horror."

One image from my nightmare is so awful I get goosebumps thinking about it right now. Shudder. Do I really want to share that with another human being? Would that be okay? Even if it turns funny later? I don't know.

So, the story lurks in my file cabinet like an alien in a service shaft.

I'll let you know when it comes out.

Blah Blah Blah

This blog's one year anniversary is coming up (I don't remember when exactly) so I've been thinking about it a lot, even though I haven't been writing on it so much.

Have you noticed a change in my tone? Those of you who've been with me from the beginning, and I'm happy to say that's most of you, may have. I certainly have.

Ever since I lost my spellcheck, which would be when I added the Amazon linking capability (and, boy, what a great idea that was, she types with sarcasm), I have completely let my writing style hang out. I don't bother to check myself anymore for the most part. I do a quick preview if I have time and then publish away and move on with my life.

Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be with a blog. I recently read a post on Facebook from a link by Grace Bridges of Splashdown Books (now that's a long string of qualifiers) that was making fun of blogs. I hadn't read any blogs prior to starting my own, and I only read the blogs currently listed on my "blogs I follow" list, so even now I don't know much about how they run or what they're supposed to provide the reader. But this particular gentleman was explaining how he didn't blog because he didn't share every stupid feeling he felt or rattle on about the foods he liked or praise or complain about TV shows. Well, I've done all those things on this blog, some of them with some extremely humorous results, if I do say so myself.

That could be a good thing, like I'm doing what bloggers do, or a bad thing, like I'm doing what bloggers do. Anyway, add it to the disheartening realization that I do seem to be typing to read myself type, and it's enough to make me throw away my passwords.

Then I think about The Least Read Blog on the Web, who's been doing this for years without apparently needing anyone to read him, and I have to cock my head and wonder what's wrong with me that I need so much attention? Or perhaps, what's wrong with him that he needs so little?

Anyhoo...for those few faithful readers who do bother to scan this little site, I want you to know this blog is not representative of my fictional writing style. In my fiction, I write in character and the character determines the writing. I apply proper grammar standards, but otherwise, I do very little as I do here. Except for the funny. I manage to be funny, for the most part. My readers tend to laugh in the right places, anyway, and that's enough for me.

I also avoid first person like the plague in my fiction, but it's kind of hard to write my viewpoint from third person. I probably could but...too much work. Yawn.

This blog is my speaking voice, not my writing voice. This blog is a future fan's glimpse into the scary workings of this creative mind, should a fan ever be fanatical enough to care.

Believe me or not. A few of my readers - mom, Elder Brother, My Dear Friend, The Lioness - can attest that these posts are not like my books. Not yet, anyway. I have a few stories up my keyboard that sound more like this, but they are probably years away from being written. Don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it's just a thing.

So, that's my rattle on for today. We'll see what strikes my fancy tomorrow.

And you can be assured the muse is prodding me because I have about 4 other things that really need doing right now. Time to pick one.

Heaven's Lounge Singer

This morning I had the great pleasure of listening to Wade Daniels, currently worship leader of First Southern Baptist Church of Bartlesville, OK. He was passing through our city on his way to a worship leader conference in KC and was gracious enough to stop in and lead our Sunday service.

I have never heard a worship leader like Wade. He originally came from Texas, but he could have come from Vegas. He was as comfortable with a piano as I am with a fork.

At one point, he asked for hymn requests from the congregation. Not only did he recognize every hymn by title, he had them memorized and played them in what I have to call "lounge singer style." They weren't just chords. They were dips, arpeggios, little chirpy notes for In The Garden - it was one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed.

I do not understand music. The writing of songs is as foreign to me as math. I can pluck out a tune on a piano, but I will never play well. Not if I practiced every day for the rest of my life. I don't have it in me.

God created this beautiful world in all its diversity. He gives to each as He sees fit. I'm just glad when one of His own decides to give back that I am there to witness it.

If I don't see Wade again in this life, I know I will be visiting his mansion in heaven. His room will have a piano and possibly some tiki torches, and he'll have to throw me out when it's time for bed.

Thank you, Wade, for using your gift.

A Lousy Vampire

Have you noticed the general state of "enlightenment" in today's vampires? A secular humanistic worldview would posit that, given an eternity to fill, naturally good humans would seek to improve themselves (also seen in the movie Groundhog Day). Since "the new" vampirism has removed the demonic aspects, we are left with extremely long-lived humans, after all, so why not let them be Renaissance undead?

