Anna and the Dragon...and Spaghetti

I know, I promised a zucchini recipe, but this is way more important. Although, not as delicious. I'll put the recipe at the bottom.

I finished Anna and the Dragon last night just before 10 PM. This is remarkable only because I started reading it Sunday afternoon. No, it isn't a small book. It's just so darn compelling I had to finish it. I even took two breaks during work yesterday (something we're encouraged to do but I rarely do) so I could read at work.

This is a book about an antisocial woman who wears clunky boots, forgets to eat and shows interest in people only when they're part of her research. How could I not like it? Then she falls for an ill-kempt Welsh rogue? Please. How could I not like this book? Add a kilt, and I've written it. Not really. That's about it for similarities, although there is one part where she's looking up at this black "arch" that reminded me... well, I won't go into that.

It's set in Oregon and Oregon is a character in its own right. I can smell the gloomy, green damp and the salt water and the cold. Excellent! The health food store became the Health Food Mart I frequent (minus the deli and coffee bar - guess those are standard in Oregon). That tiny apartment with its card table could have been the tiny apartment I rented in grad school.

The publisher is CreateSpace, which I think means she did it herself. Well, she's a better editor than most because I didn't notice a single typo. Can't say that about many books these days, my own included. The best compliment I can give her is "it reads like a real book." Which also means there's some adult situations and cussing but not nearly as much as I get standing in the checkout line at Walmart, so don't let that stop you.

Since I don't know the author yet (we've FB Friended but what does that really say about a person?), my anxiety was higher than normal. Would I like the ending? Would all the suffering be worth it? Would the cat survive?! You can't always tell with these spec fic authors. Some of them enjoy tragedy as object lessons. That last page was a sigh of relief, I'm telling ya.

I gave it 5 stars. That's a first for me with a living author,* 'cause my realist self says they could always write a better book and where do you go from "up"? The best part is the price. $2.99! You can buy the book and a multi-grain vegan sandwich to go with it like a real Oregonian.

Most importantly, Ginger survives the book.

If you can't tell, I liked it. A lot.

*Turns out it's not a first for me. The first was Odd Little Miracles by Fred Warren and I've handed out a few since then. Apparently, early dementia afflicts the Turtle. Sorry. 

And now the recipe I made in-between reading sessions and ate while reading:

Spaghetti with Zucchini and Garlic

2 sm to med zucchini, shredded large

¼ cp extra-virgin olive oil (4 turns on the pan)

4 cloves garlic, chopped

Salt and pepper

(Basil pesto if you have access to such)

1 lb spaghetti, al dente

½ cp grated parmasiano or romano

 

Over medium heat, add olive oil and shredded zucchini.

Season with salt and pepper.

Cook zucchini 7 – 10 minutes. Add garlic (and basil pesto, if desired) in the last two minutes to avoid burning the garlic.

Add hot, drained pasta to the pan.

Toss spaghetti with zucchini and add handfuls of grated cheese. Adjust seasoning and serve.

Weekend Recap

The partial insomnia is back. I'm waking up around 3 AM because that seems to be the tipping point for heat collection the house. It's too cool outside (as in, under 82 degrees) to make the thermostat trip, but it's at the edge of my tolerance level inside. It almost makes me miss winter. Sometimes it helps to get up and adjust the fan. Sometimes it doesn't. This morning, it didn't.

I read an article posted on FB about "two sleeps," how people in medieval Europe, at least, used to sleep for a while before midnight, wake up for a couple hours, and go back to sleep for a few more hours. This would be pre-electricity days when darkness lasted fourteen hours and nobody had to beat traffic at 4 AM. I'm a little concerned that this article settled itself in my selectively suggestive brain and I'll never sleep through the night again, even though I have electricity. Oh well. What's read is read. Let that be a lesson to you, folks.

The zucchini may be nearing the end. Despite my efforts (I won't call them "best" because they've been a little hit or miss), the squash bugs are taking over. Aside from the normal sense of panic I experience when I come to the "end" of something, I am a bit tired of constant vigilance. Flowers are easier, although the zucchini hasn't been as work-intensive as I'd feared.

I'm nearly to the end of Structuring Your Novel by K.M. Weiland. That has been An Extremely Useful Book, let me tell you. I have yet to outline the slam-bang finish of Dangling Justice, but I'm way closer than I was a week ago when I started. After that, it's about the butt-in-seat writing, something I haven't practiced all out since Elementals, and never with an outline. Should be interesting.

I'll have a new zucchini recipe tomorrow. I made it last night, and even though I burned the garlic, overcooked the zucchini and made too little spaghetti, it was excellent. How good does a recipe have to be to forgive that kind of incompetence?

I'm off to make zucchini hash for breakfast. Happy Monday, dear readers.

Strong Female Characters

I've posted in the mornings for years, but my mornings are currently crowded with The Swamp, so we'll try evenings for a while.

Day three of no TV when I come home and I'm not missing it. This is far easier to do in the non-tornado season, btw. I know there's nothing more important entertainment-wise on television, but weather can kill the unaware and unprepared. Yes, that's my phobia talking.

I read a blog post by a total stranger this week on how much she hates the descriptive phrase "strong female character." While she had excellent, rational reasons, I still came away thinking "feminist" with a little scoff in my mental voice. My issue, I'm sure, because her reasons boiled down to "no one describes male characters that way."

Must everything be a reaction to maleness? Must women be "equal" or worthless? I would say "strong female character" is a reaction to all those weak female characters who were props for male characters to show off their masculinity. It's nice to see the literary world branching out. I don't see the need for a parade about it or a Female Character Awareness Day.

Do we really have nothing else to worry about as writers? Is this the straw that broke the camel's back (Hump Daaaaay, yeah!), whether my female characters are "strong" instead of "complicated," "snarky" or "egocentric"? Sheesh.

I just don't care. Describe them however you like. I'm not reading your reviews anyway. They're none of my business.

Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Hope it was a good one.

Symbolism

Kat interviewed Jill Domschot this week (go see) and got me thinking about symbolism.

I love symbols. I like depth and symbols are all about depth. Hidden meanings. Connotations. Similarities between dissimilar things.

Which is why when Jill posed the question "what symbols do you use?" I was stumped that I was stumped.

Now, as much as I like symbols, I also tend to mock those who symbolize everything. Yes, hypocritical of me, I know, but when your book is 160K words, sometimes a blue curtain is a blue curtain.

TT: Jill asked about the significance of the blue curtain, and I can only say somewhere in the past, a discussion was held about symbolism and someone said they put blue curtains into a scene for a particular symbolic reason. I mocked them, as is my wont, and promptly forgot the reason. My apologies. I am an arrogant dumbass.

Anyhoo, there I am wracking my brain for symbols in Star of Justice when it hits me (much like the title which took far too long to discover) that the "star of justice" is a symbol. It's the symbol worn by the knights of Golor. It's an obvious symbol, because I name it so, and nearly everyone in the book recognizes and understands the symbol, but it counts as a symbol nonetheless.

Radiac's symbol also counts. That second, equally dangerous mark Caissa receives that puts her into a mess of trouble time and again. So, two obvious uses of symbolism.

A deeper and completely unintended symbolism I figured out today is that by wearing both symbols, Caissa herself becomes a symbol. She symbolizes the struggle every person must face to take the easy left or the hard right. Do your duty or flee as a coward. It kinda makes me wish I'd put the star of justice on her right arm, except knights are marked on the side closest the heart, like a wedding ring. I guess that's another symbol.

There you have it. The only symbolism I recognize in my first published book. The two extremely obvious and intentional symbols and the one less obvious and completely unintentional symbol.

Finally, Kat gave Jill's first book 5 stars and it's less than $10. That alone makes it worth buying. Make an author's day and go get Anna and the Dragon. Make an author's month and actually read the thing.

Distracted

For the last week, I've gotten on here intending to write something and gotten distracted by the blogs of friends. Thanks, friends.

I've been distracted lately. Hard to stay focused at work. Running around The Swamp willy nilly pulling this and that with no discernible plan. Switching between books on the Kindle not because I'm bored but because something else drew my eye.

