For all you ex-strippers who want to make a few quick bucks (while keeping your clothes on). C'mon. I know you're out there.
Or if you're just looking to make a large sum of money....sometime...in the future...unless they find your cement boots at the bottom of the river.
Do you have Artistic Vision and the desire to do all the work?
Or this looks easy. It'll practically write itself.
The second sentence in this one depressed me. Maybe virtual Haldol?
Why do you suppose a lit agency would advertise on Craiglist?
Now this one I LOVED. I swear I didn't write it!
Yah, shooor. Just send her everything you got.
Fine, but I am sooo not buying the coffee.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Oh, Yeah...
And I'm thankful I found my "groupie" photo, taken two years ago by HOLLY when she and PAM and I tripped down to Books and Co. in Dayton where Diana Gabaldon was signing copies of A Breath of Snow and Ashes.
I touched her!
I touched her!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Thankful Thursday
I am thankful Wednesday is over.
Grandma's appointment was at 2:45 p.m. I got home at 7:00 p.m. Trust me: that was my last field trip!
Other thoughts:
1. American Idol. Am I the only one who's not really impressed with anyone? Nobody "wows" me. But since I fell asleep in the middle of it, I might have missed something, no?
2. Does it crack you up when people say "Man, it's cold as hell!"? I said it myself this morning. Actually it's probably much colder than hell...
3. A local man--Bobby Cutts Jr. who murdered his girlfriend, Jessie Davis, and their unborn baby, Chloe--escaped the death penalty and will not be eligible for parole till he's 87 years old. Personally I think they should paste posters of Jessie all over his cell, top to bottom, so he can stare at her face for the next 50+ years. Jessie's mom stated she was relieved he didn't get this death penalty because she doesn't want Jessie and Bobby's other child, Blake, spending the next few years waiting for his father to be executed. My heart breaks for this family. Please don't click on this unless you're interested in the graphic details.
4. I may have to give up TV entirely till this election is over:
"Honey, put down that baseball bat!"
"Ma'am, please step away from the TV!"
"Mom, are you taking your meds? Can we come visit you soon? Do those shock treatments...hurt?"
5. No mole corpse yet. I keep sniffing.
Grandma's appointment was at 2:45 p.m. I got home at 7:00 p.m. Trust me: that was my last field trip!
Other thoughts:
1. American Idol. Am I the only one who's not really impressed with anyone? Nobody "wows" me. But since I fell asleep in the middle of it, I might have missed something, no?
2. Does it crack you up when people say "Man, it's cold as hell!"? I said it myself this morning. Actually it's probably much colder than hell...
3. A local man--Bobby Cutts Jr. who murdered his girlfriend, Jessie Davis, and their unborn baby, Chloe--escaped the death penalty and will not be eligible for parole till he's 87 years old. Personally I think they should paste posters of Jessie all over his cell, top to bottom, so he can stare at her face for the next 50+ years. Jessie's mom stated she was relieved he didn't get this death penalty because she doesn't want Jessie and Bobby's other child, Blake, spending the next few years waiting for his father to be executed. My heart breaks for this family. Please don't click on this unless you're interested in the graphic details.
4. I may have to give up TV entirely till this election is over:
"Honey, put down that baseball bat!"
"Ma'am, please step away from the TV!"
"Mom, are you taking your meds? Can we come visit you soon? Do those shock treatments...hurt?"
5. No mole corpse yet. I keep sniffing.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Grandma Outing
OK, Grandma is set to have her hip redone soon. Well, kind of set. She went for preop testing and an old MI showed up on her EKG which means she now has to be cleared by a cardiologist.
I normally don't go with her to her appointments. They send her in an ambulance and either the NP or an aide tags along. This time I decided to go because I haven't seen her for a while (bad me) and I know she'd appreciate the company. And she can't answer any questions, period.
Then I woke up this morning to a massive blizzard. I had planned on driving downtown to meet her at the hospital, but no way I am driving anywhere in this crap (except to Borders later, lol). So I called the NP and asked if I could ride with her in the ambulance--so that's exactly what I'm going to do.
Last time I rode in an ambulance, I was strapped to a board with a C-collar on. The car accident was my fault--I fell asleep, drove though an intersection, and ended up sandwiched between 2 cars coming from opposite directions. I remember lying there, immobilized, hoping I'd slip into a coma so I wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath.
Luckily nobody, including me, was seriously hurt. But it was another five years before I'd drive through that intersection.
I hope riding with Grandma doesn't give me...you know...flashbacks.
OTOH, trapped in a confined space for 45 minutes with Grandma will probably cause me to lose my mind completely:
"Where are we going?"
"To the doctor."
"Why?"
Explain, explain...
"So where are we going again?"
"To the doctor."
"Why?"
Explain, explain...
"Hey, where are we going?"
etc
etc
etc
for........
forty......
five......
minutes.
::klunk::
I do love her, though!!! She's funny as hell when she's not repeating herself. She's funny as hell when she's not repeating herself. She's funny as hell when she's not repeating herself.
I normally don't go with her to her appointments. They send her in an ambulance and either the NP or an aide tags along. This time I decided to go because I haven't seen her for a while (bad me) and I know she'd appreciate the company. And she can't answer any questions, period.
Then I woke up this morning to a massive blizzard. I had planned on driving downtown to meet her at the hospital, but no way I am driving anywhere in this crap (except to Borders later, lol). So I called the NP and asked if I could ride with her in the ambulance--so that's exactly what I'm going to do.
