I love these things. I love to talk about myself, and this is a socially acceptable way to do it without being accused of overt arrogance. I tagged a few folks my as-yet-breakfast-deprived brain thought of, but my apologies if I missed you. Feel free to copy and paste to your Notes. Just tag me, OK?
1. What time did you get up this morning?
4:25
2. How do you like your steak?
Medium rare but I prefer turkey
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema
That really stupid new vampire movie based on a comic book and sort of old West meets Eastern Catholic? My not remembering the name shows my utter contempt for it.
4. What is your favorite TV show?
Stopped watching TV when NBC cancelled their newest Christian Slater/Madsen Amichek series after two episodes. Rot in the third ring of Hades, NBC execs! You don't own me anymore!
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Kansas, but with a reinforced basement tornado shelter. Gotta get me one of those.
6. What did you have for breakfast?
Haven't decided yet. I went to the store last night and I have SO MANY CHOICES! Maybe a little of everything.
7. What is your favorite cuisine?
Chinese food, with American ingredients but Chinese techniques.
8. What foods do you dislike?
Things that make me bloat.
9. Favorite Restaurant?
Taco Bell
10. Favorite dressing
Raspberry Vinaigrette
11. What kind of vehicle do you drive?
Suzuki Grand Vitara. I pretend it's a Subaru Outback.
12. What are your favorite clothes?
Anything that hangs without pinching. Bras are not on this list.
13. Where would you visit if you had the chance?
Hershey PA before they moved the factory to Mexico. But I'm not going to Mexico just to smell chocolate-scented air.
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
1/2 empty
15. Where would you want to retire.
Don't plan to retire but Arizona's dry heat sounds better every year as the arthritis encroaches.
16. Favorite time of day?
"any time it's quiet." Hear, hear, Caprice!
17. Where were you born?
Topeka KS
18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
Gymnastics. Those people are crazy.
19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
Rachel. She's too busy being Wendy in Peter Pan.
20. Person you expect to tag you back first
Good question.
21. who are you most curious about responses?
Julia.
22. Bird watcher?
More of a listener. I stop for sounds and don't start again until I find the source. Rather annoying, actually.
23. Do you consider yourself attractive?
Absolutely! You're reading this, aren't you? I rest my case.
24. Pets?
So, so many.
25. Any new and exciting news that you'd like to share?
shhhhhh. Not yet.
26. What did you want to be when you were little?
a dog.
27. What is your best childhood memory?
My cat Sugar riding on top of the car because she was so mad at my mom for yelling at me. We stopped the car, Sugar got in and nuzzled my face until I got to school.
28. Are you a cat or dog person?
I'm guessing "cat," although I claim to like both.
29. Are you married?
No. I do wear a wedding ring but it was my grandmother's.
30. Always wear your seat belt?
Yes
31. Been in a car accident?
Several. I was driving for only one and my car stalled while turning left. Could have been killed (my car was aluminum) but the other driver had good reflexes and I'm pretty sure an angel stepped between us.
32. Any pet peeves?
So, so many. Oh wait, pet PEEVES?
33. Favorite pizza topping?
Not allowed to eat pizza anymore, but when I did it was hamburger.
34. Favorite Flower?
Buttercups. Duh. Actually, I love smelly flowers: marigolds, roses, peonies, hyacinth.
35. Favorite ice cream?
Peppermint.
36. Favorite fast food?
Taco Bell 5 layer beefy burrito. I shouldn't eat them, but, oh, how I love them.
37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
I don't remember failing, although I remembering thinking "I should have failed. Why didn't I fail? I don't want to drive!"
38. From whom did you get your last email?
Newsmax. chuckle.
39. In which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
Make Dave Ramsey proud. Say "no" to credit.
40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
I hope not.
41. Like your job?
I really do.
42. What was your favorite vacation?
Summers at my relatives' cabin in the Ozarks, before it got all commercial.
43. Last person you went out to eat with?
my brothers and their women. hmm. That could be a book title.
44. What are you listening to right now?
American Family Radio. Nicole Spawnberg, I think.
45. What is your favorite color?
Cobalt Blue
46. How many tattoos do you have?
none. Scared of needles. And pain. And bloating.
47. Coffee drinker?
I hate coffee, but I've learned to appreciate a white chocolate mocha latte with a shot of cinnamon. It tastes almost nothing like coffee.
48. How many children do you have?
No human children.
49. Pick one super power... what would it be??
Telekinesis, hands-down. HA!
50. Do you return shopping carts at the grocery store?
Every Single Time. Lazy creatures, do you not know GOD is watching?
51. Signature Drink?
Water with lemon.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Normalizing
My knees are killing me.
I'm not allowed to talk about them. Mom once threatened to cut them off if I brought them up again. Seems Dad had bad knees, too, and she's just tired of hearing about it. Must be the weight of the turtle shell. Hard to carry around the troubles of the world and keep your knees healthy.
The return of humor indicates (I hope) a return of some much needed emotional balance. My diabolical plan to give my troubles back to God seems to be working. I'm glad He's willing to take them.
I don't have much to say this morning. Mostly I wanted my dear readers to know I'm alive and well (eggs that rattle when you shake them are not edible, FYI) and moving forward.
I'm nearly done with Nor Iron Bars a Cage by Caprice Hokstad. I'll have to post reviews here and on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I'm just glad she has book three in the works. I do like the world of Byntar.
I need to write reviews for Fred Warren's The Muse and Odd Little Miracles, too. And the Iguana's Winter. That's been my reading so far this year. I also need to edit Elementals based on all the wonderful feedback from my crit partners. It's past time to write a blurb while I'm at it. Can't believe I don't have one yet. That's supposed to be the first thing you write. And I've decided to get those author headshots out of the way while I have mostly decent hair. Who knows when some mad barber may attack me in the night, shear my beautiful locks and plunge me back into the pit of hair despair?
Man, that's a lot to do. Maybe I'll just go back to bed. If I stop blogging now, I could get an hour.
Later.
I'm not allowed to talk about them. Mom once threatened to cut them off if I brought them up again. Seems Dad had bad knees, too, and she's just tired of hearing about it. Must be the weight of the turtle shell. Hard to carry around the troubles of the world and keep your knees healthy.
The return of humor indicates (I hope) a return of some much needed emotional balance. My diabolical plan to give my troubles back to God seems to be working. I'm glad He's willing to take them.
I don't have much to say this morning. Mostly I wanted my dear readers to know I'm alive and well (eggs that rattle when you shake them are not edible, FYI) and moving forward.
I'm nearly done with Nor Iron Bars a Cage by Caprice Hokstad. I'll have to post reviews here and on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I'm just glad she has book three in the works. I do like the world of Byntar.
I need to write reviews for Fred Warren's The Muse and Odd Little Miracles, too. And the Iguana's Winter. That's been my reading so far this year. I also need to edit Elementals based on all the wonderful feedback from my crit partners. It's past time to write a blurb while I'm at it. Can't believe I don't have one yet. That's supposed to be the first thing you write. And I've decided to get those author headshots out of the way while I have mostly decent hair. Who knows when some mad barber may attack me in the night, shear my beautiful locks and plunge me back into the pit of hair despair?
Man, that's a lot to do. Maybe I'll just go back to bed. If I stop blogging now, I could get an hour.
Later.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
That's It
I'm calling it. 2011 is officially my Worst Year Ever.
Definitely worse than the Adjustment Disorder of 1996. That only lasted three months, although I did consider suicide at the lowest point.
Probably worse than the Nervous Breakdown of 1998. I can't be entirely sure of that since I spent the first half of the breakdown sobbing uncontrollably while awake and the second half in a St. John's Wort induced euphoric stupor.
OK, it could be a tie.
But, if I declare this my official Worst Year Ever, I at least have the satisfaction of knowing the pressure is off, and I can enjoy all the little tortures I'm otherwise trying to ignore.
For example, severe 20 minute crying jags can count as aerobic exercise. I'm certainly getting more out of them than the Health Walker. Plus, like engaging in reverse peristalsis, after each bout I get anywhere from 10 to 40 minutes of complete calm. That's a real plus.
This could be that mid-life crisis I've feared has arrived two decades too early. Or it could be some kind of once a decade emotional catharsis. A turtle version of Pon Farr, if you will, except instead of getting laid, I get emotionally screwed for a year or so. That's not so bad if I get 9 good years to balance.
The worst part? I honestly don't have anything to complain about. For all intents and purposes, my life is pretty great. Which is why I don't get why I'm not happy about it.
I just have to accept, for the moment, if I'm not miserable, I'm not happy.
I can live with that.
Definitely worse than the Adjustment Disorder of 1996. That only lasted three months, although I did consider suicide at the lowest point.
Probably worse than the Nervous Breakdown of 1998. I can't be entirely sure of that since I spent the first half of the breakdown sobbing uncontrollably while awake and the second half in a St. John's Wort induced euphoric stupor.
OK, it could be a tie.
But, if I declare this my official Worst Year Ever, I at least have the satisfaction of knowing the pressure is off, and I can enjoy all the little tortures I'm otherwise trying to ignore.
For example, severe 20 minute crying jags can count as aerobic exercise. I'm certainly getting more out of them than the Health Walker. Plus, like engaging in reverse peristalsis, after each bout I get anywhere from 10 to 40 minutes of complete calm. That's a real plus.
This could be that mid-life crisis I've feared has arrived two decades too early. Or it could be some kind of once a decade emotional catharsis. A turtle version of Pon Farr, if you will, except instead of getting laid, I get emotionally screwed for a year or so. That's not so bad if I get 9 good years to balance.
The worst part? I honestly don't have anything to complain about. For all intents and purposes, my life is pretty great. Which is why I don't get why I'm not happy about it.
I just have to accept, for the moment, if I'm not miserable, I'm not happy.
I can live with that.
Monday, July 4, 2011
A Call to Prayer
I could have blogged about how much I hate fireworks, but I went in a slightly more constructive direction over at
For the record, I hate fireworks A LOT.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Edit Like the Wind
Since Vaulter reminded me how much I love my firstborn, Star of Justice, I've been locked into edit-land. Don't know why. Not like I'm submitting it anywhere at the moment. Doesn't matter. It's just nice to remember why I started writing in the first place.
Vaulter's done but I'm only halfway, so I have a lot of work to do before the end of the month.
Most of the edits have been itty bitty adjustments like removing "said" and replacing it with a beat of action. Jeff the Publisher recommended that a long time ago. I started doing it during the MLS contest, but I've missed a few spots.
I've also gotten rid of a bunch of "telling." Passive voice descriptions of this, that and the other. Stuff you're smart enough to figure out or completely unnecessary to plot.
Not that I'm overly concerned with plot in this one. This is one of many books planned for this world. Word count also doesn't bother me. I refuse to cut 66K words just to make it fit the 100K "first book" publication category. Decided that a long time ago, and I'm sticking to it. Doesn't mean I won't cut out words that don't pull their weight, but I'm not cutting chapters just because. I like my chapters.
Sound a bit diva-ish, don't I? Well, when you're my publisher, we'll talk.
If the power stays on and the tornadoes stay out of it, I should be done with this pass-through by the weekend. Tell Cilla to be patient, dear Vaulter. Turtle's working on it.
After that, I'm thinking it's time to pull Justice for All out of the file cabinet. I've missed my little band of ruffians. Maybe they've missed me, too.
Vaulter's done but I'm only halfway, so I have a lot of work to do before the end of the month.
Most of the edits have been itty bitty adjustments like removing "said" and replacing it with a beat of action. Jeff the Publisher recommended that a long time ago. I started doing it during the MLS contest, but I've missed a few spots.
I've also gotten rid of a bunch of "telling." Passive voice descriptions of this, that and the other. Stuff you're smart enough to figure out or completely unnecessary to plot.
Not that I'm overly concerned with plot in this one. This is one of many books planned for this world. Word count also doesn't bother me. I refuse to cut 66K words just to make it fit the 100K "first book" publication category. Decided that a long time ago, and I'm sticking to it. Doesn't mean I won't cut out words that don't pull their weight, but I'm not cutting chapters just because. I like my chapters.
Sound a bit diva-ish, don't I? Well, when you're my publisher, we'll talk.
If the power stays on and the tornadoes stay out of it, I should be done with this pass-through by the weekend. Tell Cilla to be patient, dear Vaulter. Turtle's working on it.
After that, I'm thinking it's time to pull Justice for All out of the file cabinet. I've missed my little band of ruffians. Maybe they've missed me, too.
Lessons for Life
I would have posted this yesterday, but I lost power around 6 AM, and by the time I got it back, I'd forgotten about everything else. Could be a life lesson.
Find out over at
Find out over at
Friday, June 24, 2011
Tip of the Iceberg
Days of clear, beautiful weather forced me to see my fear of storms as the tip of the iceberg.
For several months, most of this year, actually, stress has built in my life.
Job stress. Self-imposed self-improvement stress. Political and economic stress. Dying cat stress (a dying cat who was well enough to snatch half a chicken breast off my plate and resist my efforts to pry it from her needle-sharp teeth. No fallout I've detected from that little adventure, praise the Lord. One of us now eats lunch in the bathroom, and I'm not telling which one).
Those are the bad stresses.
I've found good stresses, too. New family member stress. Writing and critiquing stress (you're in the good list, Vaulter, never fear and don't stop!). Reading stress. I like the changes, but they require adjustments and that takes its toll, too.
As I've knelt before God, giving Him my fear of storms, I'm finding all these other fears and stresses crowding to take its place. One by one I'm giving those to God, too, because the vast majority of them are as out of my control as the weather.
I'm also reducing those stresses as best I can, one stress at a time.
It's like I've been sunburned. Where normally I could walk outside without trouble, for the moment, any light or warmth hurts my skin. Only my skin is my psyche and the sunlight is the world.
I'm limiting exposure. Easy on the nightly news and its multiple tragedies (just the weather, please *grin*). Earlier bedtimes until I catch up on the sleep I've missed. Exercising daily to use up that adrenaline. One extracurricular task a night, either critiquing or reading or writing, but not all three and not any if something else is planned, like family time.
And prayer. Kneeling before God every day, at least once a day, reciting my "You take it; I can't" list. Because I can't take it. I'm done with worrying. God will have to be in control.
Memorizing scripture. I'm halfway through Psalm 91, which I learned yesterday is called "the warrior's psalm." That one follows me into sleep at night.
The surprising thing is how this snuck up me. Since my nervous breakdown all those years ago, I'm pretty sensitive to these kinds of emotional pitfalls. In the past, I've spotted them way before they got this bad.
Well, I'm not going to worry about it. God can take this mystery, too.
For several months, most of this year, actually, stress has built in my life.
Job stress. Self-imposed self-improvement stress. Political and economic stress. Dying cat stress (a dying cat who was well enough to snatch half a chicken breast off my plate and resist my efforts to pry it from her needle-sharp teeth. No fallout I've detected from that little adventure, praise the Lord. One of us now eats lunch in the bathroom, and I'm not telling which one).
Those are the bad stresses.
I've found good stresses, too. New family member stress. Writing and critiquing stress (you're in the good list, Vaulter, never fear and don't stop!). Reading stress. I like the changes, but they require adjustments and that takes its toll, too.
As I've knelt before God, giving Him my fear of storms, I'm finding all these other fears and stresses crowding to take its place. One by one I'm giving those to God, too, because the vast majority of them are as out of my control as the weather.
I'm also reducing those stresses as best I can, one stress at a time.
It's like I've been sunburned. Where normally I could walk outside without trouble, for the moment, any light or warmth hurts my skin. Only my skin is my psyche and the sunlight is the world.
I'm limiting exposure. Easy on the nightly news and its multiple tragedies (just the weather, please *grin*). Earlier bedtimes until I catch up on the sleep I've missed. Exercising daily to use up that adrenaline. One extracurricular task a night, either critiquing or reading or writing, but not all three and not any if something else is planned, like family time.
And prayer. Kneeling before God every day, at least once a day, reciting my "You take it; I can't" list. Because I can't take it. I'm done with worrying. God will have to be in control.
Memorizing scripture. I'm halfway through Psalm 91, which I learned yesterday is called "the warrior's psalm." That one follows me into sleep at night.
