Mary Stella's Postcards from Paradise

Purging Titles

2012-02-26T10:51:00.000-05:00

Over the last year or so, I realized that, prepare yourself for the shock bibliophiles, I have too many books in my house. The paperbacks are double stacked on my floor to ceiling bookshelves. My master bedroom was overrun with bags of books. The office that could qualify me as a hoarder had boxes teetering on other boxes of books until I couldn't find the room to even walk into the room.

I knew I had to do something about the situation before the floors caved or the stacks grew to such height that one day the boxes would tumble and bury me and the dogs. Going through the boxes and bags was a task I set for myself every weekend. Every weekend because one Sat-Sun set would arrive and I'd find many other things to do other than sort through the books. When you love books and reading as much as I do, books are not just paper pages between covers. They matter. The stories don't just entertain, they transport us to fabulous adventures and introduce us to people for whom we grow to care.

One of the reasons that I bought a Kindle a few years ago was so that I could continue to supply my voracious reading habit without overwhelming my already jam-packed space.

When I scheduled my surgery, I asked a good friend if she would come down and stay with me while I recovered. I knew the doctors would put some restrictions on my activities and I also knew that I would get bored recuperating at home without company. My brother and sister-in-law stayed with me for the first week, then Marilyn arrived. Mar has a lot of energy and was eager to help. She readily agreed to help me with the book sorting endeavor.

I wasn't allowed to lift any boxes or bags so Mar dragged them out of my office to my recliner. It took me forever to go through each container. I lifted each book out and studied it. Some were no-brainers. Heather Graham, Jenny Crusie, Lani Diane Rich, Anne Stuart, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Nora Roberts - automatic keepers forever. Books by other close friends -- also keepers.

Books that were freebies in gift bags from conferences or contests -- into the "donate" box. Even if I liked the book, I had to be ruthless. If it wasn't a book that I was likely to read again, it had to go. Some of them were books that I'd greatly enjoyed. Take the J.D. Robb (also Nora Roberts) In Death series. As much as I love Eve and Roark and the mysteries, I knew that I was unlikely to re-read the entire series. I'll buy the new releases on my Kindle.

The project took me a couple of hours and a lot of tough self-talk, particularly when I dithered over some of the titles. I literally sighed over some of the books before I gently added them to a box. When finally finished I had five boxes ready to donate and one half-full box of books to keep. Before I could change my mind or second-guess my decisions, Marilyn loaded them into my car.

I took them to our local library where a very nice man unloaded the boxes and all of the librarians profusely thanked me for remembering them. Public libraries by and large suffer from cuts in funding. Ours sells used books to supplement their income.

It comforts me to know my books will find good new homes where they will be read, appreciated and, hopefully, shared with still other readers. I also believe that the ones I donated will help gain new fans and dedicated readers for their authors which will spur additional sales.

It's all good. Really.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!

2012-02-12T14:27:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I posted here with any regularity. For that, I apologize. I've had a lot going on. Last summer, I decided to have weight loss surgery -- a Vertical Sleeve Gastrectomy in which 70% of my stomach was removed. Once I made the decision and set myself on the path, my life then got consumed with doctor's appointments, medical tests, evaluations, consults and follow-ups. The sleep test experience that I blogged about a few posts ago was part of that process.

The good news is that, with the exception of being obese with some high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and Type II diabetes (non-insulin dependent), I don't have other major issues and was a good candidate for the operation.

I had the operation on January 25th and am now on the post-op recovery and transition process. Believe me, it's a process. I started on a liquid diet two weeks before the surgery. For the first ten days post-op I was limited to clear liquids. Now I'm on "full liquids" until I see the doctor again on February 24th. It's boring, but my remaining stomach is still healing and my digestive system is adjusting. Boring, but effective. I've lost 36 pounds as of this morning.

I've started a separate blog, devoted to the surgical process, the changes in my life and health, my past history with weight, food and body image issues, and the promise of an amazing transformation ahead. If you're interested in joining the discussion of that part of my life, please visit me over at Weighty Matters.

A lot of people have asked why I made this decision now. I think it's a fair question and one that's sort of universal for anyone who makes a big change. Why do two people who have lived together in a relationship decide to get married? Why does someone leave a long time relationship? Make a drastic career change? Cut off their long blonde hair and dye the remainder red?

For me, I'd hit the point where I realized that after struggling with diets and my weight for most of my life, I needed to do something serious, some say drastic, and irrevocable. I'm 54 and my body demonstrated to me on a daily basis that if I continued without change, I would be disabled by the time I reached 60, or I'd die before getting to that age. This is my line in the sand.

Ten years ago, I made another big change. I left my home in New Jersey, moved to the Florida Keys, and started a new career that has been the most amazingly wonderful thing for me.

Two major changes with different motivations: One motivated by desperation and the realization that it was time to put up or shut up and die; One motivated by the bright promise of being part of a terrific mission and involved in something greater than myself.

Different motivations but both changes improve the quality of my life.

So, I ask you, readers, what changes have you made in your life? What changes would you like to make? Do you know why? What keeps you from making the steps?

Shout Out for Great New Book

2012-01-31T09:01:00.000-05:00

Hi, friends,
I know I've been absent for a while. I'll be back soon with a report on what's kept me from blogging. For today, however, I want to give a big shout out to my friend, a fabulous author, Lucy March. Her terrific new book A Little Night Magic hit the streets -- or your favorite e-reading device -- today!

Fresh, funny, charming with characters you'll fall in love with, this book will absolutely win your heart.

Don't take my word for it. Visit The Bettyverse, a blog community created by Lucy, to read the reviews.

Congratulations, Lucy. I already can't wait for my next visit to Nodaway Falls.

Hitting the Road - Virtually Speaking!

2012-01-01T12:23:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope that 2012 is an amazing year for all of us.

I'm starting out the year on the road, in a manner of speaking, by taking part in my first ever blog tour. Beginning January 3rd and going to the 13th, I'll be interviewed or share guest posts on a variety of different blogs around the Internet.

Come on by and visit me at these sites:

Tuesday, January 3
Interviewed at Blogcritics

Wednesday, January 4
Interviewed at Divine Caroline

Thursday, January 5
Guest Blogging at Waiting on Sunday to Drown

Friday, January 6
Guest Blogging at Allvoices

Monday, January 9
Interviewed at Examiner
Guest Blogging at Open Salon

Tuesday, January 10
Interviewed at Review From Here

Wednesday, January 11
Interviewed at Literal Exposure
Guest Blogging at Shine

Thursday, January 12
Interviewed at American Chronicle

Friday, January 13
Guest Blogging at Broowaha
Reviewed at Waiting on Sunday to Drown

The amazing Tracee Gleichner of LiteralExposure.com and PumpUpYourBook.com put together the tour. If you'd like to see the page she composed for me, please click here.

See you on the road!

Holiday Cards

2011-12-17T17:10:00.000-05:00

Last year I ran so far behind in the holiday season that I never did cards. I felt like I'd failed on a basic, important rite of the season. It's not like I have a list that stretches around the house. I don't send cards to people that I work with or otherwise see all of the time. This is a way to reach out and let my far away friends and family know that I'm thinking of them, looking forward to seeing some of them when I travel up north, and let them have a look at my life.

Yes, when I moved to Florida I became a fan of holiday photo cards. Who wouldn't if, like me, they could include photos of themselves posed with dolphins or sea lions?

This year, I was determined to get cards out before Christmas actually happened. While I was in the process of writing them out and addressing envelopes, I couldn't help but think of my Mom. She had a system for doing her cards each year. Good thing, because I believe she did a few hundred every year and wrote out a message and signature on every card.

Right after Thanksgiving she got out the card table and set it up in the corner of the sun porch with her address books, boxes of cards and special pens. That way she could still sit in the evening and watch television with the family while she worked on the cards. Over the course of several days and nights, she first wrote out the envelopes, carefully sorting those for friends who lived in other countries into a separate stack. Once she'd addressed all 200 or 300, she wrote the messages on the cards, slipped them into the envelopes and sealed them. Some years she had our return address printed on the envelope, but sometimes she used a gadget that impressed the address into the envelope flap before she sealed it shut. Once the cards were assembled, she affixed pretty holiday stamps and stacked them into the now empty card boxes for easy, neat transport to the post office.

As you know from my previous post, my handwriting is less than stellar, so the only way that I could help was to seal and stamp cards.

This was a big task every year, but Mom seemed to enjoy doing it and I don't remember her every complaining. Judging from the number of cards she received each year, the recipients loved the fact that she took the time and made the effort.

I do about 80 cards each year. This year I finished over the course of two evenings and only complained to myself twice about hand cramps.

For everyone who doesn't get a card from me in the mail, allow me to take the elctronic route to wish you a very happy holiday!

Do you send out holiday cards? Are you an annual letter writer, too? Do you prefer traditional or photo cards, or do you send out your seasonal greetings via email?

Penmanship Blues

2011-12-12T23:16:00.000-05:00

Those of you of a certain age will remember the penmanship exercises that were required of us in school around third and fourth grades.   We clutched our #2 pencils in our little hands, gritted our teeth, checked the samples and painstakingly practiced over and over again on lined paper. I clearly remember that pensmanship was a particularly big deal -- a right of passage, actually, when our progress was tested and assessed. Those of us whose penmanship passed muster were awarded with our first pens. Oh, so grown up!

I also remember the whole thing being a difficult, frustrating time in my scholastic career. My handwriting was so lousy that I was the next to last student in 4th grade to make that transition from childish pencil to mature pen.  The only kid behind me was the class goof off who was repeating the grade.

Sad to say, my penmanship is only marginally better now. It's legible, but only if I really take my time, and by no stretch of the generous imagination is my writing pretty. This has always bothered me, probably because such an emphasis was placed on good handwriting when I was a kid. Plus, my mother, grandmother, aunts and female cousins all had excellent penmanship. Even my older brother writes more neatly and clearly. Only my father's writing was worse and he got the free pass under the old stereotype of "all doctors have messy handwriting".

Thankfully, I am an excellent typist with great speed and accuracy.  My fingers fly over the keys and words, sentences, even paragraphs, pour out onto the screen.  This is an enormous benefit because, as a writer, ideas sometimes come so quickly that I'd never be able to write fast enough to keep pace.  If I tried, the words would resemble a mish-mash of illegible ink.

Unfortunately, I can't type out the messages onto my annual holiday cards. Oh, sure, I can have my name printed professionally on the card, but I like to include a few words of my own. I've been scrawling messages and addresses and signing my name for hours. Sometimes I look at the words and wonder if the recipient will have any trouble reading what I wrote.

Here's a sample:

Not sure why the picture's loading sideways, but at least you can see the messy, cramped, less than textbook cursed cursive. Told you it was bad!

I know it isn't something I can really change at this late date, particularly when there are so many other, more important things to accomplish. Instead I try to remember to take my time and not rush writing. This helps me reduce the errors and sloppy look of the letters.

Do kids in school today even spend time on penmanship, or do they just go on by their own after someone introduces them to cursive over printing? Is it a forgotten art or now-overlooked skill?

What do you think? Do you have good handwriting or bad? Does it matter?

Sleep, Perchance to . . . Beep?

2011-12-03T19:46:00.001-05:00

I'm currently involved in some proactive health assessments and evaluations. I'll be 54 soon and I'm overweight, so there are things that need to be checked. This lead me to my first ever consult with a pulmonologist earlier this week. I had no idea what to expect but went into it with a positive outlook.

I was impressed right from the get-go when the nurse took me back for my vitals. Paper charts and manila folders are so yesteryear in this practice. The woman carried an iPad loaded with a special medical record program (app?) into which she typed my deets. She then took me to another room for a breathing test. Yes, I know it's obvious whether we're breathing, but it's all a matter of degree and this test analyzed things like my lung capacity, how much capacity I used and some other stuff I assumed had something to do with the efficiency of my breathing. Again the equipment was connected to a computer and even if I had no idea what the patterns and numbers meant, I could at least watch them appear.

The tests weren't complicated. Just put my lips around the mouthpiece and blow. (Points if you know the actress I just paraphrased and what actor she said the line to.)

It wasn't that easy. It started out with regular breaths, which was fine. While I breathed, a line appeared on the computer screen, moving around and creating circles, sort of like an air-powered etch-a-sketch. Then the nurse instructed me to take the deepest breath possible and blow it out as hard as I could and keep pushing. To emphasis her point, when it was time to exhale, she clapped her hands together and yelled, "BLOW!"

Readers, I blew until no air remained and with her urging me on with "More! More! More!" continued to force still more air from my lungs.   Not so easy when one is a romance author who immediately thought up innuendos and had to fight back laughter.

My reward was to repeat that particular test. The next exercise required me to force myself to hyperventilate. I did that one so well that my head spun and I subtly grabbed the desk to steady myself before I passed out. "I'm okay," I assured the nurse, ignoring the throbbing temples and pretty sparkling lights dancing in front of my eyes.

She adjusted the equipment for the final test.   My wooziness cleared in time for me to breathe in against resistance. Again, I'm not sure what that test indicated. I would have asked but my head began to spin again and I needed my concentration to stay upright in the chair.

Thankfully, everything steadied while she clicked some keys on the computer laptop that had tracked my results. I'm fairly sure she also magically beamed the results to the doctor's laptop because he had everything at his fingertips when he met me back in the exam room a few minutes later.

I really liked this doctor. He's warm, friendly, and a smart aleck, but he talks to patients like we're intelligent and capable of understanding his explanations. I respond well to that kind of personality and within a minute was kidding back with him. He reviewed my medical history and that of my family and then gave me a heart-to-heart, in depth explanation of sleep apnea, which is drastically underdiagnosed in women.

Prior to this appointment I knew that with sleep apnea you can momentarily stop breathing sometimes when you sleep which is bad for your heart and contributes to high blood pressure, and can make you sleepy during the day. I now know that it can also contribute to a variety of other conditions including diabetes, restless leg syndrome and night terrors. It might also cause global warming and be responsible for our national debt.

Wanting to help our enviroment and economy while also increasing my chances of surviving my next nap, I naturally consented to a sleep test. They scheduled me an appointment for last night and sent me off with my instruction sheet.

1) No stimulants (coffee, tea, drugs) after 12 noon.
2) Bring pajamas or something comfortable to sleep in.
3) Make sure my hair was clean and dry
4) Bring toiletries but there were no shower facilities
5) No nail polish (I clarified that one bare nail would suffice.)
6) Eat dinner since there's no food in the sleep lab.
7) TV would be available but I might also want to bring a book.
8) No wild parties or loud music after 10 p.m. (Oh, sorry, that was a dorm rule back in college.)

The instruction sheet assured me that I would quickly grow accustomed to the monitoring equipment and that many patients ceased noticing it at all. (More on that.)

At the door, the sleep tech met me and the other two patients who were booked for accommodations that night -- both men -- and escorted us to the sleep lab. They went out of their way to make the rooms look like home bedrooms. Mine had a double bed and warm gold comforter-pillow sham decor with wood night tables, a comfy recliner and a flat screen television. I assume the other rooms were similar.

I filled out the consent paperwork, including the paragraph that said they could videotape me while I was sleeping and use it for instructional seminars. About that time it struck me that I was going to spend the evening in my pajamas with a couple of middle-aged men and two twenty-something sleep techs. With cameras. That's considered a good time in some situations, and illegal in several foreign countries.

The tech came back to collect the paperwork and explain the routine. I had a couple of hours to settle in and relax and then, about half an hour before I wanted to go to sleep, they'd come in and hook me up for monitoring. I went about my routine, appreciating that they'd given me the room closest to the restrooms so I wouldn't have to shuffle past the other patients in my jammies. I stretched out in the recliner, watched television, did some sewing, text messaged with my friend and whiled away the time.

Right on schedule, the techs wheeled in a table and asked me to take a seat in a straighter chair.
"Are you allergic to rubbing alcohol, rubber or latex?" they asked. When I told them no, they got to work. I soon learned why they wanted my hair clean and dry. They needed to part their way through it to my scalp so that they could first clean the area with alcohol, and then apply some rubbery adhesive stuff to stick electrodes to my head. They strapped stretchy belts around my chest and abdomen with additional electrodes, planted a couple in the area of my collar bones, put one on each leg and one on the bottom of my left foot. I'm pretty sure there were 12 or 13 electrodes in all.

They placed an oxygen tube in my nose and looped it around my ears, then banded all of the wires and tubes together for neat organization and individually plugged them into a rectangular box. That box was then connected via one cable into another piece of equipment.

He then gave me what I like to think was the sleep lab version of a pep talk. "So, all you need to do is relax and have a good night sleep. We'll be monitoring you from the other room. If you need anything, just talk to us and we'll hear you through the intercom and answer."

I nodded my understanding and he finished up his speech. "While we're monitoring you, if we determine that you're having an extreme number of unusual breathing events, the doctor has given us permission to enter the room and place a mask over your face."

Ohhhkayyyy.  I could stop breathing so many times that they might rush in and put an oxygen mask over my face? Oh yeah, I was sooo ready to relax.

The sweet sleep tech pulled back the covers for me. I climbed in and pulled them back over my shoulders. He clipped a pulse-ox monitor on my polish-less finger, wished me a good night and shut off the light as he closed the door.

Unlike many medical tests where the patient is required to participate, all I had to do now was be passive, sleep, and breathe. Should be easy, right? Even with 13 electrodes, gunk in your hair, a tube in your nose and a clamp on your finger, there's nothing to it.

Except that the mattress was too soft and the pillows flimsy. The electrode behind my right ear was jabbing me and the oxygen tube pulled too tightly against my throat. I don't know who those patients were who don't notice all these things, but I'm not one of them. Still and all, I managed to doze, probably for an hour, before waking up and then all of the things that were uncomfortable before seemed even more so. I stuck it out for awhile before finally speaking aloud into the dark room.

The tech immediately answered and returned to help me out. I figured I'd hit the restroom while I was at it, so he disconnected my cable for me to leave the room. I explained the other discomforts and he made a few adjustments, then left me to my slumber once more.

It took awhile for me to drop off again, partly because I could hear the guy in the next room snoring. You've heard the term "sawing wood"? This man could fell a forest. His wife must sleep with ear plugs.

The next several hours passed in a weird fusion of sleep and awakefulness.   All night long I dreamed of being in the sleep lab. When awake, I tossed and tried to get comfortable. In my dreams, I did the same thing. I think at one point I had the hand with the oxygen monitor lodged under my pillow and the tech had to come in the room and ask me not to do that anymore.  For the rest of the night, I thought about that in dreams and in reality.

Finally, I woke up and went through the process of getting disconnected, talking to the day shift, and having to demonstrate my morning balance by walking a small obstacle course they'd set up in the hallway.

Oh, no, that's the dream I had right before I woke up for real. I figured that out when I opened my eyes and realized I was still in bed with electrodes pressing into my scalp. Just to be sure, I propped myself up on an elbow and looked around the still dark room while my brain roused the rest of the way. I checked the time on my phone and figured 5:45 was late enough. I called out to my ~~keeper~~ observers. They were pretty cheerful for having been awake all night. Gabe carefully removed the leads and electrodes. It only hurt once when a little too much of my hair went with the adhesive.

Still, I kept a bright attitude.   "I don't know how much sleeping I did, but at least you didn't have to rush in with the mask!" I said. "You really did sleep and you didn't need a mask," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean you didn't have some events."

Ahh, a pre-dawn reality check! Just what I wanted.

He packed away all of his wires and gear and told me I was good to go whenever I was ready. I padded off to the restroom to wash my face, brush my teeth and dress. I remembered seeing a Starbucks when I drove in and my mood elevated over the thought of a steaming cup of tea. Maybe I'd even treat myself to breakfast at Cracker Barrel before driving home!

After checking the room to make sure that I had everything, I stuck my head into the monitoring room to thank the guys. "Our pleasure," Gabe said. "Oh, one more thing. The gunk that's still in your hair will wash out with hot water."

Gunk. In my hair. Clearly, I hadn't had enough sleep because I'd looked at myself in the mirror and not even reached for the hair brush. How could I have forgotten about the adhesive?

The idea of a hot breakfast was shelved and I breathed a thank you that Starbucks had a drive-through window. With a caffeine boost in hand, I hit the road, glad that my first ever sleep test was behind me.

I'll find out the results at the end of next week. I'm hoping that any "events" of stopping breathing are few in number. If not, then I might be told that I have to schedule a return reservation at the Sleep Lab Hotel.

Next time, I might bring my own pillow.

Random Sunday

2011-11-20T23:16:00.000-05:00

Well, we're almost at the three week mark of the Month of Thankfulness. I'm grateful that I've easily thought of something different each day for which to be grateful. If you're playing along, how's it going?

There's a lot of stuff going on to think about these days. I find it interesting that friends or co-workers have asked me more, by way of discussion, what I think about the child sex abuse scandal at Penn State University than about the various Occupy ______ protests. For the record, I'm heartsick that, apparently, the venerable institution Penn State totally messed up and by their inaction and ineffectiveness allowed one of their own to be a long-running, serial sexual abuser of children.

Regarding the Occupy movements, I'm not sure they have a clear mission statement at these protests. In the coverage I've seen, the protestors seem to be protesting a number of different things. Maybe they should change the name to Protest Fest and then we'll know that multiple causes are represented. The rest of us could stroll through, like it's a street fair, and learn about each issue, and then decide which one we want to stand with on any given day.

The First Lady Michelle Obama and Second Lady Dr. Jill Biden were introduced at the NASCAR race today and some people in the crowd booed. I think that's tacky and mean-spirited. On the other hand, we're in America and I'm glad that we have the right to boo or other wise express our feelings in public... unless, of course, you're at an Occupy protest, in which case doing so might result in authorities hitting you with tear gas or pepper spray.

My Philadelphia Eagles have played pretty lousy the last few weeks. Prior to tonight's game against rival team the NY Giants, all I asked was that the Eagles do their best to not suck too badly. Their defense has really held up and they're now locked in a late game tie. I'm sleep and would love to go to bed, but if I do and they lose, I'll feel terribly guilty for withdrawing my support. Right, like the team knows and cares what I think or whether I'm watching.

I had a dream last week that I was making a presentation to the mob on how to improve their business with better marketing. Can you think of any industry less likely to successfully make over their image? Except for Penn State that is.

Eagles scored! Woohoo. Glad I didn't go to bed yet. Now let's see if they can hold the lead for 2:45 left in regulation play.

A Month of Thankfulness

2011-11-02T23:09:00.000-04:00

I was reminded last week that we have a chance to choose our attitude every morning before our feet hit the floor. That reminded me of a book called Simple Abundance by the author Sarah Ban Breathnach. I first heard of her and her book via the Oprah Show. Oprah and Sarah introduced me to something that helped me immeasurably 13 years ago -- the concept of keeping a gratitude journal.

In 1998, my mother was suffering multiple health complications and slowly dying from cancer.  I was taking care of her in our family home. Knowing that we were inevitably going to lose this remarkable, loving woman created a soul-deep sadness. I wouldn't let it show in front of her, but I couldn't banish it either. On top of that, there were nights when I was just so tired from the doctors' appointments, the medications, the shopping, cooking and laundry. I could feel my strength ebbing at a time when I needed it most. When Mom most needed me to be strong.

That Oprah show talked about the practice of keeping a gratitude journal and every day writing down five things for which I was grateful. Doing so, they said, would cultivate an attitude of gratitude and help in even dark times.

These times were pretty damned dark, but I chose to embrace the idea and give it a shot. Every night, I searched my thoughts and my heart for five things that I was thankful about. Some nights it was easy. Mom enjoyed a short walk on a sunny day. A friend left homemade soup for us to eat that evening. My brother and his family came down for a visit.  You get the idea. There are days when reasons to be grateful are abundant and we can pick them up like pretty flowers in a garden bursting with blooms.

There were also nights when it simply seemed that everything had gone wrong. Mom had a fever. The dog snuck the filets I planned to grill off the counter. I twisted my ankle. I forgot to put the just-washed clothes and bedding in the dryer. On those nights, I really just wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and cry.

Instead, I pulled out the journal and searched for five things. Did I mention that each night, they had to be different? No cheating and flipping back to a previous page to repeat items from another day's list. When you're finding five new things a day, you're not always going to set new records for being profound.   Some nights I wrote down things as simple as, "I'm grateful I breathed fresh air. I'm grateful the car started. I'm grateful Mom likes grilled cheese sandwiches. I'm grateful that funny show was on tv. I'm grateful I took a nap when Mom did." Quantity often won out over quality.