I think it's growing pains. I've been a lump for too long (and I have the arm fat to prove it). Realm Makers was no great epiphany for me. I've attended too many conferences in my life to fall for the emotional rush that leads to the emotional let down a week or two later. That's code for "I'm jaded." However, I spent a good sum of money, and I want to believe I got my money's worth.

What has come home is it's time to put up or shut up. This is no declaration of a return to daily blogging, but I can't be a writer if I don't write. I've been wandering around for the last few years, avoiding the computer for various reasons, most of them underpinned by either apathy or fear. That's no reason not to write. I don't have to publish one more thing if I don't want to, but I would like to write again - without fear, without worrying about the hard work. I'd like to enjoy it again.

Where is that joy? You couldn't have stopped me from writing in college if you'd cut my fingers off. I spent hours at my laptop giggling and I was writing pure crap, building my million word resume. Those early efforts had only passion to recommend them but I was too stupid to know it. Why now - when I have that practice behind me - should I stop enjoying it?

All my social obligations of two years ago have dried up. Friends' lives have changed and the Turtle sits alone on the edge of her swamp. This is a good thing. This is how Star of Justice was written. I was bored, and I had no friends (and no internet) to distract me. It's time to buckle down.

I'm applying Randy Ingermanssen's Snowflake Method to Dangling Justice. I'm reading K.M. Weiland's Structuring Your Novel because my writing expertise comes from 20 years ago and it's time for a refresher.

TT: I follow her blog but she guest-posted somewhere yesterday and I was so impressed with the post and her book was priced so right -$2.99 on Kindle- I bought it. Guest posting works, folks. Keep it up. 

Time to use distraction to my advantage. Let's see if my newest WIP can hold my attention.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers.

Kitchen Sink Macaroni Salad (with zucchini)

Yes, I'm determined to prove zucchini (and you) deserves more than bread.

I took the original recipe from Mr. Food, and then totally substituted stuff I can/like to eat. The only thing I didn't change is the peas and I didn't actually add them to my first try because I don't have any at the moment. The original called for salami instead of chicken and that probably is why you only add a teaspoon of salt. I didn't salt the chicken, so I'll up that a bit next time, too. I also used more than 1 cup of everything, but I guarantee this Turtle will eat every bite. Nom-nom.

Serves: 10

Chilling Time: 2 hr

Cooking Time: 15 min

What You'll Need:

1 (16-ounce) package pasta, cooked according to package directions, rinsed, and cooled

1 cup diced chicken

1 cup diced mozzarella cheese

1 cup frozen peas, thawed

1 cup chopped zucchini

1 cup diced celery

1/2 cup diced red onion

1 cup greek yogurt

2 teaspoons seasoning (I used Pampered Chef's Chili Lime Rub but I might try onion soup mix or Hidden Valley Ranch packets next time)

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

What To Do:

In a large bowl, combine pasta, chicken, cheese, peas, olives, celery, and onion.

In a small bowl, combine mayonnaise, dry mustard, salt, and pepper; mix well.

Stir into pasta mixture; cover.

Refrigerate at least 2 hours, or until ready to serve.

Even Howard from the Mr. Food test kitchen allows that this recipe is made for substituting, so have fun and add what you like. 

Zucchini Rosemary Soup

This came from the Food com website, and I have no good reason to modify it, although the Kansan in me wants to add bacon.

Servings: 6

Ingredients:
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, chopped
2 teaspoons fennel seeds
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
3 zucchini, chopped
1 1/2 teaspoons fresh rosemary, minced
2 1/2 cups sodium-free chicken stock
3 tablespoons long-grain rice
1 1/2 teaspoons rice vinegar or 1 1/2 teaspoons lemon juice

Directions:
1 In a large saucepan, heat oil over medium heat. Fry celery, onion, garlic, fennel seeds, salt and pepper, stirring, occasionally, for 5 minutes or until softened.

2 Stir in zucchini and rosemary; cook for 6 minutes.

3 Add stock, 2 cups water and rice. Bring to boil. Reduce heat, cover and simmer, stirring often, for about 20 minutes or until rice is tender. Stir in rice vinegar; let cool slightly.

4 In batches in blender or food processor, purée soup until smooth.

I ate it warm, but it might be OK cold. It has a texture like cream of wheat. It's pale green, and I assume the rice vinegar is to hold the color because with that little amount, I couldn't taste it. 
Next time, I'll use fresher garlic and maybe a little more celery. It smelled like the chicken broth while it was cooking, but that wasn't the taste. It was very mild overall. Except for the rosemary garnish. I spit that out and wouldn't use it next time. ehem. 


There you go. Another use for zucchini, of which I have plenty.

The Trouble with Technology

That zucchini recipe has been up long enough, don't you think?

The events in Star of Justice are set in motion (somewhat) by a visit the year before of a young man and his non-magical construct. I reference this visit twice in Star of Justice, both times specifically because of the word "technology."

I kept that reference as vague as possible because while I knew the basics of this visit (accidental use of a time-space portal/wormhole) and intended to write about it should our world not end by 2012, I hadn't actually written that scene. After my experiences with "adapting" Elementals, I'm glad I hadn't. However...

Writing that scene is turning out to be a chore. It has to involve Caissa and Gamaliel, and Kiven has to define "technology" as "things that act magical without magic." Sounds simple, don't it? It ain't.

I've revised my original idea for this scene to something (hopefully) more interesting and that's left Caissa out of the main body of conversation, which can't happen because she's the one who remembers the word and the definition. So I'm revising my revision and keeping my fingers crossed that it works.

This is the difficulty with writing a series backwards, hoping you've kept the back story open enough for creative inspiration yet not ignored it so completely the reader is surprised into disbelief (Galena's a werebear?! Are you kidding? No, actually, I'm not). I have another book set sideways (or concurrently) with Star of Justice, and I'm already getting nervous about that.

While "researching" those references in Star of Justice (no, I can't remember details from my own book, OK?), I remembered how much I love it, so I'm reading it again, this time in the print version.

Wow, Grace, could you have made those margins narrower? I mean, I know it's a brick, but holy cow! The copy feels ready to fall off the page if I turn it too quick. Oh well. The ebook reads just fine and it's cheaper on Amazon anyway. $2.99, I think.

Happy Monday, dear readers. If you need something to do, Star of Justice is ready for your attention. And if you haven't read it again, do. You'll be amazed at what you missed the first time around.

Super Easy Zucchini Hash

Why not post a recipe? I'm used to making things up as I go along in the food department, but these turned out really well.

Serving size: 4
Prep time: 5 minutes
Cooking time: 9 minutes

shredded zucchini - 1/2 to 1 cup (use lesser measurement if your shreds are smaller)
2 large eggs
1/4 cup minced onion (more if you're an onion lover, none if you hate onions)
1-2 Tbsp oil (if you have an old electric skillet like me, you'll use 2 or ruin your skillet. For good pans, you can use less. Use whatever oil you like to taste. I used canola, but olive would work)
salt and pepper to taste
Optional: shredded cheese, salsa, guacamole

TT: See, this is why I hate recipes. Everything depends. This is food, for heaven's sake, not engineering.

-Heat skillet until oil is hot but not shimmering. Do the rest while the skillet is heating (about 5 minutes)
-Crack eggs in a breakfast bowl and beat with fork until blended. Give shells to nearest cat to lick clean before composting. Mine go to Skuttle.
-Shred zucchini. Give remainder of unshredded zucchini to dog, because you'll have more zucchini to harvest in the morning. Why did you plant 5 zucchini plants, you idiot?
-Blend shredded zucchini into eggs until it's all the same consistency.
-Mince onion. Add to eggs and zucchini. 
-Drop four big spoonful of egg mixture into heated skillet like pancakes. Salt and pepper each cake.
-Leave alone for 3 minutes (enough time to put hair into bun clip and return) then fold in half like an omelet and flip to let second side cook.

-Clean up prep area by allowing cats onto counter. I'm kidding. Cats shouldn't eat onion, so only do this if you hate onions and didn't use any. Otherwise, clean the counter first, then let the cats on it.

