Elementals To-Do List

If I want Elementals out to "the public" this August, I have a few things to do.

1. Read it. Again. For final edits. This is the hardest part. I don't feel any urge to read this book one more time. I'm a little sick of it. That's why I haven't looked at it for two years. On the other hand, it may as well be out there potentially earning money while I ignore it instead of waiting on my hard drive.

2. Choose a cover image. I have something I like, but it's not my original pic, so I either need to draw/create something close myself or find a similar pic I can buy. Frankly, after the complaints with Star of Justice, my cover concept excellently rendered by Keven and DeAnna Newsome of Newsome Creative and completely trashed by nearly every reviewer, I just don't care as much as I used to.

3. Choose a font. I'm really hoping Grace will latch on to this item. I hate font-choosing.

4. Read up on formatting for ebooks. Caprice Hokstad, Terri Main, R.L. Copple and maybe even Grace have all written on this topic, and I saved every email. I'll need a week, probably, to go through all of them, but it sounds fairly easy once you get the hang of it.

5. Read up on CreateSpace. This seems to be the vehicle of choice for printing books. I like physical books, and I am willing to put up the money to create them.

6. Buy ISBNs. I hear the price has gone up. Not too much, I hope. I want a few, just in case I get back in the habit of this writing thing.
    An ISBN costs $55?! Holy crap! Gonna need to figure that into the break-even cost. Sheesh.

7. Write some cover copy. I'm not nearly as concerned about this as I should be. My goal is simply to maximize searchability while trying to keep it slightly interesting to a potential reader. How hard can that be?

That's all I can think of at the moment, but I'm sure I'll be adding to it. I may even blog about the journey.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Keep an eye to the sky. Today could get rowdy for some of us.

Helping by Shel Silverstein

Although I've sung this song since third grade (when I first saw Free to Be You and Me in music class), I had no idea until this morning that Shel Silverstein wrote this poem.

In honor of all the people in my life...

Help - Free to Be

I love you all, although some of you are more useful than others. 

Aquasynthesis...Again

Have I mentioned Grace published a short story of mine in an anthology? I know I said it on FB, but I can't remember if I blogged about it, and, frankly, this morning I'm too lazy to look it up.

If you want to know about Caissa Ocren's Test of Water, get Aquasynthesis...Again. Print version is $4.99; ebook $2.99. I've finally put the link over there to the left. Splashdown Books has all the ways and places the book is available, so the link goes there.

I need to order some for myself. Makes a great deal at speaking engagements. "Get autographed copies of Star of Justice and Aquasynthesis...Again for $20." That comes out to $1 for the autograph, so it's hardly a great deal, but people love the appearance of a bargain.

I've hesitated to tout Star of Justice for the simple reason that I'm currently a one-hit wonder. Yes, I could make money on the one, but then I breed ill-will by not providing a second. Worse, I build unreasonable expectations for the second, which only makes me squirm.

Once Elementals is available, I'll have two books and an anthology. I'm willing to shill for that. The second book barrier is broken by a book that has nothing to do with the world of the first, and a third book should be, God willing, on the way in a year or so. With my new knowledge of self-publishing, I'll be able to make my own anthologies of short stories when and if the mood takes me, and the inventory builds.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Is it really Thursday? Wow.

Goodbye, Farmville?

I've played Farmville, on average, three hours a day almost every day for about three and a half years. That's a lot of time, most of it enjoyable for me. So enjoyable, I used to blog daily about the game at Virtual Buttercups.

Farmville fit easily into my daily routine. I played while the cats ate. I played while I did laundry. I played while I watched TV. It provided a satisfying illusion of multi-tasking and mastery. At worst, it passed the time while I waited for something else to happen.

I've tried to be a helpful Neighbor to those who play and a considerate Friend to those who don't (I've always said I'm an addict, not a dealer). Last year, Zynga and I had our final falling out when customer service failed resoundingly to solve a problem to my satisfaction. Knowing that I will never again spend money on the game, that I will never get more farmcash as a result, has taken most of the joy out of playing.

Three hours a day (at least) is a lot of time I could be using for something else (spell that W-R-I-T-I-N-G). I suspect, it's also time that dulls my brain. I don't have to think while playing Farmville, and I don't. But the not thinking seems to extend to other areas, and I can't have that anymore. It is far easier to plant a crop than write a scene, but the scene is more important.

So, I'm quitting. I've limited play this week to half an hour in the morning while the cats eat and I listen to Focus on the Family. I'm emptying my giftbox. I'm putting my fields in order. I'm not feeling any withdrawal yet, but it's early. We'll see.

I have a book to publish this August. I'll need the time to prepare. Then I have a book to finish this year. I'll need brain power for that.

I'm not deleting the app. I'm not going cold turkey. I need the option to resume play to make sure I don't resume play. Call it immaturity. As long as it works.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. May you find the strength to overcome your addictions. When you're ready, of course. No judgment here. 

A Little Time

Two posts in one week? That hasn't happened for a while. Turns out I have a little time this morning. Not sure why, but I'll take it.

Read some blogs this morning, and the problems of "time" and "focus" are not mine alone. Everyone has trouble with too much to do and not enough time to do it in.

Work and The Swamp have been somewhat overwhelming these last two months. I've stood paralyzed in both places wondering what project is the most important in the pile of important projects. It's not easy for the Turtle to change direction, so direction must be carefully chosen at the beginning to avoid biting heads off later.

The new work project is nearly complete (by "nearly," I mean another month should see it done). The Swamp never ends, but it does get delayed due to weather. My mind is freeing up from crisis mode to think again.

I've been thinking about writing. I intend to self-publish Elementals this summer (with Grace's help on the cover). I need a final round of edits, but I'm afraid after not looking at it for two years, I'll start making changes that shouldn't be made. Nit-picking when I should just leave the nits alone. I did that with Star of Justice, and I regret it now. I lost something in the "smoothing," and I couldn't get it back. I wish you'd all seen it one round of edits earlier. Ah, well.

With Elementals "out of the way," there should be nothing preventing me from focusing entirely on Dangling Justice. Nothing but me, anyway, but that's a post I'm saving for New Authors' Fellowship.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Pick one thing, and do it 'til it's done.

Making Progress

The garage is as organized as it's getting this year, and possibly more organized than it has ever been. I'm down to three unsorted boxes. Those are papers about Dad and the family that will require a lot of time and tissues. That's why I haven't done it in 14 years. I'll do it when the temps are higher, and I can spread out on the porch to negate the mildew a little. The papers don't seem damaged. It's more the outside of the boxes. Weird.

I'm currently resetting the concrete blocks bordering the driveway. Those have sunk a bit over 14 years, so it's even more labor-intensive than I thought it would be. I set 5 last night and almost killed myself. I have six to go. I think. Moving these will give me a slightly better angle to get the van in the garage. It also looks a lot nicer.

My Memorial Day weekend project -weather permitting- is the first and possibly second run of a chain link fence. After Neighbor to the North disrupted my life with his mortgage forfeiture and subsequent loss of mind and removal of the privacy fence between our property that's been there since the first week they moved in, I determined no Neighbor would again control my fence. I've wanted chain link for years. This is the year it happens. Part of it, anyway. Only hitch is I need to learn how to install a chain link fence. Several websites seem to indicate it's a simple DIY. After years of watching This Old House, that doesn't comfort me.

I'll need to talk with Neighbors to the South to see if they're OK with me removing the pig wire between us. Since it's crumpled in a couple of spots, falling over in others, and I'm not asking them to pay for any of it, I'm hopeful. If not, I'll wait until new Neighbors move in and put up a privacy fence. That seems to be the norm in this neighborhood.

That's the time I have this morning.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. May your projects come to swift and blessed conclusions.

'Tis the Season

Seems to happen about this time every year. Spring arrives, and the Turtle vanishes into The Swamp.

I suspect this year will be as cold as last year, so I have no intention of planting anything new until mid-May, at least. However, I have lots of things I can transplant, and since they're already living in the cold, they should do fine. I can't describe how good it feels to grab a shovel and the wheelbarrow and do something that requires no thought at all.

I accidentally got put in charge of a huge project at work that's outside my official expertise, so that has been stressful and exhausting. I've come home with just energy mental energy to make dinner and read a little something before falling into bed. Since it's work-related, it's unprofessional to discuss it here, so Swamp time has been especially useful for coping. 

Without intending to, I took April off from writing. I've been making my way through my TBR pile, unfortunately by "tossing" books one to two paragraphs in. Some day I'll figure out exactly what criteria makes a book acceptable to me in such a short span. It's not genre-related. It might have something to do with writing style. I expect a college vocabulary (you know, from back when going to college actually meant something other than you were stupid enough to sell your eternal soul for a degree you don't even get), and a certain clarity of thought in presenting information. Add a reasonably interesting story, and I'm yours to the end.