The surprising thing is how this snuck up me. Since my nervous breakdown all those years ago, I'm pretty sensitive to these kinds of emotional pitfalls. In the past, I've spotted them way before they got this bad.
Well, I'm not going to worry about it. God can take this mystery, too.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Adrenaline
Funny thing, adrenaline. As a chemical, it's pretty neutral. It's whole purpose is to prepare your body to do something - run or fight. It shuts down your brain, your stomach, everything but the muscles you'll need to accomplish one of those two goals.
Some people enjoy the rush of adrenaline. Thanks to roller coasters, bungee jumping, para-sailing, whatever, they've learned to associate that flood with pleasure.
I never learned that. I don't ride roller coasters. I don't drive fast or enter houses with possible burglaries in process (OK, once, but I vowed never to do it again). For me, two sips into a caffeinated drink have me wondering if I need a doctor and some Valium.
Part of my journey away from phobias is dealing with adrenaline. No person can pump adrenaline all the time. It burns out your body and your brain, like pressing "turbo" and holding it down.
I think I've been pumping adrenaline too long. At least three weeks, near as I can figure. I'm getting rushes at weird times, when literally nothing is happening, and no storm is forecast for a solid 48 hours.
I don't like it. Hard to type with shaking hands. Hard to eat lunch when your stomach clamps up and says "no admittance."
What to do?
Well, the exercise thing seems the best solution. If my body says "run or fight," I suppose I should run or fight. That will use up the adrenaline, I hope. The bonus is it gets me in better shape to run or fight if I have to do those things for real at some point.
I'm trying to look at this as a "win-win."
One side-effect is a new sympathy for those in real harm's way. Firefighters. Police officers. Our deployed military men and women. I'm getting a little, tiny glimpse of what it's like to live daily with an impending sense of doom. God be with them all. And their families. We're not designed to endure that kind of stress constantly.
Yesterday on Family Talk, Dr. Dobson interviewed the Monetti's, a military family who wrote the book Called to Serve for military families. The wife, Penny, talked about her obsessive behaviors when her husband first deployed. I heard my story and some tips to help. The biggest tip is to give it ("it" being my problem of the moment) to God daily. It has to be daily.
And that's what I'm trying to do. The AA "I am powerless against..." is my new mantra, followed by "It's yours, Lord. I can't do it. You'll have to."
He is. Thank you for your faithfulness, God. It is my shield and rampart.
Some people enjoy the rush of adrenaline. Thanks to roller coasters, bungee jumping, para-sailing, whatever, they've learned to associate that flood with pleasure.
I never learned that. I don't ride roller coasters. I don't drive fast or enter houses with possible burglaries in process (OK, once, but I vowed never to do it again). For me, two sips into a caffeinated drink have me wondering if I need a doctor and some Valium.
Part of my journey away from phobias is dealing with adrenaline. No person can pump adrenaline all the time. It burns out your body and your brain, like pressing "turbo" and holding it down.
I think I've been pumping adrenaline too long. At least three weeks, near as I can figure. I'm getting rushes at weird times, when literally nothing is happening, and no storm is forecast for a solid 48 hours.
I don't like it. Hard to type with shaking hands. Hard to eat lunch when your stomach clamps up and says "no admittance."
What to do?
Well, the exercise thing seems the best solution. If my body says "run or fight," I suppose I should run or fight. That will use up the adrenaline, I hope. The bonus is it gets me in better shape to run or fight if I have to do those things for real at some point.
I'm trying to look at this as a "win-win."
One side-effect is a new sympathy for those in real harm's way. Firefighters. Police officers. Our deployed military men and women. I'm getting a little, tiny glimpse of what it's like to live daily with an impending sense of doom. God be with them all. And their families. We're not designed to endure that kind of stress constantly.
Yesterday on Family Talk, Dr. Dobson interviewed the Monetti's, a military family who wrote the book Called to Serve for military families. The wife, Penny, talked about her obsessive behaviors when her husband first deployed. I heard my story and some tips to help. The biggest tip is to give it ("it" being my problem of the moment) to God daily. It has to be daily.
And that's what I'm trying to do. The AA "I am powerless against..." is my new mantra, followed by "It's yours, Lord. I can't do it. You'll have to."
He is. Thank you for your faithfulness, God. It is my shield and rampart.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Ah, Sleep
I must have slept last night because the alarm surprised me.
Sleeping is good. I need sleep. I wish I could sleep all day long today, but I can't. At least I'm not working off one hour like yesterday.
I'm "feeling" better, which makes me wonder if the threat of exercise really is enough to make my brain stop sending panic attacks. This will be useful to remember should I get published.
I'm not cured. Based on past experience with severe emotional trauma, I'll take longer than a day or two to recover, but I am better. God and I talk every day, sometimes constantly, it seems. My friends and family continue to pray.
I've reduced my weather-related searches to just the news in the morning and the evening (unless we're in an active spurt of weather where something is happening right then that I should probably know about). Part of obsessive thinking is obsessive behavior. That stops here. It's not helping and I can control it.
One of the things I remember from Steve Leavitt's talk is when a panic attack starts, rather than fight it, you ride it out. Like the "fear is the mind-killer" mantra from Dune. "I will face my fear. I will allow it to pass through me. When the fear is gone, only I will remain."
It's also like surfing, but I'm a nerd so I have to go for the sci-fi over the sport reference.
I also realized I need to remember the fun in my life. I got so freaked out I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't play Farmville. These are the fun parts of my life. How can I live past the irrational fear if I don't combat it with fun?
That all sounds great, but in the midst of irrational fear, it's hard to make yourself care about breeding pigs. I just couldn't. Too bad, really. I missed the father's day special where all babies got the dad's pattern. I'll get over it.
Even as I write, with a beautiful day ahead and no threat of bad weather (at the moment), my stomach is twinging a bit. That's how I know it's irrational fear.
Thanks for the prayers and the support, my dear readers. God is bringing me through this. I'll be praying for you, as well, that He covers you with His feathers so you may rest under His wings.
Sleeping is good. I need sleep. I wish I could sleep all day long today, but I can't. At least I'm not working off one hour like yesterday.
I'm "feeling" better, which makes me wonder if the threat of exercise really is enough to make my brain stop sending panic attacks. This will be useful to remember should I get published.
I'm not cured. Based on past experience with severe emotional trauma, I'll take longer than a day or two to recover, but I am better. God and I talk every day, sometimes constantly, it seems. My friends and family continue to pray.
I've reduced my weather-related searches to just the news in the morning and the evening (unless we're in an active spurt of weather where something is happening right then that I should probably know about). Part of obsessive thinking is obsessive behavior. That stops here. It's not helping and I can control it.
One of the things I remember from Steve Leavitt's talk is when a panic attack starts, rather than fight it, you ride it out. Like the "fear is the mind-killer" mantra from Dune. "I will face my fear. I will allow it to pass through me. When the fear is gone, only I will remain."
It's also like surfing, but I'm a nerd so I have to go for the sci-fi over the sport reference.
I also realized I need to remember the fun in my life. I got so freaked out I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't play Farmville. These are the fun parts of my life. How can I live past the irrational fear if I don't combat it with fun?
That all sounds great, but in the midst of irrational fear, it's hard to make yourself care about breeding pigs. I just couldn't. Too bad, really. I missed the father's day special where all babies got the dad's pattern. I'll get over it.
Even as I write, with a beautiful day ahead and no threat of bad weather (at the moment), my stomach is twinging a bit. That's how I know it's irrational fear.
Thanks for the prayers and the support, my dear readers. God is bringing me through this. I'll be praying for you, as well, that He covers you with His feathers so you may rest under His wings.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
No Time
"There never seems to be enough time to do the things that you want to do once you find them."
I don't know who originally sang that song, but in my brain, the voice is Roger Whittaker.
It always comes down to time, doesn't it?
When I wrote Star of Justice, I had no friends. OK, I had one, but she was sporadic in her attentions. No Facebook. No 2-3 hour phone calls from all over the States. No blogs. No Farmville.
In short, nothing but me and the computer.
Well, I had church, but I'm ashamed to admit attendance took a back seat to writing on more than one occasion. I just couldn't spare the time. I had a book and it needed out right now!
My life is fuller than it was. Friends call. Facebook beckons. Family needs attention, and I'm happy to give it.
But it can really take a bite of my writing time.
All of which means, I love you, but if I don't answer, I'm writing. Hopefully, you'll forgive me when the book comes out.
I don't know who originally sang that song, but in my brain, the voice is Roger Whittaker.
It always comes down to time, doesn't it?
When I wrote Star of Justice, I had no friends. OK, I had one, but she was sporadic in her attentions. No Facebook. No 2-3 hour phone calls from all over the States. No blogs. No Farmville.
In short, nothing but me and the computer.
Well, I had church, but I'm ashamed to admit attendance took a back seat to writing on more than one occasion. I just couldn't spare the time. I had a book and it needed out right now!
My life is fuller than it was. Friends call. Facebook beckons. Family needs attention, and I'm happy to give it.
But it can really take a bite of my writing time.
All of which means, I love you, but if I don't answer, I'm writing. Hopefully, you'll forgive me when the book comes out.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
So Much Fun
Vaulter pestered me into giving her Star of Justice to read.
For the record, I'm not withholding the mss out of fear. I've had about 8 non-writers read it and give constructive criticism on plot. I could use a few writers to do the same.
I hate to ask people to read it because it's enormous. Last time I counted, 166K enormous. That's a lot of words to read for busy people with other, smaller, technically more pressing projects on their laptops.
For whatever reason, Vaulter took up the gauntlet on her own whim. She's been sending chapters ever since.
Which reminds me, her new second name is Shredder.
Anyway, I'd forgotten how much I love Star of Justice. There's a fond place in my heart when I think of it, but I haven't really looked at it in a while.
It still makes me smile, and laugh, and cry. I love the people. I love the problems. I can't believe this is my first book. Elementals may have more polish and read faster and reach a different audience, but Star of Justice is my first born, and I love it.
It's not perfect, as Vaulter's red comments will attest, but it's not hopeless.
Even better, I'm reminded how much fun writing can be. When I'm not writing Past Ties, that is. It may be time to set Past Ties aside and start (or finish) something else. Something fun.
Perhaps the Star of Justice sequel.
Willy Wonka may have the right of it.
"You can't go back. You've gotta go forward to go back. Better to press on."
For the record, I'm not withholding the mss out of fear. I've had about 8 non-writers read it and give constructive criticism on plot. I could use a few writers to do the same.
I hate to ask people to read it because it's enormous. Last time I counted, 166K enormous. That's a lot of words to read for busy people with other, smaller, technically more pressing projects on their laptops.
For whatever reason, Vaulter took up the gauntlet on her own whim. She's been sending chapters ever since.
Which reminds me, her new second name is Shredder.
Anyway, I'd forgotten how much I love Star of Justice. There's a fond place in my heart when I think of it, but I haven't really looked at it in a while.
It still makes me smile, and laugh, and cry. I love the people. I love the problems. I can't believe this is my first book. Elementals may have more polish and read faster and reach a different audience, but Star of Justice is my first born, and I love it.
It's not perfect, as Vaulter's red comments will attest, but it's not hopeless.
Even better, I'm reminded how much fun writing can be. When I'm not writing Past Ties, that is. It may be time to set Past Ties aside and start (or finish) something else. Something fun.
Perhaps the Star of Justice sequel.
Willy Wonka may have the right of it.
"You can't go back. You've gotta go forward to go back. Better to press on."
Monday, June 13, 2011
The Art of Witness, or A Huge Can of Worms
Kat Heckenbach got me thinking last week. How about you?
Let me know at The New Authors' Fellowship.
Elder Brother, the comment I referenced happened on Kat's post Christian Fishbowl. I knew I wrote it; I forgot where.
Let me know at The New Authors' Fellowship.
Elder Brother, the comment I referenced happened on Kat's post Christian Fishbowl. I knew I wrote it; I forgot where.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Split Personality
I added the "personality" for you, Kat, lest you thought this post was about sundaes. *evil grin*
While wandering the blog world this morning, noticing the many and varied aspects of the writing world, once again I am struck by how much there is to know.
Writing is a business as well as an art.
TT: Those business books I'm reading say everything is a business, but what do they know? Spoil sports.
A savvy writer is supposed to know trends, competition, price points, contract laws - all kinds of stuff. Enough stuff for a full time job and a half.
Not saying I'm a savvy writer. Far from it. In fact, I have a day job.
How do people split themselves into all these spheres of interest? I started with three blogs about my top three interests at the time: writing, politics and Farmville (those are listed in order of creation, not order of importance, hehe!) I quickly learned I don't have the mental energy to devote myself fully to all three interests all the time.
As I seek to improve myself with all this business reading, I'm trying to be more "present" at work. That's exhausting! No wonder I avoided it for so long. So, I'm wearing myself out during the day to come home and pour more energy into other things.
TT: Part of me thinks this is what people call "growing up." No wonder I've avoided that, too.
I've tried to balance the amount of time spent on each things each day, but that just doesn't work. I end up with 30 minute segments and no real attention given during that time.
I'm not willing to give up my interests. They are important to me and I'm not built to be only one thing, unless it's hungry.
I'm wondering if the key is cycles. The energy level remains the same, but the focus may shift depending on the needs of the moment or the future. Writing fantasy? Political blogging will have to wait a bit. Election cycle? No outside reading. New Farmville feature? Oh, yeah, everything else stops.
TT: Mostly kidding there. Farmville is like eating to me. I just do it and move on.
I'm gonna have to find a way to make it work. Like everything else in my life, "slow and steady" may play a part. Plant the crop, reap the harvest. Read one thing a day, gain the knowledge. Pay attention now and benefit later.
If this works, I deserve a sundae. A turtle sundae.
While wandering the blog world this morning, noticing the many and varied aspects of the writing world, once again I am struck by how much there is to know.
Writing is a business as well as an art.
TT: Those business books I'm reading say everything is a business, but what do they know? Spoil sports.
A savvy writer is supposed to know trends, competition, price points, contract laws - all kinds of stuff. Enough stuff for a full time job and a half.
Not saying I'm a savvy writer. Far from it. In fact, I have a day job.
How do people split themselves into all these spheres of interest? I started with three blogs about my top three interests at the time: writing, politics and Farmville (those are listed in order of creation, not order of importance, hehe!) I quickly learned I don't have the mental energy to devote myself fully to all three interests all the time.
As I seek to improve myself with all this business reading, I'm trying to be more "present" at work. That's exhausting! No wonder I avoided it for so long. So, I'm wearing myself out during the day to come home and pour more energy into other things.
TT: Part of me thinks this is what people call "growing up." No wonder I've avoided that, too.
I've tried to balance the amount of time spent on each things each day, but that just doesn't work. I end up with 30 minute segments and no real attention given during that time.
I'm not willing to give up my interests. They are important to me and I'm not built to be only one thing, unless it's hungry.
I'm wondering if the key is cycles. The energy level remains the same, but the focus may shift depending on the needs of the moment or the future. Writing fantasy? Political blogging will have to wait a bit. Election cycle? No outside reading. New Farmville feature? Oh, yeah, everything else stops.
TT: Mostly kidding there. Farmville is like eating to me. I just do it and move on.
I'm gonna have to find a way to make it work. Like everything else in my life, "slow and steady" may play a part. Plant the crop, reap the harvest. Read one thing a day, gain the knowledge. Pay attention now and benefit later.
If this works, I deserve a sundae. A turtle sundae.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Snickers
We'll try this post again.
Last week, a female co-worker asked where I got my pants.
First reply "no idea."
This happens to me quite a lot, actually, the not knowing where my clothes come from. I shop so rarely, you'd think I'd be able to name each piece and the date, but no. I inherit clothes the same way I inherit furniture.
After thinking a moment, I said, "They might have been grandma's."
At which point, I heard a snicker from another office.
He's allowed a snicker or two. It's a ridiculous thing to say. How many near 40 year olds would admit to wearing the clothes of a woman over twice her age?
Well, you have to understand a few things.