I made sure the spatula had no onion on it.

-Turn down heat and flip cake again. That zucchini is moist stuff and no one likes a soggy hash brown.

-This is the time to grab your favorite egg condiment. These would work equally well with sweet (toast with jelly) or savory (salsa and sour cream).

I ate all four of mine because I normally eat two eggs for breakfast, but they make a "serving size" of meat, so you could plan them as part of a full meal.

I suspect you could also double and bake the hash as a casserole but I don't have an oven, so I'm unlikely to try that.

There you go. Super easy zucchini hash. If you need zucchini to try it, I'll mail you some.

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell

I bought this book on the recommendation of a co-worker, and it must have been cheap enough because I don't do expensive Kindle books.

TT: $8.99 is as high as I've gone so far and that was on the recommendation of Kat the Hacker. Fortunately, she was right. Patrick Rothfuss is worth reading even at that price.

JS&MN is a long book, too, because I've been reading steadily for at least a week and I tipped the halfway point last night. It has a blend of fascinating tedium that appeals to me. The oddest part so far is I don't actually like any of the characters. I don't actively wish them harm, but I wouldn't want to sit in a drawing room with any of them, either. Maybe Arabella. In this sense, it reminds me of Pride & Prejudice. I dislike most of those characters, too. I'd pierce my own eardrums with a knitting needle rather than listen to Mrs. Bennett for any portion of my life.

I don't know if the author is British, but she's got the British style down pat. It's the story of two English magicians who bring practical magic back into use during the Napoleonic war.  I keep comparing it to the Hornblower books set in the same time frame and find no real fault with either story for the comparison. We meet the Duke of Wellington (I think he's in the Hornblower books, too, as Lady Barbara's brother?) and King George. The mad one.

I fear the ending. After so many pages with these characters, I can't help but feel a little sorry for them and what's coming. I don't actually know what's coming, but the track so far is reminiscent of Lemony Snickett's Series of Unfortunate Events and I hated the one book of that series I read. Plus, this is British, not American, and Brits face the bittersweet end with determination, not defiance. The best I can hope for is a draw. 

In those moments when the tedium becomes too great and I put the Kindle down for a bit, I wonder what kind of person would write such things. As an author, I love my characters. I have to. We spend a lot of time together in the course of a book and I don't want to be around people I don't like. This author must love these annoying people to have spent so much time with them. That alone inclines me to continue, in the hopes that the tiny bits of goodness in them will somehow connect at the end to bring about good things instead of disaster. 

Happy Tuesday, dear readers, and happy reading. 

Gardens Take a Lot of Time

I had no idea. I mean, I kinda did, because one of the reasons I've never grown vegetables is it's a lot of work and "work" equals "time in the garden."

If I don't check for zucchini every morning, I end up with huge, rotted zucchini clogging up my production space. Harvesting zucchini every day means dealing with zucchini every day. Those suckers don't store, and I don't can. So, I'm cooking every night: frying zucchini, chopping zucchini, chopping onions to go with the zucchini before they go bad.

Last night's dinner took two hours and it was basically a vegetable casserole. Yes, I did stuff in between the microwave cooking (love my Pampered Chef stone baker, btw!) but that stuff was mixing and applying insecticidal soap on the zucchini to battle squash bugs and hopefully not kill any of my wasps, bees or beneficials.

I also suspect my lower grocery bill will not offset my higher water bill. It's not like I buy zucchini every day in season. This is an attempt to eat more fresh vegetables, not a money-saving measure.

My one purple bean struggles on, but it's by no means thriving. My tomato plant has plenty of green tomatoes but nothing is ripening.

One of my magazines said good dirt is key, and that may be where The Swamp fails. My dirt isn't good enough. Yet.

My plan for end of season is to remove all the dirt from my raised vegetable bed and spread it on the flower gardens. I'll refill the bed with compost and manure, cover it for the winter to "cook" and use it and only it for vegetables next year. I'll plant more attractive flowers for the critters and wait for my dirt to improve.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Eat those vegetables.

Down the Stairs, Around the Corner, Welcome to Hell

Have I told you my theory that dreams about houses are actually dreams about your life? If I haven't, it's because I'm afraid of losing those dreams by sharing. That can happen sometimes.

Ponder a bit. Do you tend to show up in the same place over and over in your dreams? Do you have a "house" you visit constantly when your eyes close? Do certain decorating themes recur enough to give you deja vu upon awakening?

I have a couple of places I have mentally visited enough times to be able to provide a map if you're interested in a dream travel getaway complete with blowing sheers, arched ceilings and open access to the underworld.

One feature in my "dream houses" is the basement doorway to Hell. It's never an actual doorway. In fact, there is nothing preventing any hellspawn that takes a fancy to an above ground stroll from doing so except possibly a narrowing of the unfinished concrete walls. This narrowing might make a human pause, but it would be a day in the death of any demon accustomed to navigating the bowels of the deep.

Usually my dream basements are unfinished. Concrete floors. Cement block walls with or without a water barrier coating. Bare lightbulbs. They aren't generally crowded with boxes or junk. It could be a space anybody could work in. But...in one of the corners, half-hidden by the shadow of an I-beam, there's an opening...

If you peek in, you might see a narrow corridor curving gently away from the light as the concrete floor turns to dirt. It might open into a crumbling, musty cellar that stretches far longer than a cellar should in a typical neighborhood. Once it was just a hole in the wall. Always that space is set apart by the absolute certainty that if I continue into the darkness, I never escape, or if I stray too close, I will draw some unspeakable horror out of its pit to hunt me down.

I'd say I was reading too much Lovecraft, but I suspect it's more a case of Lovecraft capturing what I fear - the unknown depths where evil lurks.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Pleasant dreams.

Dangling Justice

Yep, that's the working title for the prequel to Star of Justice. I pulled it out this week and scanned the 84 pages I've written over the years. Would I be able to pick up where I left off? How much is worth keeping? Is it as funny as I remember?

Good news is I like what I've done. I didn't see any major issues and corrected the minor ones (mostly verb tenses I've been smacking other people for, so be assured, not only do I have those issues, I smack myself for them). I continue to think it's funny. Not sure anyone else will, but I chuckled a lot.

Better news is I've decided to play with all those "getting in touch with your roots" stuff in this book instead of in the likely never to be revised/published Past Ties. I'm surprised and excited at how easily this book lends itself to those themes. I should have a good balance of funny and bitter.

I'm leaning toward this book at this time for two reasons.

One, Star of Justice has a lot of surprises and anything coming after will build on some of those. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, so going backwards lays different groundwork and gives more readers a chance to read SoJ without spoilers before going forward.

Two, Dangling Justice should be a faster, funnier read than SoJ. It's fantasy, but more RPG than epic and I'm hoping that makes it easier to write while part of my brain is engaged in my day job. C.S. Lewis did something different with every Narnia book. Why can't I? 

I've hesitated to switch WIPs because I book-hopped as a lass, changing projects anytime I got bored and ultimately never finishing anything. However, two years stalling out on one mss is enough for now. We'll see if switching projects this time gets things moving again in the writing department.

Usually, good news comes with bad news, but I don't have any at the moment. The way forward is fairly clear. I just need to sit down, start writing and see what happens. Sounds easy enough.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Stay cool and eat your vegetables.

Well, I Survived...

the 4th, that is.

Independence Day is my most hated holiday (although I loved the movie). I've hated it as long as I can remember. I hate the loud, I hate the explosions and I hate the absolute inconsideration of normally nice-seeming folks. It's like everybody acts like a cigarette smoker for a day.

I don't stay up to the wee hours of the morning. I get up in the wee hours of the morning. I also work July 5th, so setting off sonic booms after midnight is not how you get on my good side.

I've had worse years. The year the college students in the rental across the way shot Roman candles at each other at 2 AM. The year the neighbors right behind me shot bottle rockets (then illegal in the city and now illegal in the state) into my back yard because they were trying to be sneaky. Last year when the drought and 100 degree temperatures weren't enough to prevent anyone from using open flames because, apparently, some people can't live without being completely stupid at least once a year.