Turns out it didn't matter. This wasn't a contest. I didn't need to have big, wonderful things happen every day. Grand or basic, I only needed to be aware that something, anything, took place that was positive. Or, I could dig deeper into the negative and find something positive anyway. If there was no silver lining in the clouds, then I could appreciate the form and beauty of the clouds themselves. Storms don't always create rainbows, but rain can wash out oppressive heat.

At a point when I was dangerously close to being completely overwhelmed and almost caved into despair, nurturing the attitude of gratitude saved me. It became the lifeline I could hold onto to steady myself and stay upright. Repeating the exercise every night helped put my anxiety to rest so I could sleep better at night and wake up with positive energy.

I continued the practice for months, even after Mom died and it helped me cope. Gradually, I fell out of the habit of nightly gratitude-naming, but when rocky times have hit me sporadically over the years, I often return to the technique and it helps all over again.

Later this month, we celebrate Thanksgiving in this country. A friend posted on Facebook the other day that she'd picked up the idea to celebrate thankfulness every day in November. This made me think of the nightly gratitude journal and I wondered why I only turned to it in times of sadness or stress. Why shouldn't I also cultivate a grateful attitude when life is good?

I've adopted the idea from my friend. Every day on my Facebook page, I'm posting about something else that I'm thankful to have in my life. It's not that I'm only grateful for that thing on one day, just that I've chosen that day to share about something that touches me heart and soul. When the month is over, I might stop posting daily to FB, but I plan to check in with myself and do my gratitude acknowledgements instead of letting the habit fall out of my life again.

Some other friends have picked up the idea, too. It makes me smile to see what they're thankful for.

Join us, if you like. The comments are open.

Bad Asses, Jerk Whisperers, and Recognizing Our Own Awesome

2011-10-27T21:19:00.000-04:00

Honey, I'm home!

I'd love to say that I've been absent from the blog for several weeks because I was whisked away on an exotic trip by a thrilling man. Or because I was on the verge of a breakthrough on fixing every world problem. Or because I've been in deep negotiations to sell my books for major motion pictures.

Lies, all lies. Yes, I've traveled recently to the fabulous Novelists Inc. conference in St. Petersburg Beach, FL. Yes, I've fixed a few snafus and problems, but only in my own world and not the global sense. Major motion pictures? Hell, I haven't even been to see a movie in a couple of months.

The truth is that a whole bunch of things have been going on that add up to one big sum of something called daily life.

How about you?

Although I haven't frequently blogged, I've been exploring social media to greater extent through Twitter. I can't decide if I like it or think that it's a huge waste of time. On one hand, I'm entertained by snippets of info zipping around like warblers drunk on fermenting berries. Twitter's like the haiku of email or Facebook. Make your point in 140 characters or less. I love writing haiku, so this brevity challenge appeals to me. On the other hand, some people tweet or retweet others' tweets in constant streams to the point where it becomes visual noise. If I see a person list more than three Tweets in a row, I start to scroll past them to the next Tweeter, or is it Twitterer? Done right, Twitter is amusing and fun. Done wrong . . . ugh.

I hate the recent pages inflicted on us by Facebook, but I still go there every day to catch up, or try to catch up, on what's going on with friends, family and acquaintances. Face it. I can't call every single person every day. With FB, I feel in the know in between chats and visits.

One of my friends recently posted this photograph.

Now that's a philosophy I can live with and remember everytime someone who is being a jerk tries to manipulate me.

In addition to the written work, YouTube brings us more videos than we could ever have imagined. What did all these everyday, super funny and creative people do to share their creations with the world before YouTube?

A friend brought one video to my attention and within days, multiple friends who live in different parts of the country and don't know each other are quoting it. The thing has over 21 million views on YouTube. 21 million! I'm sure you've seen it. If not, click here. Oh yeah, honey badgers are bad ass.

In that vein, I also want to share a very cool realization that came to the young daughter of a friend of mine.

I don't care what you think about me.

Unless you think I'm AWESOME.

In which case, you're right.

Carry on.

More kids, and a huge number of adults, could benefit by recognizing and embracing our own awesomeness instead of fretting our lives away over other peoples' opinions. This terrific saying has now been emblazoned on shirts, mugs and other articles. Check them out here! I definitely want a mug.

Go forth my friends, in all of your awesomeness. Be bad ass honey badgers and get your needs met.

Part Two - The Keith Cronin Interview

2011-09-17T00:05:00.001-04:00

Clearly we aren't the only ones who think Keith's debut is a promising one. Here's some of the advance praise he received for Me Again.

"A beautifully wrought tale of courage, hope, and awakenings of all kinds."
~ Sara Gruen, author of Water for Elephants "Heart and humor are inseparable in Keith Cronin's engaging debut."
~ Susan Henderson, author of Up from the Blue
"A work that will make readers laugh and think."
~ Lauren Baratz-Logsted, author of The Thin Pink Line

While it's always interesting to read what other authors think of a book, I also wanted to find out what Keith's rock and roll colleagues thought about his "other" career.

MS: How did your rock 'n roll friends react when they heard about your book?

I think some of them are scratching their heads about this different side of me, but others are extremely supportive, and some of them have been very patient and enthusiastic readers and reviewers of early drafts of my work. I got to chat with Pat Travers recently, and he was thrilled to learn I had a novel coming out. He's the first person I can distinctly remember telling me I should write a book, and I think he was pretty happy to learn that his advice had actually led to something, some 20 years later.
KC:

MS: How do you manage two very different creative careers?

By taking what I learned from one and applying it to the other. From my music career, I know how to do the hard, focused work necessary to attain professional results, so I apply that discipline to writing. And I learned the hard way how crazy the music business was, which prepared me for the equally bizarre world of publishing. I also learned the importance of people skills. You can't succeed in either industry without a lot of support, and you won't garner that support by being a jerk. (At least not unless you can prove your ability to make other people rich while still being a jerk.)
KC:

But balancing the two careers has actually been pretty easy, because each one gives me a break from the other. But no matter which direction I'm pursuing, I'm still involved in some kind of creative effort. That's essential to me: the desire to constantly create has been a defining characteristic for me and my immediate family for as long as I can remember. So it's nice to have more than one option for pursuing that desire.

MS:
What's next for Keith Cronin writer?

KC: Tough call. Promoting this book seems to be a fulltime job, but I know that the next book won't write itself. I'm currently toying with a modern-day retelling of a famous old novel I dearly love, with the added twist of putting it into a rock n' roll context. But in the interest of following my own advice, I first want to think it through, and make sure I understand where the market might be for such a story.

The other thing I want to do is to learn to write faster. The two novels I've written each took more than two years to complete. I'd like to see if I can take what I've learned over the past decade - both about writing and about project management - and try to condense the process. This market is so challenging, and I hate the idea of putting years of work into a book that may not sell. But one thing I'm sure about: I want to continue to write for female readers. I think that's the audience where the kind of thing I write will most likely resonate; plus, they're just so much better-looking than male readers!

MS: One more question: Is it a spoiler for you to reveal why there's a Buddha in the cereal bowl?

Well, you may never see the Buddha actually in a cereal bowl in Me Again, but he does keep turning up in some unexpected places. And the Cheerios? They put in a brief cameo during one of the bigger emotional revelations in my book. How I ever came up with the idea of combining those two disparate images is something that probably wouldn't make sense to anybody who isn't familiar with the weird way my mind works. Ah, but you've seen that first-hand, Mary, so you can probably easily imagine the warped logic behind that creative impulse. If nothing else, I don't think there are many book covers that will be confused with mine. I mean, I never heard anybody say, "Oh, no - not ANOTHER Buddha-in-a-cereal-bowl book cover!"
KC:

MS:
Is there anything you'd like to add that I didn't ask? Go for it!

Lots of authors are offering freebies to try to attract readers. So here's mine: I would LOVE for you to read my book for free. All you need to do is ask your local library to order the book. Five Star, my publishing house, specializes in selling hardcover fiction to libraries. So by asking your librarian to order my book, you're helping my book succeed, and getting to read it for free. How cool is that?
KC:

MS: Keith, thanks so much for taking part in this interview. Me Again is next on my TBR list. Can't wait!

Readers, as further evidence that Keith is an all around cool, nice guy, he's donating 25% of his earnings from Me Again to the American Stroke Association, a division of the American Heart Association that focuses on reducing risk, disability, and death from stroke through research, education, fund raising and advocacy.

Chatting with Keith Cronin - Debut Author of Me Again

2011-09-16T00:05:00.001-04:00

Miracles can be damned inconvenient. That's what thirty-four-year-old stroke victim Jonathan Hooper learns when he wakes up after spending six years in a coma. Everyone calls Jonathan's recovery a "miracle," but since nobody had expected him to recover, his sudden awakening becomes an awkward intrusion on the lives of his family and friends. To make matters worse, Jonathan doesn't even recognize these people. The stroke has wiped away most of Jonathan's memory, while the coma has withered his body.
In short, Jonathan's not the man he used to be - whoever that was.
The only bright spot for Jonathan is Rebecca Chase, a young woman he meets in the hospital's long-term recovery unit. A stroke has drastically changed her personality, making her a stranger to her husband. Gone is the vivacious trophy wife, replaced by a shy, awkward woman with a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing.
Constantly reminded how badly they fit in, Jonathan and Rebecca find much in common with each other as they work on rebuilding - and rediscovering - their lives. But while Rebecca copes with her husband's frustrated attempts at "fixing" her, Jonathan finds mounting evidence that the man he used to be was not necessarily a very good man. And everywhere he turns, Jonathan keeps discovering more secrets that his own loved ones are keeping from him.
A steadily accelerating story exploring the irony, humor, and opportunity that can accompany personal calamity, Me Again follows the intertwined paths of two people forced to start over in life: one looking for his place in a world that has moved on without him, the other struggling to navigate a relationship with a man who wishes she were someone else.

Since first meeting Keith last winter, I've looked forward to reading his debut novel Me Again. Keith's a nice, interesting, very funny guy and I had a hunch that I and other people would enjoy learning more about the writer behind the book.

Here's what his website bio says:

Author of the novel ME AGAIN, Keith Cronin is a corporate speechwriter and professional rock drummer who has performed and recorded with artists including Bruce Springsteen, Clarence Clemons, and Pat Travers.

He is also becoming informally known as "the title guy," having provided the title for Sara Gruen's blockbuster Water for Elephants, as well as Susan Henderson's HarperCollins debut Up from the Blue.
Keith is a regular contributor at the literary blog Writer Unboxed, named one of Writer's Digest 101 Best Websites for the past five years. His fiction has appeared in Carve Magazine, Amarillo Bay, The Scruffy Dog Review, Zinos, and a University of Phoenix management course. He holds a bachelor's degree in music from Indiana University, and earned his MBA at Florida Atlantic University. A native of South Florida, Keith spends his free time serenading local ducks and squirrels with his ukulele.

Now here's part one of what Keith says about himself and his work:

MS: Me Again is your debut novel. According to your website, you've written shorter fiction before, but it looks like you're primarily known as a musician. Has writing a novel been a long-held dream, or is this a newer trip on your creative journey?

KC: Back in the late 80s I toured with the Pat Travers Band, and Pat and I were both big readers, often loaning each other books to help pass the endless hours spent on the bus. Pat was always telling me I should write a book, but at the time I didn't feel I had a story to tell. I mean, I knew I supposedly had "a way with words," but I didn't know what to say with those words. It wasn't until the late 90s that I started getting serious about writing fiction. But I got very serious indeed, and ended up devoting the next ten years to learning the craft and the business, with the goal of becoming a published novelist.

MS: The description of Me Again is so different and intriguing. What moved you to write this particular story?

KC: I'll admit, at first it was just an intriguing "what if?" premise, making me curious to see what my characters would do. For many of us, the occasional desire for a "do-over" in life is a pretty universal thing, whether we're at a point where things are going so badly that we want to start over, or we're wistfully wondering what our lives would be like if we had made some different choices or taken some different paths. But in Me Again, I forced the issue, giving both of my characters a do-over that they never asked for.

But as I got caught up in the writing, I became far more focused on how my characters would feel under these circumstances, and it was their emotions that in turn drove their actions - all while I sat back and watched. I learned a lot while writing this book: both my characters and I made some major emotional discoveries along the way. That's the power of fiction, but I'll admit this was my first time tapping into that power so directly.

MS: I'm sure you've learned that it's unique for a man to write a book that's characterized as women's fiction. Is there a story behind that, too? Did you set out to write women's fiction or is did you realize that's what you had when finished?

KC: I really don't tend to think in genres - I'm an EORAW (Equal Opportunity Reader And Writer). But I did consciously set out to write a book that women would be interested in reading. For one thing, I believe there are more women reading fiction than men, and that they are more open-minded about what they read. But I was also at a point in my life where I felt ready to tackle some pretty intense emotional issues with my writing, viewed through a lens that seeks the positive - or at least the funny - side of even the darkest situation. I was hoping that this sort of world view might lend itself to some compelling and emotionally substantial storytelling.

When Five Star announced they wanted to acquire my book for their Expressions line of women's fiction and romance, I was a little surprised, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Although my first-person narrator is male, the main female character in my book goes through a major transformation, which I think is one of the essential components of good women's fiction.

MS: What's been the biggest challenge? What's the most important thing you've learned? Anything you wish you'd done differently?

KC: One of the biggest challenges is staying positive and focused in such a daunting pursuit. You hear so many more no's than yes's in this line of work, and it's easy to become bitter or jealous, but that's such a waste of energy. The key is to keep your eyes and ears open, and learn from your experiences, even if the lessons you're being taught seem illogical or unfair. That old "Serenity Prayer" comes to mind:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.

That last part is tricky, though. Many aspiring writers become downtrodden and desperate, and begin to assume that they can't change certain things, when in reality they probably could change them if they tried. I'm always a little skeptical when I start hearing "that's the way it is in this business," or "that's the way we've always done it." So I'm definitely trying to approach my writing career from the driver's seat, not simply along for the ride. Obviously, I'm not alone in my thinking, as witnessed by the revolutionary changes we're starting to see in publishing, particularly with e-books.

As far as things to do differently, I think I could have worked even harder to understand how genres are perceived by the decision makers in this industry. I mean, even though I may not care about genre, you can bet the editorial and marketing departments of all the publishing houses do care. So rather than buy into the popular advice of "just write the story that's in your heart, and it will find its way to success," I think it's more realistic to look for how your passions and storytelling instincts intersect with the current market, and try to write something that aims for that point of intersection. Easy as pie, right? Next I'll explain how I would handle cold fusion and solve world hunger.

Check back tomorrow for part 2 of the Keith Cronin interview where we discuss ~~cold fusion, world hunger~~, handling a dual career and other interesting topics. In the meantime, check out Keith's website to download an excerpt of Me Again.

Keith Cronin - Debut Author / Rock Drummer - Interview Coming Soon!

2011-09-10T20:19:00.000-04:00

A few months ago, I went to one of the monthly meetings of Florida Romance Writers and met a new member named Keith Cronin. As you might suppose, male writers are in the minority in romance groups. Men who are also rock and roll drummers are even more rare. Keith and I talked for awhile and my initial impression was that he was a cool guy, comfortable in his own skin, smart and very witty.

Okay, my initial impression actually was, "This guy's funny as hell!"

I learned that his debut novel, Me Again, would soon be published. Over the months I learned more about Keith's book and it really grabbed my interest. I think his personal story - rock musician turns author of a book marketed as womens fiction - is pretty interesting, too, so I asked if I could interview him for my blog.

Happily, he agreed. Stay tuned for the Keith Cronin interview in two parts on Friday and Saturday. In the meantime, check out this awesome trailer for Me Again, produced by and featuring original music written and performed by Keith's significant other Luna Jade.

To learn more about Keith and his debut novel, visit his website.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

2011-09-07T22:21:00.000-04:00

I love baseball. Go Phillies!

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Spicing Life with Variety

2011-09-04T18:36:00.000-04:00

I'm having lots of fun this weekend and I realized that to some extent it's because life hasn't been the "same old same old". Let me give you a quick recap. . .

Came home from work on Friday, put on my Phillies T-shirt and settled into watching the Phillies play the Marlins on television. This was the perfect, relaxing way to end a busy day. Saturday, I slept in a little, and then did some things around the house. Ran up to the veterinarian's office to get heartworm preventative meds for Nat and Pyxi and then checked in at the salon for a mini-facial. Ahhh.

Hit the supermarket to pick up the makings of meals over the next few days.  Got everything put away at home. Read for a while on the porch. Chatted with a neighbor. Jumped into the pool for some exercise. Made dinner, then showered and got ready to join friends at a small gathering to celebrate a friend's birthday and survey some, um, risque' products. (Chocolate vodka and amaretto = delicious martini.)

This morning I had a personal to-do list: Enjoy a leisurely breakfast and read the paper; Assemble ingredients in the crock pot and get it started for dinner later;  Purchase a grease gun and marine-grade lubricant and attempt to grease the zercs on my boat. (This meant learning what zercs are, not to mention figure out how to assemble and load a grease gun.); meet my friend back at the salon to get my eyelashes permed (no mascara necessary); Take Nat and Pyxi up to DRC to meet the DolphinLab students they'll be working with all week; Come home and attempt to grease said zercs (I was semi-successful but need a little instruction.); Add salt to the pool; Exercise in pool.

Whew! Now that's a day. I'm a little tired, but pleasantly so.  My muscles have that stretched, fluid warm feel. My mind is completely content and relaxed. My house smells delicious and I'm almost ready to enjoy that dinner that's been cooking all day.

Read as a list, no one thing that I did was all that exciting. Certainly nothing to make you clap your hands with glee and think, "Wow. Can't wait to get to it!" Even so, each item on the list added up to a whole being greater than the sum of its parts. The day, as a whole, brought some fun, some challenge, and a great deal of satisfaction.

Wonder if I can achieve the same level of satisfaction with whatever I do tomorrow?

Role Reversal

2011-08-27T22:51:00.000-04:00

It's 10 p.m. and I'm safe at home with power and water. The weather outside is calm and quiet. We escaped hurricane warnings and watches this time. Meanwhile, Hurricane Irene is battering family and friends in New Jersey and then running up to New York all the way to Massachusetts. It feels so strange to monitor the television coverage, the forecast and tracking maps and feel such concern for everyone up home.

As one friend posted a couple of days ago on Facebook, there's something wrong when they're in the cone (the cone of death as we only half-jokingly refer to it down here) and I'm not.

This time last week, it looked like Irene would head straight for us here in the Florida Keys. By Thursday (a couple of days ago.), I would either have been hunkered down at home or have evacuated the day before for safer shelter on the mainland. My hurricane supplies of bottled water and food that needs no refrigeration are stored in the spare bedroom. I know my plan an dhow to prepare. Then with each forecast update, the track of the storm moved further east and, eventually, the storm traveled past with just a brush of gusty wind and some rain from its outermost circle.

The television news and weather teams turned their focus to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and the track that would take Irene right up the coast. Evacuations for coastal areas of several states were planned. The governor of New Jersey told people still on the beaches that they should get their asses off the beach and go. New York City shut down their subway system. The president returned from Martha's Vineyard.

I talked to some friends who shared what they were doing to prepare. "Don't forget to gas up your car and get cash from the bank. If your power goes out, the gas pumps and ATMS won't work." They hadn't thought of that, they said.

"Fill up your tub with water, too. Then if your city water gets shut off, you can use the water from your tub to flush your toilets."

Something else they hadn't thought of. Of course they hadn't. Flashlights, batteries, bottled water, non-perishable food, move things indoors, board up big windows -- those things almost instinctively come to mind. Not being able to flush your toilets isn't something that springs readily to the front of your brain when you live in the Northeast.

Here in the Florida Keys, we know these things like we know that the sun will burn you if you stay out in it unprotected.

I watched some interviews with people in vulnerable coastal areas who insisted that they would "ride out the storm". One guy was insistent that nothing would hurt his house. He could be right, but he's on the coast in a flood zone and sure to get hit by big-time storm surge. I wonder if he thought about his car(s). Back in 2005 when Hurricane Wilma hit Florida, the Keys didn't get as much of a wind event, but the storm surge was big -- 7 to 10 feet in some places. At work, we had ground level buildings that were so flooded they needed to be gutted, including the interior walls ripped out, and new wiring and walls installed. That happened to plenty of homes as well. But even those people whose homes are on stilts found out that while they were safe, their cars were ruined by the flooding of salt water. Hard lessons, but we learned.

The family members and friends who are on islands in Jersey have evacuated to friends' homes further inland. I'm glad they didn't take risks and try to "ride out" Irene in their homes. I hope when they return, they'll find their homes free of damage. Thankfully, the hurricane is not the Cat 3 that it was before, but make no mistake, there's no such thing as "just" a Category 1.

Some of the people up north are bitching that government officials panicked and that the evacuation and preparation decrees were excessive. I hope it turns out that they were, but officials were still right to make these plans. Although forecasting technology improves every year, it is still impossible to know for sure exactly how strong a storm will be when it hits or know precisely where it will come ashore. Storms expected to remain a Cat 1 have exploded to Cat 3 or higher. Others that showed every sign of being monumental in strength suddenly ripped up or veered away.

Until the day that we can know without a shadow of a doubt at least 36 hours before a storm hits, it makes more sense to plan for what it appears will happen rather than ignore the danger and act as if the storm will perform like you hope.

People have already died in this particular storm. Everybody, please stay safe.

Vulnerability versus Weakness

2011-08-07T13:11:00.000-04:00

A few minutes ago, I wrote an entire post on the inherent vulnerability of being a single woman. I decided that posting it made me feel even more vulnerable.

I don't like feeling less than strong, capable, and able to take care of myself in every situation.   One of my self-truths is that I'm single and, therefore, I can successfully rely on myself. I better be able to, because I refuse to wait around for someone else to do for me. I don't like admitting that sometimes I need assistance.

You might have guessed that I don't much like feeling vulnerable. Ever.

In addition to taking care of myself, I like taking care of others and being there for them. If I'm on an airplane, I want to grab a mask, put it over my face and help the person sitting alongside.  I don't want to be the other person waiting for someone else to grab a mask to help me.

This emphasis on self-reliance is all well and good, but somewhere along the journey I got my signals crossed a little. I decided that vulnerability meant weakness.

I was wrong. Weakness is something in our structure, a point in our foundation where we can break. A weakness can make us vulnerable, sure, but the opposite isn't true. Being vulnerable doesn't make us weak. In fact, it helps us shore up our strength. Recognizing our own vulnerability is an effective defense mechanism. It's the awareness of my vulnerability that keeps me from walking down a dark street in a bad neighborhood or from putting myself in another dangerous situation that common sense tells me to avoid.

Admitting that I sometimes need help is neither a weakness, nor a vulnerability. It's a realization that sometimes a task is bigger than one person can accomplish.   It's an acceptance that no human is immune to being overwhelmed and when that happens, it's absolutely okay to wave a hand and get some assistance.

We're a species that thrives on relationships. Even though I'm not in a man-woman love relationship, I'm still a member of a community of friends and family. These are people I'd help on a moment's notice and I know that they're happy to help me, too. We can be the person who puts the mask on first for each other, and none of us is weaker being the recipient of the assistance.

I asked for help this week which was a big deal for me. I say was because, after the asking I couldn't for the life of me understand why I made so much of it beforehand. I was also offered help in another manner even before I asked. That moved me to tears. I'm grateful in both situations.

Not only will I receive the help that I need, but these are both examples of friends and family showing me that it's safe for me to admit my vulnerability. Nobody will exploit it as a way to hurt me. Help will be there for me and I am made stronger by the knowledge.

Some People

2011-07-30T13:18:00.000-04:00

I don't know how many people I interact with on a daily basis. Even if you don't count Facebook, Twitter, and E-mail, the number still must reach into dozens. I guess it's only natural that not every interaction leaves me with the warm fuzzies.

Nat - back when we did Rally Obedience class

The normal routine in the morning is that I get out of bed and let Nat and Pyxi out into the yard so they can run around, sniff, do their doggy business, and have some exercise. I spend the time getting ready for the day. It's a good arrangement for all three of us.

