That Amy Saia

Two Words

2012-02-11T08:12:00.000-08:00

Two Words

“Going out.”

“Have fun.”

****

“I’m back.”

“Missed ya.”

“I’m hungry. Fix something.”

“Already did. It burnt. Want pizza?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure?”

“I am.”

“Suit yourself. See Carl?”

“I did. He’s drunk.”

“What, again?”

“Yes, again.”

“Big lush. Grabs butts. Dirty mouth.”

“That’s Carl. He’s male.”

“And married.”

“Yeah, true.”

“Bad influence.”

“Just rowdy.”

“Needs slapping.”

“Had plenty.”

“I’m sure.”

“What’s on?”

“Love Boat.”

“Oh, damn.”

“You’re out?”

“Uh huh.”

“Join me.”

“Not now.”

“Come on. Don’t leave.”

“Okay then. Move over.”

“Ah, nice. Remember when?”

“Every day.”

“So young.”

“And stupid.”

“Back seat.”

“Old Cadillac.”

“Good days.”

“And nights.”

“Everything’s changed.”

“Not everything.”

“Goes fast.”

“Seems to.”

“Any regrets?”

“No, none. And you?”

“Just one. You ready?”

“Go ahead.”

“The trip.”

“To California?”

“Stalled car. Stolen cash.”

“Don’t worry. Been saving.”

“You have?”

“Almost enough.”

“Ah, honey.”

“Yeah, well . . .”

“Kiss me.”

“All right.”

“Damn babe.”

“Whoooee honey.”

“More please.”

“Hold on. Too bright.”

“Oh shit. There, better?”

“Yes, much.”

“You’re sexy.”

“Come on.”

“No really. Don't believe?”

“Shut up. Come closer.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That sound. Back yard.”

“Just Benji.”

“Not him. Something else.”

“Wait now. Oh damn.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s Carl.”

“Dear God."

“Kicked out. Wife’s pissed.”

“Good riddance.”

“Damn zipper. Be back.”

****

“What happened?”

“He barfed. Poor Benji.”

“Big jerk!”

“Never changes.”

“Pathetic man.”

“Needs help.”

“Sure does.”

“Show’s over. Fantasy Island.”

“Damn again. Let’s just—”

“Oh yeah. Slide over.”

“Amen honey.”

2012-02-09T12:57:00.000-08:00

Still cloudy. But I have a funny story. I think I've mentioned the kids next door that come over a lot. Well, they're adorable children, and my kids are far from perfect, but we've had issues with them coming in and just grabbing whatever food they can find. I mean, literally, before I can even close the door someone has opened a cabinet and poured themselves a bowl of cereal. I'm a gentle person (despite my New Yorker post a few down) and like to tackle these things in a calm, but sure, manner. Here's the funny part though, after all this bad activity the kids came over last weekend and there were some fortune cookies laying on the counter. Julia read her fortune and it said, "You are kind to your friends." I was like, huh, that's not a future, that's more like a statement. A true statement, at that. So, her friend opens hers and it says, "You lie too much." Well, I thought it was funny!

Last night Liam managed to stick a wad of silly putty in his hair. I heard him crying, "Mamma, Mamma! Help!" He'd only made things worse by trying to pull it out--silly putty had mashed and surrounded a good portion of hair. I grabbed some olive oil and shampoo and put him in the tub. An hour later and we were good to go, although his hair looks like an Exxon oil spill today. But no silly putty.

How's your day going? Is it Friday yet?

A rainy, but wonderful, day

2012-02-07T12:02:00.000-08:00

Today has been gray and dreary. I've had to do a lot doctor arranging as Liam needs tubes put in his ears, and that takes insurance and calls, etc. But on the enjoyable side of things, I had another short story acceptance. I'm really happy about it because this particular story is one of my favorites and I've been dying to have you guys read it. Publication date is March 1st with the wonderful Haunted Waters Press/From the Depths issue. Gossamer Boy is about a young man in the 70's (I know, I know) who has a physical problem. Life hasn't been easy, but Freddy Mercury makes everything all right. The boys at school call him Quasimoto. Quasimoto loves Queen. OMG! Seriously, I'm so happy it's going to be published. This story defines me--absolutely defines me as a human and as a writer. I shouldn't gush, but I can't help it. It's not that I think I wrote it brilliantly, I just love what it says.

So anyway, that's my sugar in my tea today. What's yours?

Just a regular day

2012-02-06T13:00:00.000-08:00

Current edits are done for The Soul Seekers, I sent it in and so today I have been cleaning and relaxing (not at the same time). While surfing the internet just now, I found this great collection of pictures on someone's blog and thought I'd share. There are a few that might be offensive, but only because of shock factor. Let me know what you think. http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2008/07/shockingly-creative-ads-from-urban.html

Cold weather is still staying away from Kansas. It's the winter that never was. Can't complain though, I just hope spring doesn't try to make up for it with severe weather. Last year was enough me me, thank you very much.

A writing post

2012-02-04T07:09:00.000-08:00

I've been gone so long . . . sounds like a blues song, but it's just me feeling guilty. I've been editing, and I guess I just can't juggle too many brain projects at a time. But these were tough edits. I had to go over the first few chapters with a fine comb. I took things out, and put them back in, and took them out again. Last chapter--gone. Couple of opening scenes--gone. You won't miss them, but I will. Actually, once I decide to make a cut, I'm strangely emotionless about the whole thing. "Ah, that was easy." Well, anyway, I wouldn't make any cut if it wasn't the right thing to do. I think. Oh geez. Don't go back . . .

That's what is so hard about final edits: every change is so important, and so BIG.

One thing I figured out this round was that I do my best editing early in the morning. I'm prone to distractions, and since there are no talk shows, kids to take care of, dog wanting to be walked, food to snack on, housework to do . . . you get the point. There's none of that, and I find I can concentrate and actually focus on the work. I also made changes in how I work in the afternoon: no tv. No commitments. Everything can wait.

Taking notes helped a lot. When I began to stress out over things I had to change, I would take a million notes to release that anxiety.

I wrote this entry because I've had a deep shame with my bad editing habits. I honestly thought I would be like other writers and be able to recount every detail of my writing life. It hasn't been that way. Editing is not my happiest chore. And yet, I'm always, always grateful for the changes that come and my editor's suggestions. Like a mother, I know that any addition/fix is for the best. For that beautiful shiny cover, I can take all pain.

Temper, temper

2012-01-24T12:11:00.001-08:00

I act like a New Yorker from time to time. At Christmas someone sped up instead of stopping at a crosswalk, and I yelled (loudly--so they could hear through their car window), "Merry Christmas to you too! Not like I wasn't walking here with my kids and all--you keep driving though!" People stopped walking to look at me, and I just rolled my shoulders and went on my way.

Sometimes I just can't let injustice pass. If I see anyone getting hurt or treated bad, I step in and voice my opinion. Once at my former job (public library) I heard a lady crying in the lobby bathroom and raced toward the scene to see what was going on. A woman with blood pouring from her scalp came stumbling out and I went into protector mode. "Who did this? Where are they? Come with me!" I led her into the service office, even though, as I said, I no longer worked there, and grabbed some paper towels to dab at her forehead. She told me her boyfriend had beaten her up and was in the parking lot. I called the police. They found him and started questioning both him and the female victim. She began to retract her story, saying she had slipped in the bathroom. "Oh no she didn't." I looked right at the jerk boyfriend and repeated what I'd been told earlier. No one was going to get away with that kind of behavior if I had a say. The terrible thing was, Liam was in my arms the whole time and I'd done all of that without thinking of his welfare. I suffered guilt the rest of the day, but in the end, felt I had done the right thing. Again, if someone is getting hurt, I can't let it go.

Today, someone walked right in front of me while I was waiting for an elderly couple to enter into a store. My old temper flared and I said some 'notsonice' things. So, I guess I'm an incurable hothead. I always feel sort of bad, and then I'm kind of amused.

Anyone else have a bad temper?

I . . . am smiling : )

2012-01-20T18:20:00.000-08:00

By now many of you have seen this, and believe me, I've watched it a dozen times since it came out today. But I can't stop. It's so adorable, I just can't stop! This is, for me--hands down--one of the best moments ever recorded of any president. Okay, so it's not revolutionary, but it made me giggle like a schoolgirl.

Winter blahs

2012-01-20T12:27:00.001-08:00

The winter blues. My grandfather used to get them, and I do too. The funny thing is that I like winter, but come mid-January things start to seem rather dreary and it's hard to stay motivated. I remember being about twelve and my family and my aunt Kathleen's family were all coming home from a nice day on the Plaza (a jazzy spot in Kansas city with fountains and restaurants) and it was getting dark at five. I thought, "The days are only going to get shorter from now on," and it really depressed me. Well anyway, a lifetime of seasonal effective disorder and I've found a few ways to trick myself into being happy once in a while. I get the sun when the sun is out. I open curtains, lay in it, take walks--just five minutes a day can perform miracles to ones psyche. I take supplements with vitamin D and B12--those Emergen-C packets are great. I exercise. When life gets busy and I skip out on some sort of exercise, my mood instantly starts going south. Stretch, walk in place, lift hand weights, take walks. Scents and colors are a great way to trick your brain out of a depression, so go out and buy those pretty candles you've been eyeing. Read books, listen to music. And most of all, tell yourself that it's temporary and that spring is coming. I actually quicken springtime by buying seeds and little planters early March, and start growing plants indoors.

You would think with the lack of snow and all the mild days we've had this winter none of us would have any of the doldrums, but I guess it's built into us to suffer anyway. Take care, and don't drink yourself out of the winter blues. Try some of the above suggestions, and keep your head up. Things will get better.

Catch a flick?

2012-01-19T12:18:00.000-08:00

There's nothing better than discovering a new movie, especially when it's an old classic. Not sure how this one passed my radar until now, but I've just discovered Time After Time, a movie about H.G. Wells racing into the year 1979 to stop Jack the Ripper. Wells falls in love with a 'liberated' woman (Mary Steenburgen) along the way, all while experiencing the exciting world he's always dreamed about but not yet had the courage to explore. Malcolm McDowell (A Clockwork Orange) plays straight-laced Wells perfectly. He has the prettiest blue eyes, and I loved how he uses his little wire-framed glasses to show his emotions. Like, when Mary Steenburgen asks him out for a date, his hand flits up to his glasses and those eyes become troubled. But then he gets over it quick, because he's been waiting all along for just this sort of woman--the kind who's still feminine, but takes the lead--and who won't take no for an answer. "I have no problems with woman's liberation. I was all for it." "Oh, you were all for it. What made you change your mind?" Haha, I love that.

But, I have to edit. So, won't be watching it again for awhile. What movies are you enjoying right now?

Find

2012-01-17T06:26:00.000-08:00

When I worked at the library I was queen of finding obscure books. Everyone else was reading Grisham and Karon and whatever was on the NY Times best seller list (deservedly so), but not me, for some reason I would locate old Victorian catalogues, or journals from the 1700's; books on medical tools of the 1800's--with etchings. The most obscure, frighteningly strange book I found was one on spontaneous combustion, pictures included.

But my favorite find was the thick manuel of Kiki de Paris. I joked around about my past life a few posts ago, but I'm not joking when I say I had an instant connection with Alice Prin when I first saw her picture in this book. Truly, if I could choose a past life, it would have been hers. She was a muse to the painters around the Montparnasse early 1900's France; Man Ray was her lover in the 1920's, and he created countess portraits during their time together. Mind you, it's not the lover part that interests me (she was an artist in her own right). What interests me is she was her own woman, in the right place at one of the most explosive moments of modern art. She was beautiful in an unconventional way; she was brash, stylish, bold and feminine. The line of her face, the way she cut her hair, the way she posed, the look in her eye, all tell of a timeless ingenuity.

So, I checked that book out, and returned it. And check it out again, over and over, year after year. It led me to another great find, Lartigues Les Femmes Aux Cigarettes. Ah, how I loved that book. It made me laugh, but it was also so fricking brilliant. I wish I still worked at the library so I could go on a treasure hunt with the interlibrary loan.

Dachshund

2012-01-16T05:29:00.001-08:00

Something I've just discovered, well, I already knew Hockney had dachshunds, and I knew Thurber had one, I knew Napoleon had one hidden in his vest (that's why he was always sticking his hand in there--to give it kibble), but I had no idea Picasso had one. And let me just say that no one ever has just one dachshund. If they have one in their arms, then it's a high probability more are around, or they've had a few in the past, and they will have more in the future. I suppose it's because dachshunds are so full of personality that they are like little humans without the petty hang-ups. Fiercely loyal, soulful, protective, loving, funny. Love matches for love with a dachshund. There is no lack, no limit to their love. If you look awful, feel sick, have had a bad day, grumble, complain, they will still love you. They seem to understand the reasons for our frail psyche, and respond to it with their own problems of lost toys, hunger and sadness of departure. Yet they erase all of it with their joy.

Hockney with two loyal models

Picasso with a dear friend

And that beautiful Warhol too . . .

Had to add this pic of me and my dear Henry:

Oh yes! I remember . . .

2012-01-14T06:02:00.000-08:00

I downloaded a free app that promised to tell me my past life, and I figure I should tell you the results as it somewhat fits in with my recent topic of . . . LURVE. The app is a crystal ball with pretty, mystical music that responds by tapping. It asked my sex, full name, birth date, country of birth, and basing its results on numerology, came up with this summarized report of my past life:

"You lived in New York in the late 1700's where you enjoyed looking at and drawing the buildings all around you. At a young age you met a stone mason and fell in love. The two of you married and had five children (all boys). You painted in secret, creating work of great quality, yet you were unsure of your ability and never showed the paintings to anyone else, including your husband. This is why you have trouble believing in yourself in this lifetime."

So . . . five boys???? Sheesh. How did I have time to paint?

Another Fine Romance

2012-01-13T11:36:00.001-08:00

My next failed romance went much further. It was a Beatle's impersonator (I won't tell you which Beatle, anyway, you can see I'm a slut for musicians or anyone with an accent so it doesn't really matter) who singled me out at a concert my friend had taken me to. He said, "I'd like to" (imagine the fake Scouse accent) "dedicate this next song to the little girl standing over there against the back wall." I shoved away from said wall to see if I could locate this girl. Oh me! He was talking about me! I shrunk behind my hair.