My favorite year was the year thunderstorms shut down the fireworks display at the lake. No one could shoot anything in that deluge. I slept like a well-fed baby.

For the most part, my neighbors behaved themselves. Only one household three houses down was determined to celebrate personally, but they set off enormous, loud explosions in their backyard starting at 7:30 and didn't stop until about 12:30 (half an hour after the fireworks curfew). On the other hand, they did stop finally so I could get four hours of sleep.

Neighbors behind me left their poor dog on the back porch until sometime around 11:30. I assume they went to the lake for the evening. It howled and howled for four hours straight. If I didn't think they'd be the kind to sue, I would have trespassed, stolen the dog for the night and brought it back this morning with a lecture.

This year we've had enough rain that I wasn't overly concerned about burning alive in my bed. I just can't sleep through that kind of battlefield noise. I also have the weekend to look forward to, when the morons who don't care about law and order illegally set off all the fireworks they'll buy at half-price today.

I don't know whether I should hope work is boring or exciting. Either way, I'll be half-asleep.

Happy Friday, dear readers. And Happy Birthday, America. Love you. Hate your inconsiderate party guests.

I'm Breezy

Weird thing happened last night.

Let me back up. A weird thing has been happening all week. I've been thinking about stories. Snatches of dialog have cropped up in my brain randomly throughout the past few days.

That's how I write. I start with dialogue and expand into description if the dialogue is worth keeping.

This hasn't happened in a while. My brain has been mushed pretty much all year, so I don't know why it would choose this moment to firm up. 

Last night's weird thing was I opened the laptop and started reading Kerby's POV in Price of Justice with the intention of adding something.

TT: Y'all don't know Kerby yet, but you will. You will.

I even feel like adding a little more today. Nothing huge. Nothing ground-breaking. Just a little forward momentum where no momentum has existed for a considerable amount of time.

This isn't a plunge back into relationship. I'm not ready to pick up where we left off. I'm breezy.

We'll just see where it goes.

Mental Exhaustion

Writing has been less than a trickle here at the Turtle household. I've set aside the becoming-more-ridiculously-complicated-every-time-I-look-at it Price of Justice for the moment, and geared up the simpler (I hope) and funnier (I hope) Dangling Participles, which shall be henceforth renamed - something else. Can't remember at the moment, but it has to do with "justice."

See, that's where my brain is. Mush. Can't remember words. Can't remember yesterday. Why is that?

When I wrote Star of Justice, and Daughter of Anasca, for that matter, I worked at Florists' Review as the customer service representative. I answered phones, took orders, opened mail, handled the deposits: standard administrative stuff. I loved doing it, too, but the brain power necessary was, shall we say, less than that required by a monkey opening a banana. I could come home and devote two or more hours to heavy thinking because I hadn't done any during the day.

I switched jobs in 2011. I was File Clerk #6 and I handled all the new business entity filings for the State of Kansas. As far as types of business entities, if they were sold at Walmart, you could buy them all at the express checkout without guilt, but the Big Six were the most common filings: LLCs, corps, not for profit corps, and their foreign counterparts. "Foreign" in this context is any entity not born in Kansas.

That brain rearrange took a little time, and my writing suffered. Can't plan new worlds and snappy dialogue while reviewing the LLC statute to determine who can and can't be listed in the "member" line on the form. At least, I can't.

Just as new filings were becoming second nature and a tiny bit boring, I switched jobs again. Yes, I'm a dumbass, but the pay was better and theoretically the work was more interesting. I'm now the Audit Administrator for the state (although I'm lobbying for "Graveyard Investigator") and the brain power required has increased exponentially.

Not only am I learning statutes about how to do my job, I'm reviewing and creating new ways to track cemetery income and outflow for permanent maintenance funds and merchandise trusts. If those phrases mean nothing to you, welcome to the Dumbass Club. They meant nothing to me last September, either.

I'm getting a handle on the newness of it all, and I suspect one day the job will be boring as Ivory soap, but at this moment in time, I don't have a brain cell to spare for being creative in the written world. I spent Monday staring at a spreadsheet trying to work out how to track 20 year payment plans of $5 a month on multiple pieces of merchandise whose costs are refigured at least once a year to maintain 50% of retail value. If that sentence means nothing to you, yeah, welcome to my world. I collapsed when I got home and stared at the ceiling for an hour before falling asleep for the night. Thankfully, I did not dream of spreadsheets.

The old File Clerk #6 position looked pretty comfy Monday. 

The simple truth is I need to stop feeling guilty for having no brain left when I come home. I wanted this job, I like the money and I intend to do it well. By October, I'll have been through every cemetery on my books at least once and I'll have (God, please let it be so) developed some kind of tracking mechanism for all of them. After that, my brain can relax a bit and start mulling other things, like lawsuits for all those cemeteries doing it wrong.

Just kidding. Except I'm not.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Remember to put the trash out.

22 Things Happy People Do Differently

I've never heard of these before this morning, don't know where the list came from, but I'm happy (huh-huh) to say they aren't unfamiliar to me as a way to live by grace in Jesus Christ. Yeah, I'm a Christian. I have to bring Jesus into it.



1. Don’t hold grudges.
2. Treat everyone with kindness.
3. See problems as challenges.
4. Express gratitude for what you already have.
5. Dream big.
6. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
7. Speak well of others.
8. Never make excuses.
9. Get absorbed into the present.
10. Wake up at the same time every morning.
11. Avoid social comparison.
12. Choose friends wisely.
13. Never seek approval from others.
14. Take the time to listen.
15. Nurture social relationships.
16. Meditate.
17. Eat well.
18. Exercise.
19. Live minimally.
20. Tell the truth.

21. Establish personal control.

22. Accept what cannot be changed.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Don't sweat the small stuff. 

Loss of Interest

I wonder if I'll ever regain my equilibrium.

The secret to longevity appears to be zeal. I think it was Art Linkletter who interviewed on Focus on the Family some years ago about his zest for life. He was a man who woke up a 3:30 AM to prepare a news cast and kept going until midnight every day of his life, apparently. He loved meeting new people, and learning new things and rounding every corner he encountered. His interest kept him alive for 97 years. I'm sure of it.

My grandfather never sat around. He was a farmer most of his life, but even when he retired, he gardened. He went to the community center to play pool. He mowed lawns well into his 90's although he had to rest between each strip.

My dad couldn't stand to be idle. He spent his evenings in the garage building things we later played with on the weekends: a pontoon boat, a dune buggy, a roadster, a small plane. He didn't sit around.

My brothers got the itch. Their lives are whirlwinds of activity and the only time they lie down, apparently, is when they fall down from exhaustion.

TT: They would assure me that is no way to live, but from this side of the fence, it looks pretty green some days.

Why am I not like that? Why do I look at the world and sigh? The depression is over, I'm sure, yet I fear this is as good as I will ever feel, which is worse than the last time I went through this 15 years ago. I wake up with what I'll call "generalized anxiety." My eyes open and my stomach turns over as I wonder what horrible thing I'm not prepared for will attack me.

I work in The Swamp, and I love it, but the loss of a bean plant brings on tears, recrimination and heart ache. I sit down to write and get up again with nothing written. The zeal isn't there anymore. When I started blogging, I couldn't post fast enough. Now, I struggle not to bore myself as well as you with repetition. 

I'm empty. I keep hoping the well is refilling without my noticing, but I sound hollow when I test the depths. I ask God to give me His purpose, but I must not be listening hard enough for His answer.

I've reduced my stress load once again by resigning from one of my social groups. I'm hoping that frees up some emotional resources.

I thought I'd get stronger and more capable as I aged. I feel like I'm growing weaker and more anxious.

Somewhere ahead is inspiration. I just need to keep waking up to find it.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Thank God for His direction in your life. Without it, you're lost.   

Friday Update

The Week of Severe Weather is almost over. Thank God.

It hasn't been that bad for me personally. The tornadoes that formed in Kansas, although big (EF2 and EF3) were far to the west or north and impacted very limited areas, although they impacted those a lot. The worst so far was the weather radio going off every 15 minutes starting at 2:30 this morning to tell me it was hailing.