Dracula is the ruler (as in measuring device, not leader) when it comes to vampires, and he did show a certain amount of class. Yes, he was a little behind the times, but he ventured out of his castle when he realized it was stay and perish. Anne Rice's vampires, starting with Louis and Lestat, discovered their vampirism was caused not by a demon but by a spirit that happened to crave blood. It was neither good nor evil, and a man remained what he was before he was infected. Poor Louis. But it did allow vampires who managed to survive more than one human lifetime to adapt and "better themselves."

Nick Knight in Forever Knight, that so-melodramic-but-somehow-hypnotizing-anyway Canadian offering of the 1990's, was 800 years old, spoke multiple languages, played piano and had a hidden fortune of several billion dollars which he used to keep himself in electronic window shades and out of pesky databases. He made excellent use of his immortality, even though he wanted to become mortal again.

We have the vampires of The Kindred, who ran banks and bars and playhouses. They didn't seem to be immortal -just long-lived- but the show only lasted 8 episodes, so who knows? And don't forget Moonlight, another melodramatic, incredibly painful to the ears, short-lived show with vampires who'd been around since Marie Antoinette and the French Revolution. That was the only mildly interesting twist in the whole poorly-written time-waster (yes, I watched every episode).

So, what have we learned by this walk down Hollywood Boulevard? Today's vampires are chic, savvy investors who make excellent use of their endless days by learning a musical instrument and relying on compound interest to line their nest eggs. What you don't see is a vampire on a shrink's couch pouring out his lament about the long, dark teatime of the soul and wondering how many roads must a vampire walk down.

My conclusion? I'd be a lousy vampire. I barely have the motivation to get out of bed some mornings, even on a workday. If given all the time in the world, I wouldn't learn piano or another language. I wouldn't seek to better my eternal self. I'd sit in a recliner and watch QVC until the cable ran out because I forgot to pay the bill.

I would make a great zombie, though. I barely pay attention as it is, and I'm always looking for my next meal. Since I've already determined I'm unlikely to survive a zombie attack, I'll consider this good news.

On a side note, I think of all the Hollywood offerings, Joss Whedon got it closest to what I consider a real vampire - a demon in human form. Demons don't think about the future. Demons don't invest in mutual funds. Demons rip your neck open and drink your blood even if you are the last human on Earth, and they'll starve to death without you. That's what demons do.

So, if we use Joss' vampires, I'd probably do okay because it wouldn't be me trying to fill a potential eternity of laziness. It would be a demon with my memories just moving from meal to meal. But, again, that's pretty much a zombie.

This post is brought to you by a strong determination to procrastinate on beginning revisions of Elementals. I'm making excellent progress so far. Now, where's the remote?

A Family of Talkers

Today is the final day of memorial duties for Grandma Byrd. I am glad. While I appreciate all the food, it is not on my diet and I am suffering from wheat, vinegar and potato overload. Yes, I could just not eat it, but that would be rude. And, while seeing family is good, seeing too much of family can be bad. I am ready for my life to return to some semblance of normal.

When Dad died, there was no semblance of normal. We had to make new normals for everything. I wonder what "normal" without grandma will be like.

Yesterday's memorial service was the funniest I have ever attended. Remember that line from The Addams' Family when Morticia is reminiscing about meeting Gomez at his cousin Balthazar's funeral:  "Your eyes, your mustache, your laugh."

Grandma was a funny lady, and I think she would have liked that her funeral was full of funny stories, heart-felt appreciation and deep respect. I didn't cry until the last song "Abide With Me." I've never heard it. Why was it special to grandma? What meaning did it hold for her? I don't know. I can't ask now.

My cousin Bil...what is the verb?...presided? performed? conducted? the service. He did a fantastic job. This is only the second time I've heard him preach, and the first was at his other grandma's service. If he continues to do well, he may be conducting services for all our family members. I write the obits; he performs the service. What a legacy.

Two family members spoke about grandma, and spoke well. As they talked, exceeding the 3-minute time limit half-heartedly set before the service, I realized we are -with a very few exceptions- a family of talkers.

I remember taking friends home to meet The Fam and having them complain about everyone talking at once. Well, at the Byrd House the only way to be heard was to be louder. If you didn't interrupt, you didn't speak. This is in direct opposition to how it's done in some other homes, I learned. I had one friend whose family spoke together almost like a scene from Pride and Prejudice, waiting for the eldest to pronounce judgment and then chiming in in chronological order. I found it weird.

Grandma rarely talked with me. If I understand yesterday's stories, she was mostly a listener. I tried to be interesting for her in those last years when she was homebound. I tried to tell her about my life and the world outside. I don't know if she heard me. Mom tells me grandma enjoyed it when I was there, 'though I couldn't tell. In the end, I would just sit on the bed while she watched infomercials.