Last time I rode in an ambulance, I was strapped to a board with a C-collar on. The car accident was my fault--I fell asleep, drove though an intersection, and ended up sandwiched between 2 cars coming from opposite directions. I remember lying there, immobilized, hoping I'd slip into a coma so I wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath.
Luckily nobody, including me, was seriously hurt. But it was another five years before I'd drive through that intersection.
I hope riding with Grandma doesn't give me...you know...flashbacks.
OTOH, trapped in a confined space for 45 minutes with Grandma will probably cause me to lose my mind completely:
"Where are we going?"
"To the doctor."
"Why?"
Explain, explain...
"So where are we going again?"
"To the doctor."
"Why?"
Explain, explain...
"Hey, where are we going?"
etc
etc
etc
for........
forty......
five......
minutes.
::klunk::
I do love her, though!!! She's funny as hell when she's not repeating herself. She's funny as hell when she's not repeating herself. She's funny as hell when she's not repeating herself.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Road Trip: A True Story
I never thought about my own mortality when I was younger--say, at age 20 when my friend Rosa and I loaded up her canary yellow Dodge Challenger and drove to Canada with nothing but a road map and some money.
This included no hotel reservations.
In Toronto (which, when you drive 90 miles an hour, is only four hours from Cleveland) we couldn't find one single hotel. We drove, drove, drove around in circles and finally found an utterly cool, very old hotel called The Lord Simco. Coincidentally, I'd stayed at the same hotel at age 10 when my sister took me to Canada as a birthday present. Rosa and I probably booked the last available room in the whole city.
The following morning we met a guy on the street, a total stranger who swung open his car door and offered to "show us the sites."
I know, right?
Naturally this was before all the CSI shows. We were young and trusting and naive, and simply amazed by this perfect stranger's unbelievable generosity. It must be a Canadian thing, we decided. So yes, we went with him, and..................
..............he drove us around for a couple of hours, showed us the city, we talked and joked, and thanked him profusely when he dropped us back off where he'd picked us up.
And did not think twice about it.
Then we drove up to Montreal. Neither of us knew a word of French other than oui and non-. Rosa spoke German and Yiddish. I barely passed Spanish with a C- in ninth grade. Again, no available hotel rooms (this was August). But this time there was also no Lord Simco awaiting us.
We drove...and drove...hitting one hotel after another. No luck. Plus we were at a disadvantage because of the language barrier, and the fact that yeah, at our age we had limited funds. Finally we stopped in a parking lot and sat there, at loss. And just as we decided we might as well sleep in the car, we heard a knock on the hood.
Three Indonesian guys, whose spoken English was a tad better than our French, beckoned to us. "You lost? You hungry? You got no place to stay? We take you to dinner! You stay with us, at Y.M.C.A. You American, right? We take good care of you!"
I know, right? So..............
............Rosa and I got out of the car and climbed in with the guys. Yes, we did, I swear to God. They drove us to an Asian restaurant and paid for our dinners and drinks. Afterward, they drove us back to our car and instructed us to follow them to the Y.M.C.A. "Only eight dollar a night!"
So we followed the trio. Yes, we did. The Y.M.C.A. turned out to be an ancient stone building, and creepy as hell: riddled with bugs, no window screens, and a community shower room/bathroom at one end of the very dark, very dingy hall.
The Indonesian guys hovered--they were all a bit lit, as were we--and very flirty. The person at the desk (who thankfully spoke English) informed Rosa and me that it was "against the rules" to share a room. Period. So, like, how did they enfore that? Make room checks with a flashlight they way we do at work?
Well, there was no way in hell we were going to sleep apart in this dungeon. We paid for two rooms and walked (no elevator) up to a third floor room.
The dudes followed us up. They also followed us into the room.
One skinny single bed, a screenless window that bordered a roof (yeah, Pierre the Ripper could pop right in--funny we didn't think of this when we were tooling around Toronto with a perfect stranger) and a single bare lightbulb dangling from a cracked and stained ceiling. This is movie stuff, folks. Rosa and I exchanged looks of horror. Suddenly sleeping in the car didn't seem like such a bad idea.
"OK," we told the Indonesian guys who, by this time, were getting a bit, um, aggressive? "You can go now. Thanks for dinner, blah, blah, blah..."
"No, no! We stay! Keep you company, yes?"
"No. You GO! We're fine. Thanks a lot, uh, thank you, yes...you can go...byeeeeee!"
They proceeded to argue. "No! We have fun!" One counted off: "See? Two girls. Three boys. We have extra boy! Ooh, one of you LUCKY!"
No. Lucky was the fact that the guy in Toronto didn't rape and murder us both and leave us in a ditch behind Casa Loma. Lucky is NOT the fact that we are trapped in a dinky flophouse in a foreign county with 3 horny Indonesians.
"Oh, but we are so tired!" Rosa and I pleaded. "Go guys go to your own room and let us get some sleep and we'll meet you in the morning."
"For breakfast?"
"Yes, for breakfast?"
"You promise? You will meet us? We will have fun tomorrow?"
"We promise, we promise!"
It took a bit more prying (like 30 more minutes) but we finally got them to--reluctantly--leave our room. Needless to say, Rosa and I barely slept, and it wasn't just because the two of us were crammed into a single, smelly, suspiciously stained bed.
At five a.m. we jumped up, dressed, grabbed our stuff, snuck downstairs, checked out, and SCRAMMED!