Here's a hint: I already knew that. Hail makes a very distinctive sound against the roof, the rain gutters and my van. The Swamp isn't quite as upright and colorful as it was last night.

Really wish the phone camera hadn't chosen the screen as its focal point.

I am grateful for God's protection. My storm phobia continues to abate with a lot of prayer and behavioral reconditioning. I'm making progress.

Last week's cold has hung on and hung on, and I'm taking cold meds again. I'll suffer from dry mouth, but I can't take the headache and stuffy nose anymore. I hope the upset stomach will go away, too, but no guarantee on that.

I'm planning on going back to a strict blood-type diet until I feel better. No wheat, no red meat, no potatoes, no tomatoes. Lots of red fruit, greens, rice and fish until I get my immune system back. It's hard to eat a salad when I'm nauseated, but I'll try. The Swamp is swimming in my Early Spring Mix Lettuce. Bit of a hint at how off our weather is when Early Spring Mix is growing well in late May.

I'm in the final stretch of proof-reading P.A. Baines' second book, Alpha Redemption. This one's a keeper so far. I hope to have that finished this weekend and get back to proof-reading a second Splashdown book slated for publication this year.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Eat those greens and keep your head down.

Under Stress

Except for NAF posts, I haven't been around much, have I?

I'm having one of those mornings where I wander around almost starting things and getting distracted by the other thing I ought to do first. I should write a blog post, but I should run the sprinkler at the same time, but that means I should put clothes on, but I don't know what to wear, and I can write a post in my night clothes. So it goes.

I've been under stress lately. Not nervous breakdown levels, but persistent, pervasive stress. Stress at work. Stress with a group I belong to. Stress with the weird weather and my plans for The Swamp. Even stress with Zynga, which has led to the much-needed and long-awaited weaning from Farmville and the stress that comes with losing that outlet. Even my mouse is causing me stress. I think it's broken. It keeps over-clicking things, which may have led to my stress with Zynga.

Long ago, I would have relieved my stress by bringing it to this blog and venting for a while. I can't really do that anymore.

My job is confidential. I am the cemetery and funeral home auditor for the State of Kansas (they won't let me call myself Graveyard Investigator, but I keep trying). I look at bank records and whatnot to make sure the money people prepay for their funerals is where it needs to be to fund those funerals when they happen.

Yeah. I don't know how I got this gig, either.

Anyway, I can't just show up here and pop off every time I get irritated at work. It's unprofessional, and inappropriate and I plain won't do it. Same goes for the group I'm working with. I can't vent here. People in that group could read this blog. It's unlikely, but possible. Unfortunately, I don't have anyplace else to pop off. I've lost My Dear Friend to new love, my Best Friend to her job and family (not her fault, she's a teacher), and the Fam have lives of their own, although I truly appreciate their efforts to include me. Turtles don't clump.

I studied Human Development in college. When we got to this age, the 40-50 range, I remember thinking, "That'll be my time. My married friends (even then, I knew I wouldn't marry) will be launching their children. They'll have more time for socializing, for rediscovering the world outside their little nests."

Didn't occur to me all my friends would be divorced and working on creating new nests with totally different people. This is why you can't count on humans. They continuously interrupt your plans.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Put your good clothes on. You'll need them today.

Where to Start?

Ah, the trials of writing the Epic Fantasy. I dissect it a bit over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

The Perfect 10...K (vs the 150K)

I discuss a growing pet peeve over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

Warm Monday

This morning I awoke to temperatures that apparently will be higher than the highest temp for the week starting Wednesday. We have a chance of snow (yes, in May) and a chance of frost. Winter won't let go in Kansas.

I'm going to try to stop talking/writing about it. I'm tired of listening to myself, so I know you all are tired of hearing about it. You're cold, too. And if you're not, I suggest you keep it to yourself. I'm in no mood.

I bought a van-load of flowers this weekend, some perennials, some annuals. I have until Tuesday to get them in the ground before the snow and frost will kill them. I'm writing this while I wait for the sun to come up. I can get a few planted before work. I'm going to spend as much time outside during the next two hot, sunny days that I can.

It occurred to me yesterday my sleepless nights might be caffeine-related. Due to the cold weather, I've been drinking hot tea in the evenings and hot lattes whenever someone offers. That all stops. I'll drink hot water instead. I also took Valerian root last night and slept until 4:30 without waking up for the first time in seven days.

While turning the compost piles yesterday, I realized I may not get any more shreddable leaves out of last year's bags to use as mulch. Thanks to the rain and snow - yes, I'm trying to be grateful - the compost is composting quickly. If I don't add more to the pile I've got, I might get usable compost in a few weeks at this rate, and that's as good as mulch, I guess.

Well, the sun's up and I can see the ground. That means I'm out into The Swamp to plant.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Catch a few rays if you can and think of me.

Relief in Sight?

I'm tired - literally and figuratively - of waking up around 1 to 2 AM and not going back to sleep. It's happened to me every night this week, so it's little wonder why I'm bouncing back slower than usual.

I don't like it when my schedule gets disrupted. Maybe it's my propensity for motion sickness, but turning my world upside down makes me angry and upset. I don't like being out of control and I avoid it whenever possible. Not saying this is a good thing. Just sayin'.

TT: Most people would agree with the above statement, but it's been my observation that most people handle stress better, or invite it into their lives faster, than I do. Why else would people marry and have children? Or join social clubs? Or date? Pure chaos, all of it.

All the areas of my life are swirling this week. The job is getting more stressful, and, while answers are coming, they don't seem to be coming fast enough, which leads to stress about failing at what I do. Normally, I would go out into the garden to restore some perspective, but the weather has been less than cooperative, which leads to more stress. Finally, my "alone" time is being infringed by social demands I'd rather not meet but must, which leads to more stress.

In short, I'm having a bad week.

However, I have learned that eventually everything smooths out again. Stress, like life, is cyclical.

Happy Friday, dear readers. I feared it wouldn't come but here it is. Let's make the best of it. 

Why Writers Are to Writers As Florists Are to Florists

This has been floating about in my head for a while. Decided to let it out over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

No Stress Relief for the Weary

I garden to reduce stress. That hasn't been working for me lately.

For the third time this month, I have covered my lilac bush with pillow cases to protect the five potential blossoms from killing frost. Why? Because that lilac has never bloomed before. Thirteen years it's lived here without blooming, and the first year it tries, we get 25 degree lows and 40 degree highs in April on a regular basis.

I've laid awake this month thinking about the garden. How to protect the plants. When to harden the seedlings. How many more should I plant because these might be frozen to death in May? When can I shred leaves that won't result in electrocuting myself or ruining my Leaf Hog? Is the whole year going to be wet and cold or should I buy mulch while I can because May will launch the Summer of 100 Days of 100 Degrees?

I'm not kidding. I'm more stressed about The Swamp this month than I have been the last two years of my depression.

I have no business being upset. We desperately need the rain, so if it comes with unseasonably cold temperatures, I should just suck it up. Lower temps also mean less likelihood of damaging storms, so I'm getting a pass on storm phobia in April. That should make me happy. It doesn't.

I want Winter to be over. I want sun-drenched Kansas skies, not snow. I want to open my windows and stop paying heating bills for one month before I have to pay air conditioning bills.

Most of all, I want my lilac to bloom this year. I don't think that's too much to ask.

The Swamp April 22, 2013

If the universe revolved around me, I'd say some Higher Power doesn't want me to grow beans this year. I'm pretty sure the four I planted outside are dead, the seven Skamper chewed on are near dead and the twelve more seeds I planted last week aren't sprouting. Even if they were, I wouldn't have a place to put them because we seem caught in the Groundhog Daymare of a cold front a week sweeping in snow and freezing temperatures. In late April. In Kansas.

In the way of humans, I'm not rejoicing that all but one pea plant is doing well. I even like peas better than beans. What I don't like is failure, and, yes, apparently I believe I have the power to make things grow.