One, Grandma Byrd and I were almost exactly the same shape. In her younger days, she was one inch taller than me, but otherwise, we were identical. I have pictures of her at my age wearing dresses I now have and have worn and we could be the same person. It's a bit scary. Although osteoporosis twisted her up near the end, she never gained a great deal of weight. Her clothing sizes remained the same.
Two, Grandma Byrd wore separates, like me. She preferred slacks and a shirt to a dress. She also wore funny socks. I suspect I'll pick that up eventually.
Three, Grandma Byrd was far more stylish than I will ever be. To wear her clothes is a serious step up for my wardrobe. I tend toward bohemian - lots of crochet, loose shirts and long, baggy skirts with Sketchers. I generally prefer comfort to anything else. It's not like I have to look at me.
TT: Mom continually threatens to turn me in to What Not To Wear, but it would be useless because a) I know how to dress better, I just don't, and b) you'd have to drug me unconscious to get me on a plane and I'd spend the next week throwing up during shoots anyway, so what's the point?
Therefore, my co-worker can snicker all he likes, but I'll go on wearing grandma's clothes and look better for the change. You can ask mom.
Last week, a female co-worker asked where I got my pants.
First reply "no idea."
This happens to me quite a lot, actually, the not knowing where my clothes come from. I shop so rarely, you'd think I'd be able to name each piece and the date, but no. I inherit clothes the same way I inherit furniture.
After thinking a moment, I said, "They might have been grandma's."
At which point, I heard a snicker from another office.
He's allowed a snicker or two. It's a ridiculous thing to say. How many near 40 year olds would admit to wearing the clothes of a woman over twice her age?
Well, you have to understand a few things.
One, Grandma Byrd and I were almost exactly the same shape. In her younger days, she was one inch taller than me, but otherwise, we were identical. I have pictures of her at my age wearing dresses I now have and have worn and we could be the same person. It's a bit scary. Although osteoporosis twisted her up near the end, she never gained a great deal of weight. Her clothing sizes remained the same.
Two, Grandma Byrd wore separates, like me. She preferred slacks and a shirt to a dress. She also wore funny socks. I suspect I'll pick that up eventually.
Three, Grandma Byrd was far more stylish than I will ever be. To wear her clothes is a serious step up for my wardrobe. I tend toward bohemian - lots of crochet, loose shirts and long, baggy skirts with Sketchers. I generally prefer comfort to anything else. It's not like I have to look at me.
TT: Mom continually threatens to turn me in to What Not To Wear, but it would be useless because a) I know how to dress better, I just don't, and b) you'd have to drug me unconscious to get me on a plane and I'd spend the next week throwing up during shoots anyway, so what's the point?
Therefore, my co-worker can snicker all he likes, but I'll go on wearing grandma's clothes and look better for the change. You can ask mom.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Two Sides
Grace Bridges posted a link this morning about publishing backwards.
I find no fault with the logic. My problem is it puts writing firmly into the "business" category and appears to leave out the "inspiration" part. It could be seen as chasing trends instead of creating your own.
I must tread carefully, lest I be misunderstood.
There is wisdom in finding out what the market wants before putting in the work. Professional writers do this all the time. They send out the query before they ever write a word. Saves time and for the professional, time is money. I'm not knocking it.
But what if my goal is simply to write something, or to write something potentially controversial or unpopular or just plain odd?
We'll take the tired-from-overuse example of J.K. Rowling. Market research wouldn't have helped her. Trying to build a fan base from the back of her station wagon while writing a book on leftover restaurant napkins would have been a serious waste of time. But Harry was what she had and she did her best with him. Her best turned out pretty good.
I don't intend to be the next Rowling. God forbid, in fact. Talk about out of control. But I do want to write stories I like, and those may not be the best bets market-wise.
I have the luxury of not needing to sell to survive. My next meal is not dependent on my next royalty check or advance, thank you, LORD. To put it in Dave Ramsey terms, at the moment I have a hobby, not a job. I prefer it that way. Publishing is good, but writing must be better. Otherwise, my focus gets all skewed.
As I told Grace, the blog author's main point seems to be get busy or get out.
That point I can support completely.
I find no fault with the logic. My problem is it puts writing firmly into the "business" category and appears to leave out the "inspiration" part. It could be seen as chasing trends instead of creating your own.
I must tread carefully, lest I be misunderstood.
There is wisdom in finding out what the market wants before putting in the work. Professional writers do this all the time. They send out the query before they ever write a word. Saves time and for the professional, time is money. I'm not knocking it.
But what if my goal is simply to write something, or to write something potentially controversial or unpopular or just plain odd?
We'll take the tired-from-overuse example of J.K. Rowling. Market research wouldn't have helped her. Trying to build a fan base from the back of her station wagon while writing a book on leftover restaurant napkins would have been a serious waste of time. But Harry was what she had and she did her best with him. Her best turned out pretty good.
I don't intend to be the next Rowling. God forbid, in fact. Talk about out of control. But I do want to write stories I like, and those may not be the best bets market-wise.
I have the luxury of not needing to sell to survive. My next meal is not dependent on my next royalty check or advance, thank you, LORD. To put it in Dave Ramsey terms, at the moment I have a hobby, not a job. I prefer it that way. Publishing is good, but writing must be better. Otherwise, my focus gets all skewed.
As I told Grace, the blog author's main point seems to be get busy or get out.
That point I can support completely.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
Viewpoint
I'm writing along last night and bam! Roadblock. End of chapter.
Now what? I've been comfortably settled in Gavran's head for a while. Feels natural. Do I stay there or jump to Shah, my psyonic? Readers might enjoy her empathic perspective.
"Who tells the story?" It may be the first decision a writer makes, right after "What story do I tell?"
In Star of Justice, all views are Caissa's, except for a tiny bit with Merritt at the end. In Elementals, four people share storytelling duty, and I forced myself to add Spidraax for balance. I mean, Cahnar got some head time, why not the other guy?
I've written from four viewpoints so far in Past Ties, with the likelihood of an additional two or three.
Why does this matter?
First, viewpoint determines what information gets shared. If that character doesn't know it, the reader doesn't, either. This leads to the question "Does any character have information that must be shared or cannot be shared yet?"
Second, some viewpoints are more fun to write. This is entirely dependent on what the author perceives as fun, but I have noticed a resistance when I try to write as certain characters. I'm guessing this happens to other writers, too.
Of course, each character has a unique perspective. Some have special ways to process the world, like the psyonic Shah whose talent allows her to see past and future snippets of people's lives. That must be considered when deciding who tells what best.
Some readers don't like multiple viewpoints. I don't mind them, as long as the reason for switching is sound and obvious. On the other hand, I prefer getting to know one or two characters deeply rather than ten on a surface level. That's smacking of a short story or anthology and those annoy me.
I don't know that I have a reason to switch at the moment, so I'll try staying in Gavran's head. I can always rewrite later.
I hope this book is worth all the trouble, but I fear the only lesson I will take from it is when to quit.
Now what? I've been comfortably settled in Gavran's head for a while. Feels natural. Do I stay there or jump to Shah, my psyonic? Readers might enjoy her empathic perspective.
"Who tells the story?" It may be the first decision a writer makes, right after "What story do I tell?"
In Star of Justice, all views are Caissa's, except for a tiny bit with Merritt at the end. In Elementals, four people share storytelling duty, and I forced myself to add Spidraax for balance. I mean, Cahnar got some head time, why not the other guy?
I've written from four viewpoints so far in Past Ties, with the likelihood of an additional two or three.
Why does this matter?
First, viewpoint determines what information gets shared. If that character doesn't know it, the reader doesn't, either. This leads to the question "Does any character have information that must be shared or cannot be shared yet?"
Second, some viewpoints are more fun to write. This is entirely dependent on what the author perceives as fun, but I have noticed a resistance when I try to write as certain characters. I'm guessing this happens to other writers, too.
Of course, each character has a unique perspective. Some have special ways to process the world, like the psyonic Shah whose talent allows her to see past and future snippets of people's lives. That must be considered when deciding who tells what best.
Some readers don't like multiple viewpoints. I don't mind them, as long as the reason for switching is sound and obvious. On the other hand, I prefer getting to know one or two characters deeply rather than ten on a surface level. That's smacking of a short story or anthology and those annoy me.
I don't know that I have a reason to switch at the moment, so I'll try staying in Gavran's head. I can always rewrite later.
I hope this book is worth all the trouble, but I fear the only lesson I will take from it is when to quit.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Special Kind of Crazy
Those who know me know I have an inordinate fondness for cats. This leads to the occasional stupid decision (like owning six at once). For the record, six is too many and I will not own six cats at the same time ever again, so help me, God.
Mica, my oldest, has a chronic digestive problem. She eats the wrong stuff and bad things happen, things that cause starvation and dehydration rapidly in a cat whose max weight in the three years I've owned her was five and a half pounds.
The problem is worsening. I knew it would. It's chronic. It can't be cured, only controlled. For a while. Want to know how?
With pills. Three a day, if I remember correctly. Pills which more than double the cost of Mica's monthly upkeep. So, I can give a resistant cat three expensive pills a day to help her keep food down, even though I know from past experience the stress of taking the pills will cause her to eat her own hair and throw up food that costs four times what I feed the dog who outweighs her 10 times, or I can do nothing and let her die.
This is where the crazy comes in. My head knows she's dying. I can't stop that. Any additional course of treatment will mean pain and anger for both of us, and, frankly, only possibly delay the inevitable.
But my heart wants to do anything to save her, because, pain in the ear that she is, I love her. When she's happy, she's infectiously happy. When she's not...well, she could have been a momma.
One of my favorite movies is The Three Lives of Thomasina. It's a Disney movie about a Scottish cat. Go figure. In one scene, the vet and the "witch" are tending a wounded badger. The vet announces, "It's a bad wound. Kinder to put it out of its misery." "And wonderful to give him his life," the "witch" responds.
I wish I could give life. I wish I had the power to heal with a touch and an act of will, like Leetah from Elfquest. But I don't. So I wait and give Mica what time and love I can, without pills.
I read a poem on one of those memorial stones recently that said it perfectly:
"If love could have held you, you never would have gone."
She's not going today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but one day soon, we'll say good-bye here and not meet again until I take my own Long Step.
Crazy as it sounds, I will miss her.
Mica, my oldest, has a chronic digestive problem. She eats the wrong stuff and bad things happen, things that cause starvation and dehydration rapidly in a cat whose max weight in the three years I've owned her was five and a half pounds.
The problem is worsening. I knew it would. It's chronic. It can't be cured, only controlled. For a while. Want to know how?
With pills. Three a day, if I remember correctly. Pills which more than double the cost of Mica's monthly upkeep. So, I can give a resistant cat three expensive pills a day to help her keep food down, even though I know from past experience the stress of taking the pills will cause her to eat her own hair and throw up food that costs four times what I feed the dog who outweighs her 10 times, or I can do nothing and let her die.
This is where the crazy comes in. My head knows she's dying. I can't stop that. Any additional course of treatment will mean pain and anger for both of us, and, frankly, only possibly delay the inevitable.
But my heart wants to do anything to save her, because, pain in the ear that she is, I love her. When she's happy, she's infectiously happy. When she's not...well, she could have been a momma.
One of my favorite movies is The Three Lives of Thomasina. It's a Disney movie about a Scottish cat. Go figure. In one scene, the vet and the "witch" are tending a wounded badger. The vet announces, "It's a bad wound. Kinder to put it out of its misery." "And wonderful to give him his life," the "witch" responds.
I wish I could give life. I wish I had the power to heal with a touch and an act of will, like Leetah from Elfquest. But I don't. So I wait and give Mica what time and love I can, without pills.
I read a poem on one of those memorial stones recently that said it perfectly:
"If love could have held you, you never would have gone."
She's not going today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but one day soon, we'll say good-bye here and not meet again until I take my own Long Step.
Crazy as it sounds, I will miss her.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Distracted
I meant to write something this morning. Can't remember what.
Oh, yes, I can. Something about wearing my grandmother's clothes.
But I got distracted into commenting. First, by Vaulter's patriotic, blood-boiling post over at The New Authors' Fellowship, then by Mike Delosso, who continues to puzzle over the strong reactions he gets from killing dogs in his novels.
TT: I wrote a post about him a few weeks ago, although I don't think I mentioned him by name.
Might as well. He seems comfortable using animal-killing as a means of demonstrating the nature of his villains. That is one way to do it. If not for that, I would probably read his books. They seem to have a paranormal bent to them and I like that kind of story. His most recent book, Darkness Falls (I think), got a bad review because a dog died and upset the reviewer. I'm with ya, dear, whoever you are.
I suppose it's nice to let other bloggers know they're being read and understood. Left me without a lot of time for my own blogging, though. Oh well.
Maybe I'll talk about grandma tomorrow. My title would be "Snickers."
Hey, I wrote on Past Ties last night for about an hour. Possibly total dreck, but it felt good. We'll see if I can keep it up.
Oh, yes, I can. Something about wearing my grandmother's clothes.
But I got distracted into commenting. First, by Vaulter's patriotic, blood-boiling post over at The New Authors' Fellowship, then by Mike Delosso, who continues to puzzle over the strong reactions he gets from killing dogs in his novels.
TT: I wrote a post about him a few weeks ago, although I don't think I mentioned him by name.
Might as well. He seems comfortable using animal-killing as a means of demonstrating the nature of his villains. That is one way to do it. If not for that, I would probably read his books. They seem to have a paranormal bent to them and I like that kind of story. His most recent book, Darkness Falls (I think), got a bad review because a dog died and upset the reviewer. I'm with ya, dear, whoever you are.
I suppose it's nice to let other bloggers know they're being read and understood. Left me without a lot of time for my own blogging, though. Oh well.
Maybe I'll talk about grandma tomorrow. My title would be "Snickers."
Hey, I wrote on Past Ties last night for about an hour. Possibly total dreck, but it felt good. We'll see if I can keep it up.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Good-bye, May
This has not been my best month. Feels like I've vacillated between hiding in the proverbial (occasionally literal) basement and drooling at Bubble Spinner. Those may be the same thing.
It needs to stop.
Maybe the world is ending, but if it isn't, I don't want to waste a bunch of time expecting it to. It's like saving for retirement. Yes, it's better to start early, but the point is often just to start. Let compound interest work its magic for however long you have. You may end up with more than you think.
I talk big, but we'll have to see how well I apply. I'm a fretter, after all. Aggressive chewer and such. It's hard for me not to notice the house burning down around me.
First change: no more Bubble Spinner. Or Spider Solitaire, for that matter. I can't afford the time and I can't afford the loss of brain cells. I'll take this one day at a time. Should I approach the keyboard for anything frivolous, I will slap my hand and go do something else. Like exercise.
That should stop me.
TT: You're wondering about FV, aren't you? Oddly enough, FV is not my problem. My max time wasted there most days is an hour. I spend way more time brain dead in Mindjolt.
Second change: resume writing. I've been dancing around my mss all month, nibbling at it here and there but not really taking that serious bite. If I'm going to write Past Ties, it's time to just do it. June should be warm, quiet and lonely (as all my friends are off on vacations and whatnot) - a perfect combination to get serious if I can. If I can't, I'm scrapping Past Ties and choosing something else. Maybe a sequel. Anything to remind myself I'm serious about writing books. It's not like I don't have 10 other ideas sitting in my file cabinet awaiting my attention.
June is my "get busy living or get busy dying" month. I've got the dying part down. I need to remember how to live.
It needs to stop.
Maybe the world is ending, but if it isn't, I don't want to waste a bunch of time expecting it to. It's like saving for retirement. Yes, it's better to start early, but the point is often just to start. Let compound interest work its magic for however long you have. You may end up with more than you think.
I talk big, but we'll have to see how well I apply. I'm a fretter, after all. Aggressive chewer and such. It's hard for me not to notice the house burning down around me.
First change: no more Bubble Spinner. Or Spider Solitaire, for that matter. I can't afford the time and I can't afford the loss of brain cells. I'll take this one day at a time. Should I approach the keyboard for anything frivolous, I will slap my hand and go do something else. Like exercise.
That should stop me.
TT: You're wondering about FV, aren't you? Oddly enough, FV is not my problem. My max time wasted there most days is an hour. I spend way more time brain dead in Mindjolt.