Example, I discarded a YA book four pages in because not only were the character names stupid and forgettable, I was bombarded with a convoluted and confusing history of China I apparently had to know before I could sympathize with the protagonist's plight. No, thank you. Buh-bye.

I've also picked up my chronological Bible again and spend my normal blog time reading that each morning. I'm only posting today because I'm taking a fasting blood test in an hour so I don't need to make breakfast. I intend to follow the test up with a Subway steak and bacon melt.

Anyway, the work project should be winding down soon, and The Swamp can only hold my attention until temps are consistently in the mid-80's. Grace will be here in a few months, and it will be time to publish Elementals. My WIP remains in my thoughts, and I'll get back to it.

Happy Wednesday and happy May Day, dear readers. Don't forget to pay your bills. Especially that school loan. It's not going away until you do.

In Defense of Rick

I watch The Walking Dead. I think about the zombie apocalypse way too much on way too many levels. Blame the writers.

Season 4b has been completely amazing on just about every level. The writing, the effects, the acting - it's all good. So good, this is the first time I've considering buying a season on DVD. I mean, I like the show, but I'm not completely crazy.

I've started watching Talking Dead because I don't have any real people to talk with about the show (and turtles don't "chat" with strangers on the Internet). I was startled to hear some people have issues with Rick's decision to oust Carol from the prison.

Now, Rick isn't my favorite person on the show. My favorite person is usually the conscience of the group, and usually dies 20 episodes after they assume that role (RIP Dale and Herschel, and I'll be gracious enough to include Andrea because as much as I hated her, I respect her intentions). Rick can't be my favorite because I can't forgive him for the way he holds his revolver. Either build some muscle or get a smaller gun, Rick. You pack like a gangbanger. It's a miracle you hit anything.

Sorry.

Rick has been the official unofficial leader of this group from the moment he stumbled into that cluster of motor homes and tents in season one. Why? Because he was wearing a law enforcement uniform initially, I suspect, but it held because he made good decisions (except about his wife, but that's another post) that benefited the group and individuals.

Rick has the ability to weigh the needs of the many against the needs of the one and come out ahead. Shane (and just about every small group they've encountered) was about survival at any cost. Disagreement with the Governor meant getting your head cut off and stuck in a fish tank. Yes, you can survive that way for a while, but real survival in the zombie apocalypse means finding like-minded people and protecting the snot out of each other. And killing zombies. Nobody seems to understand how many zombies they need to be killing every day, but, again, that's another post.

Carol's crime was murder. Secret murder, but, yes, murder. She killed two people in cold blood. I don't believe she went Hannibal Lector on them, but she made a choice on her own to take two lives.

Her motive was preservation of the group, but she didn't have the right to act on that decision. There was a council in place. She was part of it. She acted alone because the council wouldn't agree with her.

Rick was right to banish her because you can't have a member of the group willing to kill other members of the group whenever they think it benefits the majority. How do you define "benefits"? How do you define "majority"? A year ago Carol would never have gone so far. What will she be like in another year (should she survive that long)?

I understand Carol's reasoning. I sympathize, but she went too far. Rick's solution was just and merciful. He could have killed her himself (which would have been wrong on the same scale as what Carol did in the first place). He could have brought her back to the group for sentencing, which would have created another giant mess and further shattered group cohesion. Instead, he gave Carol a chance to find another group and start over. Again, his choice was for the group and for the individual. And Carol recognized that. Even in that moment, she acknowledged his leadership and accepted the sentence, even if she doesn't appear to accept that she made the wrong choice.

I love Carol, but sometimes love has to be tough. Rick understands that (and it unfortunately makes him a bit crazy now and again). It's why he's a good father and a good leader in the zombie apocalypse. If only he would figure out how to hold a gun.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May our zombies be so easy to kill.

Scrivener

I've heard about it from Lioness (who has the Mac version) and Ralene (who has the PC version). It's supposed to be incredibly helpful for organizing any kind of writing in the first draft stage, whether you plot or pants. It has "index cards," split screens, calendar features for monitoring story timelines: you know, a real miracle for the modern writer.

There was a sale. I had some money. I took the plunge.

I hate learning new software. More than almost anything. Forging neural pathways is excruciating to me, no matter how useful they might become. Over the last three days, I'm halfway through the tutorial, and I've taken innumerable tea and nacho Dorito breaks (I don't have biscuits at the moment) while my brain tries to ooze out my nose.

I've also started converting Justice for All into a Scrivener version as practice (the tutorial practice file was boring).

Why not convert Dangling Justice, my current WIP, you ask? Multiple reasons, not the least of which is I'm a dumbass. I have to start with the hardest thing first, remember? I'm the idiot who would make a queen-sized quilt for my first project instead of the placemat. And let's be fair. Justice For All is the queen-sized quilt of my literary career.

I had forgotten 1) just how much I've already written on that story, and 2) just how massive it may end up being. I mean, I seem to have about 350 pages already, and I don't know that I'm half done. No wonder I gave up.

By the end of the week, I should not only know the basics of Scrivener, I should have Justice For All ready for later. 'Cause I'm still going to finish Dangling Justice first.

I wanted to include a link to Scrivener, but the page isn't loading. I guess you'll have to look up Literature and Lattes on your own.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. May your neural pathway forging be pleasant. 

Long Term Goals

Preparing tax paperwork is not my favorite activity. I keep excellent records, and I am generally able to put hands on anything I need, but anytime I analyze my money, I get...a little weird.

Taxes are a forced annual review of my financial life. "Where your treasure is, there is your heart." I wish this review put me in a better mood, but I have nature and nurture working against me in the financial realm. Nothing could foul my dad's mood like an evening balancing the checkbook. Shopping is mom's usual method for ditching the blues. Not the best template.

So when I see in black and red that my writing expenses outweigh my writing income for 2013, I must allow that, according to Dave Ramsey, writing remains my hobby, not my business. I could be upset by this, but I am not, for several reasons.


1. Writing is not my day job. 
Statistically, it takes at least two years to turn a profit on a new business, and that's when you go all out, whole hog, throw yourself into making money mode. I haven't, because I don't need to. I have a day job. I write because I want to (at least, I think I do). Any income at this point is icing.

2. Time is part of the plan.
I need writing to keep my brain active and supplement my income years from now (cause my day job does that at the moment). My current writing goal is to build inventory, one quality book at a time, so that I may reap a harvest later. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Turtles don't sprint.

3. I must have fun.
God meant for man to work, even in Eden. That tells me God expects us to enjoy what we do. I used to enjoy writing, and I have varying degrees of faith that I will enjoy it again. Doing something I enjoy and getting paid anything for it is gravy on the icing.

Finally, most of last year's expenses were Realm Makers' related, and something of an anomaly for my writing education budget. Take that out of the equation, and I made a profit on writing last year. 

I've put the checkbook away for the moment (until April 15, anyway), so my general mood is improved. My writing mood is even keel. Slow and steady wins this race. I've got the slow. I'm looking for the steady.

Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Enjoy whatever weather you're facing today. It will change in a few hours anyway.

Depth

What do I mean by "depth?"

Allow me to date myself. Remember that scene in Wayne's World 2 when Wayne needs directions and asks for a better actor to deliver them? No? Here's a refresher:

Wayne's World 2

Not every character in a book needs to be Charleton Heston, but if a character is important enough to have lines, I kinda want to know they existed before those lines were delivered. I'd also like to know they'll go on existing after they exit stage left.

I recently saw a high school performance of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, a Shakespearean wannabe about two minor characters in Hamlet and their existential wrestling while off-stage waiting to deliver lines. It's billed as a comedy, but, you'll forgive me, no play where the main characters dies is a comedy. At best, it's a dark comedy, but I digress. The play highlights that these two characters exist only to serve Hamlet. They have no other purpose or life outside of that reality.

One of the things I love about Anne McCaffrey's stories is the interconnectedness. Minor characters in one book become main characters in another, and have cameos or off-hand mentions in yet other books. People know each other. She wrote fanfic for her own worlds. Everybody could be somebody in an Anne McCaffrey universe, and you never knew who would get the spotlight next.

When I read a fantasy novel, I expect every character to have a story and a reason for existing other than just moving the plot forward. I don't expect to read everybody's story in the same book. Most times that back story can't be part of the main plot. But...I'm OK with glimpses. A mention of a former relationship. A token with obvious emotional value. A scar indicating an interesting tale if only you had a chance to stop and hear it. 

A fantasy novel walks a fine line. The author must not only make you care about the main characters, but must introduce you to a brand new world without confusing or overloading the reader with history, description or back story. It can be done. McCaffrey did it. Robert Jordan did it. George MacDonald did it in short stories, for goodness' sake. 

Advice for today's author seems to include streamlining. Paring down your wordcount. Writing to a shorter attention span. Not bad advice, but I fear we go too far in paring out any word that doesn't "advance" the plot. Some words advance the reality of the world in which the plot happens. I find those words valuable. 