I didn't know my grandma like other people knew my grandma. I shouldn't be surprised by this. I rarely do things like other people.

A Turtle's Thoughts on a Grandmother

People think I was close to Grandmother Byrd. They would be right if they meant physically close. I lived within a mile of her. I drove her and her friends to lunch every Sunday for 7 years (only missed 2 days due to sickness). I resembled her so much I have a picture of her at my age and we could be the same person. Her wedding ring fits my finger as if made for it.

But Grandma was a hard person to be close to - for me, anyway. I can't speak to anyone else's experience. Here is the sum total of what I learned about her over those seven years of Sundays:

She gave advice better than she took it.

She liked sweet and sour shrimp, Applebee's riblets and Taco Bell tacos. She preferred almost anything to rice, but mashed potatoes were her favorite. She liked applesauce, jello fruit salad, and corn.

She didn't like small children or animals, although she pretended to like both, and pretended very well. I'm sure most people were fooled.

She traveled a lot, but she was a homebody at heart.

She hated chit-chat. She would rather read the newspaper aloud than make small talk. She would also hand off the phone to anyone else in the room to make the small talk for her and then ask for the pertinent parts of the conversation after the call was over.

She didn't like to be hugged, except by very specific people on very specific occasions. Most people did not qualify, even when they took the liberty.

She loved coffee and missed it terribly when she had to stop drinking it.

She embarrassed easily but covered well.

She paid children to be cute.

And that's about it. 

She was a very private person, my grandmother. Bless her heart, she tried to open up, but it wasn't her cup of coffee.

I don't know if this post would embarrass her. I've debated whether or not to even post it, but it seems to be part of my healing process. I would hope it would not lead anyone to think less of my grandma.
She was an elegant lady who spent her life serving others, even though I sometimes wonder if she would rather have been left alone to read a book. If that's true, she's an even better person for doing the right thing instead of the selfish thing. And that, I know, is something about her to emulate.

See you on the other side, grandma.

My First Publication

I wish it were a different topic. My family asked me to write it, and it was printed in its entirity in the Topeka-Capitol Journal:

Naomi Kopanger High passed away at McCrite Plaza Retirement Community on July 2, 2010, surrounded by family.

She was born July 12, 1914 in Bloomfield Township, Traill County, North Dakota in the farmhouse her Norweigan immigrant grandfather, Jens A Kopanger, homesteaded in 1871. She was the daughter of Joseph Christian Kopanger and Selma Opheim Kopanger.

Skipping several grades, she graduated from school in Hillsboro, ND in 1931 and from St. John’s Hospital Nursing School in Fargo, ND, in 1935 with her RN degree. She married William L. High in Carson City, NV, on November 23, 1937. She worked as a nurse in hospitals in Fargo, ND, and St. Paul, MN; and as a surgical nurse in Ft. Dodge, IA; Reno, NV; Las Vegas, NV; and Roseburg, OR before moving to Topeka in 1947. She worked in the VA Hospital in Topeka, KS, and worked with iron lung patients during the polio outbreak of the 1950’s. She was a nursing supervisor at Christ’s Hospital and a special nurse at Stormont Vail Hospital before retiring professionally. She remained willing to offer medical opinions for the rest of her life and taught her grandchildren how to make "hospital corners" on beds. An oft-heard quote in her later years was "I'm a tired and retired nurse."
She was a member of Quota Club International and a 60 year member of Eastern Star Loyal Chapter #176. She was also a member of Fairlawn Heights Wesleyan Church. Her true passion was ministering to the families of recovering alcoholics, a 50-year pursuit that continued even to a few weeks before her death.

She is preceded in death by her husband Bill, who died February 3, 1999; her sister Muriel Mast of Reno, NV; her sister Juletta McGuin of Reno, NV; her son-in-law, James I. Tolbert of Topeka, KS; her step-son, William Richard High of Knappa, OR; her step-son, Donald “Donnie” High of Astoria, OR; and an infant grandson, Daniel Joseph High, Jr. of Garden City, KS.

She is survived by a sister, Winifred Jane Kopanger; a son, Daniel High and his wife Deborah of Branson West, MO; two daughters, Sammy High Tolbert Peck and her husband Ed of Tecumseh, KS, and Julie High Thompson and her husband Stanley of Topeka, KS; a step-son, Kenneth High of Orem, UT and his wife Arlynn, a step-daughter-in-law Shirley Romm High of Knappa, OR; 30 grandchildren; 19 step-grandchildren, 11 great-grandchildren, 31 step-great-grandchildren, and countless others who benefitted from her listening ear and wise words.