Then we drove to Quebec City, and ....
What idiots we were.
This included no hotel reservations.
In Toronto (which, when you drive 90 miles an hour, is only four hours from Cleveland) we couldn't find one single hotel. We drove, drove, drove around in circles and finally found an utterly cool, very old hotel called The Lord Simco. Coincidentally, I'd stayed at the same hotel at age 10 when my sister took me to Canada as a birthday present. Rosa and I probably booked the last available room in the whole city.
The following morning we met a guy on the street, a total stranger who swung open his car door and offered to "show us the sites."
I know, right?
Naturally this was before all the CSI shows. We were young and trusting and naive, and simply amazed by this perfect stranger's unbelievable generosity. It must be a Canadian thing, we decided. So yes, we went with him, and..................
..............he drove us around for a couple of hours, showed us the city, we talked and joked, and thanked him profusely when he dropped us back off where he'd picked us up.
And did not think twice about it.
Then we drove up to Montreal. Neither of us knew a word of French other than oui and non-. Rosa spoke German and Yiddish. I barely passed Spanish with a C- in ninth grade. Again, no available hotel rooms (this was August). But this time there was also no Lord Simco awaiting us.
We drove...and drove...hitting one hotel after another. No luck. Plus we were at a disadvantage because of the language barrier, and the fact that yeah, at our age we had limited funds. Finally we stopped in a parking lot and sat there, at loss. And just as we decided we might as well sleep in the car, we heard a knock on the hood.
Three Indonesian guys, whose spoken English was a tad better than our French, beckoned to us. "You lost? You hungry? You got no place to stay? We take you to dinner! You stay with us, at Y.M.C.A. You American, right? We take good care of you!"
I know, right? So..............
............Rosa and I got out of the car and climbed in with the guys. Yes, we did, I swear to God. They drove us to an Asian restaurant and paid for our dinners and drinks. Afterward, they drove us back to our car and instructed us to follow them to the Y.M.C.A. "Only eight dollar a night!"
So we followed the trio. Yes, we did. The Y.M.C.A. turned out to be an ancient stone building, and creepy as hell: riddled with bugs, no window screens, and a community shower room/bathroom at one end of the very dark, very dingy hall.
The Indonesian guys hovered--they were all a bit lit, as were we--and very flirty. The person at the desk (who thankfully spoke English) informed Rosa and me that it was "against the rules" to share a room. Period. So, like, how did they enfore that? Make room checks with a flashlight they way we do at work?
Well, there was no way in hell we were going to sleep apart in this dungeon. We paid for two rooms and walked (no elevator) up to a third floor room.
The dudes followed us up. They also followed us into the room.
One skinny single bed, a screenless window that bordered a roof (yeah, Pierre the Ripper could pop right in--funny we didn't think of this when we were tooling around Toronto with a perfect stranger) and a single bare lightbulb dangling from a cracked and stained ceiling. This is movie stuff, folks. Rosa and I exchanged looks of horror. Suddenly sleeping in the car didn't seem like such a bad idea.
"OK," we told the Indonesian guys who, by this time, were getting a bit, um, aggressive? "You can go now. Thanks for dinner, blah, blah, blah..."
"No, no! We stay! Keep you company, yes?"
"No. You GO! We're fine. Thanks a lot, uh, thank you, yes...you can go...byeeeeee!"
They proceeded to argue. "No! We have fun!" One counted off: "See? Two girls. Three boys. We have extra boy! Ooh, one of you LUCKY!"
No. Lucky was the fact that the guy in Toronto didn't rape and murder us both and leave us in a ditch behind Casa Loma. Lucky is NOT the fact that we are trapped in a dinky flophouse in a foreign county with 3 horny Indonesians.
"Oh, but we are so tired!" Rosa and I pleaded. "Go guys go to your own room and let us get some sleep and we'll meet you in the morning."
"For breakfast?"
"Yes, for breakfast?"
"You promise? You will meet us? We will have fun tomorrow?"
"We promise, we promise!"
It took a bit more prying (like 30 more minutes) but we finally got them to--reluctantly--leave our room. Needless to say, Rosa and I barely slept, and it wasn't just because the two of us were crammed into a single, smelly, suspiciously stained bed.
At five a.m. we jumped up, dressed, grabbed our stuff, snuck downstairs, checked out, and SCRAMMED!
Then we drove to Quebec City, and ....
What idiots we were.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Oscar Observations
Jon Stewart: boring
Nice tux, Rock, but it doesn't quite fit.
Jennifer Hudson: WHO told you you looked good in that dress?
Cate Blanchette: Pregnant and beautiful!
I think "Javier" has gotta be the sexiest male name ever.
Hal Holbrook is still alive?
Who was that amazing child who sang "Raise It Up?"
Owen Wilson needs glasses. He squinted at the prompt screen.
Ruby Dee is still alive?
Why is Tilda Swinton wearing a black velvet Hefty bag? Yick!
I got a new cell phone (just checking to see if you were paying attention)
This Halle Berry/Dame Judi Dench thing is going on waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too long.
I want to be one of those chicks in the formals who usher the winners off the stage at the end of their speech. Usually in the right direction.
Marion Cotillard WON for Best Actress La Vie En Rose! I loved that movie!
Nominated songs so far: y-a-w-n ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫ y-a-w-n ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫ y-a-a-a-w-n ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫.
Renee Zellweger looks fabulous.
