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.