Donations may be made to Heart of America Hospice or Topeka Rescue Mission.

The irony? Grandma never read any of my stories.

Who Is My Audience?

It is my understanding, the age of the main character determines the age of the reader. Hero's age - 3-5 years = age of audience. That means I wrote Star of Justice for 18-20 year olds. Elementals was written for 10-12 year olds.

Why, then, are the people who enjoy these books the over-50, don't-read-fantasy crowd?

My uncle, who is a bit over the 50 mark, started reading Elementals this weekend. He swears he couldn't put it down and was unwilling to leave town without a CD of the manuscript, even though it's technically a first draft.

On the other hand, I took my dummy notebook to the nieces and was met with dull-eyed stares and raised eyebrows about the size. Doesn't matter that the word count is likely lower than the first Twilight book. They wanted nothing to do with it.

Which leaves me with a quandry. One, how do I get some young readers to give me feedback? I don't, probably. I can't even get them to feed my chickens and that takes about 90 seconds.

Two, how do I market a book about teenagers to adults? I can't change the age of the protagonists. It wouldn't work if they were older. Are the themes too adult? It's basically a coming of age tale, but in a harsh, short-lived society, where children have to grow up fast and young.

The age of my main characters will incline many publishers to see "Young Adult" and reject it out of hand. However, the darkness of the story itself may frighten off traditional Christian publishers, although the secular books my nieces read sound far more objectionable to me. No one is using meth in Elementals.

I suspect the nieces would like it if they would just read it. Maybe if I dedicate it to them, and tell them it's about them. Hmm.

I'm hoping my uncle's infatuation is just that I wrote Elementals as a "fast read." I stepped hard on my natural desire to describe and wrote in broad swathes, sort of a charcoal sketch instead of an acrylic painting. It was not easy. In fact, I imagine it was like galloping a mustang while sawing on the bit. It was so uncomfortable to write, in fact, I've been having trouble picking it up to revise. I know I have to do it, but I'm a little gun-shy.

Anyhoo, I'm left with the trouble of finding a publisher. Again. I may resolve the whole issue by just self-publishing. Then I'd only have to find some writers to help me edit.

Sigh.

Shelled Up

Dealing with some personal issues I don't feel are appropriate for sharing on the blog at this time. See the tortoise? That's me.

My apologies. I hope to be back at the keyboard shortly.

Anthropomorphizing

For my vocabulary-challenged readers (in case I have any, which I don't think I do) that means giving human characteristics to non-human things. I do it a lot. I name printers (mine was Bruce, after the mechanical shark in Jaws). I miss cars when they're sold (not the Pontiac, but it had the unpleasant duty of replacing my beloved Subaru GL-10, Cricket). I keep my toys, even though 40 is closer for me than 30. Ironically, I tend to de-humanize actual humans, but mostly 'cause I think most of them are stupid most of the time.

I watched Toy Story 3 today. Paid $11! Buck fifty of that was for 3-D glasses that, as far as I could tell, did nothing. Maybe it's my own glasses that got in the way. Or maybe it's that I closed my eyes anytime somebody fell from a height. I don't like heights. Whatever. The price means I will no longer be attending movies in the theater. If everything switches to 3D, which seems to be the case, I'm not paying half the price of a DVD to keep my eyes closed or risk motion sickness.

Anyway, walking out of the theater, one of my companions said, "It's not true, you know."
"What isn't true?" another companion asked.
"Toys don't come to life."

Shows what he knows.

Perhaps it isn't true, but any child who has loved a toy the way the little boy loved his Velveteen Rabbit knows Toys Are Real. How could they not be?

My toys were my best friends as a child. I know...Shocking! We went to other planets. They helped me develop story lines I hope one day to write. They were by my side when no humans were to be found.

Driving home from the theater, still wiping away tears as I thought of my beloved stuffed bear Puff, who was saved from landfill disaster by the grace of God, I thought about how toys become real in the imagination of a child. That creative spark placed within us by the Creator plays itself out in our play. Which led to the wondering, are we the toys in God's mind? What creative urge within Him spun us out to weave our story? Praise Him He doesn't lock us in the toy box.

Please don't misunderstand this as a teaching on doctrine. It isn't. It's just a turtle trail, sparked by a movie that made me happy and sad at the same time.

I highly recommend Toy Story 3, but I also highly recommend taking some tissues. If you ever loved a toy, you'll need them.

Troubling

Has anyone else noticed the lack of follow-through in today's young people? I know. I don't have much wiggle room to complain about lack of follow-through, but, conversely, if I've noticed, it must be bad.