Happy Thursday, dear readers. "If you gotta spew, spew into this." 

Oops. Wrong movie.

My Biggest Gripe

My biggest gripe with most fantasy books (and the occasional sci-fi if it involves alien worlds) is lack of depth.

The first series that ever impressed me with diversity was Dave Duncan's Magic Casement. Can't remember if that's book one or just one of the four. Doesn't matter. Duncan's world encompassed "races" that were all variations of human but with distinct physical and cultural characteristics, and those differences played into the story. Loved it (Duncan had a varied background himself in both education and employment).

TT: Anne McCaffrey actually did the same thing, but with so much subtlety I didn't realize what she'd done until years later. She remains a master of the craft, and one of my "mentors."

Another thing Duncan did to impress me was muddy up his stereotypes. He added gray to a world of black and white. Good guys could do bad things and vice versa. I couldn't tell at first glance who would play what part. Depth.

Katherine Coble recently said books written by those under 35 tend to lack flavour. While there are people half my age who've lived twice my life, she's not wrong. Experiencing life should translate to depth in writing.

I'm not saying longer books are better. Fred Warren is a master of conveying powerful emotion with few words. I am saying I wish more well-written books had a feeling of history to them. A sense that this world existed before you opened the book and will continue after the last page is turned.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May your world have only as much depth as you can handle with God's help.

The Hobbyist Writer

I read an article earlier this week about why writers procrastinate. Ralene Burke over at NAF posted about unexpected writer's block. Check out the comments, especially the one about Pixar. I'll give you a minute.

*Sherlock theme song plays*

Back? Good.

My living doesn't depend on my writing. If I don't sell a book, I still eat tonight. I have a day job. The last three years have proven to me I'm not a natural born writer (I took a test about that, too, but I don't care enough to go find it on FB). I think up stories. Sometimes I write them down. Sometimes people publish them. Sometimes other people read them. It's all good.

That article about things coming too easy is spot on. Most of my life has been spent easily doing what I'm good at and avoiding what I'm bad at. Only in the last year have I really begun tackling things that don't come naturally and finding some measure of success. It's an odd feeling. I want to be resentful about the need but I'm rather pleased with the results.

The Pixar strategy is one for people whose lives depend on their work. Pixar must create movies (good ones, hopefully, but high-grossing is acceptable), so Pixar must force ideas when no ideas present themselves.

The elitist in me balks at the thought of writing a story that didn't materialize from thin air fully-formed and insistent to be written, but that's what working writers do, and they do it quite well. I love most Pixar movies. I don't feel like they were rushed or written to formula. That system works, and my elitist snobbery should sit down and shut up. It hasn't produced anything lately.

These last few years have been a lesson in doing what doesn't come naturally. Sometimes I learn I really do hate it, and I'll stop, but that's not nearly as often as I expect. Most of the time, it's just a question of learning the steps and practicing them until mastery is achieved. I can do that.

So on days when writing doesn't come easily, I should push at it. Struggle with it. Try something that might not work and abandon it without guilt or annoyance if I'm wrong. That's what normal people do, and it seems to work.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Try something new today, and then try it again, just to be sure.

I've Found Pinterest

You know the Turtle. Always late to the party.

That's deliberate. Let other, more adaptable people work out the bugs. I have almost no patience with tech or my own shortcomings where understanding tech is concerned.

TT: Shall I tell you what I hate the most? "Intuitive" programming. You know what "intuitive" means in this context? It means the programmers think I'm an idiot who doesn't know what I want to do, so they make assumptions on my behalf. Let me tell you something, Users. I know exactly what I want to do when it comes to writing, so keep your stupid "intuitive" opinions to yourself. When it comes to the Turtle, you're wrong more than you're right. And stop using pictures to express editing concepts. I write English, not pictures. Use your words.

Can't remember the exact reason I decided to join all the pinners, even though I only decided on Friday. Something to do with wanting pics to go with the short story I was writing. I thought Pinterest would be simpler than a Google search.

Totally wrong.

Once again, my brain doesn't work like the rest of the world, and the searches I've tried so far get nowhere at the speed of Internet. Not to say I haven't found some fun things, but not many of them are relevant to the project at hand.

Pinterest is window shopping for images. I hate window shopping. Initially, I feared addiction, but that has passed very quickly. I just don't like hopping from random thing to random thing. Hard target searches with measurable results are my bailiwick.

I'll stay on, I suspect. It does fill the five to seven minutes when I'm waiting for something Farmville-related to mature.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Enjoy the coming snow.

Why I Love the Writers of Sherlock

Last Monday, I crowed about the return of my Boy of the BBC, Sherlock Holmes. Yes, I was also pleased to see John Watson. In fact, I ended up in John's corner by the end of that post.

If you've watched episode two of season three, you might think the writers listened to me. That's impossible, of course. These movies were written, shot and produced months ago. The writers would have to be precognizant to know my gripes.

That's why they're good writers. They understood Sherlock was heading down the impossible-to-love path of the true jerk, and yanked him back to the high road. Not so high that we forget who he is, but high enough to see John means something to him. High enough to believe he may have a notion of how wrong his behavior was and wants to make amends for it. This momentary outpouring of sentiment won't last, but his gesture of goodwill refills our well of loyalty to the high-functioning sociopath (did you see that smile during the usher interview? I shuddered even as I laughed hard enough to disturb the cat).

I'm also pleased the writers have chosen not to put Sherlock and Mary in opposition. It would have been an easy route to take with plenty of drama, but ultimately it would have torn the original friendship apart, and what is Holmes without Watson? A dickhead, as John so succinctly put it.

Anyway, I'm thrilled. The Circle of Three is officially my new favorite episode, replacing Scandal in Belgravia, which has held the title for seven movies.

Happy Monday, dear readers. May a beautiful friendship warm your heart on this ridiculously cold mid-Winter day.

Teriyaki Chicken Thighs

I've eaten this for lunch since Tuesday, and I find myself eagerly anticipating the next lunch, and wondering why I have to wait until lunch, because it's not like I haven't eaten chicken for breakfast.

The original recipe came from Mr. Food, but I added pineapple chunks and left out scallions (because I couldn't find any). I also used generous amounts of olive oil to subsidize the marinade while cooking since it didn't look like enough sauce to pour over anything came out of that bag.

Serves: 4 I diced the chicken after cooking, so this could be more if you're fond of sides and easy with the meat portions.

Marinade Time: 4 hr

Cooking Time: 20 min

What You'll Need:

2 1/2 to 3 pounds chicken thighs, skinned if desired

1/2 cup soy sauce

3 scallions, sliced

3 tablespoons light brown sugar

2 tablespoons honey

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger 

1 can pineapple chunks 

What To Do:

Place chicken in a large resealable plastic bag. I bought boneless by accident. I did cut off most of the fat, but I wasn't OCD about it.

In a small bowl, combine remaining ingredients. I chopped a third of the pineapple into mush with a Pampered Chef chopper and added it to the marinade for additional moisture. Mix well and add to chicken. Seal bag and marinate in refrigerator about 4 hours, turning occasionally.

Drain chicken, reserving marinade.

Coat a grill pan or skillet with cooking spray and cook chicken over medium heat 15 to 18 minutes, or until no longer pink in center, turning occasionally.

In a small saucepan over high heat, boil reserved marinade 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Spoon over chicken and serve immediately.

I used olive oil instead of cooking spray, added the marinade immediately to the pan and cooked it all together. I haven't died of salmonella poisoning, so I must assume this works. 

Serve with jasmine rice and sliced scallions. I'm eating it with brown rice and quinoa, the rest of the pineapple chunks added after cooking, and canned peas. Nom nom nom.

Mr. Food warning: For safety when using marinades, never consume a marinade that has come in contact with raw poultry, meat, or seafood, nor let it come in contact with cooked food unless the marinade has been brought to a boil and boiled for at least 3 minutes, stirring frequently.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Make a double portion of this tonight, and you'll be happy all weekend on the leftovers. 

Sherlock Returns

I'm hoping to avoid spoilers for those who haven't seen Season Three, Episode 1 of the BBC's reboot of the Sherlock Holmes franchise, but smart people will figure it out anyway, so read at your own risk.

According to the show mythology, it's been two years since Sherlock plunged from the top of St. Bart's. Has it really been that long?

I've lost track of time. The span between my sociopathic detective's jump and the airing of The Empty Hearse, was, for me, an eternity of slow-burning anxiety that one or both stars (or God-forbid, the writers) would die pursuing other projects, and I'd never know for sure if or how Sherlock survived.