Second change: resume writing. I've been dancing around my mss all month, nibbling at it here and there but not really taking that serious bite. If I'm going to write Past Ties, it's time to just do it. June should be warm, quiet and lonely (as all my friends are off on vacations and whatnot) - a perfect combination to get serious if I can. If I can't, I'm scrapping Past Ties and choosing something else. Maybe a sequel. Anything to remind myself I'm serious about writing books. It's not like I don't have 10 other ideas sitting in my file cabinet awaiting my attention.
June is my "get busy living or get busy dying" month. I've got the dying part down. I need to remember how to live.
Friday, May 27, 2011
The Weekend
It's almost here.
Weekends are hard for me lately. I love being able to sleep whenever I want, but I feel aimless and sad sometimes.
I'm sure the world has something to do with it. I'm one of those kooks who believes Jesus will return in my lifetime. Not last Saturday, obviously, but the Bible seems pretty clear that one of these days, Jesus will come back (I'm also one of those kooks who believes the Bible is accurate and reliable both as a historical resource and a prophetic utterance. I know. Really weird).
Anyway, as I look around, trying to "see the signs" as Jesus tells us in Matthew 24 and Mark 14, I wonder just how much longer any of us will be here. Being a naturally melancholy and apathetic personality, I wrongly go to the "what's any of it matter, then?" side of the argument and go back to bed.
Douglas Adams would be proud.
What I should do is grab my Bible and walk the neighborhood telling people about the saving grace of Jesus Christ. But I'm just not that kooky yet. Besides, I hate being stared at.
Numerous times in the last year, I've muttered to God, "I don't want to see the end of the world." I'm reminded of that scene between Frodo and Gandalf in The Fellowship of the Ring. You know the one.
"I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened," says Frodo.
"So do all who live to see such times," says Gandalf, "but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is left to you."
That is the decision. It's really the only decision I ever have.
Teach me to count the days, Lord, and to make the days count.
Weekends are hard for me lately. I love being able to sleep whenever I want, but I feel aimless and sad sometimes.
I'm sure the world has something to do with it. I'm one of those kooks who believes Jesus will return in my lifetime. Not last Saturday, obviously, but the Bible seems pretty clear that one of these days, Jesus will come back (I'm also one of those kooks who believes the Bible is accurate and reliable both as a historical resource and a prophetic utterance. I know. Really weird).
Anyway, as I look around, trying to "see the signs" as Jesus tells us in Matthew 24 and Mark 14, I wonder just how much longer any of us will be here. Being a naturally melancholy and apathetic personality, I wrongly go to the "what's any of it matter, then?" side of the argument and go back to bed.
Douglas Adams would be proud.
What I should do is grab my Bible and walk the neighborhood telling people about the saving grace of Jesus Christ. But I'm just not that kooky yet. Besides, I hate being stared at.
Numerous times in the last year, I've muttered to God, "I don't want to see the end of the world." I'm reminded of that scene between Frodo and Gandalf in The Fellowship of the Ring. You know the one.
"I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened," says Frodo.
"So do all who live to see such times," says Gandalf, "but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is left to you."
That is the decision. It's really the only decision I ever have.
Teach me to count the days, Lord, and to make the days count.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Aggressive Chewer
Recent events have me ranting over at Old-Fashioned Thoughts. If you're up for a good political rant with a hint of sarcasm, feel free to stop by. I'll warn you, I make Rush Limbaugh look sane.
I'm hoping for a quiet weekend, in all meanings of the word. Perhaps grilling with Elder Brother and WGR (hint, hint), some yard work, hanging with friends. I might go crazy and install that ceiling fan that's been sitting in my basement for 7 years.
TT: The only reason I haven't done it yet is I'm not entirely sure how to anchor it properly. I'd hate to have it fall on one of the cats in the middle of the night. For so many reasons, I would hate that.
Otherwise, electrical stuff is mostly matching colors. And turning OFF the electricity before you start.
I'm hoping to write, too. Writing has been sadly lacking in my schedule.
I'm the unfortunate soul who cannot concentrate on more than one thing at a time. This last month has been all about "things other than writing," like tornadoes, a President who supports Palestine over Israel publicly and adjusting to a new family member.
Um, one of those things is much more fun than the other two, but still technically "stressful."
Wondering about my post title yet? Here's the explanation.
I wear a mouthpiece at night because I grind my teeth. During one of my check-ups, my orthodontist made an off-hand comment about "aggressive chewers." I could tell he immediately regretted the comment when he looked at my mouthpiece. See, it takes a lot of effort for a turtle to maintain this calm, collected facade. Effort that gets channeled into biting things while she's asleep. Yet another reason I'm not married.
For anyone else who suffers neck pain, back pain and mouth pain after waking, I highly recommend talking to an orthodontist. That bit was expensive but it's worth every penny. I've set money aside for a new one when I finally bite through this one.
If life doesn't calm down, I'll be needing it soon.
I'm hoping for a quiet weekend, in all meanings of the word. Perhaps grilling with Elder Brother and WGR (hint, hint), some yard work, hanging with friends. I might go crazy and install that ceiling fan that's been sitting in my basement for 7 years.
TT: The only reason I haven't done it yet is I'm not entirely sure how to anchor it properly. I'd hate to have it fall on one of the cats in the middle of the night. For so many reasons, I would hate that.
Otherwise, electrical stuff is mostly matching colors. And turning OFF the electricity before you start.
I'm hoping to write, too. Writing has been sadly lacking in my schedule.
I'm the unfortunate soul who cannot concentrate on more than one thing at a time. This last month has been all about "things other than writing," like tornadoes, a President who supports Palestine over Israel publicly and adjusting to a new family member.
Um, one of those things is much more fun than the other two, but still technically "stressful."
Wondering about my post title yet? Here's the explanation.
I wear a mouthpiece at night because I grind my teeth. During one of my check-ups, my orthodontist made an off-hand comment about "aggressive chewers." I could tell he immediately regretted the comment when he looked at my mouthpiece. See, it takes a lot of effort for a turtle to maintain this calm, collected facade. Effort that gets channeled into biting things while she's asleep. Yet another reason I'm not married.
For anyone else who suffers neck pain, back pain and mouth pain after waking, I highly recommend talking to an orthodontist. That bit was expensive but it's worth every penny. I've set money aside for a new one when I finally bite through this one.
If life doesn't calm down, I'll be needing it soon.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
A Word of Thanks
Since our weatherman won't say it, I will. Thank you, Lord, for protecting Kansas during yesterday's storm outbreak. I appreciate the pass.
Thank you, Lord, for limiting the damage in other states. That's hard to imagine, but I know things can always be worse than they are. Thank you for the lives that were spared, and thank you for the miracles we will discover as the days move one.
Thank you, Lord, for the outpouring of compassion on the victims. Thank you for moving your people to render aid and speak your words of love and healing. Grant them strength in the days ahead as the extent of loss becomes more real. Shower us all with your mercy and compassion.
Thank you, Lord, for raising up real leaders in our time of need. I'm not always sure who they are, but these kinds of events give them a chance to show themselves. Thank you for bringing good out of evil.
In case I haven't mentioned it lately, Lord, you rock! Thank you for being Yourself.
Thank you, Lord, for providing friends who demonstrate your love and compassion. Thank you for putting them in my life to support me. Help me to support right back.
Most importantly, thank you for putting up with my lack of faith. Thank you for treating me with compassion instead of the destruction I deserve. Thank you for showing mercy instead of judgment. Help me to follow your example, today and for the rest of my life, however long You want that to be.
Blessed be the name of the Lord!
Thank you, Lord, for limiting the damage in other states. That's hard to imagine, but I know things can always be worse than they are. Thank you for the lives that were spared, and thank you for the miracles we will discover as the days move one.
Thank you, Lord, for the outpouring of compassion on the victims. Thank you for moving your people to render aid and speak your words of love and healing. Grant them strength in the days ahead as the extent of loss becomes more real. Shower us all with your mercy and compassion.
Thank you, Lord, for raising up real leaders in our time of need. I'm not always sure who they are, but these kinds of events give them a chance to show themselves. Thank you for bringing good out of evil.
In case I haven't mentioned it lately, Lord, you rock! Thank you for being Yourself.
Thank you, Lord, for providing friends who demonstrate your love and compassion. Thank you for putting them in my life to support me. Help me to support right back.
Most importantly, thank you for putting up with my lack of faith. Thank you for treating me with compassion instead of the destruction I deserve. Thank you for showing mercy instead of judgment. Help me to follow your example, today and for the rest of my life, however long You want that to be.
Blessed be the name of the Lord!
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Gratitude
This spring has seen some record-breaking severe weather. Numerous cities across the country have been devastated by tornadoes, fires and floods. Hundreds of people are dead because of natural disasters in the US alone.
I personally believe our nation is under judgment, by which I mean God has lifted His protecting hand because we keep pushing it off. I don't blame God for creating disasters. I thank Him for lessening them.
I wish the rest of the world would start thanking Him. I'm very tired of hearing "luck" get all the gratitude when a storm misses a town by a mile or two. Or when the only part of a house still standing "happens" to be the closet where the family was sheltered.
Do you really believe luck saves people? I don't. God saves people.
Please thank Him for such miracles. Out loud. Where other people can hear you. Our country needs a good reminding dose of Who our very present help in times of trouble is.
His name is God, and He is good. Maybe when we resume acknowledging that, He'll feel welcome to restore protection for our nation.
I don't give us much of a chance without Him.
I personally believe our nation is under judgment, by which I mean God has lifted His protecting hand because we keep pushing it off. I don't blame God for creating disasters. I thank Him for lessening them.
I wish the rest of the world would start thanking Him. I'm very tired of hearing "luck" get all the gratitude when a storm misses a town by a mile or two. Or when the only part of a house still standing "happens" to be the closet where the family was sheltered.
Do you really believe luck saves people? I don't. God saves people.
Please thank Him for such miracles. Out loud. Where other people can hear you. Our country needs a good reminding dose of Who our very present help in times of trouble is.
His name is God, and He is good. Maybe when we resume acknowledging that, He'll feel welcome to restore protection for our nation.
I don't give us much of a chance without Him.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
God Bless Israel
Seems them's fighting words.
I want God to bless Israel. I want peace in Israel.
I do not want peace at any price.
Stand firm, Israel. God Himself is on your side.
If we have half a brain, so are we.
May God bless Israel and keep her and give her peace. May God grant wisdom to her leaders. May God protect His people Israel. May He be glorified in His actions toward them.
God bless Israel.
I want God to bless Israel. I want peace in Israel.
I do not want peace at any price.
Stand firm, Israel. God Himself is on your side.
If we have half a brain, so are we.
May God bless Israel and keep her and give her peace. May God grant wisdom to her leaders. May God protect His people Israel. May He be glorified in His actions toward them.
God bless Israel.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Weird Dreams
All kinds of weird dreams this week.
I don't remember most of last night, but it involved dismemberment and it was bad enough I woke myself up to change the dream channel. Lucid dreaming comes in handy. I'm such a control freak I won't let my own subconscious run amok. What hope do the cats have?
Is it the moon? Spring? Politicians?
Don't know. Should probably put a notebook on the nightstand, just in case.
I don't remember most of last night, but it involved dismemberment and it was bad enough I woke myself up to change the dream channel. Lucid dreaming comes in handy. I'm such a control freak I won't let my own subconscious run amok. What hope do the cats have?
Is it the moon? Spring? Politicians?
Don't know. Should probably put a notebook on the nightstand, just in case.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Sheer Lunacy
I have to stop assuming curled up, sleeping Mica of 9 PM will be curled up, sleeping Mica at 2:30 AM. It just doesn't happen.
This morning, she pulled me out of a tasty dream about a buffet line filled with wonderful food combinations like chili and chocolate syrup. After sleep-escorting the cat to her basement quarters, I lost my beautiful buffet line and finished the night dreaming I was a geriatric werewolf killing the occupants of a hunting lodge while battling rheumatism.
I did notice a full moon last night.
This morning, she pulled me out of a tasty dream about a buffet line filled with wonderful food combinations like chili and chocolate syrup. After sleep-escorting the cat to her basement quarters, I lost my beautiful buffet line and finished the night dreaming I was a geriatric werewolf killing the occupants of a hunting lodge while battling rheumatism.
I did notice a full moon last night.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Freewill Slavery
Yep, The Duke's Handmaid continues to haunt me. Read about the newest permutation at
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Dead Animals
One of the new "blogs I follow" posed a question yesterday: why do people get upset when animals die in books? His books, specifically.
Since he claims to kill an animal in almost every book he writes, obviously it doesn't bother him a bit.
TT: Does make me wonder why he feels it's important to kill an animal in every book...
Judging by the nasty emails he gets, it bothers his readers. He seems genuinely puzzled as to why.
In college, a youth minister in training came to me one day shaking his head over a teen in one of his groups who was upset because a hamster died (or something equally "small"). He couldn't understand getting upset over a hamster. He obviously thought the whole situation a bit amusing.
I assured him it was not.
"You're going to deal with a lot of situations in ministry where people hurt because of things you find silly. The pain is real, whatever the cause. Don't treat the problem; treat the pain."
TT: My course of study was therapy.
I hope he listened.
For this puzzled author of animal demise, it doesn't matter that killing animals doesn't matter to him. What matters is how many readers will stop reading his books (and possibly warn off others) because of it.
My head agrees that dead humans should be more important than dead animals. My heart cares more about the animals. It isn't rational. It's emotional. Pull that heart string for little or no reason and you will trigger the unintended consequence of revoking all trust I have for you. If I don't trust you, I won't read your stuff.
I've promised my readers before, and I say it again: I do not kill animals in my books. If it has a name, or you've connected with it in some deliberate manner during the course of the story, it will not die. Not permanently, anyway. I might play on transformations or resurrections or, oh, all kinds of things, but it won't die senselessly or just to prove the situation is serious. Animals are not Red Shirts to me.
Maybe this turns off some potential readers. I'm totally okay with that.
I've sent a score of my real beloved companions on The Long Step. Every time ripped out a piece of my soul and sent it to the other side. Some pieces are bigger than others, but none of them will ever heal in this life. I won't do that to my readers, not even with fictional animals. I can't.
And I can't read it when someone else does it.
Since he claims to kill an animal in almost every book he writes, obviously it doesn't bother him a bit.
TT: Does make me wonder why he feels it's important to kill an animal in every book...
Judging by the nasty emails he gets, it bothers his readers. He seems genuinely puzzled as to why.
In college, a youth minister in training came to me one day shaking his head over a teen in one of his groups who was upset because a hamster died (or something equally "small"). He couldn't understand getting upset over a hamster. He obviously thought the whole situation a bit amusing.
I assured him it was not.
"You're going to deal with a lot of situations in ministry where people hurt because of things you find silly. The pain is real, whatever the cause. Don't treat the problem; treat the pain."
TT: My course of study was therapy.
I hope he listened.
For this puzzled author of animal demise, it doesn't matter that killing animals doesn't matter to him. What matters is how many readers will stop reading his books (and possibly warn off others) because of it.
My head agrees that dead humans should be more important than dead animals. My heart cares more about the animals. It isn't rational. It's emotional. Pull that heart string for little or no reason and you will trigger the unintended consequence of revoking all trust I have for you. If I don't trust you, I won't read your stuff.
I've promised my readers before, and I say it again: I do not kill animals in my books. If it has a name, or you've connected with it in some deliberate manner during the course of the story, it will not die. Not permanently, anyway. I might play on transformations or resurrections or, oh, all kinds of things, but it won't die senselessly or just to prove the situation is serious. Animals are not Red Shirts to me.
Maybe this turns off some potential readers. I'm totally okay with that.
I've sent a score of my real beloved companions on The Long Step. Every time ripped out a piece of my soul and sent it to the other side. Some pieces are bigger than others, but none of them will ever heal in this life. I won't do that to my readers, not even with fictional animals. I can't.
And I can't read it when someone else does it.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Displaced
Have you ever been alone in someone else's house? Not just while they go to the car to get groceries, but good and alone, where there is no hope they'll walk in the front door or call?
TT: I suppose if you're a thief, the answer is "yes."