Pyxi doing Rally O

Yesterday, however, I heard a truck pull up to the house next door, guys voices, and then my dogs began to bark and wouldn't stop. Since this gets annoying to me even when I'm in the house, I know it has to bug other people, so I went back out to the porch and called them to come in. They ignored me and continued to bark at the guys next door.

"It's okay, lady, we're playing with them," said this one smiling guy.

I thought that was kind of nice . . . until I realized that what they thought was playing was actually freaking out the dogs. Pyxi has issues with warming up to other people. She startles easily. Even my friends who she's known since she was 7 months old know to ignore her when they first come in the house and then to let all interaction come from her. They don't make loud noises and they definitely don't reach for the top of her head, which she hates. Instead, they let her come up and sniff their hands, remain calm, and then, if she sticks around, they'll rub under her chin or her chest.

While I watched yesterday morning, Pyxi barked, and then bravely ran up to the fence to sniff the guys' pant legs. Instead of remaining calm, the guys thought it was fun to roar, wave their arms, and then reach over the fence as if to grab her. So, of course, she jumped back and started barking again.

If you know dogs at all, you can tell by their body language whether they're playing or agitated. Clearly, Pyxi was not playing. On top of that, the guys even scared Nat who is much calmer and relaxed, usually, around people, so they wound him up, too.

I was dressed only in my sleep shirt (sans bra), so this was not the place or time to explain things to the guys. I just called the dogs again until they came and went back in the house. Inside I was fuming. I know the guys thought they were doing was okay, but all I could think was, "Thanks for reinforcing my dog's anxiety about approaching people." Grrrrr.

On the drive to work, I was behind a Ford Escape. The driver put on the left blinker and pulled into the left-hand lane in order to pass a car. He' never turned off his blinker so the left light continued to flash red red red. Unfortunately, he got stuck behind a truck, which meant that I gradually pulled alongside. All of a sudden, he veered into my lane.

I honked the horn and he pulled back into the left lane -- and then started to cuss me out through his window. Apparently it was my fault that he didn't see me and, I guess, that I didn't divine that he was about to pull over. I could have pointed out that A) I'm not psychic and B) His left blinker was still on so how was I supposed to know he was going to pull over in the other direction? Instead, I decided not to argue with someone while we were both driving and simply continued on my way.

I'd like to think that, in both situations, I elected to take the high road instead of just the path of least resistance.

Some people just don't get it, do they?

Welcome to Lani Diane Rich

2011-07-25T00:01:00.002-04:00

A few years back, one of my goddess author idols Jennifer Crusie began blogging about a book named Dogs and Goddesses that she was writing with Anne Stuart and someone I wasn't familiar with named Lani Diane Rich. When Jenny writes about the writing process, it's not only informative, but it's darned near almost as entertaining as her books. I was also already a big fan of Anne Stuart and I figured if this Lani woman was writing with them, she sure couldn't be a slouch. Plus, getting to know her a little through Jenny's blog, she sounded smart and funny. So, I bought some of her books - Wish You Were Here and Crazy in Love - and became a fan. Some time later, Lani created a blog called A Year and Change under her pseudonym Lucy March. I was drawn to her gut-wrenching honesty and the story of where her life had been, where she was, and where she hoped to go. So were many really remarkable women and somewhere along the line we all became Betties.

Okay, that's enough backstory. Like many wonderful authors, Lani has regained rights to some of her books and made them available electronically. Plus she has a new book (as Lucy) coming out in January 2012. I think Lani's a terrific writer and teacher, and one hell of a woman, so I asked if she'd let me interview her for the blog. I'm delighted she agreed. Without further delay, here goes!

Me: You describe your books as Funny Women’s Fiction. Could you explain for us how women’s fiction differs from romance and why this genre appeals to you as a writer?

Lani: From a genre perspective, romance is focused on the relationship, and women's fiction is focused on the protagonist's journey. When I say I write "funny women's fiction," I see all my books under that umbrella, because they're all funny books that appeal to women. I know that writers who write for women tend to get less respect, but I don't really care. I don't need respect. I like writing stories about women who transform their lives through adventure, love, adversity, and I'm damn lucky that I get to do it.

MS: I personally believe that, in every book, an author wants to explore something with her story. What did you want to explore or investigate in each of these books?

LDR: It's funny, because every book I've written, I've had one goal I wanted to achieve. With The Fortune Quilt, I wanted to write a story about a woman whose entire life falls apart. I wanted to walk her through that process of rebuilding, redefining what's important and figuring out what she really wants. With A Little Ray of Sunshine, I wanted to write something intensely emotional, to pull out all the stops and not shy away from that vulnerable space. Both books were an adventure to write!

MS: You started, and completed, a blog you called A Year and Change in which you were brutally and refreshingly honest about your life. Do you think the process ended up being more about self-transformation? What’s the best thing you learned in the journey?

LDR: 516 days, blogging (almost) every day, counting down to my 40th birthday. Sounds crazy, huh? It was intense, definitely, charting the course of my divorce, wading through the mess that was my sense of myself, and even - to my great surprise - falling in love again, all in this very public space. That process was very much about transformation. When I go back and read those early posts, I'm amazed at how many things I struggled with all my life that are simply gone now. Everything hasn't been fixed - I still have a tendency to stress out and imagine that everything in the world is my responsibility - but I'm so much more at peace now than I have ever been. I think the best thing I learned on that journey was that it's not just okay to be vulnerable and brutally honest, but necessary. Had I not confessed everything in that blog, I don't think I would have healed the way I did, and I definitely wouldn't have been ready for my new marriage, which is one of the greatest joys of my life. That blog, and the community that formed there, has been one of the biggest blessings of my life, and it taught me how to be truly honest, not just with others, but with myself.

MS: When you read a book, what sparks the “Wow, this is terrific” reaction for you?

LDR: Different things. Sometimes it's the author's sense of humor, sometimes it's her sense of adventure. In my classes, I teach that there is an innate magic to every author, and that the one thing you can bring to the page that no one else can is you. I think it relates back to what made my blog such a heady experience; there are certain things that are just you, and even if every story has been told a thousand times before, it's never been told quite this way. When an author relaxes and trusts that her unique voice matters, a book becomes fresh and exciting. Craft is important, getting the technical stuff down so it doesn't get in the way is essential, but nothing beats an author's own magic. That's what authors need to honor in their writing, and when they do, it's truly magical.

MS: You’ve started a new journey in your own writing career with the name switch to Lucy March. How is A Little Night Magic different from your Lani Diane Rich books? What about it will still connect with your current Lani fans?

LDR: A Little Night Magic was my attempt at writing a bigger story. I'm really enjoying adventure and magic and bigger themes. What happens when an ordinary woman is called upon to save the people she loves from death and catastrophe? That was fun to play with. It's different from the Lani Diane Rich books in that the magic is outright and manifest; this is a different world from ours. But I still wanted to hit all those notes that I loved hitting with the Lani Diane Rich books - humor mixed with strong emotion, tears and laughter. That savory-sweet combination has always been a lot of fun for me, and I don't think I could write a book without that.

MS: You’re also embarking on a “re-publishing” venture with the rerelease of Little Ray of Sunshine and Fortune Quilt. How did you reach this decision and what do you think about the whole e-pub/self-pub movement that’s going on?

LDR: NAL was kind enough to give me my rights back, and I decided to jump in. I love those books, passionately, but now they're older and out of print and that bums me out. They're great books. I know that sounds arrogant, but I don't care. Everyone should love their own writing. In my classes, I make everyone end every class by saying, "I'm a great writer." I think it's important. I love my writing and I love these books and I'm so grateful that I'm living in a moment when I have the opportunity to help these books find new readers.

The new revolution in e-publishing is fascinating to me. I love that authors are able to take their work and make it available. I love watching this whole new world unfold before me. I'm still in traditional publishing because I have the best editor in the whole world, and she makes me a better writer. I think it's important to do your best work, make sure it's good and that you give the reader the best possible experience; I don't think it's important that you publish with New York. I love that authors have new options out there. It's wonderful.

MS: What else is on the horizon for Lani/Lucy?

LDR: Right now, I'm podcasting every day with my husband over at Storywonk.com. It's a free podcast for writers, with some instruction, some chit-chat, lots of wonky stuff like etymology and vocabulary and writing challenges. I'm also teaching classes at Storywonk; I'm really looking forward to my Magic and Discovery classes coming up in September and October, to help people gear up for Nanowrimo. In addition, we're just now launching an editorial service for people who are self-publishing; covers, editorial, back cover copy, conversion. We had a great time doing my titles, and it's fun. I'm also working on the next Lucy March book, and I have a few other side projects in the hopper.

Mostly, I'm having fun, and I'm incredibly blessed. It's a good life.

MS: Any final words/thoughts to share?

LDR: Just to thank you for having me here. Such wonderful questions, and such great discussion. Mary Stella, you are a gem. Thanks!

Lani, thanks so much for taking part in this blog interview, for creating the Bettyverse, for being an enthusiastic and helpful teacher and for being all around terrific. Let's make it easy for everyone to find you and your books with some helpful links!

Little Ray of Sunshine The Fortune Quilt A Little Night Magic (w/a Lucy March)

Find Lani/Lucy online at http://www.lucymarch.com/ http://www.lanidianerich.com/ http://www.storywonk.com/ and The Bettyverse!

Special Announcement!

Head over to the Bettyverse! To celebrate her book launch, Lani's running a contest. Help us build and move the buzz! Click here for the Bettyverse.

Lani Diane Rich - Here on Monday!

2011-07-22T17:39:00.000-04:00

Well, she won't actually be here as in here in the Keys. However, the uber-talented author, teacher, blogger, community-builder Lani Diane Rich graciously consented to be interviewed for this blog. She has two backlist books coming out in new electronic versions and we'll talk a little about what's next for her alter-ego Lucy March.

Join us this Monday, July 25th!

Mattress Dancing

2011-07-16T10:13:00.000-04:00

I'm going mattress shopping in a little while. I guess that's more mattress rolling than dancing, but dancing made for a better blog title.

We spend around a third of every day in bed, give or take an hour, so choosing the mattress is no decision to take lightly. I've been thinking about it for awhile, testing and assessing different hotel beds when I travel and asking some friends what they've chosen. Guess you could say I've been sleeping on the matter before actually going shopping.

I really like the beds in some hotel chains like the Hampton Inns, Sheratons or Westins. Sealy makes the mattresses for one chain; Serta the other two, I think. I'm also considering Tempur-Pedic but I couldn't find a hotel chain that uses them, so I don't believe I have first hand, or first body, experience with that make.

The commercials are certainly enthusiastic for the Tempur-Pedic and, honestly, people who own them stop just short of bursting into actual song when singing their praises.

Choices, choices, choices.

Thing is, with the exception of the Soma watermattress I bought, and loved, years ago, I've never shopped for a regular mattress before. Apparently there's a process to follow and I should be prepared to take my time. Literally. According to things I've read, I should lie down on each mattress I'm considering and stay there for at least 15 minutes to see how my body feels about the degree of support, plushiness and other qualities. After narrowing down the options, before I make that final commitment, I'm supposed to lie on the chosen mattress for a minimum of half an hour!

This could take hours. What's the etiquette of mattress shopping in this manner? Does the salesperson stay with you the whole time? Do you converse during the trial period? I read in bed every night before turning off the light and actually going to sleep. Should I bring my Kindle, to help kill the time if nothing else. What if I get sleepy? I can't imagine taking an actual nap on display in a furniture store.

Do they sanitize the mattresses after someone has taken them for a test lie? Not for nothing, but it's freaking hot in Florida right now. People sweat walking from their cars into the stores. Do they wait long enough for the air conditioning to dry their bodies? Are they leaving sweat droplets or flaky skin on the mattress I'm about to stretch out on?

Come to think of it, are those mattresses marked as samples only or do they later get sold as new by the stores? When my new mattress is delivered, how many other bodies will have been on it before it gets to my house? Maybe I should sanitize it once it's home.

I can tell that shopping for a new sleeping system is far from restful. I'd best get ready to go.

I wonder if anyone has actually worn pajamas to test out mattresses.

Have a great Saturday, everybody.

Care and Feeding of Your Empowerment

2011-07-10T21:00:00.000-04:00

I was determined to take out my boat today. Due to weather, travel, other responsibilities, a weekend when I was sick, etc. etc., the StardelaMar had not been off the lift for several weeks. Lack of use is not good for the boat, nor for her captain.

I checked the tide charts to see when the water would be high enough to float the boat off of the lift and saw that a late-afternoon trip was doable. Off and on throughout the day I kept an eye on the weather, hoping no sudden increase in wind or unexpected storm front would cancel my plans.

Around an hour or two before by ETD, I started feeling nervous. This was completely unexpected. I've had the boat for almost two years now and have taken her out by myself at least a dozen times. I know I can handle her. So why the nerves? Little worms of insecurity tried to squirm into my conscious and undermine my confidence.

The time drew closer. I started worrying about the breeze. Was it a little too much? Would I have a problem steering the boat back onto the lift? I wondered whether I should wait until the following weekend and line up someone to go with me while I reacquainted myself with the skills I needed to safely captain.

There are times when having a stubborn streak is a damned good thing. Before I could talk myself out of the boat trip I'd been eagerly anticipating, I put my foot down and crushed the insecurity under my heel. I grabbed my keys, hat and water, told the dogs that I'd be back in awhile and left the house.

I won't say that every last nerve was immediately satisfied, but at least I could look at them and know that being nervous about something didn't mean I should give up the attempt. Instead of giving into the fear, I processed it by taking my time with every step in my preparation. I reviewed procedures in my mind and then got on with the business of boating.

Even an hour on the water is good for the heart and the soul. As soon as I smoothly backed off of the lift and guided the boat through the pilings into the open harbor, I felt my confidence flow back into my spirit. Off I went, motoring smoothly through the harbor. I love the ride out the pretty "creek" because it takes me past some lovely houses and then past the beach out to the open Atlantic. As soon as I passed the last channel marker, I pushed up the throttles to increase the speed. Within seconds the boat was up on plane, moving swiftly and smoothly over the waves.

Before long, my hair was blowing back in the breeze, I'd turned up the stereo, and I was grinning! Gone were the nerves and, for the life of me, I couldn't imagine why I'd considered cancelling the trip.

I cruised toward Sombrero Light, enjoying all the different jewel-like colors of the water. I spotted some regal frigate birds circling in the sky and wondered if they were searching for dinner in the ocean below. After awhile, I began a slow turn toward the Seven Mile Bridge and headed for the channel markers to enter the harbor. Slowing down gave me the chance to appreciate a few of the larger boats that are still docked at some of the marinas in town. A few months ago, one that I swear was larger than my house, took up residence. Beautiful on the outside, I can only imagine how luxurious it was inside.

After a slow cruise past marinas, a restaurant, and dozens of moored boats, I was close to home. The wind had come up a bit, but I just knew I could handle the docking. I glided between the pilings, turned parallel with the sea wall and motored right up onto the lift. It was one of my smoothest dockings ever. I wish there had been people around to watch!

After shutting everything down, pulling on the console cover and making sure everything was in order, I leaned against the gunwale for a few minutes before leaving. I relished the feeling of reconnecting with something I love to do. Running my own boat is a source of empowerment for me, and I'd almost let insecurity rob me of the moment. After thinking it through, I realize that I wouldn't have felt this way if so much time hadn't passed between trips. I felt out of practice and had lost trust in my captaining skills. Confidence hungers for fuel.

I learned more than one lesson today. Empowerment needs to be cared for and fed on a regular basis. I definitely need to get out on the water whenever possible!

eBook of the Day - All Keyed Up!

2011-07-07T14:49:00.000-04:00

As I continue my efforts in ~~world domination~~ rejuvenation of my books through republishing them electronically, I invested in a sponsorship at Kindle Nation Daily. If you have a Kindle, this is a great resource for linking to books that are available for your e-reader addiction. Click here to check it out.

For that sponsorship, my book All Keyed Up is designated as eBook of the Day! Yes, I know this is a paid sponsorship, but I still feel a little thrill to see my book cover and text up there on the page.

Humor me, please! :-)

The whole e-repubbing adventure continues to fascinate me and it is certainly capturing the interest of everyone in publishing. There are no hard and fast, or particularly uniform, steps to success. Six authors might do six things exactly alike for their books and see different sales results. I met a woman at last week's RWA Conference who has never published her books in print. She put two of them up online and priced the first in the series at .99 with the second on sale for 2.99. Within eight weeks, she's sold well over 2000 copies of the first, less expensive book, and over 500 copies of the second. Her sales are remaining consistently strong.

I put my books up in March at 2.99 a piece and was thrilled when I'd sold over 100 copies total, but I still pondered what else I could do to boost the sales numbers. A couple of weeks ago, I dropped the price of All Keyed Up to .99 and saw a slight uptick in sales, but nothing earth-shattering.

Today, with the eBook of the Day exposure, I've already sold over 50 additional copies. This has boosted my sales ranking on Amazon's Kindle Store to #1200 when I last checked. That is a HUGE improvement over, say #54,000 or #129,000.

The woman at RWA advised me to add additional keywords and tags, which I did. She also said that it helps when people post reviews, particularly if the reviews are good. So, if you've read my books and have some free time, I'd love it if you'd consider sharing your opinions in a review.

Apparently, the more that you improve your ranking, the more attention your book receives which should achieve more sales that further improve the ranking, get you more attention and result in more sales, and so on and so on and so on.

That's the theory anyway. I will say that this is certainly an interesting adventure from my perspective. My initial goal for doing it in the first place was to empower myself in terms of my writing career and to rescue my books, which I love, from the death of being out of print, remaindered and unavailable. Is it nice to earn some money? Of course. I'm still a long way from recouping my investment in new covers, formatting, advertising, etc., but at least I'm recouping a little every day.

It really does matter to me that my books are reaching more readers. As a storyteller, that matters to me and it does my heart good to think that I might bring enjoyment to more than 50 new readers today.

Thank you everyone!

E-Readers - Smashwords Sale In Progress!

2011-07-06T23:20:00.000-04:00

If you have an e-reader, have you discovered Smashwords? At Smashwords.com, you can purchase books in pretty much every electronic format. Think of it as one-stop shopping whether you have a Kindle, Nook, Sony-e-reader, iPad or whatever.

Right now, there's a sale going on for the month of July. I, and some colleagues have marked down books for some really good deals. (I've signed up for a coupon, bringing the price to $1.50 on All Keyed Up for formats other than Kindle and Nook. For those two specific e-readers, you can still get All Keyed Up for only .99!)

Writer Doranna Durgin is letting authors list their books and links to Smashword so you don't have to visit site after site after site.

Check it out at her blog!

20 Things I Learned or Remembered at RWA National

2011-07-01T14:22:00.000-04:00

I attended the national conference of RWA this week in New York City. I'm biased, but believe that this is the best writers' organization in the world. In random order, here are 20 things that I learned, remembered, felt, or experienced at RWA.

1) I love being a writer.
2) Publishing is a business and there are many aspects out of my control. About all I can control is the book that I write.
3) Michael Hauge's workshops were terrific. I finally understand and can use three act structure in my book and unite it with the characters' development.
4) Jenny Crusie is brilliant.
5) Madeline Hunter is intelligent, thoughtful, witty, and very wise!
6) I have some terrific friends who are also writers.
7) No matter how tough the business gets, there are always opportunities.
8) Writers have the best, most entertaining conversations.
9) Manhattan is big, busy, energetic and noisy.
10) The skills you use in calling a cab can help you in other ways. Stand out, whistle and get yourself noticed but don't shove someone out of your way to do so.
11) Loving to read is a blessing.
12) Comfortable shoes can save you from a ruined day.
13) E-publishing my backlisted books was a great idea but shouldn't mean that I ignore traditional print publishers in the future.
14) Everybody has a story to tell and no matter where we are in our careers, we all have something to contribute to the conversation.
15) Do not act like a bitch to the person in line ahead of you waiting for Starbucks. He/she could turn out to be the editor or agent to whom you're about to pitch. (Saw someone make this mistake.) Acxtually, don't act like a bitch to anyone. It serves no purpose.
16) Be happy for the successes of others.
17) Good news for any romance writers spreads out and is good news for all romance writers.
18)You might get knocked down by circumstances, but the only person who can take you out of the game is you.
19) There is no other writer in the world like you. (Thank you, Jenny Crusie.)
20) The next valuable piece of information/knowledge is waiting just around the corner.
20)

Random Blog Thoughts

2011-06-24T15:46:00.001-04:00

I was searching for a suitable topic to write about today. Something funny and entertaining to kick off the weekend. Unfortunately, I find myself easily distracted and have difficulty focusing on just one topic. According to an excellent blog post by Jennifer Crusie (When is she NOT excellent?), this is cognitive disinhibition and it's common among creative people Now that's a topic I could have blogged on, but Jenny already did and she explains it better than I ever could.

Oh! A cat just chased a gecko by my office.

Anyway, rather than settle on one topic, I decided to embrace the random, "Oh look, something shiny" aspect of my mental process and rattle off some things.

My friends and I have discovered a game app for iPhone called Hanging With Friends. You compete against a friend in the old game of Hangman. You put up a word and the friend has half a dozen chances to guess the letters and, ultimately, the word. Fun, right? I'm always up for a little word game competition. There's a twist to the colorful graphics in this game, however. Each player picks a cartoon kid icon to represent her. Each icon starts out with a bouquet of balloons gripped in his/her cartoony hand. The scene shows the two player icons hovering in the sky, held aloft by their balloons over a flowing river of lava. The volcano is belching smoke behind them!

Everytime a player does not successfully solve a word, he/she loses a balloon and falls closer to the lava. Fun and sadistic, right?

The facial expressions of the players are priceless as they guess their letters. They smile, they look surprised and, eventually, terrified that they aren't going to solve the word. The game is free. I recommend it to anyone who really likes high stakes hangman.

My room remodel is finished. Well, at least the construction part. Walls, ceiling, windows, floor, doors -- everything gorgeous, gleaming and new. I've been living in the guest bedroom with my clothes overflowing the closet onto the twin bed in which I'm not sleeping. Tonight I get to start moving clothes into the bigger, new closet with the closet organization system.

I ordered the new bed, night table and chest yesterday. Good news -- no sales tax or shipping charges. Not-so-good news -- it won't arrive until late August-first week in September. I'm considering buying the new mattress and box spring locally and making up the bed on the floor, just so I can move myself out of the twin bed. It's a good lesson in patience. Besides, it took me 9 years to finally remodel the room at all. I can wait a few more weeks.

Hey, we've almost gotten through an entire week and no politican has had to confess to having an affair, sexting, or any other scandal involving thinking with the wrong head. Was Congress on summer break?

Did anybody watch the Daytime Emmy Awards? The way that soap operas keep getting cancelled, this is one award show nobody will have to worry about running long.

My favorite new show is The Voice competition on NBC. I won't be able to watch next week and I've already set up the DVR to record. The premise was that the producers searched the country to find really talented singers in bar bands, country fairs, recording studios, you name it. They brought them to L.A. to audition in front of four established stars who would each pick 8 singers for their team - Cee Lo Green (The Forget You song or the F**k You song, depending on which version you've heard; Adam Levine of Maroon Five; Christina Aguilera of Christina Aguilera fame; and country star Blake Shelton. The four coaches listened to each singer with their backs to them so they couldn't see them perform, just listen.

There was a phenomenal roster of talent auditioning for this shot and none of the freaky people that slip into the American Idol auditions wearing feather suits or shrieking like maddened peacocks. Gradually, members of each team have been eliminated and now it's down to one from each star's team singing for the win next week. I'd like to see all of the last eight get contracts. They're all terrific. I really liked the coaching/mentoring relationships. I get the feeling the stars really care about their team members and want to help them succeed.

Hilariously funny writer/sportscaster/blogging phenom Ken Levine asked on his random thoughts blog post a few days ago which coach we'd like to send home. I voted for booting show host Carson Daly. He's boring, repetitive and as stiff as a frozen fence post.

Speaking of singers, why is it that that some people who couldn't carry a tune with both hands and a tote bag, don't realize how bad they sound? Not everyone who sings badly is tone deaf; some just don't have the chops, so what's the deal? Across the water from where I live are some very enthusiastic folks. They like to have dance parties outside of their little house and frequently throw in some karaoke. The one woman is so horrible she sounds like a squawking peacock, bellowing moose, and screaming cat all rolled into one. When she lets loose on her high volume rendition of Funky Town, she's so bad that she could be used as an instrument of torture in a combat zone.