In my quest to connect with The Flash, I joined her in Club Penguin a few times years ago. Okay, I liked herding those puffle-things or whatever they're called, but I was trying to have fun with my niece, too. I was playing a game of Mandala with some child somewhere. She started to lose and wandered off. That's right. She just left in the middle of a game. Had she been in the room, she would have gotten an earful. As it was, she logged out and disappeared from that virtual world.
That's when I decided not to play with anyone other than The Flash on Club Penguin anymore.

But I see it in other young people. The impatience, the boredom, the inability to work for gain. It is a problem, and it will cause problems for all of us.

I read an article a few months ago that showed todays' young people, when applying for first time jobs, expect far more benefits and far less work than really happens. They want the two weeks' vacation, fully-funded insurance plan and vested 401K from the start. They seem surprised to find out you have to put in the time and effort to earn all that stuff. It took me 5 years to get two weeks of vacation.

On FV, I've seen younger players "wander off" several times now, wanting the coin and XP but bored with the planting and the waiting, impatient with the fertilizing and publishing rewards. As I've posted before, you have to put in the time to get the XP, and if you want friends, first be a friend.

We've blamed our microwave culture for a lot, and this seems to be one more thing to lay at its altar. There is no accountability in a social networking game (okay, a person can be shunned or bullied virtually, but it's not quite the same as a face-to-face encounter). There is no accountability in a text message. There is no accountability in a TV schedule that drops a show in 4 episodes for not making ratings. Culture teaches children to wander off as soon as things stop "being fun."

I'm going to do a little parent-blaming, too (to be fair, I really have no specific parents in mind. This is a pervasive problem I've noticed in nearly every child I've met). Follow-through must be modeled but it must also be taught. As adults, we tend to shrug when a child wanders off. It's just a game or a show or whatever. No big deal. Except it's a habit that will carry over into things that are big deals.

The old saying "finish what you start" needs to be pulled out of the proverb box and posted on some walls.  I suppose the next generation will bring it back when they have to diaper themselves because their neglectful parent wandered off to find something more interesting to do.

Maybe a better proverb would be "count the cost before you build the house," but that's a whole other post.

Prayer Works

I keep thinking I've posted about this before, but if I have, I can't find it.

Prayer works.

What does that mean? Well, it doesn't mean you hand God your laundry list and walk away. It doesn't mean your life will be easy and materially wealthy (although it could happen). It doesn't mean you'll always get to park right in front of the store you must enter.

Let's back up a step. What is prayer?

Boy, howdy, how many 1000s of books have been written on that question? Even on Jesus' answer to the disciples when they asked, "Lord, teach us to pray." (That answer was the Lord's Prayer, by the way).

I've always thought of prayer as a conversation between me and God. I do a lot of talking, He does a lot of listening, and somewhere in the middle, we get along.

I recently heard a definition of prayer that made a great deal of sense. Prayer is learning to align myself with God's will. When I pray, I deliberately submit to my Lord's authority over me. I allow the Holy Spirit within me to reach out to Father God and Brother Jesus and recalibrate.

(Turtle trail: some may bristle at "brother" Jesus, but the Bible calls us co-heirs with Christ, adopted children of God, and that makes Jesus my brother. Besides, I have such great brothers, it's easy for me to relate to Jesus that way.)

That is a sketchy analogy. I don't mean to imply the Holy Spirit is ever separate from Himself. But the part of Him that indwells me will teach me to be more fully part of God if I let Him - through prayer.

I think of it like that scene from Tron, when Tron has gotten to the I/O tower and contacted Alan I. Tron stands on the platform, his hands and program disc raised, awaiting instructions from his User. Once he receives them, he's off to kick a little Master Control digital tail. Great movie. Ground-breaking, really.

So, when I pray now, I try to be like Tron, confident my instructions will come and praising God in the meanwhile (Only a true Christian geek will nod along with me on this one, but my readers should know by now I learn from many sources, including secular).

I say it again. Prayer works. If you seek God, you will find Him, and He will change you. It won't be easy. It may not be fun (I doubt Tron was happy about his task until it was over). But, in the long run, it will be better than what you're doing now.

Living with Aliens

Herding cats is easy. Just feed them on a schedule. When the food bowls clink at my house, six furry tails come running.

If you've seen any Alien movie, you know how those creepy critters can "appear" out of nowhere. How a seven-foot, shiny black skeleton-thing with a head shaped like a loaf of French bread, sprouting back-tubes and a scorpion tail can look like a chair is beyond belief, but those things do it. My cats have the same gift for camouflage.