Those who read Monday's NAF post know I watched the nieces last week. I stayed at their house because it was easier.
Weird thing happened. Something was out of place and it was me.
TT: We used to "house sit" overseas, but I was young enough that all places were equally weird/common to me. I credit mom with making all houses home.
More than once last week, I walked around in the dark muttering, "They have to have (fill in the blank). I mean, they're human. They're American. They're the same socio-economic strata as me (probably higher). Everybody has this. Where would they put it?"
Some things I found; some I didn't. I'll ask about those privately. Maybe.
The little differences were most unsettling. The absence of some things I consider essential (a radio, for example. If one exists in that house, it's so high-tech I can't recognize it). The presence of some things I don't use (bread). An abundance of items that may as well not exist (three remotes for a TV I can't figure out how to turn on, let alone channel change).
Yep, I was a turtle out of her swamp.
I survived. The nieces didn't even notice. They were asleep during my displacement moments, not that they could have answered my questions, probably. They don't pay much attention, either.
Anyway, displacement is over for now and vacation is done. Hopefully, life in a more normal sense can resume.
What is normal?
Not wondering where the Kleenex is, for a start.
Thanks for trusting me in your house, Elder Brother and WGR. I tried to leave it better than I found it.
TT: I suppose if you're a thief, the answer is "yes."
Those who read Monday's NAF post know I watched the nieces last week. I stayed at their house because it was easier.
Weird thing happened. Something was out of place and it was me.
TT: We used to "house sit" overseas, but I was young enough that all places were equally weird/common to me. I credit mom with making all houses home.
More than once last week, I walked around in the dark muttering, "They have to have (fill in the blank). I mean, they're human. They're American. They're the same socio-economic strata as me (probably higher). Everybody has this. Where would they put it?"
Some things I found; some I didn't. I'll ask about those privately. Maybe.
The little differences were most unsettling. The absence of some things I consider essential (a radio, for example. If one exists in that house, it's so high-tech I can't recognize it). The presence of some things I don't use (bread). An abundance of items that may as well not exist (three remotes for a TV I can't figure out how to turn on, let alone channel change).
Yep, I was a turtle out of her swamp.
I survived. The nieces didn't even notice. They were asleep during my displacement moments, not that they could have answered my questions, probably. They don't pay much attention, either.
Anyway, displacement is over for now and vacation is done. Hopefully, life in a more normal sense can resume.
What is normal?
Not wondering where the Kleenex is, for a start.
Thanks for trusting me in your house, Elder Brother and WGR. I tried to leave it better than I found it.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Sour Soy
Noticed this morning my soy milk expired April 13. Wonder if that has anything to do with my upset stomach and constant, nagging nausea this last month? Or that funny taste in my tea. I blamed the tea. Even bought a different brand.
Oi. Down the drain went the soy milk. I'll get some fresh later.
You'd think I would have learned this lesson. Expired lemon juice nearly killed me a few years ago (flu and food poisoning are not a happy combo).
To be fair, who expects bean juice to go bad? Not this turtle.
In memorial to my stupidity, go check your fridge, dear reader. Don't blame the tea.
Oi. Down the drain went the soy milk. I'll get some fresh later.
You'd think I would have learned this lesson. Expired lemon juice nearly killed me a few years ago (flu and food poisoning are not a happy combo).
To be fair, who expects bean juice to go bad? Not this turtle.
In memorial to my stupidity, go check your fridge, dear reader. Don't blame the tea.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tired Again
I'm starting to think the constant rain is stirring up my mold allergies. My head is stuffed, turning quickly or bending over results in nausea, and I have a cough that doesn't get worse and doesn't go away. Or, maybe it's a tumor.
Wouldn't that be grand? Impending death would kick everything up a notch. Not for me, of course. I'd just sit back like always, shrug and wonder "why bother?" Do I need to say it again? I'm not a fighter.
I started an idea file for E2. I've got plenty of side stories. I just need the one big idea to pull it all together and make it a novel.
My focus needs to be on Past Ties. Printing it out has helped a lot with the writing. It's a visual reminder of progress. I'm also old enough to like turning paper. Gives me a sense of accomplishment, sadly lacking in my life at the moment.
I hope the sun comes out today. I really need to see him.
Hope you all are safe and well and as dry as reasonable. So many of us are not right now. I encourage you to pray for our country and our fellow citizens. Spring arrived with a grudge this year, and she seems to want her pound of flesh.
Stay safe, dear readers. Turn around; don't drown.
Wouldn't that be grand? Impending death would kick everything up a notch. Not for me, of course. I'd just sit back like always, shrug and wonder "why bother?" Do I need to say it again? I'm not a fighter.
I started an idea file for E2. I've got plenty of side stories. I just need the one big idea to pull it all together and make it a novel.
My focus needs to be on Past Ties. Printing it out has helped a lot with the writing. It's a visual reminder of progress. I'm also old enough to like turning paper. Gives me a sense of accomplishment, sadly lacking in my life at the moment.
I hope the sun comes out today. I really need to see him.
Hope you all are safe and well and as dry as reasonable. So many of us are not right now. I encourage you to pray for our country and our fellow citizens. Spring arrived with a grudge this year, and she seems to want her pound of flesh.
Stay safe, dear readers. Turn around; don't drown.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
A Mistake?
Why do I do it?
I know better. I know no good ever comes of it. But I keep doing it.
Why do I comment on "hot topic" issues on FB?
I thought I'd learned. I thought I'd figured out it only causes arguments full of talking points and no resolution.
Yet, last night, I did it again.
I could have scrolled past. I could have just taken that free Watering Can from a Neighbor and gone on with my life, no one the wiser. But I didn't. I stopped. I made a comment. I tried to make it as nice and rational a comment as I could make in that little tiny space. I regretted it before I ever hit "enter," but I hit "enter" anyway. Maybe I thought, "This time will be different."
What happened? I started a fight.
I knew I would. I knew it because I've done it before. If you want to share an opinion with a Friend, that's one thing. When other Friends get involved, it turns ugly. Fast.
Should I resolve never to do it again? I could. Would it be right? Maybe.
I do get tired of the conflict. I get tired of arguing without hope of resolution.
Then again, what if my comments make one other person stop and think? What if I influence, not the person who answers me, but the one who doesn't? Does that make it worth the effort? The discomfort? The clenched stomach that comes when I'm in disagreement with another?
I don't know.
Will I do it again?
Yeah. I probably will. 'Cause somebody needs to speak up, and I'm learning "somebody" is more often than not "me."
Sigh.
I know better. I know no good ever comes of it. But I keep doing it.
Why do I comment on "hot topic" issues on FB?
I thought I'd learned. I thought I'd figured out it only causes arguments full of talking points and no resolution.
Yet, last night, I did it again.
I could have scrolled past. I could have just taken that free Watering Can from a Neighbor and gone on with my life, no one the wiser. But I didn't. I stopped. I made a comment. I tried to make it as nice and rational a comment as I could make in that little tiny space. I regretted it before I ever hit "enter," but I hit "enter" anyway. Maybe I thought, "This time will be different."
What happened? I started a fight.
I knew I would. I knew it because I've done it before. If you want to share an opinion with a Friend, that's one thing. When other Friends get involved, it turns ugly. Fast.
Should I resolve never to do it again? I could. Would it be right? Maybe.
I do get tired of the conflict. I get tired of arguing without hope of resolution.
Then again, what if my comments make one other person stop and think? What if I influence, not the person who answers me, but the one who doesn't? Does that make it worth the effort? The discomfort? The clenched stomach that comes when I'm in disagreement with another?
I don't know.
Will I do it again?
Yeah. I probably will. 'Cause somebody needs to speak up, and I'm learning "somebody" is more often than not "me."
Sigh.
Monday, April 25, 2011
To Me, All Pickles Are Sweet
Okay, not my most inspired post, but I was full of Easter dinner when I wrote it and mostly trying to get something down before I slipped into a food coma.
Maybe I should have given up the fight.
You may decide for yourself over at
Maybe I should have given up the fight.
You may decide for yourself over at
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Reflections on Food
Saturday's sunburn is peeling spectacularly. Note to self: sunscreen is vital even in cold weather.
Yesterday was one of those days I would rather have stared at a wall for 8 hours than talked with a single person. Too bad work doesn't care about my mood.
Started writing last night and forgot I left a burrito in the microwave. I am now that special kind of stupid that forgets to eat. I did notice the burrito in time to save it for today. Knowing me, though, I might have tried eating it even if it sat out overnight. Did I say special kind of stupid?
I have added food to Past Ties. Being one of the things I love, I love to write about it. It's also one of the things I've been missing in my current WIP. Now we meet Gavran not only learning about his new assignment but trying to find a snack en route. Much funnier and much more fun to write. At some as-yet-undetermined serious point, I intend to have him crunching his way through a bag of kim che-flavored soy nuts. Chuckle.
I've also been thinking about the sequel to Elementals. No idea what that title will be. E-squared? Oooh. I kinda like that.
Anyway, it occurred to me if Glorya gets preggo, I'll need some experts to walk me through the process (Yes, I have books on it, but the personal touch is better). Fortunately, I seem to be virtually surrounded by fertile females. Don't think finding some testimony will be quite the problem it might have been a year ago. I could also give her morning sickness. Wouldn't that be fun among the Achnoi? Another chuckle.
For you who liked Elementals, these musings are good news. Perhaps I'll have an actual story developed before I start.
My current deadline first draft date for Past Ties (self-set, I might add), is May 9. No way that's happening. Since it's completely arbitrary and I've become more concerned about word count than writing, I'm moving it farther away and ignoring it completely. No more word count checks every night. I'm not on deadline. As long as I add food to every scene and pile on the melodrama, I seem able to write. Guess I am a one-book writer.
Frankly, I should be focusing more on selling what I have (or promoting what I have to sell) than creating more product and I'm tired of this constant sense of failure. I just want to get the thing done and move on. I can do that over the summer. That's when I write my best stuff anyway. I'm warm and awake and often bored.
That is not a challenge to involve me in your lives this summer. If I wanted a life, I would have started one a long time ago. As it is, I have fake lives to chronicle. So I'll do it while you're all doing your things.
Oi! Is that the time? Then it's time for me to skeddaddle. Later, dear readers.
Yesterday was one of those days I would rather have stared at a wall for 8 hours than talked with a single person. Too bad work doesn't care about my mood.
Started writing last night and forgot I left a burrito in the microwave. I am now that special kind of stupid that forgets to eat. I did notice the burrito in time to save it for today. Knowing me, though, I might have tried eating it even if it sat out overnight. Did I say special kind of stupid?
I have added food to Past Ties. Being one of the things I love, I love to write about it. It's also one of the things I've been missing in my current WIP. Now we meet Gavran not only learning about his new assignment but trying to find a snack en route. Much funnier and much more fun to write. At some as-yet-undetermined serious point, I intend to have him crunching his way through a bag of kim che-flavored soy nuts. Chuckle.
I've also been thinking about the sequel to Elementals. No idea what that title will be. E-squared? Oooh. I kinda like that.
Anyway, it occurred to me if Glorya gets preggo, I'll need some experts to walk me through the process (Yes, I have books on it, but the personal touch is better). Fortunately, I seem to be virtually surrounded by fertile females. Don't think finding some testimony will be quite the problem it might have been a year ago. I could also give her morning sickness. Wouldn't that be fun among the Achnoi? Another chuckle.
For you who liked Elementals, these musings are good news. Perhaps I'll have an actual story developed before I start.
My current deadline first draft date for Past Ties (self-set, I might add), is May 9. No way that's happening. Since it's completely arbitrary and I've become more concerned about word count than writing, I'm moving it farther away and ignoring it completely. No more word count checks every night. I'm not on deadline. As long as I add food to every scene and pile on the melodrama, I seem able to write. Guess I am a one-book writer.
Frankly, I should be focusing more on selling what I have (or promoting what I have to sell) than creating more product and I'm tired of this constant sense of failure. I just want to get the thing done and move on. I can do that over the summer. That's when I write my best stuff anyway. I'm warm and awake and often bored.
That is not a challenge to involve me in your lives this summer. If I wanted a life, I would have started one a long time ago. As it is, I have fake lives to chronicle. So I'll do it while you're all doing your things.
Oi! Is that the time? Then it's time for me to skeddaddle. Later, dear readers.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Old Ideas, New Freedom
This week is, once again, cold and dark. It's hard for turtles to wake up when it's cold and dark. One of these days, I'll stop trying. I find myself waking up and wading through the day to get to the next time I can lie down and sleep.
My mood is good. We'll see how another few days of no sun affects that.
I worked on Past Ties last night. I'm adding some flashback scenes that aren't flashbacks. Meaning, I'm adding them as separate chapters between the current chapters.
I use the word current carefully. This is a book about time travel. That makes time necessarily fluid. Memory becomes current and current becomes future.
These flashback chapters may end up being more "notes to self" kinds of things, but maybe not. I started putting time/place tags as chapter headings a while ago, so those might clue a reader to a time/place change. Might not, too. Don't care. I wrote another 600+ words doing it. I've also upped the action ante a bit with them. Shah and Gavran's lives are more exciting before and after they meet each other. These kind of bridge the boring gaps.
I've concluded no one but me will read this book anyway. I need to just get it down and out of my way so I can move on with other things. Certain freedom in that. I thought I'd already decided that a long time ago, but I guess no one bothered to tell my reptile brain.
Or maybe I'm too tired to remember.
My mood is good. We'll see how another few days of no sun affects that.
I worked on Past Ties last night. I'm adding some flashback scenes that aren't flashbacks. Meaning, I'm adding them as separate chapters between the current chapters.
I use the word current carefully. This is a book about time travel. That makes time necessarily fluid. Memory becomes current and current becomes future.
These flashback chapters may end up being more "notes to self" kinds of things, but maybe not. I started putting time/place tags as chapter headings a while ago, so those might clue a reader to a time/place change. Might not, too. Don't care. I wrote another 600+ words doing it. I've also upped the action ante a bit with them. Shah and Gavran's lives are more exciting before and after they meet each other. These kind of bridge the boring gaps.
I've concluded no one but me will read this book anyway. I need to just get it down and out of my way so I can move on with other things. Certain freedom in that. I thought I'd already decided that a long time ago, but I guess no one bothered to tell my reptile brain.
Or maybe I'm too tired to remember.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Human School, or Missing the Mark
The hardest part to write was the title. Didn't realize it would follow into the link over at
The New Authors' Fellowship.
Let me know if I missed the mark.
The New Authors' Fellowship.
Let me know if I missed the mark.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Winter Is Finally Here
Keven Newsome, aka Gungho Iguana, aka founder of The New Authors' Fellowship, landed a publisher! Grace Bridges of Splashdown Books started a subsidiary press called Splashdown Darkwater and Winter is its first release.
Well done, Iguana!
If you don't remember, Keven and I competed during the 2009 MLS Premise Contest. Winter made it one more level than Star of Justice (and Diane Graham's I Am Ocilla beat us both and sent us cryin' to our mommas). Keven has actively, aggressively pursued publication ever since, and his tenacity has paid off.
Here's the book trailer. This is the first time I've seen it, and I must say...it's faaaaabulous (those of you old enough to remember Max Headroom can supply the accent).
Official release date is June 1. They're trying for 1000 copies sold in that first week. Guess I'll have to get my order in, eh?
Cover art by Holly Heisey, subject photography by the lovely DeAnna Newsome, aka mrsmusicnerd, and Mary Rochelle Unsworth as Winter.One more time: well done, Iguana!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Wanna Play?
Early in the first season of Fringe, Walter and Peter argue. That happens a lot in the first season of Fringe.
Anyway, Walter posits some outrageous theory and Peter poo-poos it, at which point, Walter accuses him of being close-minded.
Glaring, Peter leans forward over the lab counter and growls, "You wanna play? Fine. Let's play."
Being a mad scientist and his genius son, they go on to invent an impossible machine that does, well, the impossible.
I love that scene.
I forget how much fun fellow nerds can be. Nerds? Fun?
Yes. It's the same for nerds as it is for sports fans or weathermen or professional garage salers. When you get together with a group of folks who love the same thing you do, fun happens.