WHAT is that crap around Nicole Kidman's neck???? Looks like somebody flipped out in the craft department.
Robert Boyle (art director-honorary recipient) is 98 years old--and still alive! And lucid...and upright (see how jaded you get when you all you see are the sick ones?) He is awesome!
Molasses is soon to be no more (still paying attention?). Sorry, but it was either $30 for a no-kill trap or $6 for D-Con.
I loved Hilary Swank's dress! Does she ever not look good? No trash bag for her.
THANK GOD I DIDN'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO ANOTHER MICHAEL MOORE RANT. In fact, no political rants whatsoever this year. WTH happened?
Harrisonnnn Forrrrd....why are you taaaaaaalllking soooo sloooowwwwwwwwwww???
George Clooney: yummy as always.
Denzel Washington: DITTO. :)
It's over. "No Country for Old Men" won Best Picture. Next year, hopefully, I'll start earlier and actually get to SEE the movies beforehand.
Maybe Billy Crystal will come back.
I can only dream.
Nice tux, Rock, but it doesn't quite fit.
Jennifer Hudson: WHO told you you looked good in that dress?
Cate Blanchette: Pregnant and beautiful!
I think "Javier" has gotta be the sexiest male name ever.
Hal Holbrook is still alive?
Who was that amazing child who sang "Raise It Up?"
Owen Wilson needs glasses. He squinted at the prompt screen.
Ruby Dee is still alive?
Why is Tilda Swinton wearing a black velvet Hefty bag? Yick!
I got a new cell phone (just checking to see if you were paying attention)
This Halle Berry/Dame Judi Dench thing is going on waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too long.
I want to be one of those chicks in the formals who usher the winners off the stage at the end of their speech. Usually in the right direction.
Marion Cotillard WON for Best Actress La Vie En Rose! I loved that movie!
Nominated songs so far: y-a-w-n ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫ y-a-w-n ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫ y-a-a-a-w-n ♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫.
Renee Zellweger looks fabulous.
WHAT is that crap around Nicole Kidman's neck???? Looks like somebody flipped out in the craft department.
Robert Boyle (art director-honorary recipient) is 98 years old--and still alive! And lucid...and upright (see how jaded you get when you all you see are the sick ones?) He is awesome!
Molasses is soon to be no more (still paying attention?). Sorry, but it was either $30 for a no-kill trap or $6 for D-Con.
I loved Hilary Swank's dress! Does she ever not look good? No trash bag for her.
THANK GOD I DIDN'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO ANOTHER MICHAEL MOORE RANT. In fact, no political rants whatsoever this year. WTH happened?
Harrisonnnn Forrrrd....why are you taaaaaaalllking soooo sloooowwwwwwwwwww???
George Clooney: yummy as always.
Denzel Washington: DITTO. :)
It's over. "No Country for Old Men" won Best Picture. Next year, hopefully, I'll start earlier and actually get to SEE the movies beforehand.
Maybe Billy Crystal will come back.
I can only dream.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Random 10
1. Good news: congrats to Mary Pearson for her fabulous FILM OPTION NEWS!
2. WIP=16k. 10k of this was written at one sitting. I done broke my own record.
3. Still waiting for a contract.
4. Still in cell phone withdrawal.
5. For lack of anything else to do today, I baked a cake. Whoopee. Open a box, throw in some water and eggs and ...
...voila! Dessert for 2 days!
6. Don't books make the greatest gifts?
Genevieve
7. So does underwear:
Leah
Lydia
Leah, Lyddie, and Beth
8. Leah, practicing for old age--a tribute to Ellis Island:
9. Me, wired on coffee (pic taken by a seven yr old!)
10. Belated pics of two more birthdays--
Nate, with Grandma (yeah, he looooves being photographed, can you tell?):
--and Beth:
Needless to say, that's not one of "my" cakes. :)
2. WIP=16k. 10k of this was written at one sitting. I done broke my own record.
3. Still waiting for a contract.
4. Still in cell phone withdrawal.
5. For lack of anything else to do today, I baked a cake. Whoopee. Open a box, throw in some water and eggs and ...
...voila! Dessert for 2 days!
6. Don't books make the greatest gifts?
Genevieve7. So does underwear:
Leah
Lydia
Leah, Lyddie, and Beth
8. Leah, practicing for old age--a tribute to Ellis Island:
9. Me, wired on coffee (pic taken by a seven yr old!)
10. Belated pics of two more birthdays--
Nate, with Grandma (yeah, he looooves being photographed, can you tell?):
--and Beth:
Needless to say, that's not one of "my" cakes. :)
Friday, February 22, 2008
Cell Phone Rant
"You'll accomplish more now if you can focus on just one thing at a time."
Oh, reeeally??? I thought I could accomplish more if I try to do, like, 50 things at once. Which I usually do. What a lame horoscope.
Crisis: I LOST MY CELL PHONE! Seriously. I'm tearing my hair out. Every fricking number in the universe is stored in that phone, and in some cases it's the only way people get hold of me. So if any of you are on my list, you might want to email me your number again.
So I go into in a Certain-Cell-Phone-Joint-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named to report it lost. I also wanted to use Hubby's upgrade so I could get a new one. Ditzy Chick informed me I needed to physically have Hubby's phone there to do this. Which I later found out from my son's Brilliant Techie Friend Who Also Happens to Work There (but wasn't there at the time) that this isn't the case.