A week later we spoke on the phone and decided to meet at a Chinese restaurant. Okay, I found his name in the phonebook and phone stalked him. But he did ask me out. So, it wasn't official stalking. Anyway, it was in the bitter days of winter and I stood in the restaurant lobby waiting for him to show up. In comes this short, bald guy about forty-years-old. Oh Lordy. Did I mention I was barely twenty-one? I didn't? Well I was, and it shocked me to see what I'd gotten myself into. But the writer in me--the lonely curious girl who needed experience, woke up and said hello when he spoke my name. My hands shook the whole way through that meal. He was acting suave, and saying witty things, and I couldn't get the damn beef and broccoli to spear on my fork. Getting it in my mouth was a whole other issue.

You'd think the date would be over after that disastrous meal, but he suggested we go to the movies. We saw Romeo is Bleeding, one of the most violent, disturbing movies ever. For two hours I was in hell, but still suspended in that curious insatiable need to experience MAN. Somewhere in between blood and sex and the sound of gun shots, he slipped his hand into mine. I let it stay there.

Later we sat in his car and he asked me if I'd ever been kissed. I told him the truth, that I hadn't. He asked me why. "Because I've always been afraid of men. That they would hurt me. It's always been easier to be alone and play guitar and draw." Do you want me to kiss you? "Yes." The windows were etched with frost, and blueish street lights illuminated the transparent patterns; it blocked the real world outside. Our breath froze in the air as our lips approached. His kiss was warm and soft. I told myself to be calm and follow his lead. I fell in love with him then, because we kissed well together, because he was so forgiving.

But really he was a big jerk who cheated on me and I spent a year walking nature trials to get over the sweet taste of his kisses. Damn men.

Naturally

2012-01-12T06:56:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about the time when I was eighteen and worked at a retail store cutting fabric for my first job. That winter I developed a crush on a stock-boy named Bryan. He looked like Paul McCartney and he had this little rebellion thing going on so I was, of course, in love. You should know that at that time I was in the prime of non-conformity: long, dyed black hair, all black wardrobe, sarcastic phrases. I think Bryan thought I was a freak, but a funny freak. I was so wild back then. Not slutty, co-ed wild. More like a wild, artistic, psychedelic individual.

I was falling madly in love with Bryan. Every time he sauntered back to the fabric department we would have a nice little chat, and I thought that finally he had begun to like me--perhaps a little. I just couldn't wait any longer to find out. I wrote a note declaring my feelings, and handed it to him one evening. He seemed surprised, took it, put it in his pocket and left. All the rest of that evening my mind was filled with images of him asking me out, us going to the movies, talking, walking, kissing (and everything else that goes with true love). It would be beautiful. Work ended and I didn't see him. I made my way out to my car and there he was, parked right next to my ugly, maroon Chevy Cavalier. With a girl. In his arms. The short blonde from the shoes department. My heart fell a thousand feet and smashed into concrete. Oh, the pain. The terrible, horrible scarring pain of rejected love.

All that weekend I was in agony. That whole winter I lay awake at night and cried real tears. Every song on the radio was a love song and I started using my walkman so I could listen to political music instead. You never know how long night is until you can't sleep. Night is a whole day without light. Night is loneliness. I became a philosopher and tried to solve the world's problems. I watched Jaques Cousteau until three a.m. and read and read and read.

So anyway, Bryan had his cute little girl, and I had myself. Again. Naturally.

Jiggle

2012-01-09T11:42:00.000-08:00

True to my word, I went and had my hair dyed last week. It was more cherry red, but even with color care shampoo it's faded just a little. But anyway, here I am with the new do:

My kids like it, and I do too. The little neighbor boy, however, was upset when he saw me yesterday. He said, "What did you do to your hair?" "I dyed it red." "Well, Mamy, I don't like it. Put it back to yellow. Put it back!" I said, "Maybe later." I never give absolutes, especially to kids, haha.

Bad news is, red hair apparently makes a person gain five pounds, or maybe that's from the holidays. Groan. I have to get back on track and lose it because that stupid weight always goes right to my stomach and boobs and butt. All of which jiggle when I exercise. I bought two tight sports bras to wrangle things into place, but the lower regions are forced to suck in or flex rigid. Don't talk to me when I'm exercising, I'm too stressed out.

Here's something, I drank two margaritas last night and woke up with a hangover. So--finally--I have--at last--realized that I am a complete and total lightweight who can't eat or drink. Life is over. You all have fun while I look at my red hair and starve. Happy New Year.

So Excited!!

2012-01-06T11:29:00.000-08:00

I'm thrilled to say that the Vine Leaves Literary Journal has just come out, and even more thrilled to say that one of my stories is included in the roster. You may know many of the contributors besides me, so have a look. I love short pieces--they're fun to read, they usually have some sort of viewpoint that will flip your mind around; they're funny, poignant, lyrical. So have a look and . . . enjoy! You can read the first issue here. My story is titled What Would Yoko Do? I wrote it this summer after thinking about how revolutionary so many of Yoko's ideas are, and was curious how that type of ground breaking thinking would relate in a small, isolated setting. I know Yoko causes good and bad reactions in people, so it was a risk, but I wanted to take that risk and show the innocence at the root of her messages. Mostly it was a work in abstract writing. Let me know what you think.

Take care and have a wonderful Friday night!

2012 goals

2011-12-27T06:07:00.001-08:00

The New Year is coming closer, maybe our last (depending on what you've read on the internet). I'm still in a Christmas spirit, but I am looking forward to making a fresh start with both personal and professional goals.

I already do well exercising, but I could kick that up a notch. I'd like to go meat-free more often, and learn the art of that type of cuisine. Drink more water. Read more. Finish a collection of art for a small show--would be my first ever. Take ballet. Start a daily journal.

Get a regular gig. Can be small and obscure--I like obscure. But it has to be regular because I'm not good at lining up gigs. I'm too shy and too much of a homebody. I would rather be around my kids every second of the day and night, but I HAVE TO GET GIGS or the music will fade away.

I'm going to dye my hair like Florence Welch. That bitch (I love her ) has my hair. Haha, she's so lovely. We're both really tall, and she has the guts to wear stilletos. I'm going to grow a pair and buy some heels too. And some vintage dresses. From now on I'm 1940's (with a hippie stuck inside).

Write tons, get more shorts published. Finish another book.

Love more, forgive more, fight for myself more, work hard, love my children, help them with their studies. Be kind, rewind. Peace.

What goals are you setting up for yourself for the coming year?

Trololo

2011-12-24T12:55:00.000-08:00

You're welcome.

A Christmas Carol

2011-12-23T16:00:00.000-08:00

I am a HUGE Christmas Carol junkie. Every year I watch or listen to many tellings and never tire of doing so. My favorite is the Alastair Sim version. It is gritty and gothic, and Sim is fantastic in the way he leaves all abandon to portray a man so haunted by the daggers of his own doings that he cannot crawl one more inch into life without regret or hatred, or change. Sim also captures so perfectly Scrooge on Christmas morning when the miser is taught to love Christmas, dancing around in his nightgown with giggles and wild hair.

Why do I love this story so much? One essential reason could be that it's a ghost story and I've always been fascinated with the paranormal. But it's also a tale of human reformation and that's something else I have also been fascinated with. Many nights I've lain awake thinking of the human condition, and all its sadness, and wondered how each of us would find a way to true knowing.

This radio version below with the late, great Orson Wells is one I caught before going to Midnight Mass one Friday so very long ago. I haven't listened to it since that night and just found it on YouTube. Enjoy, on this night before the night before Christmas. Listen with a cup of hot cider or some wine--and since we'll be listening together, we can share. Remember, don't be a Scrooge. Oh! That reminds me, I love the Albert Finney musical version too. Just caught it the other day and it's on later tonight, so guess what I'll be doing?

My Christmas card to you!

2011-12-23T08:17:00.000-08:00

Acceptance!

2011-12-22T05:49:00.001-08:00

I had a bit of good (great) news yesterday. A story I sent will be published! I'm so happy--it's my Christmas present for sure. I always get a gift out of the blue, and this is definitely it. It's for the new, shiny Vine Leaves Literary Journal which I believe comes out in January. I feel very lucky to be a part of the first lineup of writers. The funny thing is, I waited until the last minute to submit because I didn't think I had anything, but then I remembered a certain piece and sent it in real quick. Gotta love that. Anyway, I'll let you know when the first issue is released.

There's another story I sent in yesterday to a different journal, and I'm hoping it will get published as well. But two in a row would be way too generous for the universe. Or maybe not. I'll let the universe handle that.

Took the kids shopping. We went all over the place, with a nice break for lunch. They never acted bad, really. I'm proud of them. And I was kind of amazed how well I handled the whole day without losing it. The fact is, we had fun. No, it's not always fantastic being a parent, but I really do enjoy being with my kiddos. They're lovely little people and I am blessed. Do you hear that Santa? That's an official recommendation. Don't be stingy.

It's the time for the season

2011-12-20T05:57:00.000-08:00

It's time for Christmas Break! The kids will be home for almost three weeks. I don't think I ever had that much time off when I was a kid! Regardless, I'm very happy to have them with me all day, every day. Though Julia is the messiest human on earth, and Liam clings to me like an octopus, it's okay, because I love having my family near me. I'd homeschool, but the fact is I would make a horrible teacher so that option is out. Plus I need writing time. But you know what? I learned that I actually write more with them around than when they're gone. Shhhh! Don't tell anyone I told you that!

You ask--has Amy finished all her shopping? Why yes I have! Er, no. No, I haven't. But it's okay. I'll go out there tonight and kick some shopping gluteus maximus. Just a few more things and I'm done . . .

We already made a gingerbread house yesterday. No kits, either. I always start from scratch, making the dough and cutting out pieces I drafted myself. Then the kids can have at it, decorating with tons of candy and frosting. The poor thing is in pieces right now, though, because a naughty cousin pushed the sides in. It's the same naughty cousin that does the same naughty thing every Christmas Break!

The dangerous thing about these breaks--the salesmen come out in force. And just at a time when I'm waiting for the delivery man to drop off packages! So I, or the kids, run to open the door only to get stuck in a memorized dialogue with someone that won't take no for an answer. Never, EVER, let a vacuum salesmen into your house. They will not leave.

No snow yet. I don't want to lure it in like last year because it took forever to leave (like the vacuum salesmen), but I would like just a little bit of snow. Or a lot. But only for Christmas. And New Years. And maybe some in January.

For Molly

2011-12-16T14:50:00.000-08:00

This is for our dear friend Molly who has been having some rough times lately. If you know Molly, then you know she has a great spirit and is a lovely person in so many ways--too many to count!

Molly, and everyone, you might like this. I know it's kind of strange to match up Natalie Cole and Andrea Bocelli, but it works so well. Merry Christmas, my friend. You're such a beautiful, sweet person to know!

Faces

2011-12-14T18:08:00.000-08:00

Almost every afternoon I take a walk with Henry. Afterwards I try to write. Sometimes I write a lot and it's beautiful. Sometimes I can't write at all, and I feel hopeless. Sometimes I feel like a ghost. The children come home and I become distracted by their talk and messes--and that is good. One thing I've found myself doing is drawing faces of women. Not women I know, just random lines until something appears. Their expressions surprise me--I never know what kind of characteristics they'll extend until the last line. When I see each completed piece it's like I know them and they know me. But somehow we're all strangers.

Can't Beat Free

2011-12-13T10:09:00.001-08:00

A few years ago I wrote a Christmas story and posted it on this blog, and I've always wanted to put it out as a short story e-book. So . . . I finally did it. There was some slight editing involved, but it's very close to the original. Best of all it's free. The formatting was difficult--I had to download a manual and still didn't get it quite right. But, who the heck cares anyway? Well, let's just call it my practice story : ) It's what's in the story that counts anyway.

BTW, I did the front cover myself. I was going to have Julia make the card for me, but she wouldn't so I had to pretend to be a kid and do it myself last night. Kind of fun. Can't believe Julia wouldn't do art on demand. BAH! Who does she think she is, anyway?

Okay, enjoy. If you do read it, thank you and Merry Christmas! Don't worry if you don't have a Kindle. You can download it as PDF as well as a few other non-Kindle readers. Here's the link:

Ralph's Christmas Card

John Lennon and the Mercy Street Café

2011-12-12T12:19:00.001-08:00

Thursday was the 31st anniversary of John Lennon's murder. Not a day to be happy about. But it has become a nice day to honor the man for all the music and the ideas he left behind. I usually write something, but I didn't feel like it. For once, I wanted to read what other people had to say instead of spewing how I felt. How I feel is obvious: his death makes me mad, sad, heartbroken. Such a waste of a beautiful life.

While reading articles online, I found out about a book titled John Lennon and the Mercy Street Café. I read the sample and thought, "This is how I want to spend the rest of the evening." It was such a great concept. Instead of dying, John Lennon passes straight into a parallel reality where only a young Amy Parisi can see him. It draws her away from the suicidal thoughts she's been having, taking her on a trip that will challenge the ideals and ways in which she lives her life. She quits her job, ends an unhealthy relationship, and starts acting by intuition. She starts believing. And the more she allows herself to believe, the more her parallel reality comes to life, including her visions of John.

What is most striking about this book is the way author William Hammett utilizes the voice and presence of John Lennon as a catalyst for not only Amy's life, but the others who slowly become interwoven into the circle of real-life mysticism. He mixes true facts with fictionalized phrases that sound so much like John that I often found myself smiling and laughing as I read. Sometimes it didn't exactly sound like John, but it sounded like the John who was in the book and who had taken the journey, so it makes sense, and I really appreciated the way in which Mr. Hammett captured that.

It's hard to explain what this book is, and what it means. I am, of course, a huge Lennon fan. I knew all the facts peppered throughout the pages. But I kept asking myself if a non-Beatle, non-Lennon fan would enjoy reading it, and I think the answer is yes. John Lennon and the Mercy Street Café is about so much more than just a music idol, it is about something deeper. How we live our lives, how we let things slip, how we fail by allowing ourselves to accept instead of change, how we pass by our dreams because they're too 'dreamy,' how we allow our fellow humans to fade and die instead of shouting and fighting (do not go gentle into that good night). There were moments that I was so touched by what William Hammett was saying. Every character had a meaning, they weren't there just to accent the MC. He developed each person as if he truly cared about them as one would a child. And most importantly, he cared about those who would read the book, and how they would feel, and what they would come away with. It was truly touching.