TT: It might be argued that Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman exposing themselves on other projects was good sense for their acting careers, but it should not be argued in front of me as it could result in a serious throat injury. I boycotted Firefly because it pulled Joss Whedon away from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel and all three died as a result. My loyalty is fierce, but it must be reciprocated. It could also be argued that neither the presence of BC nor the direction of J.J. Abrams could save Star Trek: Into Darkness from a fatal case of the utterly predictable, so BC should have stayed at Baker Street where his snark makes me happy. As I am boycotting The Hobbit for numerous reasons, including the delay in new Sherlock episodes, I won't comment on the wisdom of MF's decision.

Back to Sherlock.

I haven't decided if the writers cheated. This is a huge issue for me. My suspension of disbelief is well-exercised, and I can give a lot of slack to those who have appeased me in the past, but they walked that line pretty close last night. Was the truth revealed? It was plausible, but hardly satisfying. I don't mind the writers not telling me the truth (yet), as long as a truth exists (and I hear it eventually). I find the current solution rather machina ex deus, and not at all as big a role for Molly Hooper as I was led to expect (an expectation that remains possible considering Sherlock's treatment of her on his return). In short, I'm not convinced I've been given all the facts, and I'm really hoping I'm right.

TT: I am thrilled the first explanation was not all it seemed, 'cause I was ready to turn the TV off.

I must also say, as much as I love the self-absorbed Sherlock, the last three episodes have turned John from a friend and confidant to a whipping boy and lab rat. I am an extremely loyal friend, but even I have a limit of how much crap I will take before severing ties (with a complete and utter finality that earned me the name "Queen of Cut Off" in therapy class). Secretly dosing me with a fear-inducing drug to test your hypothesis, treating me like a second-rate citizen when I'm the only person who believes you, and, finally, hiding your actual "not-deadness" for two years because my grief is what makes the whole illusion real is crossing the line of acceptable friend behavior, even for a self-diagnosed sociopath.

Writers, restore some of John's dignity and worth in Sherlock's esteem, or you will lose me. You have two episodes.

Maybe three. I'm pretty loyal.

Cemetery Dairy

I've wanted goats for almost as long as I can remember. It all started with a picture of Lancelot, the first unicorn captured on film - a billy goat with a birth defect that caused his two horns to grow as one.

One of the issues facing cemeteries in Kansas is maintenance, specifically lawn maintenance. It costs a lot to mow a cemetery, and if it has large memorial headstones, you risk damaging them with weed eaters.

Enter my love of goats. Goats won't nick tombstones in their quest for grass, and they carry the added benefit of free fertilizer and goat milk. Add some pretty harnesses with jingle bells, and you got yourself a fun treat for the kiddos when they come to visit great-grandma's grave. Section the cemetery into grazing times, and post signs that flowers will be eaten after seven days.

Why stop there? A couple of sheep for the places the goats won't touch, and voila! Wool. Looms and weaving classes on the weekend. Some chickens, ducks and guinea hens, and you've not only solved the bug problem, you've added lawn aeration.

Native fruit-bearing bushes around the perimeter will benefit from the improved soil. Come to the cemetery with flowers, leave with gooseberries, chokecherries and thornless blackberries. Better yet, pick your own flowers from the flower and herb garden adjacent to the reflection pool. Wild garlic attracts bees and flavors goat butter.

The sad part is, I'm not joking. I want this cemetery. I can see my Kansas-adapted Earthship watching over its flock of wild and domesticated animals, protecting and preserving not only the memories of those who've gone before, but the ground in which they rest. On the crest of the hill stands the caretaker, wrapped in her hand knitted shawl, and smiling through the ageless beauty only hard, clean living provides.

Expect this scenario to appear in my book of short stories. I now know exactly where Miss Am lives.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. May all your good dreams come true, and your nightmares be forgotten in the light of day.

The January Plan

I'm tired of my well-begun yet no-end-in-sight WIP mocking me from the turtle-shaped memory stick. I don't know about you, but I'm beginning to think of myself as a poser instead of a writer. What does it matter that I produced once? Am I to live on those laurels for the rest of eternity?

Ten words a day is not enough reason to turn on the laptop. Five hundred words a day feels insurmountable at the moment when the pinnacle of my story is cloaked in storm clouds. But a blog post's worth of words? I can do that. I used to blog every day. Two or three paragraphs is worth the time if those paragraphs move the story forward. As a bonus, if I produce an epic fail, it's fairly easy to rewrite that kind of day's work.

I am a mountain climber hanging by a finger and a toe as I search for the next outcropping that will push me an inch higher. I can rappel down from the top. My hesitation comes from having no clear image of the climax. I have no clear image of the antagonist of this tale. I have no clear image of the cast. Makes the whole thing rather difficult to map in anything but the broadest of terms.

But a couple of paragraphs? Could be description. Could be a hint. Could be clean up, or a fight scene, or scintillating dialogue. Could be that inch I need to give me the space to breathe and study my next move instead of worrying over not starting yet.

That's my plan for January. I already started it. I'll keep you posted on the progress.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May your mountains be worth climbing.

Good-bye, 2013, I'll Miss You

I mean that. This was my calmest year in a while, and I needed the break.

I'm in the minority. Most of my friends have had hellacious years (hmm. Blogspot doesn't know that word). New jobs, lost jobs, floods, chronic illness, never-ending divorces - you name it, I have a friend going through it.

But my 2013 was good. I kicked depression in the teeth and out the door. I settled into my cemetery job and gained a little mastery and a lot of attitude. The weather was remarkably calm for Kansas. My zucchini flourished, even if the tomatoes faltered. I found peace with Zynga.

I've read some books. More books than I've read since pre-college. I've watched some movies I've never seen. I attended a conference and met people I've only known virtually (and still liked them). I'm remembering how to sing in the shower. If lack of cavities is proof, I've successfully reintroduced fluoride to my teeth cleaning regimen.

The only thing that suffered this year was my writing. I've been avoiding my WIP like a clingy, demanding boyfriend. I've forsaken NAF almost entirely (as an alumnus, my responsibilities are less than they were, but still...). I've run out of blogging ideas, as if you couldn't tell. Not a good thing, as I've apparently added some fans. Got a message from one last week asking if I had a release date on my next book.

Sigh. A release date. I should probably get on that.

Thank you, 2013, for being a year I could love. A Year of Jubilee, as it were. I needed it. I suspect 2014 will be a real nutcracker.

Happy New Year's Eve, dear readers. Count your blessings and forget the rest.   

Winter in Kansas

A few things to know about Winter in Kansas.

Usually, it's cold. Not Antarctic-kill-you-if-you-step-outside cold, but 30 degree highs and 0-10 degree lows with a wind chill. You'll want a coat, boots and thick gloves. And a ski mask because our winds keep blowing in Winter, and that north wind will peel the skin off your face if you're not careful. I add earmuffs because I can take almost anything but cold ears.

We don't see a lot of snow. We get sleet, freezing drizzle, the occasional ice storm, but snow doesn't happen as often as we would like, especially considering the cold temps. I mean, if you're going to freeze your nose off, you may as well have something pretty to look at, right?

When it does snow, people go a little crazy. SUVs think they're masters of the road, when in fact they tend to wind up in ditches and rollover accidents. An SUV can't stop any better than anyone else on snowpack. Keep that in mind, young'uns. Snow driving means down-shifting, slow speeds, and no tailgating.

Even in Winter, Kansas sun melts snow. What your parents may not have told you is to shovel your drive a) before you drive on it, and b) before the sun gets too high. If you get the snow off, the sun and wind take care of the remaining moisture, and you get a dry driveway by nightfall. If you don't clear it off, the sun melts the snow, and you get a sheet of ice by next morning. This holds true for clearing off your vehicle, too. Sun either heats a car and melts ice off the windows, or heats a car and turns snow left on a car into a thicker layer of ice.

This clearing and melting can backfire if the sun doesn't come out until late, but generally you're better off clearing than not clearing. It's good exercise, too, as long as you don't pull your brachioradialus muscle. 

Snow is both moisture and an insulator, so I always shovel it onto the flower beds. This is another good reason to move it before you drive on it. The chemicals used to clear roads have no business on your flower beds.

Any day above freezing will be a good day for the carwashes. Kansas drivers know to get the road sand and salt off their vehicles as soon as possible. With my growing affection for the new van, I'll be doing this myself when the opportunity arises.

We got snow this weekend, so I've been shoveling and scraping and pulling muscles. Good times.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Drive careful out there. 

Insight, or Another Excuse?

Money doesn't motivate me.

I'm almost ashamed to write that. It sounds horribly elitist, as though I cannot be bothered with the travails of mere mortals. I assure you, money worries me as much as it worries most people. I just don't translate "money worry" into "make more money." In fact, I seem to take the opposite route of "money worry" becomes "money hoarding."