I also learned that CCPJTSNBN can't transfer your stored numbers onto a new phone unless they have your old phone in hand. Which of course is impossible...because I lost it, right? What, I ask you, kind of technology is this? We can access information on computers in Whateverffrikkinstan 5,000 miles away and nobody can retrieve my stored numbers from one dinky lost cell phone?
Then Ditzy Chick asks, "Did you look for it everywhere?"
OBVIOUSLY, darling, I didn't look for it "everywhere." Everywhere indicates every possible place in the world. Clearly I would have found it by now. I wouldn't standing here talking to a child who then asks me: "Wow. Did you check under your couch cushions?"
My couch cushions? I never thought of that. What a brilliant idea! Let me run right home and tear up my living room again.
Fearing she was about to inventory every possible hiding place in my life, I left. Without a phone.
Oh, reeeally??? I thought I could accomplish more if I try to do, like, 50 things at once. Which I usually do. What a lame horoscope.
Crisis: I LOST MY CELL PHONE! Seriously. I'm tearing my hair out. Every fricking number in the universe is stored in that phone, and in some cases it's the only way people get hold of me. So if any of you are on my list, you might want to email me your number again.
So I go into in a Certain-Cell-Phone-Joint-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named to report it lost. I also wanted to use Hubby's upgrade so I could get a new one. Ditzy Chick informed me I needed to physically have Hubby's phone there to do this. Which I later found out from my son's Brilliant Techie Friend Who Also Happens to Work There (but wasn't there at the time) that this isn't the case.
I also learned that CCPJTSNBN can't transfer your stored numbers onto a new phone unless they have your old phone in hand. Which of course is impossible...because I lost it, right? What, I ask you, kind of technology is this? We can access information on computers in Whateverffrikkinstan 5,000 miles away and nobody can retrieve my stored numbers from one dinky lost cell phone?
Then Ditzy Chick asks, "Did you look for it everywhere?"
OBVIOUSLY, darling, I didn't look for it "everywhere." Everywhere indicates every possible place in the world. Clearly I would have found it by now. I wouldn't standing here talking to a child who then asks me: "Wow. Did you check under your couch cushions?"
My couch cushions? I never thought of that. What a brilliant idea! Let me run right home and tear up my living room again.
Fearing she was about to inventory every possible hiding place in my life, I left. Without a phone.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Cambridge Scam--again!
Wow! I just got a invitation to submit an application to Cambridge Who's Who for Professional Women (who say they are "proudly not affiliated" with any other Who's Who publication)!
My reply in black magic marker on the back of the postage-paid post card:
"YOU are one of the biggest scams on the face of the earth. How much do you CHARGE for putting me in your book? Say hi to Manchester! xxx P.S. You can contact me at www.kma.com or email my application to nosuckershere@f.u.com."
My reply in black magic marker on the back of the postage-paid post card:
"YOU are one of the biggest scams on the face of the earth. How much do you CHARGE for putting me in your book? Say hi to Manchester! xxx P.S. You can contact me at www.kma.com or email my application to nosuckershere@f.u.com."
Putzing
No writing today. I slept late, completed 2 crits, and now I'm off to my niece's birthday party.
Tomorrow I'm anticipating a word marathon. I've kind of strayed from my ghost story (yeah, kick me now) and have been playing around with something else. So tomorrow I'll decide if it's worth it--otherwise, back to the spooks which, I fear, needs a major overhaul.
Do you ever feel like you're simply at "loose ends" where your writing in concerned? It's not that you're not writing. Of course you're writing. You might even be writing a fair amount of words on a daily basis. But you're piddling around with this and that, or going back to tweak some old stuff, or putzing around with an idea that struck you out of the blue--and not really accomplishing anything of significance.
Yup, that's pretty much been my week.
And a friend gave me a copy of Jodie Picoult's The Tenth Circle...and it's STARING at me right now...waiting...begging...luring me to pick it up.
"Stop it!" she cried, clenching her fists to her ears. "Make it stop! Make it stop!"
Happy weekend!
Tomorrow I'm anticipating a word marathon. I've kind of strayed from my ghost story (yeah, kick me now) and have been playing around with something else. So tomorrow I'll decide if it's worth it--otherwise, back to the spooks which, I fear, needs a major overhaul.
Do you ever feel like you're simply at "loose ends" where your writing in concerned? It's not that you're not writing. Of course you're writing. You might even be writing a fair amount of words on a daily basis. But you're piddling around with this and that, or going back to tweak some old stuff, or putzing around with an idea that struck you out of the blue--and not really accomplishing anything of significance.
Yup, that's pretty much been my week.
And a friend gave me a copy of Jodie Picoult's The Tenth Circle...and it's STARING at me right now...waiting...begging...luring me to pick it up.
"Stop it!" she cried, clenching her fists to her ears. "Make it stop! Make it stop!"
Happy weekend!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Thankful Thursday
I'm thankful I didn't have a nervous breakdown when I read THIS (excerpt below).
"Serious attacks by patients on their mental health providers are rare, but they do happen, although usually in institutions that see more seriously ill patients.
A psychiatrist in Omaha died from head injuries in August, several days after a patient with a grudge and a history of violence attacked him as he arrived at a medical center."
I know. I'm obsessing.
"Serious attacks by patients on their mental health providers are rare, but they do happen, although usually in institutions that see more seriously ill patients.
A psychiatrist in Omaha died from head injuries in August, several days after a patient with a grudge and a history of violence attacked him as he arrived at a medical center."