I read in an interview where Mr. Hammett explained some of the synchronicity he experienced while writing John Lennon and the Mercy Street Café. Things like repeated names, and affirmations of scenes or details by way of strange phone calls or doctor's office magazines left open at just the right spot. I had a few moments of synchronicity while reading Mr. Hammett's book. One came when, near the end, crowds begin to gather in many of New York's parks and public places. Guardsmen and police come to break the crowds apart. It was eerily similar to what's happening today with the Occupy Movement. The sad thing is, William Hammett's police are a lot nicer than our real-life police. But anyway, reading those scenes gave me chills. Sometimes you wonder if an author knows the depth of what they are writing, and who it will affect. Or rather, how it could affect if people allowed themselves to be receptive. It's a message of hope. Hope Machine. I love that so much. Again, it's not just about John Lennon. There's so much about humanity in this book. Our potential. Our beauty.

My other moment of synchronicity came when someone hands the main character a note. I won't relay what it said, or the meaning it carried. But I felt a direct connection to my life.

Thanks for your beautiful book William Hammett. I read it in just a few days, and I'm going to read it again. And again.

Flickering of Lights

2011-12-03T05:27:00.001-08:00

My father used to run reels at the local movie theater. It wasn't one of those mega, multi-movie places like they have now. It was just a simple, one room auditorium with red velvet curtain and little lights along the floor. No special seating, no special effects. Just one movie at a time. We'd go Sunday after church to see Disney movies.

Life, under the lights of a huge flashing screen with full color and stereo sound, is a lot better than what it usually is. It's cleaner. It's more vibrant. It's happier. There's music to come in and rouse your emotions. For kisses, or homecomings, or deaths. When danger is lurking the music gives you good warning, enough to cover your eyes in time. Life is rarely like that. None of us know when danger, or heartbreak, is coming. It just comes.

One night my mother needed my father to take care of me for a few hours, so she took me to the movie theater and drove away. Dad and I went into a secret door and up a flight of stairs. He led me into a room full of boxes; I saw candy that I wanted but would never ask for. We walked past a large machine that was metal and robotic. It had two prongs with reels like bicycle rims--one empty, one full. I watched as he fed tape from the full one through the machine so it joined with the empty one. Then he took me to a seat in front of a small window and the room went black.

A clicking noise came from the machine. Like a train, it clicked faster and faster until something caught and filled a light beam with color. That beam shot through the small square of glass all the way to a movie screen below. Leaning close, I could see people down there. The backs of their heads bobbled while their bodies shifted. It was strange being so high above them. It was as if I didn't exist, as if I were part of the movie being sent down. If I didn't move, didn't make a sound, I could pretend I was in that movie.

For almost two hours I existed in light beams and the rhythmic ticking of cinematic suspension of disbelief.

But no movie lasts forever. Movies end, and after the credits are done scrolling, it all shuts down. The machine goes immobile, the house lights blaze. In no time, I was being led down the stairs and out the special door to my mother at the front curb. It was dark, and way past bedtime.

Business

2011-11-17T12:32:00.000-08:00

I take a walk with Henry every day. We head up the sidewalk and around the neighborhood. When we started it was early fall and almost too hot to complete a walk. We'd both come home needing a ton of water (more so for Henry since he's the one marking everything). And then it turned mild and we could walk forever if we wanted. Leaves began to turn and the sky shifted to a brighter blue. Now it's cold and windy. Our steps are padded by the crunch of multi-colored leaves. My ears feel frostbitten and my eyes water with the breeze that picks up.

Sometimes we pass other folks on the path. Today it was the lady in her long sari. Little, with dark eyes and hair, and skin perforated with wrinkles, she had a tiny hand up against the wind. The exotic cloth of her gown seemed far too thin. Henry stopped his walking and looked at her in mistrust. I said a few comforting words and a, "Hello." She passed by without a reply. Perhaps I shouldn't have spoken.

It's always my goal to make sure Henry's 'business' is done before we head back into the neighborhood. But sometimes, for whatever reason, he can't get the job done until we get right back onto our street. Then inspiration hits and he crouches over the rock landscaping of the first house on the block. I could be mistaken, but I think that house belongs to the Indian lady we passed today. Guess I'm guess I'm lucky she didn't say anything after all.

Occupy Forever

2011-11-15T07:17:00.000-08:00

The Occupy camps are being torn down in several different locations, which is kind of sad. I mean, I wouldn't want a whole bunch of people camped out on my front lawn, but then, I didn't steal their money, their homes . . . If you were to walk up to the scattered remnants of a camp, and you had just come from some distant island and had no clue of what any of it meant, or why, or how it started, and you asked someone, "What was this all about?" And they told you, "It was about people asking for the truth. They wanted Wall Street and all the Big Banks to change their ways." And you said, "There must have been a lot of guns and shooting, fires and looting," "No," they answer. "None of that. Not from the protestors. The cops were the ones who had the guns. The protestors were just holding signs and camping out, singing and shouting." So you ask, "Then why was it torn down?" "Because it was messy," they say.

It was messy.

America is messy. And loud. We're like children who cry in our cribs and our parents stand at the door wringing their hands. "Should we go in? Should we comfort them? If we go in there, they'll cry again next time and they'll never learn that we are the parents. They'll think they can cry about anything, if we go in . . ."

I've always been a sucker. I could never let my children cry. I hold them, I ask them, "What's wrong? How can I help you? What will make this better?" It always seems much better to have a child who knows that, while I am in control, they still have a voice and freedom.

So the camps go, piece by piece. And the people leave, one by one. And the banks and Wall Street and the naysayers all breathe a sigh of relief.

But I can still hear the many voices that made one. It wasn't in vain. You didn't fail. Go home now and rest. Thank you for what you did. The message is still echoing. It is still being heard.

My Review of String Bridge by Jessica Bell

2011-11-14T04:17:00.000-08:00

I mentioned on Friday Jessica Bell's debut work of literary fiction String Bridge. It's her first novel, but Jessica isn't new to the world of artistic creation. Coming from a family of musicians, she has forged her own status as songwriter and vocalist. An album of original songs was written and recorded to go along with the book. That's quite an accomplishment. I've known and conversed with Jessica via the internet for somewhat of a year now, and in that time I have been witness to all these things unfolding. The book, and its being picked up for publishing. The pains of trimming and editing. Rewrites. Excitement of the book's cover, and the possibility of a cd. All of this, while still making time for other bloggers, and their books, and their processes. She's quite amazing.

From what I remember the early drafts of String Bridge were intended for the young adult market. It was decided to go more literary, and I can see why as Jessica's writing is so descriptive, so full of emotion and raw intimacy with no holds barred that it does seem much better suited for an adult market. Or perhaps it's the subject matter that seems to fit her writing and not just her ability to handle genre.

The book begins with thirty-year-old Melody Hill, a mother and wife. Living in beautiful Greece should make things perfect, but things are far from that as Melody can't get her former existence off her mind. She used to sing on stage. She used to be somebody. She longs for that life again, of holding a guitar and singing one's soul, of being adored. It's much different than being stuck at home with hardly a thank you to make up for the redundancy of motherhood. Add to that a feeling her dreams are being denied, on purpose, by the one person who is supposed to love her more than anyone else. She wants to leave Greece and work again, and sing again. Women always follow their men, but if he loves her, he'll follow where she wants to go. Is asking a sin? If she doesn't, will it ruin them anyway?

It's an intense story. In this age where society has moved far past the ides of feminism, Jessica Bell has issued a request. She takes every question and places it in the path of the norm . . . and then watches it explode. She takes all the 'what ifs' women have been asking through the decades, and works her way through. For character Melody Hill, it's a raw process. Her pursuit of a better life is hard-earned. Things go terribly wrong, but that's where the real conflict lies. It's interesting to see if Melody can survive the mess she made by asking questions. It's good, because many women never ask.

At times I found the subject matter of String Bridge too close for comfort. As I write this, I am five minutes away from getting my daughter up for school. Then her brother will wake up. Who knows when I will have a moment to write again today? If I steal time from wiping faces and cleaning dishes, just to write, things will get chaotic. I know the longing, and the questions being asked. So it was interesting to read, but at times, painful, and too real.

I loved the parallel themes in String Bridge. The symbolism of a family: mother/father/daughter, and to mirror that: Melody's parents and she as the child. Her father is the opposite of the husband, he's comforting and supportive. The mother is harsh and selfish, traits Melody struggles with in the wish to keep her daughter Tessa from experiencing a childhood such as hers.

More themes: the music and beauty of Greece. Jessica's words so often ran like music, flowing and lifting, crashing down like waves. She has a lovely writing style, and as for content--she went there, she really went there. All of these themes were held together similar to the way a guitar holds its strings: each one separate, yet together, permanent and unable to function without proximity.

I've always enjoyed the occasional Chicklit, and I guess you could call String Bridge Femlit, but that seems sort of derogatory. It's lit, it's personal. It doesn't try to be funny or charming. It's a real story about someone who isn't trying to deny herself or those around her. What do you call that? It's hard to place a genre on truth.

It was a beautiful read. Thank you Jessica for letting me review String Bridge. Best wishes with its success!

If you are want to find out more about Jessica Bell, her life and works, you can visit her blog at: http://www.thealliterativeallomorph.blogspot.com/

or go to her website at: http://www.jessicacbell.com/

Thanks for reading.

Friday!

2011-11-11T12:13:00.000-08:00

Jessica Bell is doing quite well today with her debut novel "String Bridge." It hit the Amazon charts at a high number, but has quickly risen to the low hundreds and is still rising. If you haven't taken a look at the book, her blog, or the beautiful cd full of songs to accompany the book--all of which she wrote and sang herself--you should really check it out. It's amazing what the girl has done. She has worked hard. And she's crazy talented! Congrats Jessica!

I've had a day of achiness and just not feeling so good, but I'm getting better by the hour. Must have been a 24 bug. Right now I'm listening to Gene Vincent and trying to get something done before the kiddos come home.

What are everyone's plans for the weekend?

Another tricky day

2011-11-08T11:05:00.000-08:00

Julia had a bad cavity which had to be pulled out yesterday. It was a baby tooth that hadn't come loose yet, but still . . . I took her to a dentist this summer to have the cavity looked at but they refused to do service because she kept putting her hands up to block her mouth. I told them she had a sensory disorder but they said they wouldn't work on her. It really depressed me. I mean, what the hell do you do for your kid when someone won't help them? If you know Julia, then you know she wasn't in there biting people and swatting at them. She was just putting her hands up in protest. They could have asked me to come in and help calm her down.

Anyway, Halloween did her no favors and that cavity became worse this last week. I searched the internet in a panic trying to get someone who would help and found a children's dentist who said he'd see her. He was great. Calm and kind.

So anyway, that's all fixed now, though the whole thing has depressed me. Being a mom is soul-destroying sometimes, ain't it?

The good news is my writing block has eased off a bit and I'm slowly writing again. It's been since August! Maybe I lost the joy. Not sure, but thank god it's coming back. I need to write to save me from myself. If you haven't noticed, I can be a real debbie downer. It ain't fun.

New album

2011-11-05T06:46:00.001-07:00

Well, Meadowland is here and I've been spending a lot of time trying to figure out how to promote it. There's a sort of tier of action to take when a cd comes out. You send out press releases, try to get interviews, send it to college radio, send it to newspaper and local tv stations, etc. But then you have someone like me who wants to do all that, but is totally shy and freaking out. What if they don't like the cd? What if I DO get a call to be on a local station? Won't I just be nervous as heck, knees shaking, six am under bright lights? Haha, I'm such a worrier. Maybe I'll be great and people will be like, "Wow, that lady kicks ass. Where can I buy her cd?!" Ppppffffft!!!

When I was at the post office mailing off a press release and a cd/one sheet for a radio station, my hands shook and a guy behind me had to talk me through the questions at stamp machine. "No, hey, don't push the dangerous chemicals button!" It's kind of funny that I let myself get so worked up. Oh God. I hope my cd doesn't bomb. I really love all the songs and it's been such a long time coming. If I wasn't so damn shy everything would be so much easier!

Anyway, so here it is. Meadowland is out and I'm a proud momma.

Enlightened

2011-11-03T11:36:00.000-07:00

"Sometimes . . . I think about someone else's life. I imagine all the love they do not have. I see the passion that is missing, the friends they don't know and the awful pressures that crush them. In those moments I realize how much I have. And how much I have to give."

Those lines are from character Amy Jellicoe in HBO's Enlightened. She's a former rager. She lost her corporate position after sleeping with a married co-worker whom ended up stabbing her in the back. After having a very bad public meltdown, she ends up in a mental rehab camp where she finds spiritual awakening. But going back to her new life isn't easy. She wants to incorporate all the wisdom she's learned; she wants to show the world she's not the same crazy bitch she once was. No one believes in the change, and she ends up working in the company's basement with a bunch of losers typing in data. It's a meaningless job, especially for a person who's dying to heal the world.

In episode three Amy, played by Laura Dern, decides to get a job at a homeless shelter to bring meaning back into her life. But when she finds out the pay is only $500 a week, she breaks down and tells the older gentleman who is ready to hire her that she can't do it. She has bills from the rehab camp, she's living with her mother, her life is a mess and the money is too low, but she wants to do this beautiful job. She wants to, but she just can't. And he, putting his arms around her says, "It's okay. You do what you can."

Amy goes into the shelter's bathroom to wash up, and she looks at the homeless lady who is washing up next to her. Amy realizes she is homeless just like the lady. She wanted to help them, but she is them.

I'm so blown over by Enlightened. It's a beautiful show, and Laura Dern is absolutely amazing in it. I do see a lot of myself in the character, even down to the way Laura and I look. But really, I like it because it's brilliantly written by Mike White, who also plays in the show as a humble and shy data geek. If you have cable then I suggest you give it a chance.

The world is crazy right now. We need a little reflection, a little bit of sanity. Enlightened takes our world and all its screwed up crappiness and it makes it digestible. If Amy is this screwed up, and she can somehow find a way to deal, then so can we. We don't have to hate, or get high, or give up, or sink like the Titanic. We can keep trying. We can keep treading.

A bit of the past

2011-10-18T06:25:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I showed you what my hometown looks like now--granted, the pictures were taken on a Sunday and that gave the effect of a ghost town. The old Main Street isn't far from that, but it still has some life to it yet. Here are some pictures of the town when it was in its prime. All photo rights belong to the Johnson County Library. Click pictures to see them in their entirety. Many are being cut off in small view.

A view of the bank 1906.

East side of Main 1906. Notice the hitching posts . . .

East side of Main about 1925.

Kuhn's grocery store. Great guy, had penny candy and great bottles of ice-cold soda. But the food itself rotted inside warm refrigerator bins. This picture is from 1992. Kuhn's closed around 1988.