I called and called for Simon one day, who was in plain sight but unnoticeable until he stretched. I thought Caleb had somehow managed to get outside, until he yelled at me from the closed kennel where I had accidentally locked him because he'd hidden himself at the very back for a nap. I can't count the number of times I've almost stepped on Mica, who has the "drop-sprawl" move down pat but continues to practice it in high-traffic areas. Toffee watches the world from under the entertainment center or on top of the file cabinet, perfectly at ease in either location. And Skuttle is impossible to find until she wants to be found.

Fortunately, none of my critters have acid for blood, but their various cries, clicks and screeches are enough to drive me out the airlock some days. I'm just glad they haven't realized I'm edible.

The dog, of course, is always easy to find. Seems once I'm out of it, my bed is her bed.

Random Annoyances in Children's Movies

I like movies. I like children's movies. But some children's movies make no sense whatsoever, and those annoy me. Here are a few.

Stuart Little: Why does a human couple adopt a mouse? Why can humans hear that mouse talk, but no other animals? Why is it okay for Stuart to live like a human, but the cat is just a pet? Why is Stuart the only mouse/animal adoption? Why does no one else in the movie think this is weird?

Up: I'm gonna catch flack for this one, and I don't care. I normally love Pixar movies, but this one left me cold. The opening is great, where the old guy grows up and has a life. It rapidly goes downhill after that. How could one person inflate enough balloons to lift an entire house in one night/6 hours, let alone one old man? Even if it's winter, which it isn't, and we give him 12 hours, which we don't, it can't be done. And how is it enough balloons to rip a house from its moorings are not enough balloons to lift the house and the tarp covering them? Plus...a hurricane? Really? Even Qualatex balloons aren't going to withstand that, and they're the best. And just how old is that villain? Ninety? One hundred? Pretty spry, if you ask me. I did like the bird-thing, but I'll never watch the movie again.

Bee Movie: Oh, so many annoyances. Bees don't drive cars. Bees die if they sting you. Almost all bees are female, except for the extremely short-lived drones who only exist to fertilize the queen. Even if all the bees stopped pollinating flowers, it would take a full year to notice the difference, not a few days. I don't mind fantasy movies, far from it, but don't bill your fantasy as real life when it so isn't. And most importantly, don't shove a "green" message into it about saving the planet when you don't even have your facts straight. Actually, that is a perfect example of the environmentalist agenda - no facts, no sense, no point.

Those are three I thought of today. I'm sure I'll find more later.

I Told You So

Why is it when the perfect time to say those words rolls around, there's no point in saying them?
When the predicted doom falls, why rub it in? That person is already suffering, sometimes more than even you imagined possible. Only a real jerk would take the time to say "I told you so" then.

Doesn't mean those words aren't there, circling like vultures over the kill. But a real friend knows to keep her mouth shut at such times and just be there to watch as the mess gets cleaned up.

For the record, I'm not cleaning up the mess. I'm the one who warned about it. I'm a friend, not a saint.

It's very easy to see someone else's impending mistakes. Much harder to see your own.

I recommend, the next time a friend - a real friend - gives you a warning about some decision, you listen very carefully. It might save you both a lot of future heartache.

Experience

Late last night a possible tornado passed over my city. I learned I can get myself and 7 animals into the basement within 5 minutes with no preparation whatsoever. This is good to know. Thanks to the adrenaline rush and the 4 hour nap where my bedtime used to be, I'm a little tired this morning. I hope to go to bed early tonight, but we'll see what God has in mind.

On with the post.

When I began to role play so many, many years ago, I didn't understand the concept of Experience (XP). In games (I think this is true of today's video games, as well), you gain XP whenever you successfully do something. Fight an orc and live, gain XP. Find the treasure, gain XP. Use a spell correctly, gain XP. Gain enough XP and you move up in levels and gain access to better stuff, knowledge and enemies.

The temptation when you are very young is to skip those first levels and jump right to the "good stuff." Why start at 1 where skeletons can hurt you when you can go straight to 20 and blast those puppies into powder with a word?

Well, the simple reason is experience. When you're a new player, there are things you don't know about yourself, about your teammates, about your enemies - about everything, really. Starting at level 1 (which I never did. While I was a newbie, my teammates were veterans, so we tended to start around 15 and they gave me a lot of advice until I wised up) gives you a chance to learn stuff with a chance of survival. Survival is important if you like the character you're playing. If you don't care, then I guess it's okay to die a lot while you learn.