My fellow nerds at NAF reminded me of that yesterday. Hopefully, our game will become your enjoyment at some future date.
Frankly, I don't care if it does. I'm having enough fun for all of us, whether or not you ever see the fruits of our enjoyable labor.
Wanna play? You bet I do.
Thanks for playing with me, NAF.
Anyway, Walter posits some outrageous theory and Peter poo-poos it, at which point, Walter accuses him of being close-minded.
Glaring, Peter leans forward over the lab counter and growls, "You wanna play? Fine. Let's play."
Being a mad scientist and his genius son, they go on to invent an impossible machine that does, well, the impossible.
I love that scene.
I forget how much fun fellow nerds can be. Nerds? Fun?
Yes. It's the same for nerds as it is for sports fans or weathermen or professional garage salers. When you get together with a group of folks who love the same thing you do, fun happens.
My fellow nerds at NAF reminded me of that yesterday. Hopefully, our game will become your enjoyment at some future date.
Frankly, I don't care if it does. I'm having enough fun for all of us, whether or not you ever see the fruits of our enjoyable labor.
Wanna play? You bet I do.
Thanks for playing with me, NAF.
Monday, April 11, 2011
"Home" coming
Two weeks ago, I told you I had some happy news to share. Today I share it at
You may need a hanky.
That goes double for you, mom.
You may need a hanky.
That goes double for you, mom.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
By Way of Apology...
...for yesterday's slightly morose post, I offer this bit of frivolity from The Least Read Blog on the Web.
Take four minutes and enjoy!
Take four minutes and enjoy!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
I Met Myself Today
Not in a trans-dimensional time warp sort of way.
She happened upon me. She sat at a table nearby and struck up a conversation. I'm not delusional. I have witnesses.
Oh, we weren't exactly the same. She'd had a harder life than me, mostly through her own choices.
But, there she sat: older than her age, wearing a comfortable but not fashionable dress with long, graying hair in a ponytail. The four year anniversary of her parent's death approaches and she carries a diagnosis of chronic debilitating anxiety disorder.
She'd taken psychology classes once and knew how to imprint names. She lives in a basement apartment with no windows and hasn't ventured out of it in weeks. She wishes she could have a pet but her landlord won't allow them. In short, she couldn't stop talking.
Sound familiar?
Will this be me? Will that be my life? I wake up some nights in a cold sweat thinking about it.
It could happen. I could become comfortable but not fashionable basement-hermit girl. The brothers might try to pull me out of it, but, frankly, they're boys. They'd lose interest and let me sulk. They have lives, after all. I'm the one who doesn't.
You're thinking my friends wouldn't let that happen. Honey, should I choose, I would have no friends. The turtle is as fully capable of driving people away as attracting them. It's not hard.
The biggest difference between my future self and me? I know Jesus.
He's the difference in my life. He's the reason even if I became basement-hermit girl, I wouldn't be alone. But I could never be that girl.
Mom would come back and kill me if I tried.
She happened upon me. She sat at a table nearby and struck up a conversation. I'm not delusional. I have witnesses.
Oh, we weren't exactly the same. She'd had a harder life than me, mostly through her own choices.
But, there she sat: older than her age, wearing a comfortable but not fashionable dress with long, graying hair in a ponytail. The four year anniversary of her parent's death approaches and she carries a diagnosis of chronic debilitating anxiety disorder.
She'd taken psychology classes once and knew how to imprint names. She lives in a basement apartment with no windows and hasn't ventured out of it in weeks. She wishes she could have a pet but her landlord won't allow them. In short, she couldn't stop talking.
Sound familiar?
Will this be me? Will that be my life? I wake up some nights in a cold sweat thinking about it.
It could happen. I could become comfortable but not fashionable basement-hermit girl. The brothers might try to pull me out of it, but, frankly, they're boys. They'd lose interest and let me sulk. They have lives, after all. I'm the one who doesn't.
You're thinking my friends wouldn't let that happen. Honey, should I choose, I would have no friends. The turtle is as fully capable of driving people away as attracting them. It's not hard.
The biggest difference between my future self and me? I know Jesus.
He's the difference in my life. He's the reason even if I became basement-hermit girl, I wouldn't be alone. But I could never be that girl.
Mom would come back and kill me if I tried.
Friday, April 8, 2011
I Know Someone
I know someone today whose heart is heavy with grief.
Whose pain comes in like the tide.
Who turns to find comfort yet the comforter is gone
and only emptiness fills that place.
My heart breaks for the friend I have never seen, never met.
My heart breaks for the loss we share.
The loss of love.
The loss of companionship.
The loss of hope.
Do not despair, my far-away friend.
We do not grieve as though who have no hope.
A piece of our soul rejoins the One we serve.
We will meet again
when we run into the arms of the One
all those little bits of our soul will return to us
Perfectly restored, perfectly healthy, perfectly eternal
Like us.
Like Him.
Wait patiently.
The Long Step comes for us all.
Whose pain comes in like the tide.
Who turns to find comfort yet the comforter is gone
and only emptiness fills that place.
My heart breaks for the friend I have never seen, never met.
My heart breaks for the loss we share.
The loss of love.
The loss of companionship.
The loss of hope.
Do not despair, my far-away friend.
We do not grieve as though who have no hope.
A piece of our soul rejoins the One we serve.
We will meet again
when we run into the arms of the One
all those little bits of our soul will return to us
Perfectly restored, perfectly healthy, perfectly eternal
Like us.
Like Him.
Wait patiently.
The Long Step comes for us all.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Gimme Some Corn
My writer's block woes seemed to inspire at least one writer's creativity. Glad I could help, Kat, at least with your blog post.
While reading her thoughts on the matter, I recalled something Roland Yeomans once wrote: remember your first love. Actually, Jesus might have said that first, but Roland repeated it a while ago.
I thought I had remembered. I even added the song that went with the post to my "Songs of the Turtle" page as inspiration for Past Ties (Walking in the Air, if you're curious).
If I did remember, I promptly walked away and forgot again, like the fool in James. Or maybe I didn't remember the most important thing about why I write.
I write for the corn.
It's the same reason I read. Or watch movies. I want melodrama. I want over-the-top emotive experiences. I grew up on William Shatner's Star Trek. Tom Baker's Doctor Who. I cried at Charmed episodes, people, not because they're good, but because they are over-the-top melodramas!
This is what I've been missing! The corn!
I've been so focused on removing all things corny, I forgot that's what I love to write. See, I wanted something deep and solid and meaningful. Something hearty and bread-like. Something serious. Silly me.
Oh, I'll tone it down later, have no fear. But to start...to get it out on the page...I must plant lots and lots of corn. I must be Dr. McCoy, not Mr. Spock. Somewhere down the line, I'll find that middle ground of season one Captain Kirk. You know, when he was good?
Is the proof in the cornbread? I wrote over 1K words last night. Easily. Corn everywhere, but I wrote. It wasn't painful or laborious. It wasn't flat or cautious. Just good ole-fashioned melodrama.
Explosions! Hypnotism (a staple of early 80's TV)! Trauma wards and rubble! Ah, good times. Nothing like a little carnage to get the heart pounding. Pile on a few arguments and a life-and-death decision and wham! It's off to the movies for the turtle!
Ha!
For the record, I used no exclamation points last night. If your verbs are strong enough, you don't need 'em.
Anyhoo, I'm not saying the block is gone. I am saying, I'm looking forward to my next block of writing time.
And my next batch of cornbread.
While reading her thoughts on the matter, I recalled something Roland Yeomans once wrote: remember your first love. Actually, Jesus might have said that first, but Roland repeated it a while ago.
I thought I had remembered. I even added the song that went with the post to my "Songs of the Turtle" page as inspiration for Past Ties (Walking in the Air, if you're curious).
If I did remember, I promptly walked away and forgot again, like the fool in James. Or maybe I didn't remember the most important thing about why I write.
I write for the corn.
It's the same reason I read. Or watch movies. I want melodrama. I want over-the-top emotive experiences. I grew up on William Shatner's Star Trek. Tom Baker's Doctor Who. I cried at Charmed episodes, people, not because they're good, but because they are over-the-top melodramas!
This is what I've been missing! The corn!
I've been so focused on removing all things corny, I forgot that's what I love to write. See, I wanted something deep and solid and meaningful. Something hearty and bread-like. Something serious. Silly me.
Oh, I'll tone it down later, have no fear. But to start...to get it out on the page...I must plant lots and lots of corn. I must be Dr. McCoy, not Mr. Spock. Somewhere down the line, I'll find that middle ground of season one Captain Kirk. You know, when he was good?
Is the proof in the cornbread? I wrote over 1K words last night. Easily. Corn everywhere, but I wrote. It wasn't painful or laborious. It wasn't flat or cautious. Just good ole-fashioned melodrama.
Explosions! Hypnotism (a staple of early 80's TV)! Trauma wards and rubble! Ah, good times. Nothing like a little carnage to get the heart pounding. Pile on a few arguments and a life-and-death decision and wham! It's off to the movies for the turtle!
Ha!
For the record, I used no exclamation points last night. If your verbs are strong enough, you don't need 'em.
Anyhoo, I'm not saying the block is gone. I am saying, I'm looking forward to my next block of writing time.
And my next batch of cornbread.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Get Busy Writing
Once more the NAF tallies are in and the stats revealed for how our current WsIP progress.
Dismal.
For me. I can't judge the others by their numbers. Only they know how much they've cut before adding.
Reading The Iguana's post about The Hero's Journey as illustrated by Avatar the anime series, I considered that I have no hero's journey in Past Ties. I have them in my first two books. I have them in other books I intend to write. Why not this one? Is that the problem?
TT: I have so many problems listed at this point I should just write a book about all the reasons I can't write this book. At least I'd be writing something.
Who would be the hero in Past Ties? Not Shah. She has all the right elements, but it just isn't there. Maybe because she starts depressed. Could be William (formerly Orell, formerly Petrov, formerly Parok, poor guy) but that would really shift the story to uncharted territory. Plus, while surrounded by people who could kick his tail, he doesn't automatically have the ability to kick back, unless I change the qualifiers for tail-kicking. It pre-exhausts me to think about it.
It isn't Luckfellow. I fear she will never change.
It could be Gavran. I'm going to try it with him. I like hero's journeys. I'm going to hang out in Gavran's head for a while, viewpoint-wise, and see if I can get this thing moving.
Frankly, I don't know why I'm still trying to work on it. I'm avoiding the computer because of it. I had a nice block of writing time set aside last night and found all kinds of ways to fill it with other stuff. Not even FV stuff. I must be desperate.
Can I blame Anne Lamott, that odd duck I mocked who suffered writer's block for 3 years? Would be poetic justice, wouldn't it?
No. I have only myself to blame, and only myself to write my way out of the mess.
That's okay. My new, improved, proactive self is up to any challenge.
Hope Gavran is.
Dismal.
For me. I can't judge the others by their numbers. Only they know how much they've cut before adding.
Reading The Iguana's post about The Hero's Journey as illustrated by Avatar the anime series, I considered that I have no hero's journey in Past Ties. I have them in my first two books. I have them in other books I intend to write. Why not this one? Is that the problem?
TT: I have so many problems listed at this point I should just write a book about all the reasons I can't write this book. At least I'd be writing something.
Who would be the hero in Past Ties? Not Shah. She has all the right elements, but it just isn't there. Maybe because she starts depressed. Could be William (formerly Orell, formerly Petrov, formerly Parok, poor guy) but that would really shift the story to uncharted territory. Plus, while surrounded by people who could kick his tail, he doesn't automatically have the ability to kick back, unless I change the qualifiers for tail-kicking. It pre-exhausts me to think about it.
It isn't Luckfellow. I fear she will never change.
It could be Gavran. I'm going to try it with him. I like hero's journeys. I'm going to hang out in Gavran's head for a while, viewpoint-wise, and see if I can get this thing moving.
Frankly, I don't know why I'm still trying to work on it. I'm avoiding the computer because of it. I had a nice block of writing time set aside last night and found all kinds of ways to fill it with other stuff. Not even FV stuff. I must be desperate.
Can I blame Anne Lamott, that odd duck I mocked who suffered writer's block for 3 years? Would be poetic justice, wouldn't it?
No. I have only myself to blame, and only myself to write my way out of the mess.
That's okay. My new, improved, proactive self is up to any challenge.
Hope Gavran is.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
What Field?
This year I've noticed more professionals. I'm sure they existed prior to this year, but, like the woman who buys a new car and then sees it at every stoplight, I'm noticing them.
Dave Ramsey, the financial expert. Seth Godin, Internet marketing guru. The guy last night who has worked in business systems analysis and accounting for 25 years and speaks with authority on the subject. Compelling authority.
Where's my field? Why am I not an expert in something? I have 20 years behind me, 11 in the same industry.
The obvious answer is I don't care about anything enough to become an expert. This would be an addendum to the "lack of passion" whining theme running through the blog over the past year. Hard to become an expert by accident, although it may not be impossible.
TT: I have also noticed as I seek to become more involved, more proactive, more useful to my customers (and that includes my so-called employer), I may have accidentally picked up more knowledge than I suspected. I do know a lot about my industry. Not as much as I could have had I paid attention all these years, but enough to surprise me.
But, an expert? Hardly. I'm just playing in the dirt.
You know, this is what happens when you wake up and start looking around. You wonder "why am I so far behind on the game board of Life?" Is this covetousness? I don't like it.
I didn't use to have these thoughts. I used to be content with my little house and my numerous cats and my satisfactory if not substantial paycheck.
When I deal with folks now, I measure them. What have they done? What knowledge or skill set have they accrued/are they accruing? Are they experts or phonies? Can they do something I can, only better? Why did they push forward and I didn't? Would I be as good (or better) if I had applied myself?
It's not about material success. It's more about "what have they done with their lives/talents/gifts and why have I not done something more with mine?" This has to be a mid-life crisis, which doesn't bode well for my 111 plan. It's starting way too early.
I want a field. I don't care if it's a yard square in the middle of a swamp, I want one. Don't know what it will be yet, but I'm surveying. Maybe writing, maybe something else, like accounting. The world needs accountants, too.
So, yes, I am judging you. You'll be happy to know at this point, y'all are coming out way ahead of the turtle.
Not for long.
Dave Ramsey, the financial expert. Seth Godin, Internet marketing guru. The guy last night who has worked in business systems analysis and accounting for 25 years and speaks with authority on the subject. Compelling authority.
Where's my field? Why am I not an expert in something? I have 20 years behind me, 11 in the same industry.
The obvious answer is I don't care about anything enough to become an expert. This would be an addendum to the "lack of passion" whining theme running through the blog over the past year. Hard to become an expert by accident, although it may not be impossible.
TT: I have also noticed as I seek to become more involved, more proactive, more useful to my customers (and that includes my so-called employer), I may have accidentally picked up more knowledge than I suspected. I do know a lot about my industry. Not as much as I could have had I paid attention all these years, but enough to surprise me.
But, an expert? Hardly. I'm just playing in the dirt.
You know, this is what happens when you wake up and start looking around. You wonder "why am I so far behind on the game board of Life?" Is this covetousness? I don't like it.
I didn't use to have these thoughts. I used to be content with my little house and my numerous cats and my satisfactory if not substantial paycheck.
When I deal with folks now, I measure them. What have they done? What knowledge or skill set have they accrued/are they accruing? Are they experts or phonies? Can they do something I can, only better? Why did they push forward and I didn't? Would I be as good (or better) if I had applied myself?
It's not about material success. It's more about "what have they done with their lives/talents/gifts and why have I not done something more with mine?" This has to be a mid-life crisis, which doesn't bode well for my 111 plan. It's starting way too early.
I want a field. I don't care if it's a yard square in the middle of a swamp, I want one. Don't know what it will be yet, but I'm surveying. Maybe writing, maybe something else, like accounting. The world needs accountants, too.
So, yes, I am judging you. You'll be happy to know at this point, y'all are coming out way ahead of the turtle.
Not for long.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Aha!
Remember last week I told you about that list of "Important but not Urgent" things I stuck on my calendar and completely failed to do because of other "Important and Urgent" things that got in the way?