This weekend involved a myriad of projects. The south side planting was intended to be low maintenance, but when bermuda grass is involved, there's no such thing. I've not fought it as hard as I should because I don't like being on the south side of the house. It's hot and the neighbors are weird over there. But, those neighbors are selling their house, so I need to pretty up the south side.

I've broken my own rule and started using grass killer. It's really the only way to keep bermuda grass in check. If you're not familiar with this Kansas jewel, bermuda grass grows anywhere, spreads through seeds and runners (both above and below ground) and can smother existing plants in less than one season. I hate it. I don't know if it's a native plant or an invasive import, but it's a pain in any gardener's back and I will do what's necessary to kill it.

The south side has barberries, a rose bush, lamb's ear (unintentional but it thrives, so I'm leaving it) and maroon chrysanthemums. The mum had split into several tiny mums so I transplanted them. Now I have to mulch and water heavily this year to keep them, but it's worth it. I'll be checking on the stupid grass anyway.

Sunday saw more transplanting. I broke up a healthy patch of lemon thyme. If the basil I planted lives (highly doubtful at this time), it also goes into the herb bed. The bees and I loved the basil last year, so I hope to triple the number of plants I put in. You can't really see the thyme in this pic, but this is the herb bed. The containers hold my "peas in a pot" seedlings. Glad they're cool weather plants.

Finally, I did something I've meant to do for a while and broke up a few big clusters of plants into several small clusters of plants.

The far left plant is a pink shrub rose. I'll regret putting it here because it grows like bermuda grass and sports more thorns than your average cactus, but it survived the arborists, so I kinda respect it. The green onion looking things are daffodils. Wrong time of year, I know, but the weather thinks it's fall, so I'm going with it. I divided the grape hyacinths, too. The bright green babies are variagated hostas, and the fluffy, parsley looking things are true geraniums, bloody cranesbill by common name. The only problem is these are shade plants and this spot is no longer shady. They may all die in a month or two, but they survived last year's drought and 100+ temps, so they may not. I'll mulch the crap out of them, too.

My biggest garden concern this year is the lack of earthworms. I don't know where my little garden buddies have gone, but I've found precious few. I can only assume I'm not mulching enough to give them cool, moist earth to work. That will change this year.

Happy Monday, everybody. If you see the sun, think of me. I'll be dreaming of seeing it again.

The Swamp April 16, 2013

Since the only part of Spring showing up this year is the longer days, I've decided I'll garden anyway. Yesterday I pulled on my sweatshirt and heavy socks before trudging out back after work. If it's not raining tonight, I'll use earmuffs, too. Would you believe we have a chance of accumulating snow by Thursday night? Normally, we'd be in the 70's.

I spent about two hours unwinding from a day with cemeteries by - what to call it? cleaning the garage? It's going to take about four weeks' worth of trash pickup for that to happen, but I started.

See, I like my newest van, and I'm concerned about hail damage, but I have never, ever parked one of my vehicles in my garage. The garage is sliding off its foundation and down the gentle slope of my back yard, so the door is tricky and not worth fighting with on a daily basis.

TT: I wish I had the expertise to repair the garage. Whenever I ask a man/contractor, I get a look that, well, let's just say I'm tired of getting that look. To my untrained eye, I need to jack up the building, remove the broken concrete slab with a jackhammer, pour a new slab and new concrete supports and put the garage back down. Then I could have a solid garage I could electrify and convert from a wild animal shelter to an actual place for my vehicles. However, I don't know how to do any of that and most men seem to believe the cheaper and easier version is to demolish the garage and put up a new one. That's assuming I could get a permit for another garage, something I'm not convinced I could do. Not many houses around here comparable to mine have garages. Since I'm not made of gold, I guess I'll just let it demolish itself.

Where was I?

I have about four cubic yards of horse manure left, and I raided (with permission) the departing neighbors' compost pile for another six, and I dug through my own compost pile until I found the useable stuff way at the bottom, so I'm good with dirt for a bit. I'm setting up all my bins, too. They've been stored long enough. Time to remember who I am.

The four green beans I planted last weekend are hanging on, barely. I don't know if they'll survive snow. Should I pull them up and bring them inside until the weather warms? Except Skamper has a taste for beans now. I doubt they'd survive him. Another excellent reason to have a garage.

Oh, well. This post has turned into a bit of a downer. My apologies.

After filling my trash bin with garage overflow, I mowed the lawns. I need to rake up fall debris out front to add to the compost bins and maybe do some reseeding, but I have seed and dirt, so that's doable. While mowing the tiny strip in the back, I saw the seeds I planted in March are sprouting. That pleases me.

I finished the evening's workout with the section of garden around the "Early Girl" tomato plant, where I pulled enormous dandelions, worked compost into the soil and set up the beginning of the support trellis. That's the trick with The Swamp. One bite at a time, one bed at a time, one plant at a time.

It's a journey, not a destination. We'll grow beautiful and strong together.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Look for the happy today. We all need it.

The Longer I Live the More I Wanna Be a Zombie

Forget vampires. Vampires have become the yell leaders of the undead, sparkling their way around high school campuses and charming the blood out of the down-trodden.

That's too social for me. The more I interact with people, the more I see the bonus in eating them alive and moving on.

Why do people get worse as they get older instead of better? Why don't we get softer? After a lifetime of practicing life, shouldn't we be more patient, more rational, more flexible? That's not been my experience. Add a few years to anybody and you're dealing with an impatient, bitter hardhead. Is this American entitlement at work? The "I'm too old for this ...." syndrome?

Here's a reality check. No one is too old to practice civility.

I suppose it's another manifestation of the Fall and my old nemesis Entropy. Everything falls apart over time.

A nice segueway into a profitable weekend in The Swamp. I've planted lettuces and beets after preparing their bed with horse manure and potting soil. I put out a few of the beans and peas, although I'll have to cover them later in the week when our temps dip below freezing. I knew it was a gamble. Last frost date in Kansas is April 15. I've held a few plants back just in case.

We have unsettled weather for the next few days, which means we may get rain for my new plantings or we may just get frightened by predictions of severe storms. I'm praying for the former and God's grace for the latter.

Finally, I scraped my knee Friday afternoon and I can't describe how much it hurts, even four days later. I'm not kidding. It's kept me awake at night when the blanket rubs across it. Walking hurts. Bending it hurts, sometimes so much my breath catches and my eyes tear. It's been a long time since I've scraped anything and I don't remember this kind of pain. I have no idea what I'm going to wear to work that won't irritate it more.

Which is another reason I'd rather be a zombie. They never worry about what to wear and they don't seem to mind getting limbs ripped off their bodies, let alone a quarter-sized piece of skin.

Yep. Zombie good.  Happy Monday, dear readers.

Your Story, Your Integrity

I'm lecturing elsewhere today. Check it out over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

A House of Bed

Have I mentioned I tend to go to bed when I'm cold? I should put on a sweater and jump around until I heat up, but that's just not my nature (as my increasing backside will attest).

Warmth has stalled out somewhere to the south of Kansas. Even with a shining sun, we just can't get rid of the north wind. That sends me to bed with an electric blanket instead of outside where The Swamp so desperately needs my attention. This wouldn't be so bad if I did something productive while I'm in there - writing or reading, for example - but I don't. I curl up under the simulated warmth and dream of truly warm days, fresh asparagus and potted peas with blueberries.

Most people think Spring is Summer Lite, but I understand Spring is that mix of Winter and Summer that sometimes means you're happy and sometimes means you're miserable. It's felt a bit miserable the last 10 days.

The sun shines. I'm truly grateful for that.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Put your coats on.

A Shovelful of Spring

For the one out of tenth time, the weathermen were right and snow fell in Kansas. Seems it's unusual to have an accumulating snow at this time of year. I shoveled about two inches off my driveway and six inches off my deck (difference between sheltered from wind and not). While it was an easy snow to shovel - dry and fluffy - I managed to strain my lower back for the second time this season. I'll be stretching gently throughout the day.