Last night, I really, really craved ice cream. I don't have any in the house, but I could easily have obtained it with a ride to the corner store that would have taken less than a minute. However, that would have necessitated me locating my bra, putting it back on, and actually leaving the house, getting into the car and driving. I ate watermelon instead. I'm not sure if big boobs just saved me from gaining a pound, or if I should further develop the idea as a new diet. I can see it as a headline on a supermarket rag tabloid: "Sloth Leads to Better Food Choices".

Has anyone laughed yet? Chuckled? Smiled wryly? Beuhler? Beuhler?

Back to the bedroom, which reminds me that I really need to clean around the rest of the house now that it isn't constantly filling up with construction-related dust faster than I can wield a Swiffer. I have solemnly pledged that, when I have completely refurnished my bedroom, I will never again let it get cluttered and dusty. I'm determined, I tell you. Determined! There are only two obstacles to the plan. I'm a pack rat and I hate to clean. Three obstacles, if you factor in the aforementioned sloth. I must stick to my determination! (Picture me waving a vacuum cleaner like a flag in battle.)

No big plans for this weekend, other than that cleaning, moving of clothing and a few other things. The season premiere of True Blood is Sunday. I'm looking forward to the show. Let's see what happens between the vampires, witches, faeries, shape-shifters, and other fine creatures of Bon Temps. Are you a Trubie?

I will not obsess over my e-book sales. I will not obsess over my e-book sales. I will not obsess over my e-book sales. I will not obess over my e-book sales. If I keep typing this, I can't go over and see if I've sold any more copies of All Keyed Up or Key of Sea on Amazon, BN.com, Smashwords, Apple, Sony, Kobo, or Diesel. I will not obsess over my e-book sales. In the meantime, you can read an excerpt of my books at my website. I will not obsess . . .

Edited to ad: In honor of summer and beach reads, for one week only, All Keyed Up is just 99 cents for Kindle and Nook! Check out an excerpt here!

Have a great weekend, everyone!

A Lesson Learned and Today's Application

2011-06-19T18:15:00.000-04:00

I started to write a full memorial post about my father in honor of Father's Day. Dad was my hero, and decades after his death, he remains a major influence on my life and my thinking. I was musing over 20 things that I learned from him, intending that list to be the center of the blog post, but I kept focusing on one lesson in particular.

Dad taught us and, more importantly, showed us that a person's class is not measured by that person's wealth, or lack thereof. Don't look at a rich person and assume that he's classy or better than the other person who works to make ends meet. Dad believed that how you conducted your life and how you treated other people was the true measure. He was living proof -- a man of substance, integrity and class whose roots lay in the humble home of immigrants -- factory workers, manual laborers, people who worked hard to support themselves and their family.

This lesson has resonated for me a various times. I've seen really rich guys act like entitled, privileged jerks, using their money to bully waiters in restaurants and gas station attendants. I've seen others who hoped they'd have enough to make their next mortgage payment go out of their way to help people struggling on the side of the road.

Very recently, the lesson hit home again. In the last few years we've seen the heads of major corporations seek government handouts, lay off thousands of workers, and cut deals to reduce their corporate debt -- but then the people in charge still took their million dollar bonuses and flew around in private jets on lavish trips. How many jobs could be saved or debts honored if these people, already worth millions, had turned down those bonuses and invested them back into their corporations?

In the last couple of weeks, I heard about a much smaller corporation where the senior management team members already make far less than their peers at other corporations in the same industry. These managers know that their staff works super hard, often holding down second or third jobs. The bosses aren't wealthy and they all have bills to pay, but they decided that they wanted to do what they could to provide better raises for their staff this year, so they opted to not take any raises for themselves. They're doing without an increase in order to help their staff do a little better.

You tell me which management team shows true class. Scratch that. I already know.

To Do or Not To Do

2011-06-12T12:14:00.000-04:00

That is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to attack the list of chores, or to take aim against obligations and go sit out on the porch reading instead.

Pretty much any weekend that I'm at home, I have a "to do" list in my head of things I really should accomplish around the house. I wish I could say the list was only filled with items like "get a facial", "go fishing", "swim", "play with dogs", or "meet up with friends for dinner". Unfortunately, there are always the less interesting tasks like "clean", "do laundry", "file the stack of papers you let pile up", "organize the office", etc.

I know there are people who say that they love to clean. I challenge that statement. How can someone truly love scrubbing, polishing, mopping, vaccuming, dusting, and so on? I don't care how much Snow White smiled and whistled while she worked. Behind that animated glow, she had to be thinking, "I'm only whistling so I don't cuss out these freaking messy dwarves who oughta be able to keep their own cottage clean." Besides, she had squirrels and birds to help. So far, Nat and Pyxi only contribute to the mess.

I believe that people who claim they love to clean really mean that they love having a clean house. Now that I'm on board with. I love it when everything's neat, there's no dog hair or dirt on the floors, the furniture gleams, the windows sparkle, and the house smells all fresh. I just need squirrels and blue birds to do the work for me.

As posted earlier, I'm in the middle of a bedroom remodel. Everything besides furniture that used to be in my master bedroom, including me, is now crowded into my spare bedroom, with even more stuff in the office/storage room. As far as I'm concerned, this gives me a pass on having things perfectly arranged. I've at least managed neat stacks of clothes on the other twin bed, but even so, it's all I can do to keep the bed I'm sleeping in clear.

The work is almost done and I'm close to selecting the new furniture, so I should be able to move back into the master bedroom in a couple of weeks. I can't wait. It's going to be beautiful. Before then, however, I need to deal with the aftermath of some of the construction. There is a fine coating of dust in the room and, in particular the adjoining bathroom. I was still using the bathroom every morning and, unfortunately, I didn't have any warning before the contractor sanded the beautiful wood trim he installed around the doorways and windows. So that dust is also on bottles, jars, tubes and the other items we usually crowd onto a bathroom vanity.

The task of cleaning the bathroom is tops on my weekend To Do list. There's no way to pussyfoot about the project. It calls for drastic strategy. I have a bag at ready into which I'm sweeping everything currently sitting on the vanity or hanging out on the shelves in the shower. The floor mats will go directly into the washing machine. With the decks cleared, I can swab and scrub away. A good rinse and dry of all the items and then I can restore everything to rights.

Don't I make it all sound easy? At heart it is, but you'd think it was a task of Sisyphean proportions the way that I'm stalling. "I have a headache. I don't feel good." "It's beautiful outside!" "It's Sunday, I wanna do the crossword puzzle first." "Blah blah complain complain complain." How bad is it that I decided to blog about this as another form of stalling?

Suddenly, cleaning the bathroom has moved up to the top of the Not to Do list. Now I have to negotiate with my slothful side. Behind door number one is my back porch with the view of the harbor and a comfortable chair where I could finish reading the paper and do the crossword puzzle. Behind dismantled door number two is the dust bowl bathroom. Let's make a deal! Clean the frigging bathroom and, as a reward, I will let myself linger on the porch for as long as I want.

There. Decided. Now to put words into action. Yes, I'm off to clean the bathroom. Huzzah!

In the meantime, here's a new photo of the bedroom, freshly painted in a gorgeous shade of Pure Periwinkle with the handcut red oak trim around the windows. Love, love, love the color and how everything is coming along!

Have a great day, everyone, not matter what you choose to do or not do!

Suggestion to Elected Officials - Keep It In Your Pants

2011-06-06T20:39:00.000-04:00

Yet another elected official stood before a microphone tonight and tendered a tearful confession. He admitted that he had indeed done what he'd previously denied. He apologized to the world and of course, most of all, to his wife.

Mea culpa this, you guys. Please answer my bi-partsan question. Are you truly sorry for what you did, or just terribly, terribly sorry that you got caught?

When you campaign for office, you want us to trust you to lead, to govern, to honor the laws of our country. You position yourselves as strong men of integrity, guardians of truth, justice and the American way. You champion family values. In recent years, you've opined on the sanctity of marriage and weighed in on who can and who can't marry.

The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity. - Andre Glide, winner of 1947 Nobel Prize for literature.

Somewhere along the line we find out that you A) Fathered a child with a household employee and kept him a secret for over a decade; B) Had an affair, fathered a child, and convinced someone else to claim fatherhood for the goal of not upsetting your terminally ill wife; C) Diddled an intern in your Administration and lied repeatedly about it; C) Hired hookers; D) Sexted with a number of different women, took and sent nude photos of yourself, thus expanding the meaning of junk mail; or E) Did some other inappropriate thing that we just haven't heard of. Yet.

Was the orgasm, the cheap thrill, the power trip, worth hurting your family, shredding your reputation, and grinding whatever small bit of integrity you possessed into the mud? When you got your seat in the governor's mansion or the White House or the Congress, did your ego swell so much that there was no room left in your brain for even a scintilla of common sense or decency?

You're all adults. Surely by this time you should have learned that the penis is good for peeing and sex. Under no circumstances should it be used for thinking or decision making of any kind!

Yes, I know you're only human and that's okay. Just remember that being human doesn't give you a free pass to be a cheating, lying, asshat. Apologizing and taking responsibility for your actions don't impress us as much if they only come after the story breaks on the evening news.

Elected officials, please, surprise us in a good way. Don't do something you'll regret, have to apologize for, or watch go viral on YouTube.

Room for Improvement

2011-06-03T23:39:00.000-04:00

A few short weeks ago, in addition to packing for a week's cruise in Alaska, followed immediately by a business-related conference, I was also frantically emptying out my bedroom of everything. Yes, this was not merely a long-overdue de-cluttering, but a total clean-out to the bare walls. After many years of talking about it, I finally commited to remodeling my room.

I was excited, even though this called for a ton of work. First the clothes. Oh my goodness, the clothes! One closet full of shirts, shorts and sandals used for work. One closet with pants, capris, blouses, tops and, yes, additional shoes, for when I'm not at work. One dresser with six drawers -- bras, panties, t-shirts for going out on the boat, hanging around the house, doing stuff not covered by the clothes in the closets.

You'd think that a woman who lives alone would have plenty of closet space, right? Particularly in a three bedroom house. That's great in theory until you take into account that I also have dresses, skirts, and various ensembles that I wear to writers' meetings, conferences, and other occasions that call for more "dressed-up" attire. Those outfits fill the closet in one bedroom at least ~~half~~ two thirds of the way. The third closet? Umm, well, you know sometimes I go to places where it's cold so I actually need a couple of winter jackets and then there are a few costume gowns and, and...

Okay, the point is that I did not have scads of available closet space just waiting for me to move in clothes from the bedroom.

After clothes, I needed to find room for extra books. Do you know that in the last 18 months, I have sorted through, packed up and given away at least NINE big boxes of books?? Mass market paperbacks, trade paperbacks, hard covers -- I thought I was ruthless but the fact is, I still own hundreds of books. I long over reached maximum capacity on my bookshelves and began storing the overflow in bags, containers and anything that would keep the towers of reading material from toppling over. I sorted through yet again, packed up two more big cardboard boxes and toted them to the local library. The rest I, uh, incorporated into some boxes of previously sorted through books that are in the third bedroom which is also my office/storage room.

Assorted items that filled nighstand drawers or were arrayed on top of the dresser and bookcase fit nicely in a single box that I could store on a shelf in another bedroom. The bag with my snorkel gear and fins, some stuff for dog park fundraisers, bed linens and sundry other things went wherever I could find room. The whole "finding room" thing got a little more complicated the longer I worked. I wouldn't have had any problem at all except that I needed to leave a bed free in the spare bedroom so that I had a place to sleep.

The furniture was the least of my problems. I put out a call to the entire staff where I worked that said, "Bedroom furniture, old but useable, free to a good home." Four co-workers were interested and a young couple came over the weekend before my trip and carted it away.

All this work pretty much leaves a clean slate. with the exception of Mom installing new wall-to-wall carpeting at some point 15 or more years ago, and adding a ceiling fan, virtually nothing had been done to update or improve the room cosmetically since my folks bought the house in 1978. Even the furniture came with the house! The walls sported old paneling. The ceiling had these odd swirly-patterened tiles. The windows were old jalousy style which don't do well with my outdoor Bahama style awnings/shutters.

My instructions for the contractor were to rip everything out, check and replace the insulation, and rebuild the walls. Upgrade the wiring. Put in new windows. Put up sheetrock on the ceiling. Convert the two small closets into one large one, and get a new door. Install new flooring. Paint the walls and ceiling and hang a new fan, etc. etc. Out with the old, prepare for the new.

The timing was great, I figured. I trust the man with the key to my house so he could work during the two weeks that I, and also my dogs, were out of the house! He got pretty much all of the really dirty work accomplished. I wish I'd taken pictures of the empty room before he started work, so you could really appreciate the changes a long the way, but I was too frazzled getting ready for the trip. I took shots last weekend after I got home. You can't really tell, but it's a decent size room -- 14' X 12', not counting the extra area where the closets are as well as the door to the master bath.

The view of the room as I stand in the doorway.

Looking back at the door and the area where the closets are located along with the door to the master bath.

Walls, windows, ceiling, etc. all done! Since then, he has also cut and installed all of the trim around the doorways and windows, using a lovely red oak. The flooring will be a good wood laminate with a complementary red oak look.

I'm going for a coastal/seashore cottage decor. I want pretty and nice, but comfortable. I'm not one for an ultra formal bedroom. I want to walk into my room and feel like I can instantly relax. My job this week was to decide on a paint color. After much consideration of paint chips, I narrowed my choices to two and painted the colors on one wall to see what they looked like in different lighting situations. Anybody who knows me will not be the least surprised that I'm going with a deep periwinkle. Not quite blue, not really purple, but something that's a little of both of my favorite colors. I still like the other paint, too, something called Romantic Isle. We're going to use that in that dressing/closet area.

Pretty soon I have to pick out furniture, window treatments and accessories like lamps and stuff. I really want the finished decor to be beautiful, so I've enlisted some help. One of my former co-workers now has her own interior decorating business. I've hired her for a long distance consultation. I've sent her the room measurements, photographs and paint swatch. We've discussed my likes and dislikes for colors in fabrics and she knows what I'm looking for in that seashore style. I'm eager to see her suggestions for furniture, and everything else.

It's sort of strange but here I am in my 50s and this is the first time that I've ever really decorated a bedroom for myself -- other than picking out a bedspread and curtains. When I was a kid, my folks picked out the furniture for my bedroom -- sort of an homage to French provincial. When my grandparents moved in with us, they took over my room and I moved to a spare room with older, sort of provincial style furnishings. that bedroom set moved with me after college when I got my first appointment. It moved back home with me 15 years later. When I relocated to the Keys, I finally said goodbye to that furniture but took over the set that was already here.

Now, after decades, everything is going to be new, chosen by me to fit my personal preference, style and taste. I can't wait to see what it turns out to be. It isn't a new beginning. Instead, it feels as if I'm opening up something inside to create a sanctuary -- a beautiful new atmosphere where I can release my tensions, restore my body, brain and spirit, and dream my dreams.

Stay tuned for more pictures as we make progress.

Have you created your bedroom? What does your personal space say about you?

One last picture for you. A few blog posts ago, I talked about the glassblowing adventure in Skagway. Well, my lovely glass ornament has arrived. It's going to be integrated into the bedroom. Must be why I picked purple and aqua as the colors.

Mission Alaska: Life Onboard the Norwegian Pearl

2011-05-31T23:00:00.000-04:00

I don't have a lot of pictures but the Norwegian Pearl was a lovely ship with a great crew, run by a company obsessed with protecting us all from noroviruses. There are hand sanitizer dispensers outside every restaurant, the casino, near the shops, by the shuffleboard court -- you name it. However, since noroviruses are spread by people who touch contaminated surfaces and then touch their mouths, the ship wanted to prevent all possibly surfaces from becoming contaminated in the first place. I think they also didn't completely trust the passengers to disinfect themselves. So, outside every restaurant they positioned crew members armed with spray bottles who constantly reminded us to "Washy washy". After spraying, they reminded us to be, "Smiley smiley, happy happy." This procedure was also followed when we arrived back on board after a shore excursion.

In less than two days, the "Washy Washy" refrain was a common humor point throughout the ship. During the improv show, the actors asked the crowd to shout out something they'd heard on the ship. More than half of the audience yelled, "Washy Washy."

I'm happy to say that thanks to our own attention to cleanliness and the diligent spray crew, my friend Janet and I remained disease free for the entire trip. This made us happy happy.

The crew and the passengers represented all nations so we heard a good number of different accents throughout the week. Janet and I went to a game run by the cruise entertainment staff called Majority Rule. They asked a series of questions and each team had to submit our answers. We earned points when our answer matched that of the majority of other teams. For one question the host asked, "What do men have to do to be attractive to women?" Most of us said, "Smile!"

The host next asked, "What do women have to do to be attractive to men?" Accessing our smart ass sides, we wrote down, "Breathe." That answer became even funnier when the host, in his Phillipine-accented English said, "Breed."

We also played team trivia one afternoon. We were doing pretty well, we thought. Then we found out that Big Ben isn't the clock or the clock tower in London -- it's the bell inside the clock tower. How well do you know the American flag? The red stripes represent the original 13 colonies. The stars stand for the states. What about the blue behind the stars? Nah, we didn't know either. According to the ship, it stands for loyalty.

Cruise ships are big on serving delicious cocktails and food. We were happy to celebrate the start of our vacation with a drink at the Bliss Lounge. That's a Pear Pleasure. Pretty and delicious.

Speaking of martinis, every afternoon the ship held a "tasting" of some family of cocktails. We went to the Martini tasting on Tuesday. Hands down, or bottoms up, this was the best drink value on the ship. $15.00 entitled us to taste each of five different drinks. These were not just tastes as in a small splash of cocktail. Oh no. They served us a healthy belt, easily the equivalent of a full shot and a half. I'd like to be all virtuous and say that I did not finish the classic martini or the melon-tini, but I probably made up for it by drinking the rest of Janet's Cosmopolitan sample.

Whoever decorated the ship seemed to pay homage to different cultures. The lounges were particularly interesting. The Bliss Lounge resembled nothing closer than a Turkish seraglio. Lots of crushed velvet upholstery, opulent drapery and beds. Yes, big queen, or sheik-sized beds. I guess if someone's going to get falling down drunk, the handy beds make it a comfortable landing.

The bed motif was continued in the Spinnaker Lounge. I'm not sure how it fit with the nautical look, but why let realism interfere with comfort?

Yep, kind of interesting. Speaking of the Spinnaker, the decorator was so obsessed with beds that he/she didn't give much thought to the other seating. Going to that lounge made us feel a little like Goldilocks. The individual chairs were so low our knees came up to our chins. The stools were so high that you couldn't get comfortable unless you were at least 6 feet tall. Janet and I adopted the strategy of arriving super early to shows we wanted to see so we could snag a "just right" booth.

There were other beautiful spots on the Pearl. The Crystal Atrium, appropriately named as you can see, boasted a beautiful glass sculpture by artist Dale Chihuly.

There are a number of restaurants aboard the Pearl. The bigger of the two main dining rooms is the Summer Palace. The ship's decorator was clearly inspired by the opulence of Imperial Russia. The newel posts were all topped with giant Faberge-inspired eggs. The chair backs displayed the Romanov coat of arms. Nicholas and Alexandra's pictures indicated the mens and ladies restrooms. The walls were lined with portraits of Czar Nicholas, Czarina Alexandra and their children. The only person of note missing was Rasputin. I gotta tell you, after awhile, the portraits bummed me out. Nobody's smiling, for one thing. For another, I know that they're all fated to be brutally murdered.

Every night in the Summer Palace, we were entertainment by the melodious renditions of the Manila Trio. They blended flute, guitar and violin beautifully as they performed Broadway standards, Sinatra hits and that hit of all hits, Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini. I looked at the musicians, sure that they were pulling our legs, but their facial expressions were as serious on that song as any other in their repetoire.

We laughed about that all the way back to our cabin. Our very, um, compact cabin. Janet and I were really okay in it, once we realized we could shove most of our suitcases under the beds so we had at least a yard of wriggle room. I don't know how three or four people could share one of these staterooms without killing someone by the end of the week. I know I'm a big woman, but the bathroom was tiny by anyone's measure. Clark Kent couldn't have spun in it fast enough to change into his Superman tights.

Still, the stateroom steward kept it clean and on some nights when he came in to do the turn down service, he left us with a little friend.

All joking aside, I really liked the ship and the Norwegian experience. I'd sail them again, particularly if they're going back to Alaska. There's still so much more to see!

Mission Alaska: Victoria, B.C.

2011-05-29T23:51:00.000-04:00

I know Victoria is not part of Alaska, but it was the final port we visited on our cruise. This is a charming island city, both beautiful and historic. Our original excursion choice got cancelled, so we signed up for the Grand city tour and high tea at the Empress Hotel.

The bus took us all around and the driver gave us an excellent narration explaining the history and customs of Victoria. These days its home to a lot of retirement condos and government offices, in addition to tourism, of course. The houses all over the island are beautiful with gardens that burst with colors, showing the pride of their homeowners. The Empress is a large, lovely older hotel situated looking out over the city harbor. High tea is a popular custom -- whether enjoyed at 2 p.m. or, like us, 9 p.m. Traditional tea sandwiches, scones, and small, tasty confections arrived on a tiered china stand. The wait staff served our tea the "proper" way, placing our requested lumps of sugar and cream in our cups before adding the tea. I'm a confirmed tea drinker, so I loved both the taste as well as the ceremony. I also liked the gift of their special Centennial blend that they presented each of us with before we left.

After the tour and tea, we returned to the ship, eager to catch that evening's performance of Second City, the improv group. We'd seen them perform other times and really enjoyed the shows.

The evening was a little bittersweet. We knew that it was the last night of a fantastic vacation.

Tomorrow: Some general observations and pictures onboard the Norwegian Pearl.

Mission Alaska: Ketchikan

2011-05-28T14:09:00.000-04:00

Is anyone tired of the beautiful scenery yet? I know that I didn't get tired of seeing it while we cruised. Friday brought us to Ketchikan, another small town in what has to be one of the most beautiful states in the entire country. Janet and I definitely focused on wilderness excursions so we disembarked the huge ship, walked a few feet across the pier, and boarded a 78' metal power catamaran for the trip to Misty Fjords National Monument and Wilderness Area.

We were told pretty soon in the trip that Ketchikan gets about 20 sunny days a year. We were very lucky to have skies like this:

If I remember the narration right, the area was first "discovered" by Captain George Vancouver. When I say discovered, I mean by Europeans since the Native American Nations were there long before anyone else sailed in.

The narrator on our trip was phenomenal. I could not begin to retell everything she shared about the area, the history, the culture, the eco-system, and the wildlife. In addition to the naturalist, they also had a Native Artist on board who could speak even more about the Native Nation that populates the area.

In these pristine surroundings, every piece of the eco-system works together. Nature's synergy is wonderful to behold.

I don't know if it happens all of the time, or if we were fortunate to the extreme, but whales showed up again for our pleasure.

Isn't he handsome?

Below is a picture of a place in the area called New Eddy Rock. You can camp on it or get married at its base if you want.

Not that we ever tired of seeing whales, but Janet and I also hoped to see at least one bear while in Alaska. While the boat motored around Misty Fjords, all of a sudden the captain told us they'd spotted a bear on shore. Everyone ran to the starboard side looking for the critter. We searched and searched but couldn't see it. Finally, even the crew gave up and the captain announced that the bear had probably gone back into the woods. Seconds later, a woman on the lower deck began to yell, in a broad Southern accent, "It's in the trayyy root. It's in the trayy root!" We heard her running, her feet clanging on the metal deck. She pounded up the stairs. "I saww it. It's in the trayyyyyy rooot!" She ran out and continued to yell while she pounded on the door to the captain's bridge.

I stared at the damn tree root but couldn't see anything but branches, roots and dirt. Finally I just zoomed in the camera as much as possible and started snapping photos. When I later looked at the photos, imagine my surprise. There WAS a bear in the trayyyy roooot. (Look to the left of the room ball near the first big root. You'll see it looking back at us.

How gorgeous is this place? Seriously gorgeous!

I don't remember the name of the little black and white birds with the red legs and feet, but they were cute.

Whales, bears, birds -- why not some harbor seals, too? The ones on top of this rock outcropping were easy to spot. The others were almost perfectly camoflaged.

See them? There were a few dozen spread out over the rocks.