FV is the same way. I have a few neighbors who help tend other neighbors' farms. I've done it myself. But the problem with a higher level player "helping out" a lower level player like that is the lower level player misses out on experience. They won't know how to play if they don't play. Mistakes are as important as success because mistakes teach us to pay attention or suffer.

Life requires XP, too. There's a reason we start out as babies and grow up. If we walked out of the womb fully adult with no XP, aside from the terrible physical consequences to our moms, we would probably get squashed like bugs in the first 24 hours. Learning to survive in the world is all about gaining XP. Some people can get it by watching other people make mistakes. Most people aren't that lucky.

I've been thinking about XP and writing. The sad fact is you have to do this writing stuff to get better at it. You have to write your own stories. You have to study the craft to improve. You have to research the market or research an agent who researches the market. Is it annoying? Um, yeah. Still have to do it. Yes, sometimes somebody falls into success without doing that stuff, but without XP, how well will he handle that success?

Life is a journey, and XP is what we gather on the way. Keep in mind, though, while it's hard to get, it's great once you got it.

Big Announcement

Okay, so I don't post while I'm on vacation, either. This vacation was mostly doing political stuff, though, with a few social engagements thrown in for good measure. I was so busy, my dog didn't realize I was on vacation, poor thing. For that matter, neither did I.

I met a FV neighbor in person (hi, Teresa!), which was lovely. I discovered a new restaurant, which was tasty, but that's not the big news.

The Big Announcement...dum dum dum - New Computer! Woo-hoo! You know I'm loving it, although it's not completely set up yet. My files need to be transferred, and I have to learn to deal with Windows 7, and I can't find my printer software installation disc, but all those things will be resolved eventually. Suffice it to say, I can now play FV in half the time, so I should regain half my life.

And, since the storm awakened me at 3 AM with the announcement that flash flooding may occur in surrounding counties (though not here so I'm not sure why it went off), I'm going to try to get a bit more sleep before church, since today is just as busy as the last two.

See you bright and early Monday morning, God willing and the creek don't rise.

Distracted

It seems when a FV co-op is involved, I don't post on this blog. My apologies. The co-op is over, and I'm back for now.

I was thinking about Doctor Who. Shocking!

In the second season, he's given an immortal potential companion and rejects him as an unnatural, fixed point in time. Perhaps that's because of how he became immortal. But it does imply the writers of today's version of Doctor Who would reject my immortal character Amy. I find that interesting. They must like the tragedy of the Doctor's current existence, like Joss Whedon's inability to let his couples be happy together for more than six episodes before breaking them up or killing them off. Happiness doesn't make for good TV, apparently.

Speaking of happy relationships, one of the reasons I like Friends (there are many) is their treatment of Chandler and Monica's marriage. For a comedy show, that relationship actually exemplified some very good relational skills. We saw them fighting and resolving, facing hard decisions (like moving and infertility) together, and basically showing that a marriage isn't easy but it's worth it.

For the record, most of my problems with the show involve their treatment of casual sex and p*rn (in case the filters won't let me type it) as okay behaviors. They're not. Really, really not.

Let's see, I've hopped from FV co-ops to Doctor Who to Joss Whedon to Friends. Yeah. I'd say I'm distracted, all right.

Oh, look! A chicken!

Wrong Choices

Today's lateness of post is not my fault. I was ready to write at 6 AM, but Blogger was performing some kind of maintenance and wouldn't let me in. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Fact is, I'm thinking for the summer, I'll post during the week and take the weekends off. That's kind of what I've been doing anyway.

Life is full of choices. Will you do this or that? Will you go here or there? Will you eat this dessert or that dessert (and if ever offered a choice between desserts, the correct answer is always "yes, please.")?

I feel like I've been making wrong choices lately. Not "at the end of the world, I'm going to hell" wrong, just "boy I wish I'd chosen the other way" wrong. Spending a day doing one thing when I could have done something else sort of wrong. Planting grapes instead of raspberries kind of wrong, if that even counts. Craving a bologna sandwich but settling for a burrito kind of wrong. Life is too short to settle for a burrito. I can eat both, but I didn't, and I wish I'd had the sandwich.

Perfectionists want all choices to be The Best choice. We agonize over doing just the right thing, even when that thing is as unimportant as choosing a burrito over a sandwich. I'm a recovering perfectionist, but I think I'm back-sliding. When perfectionists back-slide, we tend to do nothing at all for fear of making a wrong choice. So, maybe it's good I'm making wrong choices. At least I'm doing something.

I don't know if it's laziness or apathy or over-the-counter drug use (okay, I know it's not that), but at the end of the day I find myself thinking "I could have done better. Tomorrow, I should do better."
So I'm trying to do better. I'm trying to make some right choices. And I guess if I make some wrong ones, I'll just have to deal with it and move on.