This lack of desire to pursue money makes me a bit odd, I suspect, and may add to the elitist image of "I cannot be bothered to sully myself with grubbing after income like a commoner." I hope that's not the case. If it is, I assure you, the issue is entirely mine, as my entire family is of common stock with an excellent work ethic and normal perspectives of income vs. outgo. I have no business thinking I'm made of grander stuff than most. I'm plain old homespun from wool and cotton, no matter that I behave like the silk petticoat of a queen. 

TT: Probably time to reread The Lost Princess by George McDonald. I do that when I start to get above myself. 

Back to my point. I didn't publish a book to make money. I published a book because a lot of people made my life miserable until I did. Now that I have, they've mostly backed off (possibly because I bite people who ask "when's the next book coming out?")

One of my writer's groups is once again discussing book pricing. I fall on the lower price point side for ebooks because the physical costs are lower and higher prices for print books because the physical costs are higher. However, I wonder if I'm about lower price points because I don't want my books associated with me making a profit.

Now that absolutely goes against everything I espouse. I am a rabid capitalist, provided the capitalism is balanced with integrity. I firmly support the mutually beneficial exchange of goods and services, and that is the foundation of capitalism. Two people getting exactly what they want from each other, and being so satisfied with the exchange, they'd gladly do it again. It's what I used to have with Zynga before the company went money crazy.

I want people who buy my books to be satisfied with the purchase. There is nothing inherently wrong with me benefiting monetarily from that. But, I admit, I would rather have the praise than the cash. I would rather my product be admired and respected than fill my savings account.

Therein lies the pinch. I am reluctant to gain money from my books, and I am terrified that I will lose what respect I've earned by producing the next one (a very real possibility, btw, considering how often it happens to others).

So, once again, I've found an underlying insight to the paralysis I face whenever I look at my laptop. Will it help me overcome that paralysis? We'll see. Sometimes insight is enough to remove the dam.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May you have all the money you need, even if it's not all the money you want.

To Steal or Not To Steal

Yesterday, Katherine Coble asked the question,

"Is it stealing to open a bag of something like chips or cookies or cough drops and eat them during your shopping trip?"

This was apparently prompted by observations of another shopper. She had her opinion on the matter, but was curious what her FB Friends thought on the issue.

About half of the responders thought it was fine as long as you paid before you left. I don't think that's the question. The question is did you steal by opening the bag and eating during your shopping trip?

If you've interacted with me for any length of time, you know how much food occupies my thoughts. You should also have gathered how extremely possessive I am. This question touches on both issues. I have no doubt at all that eating food that isn't mine is stealing. 

I'm not condemning those who've done it. My greater concern is how easily rationalizing comes to us as a society.

"Well, it's fine as long as you pay before you leave." No. Eating something that isn't yours is stealing. You can pay for it afterward, but it was stolen until you paid. That's an "end justifies the means" argument. Those never fly with me.

"Well, the clerk didn't say anything/stop me, so it's fine." No. Bad behavior doesn't justify more bad behavior. If you take something that isn't yours, you steal. It doesn't matter if someone calls you on it. This is the same rationalization we use when running a stop sign because no other cars are there. The law doesn't stop existing because no one sees you break it.

"Well, I really needed it because I was having a (insert medical condition)." If you are that likely to have such a medical condition, why aren't you carrying whatever you need with you? I'm borderline hypoglycemic (one of the reasons I'm so concerned about food). I promise you, I have snacks with me at all times. I don't need to steal from a store because I'm experiencing low blood sugar.

Again, I'm not condemning. I'm observing. As a gatekeeper/guardian/ anti-change agent, I will always call out b.s. And those answers sounded my b.s. horn.

Proverbs 30:7-9

⁷ Two things I asked of You,
Do not refuse me before I die:
⁸ Keep deception and lies far from me,
Give me neither poverty nor riches;
Feed me with the food that is my portion,
⁹ That I not be full and deny You and say, “Who is the Lord?”
Or that I not be in want and steal,
And profane the name of my God. (NASB)

Happy Hump Day, dear readers.

Issues of Dismemberment

or, Why I'm OK With Dolls Whose Arms Come Off, But Not Dolls Whose Feet Come Off.

I have issues with dismemberment. You might not think so if you've read my stuff because I appear eager to sever protuberances, but it is never a good thing. Actually, that could go either way.

It started with those Disney head purses. You know the ones. Purses that are just the heads of famous Disney characters: Pooh et al., Mickey et al., Nemo et al.? OK, Nemo is pretty much a giant head anyway, but you get my point. I put my foot down when Niece #1 wanted a head purse. There was no way in The Nine Hells My Lamb was going anywhere with a severed head dangling from her tiny shoulder. Unless she killed it herself with a bottle opener and her teeth.

I got her a Djali backpack instead (this was during the Hunchback of Notre Dame ouvre).

TT: Not sure I'm spelling that word correctly or even using it right, but I heard it on Buffy the Vampire Slayer so I'm giving it a shot.

Yes, the goat was eviscerated, but he was otherwise intact. Stuff him with a blanket and no one knows his sorrow. She got the point, and Weird Aunt Turtle got peace of mind. 

Fast forward several years, and Bratz enter the scene. I have no issues with disproportionate dolls. Hey, I played with Barbie for years. And years. But when you have to change a doll's shoes by pulling off its feet, I draw a line. These are caricatures of real girls, and real girls' feet don't come off on purpose. I banned the Bratz. Pretty sure the nieces still had some, but we didn't discuss it, and they certainly didn't depedocate them around me. (Is that a word? Should be.)

Why, then, am I fine with the removable arms (and in some cases, everything) of Monster High dolls? Because they're monsters. Monsters can do all kinds of things normal humans can't, including switching forearms.

Which is why, after nearly a year of yearning, I finally broke down and bought a Monster High doll (actually, I bought three - one assembled and a set of two, assembly required, mwahahahahahaa!). They should have been around when I was younger, and it isn't my fault they weren't.

They came!

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Grasp a bit of your lost youth today, as long as all your pieces stay attached.

The Twitch

I've got a twitch. In my eye.

I get those on occasion. A few years ago, the twitch was so persistent and long-lived, I went to the optometrist. Eye twitches are usually a combination of too much histamine and too much stress. I took my Benedryl, got more sleep and the twitch subsided.

About two years ago, the twitch changed to numb eyelids. That's the only way to describe it. My eyelids go numb, and I can't keep my eyes open. I think it's my body's attempt to mimic the Joo Janta 200 Super Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses by ending my ability to see what's stressing me. Again, the solution is more sleep and a histamine blocker.

The twitch started two weeks ago, when I had my little upset. It's switching from right to left eye, it's hit both eyes at once, and it's alternating with the numb eyelids. You can't see it, but, trust me, I feel like Bugs Bunny after he swallows that shot of alcohol (don't remember why he swallows it; just what he looked like after). It has to be stress, because I've taken that generic Claritin for six weeks and I believe that contains antihistamine.

"Choosing to forgive" is a bit harder this time around. I keep making the choice, and I think I'm setting the issue aside for God to handle, but the twitch makes me think I'm failing. So be it. I don't know any other way to handle this than to keeping praying, keep forgiving and keep taking Benedryl.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Should my eyes slam shut while talking with you, you're stressing me out. Stop it.

Not NaNo

I am not a NaNo writer. I disparage no one who does it, but it just ain't my style and I'm at peace with that.

However, my goal for the remainder of this month is to write something on my WIP every day. That hasn't been happening and I'm at the end of my procrastination rope. I mean, I've been procrastinating so hard, I'm exercising rather than writing. That's sick.

I'm afraid of my WIP. Personal expectations are too high and personal motivation is too low. I have no great ideas left. I can't even figure out who the antagonist is. On the other hand, I have no other project that tweaks my interest any more than this one, so it seems silly to write on something else.

It's not that I can't write. I put words down, and they make sense and everything. It's that I don't care about writing anymore. I have no drive to tell the story. If I don't want to tell it, why would anyone want to read it?

Doesn't matter. I must assume this is simply my own lazy, apathetic nature seeking to condone my inclination to do nothing more in life but go to work to support my Farmville habit. Being half Vulcan, I understand emotion cannot dictate direction. Being half human, though, I understand without emotion, there's no drive to complete the journey. That's where I am. No drive.

If I can get as many words on my WIP as a typical blog post, I'll be...well, farther than I am. If it doesn't matter whether I write or not, I may as well write, right? With such willingness to be distracted by anything, the holiday season is as good a time to start as any.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. May you find the drive to finish all your worthy projects.

Greatest Queso Ever

Because My Best Friend apparently went through contortions trying to find the recipe so she could make this, I promised I would post it here for perpetuity.

Ingredients

1 block (32 Oz. Block) Velveeta Cheese

1 package (8 Oz. Package) Cream Cheese

1 can (10 Oz. Can) Rotel

1 can (10.75 Oz. Can) Cream Of Mushroom Soup

1 pound Ground Beef OR Sausage (or A Combination Of Both)

1 Green Onion, optional 

1 sm can corn, optional

Instructions

Brown ground beef or sausage (or both) in a pan over medium heat and set aside.