Figured I'd check out the video feature of my new camera. I was amazed that I captured the Orca jumping. don't blink. You'll miss it!

After visiting the last group of orcas for a few minutes, the captain really needed to return us to our ship. We even passed another humpback without stopping. Back in Ketchikan, we did a little shopping. Once on board again, Janet went off for a massage and I shot some photos from the balcony.

Floatplanes are popular for getting around Alaska between towns that don't have many roads, as well as for sightseeing. For my money, I'd rather be amid the scenery than flying over it.

Someone in Ketchikan has a sense of humor.

Pretty soon we were cruising away from Ketchikan and making our way back down the inside passage. Tomorrow: Victoria, British Columbia.

Mission Alaska: Glacier Bay

2011-05-27T22:24:00.000-04:00

Thursday of our trip was like an all-day excursion enjoyed without ever leaving the ship. When Janet and I first began planning the cruise, we knew we wanted an itinerary that included Glacier Bay National Park. There are no roads to this wild location. You can only reach it by plane or boat. Together the park and preserve are roughly the size of the state of Connecticut.

To protect the environment, they only permit two cruise ships and a small number of authorized smaller vessels in a day and we reached it early. So that we could learn and fully appreciate our surroundings, park rangers joined the Norwegian Pearl in the morning. Their boat ran up alongside our ship and the rangers grabbed onto a ladder and climbed up to an open door. While both vessels were still moving. The head ranger narrated throughout the day, giving us information about the history, the ecosystem, the flora and fauna of the park while we slowly cruised its waters.

We specifically booked a stateroom with a balcony so that we could relax and enjoy Glacier Bay at our leisure. From the time that we woke up, we were cruising by non-stop beautiful scenery. This was the only day that we ordered room service. We ate in between taking pictures. It was a little chilly out on the balcony, but we were fine in sweatpants, long-sleeved shirts, our fleece jackets and light gloves. To be on the safe side, however, we ordered a mid-morning treat of a drink the ship called an Alaskan Snow Plow. Hot chocolate with Bailey's Irish Cream and cream de cacao. Yep. That took off any chill.

Here are just a few of the many pictures I shot that day.

Does everyone seen the somber old man face on the side of the mountain? I'm sure I'm not the only one!

We were excited to see some minor glacier "calving". Everything was so quiet that the rumble and cracking of ice echoed all around us.

You can read more about Glacier Bay National Park by clicking here.

The park rangers told us that when we were leaving the park, we should keep an eye out for wildlife. They weren't kidding. I took a quick trip to the spa for a massage while Janet wandered around on deck. When we met up again in the room, she was bubbling over saying she'd seen another humpback as well as some sort of dolphin-like animals jumping around but she didn't know what they were. Just as she was describing what she'd seen I glanced out of our cabin window and saw some for myself. They were Dahl's porpoises. A minute later I looked again and there was a humpback swimming alongside the Pearl.

The endless, awe-inspiring beauty of the day was almost overwhelming. While breathing the cleanest air that's ever gone into my lungs and feeling the crisp, cool breeze on my skin, I was humbled by our relative insignificance in the face of nature's majesty. I was also reminded with every breath that we have a responsibility to protect this beauty we have so generously been given.

Tomorrow: Ketchikan and our trip to Misty Fjords.

Mission Alaska: Skagway

2011-05-26T21:46:00.000-04:00

We were up early for a 7 a.m. disembarking in Skagway, Alaska, a one-traffic-light town that in the 1900s was the gateway to the Klondike Gold Rush. Hopeful goldseekers stocked up in Skagway and then journeyed over 20 miles up into the mountains to the Canadian border. They needed to bring at least 2000 pounds of goods with them on that difficult trek or the Canadian authorities denied them access. The last thing anyone wanted was starving miners.

There really isn't much to Skagway except for the tourism season that starts in May and runs until September. They live on the dollars brought in by the cruise ship passengers. When the last cruise ship of the season departs, the town pretty much shuts down.

From everything we'd heard or read, the White Pass Railway up the mountain was the excursion we had to take. This is quite the old, historic train. No high speed, luxury cars on this choo-choo.

We creaked and chugged on the old rails, climbing higher and higher while the narrator told us about the history of the gold rush, the well known characters of the old days of Skagway, and the perils and challenges faced by the miners. As we climbed higher and higher up the mountain, I marveled that any sane person would attempt it on foot or pack animal 100 plus years ago. I guess that begs the question, "How sane is a person who's infected by gold fever?"

Sometimes it seemed like we were right on the edge.

Glad that this particular train bridge is no longer in use.

The higher up we climbed, the more snow, of course. We never got tired of looking out of the windows at the scenery.

The trip up the mountains took two hours. The trip back, only an hour. Gravity helped!

Jewell Gardens & Glassblowing

Back in Skagway, Janet went off to the Gold Dredge to discover what it was like to pan for gold. I joined an excursion to visit a glassblowing studio. I was excited to see the demonstration and then participate in making an ornament to keep. Our tour guide Jonathan, a young college student from Utah, and the glass artist David could not have been nicer to our group. David first demonstrated the techniques and explained about the method and tools.

Then each of us on the tour picked the colors and design we wented and stepped up to assist David in creating our ornaments.

David showed me how to roll the colored glass onto the initial "gather" of melted glass.

Pipes heating, ready to be used to gather molten glass.

Under David's watchful eye, I carefully rolled my ornament in the 2300 degree flash oven.

Using the heavy tweezers to pinch and twist the glass, adding design with the colors.

The blowing part of glass blowing. Yes, I've already thought of every off-color joke.

The almost-finished product. It needed to spend the night in the tempering case and will be shipped home to me.

After all of us completed ornaments and David made a wavy-lipped bowl, we enjoyed a delicious high tea and toured the pretty gardens before being taken back to the ship.

All told, this marked another terrific, interesting and fun day on the cruise. Once back on board Janet and I exchanged stories of our adventures. She'd done quite a bit of shopping in Skagway and showed off her purchases. Both of us then began looking forward to the next day and Glacier Bay.

Mission Alaska: Juneau

2011-05-25T22:30:00.000-04:00

I recently returned from an amazing trip to Alaska. There are so many impressions of nature at its grandest and I can scarcely do it justice. I might have been overwhelmed by the experience were it not tempered to some degree by some of the funny, near goofy stuff that also happened during the week-long cruise.

I'd like to share the journey in pictures as much as possible, but I'd probably blow out Blogger. Everything is so gorgeous that I couldn't keep from snapping picture after picture after picture. I'll do my best to select enough to give you at least a good idea of Alaska and our adventures. It's going to take a few blog posts.

We departed Seattle on Sunday, May 22nd, cruising up the inside passage. By Tuesday, we reached Juneau. After a slow, crowded disembarking at this first port on our journey, we were transferred by bus to a boat for our Wilderness Cruise. I couldn't wait to see whales and the whales did not keep us waiting. Within minutes, we spotted the first humpback whale.

I think we saw at least half a dozen humpbacks on that trip, including one who was sleeping at the surface of the water. The captain killed the engine and we just hung out there for awhile watching the whale while it rested.

The company has been running these tours for at least a dozen years so they know the area well. The captain cruised to a popular haul-out spot for Steller sea lions. That big guy in the middle is the beachmaster -- the boss of this herd. I bet he weighs at least 1500 pounds.

One of the crew members told me that they hadn't seen Orcas in the area, that it was a little early in the season for this species. I guess the killer whales didn't get that memo. When we were close to the time that we needed to head back to the dock, the captain thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. I turned my head and spotted the distinctive tall dorsal fin of an adult Orca. There were three small groups around the boat, including some youngsters. Absolutely gorgeous.

After a few minutes of observation, we really needed to head back, so we said goodbye, leaving wildlife and beautiful scenery in our wake. Please note the blue sky. These are rare in Juneau. Apparently it rains 300 or so days a year, so we were lucky.

After rejoining our bus driver/tour guide, we traveled to Mendenhall Glacier. We learned that glacier ice appears blue because the blue in the light spectrum is reflected back to us from the deep, compact ice.

I have many more glacier pictures from a few days later in our cruise, so I'll leave you with just one on this post. After Mendenhall, we were delivered back to our ship. Our spirits were high from the gorgeous views of mountains and water and the joy we felt over seeing so many whales. The day could not have been better!

Stay tuned for the next post on our visit to Skagway.

A Typical Sunday Afternoon in the Florida Keys

2011-05-08T22:38:00.000-04:00

Sundays. Ahh, Sundays. Another day off of work for many. A day to relax, maybe go on a picnic in the park or gather around with friends and family for a barbeque.

We like to do the same things in the Keys but, you know, we're on islands and there's a lot of water around. Given the slightest chance, we'd rather be out on our boats. When the surroundings are this pretty, wouldn't you?

Anchor up at the sandbar, swim or walk around to other boats to say hello. It's just like a picnic at a community park, if the park is under water.

People are usually pretty happy when the weather's gorgeous and the water's warm.

My friend Angelina on my boat. Yes, the water was really that clear.

Earworms

2011-05-01T10:30:00.002-04:00

Right now do you have a song, or even worse a snippet of a song, stuck in your head? I have two alternating: Firework by Katy Perry and Soul Sister by Train.

I now officially despise these songs with a loathing formerly reserved for I've Never Been to Me, a song that becamse a big hit when released (for the second time) in 1982 by a one hit wonder named Charlene. That song contains such magic lyrics as, "I've been undressed by kings and I've seen some things that a woman ain't s'posed to see."

It's not that they aren't good songs. Honestly, I have no perspective now on whether they're good, great, or dreck-awful. Any affection I might have formed for their bouncy appeal is eradicated by the fact that they've taken up residence in my head. They're stuck there, not just like creepy worms, but like ticks -- firmly embedded and refusing to let go.

Why couldn't I have truly great songs that I love, like anything by Springsteen, on an internal endless loop? I'd far rather listen to Show a little faith, there's magic in the night. You ain't a beauty but, hey, you're alright. And that's alright with me from Thunder Road, than this:

Hey soul sister, ain't that Mister Mister on the radio, stereo, the way you move's no fair you know.

It's nearly impossible to avoid this song when it's now used on every other television commercial. The American Idol finalists sang it as a group a week or so ago. That made me eternally grateful that I was watching it on my DVR and fast forwarded faster than you could say, "Soul Sister again? Shoot me now."

I fair a little better with the Katy Perry song, probably because I only know one line and that's the one that's stuck.

Cause baby you're a firework.

Unfortunately, even one line relentlessly pops into my head.

Look at that bird flying by.

Baby you're a firework

Add two tsps of . . . Baby you're a firework

I need to write a Baby you're a firework blog post. What should I write Baby, you're a about today? firework.

See, it's pure torture. Every time I think I've stopped hearing them, another television commercial for a movie or tv show plays one of them and triggers the earworm yet again.

I'm not the only one annoyed to all hell about it either. I Googled for which ads use the Train song and found a number of blogs who want the plug pulled, too. For the record, using the song doesn't work to reinforce the ad message. I couldn't tell you what products are being touted in the commercials because I'm desperately trying to tune out the song.

Both songs even infiltrated Glee. No, I did not download the cast's versions to my iPod.

I think the only thing worse would be a mashup of both songs so that I had to listen to both of them over and over and over. It might go something like this:

Hey Soul Sister, ain't that Mister Mister? You're a firework, what a perk! The way you move's not fair, you jerk.

Ayieeeee. Now I'll probably have that worming its way through my brain, too.

Got an earworm of your own? Care to share?

Toasting Royalty

2011-04-29T14:59:00.002-04:00

I woke up feeling sick to my stomach in the middle of the night. After about an hour of tossing and turning, I accepted that I wasn't going to fall back to sleep anytime soon.

Rather than staring at the ceiling, at least there was something fun to watch on television. You might have heard something about it -- the Royal Wedding?

I'm not one of those people around the world who planned pre-dawn tea parties or put bottles of bubbly on ice to celebrate. I didn't order a replica of the engagement ring or a set of tea cups with the couples' photo. Had I been feeling okay, I would have turned on the television and watched while I got ready for the day and then gone off to work, knowing full well that I wasn't really missing anything. The news stations would air all the important shots again and again and again. Then again.

Since I was sick, I made a cup of tea (I drink tea anyway, so this was not a special tribute to England), curled up in my comfy chair and got totally sucked into the event. I swear, when it comes to days like today, nobody arranges an event this size like the British royal family. The beautiful bride, handsome groom and their families arriving in vintage luxury automobiles, polished to the highest gloss. Uniformed calvary officers on matching black horses. Century old carriages. The world's most famous abbey. Kings, queens, princes, princesses, "lesser" royals, nobles, famous soccer players, and pub owners seated as guests. (I love that William and Kate invited the owner of their favorite pub.) Military flyovers and tens of thousands of people gentilly and calmly collected along the motor routes and outside the palace waiting for the first public kiss as man and wife.

All planned and pulled off with exquisite timing. Seriously, ABC News posted the schedule of events. Peoples' departures and arrivals were set to the minute. I imagine that a squadron of royal timekeepers synchronized their watches before departing to the various palaces and hotels and then communicated via cell phones to make sure the right prince got into the right car at precisely the right time.

No worry about traffic tie-ups with the roads cleared along the route. Those Bentleys and Rolls arrived at Westminster exactly when expected.

As far as I saw, nobody tripped getting out of their cars either. Nobody lost an eye to the trimmings on one of those amazing hats.

Seriously. Nobody does hats like British women. For the most part they were spectacular, although some (Princess Beatrice) were odd. Princess Michael of Kent's hat was so huge, that the people in back of her watched the proceedings on their iPhones.

The newscasters constantly referred to the groom and his brother as either the princes or the boys. Boys, as if they haven't completely grown up from the adorable babies and toddlers we cooed over when they were born. When they stepped from their car in their gorgeous dress uniforms, all I saw were handsome young men.

Everybody eagerly awaited the first glimpse of the bride's dress. We caught a flash as she slipped into the Rolls Royce, and then feasted our eyes on her from at least the bodice up. Someone retro-fitted the car so that the back window extended up to half the roof giving us a nice clear view through the bullet-proof glass.

Lace bodice and sleeves, a "discreetly" plunging neckline, delicate veil held in place by a diamond tiara. Teardrop-shapped earrings, set with diamonds, glittered behind the veil. Good Lord, she looked beautiful - and considering the enormity of the day, not the least bit terrified.

As soon as she arrived at the abbey and gracefully exited the car, you could practically hear bridal shops around the world moving lace-topped dresses into their window displays and placing them at the forefront of the racks.

The long walk down the aisle, the grin from Prince Harry when he peeked over his shoulder at the bride's approach and then turned to tell his brother what he'd seen. . . . Steady voices for the vows, eyes glowing. Married in front of the world, the two of them frequently smiled at each other, creating some personal connection between them. Every once in awhile, Kate glanced around as if she wanted to take it all in.

The departure into an open landau, poised, smiling and waving to the throngs of people cheering their journey. The news services' lip-readers report that at one point Kate turned to William and said, "I'm so happy." The new Duchess of Cambridge has learned protocol. Whenever Prince William saluted someone, Kate bowed her head in a gesture of respect. (Her first curtsy to her new grandmother-in-law was gracefully perfect.)

Okay, just typing that makes me think about how truly enormous the day was for this woman. Any bride's wedding is a big day, but nobody else was marrying a prince and future king. When she said "I will", she not only gained a husband, she gained a few titles and became a Duchess, a Countess and a Baroness. Technically, she's also now Princess William of Wales. I'm assuming that she's also Kate Windsor, but I bet nobody calls her that.

Only Kate, on this day, saw Her Monarch become her in-law. I wonder if she still has to call her "Your Majesty". I can't imagine her calling the Queen Grammy like William does, but then again, who knows what goes on within the family.

According to one of the Brit protocol explainers, from this day forward, people have to curtsy to Kate and call her Your Highness or ma'am. She now only curtsies to the Queen and Duchess Camilla, since the duchess's husband is actually next in line to the throne. Pretty mind-blowing, if you ask me. I imagine it will take some getting used to. It's not everyone who comes out on a balcony, waves, and then hears tens of thousands of people cheer when you turn and kiss your new husband.

I hope she handles it well. I hope that the public, and the media treats them well. I hope that they enjoy a long, happy, life together. They might be royalty, but at the end of the day they're a man and woman who married the people they love. They're every bit as deserving of happiness as the rest of us.

Boulevard by Stephen Jay Schwartz

2011-04-24T22:39:00.004-04:00

Rarely has a book disturbed me and kept me trapped in its power to the degree of Boulevard by Stephen Jay Schwartz. I might have missed reading it all together had I not gone to the RT Booklovers Convention earlier this month in Los Angeles. I attended a panel about keeping sex real in fiction. The panelists included my friends Heather Graham and F. Paul Wilson, along with Barry Eisler and an author I hadn't heard of before, Stephen Jay Schwartz. (Sorry, Stephen!)

In the discussion, Stephen talked about his books. In a couple of sentences, he intrigued me about his main character - an LAPD detective who is also a sex addict. Conflict, anyone?

From page one, it was obvious that Stephen is one hell of a writer, a word artist, and a master storyteller. Not to sound blase about murder mysteries and psychological thrillers, but a cop versus serial killer plot isn't new. What made it new for me, and totally engrossing, is that Stephen transforms his story into a perfectly filmed movie that plays in the reader's imagination.

The scenes, the emotions, the people, are so vivid that they transcend the limits of the page. You not only see them, you feel them, no matter how sickening or painful. Whether cruising the L.A. streets, and seeing the broad cityscape through the eyes of detective Hayden Glass, or narrowing your focus to the angle of a posed corpse, you're in the scene. You become as caught up in the case as the characters and know that you have no choice but to see this through with them to the end. That's the gift of the author. The images are so spectacularly drawn that the prose nearly becomes poetic. Dark poetry, for sure, but beauty's not only found in sunlight.

Hayden Glass is tormented not only by the evil killer he hunts, but also by the internal compulsions he battles with every breath. I hurt for him and, I'm not ashamed to admit, even cried for him because of the choices he has to make and the losses he endures.

Boulevard is not an easy book to read, but writing this good is rare and once I started I was hooked. I wouldn't have missed it for the world and you better believe I'm going to read the second book in the series and whatever else Stephen Schwartz writes.

Internet Connection

2011-04-20T21:08:00.003-04:00

Physically, the planet's no smaller than it was a millenium ago. It just feels that way. A couple of hundred years ago, if I wanted to get in touch with a friend in Australia, my letter would take months and months to get to her by ship. If the ship happened to sink around the Cape of Good Hope, well, let's hope I wasn't sending a love letter and waiting for an answer.

Tonight, all I need to do is open up Instant Messenger, Skype, or the chat window on Facebook and the direct line of communication is open. Now anyone can keep in touch three dozen ways to Sunday by clicking a few buttons.

In this sense, the world hasn't just gotten smaller. It's downright cozy.

In recent weeks, I've had some fun Internet connection experiences. On Facebook, I've "Liked" the page of author Susan Elizabeth Phillips. I commented on one of her status updates. A few hours later I received a message from a woman whose name I didn't recognize. She'd seen my comments and my name reminded her of someone she knew long ago. By any chance was I the same Mary Stella that went to Camp XXX in upstate New York in 1969?

Paint me gobsmacked. Yes, by chance, I am that same Mary Stella. The woman who wrote was one of my roomates. She had the left bunk. I was the center one. A third girl named Andie was on the right. I think we were roommates for one month. One month 42 years ago and she remembered my name when she saw it on a Facebook page. As soon as she said it, I remembered that she was a Cubs fan and had curly hair. That recollection isn't a tenth as impressive as picking a name off a page.

Not even a week after this, I was walking up to my office at work when one of my co-workers stopped me. He joined our organization six or so months ago after living in Chicago. "Mary, this is going to sound strange," he said, "But how do you know Dustin R.?" The out-of-left-field question threw me for a short moment, but I remembered that anything's possible in this day and information age.

"He's married to Allison who is the daughter of one of my older brother's best friends and college buddies. I've known her since she was a baby," I replied. "How do you know him?"

Turns out my co-worker's brother worked and became friends with Allison and, therefore, Dustin, out in California.

Let's subtract a few numbers from that six degrees of separation, shall we?

Internet connection coincidences must come in threes. For several years I've been a fan and daily reader of the blog by the talented, hilarious Ken Levine. In addition to being an Emmy award-winning writer/producer/director, Ken is also an MLB announcer. He also spent a lot of years as a deejay on Top 40 radio stations. In his recent blogpost, Ken wrote about some of his radio experiences. Back when I was in college, I worked every summer for a radio station in my home area of Atlantic City. I posted a short comment about the station and my experience.

Tonight I logged on email and opened a letter from a guy who worked at that same radio station in 1978 - when I was there for my last summer. So many years ago, but I remembered him. Turns out, he and Ken are close friends and have similar backgrounds in radio and sports announcing. Mike McCann is not only a diehard baseball fan, he's also an accomplished photographer. Click here to see some of his photos on his blog.

Maybe it's wrong to call all of these things coincidences. Given the instant connections made possible by the Internet, I don't think we should expect anything less.

What's the best connection you've experienced thanks to the world wide web?

Remodeling

2011-04-16T13:48:00.005-04:00

After years of dithering and delay, I've finally committed to remodeling my master bedroom. I've talked about doing it forever, but opted for other projects (kitchen, guest bathroom, boat, pool) instead. This time, it's for real! I've spoken to my favorite contractor and have even set a start date. He's going to do the bulk of the work while I first cruise to Alaska and then have a work-related conference. This means that a lot of messy stuff can get done when the dogs and I aren't around.

Bonus -- He'll be around the house while I'm gone and will feed my fish!

I've thought a lot about what I want to do. Remove the paneling, install insulation and put up non-paneled walls. Rip out the wall-to-wall carpeting and put down flooring, then area rugs. There are two closets. If the wall between them isn't a bearing wall, then I'd like to covert two into one larger closet so I can do organizers and maximize the space. New windows.

Nothing to it, right? Hah. Let's just say that I'm glad I'm not the one doing the work. It's taken me long enough to move forward at all. The contractor's coming over next week to give me good measurements so that I can order the flooring and windows. There's no turning back!

Now I'm on a deadline. Before any work can happen, I need to completely clean out the room. I made a good start on this a couple of weeks ago and now I've developed a clean, clear action plan. This weekend, I'm going through the two closets. If there is any garment in there that I have not worn more than once in the last two years, it goes into the pile for donation to the Salvation army. Everything that remains will be folded neatly into plastic tubs and moved into the spare bedroom.

The ginormous suitcase that I'm taking on the cruise is already on one of the beds in the other room. I've started putting in clothes that I know need to make the trip.

I have many, many books in that room. Going through the titles and deciding what to keep will be more difficult than sorting through the clothes. I have great sentimental attachment to many of these and this battles my practical streak. There is only so much room in my house for all the titles I'd love to keep and right now the bookshelves are at max capacity and piles are overflowing.

The saving grace is that I can donate paperbacks to the local library, so I know that they'll find their way into the hands of appreciative readers.

The furniture's going, too. Believe me that this bedroom set has more than served its usefulness and then some. When my parents bought the house in 1978, this furniture was included so it's at least that old, maybe older. The mattress is at least 15 years old. Yes, I'm overdue.

That's the nuts and bolts of the remodeling project, but amid the tasks I know there's something more emotional going on, too. I think that, more than any other room in a home, our bedrooms are personal space. They're where we rest, rejuvenate, and dream. We prepare in them at the beginning of the day, and unwind in them at the end.

In a sense, I never really created this room as my own personal space. Instead of it flowing out from me, I sort of fit myself into its four walls. Consequently, I've never loved the room as a personal space.

This remodeling job is more. It's a reclamation and I'm going to enjoy every bit of the creation.

What have you recreated or remodeled lately? Does the process affect you emotionally, too?

From FLA to LA and Home Again

2011-04-11T22:36:00.004-04:00

Arriving home from the RT Convention in Los Angeles means so many things. Time to snuggle with the pups today, a chance to breath in the fresh, salty air while I gaze out on the harbor. A couple of good naps after a redeye flight and, finally, Internet access that really is "high speed" and not "slower than a constipated banana slug on quaaludes". I'm amazed, and not a little miffed, that the hotel (Westin Bonaventure) charges $12.95 a day for their Internet access. Given the slowness, that's about $6.50 an email.