A coyote hunt probably early 1900's. Melting ice from a recent storm covers the streets. I see about three or four dead coyotes being held up, and children among the group. Makes me sad, but I do understand the hysteria if any human or animal had been recently threatened. However, the truth is that these settlers invaded a wild place. The balance of nature (once kept pristine by the Indians who lived there) was destroyed, and as usual, the settlers took to eliminating any remnants of the wild prairie. A coyote would unfortunately be a symbol of the Indian, and the primitive lifestyle so many were looking to erase from society.

A barbershop and self-service library around 1954. Those ridged metal platforms are now level with a raised sidewalk.

The barbershop in 1954. The cabinet of books was, at the time, a self-service library. Records do not indicate the branch set up next door which my mother ran late seventies into the early 80's. They do not mention her service at all, most likely because she was not a professional librarian. And yet she opened the doors early every morning Monday-Friday, and provided library services as well as social services to the entire town for many years of her life. I should know : )

Thanks for reading.

****

Some good news and history

2011-10-17T06:16:00.000-07:00

I had a busy weekend. Well, first, let me impart some great information. I was really struggling with edits lately, but finished round #2 last week only to receive news from my editor that we're close to being done. Shocker! I guess I thought I'd be editing for the rest of my life. Part of me is excited, the other part relieved, another part is freaking out. My mind goes back to the early days of The Soul Seekers and all the innocent hope I had for an idea to some day come true. I've learned so much during the process--and you know it's all about the journey, it really is.

Okay, so this weekend my wonderful friend Marshall Rimann invited me to come sing at a Ripple Glass recycling event at one of his stores. A local radio station was there (96.5 The Buzz), and it was truly a gorgeous day outside. Here's a picture from the event (hint, I'm the Amazonian lady):

The other good news is that my album is at the duplicating house, and should be delivered sometime within the next week or so. That's another unbelievable feat, as it seems like the finish line for Meadowland kept moving and moving until I honestly wondered if things were going to work out. Well, they are, and I'm very happy about it. Hard to describe how I feel. I think of Stevie Nicks and Dusty Springfield; Christine McVeigh, Joni Mitchell, Lucinda Williams, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn--these are people I idolize and if I can represent them even one little bit, then I've done my job.

Okay, so this a long post, but yesterday I took some pictures of my hometown Spring Hill, Ks because I was feeling nostalgic, and here they are.

West side of Main Street

The front entrance to the library my mother worked at. It was very small, just two walls of books and maybe some paperback racks. I'd walk here after school almost every day, and spend most of my summer reading at one of the tables.

Looking south.

Electric, but still holds a charm of the Old West.
Library door again. How symbolic that sign is.
The library is behind that one way sign. Brownie's Barbershop is next door.
The Hardware Store
Gas station, car shop

The drugstore. They had candy, perfume, jewelry, soda, and drugs (the legal kind).
Nothing like a tall bottle of soda from one of the machines outside one of these stores.

Decaying building
Brownie's Barbershop. He'd always cut his finger and would stop to get a bandaid!
The old bank on the corner. Legend says it was robbed twice in its early days. Both times the robbers were caught, shot, and buried in the local graveyard.

And that's it. That's my childhood. It takes just a few seconds to drive through the old Main Street. It seemed a lot bigger when I was young . . .

Happy Monday everyone. Take care!

Bloggify

2011-10-10T10:36:00.000-07:00

As you know, there are a lot of protests going on across America over a failed economy and the part Wall Street has played in it, namely the huge payouts they have received in the past. I was invited (via Facebook) to a local "Occupy" protest yesterday, but I didn't go. The biggest reason was because I am claustrophobic, and also, I have two kids that don't need a mom in the clinker. I know, I know . . . excuses. There is power in numbers, but I saw Dr. Zhivago, man, and I didn't like the crowd scene. Overthrowing a Czar is a tricky sport. It brings on societal hemorrhage, though what's more damaging to a society than a financial institution stealing money while folks are starving? It was horrible what these corporations did. Yes, people should stand up and protest. But sometimes, when I'm around a lot of people, they start to look like Sims characters, all beady-eyed and soulless. I'm thinking I like John and Yoko's Bed Peace Campaign much better. I just need a Yoko.

I don't know. I still might join a protest if asked again. Any opinions on this? Anyone have extra bail money hanging around? Or extra long nail files tucked in birthday cakes?

A Day at the Patch

2011-10-09T06:19:00.001-07:00

The other day Liam's class had a trip to a local pumpkin patch. I went to meet them there, as I did with Julia when her class went in the past. It was a dry, dusty day in Kansas, but really beautiful with all the leaves having changed from vibrant green to orange and red and yellow. Liam was excited to see me, he pointed and said, "My mommy! My mommy is here! Look, it's my mommy!" You'd think he doesn't see me every other second of his life, haha.

Next, we rode on a tractor to the little pumpkin patch meant for special school trips like this. The kids ran out and picked their one pumpkin, then it was time for slides and running and having fun.

When it was time to go, Liam's teacher told me he could ride the bus back to school, or I could take him home myself. I said I'd like to take him home. So we got in the van and I handed him a packet of foil covered gingerbread cookies (he LOVES). He devoured those cookies. I heard him in the backseat saying, "Wow! Thanks Mom. These are deliscious. I love these." Something about that just tickled me. He'd had such a good time, and was enjoying homemade cookies perfect for a day at the pumpkin patch. He'll probably remember it his entire life.

Now, why didn't I bring my stupid camera?

eBooks aren't going anywhere

2011-10-05T10:17:00.000-07:00

There's no doubt eBooks are on the rise. It's similar to when people decided to ditch in their VCRs for a new, sleek DVD player. I have a feeling that this holiday season will push things along when, after receiving electronic devices and gift cards for Amazon, itunes, etc, people will be on the search for titles in the e-department. And once they're in, they'll stay.

There is another reason eBooks will grow in popularity: privacy. Funny to say, but there's a growing market for erotic literature. I have nothing against this genre, it's just too steamy for me to read, but many readers will suddenly have the freedom to own books they were too shy to purchase at stores. Overall, I think people are shy about any of the titles they buy, erotic or mainstream, and will enjoy the ease of purchasing titles at home. When I worked at the library, a lot of older women would check out several of romances at a time, always with an embarrassed expression on their face. Then there were the sci-fi and fantasy junkies--I'm just guessing this sector of readers will be (if not already) on the ebook bandwagon. They were more into the story, and not just the format--moving on to audio and early forms of the ebook before anyone else had the nerve to try. I think lovers of classic literature will be slower to jump in, but eventually too will enjoy how easy it is to search and download a book.

Then there is the price. Let's face it, eBooks are currently cheaper than hardcover. And as you know hardcovers have typically been released before paperbacks, so if you really wanted that new title you were looking at a cost of ten to twenty dollars, if not more. Ebooks are as cheap as a paperback release, sometimes cheaper. That's going to be a great initiative for buyers.

I asked this a few months ago, but have you gotten an e-reader device yet? Do you like it? Does it have other features such as the ability to go online, apps, etc.? Have you purchased hard copies of books, or have you been sticking with the downloads process?

Take care today!

If You're Looking to Read . . .

2011-10-04T10:48:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to remind my friends here about a few books that are out right now. If you're looking for something new you might have a look at Talli Roland's new chicklit contemporary romance Watching Willow Watts about a young girl who inadvertently becomes an internet star after a video of her gets posted online. Her life in a small British town goes haywire fast, and it's all because of Marilyn Monroe. Ashamedly I haven't read it yet, but I can tell you her first book, The Hating Game, was a well-written romp much in the vein of Bridget Jones's Diary. Talli is a smart writer with a keen sense of humor. It was time to write her up, she is amazing.

Also, we have Tess Hilmo, a blogger who is warm and wise. She fought for many years to have her first book published, and it's finally happened. With a Name Like Love is a sensitive young adult novel set in the 50's. From Amazon: When Ollie’s daddy, the Reverend Everlasting Love, pulls their travel trailer into Binder to lead a three-day revival, Ollie knows that this town will be like all the others they visit— it is exactly the kind of nothing Ollie has come to expect. But on their first day in town, Ollie meets Jimmy Koppel, whose mother is in jail for murdering his father. Jimmy insists that his mother is innocent, and Ollie believes him. Still, even if Ollie convinces her daddy to stay in town, how can two kids free a grown woman who has signed a confession? Ollie’s longing for a friend and her daddy’s penchant for searching out lost souls prove to be a formidable force in this tiny town where everyone seems bent on judging and jailing without a trial.

Then there is the lovely Jessica Bell up in the corner. She is a beautiful writer, and I've enjoyed her first novel String Bridge about a woman who gave up her dreams of being a musician and singer for marriage and motherhood. Set in breathtaking Greece, it's an intense book with a beautiful flow of words that are much like the music it centers on. If you've ever given up something you care about for love, then you should read this work of contemporary literature. She captures the stresses of a failing relationship, and the pull of duty toward motherhood and desire. Jessica has also recorded an album of songs to go along with the book. String Bridge is due out in November.

I'm going to stop here, but there are many more books out there by your fellow Google bloggers that are excellent. Many by my WiDo comrades--I hope to write more about that soon. Thanks for reading!

Vices and Dreams

2011-10-03T06:33:00.001-07:00

There's that phrase, "Whatever gets you through the night." I tend to believe (aside from murder, theft, and other such barbarism) it's pretty much true. If someone needs to dye their hair a different color every other day to make it through life, let them. If someone needs to smoke to handle their job, or marriage, or the stress of being a parent, let them. Maybe it's a few drinks after work. Maybe it's sex. Leave it to that person to decide when and how to manage their actions, and their choices. The only thing that bothers me is when someone is selfish with their vices, putting them above loved ones--but still, it's up to them to figure that out, and they must faces the consequences.

I've always been really good about cutting off bad habits when they started to approach addiciton: food, alcohol, smokes. I don't like being indebted to a habit. I don't like that which I can't produce from my own being. In other words, if I was stuck on a desert island I'd still be able to find happiness and faith in life. No chemicals needed.

My biggest current vices are daydreaming, procrastination, worry, music obsession. I wish I had a spending habit, but I haven't had a dime to myself since last spring so that ain't happening anytime soon. That's why I daydream so much. It's all I have, haha.

What about you? What are your habits; your vices? How do you 'get through the night?'

LIttle by little

2011-09-30T11:35:00.000-07:00

It's officially looking more like fall. The leaves are changing colors and dropping down--the acorns are dropping down too. Just the other day I saw a squirrel sitting on my fence with his cheeks stuffed. I don't know where his little nest is, but Henry's been on the case all summer.

As summer slowly fades, it's hard to imagine it was ever around. It seemed to last forever, but now all those days at the pool, and sweating it out on long walks with Henry, they're all gone. A chill is in the air, and the sky is a fantastic clear blue.

I'm in the middle of edits. I'm also about to release my album (finally). Both of these are making me nuts, but I asked for it, so I have to take the stress. One thing I know for sure: there just are not enough hours in the day. I went to bed last night exhausted, and woke up like I'd never slept. To combat this, I down a good cup of coffee every morning, do stretches and drink tons and tons of water.

When I get some extra money I'm going to buy my favorite brand of cod liver oil. It's Nordic Naturals strawberry flavor. I absolutely love that stuff. Two teaspoons a day and I feel healthier and my brain works so much better. But, it's twenty bucks a bottle, so . . .

I notice that when I don't get enough sleep not only do I look tired all day, but I get grouchy and I'm less motivated to make the right choices concerning food and exercise, etc. Hopefully tonight I can catch up again!

You guys sleeping? Anyone have any good dreams to share?

Music, not words

2011-09-26T06:32:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have a problem with expressing myself. It's good to have a blog to help me work through that, but still even writing becomes difficult. When I was a child I learned to be quiet, real quiet. I learned that records were an escape, with their hypnotic rotation of crackling orchestration; warm voices crying, wailing, hoping. For the last couple of years I've had to learn to be quiet again, because sometimes saying anything destroys all that is around. That's just the way it is, for me and a lot of people.

Today I'm thinking of Neil Young. Actually I've been thinking of his songs all weekend, but today I can't get this particular song out of my head. Heart of Gold. You know, Neil is an acquired taste. But once you get it, it goes deep. So, to all my Rust comrades, here's a song to share.

A pot to stew

2011-09-25T05:42:00.000-07:00

So last night I blasted music and Liam and I danced and danced and danced. I could twirl and kick and shake my hips forever, but eventually it was bedtime. I love dancing with my kids.

Julia has been having a difficult time this week with bullies, though I would never have known. I just asked her out of the blue, "Are there any bullies at your school?" "Why . . . yes." She went on to tell me about the kids at recess who push her behind trees and trap her. I guess they threw rocks at Julia's face on Friday, busting her lip, and said, "We hate you, you *****." This, to a six-year-old girl who is very nice, and really very smart. Julia is too nice, and too smart, and she's too naive and too overwhelmed. She's like a little butterfly; easy to hate and hurt if you're the hatin' hurtin' kind.

So anyway, my first urge was to go kick some grade-school behind, but I can't do that, so I'll just have to send a note to the teacher and keep a close eye on the situation.

Bullies. They'll always exist. One leaves, another sets up shop. Mean faced, scrunchy-eyed, pot-faced, yellow-teethed, rock throwin', hatin', fowl-mouthed cowards. Go away already. Leave us cool folks alone.

My mom says that when her school had bake sales, some kids would get revenge on others by putting chocolate Ex-Lax in the brownies. Now, I'm pretty darn sure that's against the law these days, but the thought of it makes me smile. Also, voodoo dolls look real good right now.

More of the same

2011-09-24T06:00:00.000-07:00

Since all of my posts this week have pretty much been about the strange and disgusting I might as well carry on the tradition. Let's talk about oysters. Why in the world do we eat these slimy things, and RAW no less? I tried to swallow one once and just couldn't do it. That mineral-ish sea odor, that oozing slime of marine life . . . Ooooh, it gives me shivers. You can slab on as much horseradish and cayenne as you want, but those things are still not going down my throat.

What about Lima beans? They're like chunky, powdery capsules with the flavor of ear wax. Yuck.

And Liver. Please. Why would we eat a body part meant to filter out toxins? And serve it with onions? Why not serve it with dirt and rotten egg shells? It's not going to taste better, so go ahead. I have enjoyed goose liver pate in the past, but only in tiny amounts, and that was a looooong time ago. My goose toxin filtering organ days are over.