Well, it seems when you keep such a list, a time does come when you can get to it.
This work week has been quieter, and I've completed three items on that list, and started another. I finished two items ahead of deadline and caught up on one on-going task that had gotten behind. The bonus? I didn't have to stop and think "what should I do now?" I had the list right there and I picked tasks to fit the time available.
I don't pretend for a moment I've mastered this skill, but it is nice to enjoy the gratification of checking the box, even if only for one month. Makes that mountain of sand seem a little more solid.
I'll aim to compose one of these every Friday afternoon for work. The list for the rest of my life I'll make Sunday evenings. I try to keep work and life as separate as possible.
It would probably help to continue writing that mission statement. Then I'll know where my priorities are and thus what's truly "Important but maybe not Urgent."
Well, it seems when you keep such a list, a time does come when you can get to it.
This work week has been quieter, and I've completed three items on that list, and started another. I finished two items ahead of deadline and caught up on one on-going task that had gotten behind. The bonus? I didn't have to stop and think "what should I do now?" I had the list right there and I picked tasks to fit the time available.
I don't pretend for a moment I've mastered this skill, but it is nice to enjoy the gratification of checking the box, even if only for one month. Makes that mountain of sand seem a little more solid.
I'll aim to compose one of these every Friday afternoon for work. The list for the rest of my life I'll make Sunday evenings. I try to keep work and life as separate as possible.
It would probably help to continue writing that mission statement. Then I'll know where my priorities are and thus what's truly "Important but maybe not Urgent."
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The One Day...
So the one day I don't blog in the morning is the one day Mom notices.
That's not true. My blogging has been sporadic for a while now. Because I'm getting a life. A writer's life. That's good, but it does mean my mornings aren't quite what they were. Plus, even for me, four blogs are a lot to juggle. I know you all think I'm hilarious, but it takes effort to be this funny. I can't just go to the store and buy some funny.
What a great idea. A funny store. Write a short, Kat. Name a character after me.
I got some great news today, but I'm going to be mean and make you wait to hear it. I'll probably write it at NAF. You'll need kleenex 'cause I'm going to make it extra sappy and sloppy. Vaulter's made me cry often enough. Turnabout's fair play and all that.
Is that enough, mom? I need to finish Kat's Finding Angel.
Love you!
That's not true. My blogging has been sporadic for a while now. Because I'm getting a life. A writer's life. That's good, but it does mean my mornings aren't quite what they were. Plus, even for me, four blogs are a lot to juggle. I know you all think I'm hilarious, but it takes effort to be this funny. I can't just go to the store and buy some funny.
What a great idea. A funny store. Write a short, Kat. Name a character after me.
I got some great news today, but I'm going to be mean and make you wait to hear it. I'll probably write it at NAF. You'll need kleenex 'cause I'm going to make it extra sappy and sloppy. Vaulter's made me cry often enough. Turnabout's fair play and all that.
Is that enough, mom? I need to finish Kat's Finding Angel.
Love you!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Best Laid Plans
It's gray in Kansas, and cold. Not as gray and cold as this time last year, but enough to make it hard to wake up. I hate being cold.
I added a "follow by email" button to my blogs. Since I've been a bit sporadic lately, and since I'm guessing the email notification includes the post so you could conceivably read it on your phone (not while driving, please), it seemed a no-brainer. I don't know if it tells me you've signed up or not. Let me know if you like it.
Last night did not go as planned. I had a plan and got side-tracked. By people.
Stephen Covey says when you organize your life according to higher, guiding principles as expressed in your mission statement, you are better able to prioritize your energy into important things. He considers people important and nearly impossible to schedule. chuckle. I'm learning to agree with him.
Rabbi Lapin said impatience with interruptions only proves my arrogance, not my competence. I was interrupted several times, but I felt no impatience (not last night, anyway). I love the people who interrupted me. We got some things done I hadn't planned. I inadvertently started a Bible study. We'll see how that goes.
I guess my point is a little lost sleep for one night won't kill me.
Just don't push it, folks. Sleep-deprived turtles are grumpy.
I added a "follow by email" button to my blogs. Since I've been a bit sporadic lately, and since I'm guessing the email notification includes the post so you could conceivably read it on your phone (not while driving, please), it seemed a no-brainer. I don't know if it tells me you've signed up or not. Let me know if you like it.
Last night did not go as planned. I had a plan and got side-tracked. By people.
Stephen Covey says when you organize your life according to higher, guiding principles as expressed in your mission statement, you are better able to prioritize your energy into important things. He considers people important and nearly impossible to schedule. chuckle. I'm learning to agree with him.
Rabbi Lapin said impatience with interruptions only proves my arrogance, not my competence. I was interrupted several times, but I felt no impatience (not last night, anyway). I love the people who interrupted me. We got some things done I hadn't planned. I inadvertently started a Bible study. We'll see how that goes.
I guess my point is a little lost sleep for one night won't kill me.
Just don't push it, folks. Sleep-deprived turtles are grumpy.
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Duke's Handmaid by Caprice Hokstad
I interviewed Caprice the farmer on Virtual Buttercups. Now read what I think of her first book over at
The New Authors' Fellowship.
The New Authors' Fellowship.
Friday, March 25, 2011
What A Week
In my study of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, I encountered the concept of "Important But Not Urgent." Stephen Covey included charts for me to study, but the basic concept is planning ahead prevents crises and increases overall efficiency.
Well, I'm trying. I made my list at the beginning of the work week of Important But Not Urgent things. I've got it on a sticky note on my calendar. I keep looking at it, thinking "this is what I'm doing next."
And then someone hands me something else to do right now. By "someone," I'm referring to various bosses.
How can I be proactive when other people are planning my work life?
I'm not whining. I really want to know. Am I supposed to stay late at work without overtime pay to get my list done? Should I modify my list? How? How do adults handle such things?
'Cause that's what this proactivity stuff is all about, really: being an adult. I always thought I was. Boy howdy, have I been wrong.
Here's a bigger, meta-question. Has this happened all along? Is this my work life and I've just never bothered to notice? Since I've been trying to change my mindset, what I seem to notice more and more is a sense of falling behind, of trying to climb a mountain of loose sand. I can't get any purchase.
I'm hoping this feeling is illusory, that I am making progress, however small, which will ultimately lead to some kind of aha moment.
What I fear is a growing sense of the eternal nature of work. A pile of tasks continuing to infinity and beyond. That's enough to make me want to drive into a parked bus.
Oh well. I like my job most days. I'm guessing these are growing pains and I'll stretch them out eventually. Besides, it's Friday. I'll have a whole new set of Important But Not Urgent things to work on for the weekend.
Well, I'm trying. I made my list at the beginning of the work week of Important But Not Urgent things. I've got it on a sticky note on my calendar. I keep looking at it, thinking "this is what I'm doing next."
And then someone hands me something else to do right now. By "someone," I'm referring to various bosses.
How can I be proactive when other people are planning my work life?
I'm not whining. I really want to know. Am I supposed to stay late at work without overtime pay to get my list done? Should I modify my list? How? How do adults handle such things?
'Cause that's what this proactivity stuff is all about, really: being an adult. I always thought I was. Boy howdy, have I been wrong.
Here's a bigger, meta-question. Has this happened all along? Is this my work life and I've just never bothered to notice? Since I've been trying to change my mindset, what I seem to notice more and more is a sense of falling behind, of trying to climb a mountain of loose sand. I can't get any purchase.
I'm hoping this feeling is illusory, that I am making progress, however small, which will ultimately lead to some kind of aha moment.
What I fear is a growing sense of the eternal nature of work. A pile of tasks continuing to infinity and beyond. That's enough to make me want to drive into a parked bus.
Oh well. I like my job most days. I'm guessing these are growing pains and I'll stretch them out eventually. Besides, it's Friday. I'll have a whole new set of Important But Not Urgent things to work on for the weekend.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Useless
I ate myself stupid on chicken fajitas last night, and all I want is to crawl back to bed and sleep the rest of the day.
Alas, my job has other plans.
At least I can eat some fajitas before I go. I have about 3 pounds of meat and vegetables to polish off before it goes bad and kills me. I wonder how long that takes?
Hope I don't find out. No one at NAF will believe any death notice about me now, no matter how seriously it's written.
All part of my plan.
Alas, my job has other plans.
At least I can eat some fajitas before I go. I have about 3 pounds of meat and vegetables to polish off before it goes bad and kills me. I wonder how long that takes?
Hope I don't find out. No one at NAF will believe any death notice about me now, no matter how seriously it's written.
All part of my plan.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
To Eulogy or Not To Eulogy
Considering the positive response over at NAF, I should blog about my humorous fictional death more often. Funny is more fun to read than whiny.
Technically, I didn't fulfill my assignment. Stephen Covey wants me to write a life mission statement and he suggested starting with a eulogy. What would I want people to say about me after I've taken The Long Step?
It's not an easy assignment, mostly because it requires me to project 60 years into the future and ask "what would I do?"
It would be simple to make stuff up (hence the NAF post), but if this exercise is a prelude to a personal mission statement then I could conceivably be expected to begin doing things that would result in the stuff mentioned in the eulogy. I'm pretty sure that's the point of the exercise.
So it's all well and good to mention I used a portion of my book profits to start Heaven's Cat House, a not-for-profit cat adoption agency, but how on earth would I do that? Well, I'd have to actually make a profit on a book, so it's possible I'm getting way ahead of myself, but if I did, then what? Is that what this goal of reading business/marketing books is for?
This is the kind of pressure I tried to escape by just "killing" myself early. Then I can leave unfinished stuff and not worry about it.
Plus, my fear is even 60 years in the future the best thing someone can say about me is "she was a great Farmville neighbor." I've been assured, however, Farmville won't last that long. That's a thought to make me weep into my oatmeal.
But, to end on a funnier note, the "bike into a parked bus" incident is real. I was in my early 20's and the last bike I'd ridden braked when you back-peddled. Didn't help a bit as I rolled down a hill toward a bus. By the time I figured out the brakes were on the handlebars, all I did was practice some of those Newtonian physics by propelling my unbraked self forward into the bus. I limped away from that particular humiliation (under the wide-eyed stares of the 200 camp youths I was counseling) with two severely jammed fingers, a knot the size of an apple on my thigh, a wrenched back and a lump on the back of my head where I hit the pavement after bouncing off the bus.
Okay, maybe that's only funny if you're really sick. I have to admit, had I been watching, I would have laughed until I wet myself. Feel free to chuckle away. I won't tell.
Technically, I didn't fulfill my assignment. Stephen Covey wants me to write a life mission statement and he suggested starting with a eulogy. What would I want people to say about me after I've taken The Long Step?
It's not an easy assignment, mostly because it requires me to project 60 years into the future and ask "what would I do?"
It would be simple to make stuff up (hence the NAF post), but if this exercise is a prelude to a personal mission statement then I could conceivably be expected to begin doing things that would result in the stuff mentioned in the eulogy. I'm pretty sure that's the point of the exercise.
So it's all well and good to mention I used a portion of my book profits to start Heaven's Cat House, a not-for-profit cat adoption agency, but how on earth would I do that? Well, I'd have to actually make a profit on a book, so it's possible I'm getting way ahead of myself, but if I did, then what? Is that what this goal of reading business/marketing books is for?
This is the kind of pressure I tried to escape by just "killing" myself early. Then I can leave unfinished stuff and not worry about it.
Plus, my fear is even 60 years in the future the best thing someone can say about me is "she was a great Farmville neighbor." I've been assured, however, Farmville won't last that long. That's a thought to make me weep into my oatmeal.
But, to end on a funnier note, the "bike into a parked bus" incident is real. I was in my early 20's and the last bike I'd ridden braked when you back-peddled. Didn't help a bit as I rolled down a hill toward a bus. By the time I figured out the brakes were on the handlebars, all I did was practice some of those Newtonian physics by propelling my unbraked self forward into the bus. I limped away from that particular humiliation (under the wide-eyed stares of the 200 camp youths I was counseling) with two severely jammed fingers, a knot the size of an apple on my thigh, a wrenched back and a lump on the back of my head where I hit the pavement after bouncing off the bus.
Okay, maybe that's only funny if you're really sick. I have to admit, had I been watching, I would have laughed until I wet myself. Feel free to chuckle away. I won't tell.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
So Much Funnier Than What I Had Planned
I intended to talk about the contest I entered this weekend, my first for 2011. You know, the Hill's pet food contest where they're paying $10K for the best pet weight loss story? I submitted my 144 word essay Saturday.
Since I won't hear back from them unless I win, though, this would have been a fairly boring post.
Thankfully, Holly Heisey posted this link on her FB page this morning. These guys are officially my favorite bromance, mostly because they're real.
Simon Pegg and Nick Frost's Star Wars.
Turn the sound up (unless you're at work) and enjoy!
Since I won't hear back from them unless I win, though, this would have been a fairly boring post.
Thankfully, Holly Heisey posted this link on her FB page this morning. These guys are officially my favorite bromance, mostly because they're real.
Simon Pegg and Nick Frost's Star Wars.
Turn the sound up (unless you're at work) and enjoy!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Failure?
When I told My Dear Friend about my New Year's goals, she gave me that look. Yes, we were on the phone, but some looks don't require visual contact.
"You're not going to be able to manage that," she said.
"I'll be fine," I assured her. A note of condescension may have crept into my voice. "I don't have all the same responsibilities you do. You'll see."
She may be right.
I haven't picked up a fiction book since I finished The Gathering Storm by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson in January. I'm plowing through The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, but technically, I should have finished that in February. My first serious attempt to write on Past Ties this month was last night.
I'm not making it.
I'm not quitting, either, and I'm leaving my goals as is. For now.
What My Dear Friend knew and I failed to anticipate is all the stuff life can throw my way. The nieces are more involved in stuff, and that means more concerts, recitals, plays and whatnot. No sports, thank you, Lord. I don't think I could do that even for them. I love you gals, but I can't think of a single sport you could practice that would entice me.
Well, gymnastics was okay. I just couldn't sit on the floor because I kept gasping and startling the team. My bad. So sorry I can't handle watching tiny bodies barely evading horrible, neck-snapping, life altering potential injury. I'll work on that.
The Kansas legislature is back in session, so some attention must go there. Responsible citizenship takes time and effort. I am learning to be a responsible citizen.
But none of those things were happening last night. I could check off goals with abandon. With the TV off, devotions finished and 30 minutes of book reading out of the way, I sat down to write. Then I paused.
I've thought of a short story idea I could post either on RT the FB page or at NAF, so I was torn between starting that or working on Past Ties. Which one?
Or, I could check out the new Splashdown Books writing event Avenir Eclectia, which on first notification freaked me out no end, but upon further reflection sounds a lot like what I used to do before I wrote books (I believe that is now called fanfic, but I could be wrong). Anyway, a little, bitty part of me thinks submitting a short story there could be fun, and I want very much to encourage that part. Seems like a publishing-seeking writerly thing to do. But if I'm doing that, I'm not writing on Past Ties and I need to do that if I want to make my deadline.
What to do, what to do?
I set the distractions aside and wrote on Past Ties. I'll add the short story and Avenir Eclectia to my to-do list and plan time for them. With the TV off, I make progress on my list. It may be slow but it's steady.
That's why I'm keeping my goals. I may not accomplish them in quite the time frame I expect, but I will accomplish them. One month at a time, one goal at a time, one priority at a time.
It's not so different from leveling up in Farmville, really, and I've been doing that for almost a year.
"You're not going to be able to manage that," she said.
"I'll be fine," I assured her. A note of condescension may have crept into my voice. "I don't have all the same responsibilities you do. You'll see."
She may be right.
I haven't picked up a fiction book since I finished The Gathering Storm by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson in January. I'm plowing through The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, but technically, I should have finished that in February. My first serious attempt to write on Past Ties this month was last night.
I'm not making it.
I'm not quitting, either, and I'm leaving my goals as is. For now.
What My Dear Friend knew and I failed to anticipate is all the stuff life can throw my way. The nieces are more involved in stuff, and that means more concerts, recitals, plays and whatnot. No sports, thank you, Lord. I don't think I could do that even for them. I love you gals, but I can't think of a single sport you could practice that would entice me.