Now I'm home where fast is only slightly slower than instantaneous, so I can blog about the rest of the trip. (Even if I haven't figured out yet why Blogger is ignoring the formatting and running my paragraphs together. Maybe I just need to double return. It looks fine here, but who knows? We'll explore.) When last we visited, I was on my way to the bookfair and bemoaning the fact that Spirit Airlines now charges you $25 extra for your checked backage if you go over 40 pounds. So, I made note of the books that I wanted to buy but didn't and will download them from Amazon to my Kindle.

The booksigning was huge. Hundreds of authors and readers all coming together in a giant ballroom. There were readers rolling small carts around that they were filling up with books. Some people bought fewer but those readers were no less thrilled to meet with their favorite authors.

I picked up Mercy Kill by my friend Lori Armstrong. Lori writes amazing, gritty, intense, terrific mysteries featuring the main character of retired army sniper Mercy Gundersen. Set in Lori's home state of South Dakota, the book is peopled with ranchers, Lakotas, bikers, multi-generational families -- all real, authentic characters that will intrigue you from start to finish. In the "Mercy" series, people fight crime and are forced to battle their own internal demons. Mercy is not a delicate flower of a woman. She kicks some major ass, but is not without her own, heavily disguised vulnerability. Mercy Kill is the second book in the series. I started reading it Saturday night and finished today. I can't wait for the next book!

It never fails that when I go to these conventions, I meet at least one author that's new to me and get to spend some time talking with them. This time around, it was Stephen Jay Schwartz. I first saw him speak on a panel about sex portrayed realisitcally in books. The other panel members were my friends Heather Graham and F. Paul Wilson, and author Barry Eisler.

Stephen has two books out in a series that features LAPD Robbery-Homicide detective Hayden Glass. I was so intrigued by Stephen's description of Glass in that panel that I bought the first book, Boulevard, at the booksigning. Here's the back cover copy:

Harden Glass never had it easy. He fought hard for everything he got, hounded by a shame that he could never quite define or conquer. Now a Los Angeles Police Robbery-Homicide detective, Glass is still haunted by the scars that left a permanent void in his soul. he deals with it the only way he can . . . he cruises Sunset Boulevard, picking up prostitutes. Hayden Glass is a sex addict. Called to investigate a heinous crime scene involving the daughter of a prominent L.A. polictician, Glass is quickly overwhelmed by the media spotlight. When new murders arise, Glass sees a link where no one else does, realizing that this is the work of a vicious, sadistic sexual predator. His investigation takes him beyond his temptations and to the line where the deviant behavior that has become his crutch crosses over into devinatly criminal. Wow. I can't wait to dive in to this book.

After the booksigning, I had lunch with some friends and then settled in for the Mr. Romance Cover Model Pageant back at the convention. I must admit, that this pageant has lost some of the drool factor for me now that I'm in my 50s, but I still enjoy it for entertainment. Plus, two friends - Beth Ciotta and Mark Johnson - co-host the event so I go, cheer, and generally have a good time. Drinks at the bar with friends followed the pageant, and another dance party took place after that, so we pretty much were busy from morning to midnight.

Sunday dawned and Beth and I started packing up our things. She had a 9:30 a.m. shuttle to catch for the airport. I had plans to take a city tour of Los Angeles with friends Debbie and Caitlin Richardson. This was a bonus day. I can't tell you how many cities I've been to for conventions and conferences and then rarely left the hotel to see anything.

This tour was terrific with an engaging tour guide and plenty of time to drive all over. Venice Beach and Santa Monica, Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive, a farmer's market, the tar pits, a scenic overlook of the entire city, Hollywood, the Chinese Theater, and the Walk of Fame -- all in 4 1/2 hours. I felt like I at least got to experience some of the many things that make L.A. famous, with the exception of any celebrities. The closest we got were wax figures of Jane Lynch and Madonna that were on loan from Madame Tussaud's Museum for the GLAAD Awards event going on at our hotel when we returned.

Around 6 I shared a car to the airport with friends Lisa and Kelli. I boarded the plane at 8:40 p.m. and buckled in for the redeye flight back east. Thankfully, I inherited the ability to sleep anywhere from my father so I snoozed for most of the trip. We touched down back here in South Florida a little after 5 a.m. The drive home took just under three hours, with a stop to pick up Nat and Pyxi.

All in all it was a terrific trip. The convention staff did a terrific job in organizing and arranging all of the panels, workshops and events. I saw and met people who are writing heroes, learned some valuable stuff, and got to spend time with dear friends whom I do not see nearly often enough. I'm glad that I went and am also happy to be home, newly inspired to forge on with my own career again.

Quick Bit from RT

2011-04-09T13:13:00.002-04:00

I'm at the Romantic Times Booklover Convention in Los Angeles. (Waving to the housesitter and dogs back home!) I know that I should be filling the blog with great stories and pictures. Unfortunately, my camera broke the night before I flew out and the Hi-Speed Internet connection in the hotel is so slow that I could regenerate teeth faster. So, here's a quick shot of highlights: Seeing friends I love and adore Had lunch with a writing hero - Emmy winning writer/director/producer Ken Levine. Check out his very funny blog on my blog roll. I read his newly e-published book of travelogs on the plane ride. It's hilarious! Attended a chat with Dean Koontz who was extremely funny. Free signed book - BONUS! Attended a panel discussion by five soap stars - fun, enlightening. Great reader chat moderated by Sarah of Smart Bitches blog and Jane Litte of Dear Author. Great to hear what readers have to say about what they want. Performed last night in Heather Graham's annual dinner show. This year's performance was Zombie Dancers from Planet 9. We survived the show, although I got to die brilliantly on stage as the murder victim Signed at the ebook expo yesterday. Sold a print copy and handed out several postcards announcing the e-versions of my books. Also signed a male friend's "tramp stamp". That's a first! (He's the husband of a friend. Next time, it's the abs.) Heading out now for the bookfair. I feel limited in what I can buy, cursed by Spirit Airlines ridiculous 40 pound weight limit on checked baggage. May just have to pay for the overage, damn them. That's all for now. Have a great day!

Cosmetic Enhancements

2011-04-05T18:06:00.002-04:00

Some woman on morning television today claims the world record in plastic surgery procedures. She's had something like 1000 things done for a gagillion dollars. I can't conceive of wanting to get so much work done. I don't put such temporary things as eyelash perming, keratin treatments on my hair, and facials in the same category. Does the tattoo on my foot count as a cosmetic enhancement? The salon that I go to has a permanent makeup artist. Women go in and get makeup tatooed for the eyebrows, eyelids, lips. They wakeup without that dreaded morning face. The artist's ad card is a little disconcerting. She has before and after shots for eyes, mouth and . . . nipples. While I totally cheer for this service and the help it gives to women who have had reconstructive surgery on their breasts after mastectomies, I still want to fold my arms over my chest and whine when I look at the card. Yes, sure, I let a tattoo artist stick needles in the top of my foot to create my lovely starfish. As much as I'm sure that permanently lined eyes would look fabulous, no, I am not letting someone do the same on my lids. At 53, I'm fortunate that I don't have masses of wrinkles. Some grooves on the upper lip, one between the brows, some light crow's feet at the corners of my eyes. I do like to take care of my skin with a good cleansing and moisturizing routine. My esthetician started me on this great moisturizing stuff hyaluronic acid. We have it in our bodies but it diminishes with age. The substance holds something like 1000 times its volume in fluid so I apply it after dampening my face. No lie. This is plumping up some skin cells and reducing the look of those lines. Turns out that HA is the same stuff that's in some of the injections people get for wrinkles. (Different stuff than Botox.) Good cleansers, a moisturizer, wearing sunblock, coloring the gray in my hair, doing the eyelash perm, good hair care, manicures and pedicures -- These things make me happy. Procedures that require anesthesia and stitches? I'll reserve those for life-saving or health-restoring measures. How about you? How far will you go to enhance your appearance?

2011-04-04T20:28:00.001-04:00

Eyelashes curled, hair straightened-much to do to get ready for RT. Didn't plan on purple dress turning sheets lavendar. I can work with it!

A "Me" Day

2011-04-02T09:20:00.002-04:00

I'm heading out to the pool to exercise in a bit, but I'm really trying to blog more consistently, so I stopped by here first. I like to blog, so even this has become part of my "Me" day. Me days are important. I'm a big believer that most of us deserve to set aside time for activities and treats just for ourselves. I also don't feel that we do this often enough. It isn't selfish, or even particularly indulgent, to foster some quality self-care. Think on it. Most of us have day jobs and then we have our life responsibilities on top of it, so we spend a whole bunch of time each day taking care of things and work for other people or organizations. If you don't work outside the home, chances are you devote a lot of your time to other people in your family. Am I right? So, how am I indulging myself with this Me day? I slept in a little later this morning and relaxed over breakfast instead of eating and rushing out the door. I'm heading out for a dip which is always fun. Later this morning, I'm going for a facial. As good as that is for my skin care, I love the experience more for the 90 minutes of pure pampering. (Check back later for deets on my first ever eyelash perming.) On the way home, I'll hit the store to buy ingredients and make something that I really like for dinner. Don't know what it will be yet. I'm open to inspiration. This afternoon, I'm digging into de-cluttering my bedroom in a big way. "Wait!", I hear you cry. "Cleaning is work. That's not You time!" Well, it is and it isn't. Normally, I'd agree and equate cleaning with something equally enjoyable -- like a root canal -- but this time it really is for me. In May, I'm having my master bedroom redone. I've already lined up my favorite contractor -- John of the brilliant work on my kitchen and bathroom remodeling -- and need to start preparing. So, first the de-clutter because, frankly, the room's a mess right now. Then John can come in to do measurements so I know how much flooring and what size windows to order. I've wanted to redo the bedroom for years and am very excited about finally tackling the project. So, see? The work today really is for me. I have clothes to go through so I can decide what to pack for an upcoming trip - always fun. I picked up a book from a series that I really like and have reading time built in. I definitely see some relaxing porch time with the dogs in the plans for the day. It really is all about me and it makes me feel good just thinking about it. How about you? What are you doing for yourself today? What have you done recently? What's your top choice for making it all about you?

My Les Miz Love Affair

2011-03-31T21:53:00.006-04:00

Show of hands. How many of you have seen Les Miserables on stage or some performance of its music on public television? Do you love it? An incredible 25th Anniversary concert that took place last fall in London has been airing on public television several times in recent weeks while the stations drum up donations. For me this has been like the rekindling of a decades-long relationship. Les Miz first hit Broadway in the mid-80s. I'd never heard of it until one night I was watching the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson and the actress portraying Fantine sang I Dreamed a Dream. (For those of you who have never seen Les Miz, might at least have seen the YouTube clip of Susan Boyle's performance. It's that song.) My mother and I were transfixed by the actress and the song. It inspired me to surprise Mom with tickets to the play as a Christmas present. The show was so popular that there was a six month wait for seats, but sooner or later, summer rolled around and we were off to New York. I've never been so moved by a show and its music as I was that summer night on Broadway. Drama, pathos, heroism, the battle between poor and wealthy, justice versus persecution, love at first sight, unrequited longing, tremendous honor, scurrilous thievery, lost hope, enduring faith -- Les Miz has all that and more. The epic story is told mostly with huge, dramatic songs and very little dialogue. Oh, those songs, filling the theater and our hearts. Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men? This is the music of a people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of our hearts echoes the beating of the drums, there is a world about to start when tomorrow comes! Les Miz isn't what you'd call a happy show. Considering that most of the main characters die, some could consider it an absolute downer. When we first saw it on Broadway, Mom was worried that I wasn't enjoying it because every time she looked at me, tears were running down my cheeks. Yes, characters die, but before each one passes on, he or she gets at least one fantastic solo. As soon as we saw the show, I had to get the soundtrack. I used to cruise the Jersey Shore with the top down on my convertible, belting out the songs at the top of my lungs. My range is closer to the deep tones of Inspector Javert than Fantine's soprano, so I'm sure anyone within hearing distance appreciated that the wind carried away my strained notes. I've worn out a few sets of cassettes and CDs over the years, for sure. Fifteen years ago, the PBS stations ran a 10th Anniversary special. I lost count of the number of times I watched it and was positive there'd never be another tribute that great. There wasn't, until this 25th anniversary concert. Words fail me. I recorded it on the DVR and am in danger of overdosing on the magnificent performances. Several times in recent weeks when there wasn't anything else worth watching, I hit the buttons, called up the recording and lost myself in the music. I Dreamed a Dream, Bring Him Home, On My Own -- they fill my heart tonight (Yes, it's playing again while I type this blog.) every bit as full as they did 25 plus years ago in that New York Theater. I have to admit that I've formed a bit of a fangirl/cougarish crush on the British tenor who sings the role of Jean Valjean. I never heard of Alfie Boe before I saw this concert. Now I want to get all of his recordings. I swear, hand to God, that my crush is not because he's a fairly handsome man. It's all about the power of his singing. Seriously, if hearing him sing Bring Him Home doesn't move you to the depths of your soul, I'll be shocked. So, there you have it. My enduring love affair with a theatrical extravaganza. This relationship means a lot to me, but don't worry. I'm willing to share.

The Daily Journey

2011-03-30T21:27:00.003-04:00

I'm watching American Idol. No recaps this year. Basically, the performers are all so good and none of the judges are drooling drunks, so there isn't enough material to snark on. Okay, except I think that Steven Tyler could be Rachel Ray's secret father. It's in the smile. Instead, I listen to these singers every week and I'm amazed. Most of them are really, really young and at the tender ages of 17, 20, 21, they're taking on the biggest opportunity of their lives. They want to be professional singers more than anything. It's their dream and they're going for it at ages when most young people are more excited about getting into bars legally. At their age, I knew I wanted to write a book someday but I was content to let someday happen down the road. Other things -- rock and roll clubs, concerts, being cool - were more important. Sometimes I wonder where I'd be today if I'd completed that first book at 20 and managed to sell it. Then I think back to an Advanced Creative Writing workshop I took when I was 26 or 27. I remember talking to the professor one night and saying, "I know I write well, but right now I don't know that I think well enough." In my 20s, a lot of things were jumbled inside me. I was mature and professional at my job, but not so much in my personal relationships. I didn't have the confidence or belief in myself to shoot for the stars the way these A.I. contestants do week after week. I wanted, but didn't comprehend that need is more powerful. I'd experience all this angst and emotion over guys I thought I loved but couldn't have, or relationships I had that didn't last. That sense of loss felt like the most all encompassing pain in the world -- until my father died when I was 25 and I experienced the worst of the worse. I don't think that all young people are callow, or that they're immature in all matters. I only know that whatever I needed inside to truly create, to pour heart, soul and life into characters, to write stories that honestly touched and resonated with readers, I didn't have back then. Now, it's different. I have more substance and understanding. The years and experiences have added layers. A more complete sense of self allows me to imbue "self" into the people I create. To some extent, regret is a waste because it doesn't change our reality. So, instead of regretting what I didn't achieve years ago, I just want to make the most of today. I know that I have what I need living inside me and have the power to pour it out onto the page. Now. Today. The tomorrow that becomes the next today. That's the daily journey.

Republished!

2011-03-25T21:50:00.007-04:00

By way of explanation for my long absence from this blog, I offer up my newly updated, freshly re-covered, and digitally converted books as evidence. Presenting the all new works of Mary Stella:

Because this was my first venture into epublishing, I think it took me longer than I expected. I was determined to read through both books and fix some glitches. (Those of you who are supreme copy editing experts, I'm sure there are still things that I missed, so please don't hold it against me!) I enjoyed working with a talented artist to capture the beauty and sexy mood of the books. (Thanks, Carl Graves of ExtendedImagery.com.)

Realizing that I know nothing about electronic formats like .mobi or .epub, I was delighted to hear about a new company that, for a very reasonable fee, would convert my files into those formats. EBookPrep.com was easy and professional to work with and they turned out a great finished effort.

I'd heard from other friends that the actual uploading was pretty easy, so before I paid someone else to do that service, I resolved to try it myself. Wow, was I pleasantly surprised. Both Amazon and BN.com have designed their online systems to be simple, step-by-step, and very user-friendly. Without any trouble at all, I set up my accounts, linked to a bank account, and uploaded the files. There's a little bit of a wait while the companies review and queue up your books, but within 24 hours, the books were up in the Kindle Store and NookBooks! (I'm tackling Smashwords for other ereaders this weekend.)

This adventure means so much more to me than book sales. When I first saw the books with their beautiful new cover images, I nearly cried. Regaining the rights and control of my books meant the world to me. I feel like I rescued them from complete oblivion and have given them a new shot at life. Talk about empowerment. I'm rolling in it right now.

Do I also help that they sell well? Of course. I'm a working writer, so that's important. I'm not expecting to hit the bestseller lists, but every copy is one more than my books would have sold if I did not believe in them enough to take them back and invest in their future.

If you haven't read them and are interested, they're very reasonably priced at $2.99 each. Here are the links:

All Keyed Up: On Amazon On BN.com

Key of Sea: On Amazon On BN.com

If you've read them and are so inclined, would you please consider writing and posting reviews up online? Your reviews help draw attention to the books. I'd greatly appreciate any help.

Now that I've completed this project, I'm on to new writing. I promise to post more often on the blog and fill you in on more Postcards from Paradise!

Time Sinks, or not

2011-01-26T18:46:00.002-05:00

Time is rarely on any of our sides these days, it seems. We're busier with more responsibilities, places to go, people to see, deals to make, projects to complete, you name it. As if there wasn't enough to do just doing everything, we also add the task of telling people that we're doing it via blogs, Facebook, Twitter and a dozen other social networking thingamabobs.

Remember when we were excited about simple cellular phones? Now we carry mini-computers that keep us uber-connected and, oh yeah, they even let us talk to each other. (Some let us see each other while we're gabbing.)

The flip side to having all this wonderful access to information that allegedly makes our lives easier, which should lead to us accomplishing more, is that they also open us up to endless time sucks.

Angry Birds? Time suck. My index finger is soon going to suffer a repetitive stress injury from catapulting those virtual feathered friends across my screen to explode green pigs.

Just typing that last sentence makes me laugh at myself. "So, Mary, what'd you do today?" "I worked and when I took a break, I shot cartoon birds at cartoon pigs. On a screen."

If anybody actually asks, I should cut to the chase and say, "I worked and when I didn't, I engaged in a mindless time sink."

Angry Birds, Bejeweled Blitz, Bubble Popp. Fun games but they can all take over my attention until I play them over and over and over in robotic repetition.

I have a Scrabble app on my phone. Is playing one game against the computer a time sink? I refuse to put it in the same category. Maybe that's because I love to play Scrabble and consider it a learning experience. It's not a time sink. It's helping me stave off Alzheimer's. That's my rationalization and I'm sticking to it.

I could wile away an entire day reading a great book. Is that a day wasted? Maybe on some level, in that I didn't accomplish anything else, but the pure entertainment of reading is never a waste. At least not in my opinion.

So, I ask you. When is an app or a game or some mindless activity NOT a time sink? Maybe I should develop criteria. Say, it isn't a time sink when it's helping me fill otherwise empty time --like when I waiting in a doctor's office for an appointment, or my flight's delayed and I'm bored. Ahhh, maybe that's the ticket. If the app helps me do something else, then it serves a useful purpose.

There's probably more to ponder on this topic, a lot more. I could keep writing but perhaps that would then become a time suck, too.

A New Look

2011-01-06T21:46:00.002-05:00

Unless you usually read my blog with your eyes closed, you probably noticed the new design. Isn't it pretty? It goes with the new design for my website www.mary-stella.com. I have to thank the talented Rae Monet for designing and implementing the new sites. We're not 100% finished, but great progress has been made and I couldn't be happier.

Rae would make more progress but she's waiting on me to finish up some stuff and supply her with the information.

During the transition process, the list of blogs I used to have here disappeared. I'm slowly rebuilding. If your blog used to be here and isn't now, would you please shoot me an email at mary@mary-stella.com? Please, please, don't make me rely on my memory.

Thanks!

Looking Forward

2010-12-31T11:41:00.002-05:00

I'm not big on making New Year's Resolutions. I think most of them are doomed to fail because we make them out of pressure to start off a new year with a clean slate or at least a cleaner slate than the one we're bidding goodbye. I'd rather start changing something on the day that I realize it needs to be changed or, if I'm feeling contrary, procrastinate about it for awhile first.

The whole, "I resolve in 2011 to (fill in the blank)" just doesn't work for me. I'm much better with the mindset of, "I want to (fill in the blank) and I will begin on (pick a day)." The resolution then becomes a project. I'm very project-oriented. For someone who's usually a dreamer and and idea-generator, this method is quite concrete and detailed. It works.

I'm the same way with long-term goals. I do better when I break them down into steps that I will take to achieve the end-result.

Whether working on weight loss or working on a book, the big picture is often overwhelming. Instead of thinking, "I really need to lose a lot of weight this year", I'd rather focus on, "I can follow a healthy food plan today." I don't have to worry so much about completing a new book at the outset when, instead, I only need to write the first chapter, then the next and so on.

Several months ago for my day job, we spent a day with a coach who had us do a standard personality study. No surprise that I wound up in the "Creatives" category, but I also bled over a little into "Bottom-Liner". This is helpful because, as an idea-generator, it's also good to be results-oriented. Otherwise, what's the point of generating ideas if we don't use them to accomplish something.

Looking forward to 2011, I have lots of ideas for things I want to accomplish. Now I'm tapping into the other part of myself to formulate the plan.

What's on your agenda?

News from the Woman Behind the Curtain

2010-12-19T21:05:00.006-05:00

I know that it's been awhile. No, I didn't skid off of that high road and crash over the precipice. In addition to the usual chaos of the holiday season, I've been involved in a professional reinvention. Back in October, I talked about the restart of my career as a novelist. I figured it was about time to update everyone on the progress.

The cover artist has redesigned the covers for my books All Keyed Up and Key of Sea. We've agreed on the concepts and now he needs to finalize the designs. I'm really pleased with the new looks for the books and am looking forward to revealing them soon.

Likewise, I'm thrilled with the progress made by the company I contracted with to redesign my website. Again, we've settled on the design concept. Now I need to let them know what content to migrate from the current site, freshen up some material, and make some additional decisions.

So far, it sounds like other people are doing all the work for the restart. To some extent that's true. Now, I'm in the midst of my major responsibilities -- going through the books to fix a few things. Then I need to do the actual reformatting of the manuscripts to prepare them for electronic publishing.

Unlike some authors who do this when the books first come out, the last time I read them was when I did the final revisions for the original publisher. Frankly, the process of rereading them now feels a little weird. I bounce from pleased surprise, as in, "Wow. I actually wrote this? It's pretty good" to fretting whether the stories are truly good enough.

It's not unusual for writers to suffer from this fear and insecurity. I've read blog posts by fabulously successful, award-winning, New York Times bestselling authors where they proclaim that they suck. They don't, of course, they just sometimes think that they do, or are afraid that they do and they will soon be revealed as frauds.

Imagine for a second that the Wizard of Oz is a metaphor for a novelist's career. We'd be the guy concealed behind the curtain. The creative process would be Dorothy's journey to the Emerald City - sometimes the path is beautiful and filled with bright colors and interesting characters. Sometimes we creep through the dark forest, dodging apples thrown by scary trees, trying not to be captured by flying monkeys. Other times, it just gets so overwhelming that all we really want is to lie down among the flowers for a nap.

Well, I can't sleep my way through the process of checking my books. I've set goals and want these books to enjoy new life in e-publishing. To help the effort, I have already invested a good chunk of money in the covers and website. I want to, and will, push on and get the books ready to launch. I've gone through the poppy fields, gained entry to the Emerald City, and am putting my books through the buffing and polishing.

I've discovered a certain magic energy to preparing to release my books myself in the electronic publishing forums. Remember in the Wizard, Dorothy thought she had to do a whole bunch of stuff and rely on many others to achieve her goal.

Like her, I've discovered I have the power to get where I want to be all on my own.

Stay tuned . . .

Veering Off the High Road

2010-12-08T19:18:00.002-05:00

When I was a kid and other kids picked on me or teased me (or were downright mean) to me about being overweight, my parents always told me to take the high road. That's a credo that I've attempted to follow all of my life, no matter how difficult it is to do sometimes.

The high road is not the easy path. For one thing, you have to trudge uphill to reach it. Once you're there, you have to slog your way through mud, rock slides, pot holes and other less savory things that are all intent on tripping you up during the journey so that you and your good intentions fall flat on your face.