Loss

This winter I watched Calendar Girls with mom. It's based on the true story of Chris and Annie of a small English village who make a "tastefully nude" calendar to raise funds to refurbish the cancer treatment family waiting room in the hospital. The fund raiser is prompted by the death of Annie's husband from leukemia.

One scene in particular got to me. Annie and John are sitting in a truck, staring out over a meadow as they try to talk through the elephant in the cab, namely his approaching death. Annie climbs into his lap and clutches at him.

All the longing of every living thing to hold onto that which leaves is in that few seconds of film. You know that were it possible, Annie would make John stay just through the force of her love. But it isn't possible, and it makes the rest of the movie (and her life) different.

In the comic book Elfquest, book 12, I think, Cutter has been mortally wounded. By the time his wife Leetah the healer is able to reach him, he's at death's door. His tribe, suffering their own wounds from the battle with trolls, gathers outside the small room as one more battle is fought to keep their chief with them in flesh as well as spirit. Nightfall and Redlance are huddled together, praying to their ancestors as Nightfall says, "Leetah, if love alone can give you strength, add all of mine to yours."

When Rose and the Doctor are separated that last time, you just know if it were possible, one of them would rip the universe apart if it would help.

Loss is a powerful motivator. It should change everything for the one who experiences it.

And, not caring for loss myself, I thought of a solution for Rose and The Doctor. She is in a parallel universe. Is it too much to hope it has its own Doctor with his own TARDIS and his own fascination with protecting Earth? I think it's possible.

Gotta have my happy ending.

It Starts

Perhaps I should say, it's starting. Remember that scene in Alien when John Hurt shines his flashlight on the egg and the face-hugger inside twitches? Creepy? Yes. You know something is inside that shell. You don't know what it is. You don't know if you're gonna like what happens next. But there it is, twitching at you, and you have to deal with it.

I am not saying an alien is getting ready to burst from my chest and attach itself to your face (yes, I skipped some steps there for dramatic effect). Although, maybe I am saying that.

After all, I write odd things. I don't always know what's about to come out when I sit at the keyboard. At times, it has felt as though something slimy and acidic just spit up onto my desktop.

What I do know is with the advent of warmer weather, mosquitoes and the approaching election season (where I will have no time at all to write), I'm beginning to get inspired. The strength of my inspiration is directly proportional to how little time I have to write it down.

This is okay. I've been here before, and I know I can write good things at such times. I also know my friends and family will not be interacting with me as it happens. They may try, bless them, but my focus will be elsewhere, on some far off world where dragons and fauns work together or some far off time when psychics track down missing robots.

So get the interaction in now, folks. I will soon be unavailable for comment.

I Don't Do Holidays, Either

I do try, but holidays have very little meaning for me, which is odd, because they seem to mean something to the rest of my family.

I find holidays exhausting and generally uncomfortable. I'm forced to be around people I may see only once or twice a year or decade (yes, for most folks this is the up-side, but we introverts prefer the company of extremely close friends. Anything else is simply an awkward social situation). I am forced to work - setting tables, clearing tables, cooking larger quantities of food than usual for me, cleaning up wrapping paper or whatever flotsam happens to remain. Filling glasses with ice - don't get me started. I despise no other task more than putting ice in glasses. I don't even use ice. Why should I put it in someone else's glass? I'm learning to cope, but it is not easy. I am forced to do things I wouldn't normally do, like watch sports. In short, holidays are not about me, and therefore, I don't tend to like them.

I am learning I have an extremely narrow focus (yes, not news to you). I do not see the bigger picture. I see what is right in front of me. During holidays, what is right in front of me is work and inconvenience.

I also have trouble with group celebrating. Take Memorial Day, for example. How many people even bother to think about our military boys and girls at any other time? Shouldn't they? One day isn't enough to honor their sacrifice.

I remember my first youth conference. I watched my friends get so excited and make pledges and vows and two weeks later, they didn't seem to remember any of it. Silly.

However, I seem to be in the minority. Most people love a parade, and a party, and a reason to grill (as if you need a reason to grill). So, carry on, happy millions. I'll sit against the wall and wait for tomorrow's clean up to begin.

P.S. Upon review, this post seems a bit harsh and possibly unflattering to me and mine. I should say, for the introvert, being with people drains energy. Even if I like the people I see only on holidays, what I really need is an extra day of vacation to recover, which I seldom get. Hence, the general dislike of holidays.

And that's all I have to say about that.