I know. I'm obsessing.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
What?
I love when a candidate gets on TV and says "I'm Blah-de-Blah and I APPROVE this message."
And then they proceed to deliver the message.
Does this strike anyone else as, well, freakin' WEIRD???
And then they proceed to deliver the message.
Does this strike anyone else as, well, freakin' WEIRD???
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
HC Books on the Web
Harper Collins to Offer Free Books on the Web.
It'll be interesting to see if this increases their sales (hopefully there will be a follow-up to this). I'm not an ebook person myself. I like to hold them, lug them around, bend back the pages, sneak peeks at stoplights, crawl into bed with 'em. I'm not alone in this respect, according to an AOL poll:
"How do you prefer to read books?
The old-fashioned way, page-by-page 94%
Read, what's that? I prefer audio books 4%
Using an electronic format 2%"
Now a poll of my own: Was this a BOR-ing post or what?
_____ No
_____ Hell yeah!
It'll be interesting to see if this increases their sales (hopefully there will be a follow-up to this). I'm not an ebook person myself. I like to hold them, lug them around, bend back the pages, sneak peeks at stoplights, crawl into bed with 'em. I'm not alone in this respect, according to an AOL poll:
"How do you prefer to read books?
The old-fashioned way, page-by-page 94%
Read, what's that? I prefer audio books 4%
Using an electronic format 2%"
Now a poll of my own: Was this a BOR-ing post or what?
_____ No
_____ Hell yeah!
Monday, February 11, 2008
"Typical" characterics of YA?
Pubrants has an entry that lists the 25 Most Common Things You See In YA Literature.
Gotta admit, I'm guilty of 3:
#17 – Parents who are professional writers or book illustrators (Shawna's mom is a photographer/illustrator)
#12 – A dead mother (if she dies IN the story, does it still count?)
#7 – Fingernail biting (Martha)
OK, guys, be honest: how many did YOU hit? And will any of this make you think twice about your current wips or future projects?
Gotta admit, I'm guilty of 3:
#17 – Parents who are professional writers or book illustrators (Shawna's mom is a photographer/illustrator)
#12 – A dead mother (if she dies IN the story, does it still count?)
#7 – Fingernail biting (Martha)
OK, guys, be honest: how many did YOU hit? And will any of this make you think twice about your current wips or future projects?
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Phyllis Witney 1903-2008
Acclaimed novelist Phyllis Whitney died yesterday at age 104. The author of more than 75 books, she'd been writing professionally since the 1940s and was working on her autobiography at the time of her death.
Note: to give you an idea of how "old" 104 is, Miss Whitney divorced her first husband back, um, around World War II!
Whitney, once dubbed the Queen of American Gothics, holds a special place in my heart. I became addicted to her romantic suspense novels shortly after high school, and sucked them up one after the other. One in particular, The Winter People was my favorite--Beth surprised me a copy of it (copyright 1969) several Christmases ago. Rereading it, I found it tame by today's standards (where little is left to the imagination, especially when it comes to s-e-x) and the heroine not as...mm, shall we say strong? as those in more contemporary fiction. But still a very suspenseful story with a disturbing climax.
I loved this quote in the NY Times article (link posted above): "Ms. Whitney ascribed her success as a writer to persistence and an abiding faith in her abilities. 'Never mind the rejections, the discouragement, the voices of ridicule (there can be those too),' she wrote in Guide to Fiction Writing. 'Work and wait and learn, and that train will come by. If you give up, you’ll never have a chance to climb aboard.'"
Goodbye, Phyllis.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Friday 5
1. Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy BIRTH-day, dear Beth, Happy Birthday to you! XOX
2. My orders are in file. I have close to 68K. LOTS of cutting needed (fun) and LOTS of adding needed (more fun). One thing I need to add is a believable plot. Or semi-believable. Or just a plot will do.
3. I had breakfast with Pamela today! Stuff French toast! Coffee! Writer talk! Wonderful!
4. Molasses lives. Turds abound. Purell makes a very poor pesticide. I'm considering Aquanet.
5. I have some totally awesome news I'm not quite ready to share. Details to come (and if anyone sees it before me, please let me know!)
2. My orders are in file. I have close to 68K. LOTS of cutting needed (fun) and LOTS of adding needed (more fun). One thing I need to add is a believable plot. Or semi-believable. Or just a plot will do.
3. I had breakfast with Pamela today! Stuff French toast! Coffee! Writer talk! Wonderful!
4. Molasses lives. Turds abound. Purell makes a very poor pesticide. I'm considering Aquanet.
5. I have some totally awesome news I'm not quite ready to share. Details to come (and if anyone sees it before me, please let me know!)
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
??????
"You are ready to make a clean break, with today's New Moon Eclipse in your 7th House of Relationships. You are standing at the beginning of whatever is next. But don't think about leaving anything behind; focus on what you need to attract into your life. Anything is possible, so don't be afraid to act on your desires.
OK, not gonna think about that...
What I am going to think about is the fact that I have scenes and scenes and scenes written and none of them strung together in any constructive way. Three files. 30k+ words written in sequence. Two other files with, well, just scenes. Because this was an old NaNo project, the idea was to get the words down and not worry about editing.
In retospect, not the smartest move.
Goal for tomorrow: Sit down, open all three folders, and try to put these scenes into some kind of sequence. Because we are talking about roughly 50K, this is not going to be a simple task.
Remind me again why I refuse to outline?
OK, not gonna think about that...