Cut up the Velveeta and cream cheese into cubes and place into a crock pot.

Pour in the Rotel and the cream of mushroom soup (and drained corn) and stir ingredients together.

Place the crock pot on low setting.

After about 30 minutes, add the browned meat and continue to let cook, stirring as needed, for another 30 minutes or so.

May we all die happy of coronary heart disease. 

Pant Rant

Y'all remember when I bought new pants, right? I'd had enough with the old ones being too tight (read "I've gotten too fat") and in a fit of exasperation, I went to the store and bought five new pair in all the colors I wanted. They fit, too. Mom is a witness.

Well, they're too loose now. They fit that night, and now they're falling off and bunching in weird ways and just infuriating. Did I lose weight in the meantime? More likely it's a conspiracy involving space age polymers that cling in an environment of low humidity, white linoleum and florescent lights and relax under all other conditions. I must be a size 11. One salty chip and I'm a 12; one hour  in The Swamp and I'm a 10.

I also have to say, once again, I hate low rise pants. Pear-shaped women carry weight in their bellies and butts, and low-rise pants accentuate not only the muffin-top of belly bulge but broaden the beam by focusing on the widest part of the hips. I guess it's more important to show off that tramp stamp and thong than have flattering clothes. I've been waiting since 1991 for colors I can wear to come back in style, why should I be surprised that clothing trends only get worse? Pretty soon it'll be normal to show pubic bones at work. Better yet, we'll wear nothing on the bottom and focus entirely on baby doll tops that make everyone look pregnant or willing to be pregnant.

I should have learned to sew. Except I would have to find patterns from the 1950's to make a decent pair of pants.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May your pants fit in a good way.

Too Right

I hurt my arm last month. Not sure exactly what I did, but somewhere between digging and hauling, I strained my forearm. The brachioradialis muscle, as far as I can tell with an Internet search when the pain got so bad I feared carpal tunnel or bone cancer. My elbow wasn't happy with me, either. Could be a chicken and egg situation.

This weekend the pain was so intense, after my one-handed research laid my worries to rest, I started using my left arm to lift heavy things like the half gallon almond milk carton, my half full electric teapot and the brown sugar container. That's when I realized how "right" I am. I must be using my right arm a lot outside if I'm using it this much inside. I guess it's had enough.  


I'm not a crazy gardener. I'm crazy about gardening, but I don't go all out insane with the whacking and boulder rolling and whatnot. I'm the slow and steady gardener who sits down to weed so I don't put my back out, takes more trips than necessary with the wheelbarrow to avoid muscle strain and goes inside between 10 AM and 2 PM because that's when UV radiation is most intense in Kansas. Zucchini isn't worth melanoma. 

To actually hurt myself is rare, and to hurt myself in a way that hangs on for weeks is unheard of. Until this year.

That fall in April that led to the horrible knee ache in July and August has morphed into what I can only describe as a groin pull. Rotating my left leg in certain circumstances leads to a pain that nearly buckles my good knee and causes inappropriate words to spew from my lips. So, lame on the left, crippled on the right.

I've read gardening magazines for years, and every once in a while, I'll see an article about garden safety that involves exercises, because everybody knows gardening can be extremely dangerous if you don't warm up properly.

That was sarcasm, if you didn't hear it. 

The old joke says a twenty year old gardener has a forty year old back and sixty year old knees. They ain't kidding. Add 20 to all those numbers, and you know what I'm dealing with.  

I'm not laughing quite so hard anymore. Gardening is about the only exercise I like doing, so I'm stretching those muscles slowly and carefully and applying heat as needed. Once these injuries have healed, I'll add some weight training to help prevent this kind of thing in the future. Nothing crazy, though. That wouldn't be me.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Remember, Monday is always the first day you go to work, no matter when that day happens on the calendar. Be ready for it.

The Logistics of Blogging

I am an excessively scheduled person. My life is maintained with a precision likely stemming from an undiagnosed mental disorder (it's only undiagnosed because I haven't pulled out my DSMIII-R and diagnosed myself). This is why I can keep six cats with varying dietary and exercise needs. This is also why I occasionally miss my blog time.

I have 30 "free" minutes between waking up and leaving for work. Since that's my average writing time for a blog post, this generally works well. However, some days I get off track. Farmville has loading issues. Someone coughs up a hairball in a particularly difficult place to clean. I've forgotten the fridge is empty and must make something for lunch that day. All kinds of things.

TT: The fact that these things happen and I cope with a minimum of trouble leads me to believe I don't have a mental disorder, just very rigid habits.

So, when you don't see a new post from me, more often than not it's a case of bad timing. I'm not dead or depressed or kidnapped. I'm just off schedule.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. May any inconvenience today be God's blessing in your life.

Practicing Forgiveness

Every decade or so my world gets shaken. It's probably more often than that, but I'm trying to be positive. Usually this shaking comes in the form of someone doing something that is completely out of the character I understand them to have.

I'm not a good judge of character. I have no instincts, no intuition. I measure folks by one yardstick, really - me. What would I do in a similar situation? Which is why I often get the hell shocked out of me when someone doesn't choose the path I would.

Most of the time, this is surprising but not world-shaking. Most of the time, this doesn't cause a problem. Every once in a while, though, this surprise leads to shock, disappointment and anger.

Had one of those happen recently, and I'm struggling to deal. This is the time to apply that "forgiveness" lesson I learned last November.

See, forgiveness is a choice. It's me being aware a wrong was done, but not marking it in my Book of Wrongs and reviewing it nightly as I plot revenge. I know the wrong occurred. I will take steps to deal with the consequences. I will not brood over how I was wronged and how that person should now burn in hell for eternity.  I will not allow one wrong to ruin the rest of my life, or the rest of my relationships.

It's hard. I don't have good instincts, but I have an excellent memory. Burn me enough and we are done. Not because I hate you, but because I won't live my life in a fireplace. I doubt that's how Christ would do it, but I'm not Him yet.

Anyway, today is a day of forgiveness. No wrong done against me will destroy my eternity, and I will trust the real Judge to deal with true wrongs in due time. God has my back. I don't have to waste another emotional minute on this.

Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Choose to forgive today, for your sake, not theirs.

Out of the Study

If my WIP were a sketch, I would have rubbed through the paper by now. I have written, re-written, pondered, procrastinated and persecuted my brain for how to get them out of there. I can't gain enough traction to propel my people out of this scene.

They're close. The door swings open, inviting. They just have to walk through it - against all common sense and leaving Obvious Danger to stab them in the backs. No thinking person would do it and these are thinking people.

I'm almost ready to just write the next scene. No transition, no idea of how they did it, just the assumption that they did on the hope that somewhere in the future a brilliant and obvious "of course!" moment will wake me at 3 AM and I'll actually get up and write it down before I forget.

However, if past is prologue, the moment I move them on without regard for how they get there, some snag will arise that makes where they move impossible and I'll have to rewrite anyway. Obvious Danger must be outsmarted or defeated or neutralized for the time being.

Good Lord. I just thought of how to do it. Literally this moment thought of a way. Gotta go.

Happy Friday, dear readers. May you find inspiration in your most frustrating moment. 

The Answer

I am officially The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. Yes, today I am 42.

This will be the first birthday I do not eat an entire 3-layer German's chocolate cake in celebration.

I don't have a good track record with birthdays. They tend to be all about me. Yes, I know that's how they normally work, and for normal people, that system works well, but for an egomaniac like myself it leads to tantrums, unreasonable demands and self-indulgence of truly epic proportions.

No more.

I am now The Answer. Today I shall be gracious. Today I shall be kind to all those who are not The Answer. Today I am All There Is, and I have no reason to be petty about it. Today I will march out my door with a Pan-Galatic Gargle Blaster under my belt, my Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses on my face, and my towel firmly in hand.

Don't panic. I am here, and I am The Answer.  

Oh, and regarding all those previous birthdays...

"We apologize for the inconvenience." 

Douglas Adams 

So Long and Thanks for all the Fish.  

Fall in The Swamp

I'm learning my ideal gardening environment is 45 to 65 degrees on partly cloudy days. The lower the temp, the less "partly" on those clouds, please.

It's been a looooong time since I've tried "Fall-cleanup" in The Swamp. Not sure if I've ever really tried it. It's more the kind of thing vegetable gardeners do than flower gardeners. While the weather has been kind with mild temps and sunny days, the sun rises after 7:30 AM and sets around 7 PM, so it's a race to get home and get dirty while I can still see the shovel.

The asparagus bed with added space for garlic.