It was particularly difficult when I was younger and, like most adolescents and teens, possessed less impulse control. I also had a temper, so every side trip to the high road was a lesson in not letting anger get away from me. There's good points and bad to that approach. Lashing out every time someone pisses us off isn't a constructive way to interact with others. Holding in the anger and trekking up that hill to the high road doesn't always achieve the best results.

Case in point, when I was 10, my family and I lived in France. My older brother and I went to a private school for American kids. There were a couple of girls in my home room who had been there for a few years. Since they were also on the far side of chubby, they were overjoyed to have a "new girl" to pick on. Smartly, they realized it was a glass classroom, so they didn't throw stones about my weight. Instead, they tried to make me feel bad because their fathers worked in the diplomatic corps and my father was, wait for it, only a doctor. Can you cross the t and dot the i in bitches along with me? I was incensed at the disrespect shown to my father. He only laughed when I relayed the tale of the grievous insult and told me to ignore them and, yes, take the high road.

I put more miles on that damned high road that year than a coast-to-coast trucker. Then February rolled around and the entire school closed for vacation, with most students going on school-sponsored ski trips. My best friend and I were on the same trip as my nemeses and the Fates had a good laugh when the four of us somehow ended up sharing a room. My high road taking must have frustrated them but, smelling fresh vulnerable meat, they turned on my friend. She was a quiet, timid girl who'd never gone on an away trip from her family before and was homesick. I warned them and warned them to stop teasing her, but they persisted until she began to cry great, heartbroken tears. When I ordered them to back off, they told me they could say and do anything they wanted -- including splitting us up because my father was only a doctor.

I snapped, saying something close to, "Your diplomatic fathers can't help you now." Then I picked up my heavy wooden hairbrush and went after the one girl. No, I didn't seriously beat her, but I got in several smacks before reason returned and I stopped. They never bullied me or my friend again.

Do I advocate violence as a solution? No. Do I think I would have been better served if I'd learned more effective techniques for conflict resolution other than relying on the power of taking the high road? Yes.

The thing with the high road is that it just removes you from the conflict. It doesn't take you to any definitive destination. You just keep walking until the conflict passes and then you resume your regularly plotted route -- until the next time something happens and you detour again.

I'm a long way away from that 10 year old. Most of the time these days, I can both take the high road and find an effective way to resolve a situation that doesn't involve beating someone with a hair brush. There are even times when I can shrug and release the annoyance.

Then there are times like today. Someone made some, I think, petty critiques of a volunteer project in which I was involved. Instead of immediately responding, I sprinted for the high road. Good thing because my initial thought, upon hearing the critique was, "Then you effing take on the project next time."

Securely perched up here on the hill, I'm giving myself 24 hours before I craft a written response. It will be diplomatic and calm and I will make my points without being angry, mean or bitchy. I promise.

Until then, I give myself permission to think of the road not traveled; the one littered with responses like, "Kiss my ass".

Returning to Blog

2010-11-28T15:33:00.002-05:00

I'm on day four of my four day weekend. It's been years since I took the day after Thanksgiving off and I'm so glad that I did. Had a great Thanksgiving. I joined friends at Bahia Honda State Park where they host the holiday dinner for park staff and volunteers. I usually meet some interesting people at those gatherings and thoroughly enjoy myself.

This year I tried something new for my food contribution to the feast. I roasted rutabagas, carrots and red onions in a yummy mixture of balsamic vinegar, honey, and olive oil. Everyone seemed to enjoy them and I thought the dish was delicious so I know I'll make it again during the year.

I spent several hours over the last few days setting up my new laptop. It even has new laptop smell. Frankly, it could have stunk like three day old fish and I wouldn't have cared. I'd been pushed to the edge of sanity by the e-obsessed antics of my old laptop. Some nights I could barely short circuit the machine long enough to type in my password and log on. I survived by checking email mostly on my iPhone and then using the netbook.

I love my little netbook. It's so convenient for travel. However, I don't find it comfortable to type on for long hours, so I wasn't as prone to blogging for awhile. Now I'm back.

I also spent a good chunk of time on the de-cluttering of the room that's supposed to be my office. It is amazing to me that no matter how often I tell myself that I will not let that room get out of control, it always defeats my best intentions. This might be because I often employ the Scarlet O'Hara approach to neatening and filing as in, "I'll do it tomorrow because tomorrow is another day." Do that often enough and the room quickly qualifies for an episode of Clean Sweep. I'm happy to say that I can now see a good amount of acreage on the floor and the mountains of paper have all been sorted into file folders or shredded. The "15 Minutes" approach really works. Telling myself that I only had to work on it for 15 minutes at a time made the process less overwhelming. Usually I worked far longer but clearly the idea gave me a mental boost.

Now that I've decluttered the office, I can declutter the section of kitchen counter that is a catch-all for miscellaneous stuff. Do you sense a trend?

When you aren't a natural neatnik, nothing provides greater motivation for putting things in order than a deadline. In two weeks, my house is the host location for a baby shower for good friends. Two other friends and I are arranging the party with guys and gals invited. I needed to have everything straightened by this weekend so that I can put up some holiday decorations next weekend. The week before the shower I'll break out the heavy-duty cleaning weapons and accomplish a big task each night.

The last of those big tasks will be the floors and rugs. Cleaning them before the day of the party would be the equivalent of Martha Stewart meets Sisyphus. You see, in addition to everything else, construction began last week for my swimming pool. It is physically impossible for me to walk into the house without tracking dust or traces of dirt with me on my sandals. Some the morning of the shower, I will sweep away any dirt or sand in the driveway and then sweep, vacuum and mop the floors. My house is going to sparkle like a star on top of a Christmas tree. I'm determined!

Admid everything else, work progresses on the revitalization of my writing career. A cover artist is working on new covers for my two books. I had a phone consult with a new web designer. I'm going through the books themselves and getting them ready for conversion to e-format. This is an exciting time for me as an author. No matter how much we know that publishing is a business, we put our heart, sweat, time, energy and talent into our books and want them to do well. To be able to give my work another chance is a big time boost and motivates me to write new material, too.

Particularly now that I have a new laptop and can actually type. :-)

The Not Quite as Entertaining Blog

2010-11-15T22:07:00.002-05:00

Last night I wrote a really fun, entertaining blog about my weekend experience with the Ladies Let's Go Fishing Seminar. Right before I hit "Publish Post", the power went out, including the modem for my DSL. Bye-bye, blog post. :-(

By the time the power came back, I was so tired that I couldn't even think of recreating the previous post. So, forgive me, but we'll all have to settle for these random thoughts.

The LLGF was terrific with lots of great information and tips, skill stations where we learned and practiced, and a fun, enthusiastic group of women together because we all like to fish and want to get even better at the sport. I picked up gear that I needed at great savings off of regular retail in the silent auction and won one of the auction prizes. I bought a custom graphite fishing rod that's, be still my heart, purple! Most importantly, I met some really sweet women.

Next to the fun I personally experienced, I thoroughly enjoyed two sisters in particular. I'm horrible at guessing ages, but I think they were somewhere in their 50s. Neither of them had ever fished but one sister told me that they'd decided they needed to learn and experience new things. They thought that fishing sounded like something fun so they signed up for the seminar.

I loved their spirit and enthusiasm. Every time I saw them they looked like they were having a great time. We were on the same party fishing boat yesterday morning so I was right next to them when they each caught their first fish. They grinned like kids and the joy was infectious.

Great lesson for all of us in those two ladies. See out new experiences and enjoy them to their fullest!

Earlier tonight I was waiting at an intersection for a break in traffice so that I could pull out on the highway. A car was approaching from my left so I couldn't move forward. The driver pulled nearer and nearer and then turned into the street where I was sitting. Did he put his blinker on to signal that intention? Nooo. After I stopped muttering, I looked at the thing as a metaphor. How often in our lives do we wait to act because we need to see what someone else is going to do? How much better would it be if other people always indicated what action or direction they planned to take instead of proceeding without giving a clue?

Some would say that we shouldn't live our lives based on the actions of others. I'd say that sometimes that's right. Other times, like today when the wrong move could result in a collision with bodily harm, it's better to wait. For me, the moral is that we need to assess the risks and possible consequences before we act.

I'm working on a new mantra for myself these days. "Thinks can only upset me to the extent that I permit." It's important to keep things in perspective. Often this is easier in theory than in practice. Sometimes it takes, well, practice. I'm considering it a work in progress. :-)

What "work in progress" are you working on in your life?

Shopping Guides

2010-11-07T22:12:00.003-05:00

You'd think after 17 years of purchasing and owning personal computers, including four laptops -- Oh wait, I also have a netbook, so that's actually five laptops -- anyway, you'd think I'd understand what I need and what to look for in terms of processors, speed, memory, capacity, features, and so on.

I kind of do. I say "kind of" because I know what I use my laptops for and what I need them to be able to do. The problem lies in pairing up the usage needs with the specs of the different machines. Armed with my needs, I go on different manufacturers' websites and do my best to comparison shop. Unfortunately, I don't think the laptops are marketed according to what's intuitive for me.

At the heart of things, I automatically assume that bigger/more/faster is more desirable than "not as much". It's like I approach computer shopping with the same mindset that people used for selecting new cars back in the 60s and 70s.

Car shopping's easier, even with the obnoxious sales tactics.

For several weeks, I've known that I need to buy a new laptop. The current one still thinks that its e is depressed. I have to hit a shortcut button whenever I turn on the machine and then backspace and delete all of the eeeees that have already shown up in the password field. Handy thing that short cut button because, spontaneously, rows of eeeeeeeeeeeeeeees begin to appear. Even before this problem began, on a more regular basis the computer took me on an unexpected detour to the land of the Blue Screen. Not fun.

I've cruised different laptop manufacturer sites and attempted to comparison shop. I succeeded in getting overwhelmed. That model's lighter but not fast enough. The other one is heavier but faster and has a bigger screen and hard drive. The most expensive one has the fastest processor, the most RAM, and 500 GB HDD. Wow. Impressive stats but none felt just right.

I wish the companies would do what my friend and non-blood niece Hope just did. In a couple of concise paragraphs she made all of the numbers and specs make sense as they relate to what I need in a laptop. I no longer have to worry about whether I'm getting too fast or too slow a processor or too much or too little capacity in my hard drive. I know what to shoot for in RAM.

Now I can shop with greater confidence in my information. I'm prepared to make a good decision instead of stumbling around like a Technically Deficient Goldilocks trying to figure out which one is just right.

Some people need personal shoppers to help them pick out wardrobes. Everybody who knows how to use a computer, if not necessarily how to buy one, needs a Hope.

Thanks, Hope!

Fishing for Knowledge

2010-11-02T21:55:00.005-04:00

I'm so flipping happy that the elections are over and we'll have six months without relentless campaign lies, er, ads. I'm so disgusted with politics in general that tonight, the voting results I cared about most were the ones that told me who got kicked off Dancing with the Stars.

I went out fishing on my boat with friends on Sunday and had a blast. Today I read our organization's president annual report letter. How are these two things connected? Both experiences resonated with me that things are very different when you're the ship's captain than when you're part of the crew.

I've fished all of my life with my parents or more experienced friends. Now I hope to take out less experienced people in the not too distant future. I'm really grateful that friends who know what they're doing went out with me on Sunday -- and that they shared their knowledge. I soaked up tips, hints, facts, techniques -- and a couple of really good spots to try.

Later that night, I wrote down stuff so I wouldn't forget. I have a new shopping list of items that I need to add to my tackle box and gear bag before I go out again.

My boss's letter shared something that she learned from our late president. Namely, that a good leader has to recognize what she doesn't know. Then, she can find people who have that area of expertise and add them to the team.

On Sunday's trip, there were a dozen things that I immediately realized I didn't know. Now I do. This will make me a better, more prepared and competent captain. I'm excited about the entire process. In a couple of weeks I'm taking a weekend fishing seminar for women only and am really looking forward to adding to my storehouse of information.

Fish will fear me. :-)

Cora shows off her keeper red-grouper

Drew and I with our grouper and lane snapper

My first hogfish!

The Last Refuge

2010-10-30T21:58:00.003-04:00

We're a few days away from Election Day. The nastiness that is the hallmark of politicial campaigning reaches a new height daily. I tune them out as much as possible, but the negativity oozes through my shields. Pretty much, I no longer truly believe in any candidate. It pretty much boils down to which one I think is lying least about his or her intentions.

Dr. Samuel Johnson once said, "Patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels." Substitute politics for patriotism and that pretty much sums it up.

Could you imagine going for a job interview and promoting yourself by completely tearing down and attacking other job candidates?

Locally, we have elections for City Council, County Commissioner, Mosquito Control and School Board. On that level, the elections have been pretty civil and we voters haven't had to dodge mud being slung by one candidate at another. Thank goodness. We'd be hip deep and unable to slog our way round in our daily activities.

The hottest issue in town right now is an ongoing battle over the local animal shelter. Whole lot of fighting, villification of opponents, manipulation of information and attempted power plays. Where this struggle is concerned, it seems like a lot of people have abandoned the strategy of reaching for your goals in positive ways. Instead of gaining support by pointing out the good that you or you or you can do, it appears that more choose to influence public opinion by making everyone else appear bad.

Another version of playing politics. Another refuge for scoundrels.

Hoochie Coo

2010-10-22T21:57:00.003-04:00

Earlier tonight, the news aired a story of two women in South Florida who are stealing from liquor stores. The M.O. is interesting. Each picks an otherwise empty aisle, grabs a bottle of her chosen alcoholic beverage and shoves it up under her dress, between her thighs.

These weren't pints or fifths, but full bottles. I guess if you're going to dare intimacy with a bottle, not to mention arrest, size does matter.

They haven't been caught in reality, but while their method is sort of clever, they aren't smart enough to avoid the security cameras. The scope, the grab, the shove, and the stroll out of the store are all caught on tape. The women are not skinny minnies. It takes some flesh in the thighs to walk without dropping the bottle. If the authorities nab them, I wonder if they'll dust the glass for prints.

I thought I'd seen inventive bottle sneaks when I hung out with a bouncer friend at a rock club. He had amazing intuition and could always pick out the guy who'd concealed a flask inside a cowboy boot, for example.

These women, however, take the cake -- or the Baccardi. They definitely put the hooch in hoochie mama.

The only thing I have to compare is that around 30 years ago, I once snuck my 35 mm camera into a concert by sticking it in my jeans. (I took off the lens first, of course, and put it in the bottom of my purse. Security never looked past the wallet and hairbrush. The most difficult part was getting the camera out while I was seated. Thanks to a friend who threw her jacket over my lap, I managed without injury.

Draculas -Escalating Terror in a Fantastic Read

2010-10-18T00:01:00.005-04:00

I don’t read a lot of horror novels. Admittedly, I’m a little on the wuss side, but I couldn’t resist Draculas by F. Paul Wilson, Jack Kilborn, Blake Crouch and Jeff Strand. The idea of four authors collaborating on a single book intrigued me. That I was already a fan of Wilson and Kilborn sealed the deal.

From page one, the story grabbed me. A terminally-ill millionaire purchases a Romanian skull rumored to be that of Dracula. In sight of his hospice nurse and research assistant, he plunges the skull’s elongated fangs into his neck and convulses. They rush him to the hospital where he dies.

Like the clock striking midnight on December 31st kicks off a new year of revelry, the millionaire’s arrival in the E.R. triggers a night of escalating terror where nobody is safe and even the innocent transform into monsters.

Unforgettable characters are the heart of Draculas: A nurse takes her mission of caring to the bravest level; a not-so-bright lumberjack demonstrates that loyalty and love are powerful weapons; a gun-nut's heroism puts you on his side regardless of your stand on the NRA; a tender pastor and his wife see their daughter born while numerous others die.

I won’t give spoilers, but trust me that the evil characters are as compelling as the heroes. I was as engaged in their scenes while praying that they’d be defeated.

You’ll never look at a clown the same way again.

Even with multiple authors, the writing is seamless and the action moves so fast that you’re nearly breathless. All four of the contributors are master craftsmen. The storytelling is superb with tension that escalates through to the climax.

How good are these writers? In the midst of relentless gore, they made me laugh out loud and brought me to tears. This avid reader, who rarely picks up horror, now hopes they’ll collaborate on additional books. While I wait, I’ll enjoy the bonus stories and extra, cool, features included with the download.

Draculas goes on sale at Amazon tomorrow and will be available in electronic version only. The book is a bargain at $2.99. Click here to purchase.

Restarting

2010-10-17T11:26:00.003-04:00

For so many years, much of my life focused on getting a career as a romance novelist. Honing my craft, learning the industry, really concentrating on doing everything right as a professional author. Always the efforts were fueled by the dream.

Now, after the experience I described in a previous post, I've hauled out the jumper cables and am working to restart and charge up the career by first revitalizing my two dead-in-the-water books and then launching new material.

It's a whole different feeling. The dream has changed. The wide-eyed, heart-grabbing optimism has morphed into a sharp-edged practicality and a business plan. I've checked off the first item on that plan and decided on a cover artist. By the end of the day, I'll have gathered the necessary information and sent it to him. I'm also going through my website to see what needs to be tweaked so that it will be ready for the new covers when they're available. I need the website in shape before the books launch.

While covers are designed and the site is tweaked, I'll go the books to make a few corrections we missed the last time out.

Do you see the step by step precision in the plan? I'm in Phase One -- Preparing to Launch. Phase Two is getting the books formatted for electronic readers. Phase Three involves setting the marketing. Phase Four is the actual launch.

I'm definitely accessing two sides to my personality type - the imaginative creator with lots of ideas and the clear-cut planner who sets out a method to accomplish those ideas. The planner was never as developed when I was younger. I'm glad it's more evident now. I need those skills to be successful in my day job and the practice I've had in recent years will serve me well in the restart.

Now to work.

For Lack of a Letter

2010-10-13T22:15:00.002-04:00

For rasons unbknownst to m , a lttr mystriously stoppd working on my computr kyboard. Do you hav any ida how inconvnint it is to typ without an ?

Thank goodness I have a netbook as a backup. I'm even happier that none of my passwords contain an e or I'd be royally screwed. I've known for some time that my laptop was beginning to fail. The symptoms were there, like more frequent appearances by the blue screen of death. I accepted that I should start researching a replacement, but I procrastinated and hoped to delay the expense for at least a little while.

This morning when I turned on the computer it let out a sustained, high pitched tone. The password window was filled with dots, like someone had hit a key and held it. I hit "Enter" knowing that doing so would give me the "Incorrect Password" message and, hopefully, clear the window so I could enter the right password.

I logged onto my AOL account and began to write an email. That's when I discovered that the "e" didn't work. I assumed that something -- a piece of dog hair, a stray crumb -- might have wedged its way beneath the key. I blew in some air, fiddle a little, blew in some more air, and even picked up the computer and shook it a little, hoping to dislodge the unknown whatever.

No luck. No e. I rebooted, but that didn't work either.

It bears repeating -- Thank goodness for the backup netbook. At least I could accomplish some work tonight and not force people to read e-less e-mails. I'm also grateful for smart friends. I called one to ask if she's happy with her make of laptop and told her the problem. (I love my little netbook, but it isn't a long term solution.)

During the conversation she suggested I pick up an inexpensive keyboard that connects with a USB cord to use with the laptop for the time being.

You don't need an e to spell Lightbulb! What an easy, effective solution. This will help me stall the bigger purchase, at least until I figure out what lap top I really want. No need to rush into a stress-induced panic purchase.

A few hours ago, I was bemoaning my lack of a letter. Now I'm calm about this situation, realizing that you don't need an e to find a smart solution.

I do, however, need an e to say, "Thanks, Jennif!"

Doing What You Can; Understanding What You Can't

2010-10-11T21:02:00.002-04:00

All my life I dreamed of writing a book. For someone who has always believed in the power of my dreams, my overall effort was, frankly, half-assed. I started, all gung-ho, and always let the story ideas fall by the wayside. I've lost count of the number of books I started.

Was it laziness? Lack of commitment? Maybe a little of both, but more than that, I suffered a horrible lack of confidence.

About sixteen years ago, I finally got serious. It's impossible to publish an unwritten book, after all, and I knew that if I was ever going to see this dream come true, I'd better get my ass in gear. I joined Romance Writers of America (RWA) and New Jersey Romance Writers (NJRW) and focused on learning the craft of writing book-length fiction. I wrote and wrote and wrote, revised, polished and revised some more. I entered contests and thrilled to any positive comments. I learned to not let criticism or rejections crush my spirit and never gave up.

It took several years, including some when I was derailed by certain life events but not by self-confidence hits. Then, finally, I sold the second manuscript I'd completed to a new, small, independent publisher. Soon after, they bought the next book. The high of realizing my dream was better than sex, champagne and rock and roll all at once. No matter what, I'd written books and they'd been published!

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough in the long run. The books didn't sell well. Even though I know intellectually that very small print runs and light distribution contributed to crappy sales, I internalized the process and let it knock the confidence right out of me. Then the publisher put my books Out of Print, and the desolation increased. You know how Hester wore an "A" on her chest to proclaim her sin of Adultery? I felt like I walked through the days with an "L" for Loser.

That wasn't even the worst part. The biggest casualty of the experience was that I let it annihilate my creative spirit and drive.

Editors and agents at conferences always say, "Write the best book that you can" as if that's the be all and end all. Well, I'd done that and it ended badly. So, where did that leave me, the writer?

In a really sad, depressed, disheartened place. The thing about spending time in a hellish spot, is that any sane person doesn't like that existence. It sucks when something that used to bring great joy hurts you again and again, but that's how it goes until you find a way to stop the pain.

I had a choice. Completely give up and find a way to no longer care, or fight back. I've chosen to battle the feelings of failure and do whatever it takes to revitalize myself, and my writing career.

Recently, I asked for full reversion of the rights to my two published books. Happily, the publisher agreed. Now, I have the ability to breathe new life into these stories. I can try to sell them to another publisher, or I can publish them myself via Amazon Kindle, Barnes and Noble Nook, and other platforms. Having only recently gotten them back under my control, I'm not eager to give them up again anytime soon.

I'm embarking on a new venture. I have a plan to accomplish my goals. It's even committed to an Excel spreadsheet. I might be a creative soul, but I know how to execute a methodical plan. I can do this.

I already am.

Crossing The Tea in Discrimination!

2010-10-02T23:32:00.003-04:00

I don't like to get too serious on this blog, but I've had enough. I'm tired of being the object of discrimination and the target of tremendous disregard.

I'm a tea drinker, okay? Get used to it, to us, and please stop treating us like we're second class citizens.

Case in point, just this morning, I pulled into a local gas 'n go place. The store has everything from motor oil to fried chicken; ice cream to beer. They have flavored coffees, even cappucino. I'm sure you'll agree that, given the vast selection, it was a safe bet that I could run in and make a nice, bracing cup of hot black tea for the road.

I lost that bet. The store had three different flavors of coffee; three artificial sweeteners, a choice of white granulated sugar or raw sugar and pitchers of skim milk, whole milk, and half and half. All that, and the only open tea boxes boasted the non-caffeine flavors of lemon and green teas. I asked the young women behind the counter. Their only solution was that I buy a box of tea off of the shelves. I suppose I should at least give them some points for having any tea available. I've gone into similar stores elsewhere where not a single bag of tea leaves existed. So sad.

Have you ever been to a conference, banquet or wedding and seen the wait staff roam the floor with carafes of coffee, ready to refill everybody's cup. Raise your hand if you've had to raise your hand and ask them to bring you another cup of tea. Raise the other hand if they only bring hot water and don't offer you a second tea bag.

Does this happen in the U.K. or Ireland, where tea drinking is so celebrated that cups are poured with a sense of ceremony?

One of my best ever tea experiences took place at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, B.C. during their famous high tea. The waitress warmed my cup before placing it in front of me. Then, she not only asked me my preferences, cream with one sweetener, she also prepared the tea for me. Pekoe perfection, let me tell you. I savored that first cup as much as I did the ultra-yummy scones.

Why, oh why, can't I, a lifelong drinker of tea, always be treated with the same attention and service as my coffee-drinking compadres? Folks at that gas station convenience store, wouldn't you rather have made a sale, than lose the business? Wait staff, if your emphasis is on good service, doesn't it benefit your effort if you remember to check in with the tea drinkers at your tables? It can't be that hard to keep a carafe of hot water and a box of tea bags nearby.