What I am going to think about is the fact that I have scenes and scenes and scenes written and none of them strung together in any constructive way. Three files. 30k+ words written in sequence. Two other files with, well, just scenes. Because this was an old NaNo project, the idea was to get the words down and not worry about editing.
In retospect, not the smartest move.
Goal for tomorrow: Sit down, open all three folders, and try to put these scenes into some kind of sequence. Because we are talking about roughly 50K, this is not going to be a simple task.
Remind me again why I refuse to outline?
Re: Heath
Once I herniated a lumbar disk. For two weeks I was bedridden, immobilized by pain. I had to pee in a Dixie cup because I couldn't sit down. The docs gave me Motrin and muscle relaxers, till I finally had sell my soul for a crummy Darvocet.
Heath Ledger, OTOH, died from an overdose of OxyContin, Valium, Vicodin, Restoril, and Xanax.
Nobody has mentioned that he had any pain issues.
I agree it's a tragedy. But WTF?
Obviously I should have shopped harder for a more understanding physician.
Heath Ledger, OTOH, died from an overdose of OxyContin, Valium, Vicodin, Restoril, and Xanax.
Nobody has mentioned that he had any pain issues.
I agree it's a tragedy. But WTF?
Obviously I should have shopped harder for a more understanding physician.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Another Loooong Day
All I can say is: FAT FREAKIN' CHANCE.
OK, I like mornings. It's my most creative time of day. But NOT to have to make myself look human, get into the car, and drive anywhere.
When I was in high school I used to keep my alarm clock in the kitchen. The only way I'd get up in time for school was to have to jump out of bed and race downstairs to slam off the msuic. My parents did NOT appreciate waking up in the morning to "Bennie and the Jets" blasting full volume.
This morning my TWO alarm clocks went off fifty-seven times before I finally crawled out of bed at 6:30. I showered but didn't bother to wash my hair. Yes. I went out in public with DIRTY HAIR.
Sometimes I gross my own self out.
I left the house at 7:02 and
1. stopped for gas
2. drove to work and arrived at 7:50
3. went to my PCI class where I learned I am so not allowed to kick anyone in the nuts even if they're beating the sh$t out of me
4. left at 4:25 still wondering if I'll be able to not kick somebody in the nuts--I mean, we are talking self-presevation here
5. drove directly to the grocery store, got there at 5:05, and loaded up
6. came home, unloaded groceries at 5:30
7. threw a chicken (unnamed for a change) into the oven
8. blogged and surfed and emailed till 8:00
9. ate chicken
10. baked cookies from 8:30 till 9:15
11. ate cookies
12. began writing this post as I'm watching South Park
How can I possibly still be awake?
Oh! Beth and I went to see The Eye. We were supposed to see Juno because it's one of the Oscar nominees. But both of us were in the mood for "scary" and we LOVED the Gin Gwai, the original version.
Do. Not. Waste. Your. Money. The best part of the movie was when the MC was having all those visions that no one else could see and she became completely paranoid and depressed. It kind of opened my eyes to some of the things my truly paranoid patients experience. I can't imagine living through that kind of terror, and having no one believe you.
But as for the rest of the movie...bleaughhh! Talk about a lame, cop-out, totally Hollywood ending.
To tell the truth, the film lost me right off the bat when they expected me to believe that this American girl received a bilateral cornea transplant from a dead girl in some obscure little Mexican village. Yeah, I'm so sure that peasant girl was on the national registry. Puh-leeease!
Bullying, and a Bit of Self-Disclosure
Judy Gregerson posted a great link on her BLOG to about bullying.
These are some of the things they suggest you tell your children:
"If they see someone else being bullied they should always try to stop it. If they do nothing, they're saying that bullying is okay with them.
"The best way to help is probably to tell an adult. It's always best to treat others the way they would like to be treated.
"Show the bully that they think what they're doing is stupid and mean. Help the person being bullied to tell an adult they can trust."
For those of you who work in the school systems...are these some of the things kids are taught right off the bat?
I hope so. I hope it's ingrained in them from pre-school on.
I have to admit, I've been on both ends of the bullying spectrum. Growing up, we were taught in Sunday School to be kind to others--but the actual "bullying" issue was never addressed by name. It was never addressed in school, either. Bullying was rampant and little, if anything, was ever done about it.
This is embarrassing to admit: But when I was in 3rd grade or so, there was another girl in my class, Sharon, who was very heavy. Other kids made fun of her. Once, I joined in.
I made her cry. And I felt horrible--I deserved to feel horrible--and I never did it again.
I felt guilty about it for years. Yes, I carry baggage around forever. :) Even though I moved to a different school the following year and never saw Sharon again, I never forgot the look on her face when I called her "fat."
What goes around comes around. In 8th grade it was my turn. And trust me--not that ALL of you don't already know this--junior high school kids are a helluva of lot meaner than third graders. Girls who had been my best friends in 7th grade suddenly turned against me in 8th. Although it was never physical (except for one close call) they made my life holy hell for the next 2 years. Even now, decades later, I look back on this as one of the most disturbing experiences in my life.
Did *I* tell anyone? Well, one teacher called me up after class and asked was everything was okay. Was I haveing any problem with anyone? Was there something I wanted to talk about?
To this day I'm grateful she noticed, and took the time to reach out. But all I did was stand there and shake my head. The last thing I wanted was to be known as a ratfink (yeah, that was the word of the day). I denied it all. She sighed and let me leave.