I've moved the raised bed dirt into the flower bed and the "almost finished" compost into the raised bed. I've dug up the 10x10 Wild Plot in the middle of the yard and seeded with fescue, mostly because I can't maintain all the beds I want to have and Sweetie does need a bit of lawn for butt-hunker running purposes. That sounds so easy. This is the part of the yard most destroyed by the arborists, so with every shovel, I'm hitting rocks and buried tree branches. Fortunately, I've forgiven that crew, so I'm not furious anymore.

I expanded the asparagus bed slightly to allow for a garlic bed, too. Seems you have to leave garlic alone for a while if you want multiple cloves.

I'll seed this swath, too. No more vegetables so far from the house. I'm considering making a dividing line of ornamental grass (you can see the grass I'd use just behind the tomato. I'd do that in the Spring.

I tore out the disappointing tomato plant last night. It tried, poor thing. It just couldn't get any traction with the weather. Next year, I'll go back to "Early Girl," even if I have to buy two because the first one dies. There's something to be said for an indeterminate tomato.

Up here, maybe it won't be so frost-susceptible. It will certainly be easier to smell.

I transplanted half my lilac bush closer to the house. I meant to move the whole thing, but lilacs sort of turn into masses of suckers, so I took a mass of smaller suckers and moved them. I may move more in the Spring to the south side as part of the "green screen" I'm planting between me and the Neighbors to the South. The ornamental grass from last Spring is doing it's bit, but everyone appreciates a well-planted lilac bush.

That's lemon balm and lamb's ear in front of the lilac. Both are "weeds" and should provide plenty of ground cover for next year.

I hope to switch out some peonies for lamb's ear in the rock garden. The peonies don't get enough water back there and the lamb's ear is a bee friendly weed, so the move makes sense. I also plan to transplant autumn sedum (or live forever, as we call it around here: a Kansas weed sold in garden catalogs to other States) to the back because butterflies love it and it can take the sun and heat. Don't know why I didn't think of doing it before.

If I can remember (and resist), I won't buy annuals next year. I should have enough self-seeders to keep the flower bed going and I'll transplant herbs to fill the bare spots. My annuals just didn't like the weather this year, and I did not get my money's worth. Considering the number of volunteer basil and dill that came up from two plants in 2012, I shouldn't have to buy those ever again. I hope.

That's a quick summary of how I'm spending the dying light of an evening and the daylight of a weekend. I'll be suiting up in winter gear to collect leaves, too. My compost bins are empty and momma needs brown stuff.

Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Get out while you can. Winter is coming.

Stupid Humans and the Zombie Apocalypse

Season four of The Walking Dead is underway. Two amazing episodes so far. Here's hoping they can keep up the tension.

I'm not generally one for end-of-the-world story lines. I hated Stephen King's The Dark Tower as soon as I read the back explanation. I completely avoided the Left Behind series. If it says "dystopian" in the blurb, I walk away.

Until you add gore, I guess. Something about decomposed bodies going splat as they fall from 20 foot heights piques my interest.

Four seasons of this show have brought home one stark reality, though: no one can survive a zombie apocalypse.

Let's assume for a moment that a zombie virus only affects humans (true in The Walking Dead, not true in Resident Evil, another series of zombie movies I love for the fight scenes). You still have 300 million - give or take maybe 20,000 - Americans now morphed into mindless, unstoppable killing machines. We'll ignore the rest of the world for the moment.

Those unstoppable killing machines eat anything that moves. That means all land animal life will eventually be eaten by zombies. All the mammals, for sure. Massive extinction in a relatively short amount of time. Add that all living humans now carry the zombie virus and automatically become zombies at death and you're beginning to understand the meaning of "apocalypse."

Survival for humans would depend on three things: food, shelter, and killing zombies. That's really the only things anyone should focus on. No in-fighting. No political systems. No "does she love me or my best friend?" musings. Unless killing zombies is high on the list of priorities, you will run out of food and shelter and you will die. And become a zombie.

By this point in the show, the zombies are at least 10 months old. They're getting pretty rotten. They're still dangerous, and I'm glad to see the survivors are more cautious than ever, probably because they're tired of watching people die. But no one alive should walk away from a moving zombie. The goal of every mission out should be 1) search for supplies and 2) destroy as many zombies as possible. You have 299 million (assuming we've lost 10K live humans in the last three seasons) to dispatch. It's more than a job; it's a career.

Our survivors on The Walking Dead haven't quite figured this out yet. Maybe they don't want to face that truth. Maybe they're tired. Maybe they tried during the spring hiatus and they've decided it's too costly. It doesn't matter how costly it is. It's the only chance humans have.

I don't worry about it too much. According to a Facebook quiz, I won't last 16 hours into the zombie apocalypse because I won't leave people behind.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Enjoy your lives while you have them. The zombie apocalypse is coming and we won't get out alive.

Another Way to Flesh Out a Character

Spent a little time last night with Creating Characters: Heroes of Legend by Paul Jaquays and my old gaming dice (and an extremely pupil-dilated Caleb when those dice hit the desktop). With some help from my former DM, I found a clear downloadable version of this out of print book (at least, I couldn't find a recent copy or an old one for less than $50).

Once upon a time, this book helped create Caissa, Kirk, Galena, Rhami, the Harvarkoset children, Raven and Horus. Every character from Star of Justice I first role-played or used as an NPC for a role-played character.

See, some characters spring to life fully formed in my brain. Some need a little help. Like Merritt's mom and siblings. Didn't know he had siblings, did you? Well, he does, but I couldn't quite get them to step out of the shadows of his past and introduce themselves.

We writers are encouraged to know our characters well (some more than others). We're not supposed to write everything we know into the story, but we should know more than we tell you. I can't always pull "fun facts" out of thin air, and a character generator program doesn't give me the specific, hands-on control that I prefer. They also don't go as deep as I like to go into a character's history.

This book is made of tables. Birth Circumstances. Childhood Occurrences. Skill Sets. Blessings and Curses. All kinds of fun and quirky bits that can spark imagination and make a two-dimensional character way more fun.

TT: Remember Raven's reference to her "third birth?" She wasn't talking conversion, folks, but I won't spoil that story just yet.

Merritt's mam is first on the list and coming along nicely. If I want to be slightly more focused on my WIP, I should roll for Gowan Rudebeck next, but Jezreel MacEwan has been bugging me about her backstory anemia longer, so she gets first turn.

Anyway, should be a clickety-clackety weekend as I role those d20 and 2d10 and whatever else Paul wants me to throw.

Happy Friday, dear readers. May your character creation be fruitful and your 20's excessive.

Doctor, Doctor, Leave Me Alone

Yesterday, a FB friend asked for testimonies concerning holistic medicine.

My doctor is an advocate and practitioner of healthy lifestyle choices as both preventive and curative, which matches my philosophy if not my habits. I don't know if that makes him holistic or not, but it means I will go see him if I'm on the brink of death because I don't think he'll push me over. OK, maybe 24 hours after the brink of death. I mean, I might get better on my own. Why not? I got sick on my own. No point rushing it.

I don't trust doctors in general. I consider the majority of them to be pill-pushing shills of the drug companies, much like the FDA. How else can you explain 60 second commercials for new pills where 40 seconds are warnings about all the horrible things the pills can do to your major organs, immune systems and anyone "who has been to certain regions where certain fungal infections are common?" What on earth does that even mean? These commercials are then followed by the ambulance chasing lawyer commercials asking if "you or a loved one have suffered" any of the list of symptoms, including death, while taking any of these medications because "you may be entitled to a large cash settlement" so contact them right away.

Yes, I watch too much cable TV.

I don't think doctors mean to be pill-pushing shills. It seems to be a matter of training. "You're already 200 lbs overweight, pre-diabetic and don't listen to me anyway, so here's a pill covered by insurance that masks most of your symptoms. Let's see if that helps. Of course, your liver might stop working and you could go blind, but at least you can keep eating pork ribs." So we take Tums instead of avoiding the BBQ with the fiery peppers in it. Maybe your body doesn't like fiery peppers. Maybe that acid reflux is an honest reaction to a stupid action and if you stop the stupid action, the symptoms will stop.

Obviously, this isn't every doctor or every patient. I'm using sarcasm because I'm feeling better.

This vertigo thing has me thinking I do need to see a specialist. I should make sure it's the congestion holdover from a cold that I think it is and not a tumor or alien implant or brain-eating pre-zombie virus I might hope for. My current method of slow-and-steady treatment producing slow-and-steady improvement seems to confirm it's congestion. I'm on day two of no morning wobbliness or nausea. That means it took six days to feel improvement on a condition that probably took six days to reach its apex of discomfort. I'm OK with those numbers.

I am blessed to have a relatively healthy life so far. If family history is an indicator, breast and colon cancer may be in my future, as well as hip and knee replacements, but I'm doing what I can to prevent those. TV has convinced me a major step is to avoid taking or using anything approved by the FDA in the last fifteen years.