Also, I hate custard.

And that's about it.

Horrible, disgusting post

2011-09-23T06:34:00.001-07:00

Last year in one of my many quests for healthy living I bought a box of Kashi GoLean Crunch. I wasn't looking to lose weight necessarily--though I can be somewhat obsessed with staying thin--it was more about detoxing and feeling good. The cereal tasted great, though it was a bit too crunchy. Even soaked in milk (rice milk for me) for extended amounts of time it maintained a rock-like crunch that rattled my teeth and gave my jaw quite a workout. But it tasted good. I had been afraid that Kashi would be all benefit and no pleasure. I liked it so much that for the next few days I ate it as a snack, instead of cookies or chips. But then about one evening in, I began to notice a horrible stench was following me around. I was experiencing some unusual bloating and gas, but not your usual bloating and gas. This was like super evil bloating and gas . . . with a horrible odor. But that stench just couldn't be me. I looked around to see if Henry the dachshund had been around. Nope. I ate more cereal. Another day went by and I was still having really bad gas with a horrid, rotten flesh/rotten egg aftershock. Slowly, and with dread, I realized that I could possibly be the maker of this deadly oxygen mutating nuclear plant power gas. Me. The first thing I did was stop eating the cereal. Then I went online and began to read story after story of all the other fools who'd been lured in to healthy living only to be turned into the most hideous humans on earth. Some accounts were so funny that I laughed myself into hysteria. I think it was just a relief to find out I wasn't the one making the evil stench. I mean, I was, but it wasn't me me, it was Kashi.

Have any of you tried this stuff? Had similar results? It would make a great party favor at Spencers. Or they could package it for Halloween in cute little bags with a skull and crossbones for decoration.

All I can say is losing weight and being healthy can't be worth losing your social life. I don't want to die lonely.

Strange ideas

2011-09-22T04:40:00.000-07:00

My last post got me thinking about other phenomenons of time and space that will probably never happen, but it's fun to wonder "if." For instance, what if we had ten lives that ran parallel to each other, like lanes on a rack track; we all start off at the same spot, and time is still standard time, but each of "us" runs the race different. It would be like we intuitively know the happenings in each lane and are affected by it, but we're so concentrated on our current one that we just keep moving until we reach the end, or fall down, or pull a hamstring. Eventually we'd find something that would allow us to jump in each lane and experience the lives which are going better. But would we run the risk of destroying "our" life/lane by doing so? What if trying to find a good life, happiness, success, only makes sorrow and failure worse?

Or . . . what if when we die, we instantly go back to our life again as a baby, and each time we have that little bit of knowledge from our past trial to help us make a better life each time? Like playing cards, hoping for a good hand, playing over and over until we get a win, then when we win it's all over--we die and The End.

Or . . . what if dreams are real life, and our awake times are us dreaming? If you were an insomniac then you'd be drawing more and more away from your reality, slowly dying.

I could go on.

Time, time, time

2011-09-20T06:03:00.000-07:00

If you found a time machine and could go back to any day or year in your life, or era/event in history, what would it be? I had a friend who explained her ideas on time travel to me back in high school, that years are like layers of an onion and someday we might access the inner rings. Or maybe time is like a movie always playing, and someday we might find a way to access each event with a remote control. We could rewind, watch, pause, then fast forward back to present day.

I would go back to the first year or two that my daughter was born. It was such a beautiful time. The feel of her in my arms, the soft feathers of her hair, her smile, her cooing, the smell of powder and milk and baby lotion. She was a smiley, happy baby in my arms and I loved every minute of her infancy. I'd visit the time my son was a baby as well, but if I had to choose, I'd choose Julia's because she was my first. Sorry Liam!

For events outside of my own personal life, I would visit the 70's (of course) and just hang around all the groovy people in a small town somewhere. Maybe just a day. See if I can get invited to a party, go to a bar, go shop at some old grocery store with all the products and their vintage packaging, read a newspaper, drive around in some old Dodge or something, talk to strangers . . . I'd go to an old department store and get decked out in all the crazy clothes, hair, makeup. I'd go to a rock concert. It would be hard planning it so that all the things I wanted to happen could happen in one area and in twenty-four hours, but it would be a blast! If you don't hear from me in a week or two, you know where I am baby!

I'd also visit the 50's. Aside from a few major flaws in society (like sexism and racism) the 50's were full of an optimistic viewpoint that is almost divine. The war was over, life was getting good. Food was a-plenty, music was everywhere. You could smoke, drink, wear bright red lipstick, drive a huge car, which, by the way, you didn't have to fill up yourself. Pollock was king, movies were cheap . . . A kid could walk not only down the street, but through the town, all by him or herself without fear. Jimmy Stewart was still around. I love Jimmy Stewart.

Let's see . . . I'd spend five minutes in these times: the ice age, the prehistoric age, the Sermon on the Mount, American Victoria, the wild west, my teenage years (shudder) . . . and many more!

What about you?

Let you entertain me

2011-09-18T05:41:00.000-07:00

It's raining and fall has settled in and I'm in the mood to hear some real ghost stories. Real? I know some folks don't believe in ghosts, but if you have *what you believe to be* a real one-on-one encounter, or an account from a friend or relative, it'll do.

My closest ghost encounter happened at a relative's birthday party held in a Victorian bed and breakfast in Topeka, Ks. It was nighttime, and a few of us had gone to the second level of the home to check out the house design, furniture, etc. I had the overwhelming feeling of being watched as I looked over old lamps and paintings. There was a sort of feeling of not being wanted, like I was intruding, but there was no one there that I could be intruding on. No physical person, just a feeling. A trip down to the cellar heightened those feelings. There were dirt walls, creaky flooring overhead with cobwebs and slits of light shifting through. Mostly it was the shadows, the cold shadows. It felt like a grave.

Another time I had that feeling was the night I stayed at a carriage house in Aspen. Don't ever sleep in the room that used to act as a mortuary. Just. Don't. Every second of that night I felt like someone was in my face staring at me. I never was so happy to see daylight! Of course, morning in Aspen is a beautiful thing. You open the shutters and all around you are gorgeous mountain peaks and a blue sky. And no ghosts.

My next experience might occur again in Colorado, but this time in my favorite town ever: Manitou Springs with its haunted Marimont Castle. I couldn't take a tour last time, but when I do get to go again, I am definitely stepping inside.

An now it's your turn.

Late thoughts

2011-09-12T11:59:00.000-07:00

I wanted to write about September 11th yesterday, but I felt a little overwhelmed. It's one of those subjects that, unless you know what you're really speaking about and have experienced it directly, then best leave it alone. I will say that I remember it was a beautiful fall day, and I remember all the white circles in the sky from airplanes that had been ordered to turn around and land. I remember watching the people on tv with pictures in their hands; pictures of family members who they were desperately looking for. It was chaos. It was terrible. Ten years seem like nothing, and I pray all of those who lost a loved one that day as I'm sure their pain is still fresh.

As I was explaining the memorials to Julia last night and why it all happened, all I could think was that no one on this earth should ever hate another person so much that they want to kill or cause pain. That the second we feel hatred, we should find a way to diffuse it, to find a solution to whatever is making us think we'd have a right to hate. I couldn't explain all that to a little girl, but I felt like I needed to say it to myself as a human being. We all should stop whatever we are doing, every once in a while, and remember that the strongest people on this earth are those who treat every one else with love and respect, even if it means they feel as if they've lost something. It is better to lose a little dignity than it is to hurt another human. It is better to be laughed at than it is to hate. There's that song by Paul McCartney, Fool on the Hill, about being an outsider with the weight of the world, yet the world is laughing. In my experience, those who laugh at others are incredibly insecure people. So . . . be a fool, be a clown, let people laugh. No one will see the massive muscles of your beautiful soul, but believe me, the world will feel it.

Jesus Christ Superstar

2011-09-10T07:20:00.000-07:00

Last night the movie Jesus Christ Superstar was on, so I watched it with the kids. The first time I ever saw this movie was when I was about nine I think. Mom read in the local tv listings that it would be shown late at night, so she made my brother stay up to tape it on our Betamax. It was summer time so it was okay. The next day, my brother told me what a strange, but interesting movie it was and that I should watch it. So I did.

If you've ever watched JCS then you know how dated the movie is. There are hippies everywhere: long hair, beards, beads, halter tops, bare footed dancing . . . I was a little grossed out at first. But I really liked the music, and I was strangely pulled in by Ted Neeley (Jesus) and Carl Anderson's (Judas) phenomenal voices, and the wonderful, effective way in which they portrayed their roles. Of course, the music was great too. By the end of the movie I was in tears. We've all heard the story of Jesus dying on a cross, but seeing it was something else. It moved me, it changed me. I felt a sort of devastation and loss that seemed beyond me to understand.

I think the thing that is so effective about the movie is how Jesus is allowed to show anger. Something about that made all his pastoral scenes of quiet forgiveness and healing so much more effective. Another thing I love is how they had Jesus speak in parables: Put away your swords! Don't you know that it's all over? It was nice but now it's gone. Why are you obsessed with fighting? Stick to fishing from now on!

Did you know Ted Neeley originally wanted to play Judas in the stage version of JCS? He ended up as Jesus's understudy for a while before he took the lead role in a Los Angeles production. He has a vocal range that many rock vocalists covet. The only other male singer comparable IMO is that of the late, great Steve Marriott.

Now someone tell me if this is a real fact: did Ted really take all the lashings in the whipping scene? My brother always said he wouldn't let them fake it. If you watch that scene, it looks very real, but at the same time what kind of movie producer would let an actor endure such pain? It could have killed the poor guy!

No matter what your beliefs are, this is a beautiful movie. It is well acted, well directed, well sung. Some people love it, some hate it. But it holds that magic ability to make us think far past the ending credits.

Another sticky one

2011-09-09T10:34:00.000-07:00

Since we're on the parenting subject, let's talk about drugs. Someday my kids are going to ask me about this, or maybe they won't. I hope they will. But since I never did any of that stuff in high school I will probably sound like a pollyanna. Someone I worked with had a great answer for her son, and that is that the problem with drugs is that they make you feel good, and you can't go around feeling good all the time, it's just not natural. Though in high school what kid doesn't want to escape the hell of being filled with doubt and hormones and bad relationships? My relief was music and books. I'd come home from school and play piano and just let all those notes take me somewhere else. I was afraid of drugs, and what they might do to change me.

There's also something about getting high that takes away growth, not physical but mental, and I'll tell my kids about that. When you're high all the time you miss all those rough spots that make you strong. It's like, if you're driving on a road and it's bumpy and full of narrow turns, and you just close your eyes and tell someone else to drive, then how can you ever claim ownership of your arrival? Does that make sense?

But at the same time, we're humans, and humans deserve to try different things in life, and a life without experimentation is closing your eyes too.

I hope I get the message across that no one's life is easy, but the good things are found with hope and love, and there's a light inside each of us that can be killed by complacency so whatever you do, do it with a good honest heart and an open mind.

Spank!

2011-09-08T11:23:00.001-07:00

Let's talk about spanking.

Anyway, I know spanking is a dying form of punishment, and for the most part, I'm happy about that. It's humiliating for the child, and seldom ever teaches the right message. But I do believe it probably has its place in certain extreme situations. For me, being warned about a spanking was much more powerful than the act. But the act had to happen at least once for the warning to have any effect. Anyway, I've always gotten down on one knee and spoken one to one with my kids (if they weren't screaming) and tried to explain and give them options. Then there's been a lot corner time, time out, etc. Julia hates time-out and will do just about anything to avoid it. If you give her a better option, she'll gladly take it. Like, "You have to go in the corner, or you can go clean your room." "I'll clean my room." It's a winning situation!

How do you folks feel about it? I'm not asking because I want permission to spank my kids--I just thought it would be a good topic for discussion. Like I said, my way is to talk things out. But I've had some pretty interesting debates with people who think spanking is a form of abuse. I think hitting is abuse, spanking is not hitting. And the thing is, we all grew up with it and knew our parents loved us. So . . . your thoughts?

By the way, our principal in elementary school used to spank kids in his office. I know this because my brother bent all the spoons one day at lunch, and had to go in there to face the great wooden paddle.

Home Ec 101

2011-09-06T12:06:00.000-07:00

I was just listening to NPR and they were talking about Home Economics and how it isn't taught in school anymore. Callers were saying how even though they felt their H.E. classes seemed a waste at the time, they now find themselves utilizing the basic skills they were taught such as how not to burn soup, how to make dough, how to sew. I agree. We all thought it was a stupid class but learning how to measure ingredients, how to clean . . . those were building blocks to survival as an adult. These days both parents work. Everyone eats of out of a can or a box and no one is being taught basic skills--we think we've already reached the age of the Jetsons where everything happens like magic.

A caller mentioned gardening being taught in the schools. That would be awesome. If kids can have access to a greenhouse in the winter, and tend a garden in the sunny months then that would be fantastic! If my school had allowed us to garden at recess I totally would have. I hated sports and all the dichotomy of how to be popular. Plants would have given me a much healthier view of school. I would have actually wanted to go every day!

So, what do you think? Did you have Home Ec and did you like it? Did it enhance your life? All I can say is I learned how to make biscuits, how to clean, how to sew a kitty cat door stop. I'm set for life!

Something ain't right here . . .

2011-09-03T05:20:00.001-07:00

Well, I've been hacked. Spammed. Virused. Here on the blogger apparently, and on twitter. I don't even want to know the horrible tweets some spambot was sending out under my name, but I do have a sense of humor about it and can laugh at how absurd it is. Not sure what I did to start the whole thing, but I'll fix it somehow. I already closed down my twitter account. And now that I've shut it down it feels kind of a relief to not have to deal with that stuff anymore. Do you we really need to know who's doing what every second of the day? I loved re-tweeting friends' book announcements and good news, but other than that it was just a big popularity contest of who could be the wittiest or the most friendly twitterer. It was like high school, man.

So, I'm out twitter. Sayonara. Adios. And as for google blogs here, I don't know. I'll find your little virus and squash it somehow.

Rings

2011-09-02T06:22:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with a David Bowie song in my head: Modern Love. Man, I really had a crush on David. There are certain childhood memories that come back stronger than the others, and many of them have to do with music. I grew up listening to old records, so there was a period when Gene Autry was all us kids listened to, then it was Steve and Eydie Gorme, "Go away little girl . . ." I mean, I grew up singing songs that other kids definitely weren't, and I'm really happy about that. But then the modern music became interesting and I loved Blondie and Elton John, Rick Springfield, Queen, David Bowie, and then Billy Idol. Remember Eyes Without a Face? That was a great song!