I did tell my parents who gave me the standard advice; "Just ignore them and they'll leave you alone." Yeah, riiight. But that's exactly what I did. I was the epitome of self-control. As far I was concerned, those girls didn't exist.
Did it work? Nope. Although I refused to respond to anything they said, ignoring their behavior didn't stop the bullying. It didn't make them go away and leave me alone. It didn't make them respect me. It just went on and on and on and on throughout the rest of 8th grade and pretty much through 9th.
By 10th grade these girls lost interest in me. In fact, one of them and I kind of "made up" in high school though we were never as close as we'd once been. And we never discussed what happened! Talk about "denial" in its purest form.
What I got out of this experience was a greater appreciation for the feelings of others. I'm aware of it all the time, always wondering how my words will affect others. This is mostly good because I do go out of my way to treat others with respect. It can also be bad, because at times I hold back on my own feelings because I'm afraid of coming across as a "bully"--even when dealing with idiots who seriously need to be "told off" (no, I don't mean my patients, lol, I mean other people in general--and I hope nothing I write in this blog ever offends anyone to the point of no return). I think I'm very attuned to people's emotions. Sometimes too attuned.
With my own kids, I made it a point to teach them right from the start to NOT gang up on other kids. To my knowledge they never did. But I have to admit I never thought to tell them what they should do if they noticed it happening to someone else. It's not enough to simply not join in. But I can also see how some children might be afraid to take a stand out of fear that these bullies might turn on them as well.
What are your thoughts? Do your children come to you, as teachers or even parents, to let you know one of their peers is being bullied? How do you handle it? What advice do you give?
These are some of the things they suggest you tell your children:
"If they see someone else being bullied they should always try to stop it. If they do nothing, they're saying that bullying is okay with them.
"The best way to help is probably to tell an adult. It's always best to treat others the way they would like to be treated.
"Show the bully that they think what they're doing is stupid and mean. Help the person being bullied to tell an adult they can trust."
For those of you who work in the school systems...are these some of the things kids are taught right off the bat?
I hope so. I hope it's ingrained in them from pre-school on.
I have to admit, I've been on both ends of the bullying spectrum. Growing up, we were taught in Sunday School to be kind to others--but the actual "bullying" issue was never addressed by name. It was never addressed in school, either. Bullying was rampant and little, if anything, was ever done about it.
This is embarrassing to admit: But when I was in 3rd grade or so, there was another girl in my class, Sharon, who was very heavy. Other kids made fun of her. Once, I joined in.
I made her cry. And I felt horrible--I deserved to feel horrible--and I never did it again.
I felt guilty about it for years. Yes, I carry baggage around forever. :) Even though I moved to a different school the following year and never saw Sharon again, I never forgot the look on her face when I called her "fat."
What goes around comes around. In 8th grade it was my turn. And trust me--not that ALL of you don't already know this--junior high school kids are a helluva of lot meaner than third graders. Girls who had been my best friends in 7th grade suddenly turned against me in 8th. Although it was never physical (except for one close call) they made my life holy hell for the next 2 years. Even now, decades later, I look back on this as one of the most disturbing experiences in my life.
Did *I* tell anyone? Well, one teacher called me up after class and asked was everything was okay. Was I haveing any problem with anyone? Was there something I wanted to talk about?
To this day I'm grateful she noticed, and took the time to reach out. But all I did was stand there and shake my head. The last thing I wanted was to be known as a ratfink (yeah, that was the word of the day). I denied it all. She sighed and let me leave.
I did tell my parents who gave me the standard advice; "Just ignore them and they'll leave you alone." Yeah, riiight. But that's exactly what I did. I was the epitome of self-control. As far I was concerned, those girls didn't exist.
Did it work? Nope. Although I refused to respond to anything they said, ignoring their behavior didn't stop the bullying. It didn't make them go away and leave me alone. It didn't make them respect me. It just went on and on and on and on throughout the rest of 8th grade and pretty much through 9th.
By 10th grade these girls lost interest in me. In fact, one of them and I kind of "made up" in high school though we were never as close as we'd once been. And we never discussed what happened! Talk about "denial" in its purest form.
What I got out of this experience was a greater appreciation for the feelings of others. I'm aware of it all the time, always wondering how my words will affect others. This is mostly good because I do go out of my way to treat others with respect. It can also be bad, because at times I hold back on my own feelings because I'm afraid of coming across as a "bully"--even when dealing with idiots who seriously need to be "told off" (no, I don't mean my patients, lol, I mean other people in general--and I hope nothing I write in this blog ever offends anyone to the point of no return). I think I'm very attuned to people's emotions. Sometimes too attuned.
With my own kids, I made it a point to teach them right from the start to NOT gang up on other kids. To my knowledge they never did. But I have to admit I never thought to tell them what they should do if they noticed it happening to someone else. It's not enough to simply not join in. But I can also see how some children might be afraid to take a stand out of fear that these bullies might turn on them as well.
What are your thoughts? Do your children come to you, as teachers or even parents, to let you know one of their peers is being bullied? How do you handle it? What advice do you give?
Friday, February 1, 2008
Friday Thought
Today I finished the two-day psych course. At the end of today's lecture, Sister came in and did the Blessing of the Hands (annointed our palms with oil and gave each nurse a blessing).
She said: "God created man in His own image...and all of you are seeing God in His ugliest disguises."
She said: "God created man in His own image...and all of you are seeing God in His ugliest disguises."
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