Two weeks ago, I planted paper egg cartons with dwarf bush peas, mixed basil and purple, yellow and green beans and put them in my guest room greenhouse. The big seeds sprouted in two days (ignore the package germination times; I've not yet found them to be accurate), and the basil finally pushed up Saturday. The trick now is providing enough light to keep the little buggers healthy until April. I plan to buy a stick-up grow light in the next few days, probably after the snow melts. I have more seeds to plant, but those are cool-weather seeds and they can go outside sooner than yellow squash and zucchini.

The Swamp is taking shape. Thanks to increased moisture this year, I'm moving dirt like a pro.

TT: Odd that I've shoveled lots of dirt for several hours over several days without injury, yet a few shovelfuls of basically whipped cream frosting should cause muscle distress.

Unfortunately, the arborists left more clay than soil in their efforts to destroy my yard, so the dirt I'm relocating is not what I would hope. I've been wracking my brain and my bankbook in my plans to get some real dirt faster than I can make it with no green stuff and no water to put in my compost piles. Then God decided to be kind.

One of my co-workers has three horses, a yard of chickens and a willingness to share poop. Once I get some directions, I'll be shoveling like a ranch hand. Here's hoping The Swamp appreciates my efforts by providing more than 14 peas this year.

Since chicken manure is "hot," (high in nitrogen, I guess), it'll go into the existing compost piles, which are in desperate need of some heat. They pile the horse manure for their own gardens, so it should be able to go straight into the garden without distressing the neighbors. Should this influx of natural fertilizer work, I'll post pics of new grass, thriving peas and a field of basil for the bees and my pesto. Should it not work... Well, God willing, there's always next season.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Enjoy the weather, whatever it is. If you're in Kansas, it'll change in 5 minutes anyway. 

New Life

I love Spring. Had I married, I would have done it on the Vernal Equinox.

Just finished a Bible study series using The Life, by Bill and Anabel Gillham. Interesting stuff. My favorite Bible study leader loves the Gillhams, so I've seen samples of their videos previously, but this time we went through all of them.

Here's the nutshell:

The Fall broke the spiritual connection between man and God and plunged man into spiritual death. Christ's sacrifice restored the spiritual connection. When a man accepts Christ, he is a new creation. The old has gone, the new has come. Bill's favorite verse is Gal 2:20, and you can read that in the link.

OK. We become new. What does that mean? Why, then, do we continue to do what we do not want to do, like Paul laments in Romans 7?

Dr. Gillham, in his Oklahoma way, says we become "spirit critters" when we accept Christ but we remain in our "flesh suits." Our flesh suits have spent however many years being trained to act dead to Christ, because that's what we were, but our flesh doesn't control us. Christ indwells us through the Holy Spirit and Christ leads our mind and will.

Sin can attack from the outside, but it isn't in me anymore. Christ is in me. Christ leads my mind and will. Sometimes sin wins, because it uses first person singular pronouns when it attacks to make me think it's my idea, but my acceptance by Christ remains secure. I am His; He is mine.

That's just semantics, right? What difference does it make?

It's the difference between "good me" fighting "bad me" vs. sin trying to squeeze back into a space already fully occupied by a risen Christ. The war was won by Christ. The little battles are won by allowing Him to occupy my flesh suit and teach me to be the spirit critter He raised from the dead when I accepted His lordship.

Naturally, the videos go into far more depth, and provide the scriptural teachings and in-depth illustrations that bring the idea to life, but I thought I'd give you a taste since I may be writing more about it as I continue to ponder.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers, and Happy Spring. The old has gone. The new has come.

Dream a Little Dream

I awoke from a story dream this morning. One of those dreams that sort of makes sense, that has tension and characters and possibility for a writer. Hasn't happened to me in a looooong time.

Put my schedule off. First, because I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to see how it played out, which isn't easy to do with Focus on the Family interrupting on the alarm clock.

Second, because I had to write it down. I have to write it down. I'll absolutely forget the whole thing before I shower if I don't. Of course, I had to capture the feelings when I wrote it down. Details don't matter much in dreams, although some details make it fun. It's the feelings I'd convey later, should I play around with this subconscious plot attempt.

I started fleshing it out. What would this story look like? Who are these characters and why are they here? Should I stick with the reality of what I saw or go for some symbolism, which, let's face it, is what comprises most dreams? All kinds of choices.

Farmville got in the way (shocking). Kept having freezing issues with the program.

Thinking about this potential story got me thinking about Price of Justice, and Rhami's dilemma, and how easy it would be to solve. Why hadn't I thought of that before? Is that what I want to do, though? Is it good drama or real life? I should write a short story about how Rhami wed Galena. I could publish it in a collection with other backstory shorts set in Ah'rahk. What would I call my publishing company if I ever self-published? What would my publishing logo look like? Why can't I find anything to wear? Don't I know I have a meeting today with strangers? I have to look professional. I've got to get gas, too, maybe at lunch. The weatherman says snow is coming mid-week, and it will be the one-in-ten chance he's right if I don't put gas in the van.

Yep. That's how it goes sometimes, and that's why I'm glad I wrote it down.

Happy Tuesday. Sweet dreams.

Back To Work

If not posting is any indication, the vacation went well. For three days, bright, sunny weather called me out of bed at the crack of dawn and I hit the ground running until the sun ran out and the heat retreated south. Then I stayed in bed with the covers drawn over my head. Eh. I would have done that anyway most Saturdays.

The problem with vacations (and one reason I forget to take them) is the catching up required upon return to the daily grind. I'm curious about how many messages I'll have in my voice mail. My last day off garnered four.

The weather has turned mostly gloomy and cold again, and I'd much rather spend those days in the office anyway. I don't feel like I'm missing anything outside. I do hope the sun makes at least a brief appearance daily. This Turtle feels his absence. 

I did seed a patch of The Swamp, which sounds simple but required moving dirt from here to there with a shovel, hoe and rake while removing the snapped branches and churned up rocks that led to such despair last season. Ah, well. New year, new plan, new strength. God willing, the moisture will continue at a useful pace and I can put my Swamp in order.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Love God and love your neighbors, for all the commandments are summed up in these.

Vacation: Day One

I often forget to take vacation. I never go anywhere (on purpose) and I rarely do anything (on purpose), but I have learned I must get away from my daily job, whatever that is, no matter how much I like it or I become very, very cranky. Everybody needs a break. Even God.

God has provided (if the weatherman is to be believed) three beautiful weather days for my vacation. I intend to make good use of them in The Swamp. You might think March is a bit early for working in the garden, but last year I planted tomatoes in March and harvested in April. Of course, last year was weird.

This year has been more normal weather-wise, so I likely won't be planting, but the compost needs turning and dirt needs moving and dead plants need removing and ground needs preparing - all that sort of thing. Since I also need exercise and plenty of sunlight for mood enhancement, this should work well.

At the moment, I'm waiting for the plumber to replace the main shut off valve in my house. It isn't broken, technically, but it failed to perform to standard during last week's toilet valve replacement. I'd rather deal with it in controlled circumstances than wait for it to blow up on a holiday weekend and cost me time and a half plus the water bill.

I've discovered it's very easy to round up cats when you don't plan to do it. They can't anticipate what you don't know. Everyone but Caleb is in the guest room, and none of them are happy about it. They'll thank me when the scary man invades their basement hideaway and makes loud noises and bad smells. Or they won't. They're cats, after all.

I'll also be dropping off the tax stuff at the accountant's. Let's hope that all goes well, shall we?

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. The plumber arrives.

Random Tuesday

The honeymoon's over. I woke up 20 minutes before my alarm. I got up and broke a nail on my bedroom door frame. Here's hoping that's the worst that happens today and not an omen. My vacation starts tomorrow, so mostly, I just have to live through today.

Last night, I learned the best way to cook raw black beans is in a crock pot. Alas, I learned it too late to save the onion. I also spent two hours concocting a layered, meatless casserole that turned out to be bean dip. It tastes OK, and the black beans add crunch, but I'll need to rethink that idea.