Other childhood memories that really stick out have to do with nature and playing in the backyard with neighborhood kids. There's just something beautiful about the memory of being this little, fresh human in the middle of a big field with the sun and the grass and all of us kids running around laughing, being free. It sounds corny, but it outshines all the moments that came. But one thing I've thought about is how much life changes. Sometimes it feels like it stays the same, but if you sort through all the years, there are phases and those phases change us like rings in a tree trunk. We keep adding these layers; we keep growing. We're standing still, but something is shifting and branching out. It's strange and exciting.

Two Words

2011-08-25T06:23:00.000-07:00

I used to write a lot of stories for my blog, but after finding out that doing so rendered them published, I made the decision to stop. It was great receiving comments, but later on it made me sad to think I could never see them professionally published. So that fun is over. However . . . one day my book will come out and that will be GREAT. A stranger picking it up off the shelf would never know all the work, all the fear, all the time I came here to practice my writing skills, to gain support, to ease doubts, to learn new writing tips, and so on. They would never know. But that's the point. All a reader needs to know is whether the book they picked up is going to satisfy their brain craving. But I want you guys to know how much I appreciate your friendship. Thank you for being here in my lows and highs and in betweens. Cheers to you!

Situation Break-Down

2011-08-23T06:04:00.000-07:00

Despite what I wrote yesterday, the truth is that it's hard to get back into writing after being off for a certain amount of time. I find myself fumbling with words and unable to trust my ability. It was so easy before, but I lost my confidence and now I have to find ways to get back into the flow. The best thing a writer can do is just write and think later. My problem is that I am thinking too much. Today's the day.

One thing that I've thought about quite a bit is how, in order to write fiction, we must allow our characters to rule our thoughts. I know that sounds crazy, and it is. But that's what works for me. I write best when my real world—including ME—is second to the fictional ticker tape in my head. Everything I eat, think, do, is enhanced by what my characters will do and say next. It's a fun life, really. When life is hectic and we are jerked out of this lovely thought mode, it feels awkward. Some folks save it all for the time they are sitting in front of their computers, but I like to let it roll all day and night. We're all different.

One thing though, the times when I was struggling in front of the computer, and the times I was rolling free, I couldn't see it in the work. It all looked the same. So moral of the story: you are who you are as a writer, situation good or bad. There's something comforting about that.

Get Unstuck

2011-08-20T05:02:00.000-07:00

I've figured something out about writing, or non-writing, rather. If you've ever had writer's block due to stress, change of routine, then I have a few suggestions to get you back in the groove again. First of all, try not to panic. You've written before and it will happen again. I think the best tip to getting back into your work is to go over your old work. Edit the chapters leading into your new section. Believe me, even areas you thought were finished will yield some edit-worthy mistakes. And it will help set your mind to writing mode again.

Other suggestions are to listen to music related to certain projects—create a playlist. Take walks. Drink tons of water. Do a lot of water based chores like washing dishes, laundry, watering the plants. Of course, a good shower is the best thing ever for writer's block. It makes the ideas flow! I can't tell you how many times I've had story ideas, dialogue, plot fixes . . . while shampooing my hair. It's awesome, if not a bit inconvenient.

Also, don't pander to yourself about writer's block. If you can't write on a manuscript then write a blog, or a journal, or something, anything. It doesn't matter what you write, just write.

Sometimes I think we are afraid we can't match our former brilliance, that the magic has passed on to some other person. We will and it hasn't. Just keep repeating that to yourself. We will and it hasn't.

Food, food, food

2011-08-19T06:09:00.001-07:00

Having kids means having neighbor kids too. It's not a bad thing, my neighbor kids are cute and funny, but they're eating me out of house and home. First it started with wanting a cookie, or may I have some juice? And now they march right in the door and rip open my fridge. I say, "No, no no. Kitchen is closed." "But I'm hungry." I look at the clock. It's 6:00 pm and I know they've had dinner. "Sorry, but I think you ate already." "Nope, I didn't eat. I want some spaghetti." At first I was lavishing them with all the food they say they have to have. I don't like denying kids when they say they're hungry. But then, after one particular visit where both my kids' dinners were devoured, and then the eating fest kept going and going I finally said, "I think that's enough. Kitchen is closed. If you want food from now on you have to ask." Come to find out, they had been eating before coming over, so it wasn't an issue of being hungry. Has anyone else ever had this problem?

I guess there must be some emotional issue with food. I'm just going to have to be firm and do what my mom used to do . . . buy crappy generic products, all high-fiber and no sugar stuff. That'll fix the problem.

Today

2011-08-17T14:14:00.000-07:00

Today was already better than yesterday. I still missed the kids in the afternoon, but I tried to keep myself busy with taking Henry for a walk, reading some blogs, writing a journal, cleaning, going to the store. It did help. And now those kids are home already and the house is filled with the sound of cartoons and snacks. Henry seems happy too. He snuggled right up to Julia when she sat on the couch with her cookie. Not sure if the snuggling was to catch any falling crumbs or if he just missed her being gone all day.

Moving on, you ever notice how things are better when you're dreaming? And that being a writer is much better than anything else in this world because you get to dream? Reality has always been a harsh, cold place as the world is so judgmental. My writing is usually full of love and hope; my dreams are grand. It heals. It replaces despair. Characters are like children, they depend on bring us joy with their lives and actions. And words. Words are like pebbles sifting and falling, and we must rearrange them in beautiful ways.

Empty. Quiet. Too Quiet.

2011-08-16T11:42:00.000-07:00

Both of the kids are in school today and I miss them. As the week goes by I'll learn to get over it, but right now all I can do is think of all the beautiful moments of them being here in the afternoon; making lunch, playing, reading, going to the park. Even if I've been annoyed and busy with housework, it was still beautiful. And, I know, I know, they'll be home in a few hours and it will seem as if no time passed, but for now it's an ache. Also with Julia in school all day for the first time, I feel a sort loss of duty if you will. For so many years I've been her cheerleader, her protector. Now I'm just a regular human again. It's been such a struggle, and such a joy. You know, when her sensory disorder became evident back when she was around two years old, I fought like crazy for her. My life has been defined by her. She's a funny, spirited child. And smart, and loving. She can create a whole universe out of a blanket and some pillows. She laughs freely and runs so fast she's almost flying. She loves to eat and loves to be my little cook. But, man . . . is she messy.

This summer was kinda tough when it came to blogging. Here's to hoping I can use this free time effectively: visiting and commenting! But more important I hope to finish old projects. I also hope to finish some reading. I'm way behind on that.

Take care everyone.

Two more

2011-08-14T05:37:00.000-07:00

Here are two more. This guy is such a great photographer. He's been working on these to give them all those nice little effects and tone correction ( I don't know what you call it, but he has gone beyond all my expectations). It goes without saying how glad I am that I found him.

I look a little like Melissa Etheridge here, which is cool.

And this one just looks like me.

And that's it. Time to focus on getting the cd out and moving away from this photo stuff which was good, wonderful, scary and too much for me to handle at times. Also time to focus on writing. A few months ago I sent out a ton of short stories, and hopefully I won't get all rejections. If things go right, a few could get published in journals late fall or into winter. Fingers crossed. It's funny, after I felt the relief of signing a publishing contract, my mind moved on to the next impossible challenge of lit journal acceptance. After that, I think the next goal would be to get something published in The New Yorker. Bob Dylan once sang, "When I write my masterpiece," well, I wonder if anyone should really write their masterpiece until the last grain of sand is about to tumble down the hourglass. But then, I think many people write or paint or sculpt theirs somewhere in the middle and don't even know it. Probably best not to think about it.

A pic and a cough

2011-08-13T06:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, well out of three that I've seen this one is my favorite. Too bad I didn't get a tan this summer! We went to the pool quite a bit early on, but then it got so hot we ended up inside most days and all that nice color just faded like it was the middle of winter.

Anyway . . . I am sick. This has been a busy, stressful week. What I didn't tell you was that I had to take care of my niece and nephew for three days, plus my own kiddos. On Tuesday I had the photo shoot, a radio spot with my dear friend Marshall—and then my friend who runs website for the show Big Brother who asked me to write a blog once or twice a week needed an extra piece and I had to rush one out! Good problems to have, really. Wednesday night it was school open house. Thursday I took the kids to the fair. Then I came down with a huge cold. I guess it's true that our bodies can only take so much. Last night I lay down in bed and watched old movies on TCM with the kids. I really liked the first movie Midnight with Claudette Colbert, Don Ameche and John Barrymore (whom I found extremely attractive in this role, even though it was rumored he was drunk the whole time and had to read cue-cards). Liam kept trying to kiss Claudette and then the scene would change and he'd end up kissing Don Ameche. We had a good laugh about that. He said he thought Claudette was beautiful, and she was. One of my favorite movies is It Happened One Night starring her and Clark Gable. Great movie.

Then Julia thought it would be great to put makeup on me while I lay there in bed, and I ended up with lipstick and powder all over my face. Kind of sweet, I know. Being sick ain't fun, but my kids make it enjoyable. That is . . . until I saw what they had done to the house. On their little trips out of the room, Julia had made cherry sugar candy using a pile of white sugar and cherry syrup, and chocolate gooey cake (again lots of sugar). Liam had gotten out every toy he owned, and there was a trail of stuff everywhere. Not kidding. So, this morning I had to drag my butt out of bed to clean it all. But I'm not complaining! I love these kids so much. Seeing Liam kiss Claudette Colbert was so cute. I'd clean the house a million times for moments like that.

So that's the status report. Oh, and school starts this week so I'll have some free time again to visit blogs and write blogs and just . . . write. That's amazing.

The Shoot

2011-08-11T10:34:00.000-07:00

Well, I did the photo shoot. The studio was located in the River Market area in Kansas City, upstairs from Harry's Country Club—a nice little bar/pub at the end of a city street. A group of folks were outside talking and when they saw me walk up with my folksy dress and belt and guitar, they said, "Hey, are you the entertainment?" "No," I answered back. "Aw, well you could be. Go on in there and take the stage." "Uh, thanks, but no, I have a photo shoot." They were really starting to pressure me, those folks!

The photographer's name is Corky, and he came out of the bar just in time to save me from the crowd. We went upstairs and spent the next hour and a half taking shots near brick walks and windows; with chairs and tables as props. I had three dress changes and tons of different poses. He probably took several hundred shots, which he'll put on a disc for me to sort through later on. I think he tries to do a lot of tone corrections, sizing, etc. He was really nice about the whole thing, and kept up a string of pose ideas instead of asking me to make up things on spot. That was good for me, and kept things at a nice, calm level.

He wrote an email saying he was in the bar later after the shoot, and wouldn't you know he ran into a local music blogger who writes about up and coming acts as well as all the big touring acts that come into town? Corky is going to send me the information later so I can send out a cd package/press release. That's great news. I can't believe the timing! Karmic, I tell you.

So that's it. I have seen one picture and it's very nice, and though I will never like looking at my face, I can appreciate the great quality, and posing, lighting, etc. He did a great job. I'll let you see it and more when they are available. Thank you for the good thoughts, everyone. I truly appreciate being surrounded by wonderful people such as you!

BBC reflections

2011-08-08T05:03:00.001-07:00

I used to watch a lot of BBC America, and I loved a couple of shows they ran. One was called Changing Rooms I think, the other had a similar concept but it was for gardens. It featured a straight laced announcer kind of guy, a big handy man (Andy? I think) and a beautiful redhead Charlie. She never wore a bra, I can remember that much. Those three would get together and transform a garden into a mini outdoor spa. Oh, the kicker was they only had two days to get it done. That was a great show.

Now BBCA just shows Star Trek of all things, and Top Gear. What do you guys think? What are your favorite BBC shows? Tell me what's new and what I can expect to show here in a few months.

Deep thoughts . . .

2011-08-06T05:52:00.000-07:00

The session is set for Tuesday night. I'm going to wear two different outfits, one a dress that I made a long time ago. It's a black floral mid-length that I made to mimic a sixties dress I once saw in a Bob Dylan movie. Never thought it would come in handy. It was just the pretty dress that sat in my closet forever. I'm going to wear a big tan belt, and brown boots which I think look nice in contrast to the floral print. The other outfit is an all brown two-piece skirt, sounds unsexy, but it's pretty cute, haha. Now what to do with my hair . . .

Thank you for all your encouraging words yesterday. This has truly been hard for me and I appreciate the support. Having to expose myself in this type of media makes me so insecure. It's become apparent to me how I really do have depression, and writing is my cure. Music is my soul, but writing is my cure to take me away from myself, because it's a torrid, awful place in my head sometimes. The night before Amy Winehouse died, I was sitting on the back porch steps thinking about how hard it is to live at times. When I heard the news of her passing the next day, a Saturday, I felt it was almost a wakeup call for me to face this issue. I was clearly meant to sing and write and play music, but the presentation of it is so very painful when you don't have the ability to love yourself in a physical way. I do believe this is why Amy Winehouse had her problems, and poor thing, she lost the battle. This fills me with sadness. Although I do discredit her for lauding the fact that she would never go to rehab. It was a very unhealthy attitude, a self-depreciating attitude. A better anthem would have been, If I have to go, I'll come out shining. Not as catchy, I know.

A while back I posted a story about the little girl who could sing like an angel, and a vocal chord expert said it was her brain coordinating the extraordinary talent. Well, I do believe our brains have the power to rise above our fears, our weaknesses, our addictions. Easy to forget when the world is such a harsh place to live sometimes, but that's why we must learn, each of us, to stand back and think for ourselves; create a reserve of strength to draw on in the toughest moments. And dammit, sometimes you just have to be an actor or actress and say, "I am not this situation. I'm still me, now and later and forever. But I am not THIS."

And that's the end of deep thoughts . . . by Amy. Have great Saturday.

Life for life's crazy sake

2011-08-05T05:10:00.000-07:00

Life is a little confusing right now, but I'm sure I'll look back on it later with a sick sort of longing. Meadowland is done, I've almost completed all the graphics for the packaging, the only thing left is to have a few pictures taken and to send the whole thing off to a cd duplication company. For the moment, this looks to be the front cover (you've seen it before in a slightly different form):

I'm really, horribly nervous about the photo shoot. More than I should be. But this is one reason why Meadowland hasn't seen the light of day until now. Me and pictures: terror. Pure terror. I've had the photographer's information for a few weeks, and couldn't get the nerve to set up a session. Well, first there was no money, but now there is, and finally last night I sent an email to say I was ready, but dear God why is it so hard for me to do these things? Regardless, I have to do it. You know, I read that Dusty Springfield and Carly Simon had/have similar stage fright issues, so I don't feel so alone. But still, it's crazy and I wish I had confidence like other people.