Well, gymnastics was okay. I just couldn't sit on the floor because I kept gasping and startling the team. My bad. So sorry I can't handle watching tiny bodies barely evading horrible, neck-snapping, life altering potential injury. I'll work on that.
The Kansas legislature is back in session, so some attention must go there. Responsible citizenship takes time and effort. I am learning to be a responsible citizen.
But none of those things were happening last night. I could check off goals with abandon. With the TV off, devotions finished and 30 minutes of book reading out of the way, I sat down to write. Then I paused.
I've thought of a short story idea I could post either on RT the FB page or at NAF, so I was torn between starting that or working on Past Ties. Which one?
Or, I could check out the new Splashdown Books writing event Avenir Eclectia, which on first notification freaked me out no end, but upon further reflection sounds a lot like what I used to do before I wrote books (I believe that is now called fanfic, but I could be wrong). Anyway, a little, bitty part of me thinks submitting a short story there could be fun, and I want very much to encourage that part. Seems like a publishing-seeking writerly thing to do. But if I'm doing that, I'm not writing on Past Ties and I need to do that if I want to make my deadline.
What to do, what to do?
I set the distractions aside and wrote on Past Ties. I'll add the short story and Avenir Eclectia to my to-do list and plan time for them. With the TV off, I make progress on my list. It may be slow but it's steady.
That's why I'm keeping my goals. I may not accomplish them in quite the time frame I expect, but I will accomplish them. One month at a time, one goal at a time, one priority at a time.
It's not so different from leveling up in Farmville, really, and I've been doing that for almost a year.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Operation Rolling Thunder
Have you heard of this? I know it's bigger than just our city, and I think it's bigger than just our state.
Churches take one day a month, and populate that day with members who pray for half hour slots. The result is a continuous layer of prayer coating your city, state and our nation.
Prayer focuses on seven key areas of life: family, government/military, church, media/entertainment; arts, business, education and health care. You can see the complete list fleshed out at
Churches in our state have jumped in (and, boy howdy, do we need it in Kansas. Topeka has a 666 zip code) and fantastic things are happening.
The power of prayer is real. God's people turning to Him daily in intercession for the world changes everything. Why do you think Tribulation follows the removal of the Holy Spirit?
This is my third year of this kind of scheduled prayer. It's not hard, and you can incorporate it into your daily devotional time if you have one. I believe it is making the difference in our state. God will perform miracles when His people pray.
If thunder isn't rolling in your state, pray anyway. Tell a friend and pray in conjunction.
"For where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in their midst." -Jesus.
Churches take one day a month, and populate that day with members who pray for half hour slots. The result is a continuous layer of prayer coating your city, state and our nation.
Prayer focuses on seven key areas of life: family, government/military, church, media/entertainment; arts, business, education and health care. You can see the complete list fleshed out at
Churches in our state have jumped in (and, boy howdy, do we need it in Kansas. Topeka has a 666 zip code) and fantastic things are happening.
The power of prayer is real. God's people turning to Him daily in intercession for the world changes everything. Why do you think Tribulation follows the removal of the Holy Spirit?
This is my third year of this kind of scheduled prayer. It's not hard, and you can incorporate it into your daily devotional time if you have one. I believe it is making the difference in our state. God will perform miracles when His people pray.
If thunder isn't rolling in your state, pray anyway. Tell a friend and pray in conjunction.
"For where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in their midst." -Jesus.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
When Did Life Get So Busy?
At one of the numerous meetings I'm attending this week, I heard the lament about when life would slow down. Slowing down has not been my experience. Seems to me, life only speeds up until it finally flings you out into the grand abyss of death.
I could be wrong. But I'm not.
March has not slowed down. I have stopped all TV watching during the week. That's helped.
The nights are given to meetings. Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed My Lamb's choral recital. I enjoyed The Flash's band concert (I'm not lying. I really did). I found listening to Jack Cashill about his most recent book Deconstructing Obama quite interesting, and my autographed copy sits on my stack of books to read for the year. I don't know if I will categorize it as "marketing" or "business." Probably "business" since he's a professional writer and I can learn from his style. It is most certainly not fiction, no matter what the liberal media would tell you.
My 30-30-30 plan is suffering. I'm getting devotionals in, but they weren't actually part of the plan.
Writing on Past Ties has happened only in my head. "Walking" is from the car to wherever and back, which would be fine if I were parking because I park in the boondocks. Those with whom I carpool, alas, do not. Except for Tuesday when we couldn't find any close spaces and had to park two blocks away. That was good.
I could start taking a book with me to get my 30 minutes of reading in, a habit I've lost over the years, but I can't read in the car and I think it's rude to read when other people are in the room not reading.
Yes, it's odd I would find that rude, but I do. I have learned a few valuable social behaviors. Not many, but a few.
I have managed to get a little more sleep than last week. I could up the sleep quota by putting the cats back in the basement but I have so little time with them at the moment, I'm afraid what schemes might be devised down there in the dark. Better to keep them close while I can.
Once again, time moves on and leaves me behind. That's my way of saying this is all the post I can manage this morning. Another meeting tonight, but this one involves food. Huzzah!
I could be wrong. But I'm not.
March has not slowed down. I have stopped all TV watching during the week. That's helped.
The nights are given to meetings. Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed My Lamb's choral recital. I enjoyed The Flash's band concert (I'm not lying. I really did). I found listening to Jack Cashill about his most recent book Deconstructing Obama quite interesting, and my autographed copy sits on my stack of books to read for the year. I don't know if I will categorize it as "marketing" or "business." Probably "business" since he's a professional writer and I can learn from his style. It is most certainly not fiction, no matter what the liberal media would tell you.
My 30-30-30 plan is suffering. I'm getting devotionals in, but they weren't actually part of the plan.
Writing on Past Ties has happened only in my head. "Walking" is from the car to wherever and back, which would be fine if I were parking because I park in the boondocks. Those with whom I carpool, alas, do not. Except for Tuesday when we couldn't find any close spaces and had to park two blocks away. That was good.
I could start taking a book with me to get my 30 minutes of reading in, a habit I've lost over the years, but I can't read in the car and I think it's rude to read when other people are in the room not reading.
Yes, it's odd I would find that rude, but I do. I have learned a few valuable social behaviors. Not many, but a few.
I have managed to get a little more sleep than last week. I could up the sleep quota by putting the cats back in the basement but I have so little time with them at the moment, I'm afraid what schemes might be devised down there in the dark. Better to keep them close while I can.
Once again, time moves on and leaves me behind. That's my way of saying this is all the post I can manage this morning. Another meeting tonight, but this one involves food. Huzzah!
Monday, March 7, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Rolling In Dough
Cooking failed to interest me as a child. Other than the end result, that is. Oh, mom tried to teach me, but I would have none of it. When I entered college life, she gave me a helpful notebook filled with all the life skills I refused to notice earlier called Where's Mom Now That I Need Her? In reality, she was one hour and one phone call away, but the point was clear.
My college roommate cooked with what I will call practicality. Did you know just about anything can bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees and come out edible? I learned how to have a meat, vegetable and starch ready at the same time. I even learned how to make macaroni and cheese so delicious and unhealthy you could die just looking at it.
When a family friend showed me how to make stew, my cooking career launched. Casseroles, soups and stews are even easier than baking chicken and create a week's worth of meals instead of a single sit-down. I don't use recipes, just ingredients, and I like the results the majority of the time. Especially when I remember to add salt.
A few years ago, I got hooked on the show America's Test Kitchen (now owned by Martha Stewart and called something else I can't remember). I learned the difference between cooking and baking.
In cooking, you can throw ingredients in a pot and as long as you don't cook out the color of the vegetables get passable results.
Try that with baking and you will get a mess.
Baking is all about chemistry. This ingredient reacting with that ingredient to create this effect. Beat X amount of times. Too few and it falls apart. Too many and congratulations! You made a rock.
I am not a baker. The only oven in my house is a toaster oven, and I use it mostly with store-bought bagels.
Where am I going with this? I'm not sure.
Maybe I'm saying life is a kitchen, where sometimes you cook and other times you have to bake.
Maybe I'm saying I would rather wing it than measure it.
Maybe God made both ways so all personality types would have a chance to both enjoy and hate food preparation.
Mostly I'm saying, "I'm so sorry the cream puffs didn't turn out, my lamb. I hope you're able to salvage the second batch, and we'll try it again when we have more Crisco."
My college roommate cooked with what I will call practicality. Did you know just about anything can bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees and come out edible? I learned how to have a meat, vegetable and starch ready at the same time. I even learned how to make macaroni and cheese so delicious and unhealthy you could die just looking at it.
When a family friend showed me how to make stew, my cooking career launched. Casseroles, soups and stews are even easier than baking chicken and create a week's worth of meals instead of a single sit-down. I don't use recipes, just ingredients, and I like the results the majority of the time. Especially when I remember to add salt.
A few years ago, I got hooked on the show America's Test Kitchen (now owned by Martha Stewart and called something else I can't remember). I learned the difference between cooking and baking.
In cooking, you can throw ingredients in a pot and as long as you don't cook out the color of the vegetables get passable results.
Try that with baking and you will get a mess.
Baking is all about chemistry. This ingredient reacting with that ingredient to create this effect. Beat X amount of times. Too few and it falls apart. Too many and congratulations! You made a rock.
I am not a baker. The only oven in my house is a toaster oven, and I use it mostly with store-bought bagels.
Where am I going with this? I'm not sure.
Maybe I'm saying life is a kitchen, where sometimes you cook and other times you have to bake.
Maybe I'm saying I would rather wing it than measure it.
Maybe God made both ways so all personality types would have a chance to both enjoy and hate food preparation.
Mostly I'm saying, "I'm so sorry the cream puffs didn't turn out, my lamb. I hope you're able to salvage the second batch, and we'll try it again when we have more Crisco."
Thursday, March 3, 2011
No Inspiration Today
Except for Farmville topics, which you can check out on my other blog, Virtual Buttercups.
Last night was a late night, and tonight looks the same way. Two cups of tea are not helping, either. I may need a White Chocolate Mocha slim latte with a shot of cinnamon this afternoon. See, I've
learned cinnamon masks the bitter coffee taste as well as ice cream does. I suspect that's a bad thing, considering how expensive coffee shop coffee drinks are.
We'll see if Momma Turtle reads this today. heh heh.
Last night was a late night, and tonight looks the same way. Two cups of tea are not helping, either. I may need a White Chocolate Mocha slim latte with a shot of cinnamon this afternoon. See, I've
learned cinnamon masks the bitter coffee taste as well as ice cream does. I suspect that's a bad thing, considering how expensive coffee shop coffee drinks are.
We'll see if Momma Turtle reads this today. heh heh.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
A New Month
Ralene over at Faith, Hope & Suspense started a 3-in-30 task where you set 3 goals and accomplish them in 30 days.
My goals this year are not quite so time-specific, but I am taking the opportunity to incorporate a few lifestyle changes this month. If I practice them well in March, I may continue into April.
I call it the 30-30-30 plan. Thirty minutes of walking, thirty minutes of reading and thirty minutes of writing. Just occurred to me I need to add 30 minutes of Bible study. Hmm.
I've combined walking and reading so far because it's too cold and messy to walk outside. I can read on the treadmill.
The upside is I choose what I'm doing in that 30 minutes. I can walk inside or outside. I can read business books or fiction books (both are necessary for me the writer so I don't feel guilty about either). I can write on my WIP or something else, as long as I'm writing. I'm sticking with Past Ties.
And I choose when I do these things. So far, it's been early evening when I would normally turn on must-be-stupid TV and drool for a while.
Why tell you this?
Because today's schedule is weird, so I have to go do my 30-30-30 now instead of tonight. Which is my way of saying sorry about the less than inspiring blog post. I'll try to do better tomorrow.
My goals this year are not quite so time-specific, but I am taking the opportunity to incorporate a few lifestyle changes this month. If I practice them well in March, I may continue into April.
I call it the 30-30-30 plan. Thirty minutes of walking, thirty minutes of reading and thirty minutes of writing. Just occurred to me I need to add 30 minutes of Bible study. Hmm.
I've combined walking and reading so far because it's too cold and messy to walk outside. I can read on the treadmill.
The upside is I choose what I'm doing in that 30 minutes. I can walk inside or outside. I can read business books or fiction books (both are necessary for me the writer so I don't feel guilty about either). I can write on my WIP or something else, as long as I'm writing. I'm sticking with Past Ties.
And I choose when I do these things. So far, it's been early evening when I would normally turn on must-be-stupid TV and drool for a while.
Why tell you this?
Because today's schedule is weird, so I have to go do my 30-30-30 now instead of tonight. Which is my way of saying sorry about the less than inspiring blog post. I'll try to do better tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Learning Curve
Have you heard when you learn a new skill, all your original skills get worse for a while? Something to do with energy expenditures, change of focus, reorganizing brain matter - something like that.
Well, February was one long dropped ball as far as practicing new skills go.
TT: That's the right phrase, isn't it? When you throw a football and the guy at the other end of the field doesn't catch it? I don't know why I keep trying to use sports metaphors like I understand them.
But, practice makes perfect and perseverance is what makes practice possible. I have goals. I haven't shared them all with you, dear readers, but I wrote some down. Taking Dave Ramsey's advice, I even made them somewhat specific and measurable. Not too specific and measurable. When I started to experience petit mal panic attacks, I backed up a step and called it "good enough."
But my intention with March is to continue those goals with one important difference.
I will start now. Technically, I started yesterday, but February is very short.
See, I waited in February. The month was stretched out in front of me, looking all far away and open for business, so I didn't take the starting seriously. Then, as tends to happen with life, time contracted, and I'm left at the end with nothing to show for it except a truly exceptional Fill Zone score.
I don't want a repeat of February in March. Difficult, since March is a repeat of February plus 3 days.
Last night, I left the TV off. I exited FB and read a chapter of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, my next business book, while walking on my treadmill. I completed the daily devotional for the class I'm taking at church. I wrote some on Past Ties. And I ended with a little time for Bubble Spinner during a friend's phone call (curse you, Mindjolt! Why must your games be so attractive?).
It is a start. Last night, I saddled my donkey and reaped a tiny benefit. Good for me. Now I must do it again. One day at a time, one goal-step at a time, one skill-set at a time.
Today is the first day of the rest of my month. I will use it better.
And, yes, I'm fully aware Murphy waits around the next hour to trip me up in my perceived success. I will ignore him. When you miss a meal, you don't give up eating. If I miss a step, I will not stop walking.
Well, February was one long dropped ball as far as practicing new skills go.
TT: That's the right phrase, isn't it? When you throw a football and the guy at the other end of the field doesn't catch it? I don't know why I keep trying to use sports metaphors like I understand them.
But, practice makes perfect and perseverance is what makes practice possible. I have goals. I haven't shared them all with you, dear readers, but I wrote some down. Taking Dave Ramsey's advice, I even made them somewhat specific and measurable. Not too specific and measurable. When I started to experience petit mal panic attacks, I backed up a step and called it "good enough."
But my intention with March is to continue those goals with one important difference.
I will start now. Technically, I started yesterday, but February is very short.
See, I waited in February. The month was stretched out in front of me, looking all far away and open for business, so I didn't take the starting seriously. Then, as tends to happen with life, time contracted, and I'm left at the end with nothing to show for it except a truly exceptional Fill Zone score.
I don't want a repeat of February in March. Difficult, since March is a repeat of February plus 3 days.
Last night, I left the TV off. I exited FB and read a chapter of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, my next business book, while walking on my treadmill. I completed the daily devotional for the class I'm taking at church. I wrote some on Past Ties. And I ended with a little time for Bubble Spinner during a friend's phone call (curse you, Mindjolt! Why must your games be so attractive?).
It is a start. Last night, I saddled my donkey and reaped a tiny benefit. Good for me. Now I must do it again. One day at a time, one goal-step at a time, one skill-set at a time.
Today is the first day of the rest of my month. I will use it better.
And, yes, I'm fully aware Murphy waits around the next hour to trip me up in my perceived success. I will ignore him. When you miss a meal, you don't give up eating. If I miss a step, I will not stop walking.
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