I'm starting to feel like a cemetery auditor. Not sure exactly what that means, except when I get to work, I have a plan for the day, I execute the plan, and normal people react like I know what I'm doing. Doesn't mean I do, just means I'm fooling the masses. Maybe that's how it works in any job. I have learned the answer to nearly every question is "check the statute." Isn't that the answer to nearly every question anyway?

The cats continue to gain familiarity with the catwalks. Miss Kitty is up there 60% of the time, and the rest join her at various times throughout the day. I can't remember the descriptive phraseology, but cats have territories that relate to time. A cat may choose a sunny east window in the morning, move to a southern exposure in the afternoon and camp out on the vent in the evenings and he won't care that another cat has taken one of his spots after he vacates it. That's a good thing. The more spots I provide, the less chance they'll all want the same one at the same time. Except they're cats and that's how they roll. Anyway, Miss Kitty, Skamper and Skuttle have all played tag in 3D, so I'm getting value for my investment.

I will finish my taxes tonight. I don't care anymore if I get back everything I've got coming. I just want it done.

Farmville has added yet another farm - Atlantis. I'm sure Caprice is thrilled but it's officially too much. To keep morning play at the one hour I've allowed myself, I'll have to ignore 3 or 4 farms from now on, and stop harvesting most of my buildings. I may catch up on the weekends. I may not.

Since I've officially stopped paying attention to word count, I'm writing again. That's good.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Keep a nail file handy. You may need it.

That's It; I'm Fat

I love Daylight Savings Time (even if it is an example of government over-reach). This is the first time in two months I've slept in. Yes, I consider 5 AM sleeping in.

I'm hesitant to say the depression is over, but it sure seems over. I'll finish my second bottle of Saint John's Wort and give life a try on my own again. Same with the 5-HTP, although I might continue taking that one for another bottle. The problem with that is it works best on an empty stomach, and my stomach is almost never empty.

Which brings me to my point. I'm fat. Oh, not the "downward side of fame" actor fat, but more the "fourth season of prime time hit" fat, where the steady paycheck is assured and you don't have to look good for it (Have you watched Castle lately? Come on, Nathan, I expect more of you).

Those who know me in person may raise a skeptical eyebrow, but I assure you, a 5'9" frame and loose clothing hide a multitude of sins. I'm not seeing it in my face yet (just the sagging jowls and neck wrinkles of typical aging), but that will come. 

My clothes tell me I'm fat since I don't own a scale. Scales are liars. Don't trust them. Don't associate with them. Don't even let them in your house. A scale can make you think you're fat when you're not. A scale can make you think you're fit when you're not. Best to avoid them.

My problem, of course, is the age-old problem of many fat people: too much of the wrong food and too little exercise. I've managed my weight most of my life by choosing food wisely and limiting indulgences, but I suspect the age has come when that's not going to be enough. Exercise, my old enemy, must be engaged and harnessed if I have any hope to avoid the Marlon Brando trap.

I'm saying "fat," but odds are I'm just "over-weight" at this point. I was within acceptable limits at my physical in January, so my current state is doubtless too much wheat. This always happens when I consistently ignore my blood type diet. I've followed this diet for about 10 years and maintained my weight without difficulty by sticking to the "80/20" guideline, eating more "beneficial" foods than "avoids," and the barest minimum of exercise.

I have a health assessment coming up in early May. I plan to up my exercise quotient and lower my wheat intake over the next two months to see if I can get a better score than I did at the doctor's in January. Nice to have a goal.

If you know your blood type and have trouble with your health, you might just check out that website. It's done me a world of good at very little cost (I got the book used on Amazon). If you don't know your blood type, you can find out by giving blood. That's how I learned. 

Happy Monday, dear readers. Thank God for it. He likes that.

Pressure Cooker

P.A. Baines may have been born in South Africa and live in Holland, but I get where he's coming from. This post was cooking before his comment on yesterday's blog.

I don't like pressure. Never did. After my nervous breakdown, I like it even less, and in my utterly control freak way, I do everything in my power to avoid it.

Except getting published.

On the other hand, what most new authors don't understand is that first book rarely gets noticed. You're mostly writing to family and friends, and accidentally gather a fan or two. No problem. Not with the first book, anyway.

The pressure builds.

First, the expectation to write something else. For you younger, on fire writers, that's no problem. You're raring to go. (I've never written that before. Is that a colloquialism, or do normal people know what I mean?) The clock is ticking from the moment your book goes on sale. When's the next one coming out? What are you writing now? How much have you written? Gaargh!

Second, the expectation the next book will be at least as good as the first book. Should be better, really. I mean, you have all that practice under your belt. You've got it down.

Third, the expectation that you won't screw up the characters other people now love. Don't you dare kill so-and-so. Don't you dare ruin that happy ending I imagined. Don't you dare reveal that secret and spoil the magic.

If you manage to survive all these expectations and actually produce something that, by the grace of God, gets published and doesn't land you in the looney bin, you're expected to do it again. Only now the expectations are higher, because you met the last ones. It's like that Mario Bros. game where the cavern ceiling collapses on you for eternity.

There's no way out of this trap, except death. That's why Robert Jordan died, you know. Too much pressure. Watch out, Brandon Sanderson. You're next.

Happy Wednesday, anyway. The sun is shining, and that is always good.

I Just Felt Like Writing

You know that scene in Forrest Gump when he's been running for a while and a reporter asks him why and he says, "I just felt like running"? No one believes him, of course. Why would any intelligent person go through all that hardship and discomfort just because he felt like it? Only the people who know Forrest (maybe two? at this point) know why he's running.

When I was younger, I drew all the time. I have the sketchbooks to prove it. I was pretty good, if I do say so myself. Why did I stop? Because the feeling went out of my drawings. Somewhere in college, I stopped drawing emotion and started focusing on technique and the result was a taxidermist's dummy compared to a living bird. I can see it happening in the sketchbooks, and I could feel it happening inside me. So I stopped. I rarely pick up a pencil anymore because the result is disappointing.

Is writing the same thing for me? I couldn't stop myself from writing Star of Justice. If you'd tied my hands behind my back, I would have written with a pencil in my mouth. I finished Elementals, and it's as full of life and emotion as anything I drew in my teens, but it was a knock-down, drag-out to finish it.

Now... Now, it all feels dead and lifeless. The technique is OK, but I've lost the emotion. I look through all the story beginnings I wrote years ago and it's like thumbing through my sketchbooks.

Professional writers are all about the discipline, the outlining, the Butt In Chair that gets it done. Stop whining about your muse and study your character if you're stuck. Polish your technique. Focus on excellence. But if the result is a Frankenstein's monster parody of life, why bother?

I've been dragging Price of Justice along by the hair for two years. I'm half done, as far as I can tell, and I don't care whether or not I finish. The story mocks me with it's two-dimensionality; it's caricaturic nature. I just don't feel it.

I'm torn between giving up and pushing on. I don't care about making money or my name on a cover or a bestseller list. I care about a story I love. If I can't write that, I'm wasting my time.

Maybe I just felt like writing.

Angry Morning

Ever wake up angry? My eyes opened at 3:59 AM, and I knew the struggle had begun. The struggle to keep the day from being an angry day.

I hate waking up too early, because I can't go back to sleep. As the Earth tilts toward the sun, I'm waking earlier every day. When Daylight Savings Time starts this Saturday, I won't notice. I might even get an extra minute or two before the alarm goes off.

The sun was out Saturday and I didn't mind that sleep eluded me. I was busy, busy with chores. The sun vanished behind a film of clouds Sunday and I could barely drag myself out of bed. Still couldn't sleep, though. I could lie there with my burning eyes closed and wish I could sleep, but that was it. Today and tomorrow are supposed to be dreary and cold. I'm tired of dreary and cold, especially when I can't sleep through it.

Was it ever possible I slept through a night? It seems impossible.

My mouthpiece is part of it, I'm sure. I have an alignment later this month. Hopefully, that will help.

Everything else I want to write is just angry complaining, and I don't need to spread that around on a Monday. It's all illusion anyway. I have nothing to complain about, really. My life is great. It's just my mood that sucks this morning, and, by the grace of God, that will change for the better.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Enjoy what you can and let the rest go. It's just dragging you down.