AmyymA

2011-07-30T05:39:00.000-07:00

I'm in a pattern. But I like patterns. Wake up at 5:30 am, feed the dog, the cat, make some coffee, carry coffee to computer, sit down, read internet crap, try to write, read more internet crap, write some more, keep writing, get up, get some water, pet cat, dog, write, write, take a shower, make breakfast, kids get up, clean, be a mom, make cookies, take kids outside, clean, clean, make dinner, watch tv, read books to kids or myself, get ready for bed, sleep.

Every day it's the same. When school starts it will all change and that's good. But for now, I am starting to feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, "All work and no play makes Amy a dull girl . . ." Don't worry. I don't have an axe around here.

How to get rid of Heat

2011-07-28T06:01:00.000-07:00

I'm interrupting this program to alert you to a recent problem. Heat. She came to lunch and stayed for dinner. She wrapped herself around the back porch with long arms, and then began stepping all over my flowers and my bean plants, the grass, the apple trees. She takes the breath right out of bees, and fleas, and she's, I'm afraid, never going to leave. I don't know what to do. I'm running out of ice. I've worn this same bikini, one-hundred-and-twice. Maybe I'll buy her a ticket. Yes, that's a good idea. A ticket. To Spain. Or France. Where she can run and dance. Like a ballerina, pirouette away, away, away, away. You were never meant to stay.

You know, they recommend putting sheets in the freezer for an hour before bedtime. Better yet, just sleep in the freezer. Or stand there all night, using a bag of frozen peas for a pillow.

Yodelayheehoo!

2011-07-27T05:39:00.000-07:00

One of the settings in my book is a set of caves that Emma and Will must negotiate in the dark to escape being turned into ghosts forever. I didn't start off with a real, determined location, but after falling upon an article describing the beautiful caves in the O'Bannon State Park, I became so excited with the idea of using such a location in my book. I never mention cave specifics, but did write about an indoor mountainous structure located in the Wyandotte Caves called Monument Mountain. Of course my next thought was to have my characters end up in this wildly fantastic hidden apex of the middle earth. I'd love to go see it some day.

Unfortunately, and this does sound funny when I say it, but a bat fungus has closed many caves to visitors in the last few years, so it may be a long time before I get to see my fictional character's real-life location.

It's so hot today that I would take a cave over a house. But the bats . . . well, yeah, I'd have to say no to bats.

Trust your brain

2011-07-24T11:53:00.001-07:00

The other night ABC had a special about humans with super powers, like strength, brain power, endurance, etc. There was a very interesting segment on the little girl who came in second on America's Got Talent last year, Jackie Evancho. You've probably heard of her, she has an album out and has done a few shows over the course of the last few months. Anyway, in the segment, Jackie said she had no formal training. Her desire to sing was kicked off by the movie The Phantom of the Opera, which she emulated afterwards by memorizing and practicing all the songs. Then came her stint on AGT. They asked an ENT if she had special vocal chords or lungs that were stronger than most people. What was creating this huge, beautiful voice? Her brain, the doctor said. Her vocal chords and lungs are NO DIFFERENT than any other human out there. Her brain, and its willingness to learn the art of singing, breath control, perfect pitch—coordinating all of this together—was the key to her ability.

I think that's astounding. It really made me think about the way we approach our talents. Sometimes we are too afraid to tackle something when it might seem impossible to learn. We don't have enough training, we began too late, we're too old, too this, too that. But none of it matters. If you push past the fear and allow your brain to work hard, it will provide everything you need to succeed.

It's all there inside you.

Love It

2011-07-21T05:26:00.001-07:00

I'm reflecting on last summer when I was at a crossroads with my book. The manuscript was clean and good, but it hadn't reached its shine yet. You don't really know this as a writer, especially if you've spent countless hours working on the poor thing. There comes a point when you just can't see.

But through it all I can tell you one thing: I loved my book. When it was bad, when it got better, when it was rejected, and when it was accepted. I didn't love the process, but I loved my book. That love is what drove me to read countless articles on the act of writing and publishing so that I might get what I had to a finish line, because the essence of the book was a wonderful thing and I knew it.

I love the act of writing. I'm a musician and I love to write and play and listen to music (boy do I ever love listening to music!), but writing—and fiction mostly—gives me peace. I hate having an idle mind. I can't. So, while I'm not doing music, writing is that existential existence where words like fire ants rush and claw through my synaptic gaps. I get a thrill with words. They play, they trick, they lead and flow. This week in particular I'm half crazy with music and words, words and music. That doesn't mean anything good is coming from my fingertips, but it keeps me energized.

The point is: love what you do, and love the product you create. You don't have to love the road you're walking on, but the reason your feet are moving down that road. Or learn to fly. Or swim.

Early morning

2011-07-17T05:30:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged in a long time. But there hasn't been much to miss, believe me. When I received my first editing notes, I pretty much went through a shock phase where I became very determined to get the job done. Then I spent a week completely avoiding getting the job done. Then a stomach virus went through the house, then it was forth of July. I kept saying to myself, "You have to finish those edits." But, I have to do laundry and cook and do dishes and—"No, sit your butt down and finish." Okay . . .

Up at 5:30, edit for a few hours. The kids get up and it's time to be a mom (or something close), clean, shower, take kids to pool, cook, maybe get in some edits or writing, sleep. Up at 5:30 again. Edit. Repeat, repeat. As long as I had those two or three hours each day, I could get the job done. And I did get them done. And I sent them off. Next thing you know I'm digging into some short story or whatnot, and I just can't stop writing now.

I kept thinking, gee, I really need to get back on the blog. But I don't have much to say about my life anymore. What's there to say? I'm a little depressed and I have been for a while. I like to devote myself to writing and art and music; that's where life is good. I'm extremely grateful that my book will be published because now my life makes more sense.

Most of all, thank you for being the wonderful people you are. I may not comment like I should, but I'll try to get back to that. Happy Sunday to you.

Lines

2011-06-26T06:56:00.001-07:00

I'm in crazy writer, editor, submit to magazines, be a mom, clean the house, listen to records, oh yeah I have to take a shower mode. So I'll just post some simple artwork and say I love you.

Curses to Cursive

2011-06-20T08:02:00.000-07:00

Recently in the news there was a story about doing away with cursive. I guess the argument was that since we are all on computers, or texting, there is no longer a need for that form of writing to be taught. It's difficult to check for mistakes in cursive, and children these days do all their reports in word processing anyway.

Growing up, cursive was one of those coming-of-age events. I think it was around third grade that they really began to push it on us kids. I remember, because my handwriting, regular or cursive, has always been horrible and there was a lot of hard practice going of after third grade lunch hour. I always felt inadequate. But I despite that, I loved the elegance of writing letters all flowy and connected. It was so grown-up and almost like learning a foreign language. I do handwrite stories from time to time, and use cursive. I'd hate to see something so organic and real be tossed to the wind just because society thinks it is a worthless art.

How do you feel about this?

Friday nights, and how we talked

2011-06-17T17:37:00.000-07:00

I just took Henry for a walk, and the temperature in the air, the sound of birds, I'm not sure, but a combination of things brought back memories of going to the lake with my friends on Friday nights. We had a claim on a secluded beach area, though mind you this is Kansas so instead of sand we had pebbles and mushy, slimy lake floor to squish our toes into. On a good night the water would be just the right temperature and you could swim forever in that fresh lake water. Sometimes we'd build a fire and sit and talk way past midnight.

There were a couple of times when we brought alcoholic beverages. Schnapps, wine, straight Jack. It had been a complicated operation: dress one of us up like an attorney fresh from work, skirt suit and all, hair pulled back, and heels, and go casually purchase it with money we'd all thrown in together. In the end, we'd had to ask some older boys to buy it for us.

I remember standing on the lake shore, it was night and the moon was out, the water lapped back and forth and I kept taking swigs. I liked the happy way I felt, because something in me was always tuned to sadness. My friends told me I was more fun after a few drinks. I was also more reckless. Half naked, I swam way out and just floated, eyes on the moon. One night we invited boys, and they got roaring drunk. One in particular was too skinny to hold his liquor. He barfed the whole drive home. It didn't take long for me to realize that getting drunk was temporary, and being sick took a whole day getting over. So believe me when I tell you, those days are over.

On another night, we had a fire going and were about to start the party when a strange car pulled outside the beach area and turned its lights off. We started to freak out and one of my friends broke a glass bottle to make a weapon. Nothing ever came of it, but I do remember thinking I was around a lot of riffraff, and what the heck was I doing out there in the middle of nowhere about to get in a fight?! Not my scene at all.

We used to have the best conversations. My friend Renee and I had similar thoughts on life, and we could go on talking forever. She thought I was a riot with my crazy antics and willingness to do just about anything to make someone laugh. She also was interested in how completely strange I was, how deep my feelings and thoughts ran on just about everything. We used to share Beatle fantasies, mine with John, and hers with Ringo—this, decades after they'd broken up. We liked to do things different. I had no desire to be like anyone else in this world, because I knew I wasn't. It's always better to invent yourself instead of trying to fit in. So, if I wanted to love a Beatle, why not?

Those days of lakes and campfires are gone. When you're there it feels as if life will never change, there will always be Fridays and lakes and talks until midnight. It's funny, but you still can smell the air of the lake, and hear the gentle ring of laughter, and feel warm water rushing through your toes.

The Money Exchange

2011-06-17T07:06:00.000-07:00

When I was seven I stole some money that my brother had been saving to buy a boy's play set, a mountain with army men and tanks and all that. One night I heard my mother and brother talking about how he had almost saved enough, and I was right next to my mother's purse, and I could see the packet of money. It was right there, all this fortune that would never be mine because I was the youngest and couldn't mow the lawn to earn cash, or anything else handy like that. We earned a quarter or two every Saturday for helping to clean the house, but it was always spent on the ice cream man. It really burned me, that need, that desire to have some of his money. So I took a five-dollar bill from the packet and ran upstairs.

For a week or two I was a cursed child. That money had a hold on me; it taunted me, kept me awake at night, singed a place into my thigh through the very fabric of my jeans. As much as I had wanted it, I now was desperate to erase it from my life. I couldn't put it back because Mother had noticed it being gone from the packet, and to produce it would put immediate blame on me.

One day after school, we headed up to Main Street to Kuhn's old-time grocery store. Kuhn was getting on in his age; his freezer bins were full of half-defrosted chicken, his dry goods sometimes had worms. Near the front register was a bin full of stale penny candy: taffy, gum, jaw breakers and candy cigarettes. I thought about buying some of that candy--five dollars worth. That would get rid of the money, and I would have a lot of candy. For the longest time I squatted in front of that bin, deciding. Finally, after getting yelled at by my siblings, I decided against the plan and followed them to the register where they each bought candy with good, clean, guilt-free money. My stomach was so sour I couldn't have eaten anything anyway.

Mr. Kuhn had his eyes on me. Marshall and Cathy were already outside the store opening wrappers with a ravenous fervor, and I had lingered at the register. "Can I help you with somthin' little girl?"

In silence, I reached into my pocket and produced the five. I aked him if he could give me five ones in exchange. He gave me a strange look and said he could, opening the register too loud. He counted the money with a slow deliberance.

"One." Where did you get all this cash little girl?

"Two." I know your mother, she works just across the street.

"Three." Ain't I seen you around here, lookin' at all my candy like you might take some without buyin'?

"Four." You know what happens to kids that takes things that ain't theirs, dontcha?

"Five." But you couldn't be one of those kids. You just couldn't.

"There you go. Sure you don't want to buy somethin'?

I shook my head and ran out of the store.

Back home I found my sister's toy safe and, having gotten the combination from her in earlier times, opened the lock and shoved the money inside. Then I hid the safe under a bed and tried to resume what could have been such a happy life, but it wasn't happy anymore. Every second pulsed, every day crept by slowly.

One morning, just before heading off to school, my brother and sister began a witch hunt. They had found the safe, and the five ones inside. I ran to hide under the piano bench, and listened with a wild beating heart as they rambled through the house, yelling, "Oh whooooo could have taken this money? Someone who lives here, that's who. I wonder where they are? We'll find the little thief, we'll find her and wring her neck."

My ears were flooded with the sound of my own blood swooshing and swirling like river in a rainstorm. My chest was tight. I couldn't think, couldn't swallow. A hot blush colored my skin fire-red, and my hands were cold like a dead fish. I wanted them to find me, to get this over with. But I was so terribly frightened that they would find me, and then what? Shame, horrible shame. That I had been so greedy and so evil. That I had taken what was not mine. That I had had the guts to defy them, and God, and even my mother.

Finally the axe dropped and they were standing near the bench. I could see their feet, tapping with impatience. All of me shook, but I made myself stand to face them.

"Did you do this?"

"Yes. Yes, I did it. I took the money."

They both looked at each other in disbelief, because they hand't really thought I could do such a thing. My brother cocked his head, "I'm just curious, how did you change the five into five ones?"

I never answered. It was time to go to school anyway, and, perhaps I needed that secret. It was true, I had been a thief, but not a happy thief. Telling the tricks of that lifestyle would be gloating and all I wanted was to forget.

That night I ate dinner, and for the first time in weeks could actually taste the food. I slept and did not toss and turn the whole night through. I was cured--no more stealing, ever. No more lies or false living for me.

Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe

2011-06-15T10:07:00.001-07:00

I used to frequent a little shop in a town just south of where I live called the Golden Nugget. It was located in an old building, you know, one of those old western fronts. I figured it used to be some old millinery shop or general store. Glass windows decorated the whole front entrance, with antiques displayed inside to tempt you in: 1920's dresses on yellowed mannequins, tricycles, paintings, buffet tables, a rocking horse.

Bells rang when I entered through the front door, and there was a smell of musty wood and dust. The floor creaked under my feet. The clerk would give a small, unenthusiastic wave as I stepped in, because she was too busy with a customer to give a proper hello or to care that I was touching the ancient Gibson all propped up next to a broken down amp.