For those of my friends currently experiencing serious health issues, I am truly sorry and I am praying for relief for you and wisdom for your doctors. On the one hand, we live in an age where actual cures exist. On the other hand, finding them may be as deadly as the disease.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Thank God for the health you have and pray for someone who suffers more than you do.

Vertigo Continues

My thanks to those of my readers who now recognize my whiny-day rants as little more than over-reaction to sleep deprivation (either that or you're all so busy having real lives you barely noticed me - good on you!). Those self-pitying bouts rarely last more than 24 hours.

The sleep deprivation continues, however. The antihistamine is helping, but I won't take it at night anymore. I don't know exactly when my eyes opened last night, but I'm guessing 2 or 3 AM when the time-released meds time-released. I don't know for sure because once again I couldn't turn my head or body without turning the world upside down. Getting very tired of that. So there I lay for hours, motionless, unable to sleep or get comfortable, waiting for something to happen. Preferably an asteroid, but, you know, I'm flexible.

When the alarm went off at 5, I sat up carefully like yesterday and thought I did a good job - until the cold sweat kicked in. No idea where that came from but I sat completely still for about 5 minutes while sweat poured out of me and soaked everything. I managed to get a trashcan in place because what usually follows sweating is puking but that didn't happen. My temp was normal: 97.4 (that's normal for me).

A quick check of webMD says it could have been anemia, low blood pressure, possible mini stroke or motion sickness.

I'll choose motion sickness for $500, Alex.

I don't remember a sickness where I felt worse lying down than standing up, but I'm getting mighty tired of that, too, in every sense of the word. Tonight I'll go back to the Benedryl and motion sickness medicine combo that worked a few days ago. The Turtle needs sleep.

I've avoided wheat like the plague, and I'm eating pretty much rice and green vegetables trying to get rid of the mucus in my head. I am better during the day. It's night that has me flummoxed. Stupid night.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Keep your heads up and your noses clear.

Justice for My Characters

I could turn over last night without wanting to throw up, and I was able to sit straight up this morning with only a little dizziness. The Wal-itrin-D is working its generic drug magic. I'm not pushing it, but I may just survive this bought of vertigo.

I took my own advice about my WIP. You know, that advice I told myself last week about not focusing on what I couldn't do but considering what else I could do? I rearranged the scene slightly and the difficulties have smoothed out. Most recent hurdle jumped. Check. While I did it, I realized I've forgotten yet another plant I'll have to add to previous scenes. I never had this trouble with Star of Justice.

Do you ever feel like you're not doing your characters justice? I was thinking about Patrick Carr's second book and how he had all the makings of a really great story and fell just a bit short. Will I do that? Will I fail to give Kiven and Lucki all the room they need to be truly brilliant? I love these characters. I want other people to love them, too.

I understand why George Lucas keeps going back to original Star Wars (I despise him for it as only one who shares that log in the eye can, but I understand). As often as I sit at my keyboard and compare what I'm doing now with Star of Justice, I want to give up. That book wrote itself. I didn't have to decide what to do next; it just happened.

Frankly, it was too easy. It didn't prepare me for the bleak reality that some stories have to be planned. They need plotting and research and rewriting and adding plants and a ton of other stuff my arrogance thought I was past.

For all my admonitions and complaints about the hard work of writing, I hadn't realized it gets harder every book. I hoped at some point some of this would become old hat. I suppose if I wrote to formula, it would.

But I want to dazzle. I want unique, and plausible, and humorous and bittersweet and all that other nonsense I promised myself I would never worry about. I want better than Star of Justice, but apparently it's going to be harder than I expected and without any of the joy I once experienced. Writing isn't fun anymore. I dread opening the manuscript. I fear the second book syndrome. I'm paralyzed by indecision, like Sarah with the Helping Hands. "Which way do you want to go?" 

In short, I care too much what other people may think. I hate you all a little for that. Why did you have to like my book? Why couldn't you have ignored it or stopped reading at chapter three? No, you had to keep going and tell me how much you liked it. You had to tell your friends. You had to congratulate me and give five stars.

I'm glad you enjoyed it. It may be the only thing you get from me in your lifetime.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Hope your day isn't starting as whiny and self-loathing as mine.

Vertigo and Self-Medicating

Woke up with vertigo yesterday - severe enough I fell over instead of getting out of bed. This isn't unprecedented. With my history of motion sickness and allergies, every so often the head plumbing gets clogged and the balance gets wonky.

Haven't fallen over before, but I'm getting older, so why not? Of course, lying there until I starve isn't an option. For one thing, those dogs won't let themselves out. By the third attempt I was on my feet and not tossing cookies, so I downed a motion sickness pill to at least prevent the puking and made plans to swing by the pharmacy on the way to work.

Last time this happened, the doc prescribed an antihistamine. Once I halved it so I didn't drop unconscious half an hour after swallowing the pill, I was on the road to recovery. That was years ago.

This time I went with a non-prescription antihistamine, although it was still behind the counter and I had to show my photo ID and sign away my firstborn (if I ever have one) to get it. Sorry, future child of mine, mommy needs to walk upright. I chose the 12 hour non-drowsy because I want to be drowsy at some point during a 24-hour cycle. Mine tends to come at the 3 PM long, dark teatime of the soul, but I continually hope for that 9 PM to 4 AM slot.

This left 12 hours when I wasn't covered by the antihistamine. What to do? Take a motion sickness pill to attack the symptoms, or take a decongestant to attack the problem? Yes. I took both, and lived to blog the tale.

This morning I only fell over a little. Thank You, Jesus. Motion sickness is bad enough when you caused it by sitting in a rocking chair. Experiencing it while sitting still is beyond annoying.

Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Keep those kleenex handy.

Editorial Preference and Feet

Got inspired. Thought I'd share it with the folks over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

Why, Why, Why Did I Put Them in the Study?

This is driving me crazy. I thought I'd kept the "plant" details sketchy when Caissa mentions that insane man and his non-magical construct in Star of Justice, but I was wrong. So wrong.

I shouldn't have put them in Gamaliel's study.

I did it because the scene at the time had them in Gamaliel's study. I hadn't written the rest of the book, but that scene seemed pretty clear cut. I mean, Kiven and Lucki had to be there, and they had to have met both Gamaliel and Caissa, and the study was the most obvious place for that meeting to occur.

Until I rewrote the scene. Now it's like trying to put Skamper into a cat carrier. Lots of push but no progress.

I remember observing Big Brother teaching an aikido class. His sparring partner grabbed his wrist, and Big Brother asked the class if that was a problem. "Am I under control?" or something to that effect.

A chorus of "yes's" from the young pupils.

"Nope," Big Brother said. "He has my wrist. He doesn't have me. I can do anything I want with my brain, with this hand, this foot or that foot, my torso, even that hand he has." Then he did one of his little aikido moves and his partner hit the mat and proved his point.

I'm in the same place. This one little snag has my wrist, but it doesn't have me. It doesn't have the power to stop me unless I give it the power to stop me. The mind leads the body. My mind must agree this isn't the huge problem I'm making it out to be, apply a little kote gaeshi and drop this sucker to the mat.

Easy to say. Harder to do.

Happy Friday, dear readers. You have options today. Exercise them. 

The Difference Between Cats and Dogs

Sweetie the dog and Simon the cat both had dental work done in the last six weeks. This is the first time for both, and both had known dental issues when they went in. They're about the same age, although it could be argued since Sweetie is a big dog, she's older than Simon the cat.

Sweetie had one tooth pulled and came home with heavy duty pain meds, extra antibiotics and obvious pain for the first 24 hours. She wouldn't open her mouth, so I dissolved her meds in water and used a syringe to squirt them in the opening between her back teeth. Give it two days, and she was better. A week later, and you'd think we'd knocked five years off her age, the sweetheart.

With this recovery curve in mind, I was extremely reluctant to put Simon through that. Cats don't take meds like dogs do. I knew Simon had at least two cavities, and that means extraction. If my sweet girl had such a hard time the first week, what would it be like for spoiled Little Brother, who can be a real toadmonkey even in his best mood?

I read an article in the Tufts University cat magazine Catnip that claimed cats do very well with tooth extractions. For most, it's a new lease on life.

OK, that's most. What about my guy? Would he be "most" or the "least?" The article was convincing and my vet is skilled. I took the chance.

I can't believe how true the article was. Simon came home without pain meds, without extra antibiotics, and other than a severe case of the tipsies that had me running after him to prevent landing slippage, no apparent side effects at all. I even fed him a little wet cat food that night, probably more than I should have, but it was either feed him or put him in a carrier to prevent him from searching the house like a dopehead on a munchie binge.

If your pet has cavities, spend the money and vacation time and get them out.  Yes, it's harder on the dog than the cat, but bad teeth cause all kinds of other expensive problems no one wants to see. I wish I'd done it sooner for Little Brother. He probably does, too.


Happy Thursday, dear readers. Hug those furry family members and check their teeth when they aren't looking.