There was a big front room with millions of nicknacks, and a cluster of small rooms for toys and special items in a hallway—I figured the rooms used to be closets of some sort. Then there was another large room in the back and a smaller one way at the end. After looking through all the nicknacks, I'd head to the middle room because that's where all the records were. I swear I found so many good LPs in that room. I could never figure out why anyone would want to get rid of them. For an hour I'd sit there flipping through the whole stack, and become ecstatic when something caught my attention. There was also a good selection of books and videos, but hardly ever anything worth my time.

The back room was for all the breakables. The dainty milk glass and handcrafted furniture; quilts, vases, artwork. I always felt so paranoid going back there, but it was worth the stress just to see all the items that I knew were fresh from someone's house out in the country.

The Golden Nugget is no longer around and I miss it so much. It was the perfect place to go and escape for awhile. You could go there and leave all tingly with the junk you'd found, go across the street and get an ice cream cone, maybe stop at the library or the park, and then head home. Today is one of those days where I need some Nugget therapy. Wish it were still open.

Plucking words

2011-06-14T07:29:00.000-07:00

Notes I've been taking using editor suggestions.

Delete all chapter inserts

Delete paragraph tabs

Try to get rid of ellipses

Replace em dashes with --

Try to eliminate words like: Really, very, just

Most semi-colons could probably be commas

Try to find exclamation points and see if they can be periods instead

These things I can fix using 'find' in Mac pages, it's the other, more elusive issues that will be harder to self-learn. Things like run-on sentences. I have a problem with that. Someone once told me I had amazing flow, which was very nice of them to say. I guess it comes from being a songwriter and a musician. I like to make sentences roll along. But, I guess it's not always a beautiful thing.

Some people are pulling weeds from their gardens today. I am pulling verbal weeds : )

I've got the revision blues . . .

2011-06-12T08:25:00.000-07:00

Well, here I am drawing blood, er . . . starting the first round of editor suggested revisions. The email came friday. Not so bad. I'm sure it's perfectly normal to have that many edits on each page, right? Heh, heh. No one just writes a book and has it sent straight to the pressing house. I'm not alone in this (shut up perfect people).

It is painful to see all that things I did wrong, and to hear about the things I should change. But the fact is I am very grateful for my editor. I am lucky, lucky, lucky, and even if I do cringe a little when I see something that I thought was so cute and stylistic being crossed out, I know it's all for the best. Someone who is actually good at this writing stuff has touched my manuscript. They touched and loved on it a little, and that's a fine thing.

But still . . . here's video showing how much fun this whole process is. Have a great Sunday.

Short Story Submissions

2011-06-08T05:40:00.001-07:00

I wrote a story last week that has now become one of my favorites, so today I think I will do some research on submission letters. I've sent things out before, but I get so darn nervous with the whole submission process, editors, and all that. For lack of better words, my brain freaks out. If anyone has advice on these things, go ahead and lay it on me.

Also, I should be receiving notes from my editor any day now. I feel nervous about that, because it's almost like someone looking through your dirty laundry, isn't it? They are lookingfor weak areas, mistakes to be fixed. Shiver. Whatever she finds, I won't berate myself in shame, I'll just accept that we cannot always see flaws in our manuscripts, and thank heavens I have an editor to see what I couldn't see! Then, I'll work my butt off to do said changes (well, after procrastinating for half a day).

Yesterday I recorded another radio spot with my friend Marshall Rimann. It was a lot of fun! How cool is it to be allowed to go in a radio station and see all the inner workings of those folks? I love it. Completely cool experience!

Long time . . .

2011-06-05T06:46:00.000-07:00

Summer has completely thrown me off track. Any change in schedule does that to me. But I'm getting to the point where I can carry around a notebook and pen and try to produce a short story or thoughts on something for the future. Switching between music and writing is kind of crazy as well. You wouldn't think there would be such a difference, but there is. I've really started to realize these last few years that being a musician means you possess somewhat of an ego. There's a certain level of confidence needed to call and get gigs, and then to go play gigs. Being a writer is about honing your craft and knowing that someday success will happen. There's a lot of grace in writing, I love it. And I love being a musician. But I need grace. I need serenity. I'm very self-destructive and can't dwell in something that asks me to pump myself up all the time, 'cause that's just not something I can do. So, yeah, it's crazy.

Anyway, you can see my dilemma, my twisted thought process, like catching clouds.

I forgot to say, there's a new kitten in the house. That's what has really messed-up my schedule. But in a good way, 'cause she's a sweet little adorable thing. Julia wanted to name her Grape.

All is good . . .

2011-05-26T15:32:00.000-07:00

Just want to overwhelmingly thank everyone for the good thoughts and well wishes. We did have several tornado warnings yesterday, but all is good now. The sun is shining its beautiful shine.

I have a show tomorrow night at a coffeehouse in Kansas City, so that's what I'll be concentrating on tonight and tomorrow! Here's a poster I made to hand out at the gig. I'm happy with it; it's been in my head for a long time, but I was afraid I'd mess it up when pen met paper.

Take care out there! Love and Peace to all.

Get Crackin!

2011-05-24T05:31:00.001-07:00

Well, so summer has started, and I'm setting up a plan both for myself and the kids to keep busy. I want to finish two drafts, as well as illustrate a side project (just for fun), exercise, and read A LOT. For the kids, I want to help them draw and write books using art paper, have them put a few plays together, read a certain number of books, teach Julia more of her sight words and phonics and math for 1st grade. Julia wants to film little videos of her toys (like little plays) for YouTube, and also I want to film her drawing her pictures for a little series on YouTube.

I'm hoping there will be a vacation sometime, but I'm not counting on it.

And that's about it. Swimming, baking, trips to the nature park . . . Summer is here!

Storms

2011-05-23T08:00:00.001-07:00

It's a sad and strange day. There was a tornado a couple of hours from here in a town I've been to a few times. Actually, one of the bands I played with the other week is from Joplin, Mo. and I've been thinking of them today. I could see the back end of the storm late afternoon yesterday as I stood in a sun-filled backyard, and I kept thinking how stark and black the clouds looked in comparison to the rest of the sky. I wondered if it was going to turn bad. Just Saturday night I had to wake up the whole house to go down to the basement when the sirens went off. Julia was frightened but I told her we were lucky to have a basement as I wrapped her in blankets and led her downstairs. Liam slept through the whole thing. I carried him down and placed him on the old couch.

Tomorrow looks to be a bad day with a high risk for storms in our area. But for now, all I can think of is Joplin and all the people who live there, and those who died. There's something about how when a disaster happens somewhere else in the world, you feel compassion and concern, but it's distant. When it happens close, you feel it in your bones. It's people you know, and places you've been.

I'm thinking of you Joplin. You're in my heart today.

2011-05-20T10:37:00.000-07:00

Is this what Rapture looks like?

"Frankly my dear, I ain't Frank"

2011-05-19T08:03:00.001-07:00

I was thinking yesterday about Gone With the Wind, mostly about the ending. You know: Rhett's finally had it, "Frankly Scarlett, I don't give a damn." "Fiddle dee dee, I'll just go back to Tara." You know the bit. A sequel was written by another author, but it wasn't that great. I don't know, I just keep thinking, what would Scarlett really have done after that? I'd love to hear your ideas. Here's what I came up with:

Scarlett does indeed go back to Tara. She fixes the place, throwing a ball to recapture the days of her youth, but everyone hates her and no one shows up. However, Ashely, who's a widower now, fixes up his old family home, and tries to get Scarlett to fall in love with him again. She says no, no, I hate men, leave me alone you scoundrel! He makes up a lie to tell her Rhett has taken up with a woman in New York, and Scarlett goes there to see for herself. She buys a brownstone near Central Park where she can keep tab on the whereabouts of Rhett, but slowly realizes he's not chasing skirts, but caught up in a money fraud connected with the government—though he's innocent. One night they have a heated (in many ways) reunion and he confesses that he still loves her—just then bullets start flying and Scarlett must save both of their lives. Rhett tells her to go back to Tara where she belongs! but she can't until she can figure out why the gov is trying to kill her man. A bullet pierces her dress-front, but a bone in her corset ricochets the bullet off into space and . . .

Okay, this is getting bad. Did you really read all that? I'll have to think about the ending. Hope you're having a beautiful day.

And on the Agenda for Today . . .

2011-05-17T11:19:00.000-07:00

To extend my boringness, I'll post two really really boring videos. The first one is a bee that caught my attention when I was out in the garden. His wings were so loud I just had to grab the camera and follow him in pursuit of clover. And the other is a loud, barking Henry, enjoying life in the tall grass.

But this news isn't boring at all: Ann Carbine Best just had a book release yesterday for her memoir, In the Mirror. She's extremely talented, and a lovely, lovely person. Congratulations Ann!! Go here to read a spectacular review of the book on Ann's blog.

Talk

2011-05-16T06:52:00.001-07:00

I'm still in a non-talkative mode. Not sure why or how I get like this, but it can be frustrating. I've always wondered how other people seem to have a gift of chattering away for hours on end without any provocation. They walk through the grocery store with their phone headsets just talking away about, what's for dinner, or, who's gonna let the cat out, or, how someone's neighbor made brownies without any milk (it's true, I heard that very conversation at a grocery store a while back).How is it so easy for people to make talk so effortlessly? Sometimes I wish I could, and other times I'm glad I can't. Oh well, I'm thinking too much. Probably best to just enjoy the silence and not get all stressed about it.

'Enary the eighth I-yam-I-yam . . .

2011-05-14T06:38:00.001-07:00

Here's a picture of my Henry. It's probably illegal how cute he is. He's a good boy too. Hates squirrels. Loves me.

Finland or Funland? You decide.

2011-05-12T08:53:00.000-07:00

I have nothing to say. Nothing. This happens to me sometimes. Maybe I should just move to Finland.

The day after . . .

2011-05-10T08:10:00.000-07:00

Last night was a lot of fun, and I'm still tired so don't fault me for having a sluggish post. I played a set of almost an hour since it was a shared show with two other acts, forgot a few words, but recovered well, I hope, and played the heck out of my old guitar. It was good to do this because I have wanted to play out for a long time, but as you know I suffer from pre-stage fright. When I get up there I love it, it's just the before that prevents me from gigging. So, I finally did it and the world didn't crash, I sang my heart out. Hopefully there will be more shows this summer.

Adding: Cro, I literally did what you said and dusted off my old brown suede boots. Okay, more than dusted, I had to rub them down, tape and glue the soles, glue a heel back in place, haha. It was major surgery. But it worked. I wore a pair of funky brown tights, kind of like fishnets, and the boots just looked like they had been to too many shows—which is true! We definitely have a history, those boots and me.

Thanks for all the good words yesterday! Have a beautiful Tuesday.

This is it

2011-05-09T04:19:00.000-07:00

Well today's the day. Or tonight rather. This is the worst and the best time of doing a gig, because it's when you realize all those stupid lyrics that are being forgotten will probably still be forgotten at the show, and there's no more time left to make your brain remember. It's when that darn guitar chord is still not sounding perfect and the guillotine nears close. It's when a performer gets to see their dreams come true. It's when we get to wear thicker make-up, and nice clothes, and we get to be important for a few hours of our lives. The best part is that someone new will be out there hearing our music for the first time.

I've been practicing down in the basement staring at a kid toy that's perched on a box, and it has become my best audience member . . .

Celebrate!

2011-05-08T09:42:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother's Day to all the mommies out there! It ain't an easy job, so I hope you're enjoying yourself and having a great day.

Moving on to other things . . . I was just thinking how much more accomplished I feel now that my book is to be published. It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Everyone I know has a degree, or a solid job doing something that is respected, and for the last few years I've felt as if I was grasping at straws, flailing from a worn rope. I love music, I love writing, and I love art. And I LOVE being a mom. I've put my heart and soul into all of those things. And finally, finally it feels like I'm graduating and being handed a degree. That's an incredibly nice feeling ya'll. Big time nice!

I feel like partying . . .

Penance

2011-05-06T05:02:00.001-07:00

I've been practicing for my gig for a while now, but this week was going to be a real lockdown with me going through the set once or twice every day while the kids were in school. Well you can guess what happened. Ear infections. Sick days. Extra money spent on doctor's visits and prescriptions. I had eighty dollars on Tuesday that I was going to use to buy a new pair of shoes for the gig. All gone. But . . . this is what being a mom is all about. So when Mother's Day rolls around this Sunday, I'm not going to be crying about what I have or don't have in terms or time or material possessions. As long as my kids are healthy and happy, then life is good for me. Just hand me a margarita and we'll call it even.

Gig Talk

2011-05-04T09:10:00.000-07:00

I'm just in a weird funk today. Best to stay positive, so instead of talking about how nervous I am about gigging, I'll mention how beautiful it is outside. The sun is shining and it finally feels like spring! Take that winter!!

How are things in your world?

Family

2011-05-03T05:00:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to let you know my mom has a book out on Kindle of short stories called First Dates. It's a nice mixture of crime and romance, with a bit of humor thrown in. Give it a look if you have some time. I think I'll do an interview soon. Do you hear that, Mom? She's jumping up and down now.

Here's the link.

I'll be back later after the morning has settled down!

Justice

2011-05-02T16:44:00.000-07:00

Because such an important event has happened today, I will make a double post and tell you how I feel about all of it. You probably know I'm a liberal, though I do try extremely hard to look at things from a clean perspective without any labels to cloud my view. What I feel today is not what I would have felt as an eighteen-year-old. I was really liberal then! I would have said that murder is murder and no one should rejoice a man being killed just for revenge. Well, the older Amy says Osama Bin Laden being killed was more than just. For all the families that have suffered with grief these last ten years, and for the continued growth of hatred spread by Osama, murder was the right thing to do. It's no coincidence his death coincides with Hitler's—and by the way, a famous white supremacist was murdered recently. I find that of no coincidence either. The universe has a way of sending out messages. And this message is clear: death to hatred, death to racism, death to judgment, and pain, and misery. Let it be gone from this earth for good.

After 9/11 I spent every evening for almost a year crouched on my darkened kitchen floor praying for those that were killed, and for the families still living. Something in me felt compelled to do this. I ached for them, as we all did and still do. The world can now feel joy again, if it wishes. The air feels clean. Justice has been served.

In Retrospect . . .

2011-05-02T07:36:00.000-07:00

The most impressive thing about the AtoZ challenge was just how many bloggers visited, commented, and how positive everyone was. Some blogs were funny, some were informative. You know I joked around yesterday about how hard the challenge was, but actually it wasn't that bad. Knowing I had a certain letter to topic each day was a nice excursion from having to randomly pick a subject as usual. And I learned so much from each person. Thanks for that. And thank you to Arlee who started the challenge!