I call for an end to poor or non-existent service for tea drinkers. Appreciate us. Appreciate our business. Do not make us suffer the lack of our chosen beverage.

No more brew-haha, okay?

When Celebrities Become Asshats

2010-09-28T21:39:00.002-04:00

Over at one of my favorite blogs A Year and Change by the amazing Lucy March, the equally amazing community of readers known as the Betties are sort of debating Sean Connery. Several years ago, Connery gave a lengthy explanation on the circumstances when he feels it's justified to slap a woman. There are plenty of places online to watch the interview clip with Barbara Walters. Connery's opinion is not what I'm musing.

I'm wondering if we care disproportionately more when a celebrity or public figure acts like an asshat than we do over some non-famous man or woman down the street. Maybe that isn't the right question. Maybe it should be why, not if, we care.

Hah. Perhaps care isn't even the right word. Seriously, I really don't care about Connery's opinion, or Lindsay Lohan's probation violation; Mel Gibson's drunken tirades or Ashton Kutcher's alleged infidelity.

However, when I hear about these things, I admit that my attention's diverted to the story. It might only be for a couple of seconds, but the information registers. Why does it seem as if we're more interested? Are we more riveted by the public opinion plunge of these people because we're the ones that built their pedestals in the first place? Is it similar to car crashes that are horrific but we can't stop watching?

I think it's more that the celebrity, the household name, is a common point of reference. The mere fact that they are someone whose name is known by the masses appears to rocket up the interest in their words, accomplishments, crashes, and causes.

The degree and spread of the interest increases in direction proportion to the level of their celebrity. If a superintendent's wife embezzles money from the local school district, that news will buzz around your hometown. It probably won't be much more than a blip in the next county.

What if your state's attorney general gets a DUI? You and your friend four counties over will probably see the story in your newspaper or on television. Will it make a fuss in the diners and coffeeshops two states away?

Ramp that up to, say, the Speaker of the House or the Vice President and that same story's going all CNN all the time. The more people who know about a person, the more celebrated he or she is, the bigger the news story, the harder the fall.

If some schmo at the local bar belches after a swallow of beer and says, "Yeah, there's times when it's okay to slap a gal," probably nobody's going to put it up on YouTube. Years late, people who have never met him face to face are not going to discuss his words on a blog.

Hmm. Maybe that's another price that stars pay for their fame and money. They can't hide their asshattery.

Now that I've pondered this, I want to ask myself, "Do I ever want to be that well known?"

Do you?

Comings and Goings

2010-09-27T22:32:00.004-04:00

I had another post prepared, something upbeat and funny. Now it doesn't fit my mood which has turned sharply introspective.

The brother of one of my dearest friend's is dying from cancer. He has fought a long, courageous battle against his disease. I've never met him. My experience of him comes through his sisters and their stories. Yet, even from a distance, his life has touched mine. Grace, humor, faith -- I can only pray that when I'm nearing the end of my life, I'll be blessed with those gifts to help me on the journey.

My heart aches for my friend, her sisters and sister-in-law. I'd like to wrap them all in a giant blanket -- an emotional comforter in more ways than one -- and cushion them against the sorrow.

By contrast, earlier today I spoke with another one of my dearest friends. She and her husband battled for over eight years to have a baby. Their daughter was born six weeks ago. She was seven weeks early but is catching up fast, bless her sweet little self. I haven't met her yet, but my friend text messages me a picture every frew days.

Beginnings and endings. Birth and death. The beginning of the road and the end of one journey while we transition to the next. In between the start and the finish, if we're really, really lucky, we give and receive love. We care for the people in our lives and are cared for by others in our times of need. Those are the things that matter.

Those are the blessings.

Heritage

2010-09-20T10:14:00.003-04:00

Last night, HBO premiered a new series called Boardwalk Empire about Atlantic City, N.J. at the beginning of Prohibition. I'm an Atlantic City native and keenly interested in this show and the historical depiction of my hometown. It focuses on the county treasurer Enoch "Nucky" Thompson, a dapper power broker, totally corrupt mover and shaker.

In 1920, my mother's mother would have been 27. My grandfather was the V.P. of a local bank. Nana's father was a county judge. So, of course, my family would have known this man, or at least known of him. I confirmed this with my aunt. Nucky was still around when she was a young girl in the 30s. She remembers seeing him walk around town and being introduced to him once when she was quite young.

I was talking about the show yesterday afternoon with a friend who then said, "Your family goes back a long way in this country, doesn't it?"

I don't think about it often, but it's true. Nana's family was here well before the Revolutionary War. (She and my mother both belonged to the Daughters of the American Revolution.)

Yesterday, I really stopped and considered what this means. Members of my family were already in this country before it was this country. They were British subjects who rebelled against the Crown and fought side-by-side with their neighbors for America's independence. Maybe one of them crossed the Delaware with George Washington that fateful Christmas Day to launch the surprise attack at Trenton. I'll have to research that. There's a family book somewhere that might hold the information.

Whatever the case, the roots of the family tree go deep in the earth of New Jersey. I'm proud of that fact and those long ago ancestors. Nana's family also settled early in Atlantic County. I'm not sure of the exact generation, but it was at least a few steps back from when she was born. Have you heard of the Jersey Devil? The creature was reportedly born to a woman with the last name of Leeds who lived near the Pine Barrens in the county. (There's a Leeds Point in the area.) We connect to the Leeds family, too, and when my cousins and I were younger we claimed the Jersey Devil as a relation.

On the other side of the family, the history is much shorter. My father was a first-generation American, born to Sicilian parents. Grandpa Stella came over when he was in his teens. Grandma was born in this country, very soon after her parents arrived. They embraced the American way and the dream. My father was born the same year that Prohibition started. Twenty some odd years later, he fought in World War II.

What defines a proud American? Pondering these things and how many family fits in the grand scheme, there's at least one thing of which I'm sure. Whether 100 years, two hundred years or two generations, length of time doesn't factor into the definition.

What a Gallimaufry.

2010-09-15T22:40:00.002-04:00

I have a pretty good, some would say above average, vocabulary. My reading comprehension has always tested high. Unless I pick up a medical or major scientific journal in a field which which I am not familiar, I usually know the words in books I read. If I hit one that's unfamiliar, I can figure it out by the context.

In a novel, it's rare for me to run across a word I've never seen and can't figure out. That happened today in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson. The word for the day is Gallimaufry. The sentence was something like, "Vanger's were in a real gallimaufry."

The sentence stopped me cold. As a reader, I don't mind the occasional strange word as long as not knowing it doesn't interrupt my reading entertainment. Seriously, do you know what that word means? (No fair if you've already read the book and looked it up for yourself.) Could you get its meaning from such a generic sentence?

I really hated needing to put the book down and look up gallimaufry in the dictionary. Even the speed and ease of using my iPhone didn't reduce the annoyance. By the way, gallimaufry means hodgepodge and is from the Middle French for stew.

I ask you -- couldn't Larsson have just used hodgepodge or, even better, stew? Did Larsson write his manuscripts in English or Swedish? If the latter, can you imagine the translator's reasoning? "Gallimaufry! There's a word that, surely, everyone will know!"

On what planet?

Told you I'm annoyed. Know what really scorches my stew? When I posted the word to Facebook, my freakin' iPhone recognized the word before I finished typing and offered to fill it in for me. Smartass smart phone.

Do you ever watch the Scripps National Spelling Bee? The contestants are allowed to ask the judges to use the word in a sentence. Here's what I would use if this was the word in question:

I think it's pretentious for authors to use a word like gallimaufry when hodgepodge will do.

Burn This Blog

2010-09-12T11:46:00.002-04:00

I usually stick to the fun side of blogging, but I've seen one too many stories that glorify hate-mongering this week and I'm sick of it.

I'm tired of people blaming all Muslims for the actions of fanatics. The family I saw last weekend in the airport, the young adults I've known since they were born who converted to and practice Sufi, and the doctor who just treated your mother in the E.R. are no more responsible for the attacks on this country than you or I.

Yet, for no reason other than their faith, they are the target of hate, scorn, bigotry, vitriol, and violence.

The same acts that we decry when they are directed at Americans in foreign countries now occur with increasing frequency in this country, where we're supposed to be the land of the free and home of the brave. Where we're supposed to welcome the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

The attacks of 9/11 struck at our hearts. Amid the almost overwhelming national shock and mourning, we grew more united in our resolve. We would not be defeated by extremists. The American spirit would not be crushed. We would rise from the ashes, remember those who died, and not give victory to those who attacked us.

Yet today I feel like we are letting them win. If the Muslim center had been built near the World Trade Center before 09/11/01, there would not have been national protests.

We do not battle our enemies by fighting over that center. It isn't a victory over fanaticism to burn the Quran.

Instead, these actions give them what they want -- fuel for their argument that Americans hate all those connected to Islam.

How many of us grew up with the Golden Rule of treat others as you would like to be treated? At work these days we're learning the Platinum Rule -- treat others as they would like to be treated.

I get that people are angry at Al Qaida, at the people who seek to tear us down. So am I. But I refuse to let that anger poison me to the point where I treat all Muslims as enemies.

I will not allow fanatics to convert me to their politics of hate.

Sensory Memory

2010-09-08T21:30:00.003-04:00

Whenever I go away for a few days, my dogs go to "doggy camp". Last weekend, I got home Sunday night but, because Monday was a holiday, I couldn't pick up Nat and Pyxi until Tuesday. The emptiness in the house expanded with their absence but my senses didn't get the message that they weren't here.

Each time I pushed back my chair, I waited to hear them jump up to see what I was about to do. A couple of dozen times, in pure reflex, I reached to pet them and my fingers expected to feel soft fur. I opened the front door and automatically gave the "wait" hand signal.

I do these things so many times each day that they're ingrained. The sounds, the touches, the instinctive actions are imprinted on my eyes, ears, nose, and skin. They're so palpable that, even when the dogs aren't here, I still feel, hear, and smell them to some degree. No, not as vividly as if Nat and Pyxi were really by my side, but sensory memory is strong.

I notice it more with the dogs these days than with anyone else because the three of us are my "now". Still, even 25 years after my father's death, if I hold very still and close my eyes, I remember exactly how it felt when he hugged me. Everybody's hug is unique depending on their height or body structure in relation to mine, the amount of pressure, the duration. Dad's hug was unlike any other.

Mom had a way of brushing my hair back from my face. When I was a little girl and upset about something, we'd talk and she would repeat the motion, with her fingers threading through my hair, soft against my skin. It always soothed and calmed me down. Even when I was an adult, she'd do it sometimes when she knew that something was weighing on my mind. That's another sensory memory I carry with me, years after her passing.

I'm working on a story in which a woman leaves her husband after many years of marriage. She's finally had enough of his cheating and the complete lack of respect he shows her. There's more to it. Leaving is really an act of survival and a step toward healing for her. Still, I think that it would be very, very hard for her to leave behind the sensory memories even though she has physically removed herself from his presence.

I can picture her lying in bed alone but remembering how his side of the mattress dipped when he joined her and how his arm wrapped around her and held her close. I wonder how much more lonely she'll feel without these things in her life. How will she cope. Perhaps to fight their power, she'll need to make herself remember the touches that actually annoyed her but that she never shared... like the way that his fingers curled into her waist when he placed his hand at the small of her back. The motion always communicated possession instead of intimacy.

More to ponder.

Feeding on the Energy

2010-09-06T11:57:00.004-04:00

I was in New Orleans for Heather Graham's annual Writers for New Orleans Workshop this past weekend. For me, this is less work and more fun with friends. People I adore fly in from all over the country and we spend a few days together doing panels, discussions, and partying in a terrific city that epitomizes fun.

There's a palpable energy to the city. It spreads out like sunshine and soaks into your skin until you're all filled up with warmth and light. The French Quarter doesn't simply buzz or hum with life. It sings in full-throated harmony and dances to the rhythm of jazz, blues and zydeco. Five years after Hurricane Katrina, the spirt (and spirits) flow.

There's an energy to a writers' conference, too. I love talking with and listening to writers and readers. They are all storytellers and for someone who loves words as much as I do, this is like a banquet for gluttons. From the sharp smarts of JA Konrath who has become an Internet juggernaut with the Kindle sales of his work, to the hilarious joy of L.A. Banks who has the funniest tale of getting the call about her first sale ever . . . to Sarah from Smart Bitches Love Trashy Books who shines the spotlight on the genre's glories and flaws and now is invited to speak at places like Princeton University and publishers' institutes . . . F. Paul Wilson, Alexandra Sokoloff, Harley Jane Kozak, Linda Conrad, Kayla Perrin, Kathy Love . . . I could go on and on and on.

I talked to writers, editors, readers. We shared stories over Eggs Benedict or scones in the morning, fine filet and cocktails in the evening. I gorged on the energy of like-minded people and returned home stuffed and happy.

I have to wonder if it's like this in other industries. Do dentists or insurance agents go to conventions and catch a similar vibe? Do they return to their homes, buzzing with energy and eager to go forth and create with new purpose?

For their sakes, I hope so.

Best Awards Show Opening E-V-E-R!

2010-08-30T18:45:00.003-04:00

Okay. I admit it. I'm biased. That said, I still think that the opening of last night's 62nd Emmy Awards show was the best. How could I not love it. The cast of Glee, Tina Fey, Betty White, Jane Lynch, all led by Jimmy Fallon in a Gleed version of Born to Run.

Glee and Springsteen. One of my favorite shows meets the music of my all time favorite rock and roller. There was so much to love in those six or so minutes that I can't full describe it here. I don't need to because, if you missed it last night, you can watch it right here, right now.

Learning Curve

2010-08-26T21:23:00.002-04:00

How are you at learning new things? Do you embrace new challenges or would you rather mentally cross your arms, dig in your heels and pout?

I'm a better student and more avid learner now than I ever was in my youth. Back in school, I loved to read so I did great in English, History, Philosophy and a few other areas of study. Math and Science? Not even close.

In later years, I get a greater kick about exploring new subjects. When I think of all that I've learned about marine mammals in the last ten years, and how much I enjoy the process I'm amazed. (Some previous professors would be surprised, too.) These days my co-workers and I have the opportunity to participate in a university-level Animal Cognition class. Fascinating!

Outside of "class work", I've experienced a number of different life lessons. Boat handling and navigation rules; snorkeling; the ever-advancing world of personal computers, the Internet, social media and phones that are hand-held computers as well as communication devices - Whew! When it comes to modern technology, we almost don't have a choice not to learn. I'm grateful that I continue to like the lessons.

What if you didn't? What if you collided with a huge life change that forced you to learn about things you'd never had to handle before -- and never particularly wanted to? I imagine that how you've lived your life to that point influences how well you handle this ball that's been pitched full speed at your strike zone.

If you're one kind of person, you might try to resist, and ultimately resent, the forced change. You might refuse to move forward and end up flattened. Another personality would stand, hands on hips, and say, "Bring it on." Still another might rub her hands together, eager to see what's coming her way and what new experiences she's about to see.

(Yes, I'm pondering for the sake of my story's character.)

Are you one of these personalities, or someone else?

Cutting Spending

2010-08-25T15:12:00.002-04:00

I don't normally discuss politics on this blog. I'm not really going to discuss this topic now, at least not in terms of the philosophies, beliefs and practices of the various political parties. To me, talking about politics is sort of like talking about food. Pick a food, any food, and there will be people who love it as the best tasting thing e-v-e-r while others make faces, turn up their noses as if sniffing the foulest stench, and, in general, look like they want to hurl big, disgusting chunks.

I'm sort of moderate these days. When I moved to Florida, I actually registered as an Independent which makes me NPA (no party affiliation). Apparently in Florida NPA is the fastest growing segment of the voting population. Either a lot of people are fed up with the largely two-party system or they're sick of getting campaign recordings every night on their home phones.

Yesterday the primaries were held in Florida. Thank God I no longer have to hear endless, continual television ads for Jeff Green and Kendrick Meek (Democratic candidates for U.S. Senate) or Bill McCollum and Rick Scott (Republicans for Governor)playing wherever I go.

If there has ever been a nastier campaign run than these two, I sure don't remember. They ripped each other apart and, in the process, stacked up huge advertising bills. It's estimated that Scott spent close to 50 Million dollars on the primary advertising and that Green spent almost 20 million. Out of their own pockets! Those are some damn deep pockets!

By contrast, the Florida legislature had to cut 46 million dollars from financial aid for students from the state budget.

I'm really having a hard time accepting that so much money is spent on campaign advertising, particularly when so many of the ads feature candidates saying things like, "I will reduce government spending" or "balance the budget". Cut back on your own spending first, bucko.

Can you imagine all the good that could be done for the people of Florida with that $70 million dollars alone??

I have a theory that there should be strict campaign funding limits placed on all candidates, including what you can buy with your own money. I'd like to see there be one campaign fund that all donations go into (again, limited in size) and that all qualified candidates get an equal share of that master fund. That would level out the whole playing field.

Porch Sitting

2010-08-22T18:47:00.003-04:00

For those of you who stopped by to see if I ranted, I decided to employ the 24 Hour Rule. If I'm still stewing over the issue 24 hours from now, I'll rant. For right now, I'm attempting to keep things in perspective.

Instead I'm pondering porches. Down here in the Florida Keys (Up here if you're reading this in Central or South America), my little house overlooks part of a harbor. At some point every day I sit out on the porch, looking out at the water. It's a peaceful, calm location most of the time. I've seen manatees and dolphins swim by and tarpons roll on a summer evening. Sea gulls, pelicans and cormorants perch on the pilings or dive for fish. A Great White Heron occasionally struts along the sea wall or an iguana scoots along, hoping I don't see him. If I approach, he jumps into the water and swims a comfortable distance away.

There are always boats anchored on mooring buoys in back of the house. In the winter, there might be 30 or 40 at a time. On any day tall-masted sailboats and solid cruisers could be my temporary neighbors. In the meantime, boats of all sizes and kinds cruise by the house on their way out to or home from the ocean. Sometimes it's the vessel of people I know and we call out hellos and wave like you might to a neighbor strolling past your house.

Earlier today, I watched and listened to a man calling for his dog while he rowed from his boat to the island across the way. The dog went for a spontaneous swim at low tide and then decided to chase some birds. The whole time that the man rowed, he kept up a monologue about wanting the dog to come back, he wasn't happy, the dog was being bad. The dog did not reply but eventually he jumped into the boat. The man hugged him, ruffled his fur and began to row them home.

Seven or so years ago, a drunk jerk kicked his dog overboard and yelled that he hoped she'd drown. Someone jumped in his inflatable runabout and fished the pooch out of the water. I took her in and got her to shelter. A friend of mine later adopted her.

My porch is the perfect spot to watch our town's tremendous fireworks display on the Fourth of July or the holiday boat parade in early December. (Note to self: I promised to enter my boat this year. Must enlist help from friends to decorate and ride with me.)

I enjoy having friends over to relax on an evening, sip wine, nibble on snacks and talk. Some say this porch is one of their favorite places in the Keys. I know it's one of mine.

Porches have a high social value. My childhood home had an open front porch. I remember late summer afternoons with family and friends gathered together. We kids sipped juices or soda and played on the sidewalk and front yard while our parents enjoyed gin and tonics or whiskey sours. Up and down the street, neighbors were out on their porches, enjoying the ocean breeze.

The house we moved to when I was 12 or 13 had a "sunroom" with big plate-glass windows instead of an open porch, but there was an open deck on the second floor. During the day we'd sunbathe up there. The sunroom provided year-round street viewing. The neighbors never walked past without waving. We were only a few houses from the beach and boardwalk so there was usually a steady parade of people that ambled by or rode their bikes in the evening. One year we noticed that a particularly good looking guy jogged by every night. Mom teased my friends and me that no matter what we were doing, we made sure to get to the sunroom when he was due for his nightly run.

There's a big chunk of time in my life when I didn't have a porch on which to sit and connect to the neighborhood. Various apartments didn't provide the same social setting. I wonder now how much I must have missed, what I might have seen, or with whom I might have chatted.

There are always stories outside waiting to be discovered and all you have to do is spend aome time sitting on a porch.

Expectations

2010-08-21T13:43:00.002-04:00

Expectations play a big part in the story I'm writing. The woman, let's call her A for now since I'm still not settled on a character name, has devoted most of her life to fulfilling other people's expectations. Her parents, teachers, then husband and children, all expected her to be or act a certain way. She expected herself to meet those other expectations. She got pretty fed up with this over the years but instead of redefining her goals for herself, she got weighed down by doing what everyone else wanted.

It's hard to break that pattern of behavior and for her, a gradual descent into self-medicating evolved. Right before the book opens, something happens that finally proves to be her snapping point. Someone expects something of her that is simply intolerable. How she recreates herself and her life, how her actions affect her known relationships (estranged husband, grown kids, etc.) and what happens when new relationships knock on the door, are the heart of the book.

Lots of pondering for me as I navigate this world. So, for the sake of discussion, pick an expectation, any expectation and explain how you feel about it. Is it your expectation of how your relationship(s) should be, or your reaction to what someone expects of you? How do you handle the conflict when opposite expectations collide? Are you always to thine own self true, or do you establish an acceptable compromise, or do you completely rebel? How do you decide which expectation takes priority?

Uncommon Courtesy

2010-08-20T22:18:00.002-04:00

I just spent forty-five minutes writing a new blog post. I thought I'd saved it. I thought everything was fine with my Internet and Browser, even though there's a storm crashing outside. I went to post and poof! No post. Forgive me if I don't reconstruct the entire thing, but try to make my point more succinctly.

On my flight home Wednesday, an 11 year old boy sat next to me. He offered me gum, apologized for bumping my elbow, thanked me when I reminded him to buckle his seat belt and asked the flight attendant if she needed help when he accidentally knocked over his cup of ice. We discussed books, school and football during the flight. He was an engaging conversationalist but never veered over into being annoying. At one point in the flight, I dozed off and he never bothered me.

He was truly a nice, polite kid and it was a pleasure to share the plane ride with him.

By contrast, as I waited for my suitcase at the baggage claim, some jerk shouldered me aside to grab his bag, and swung it from the belt right into me. I think he said, "Sorry", but it might have been "Outta the way, bitch" that he muttered as he rushed off. The 11 year old definitely could have given him lessons in basic courtesy.

The Family You Make

2010-08-16T13:08:00.002-04:00

I have a very good family of origin. I was born into a loving family with strong, close relationships to not only my parents and brother but also aunts, uncles and cousins. We aren't perfect, of course. We had our share of trials, tribulations, losses and sadness, but I really couldn't have asked for more.

I also count myself fortunate to be part of other families. There's my work family and, yes, we consider ourselves such. This is particularly important and valuable to me because I left my blood family and friends back home in the Northeast when I moved to the Florida Keys almost 9 years ago.

Right now I'm up in Cape Cod with a tribe of friends. We call ourselves Pastafarians. It all started 37 years ago when some college buddies, friends of my brother, got together and camped on Nantucket. Two challenged each other to a spaghetti sauce cookoff. It's grown since that time and every year the tribe gathers for vacation. We always have a Pasta Match with our own ceremonies, taste testing, voting, etc. There were around 50 of us here yesterday. Not everybody stays the week but for however much time the fluid group is together we share big meals, numerous discussions, pool parties, music jams, board games and the pleasure of each other's company. Young people who weren't even born yet are grown up and bringing their fiances. There are a couple of 3rd generationers running around and a lot of Old Geezer references as the original college buddies approach 60.

After years of sometime attending, I've made the pilgrammage annually for the last 11 years. I love reconnecting with these people and growing new friendships along the way. I also love that the cooler Cape temps provide a nice respite from August in Florida.

My family of friends is extensive and spread out in several states. Many are back in New Jersey and today, one group is very much on my mind. I'm waiting to hear about the safe arrival of a new baby - born to a woman who is like my little sister. I became friends with her family almost 20 years ago. She and her mom are also romance writers. We've loved and supported each other through various experiences, good and bad.

Any time now, I'll get a call that my new little niece has arrived. I can't wait. She's proof that no matter how big our family - the one to which we're born, or the ones we make for ourselves -- we can always make room in our heart for more.

While I wait, I'm heading out for this year's book club discussion. We're honoring To Kill a Mockingbird on its 50th Anniversary.

The Art of Being Alone

2010-08-11T22:32:00.002-04:00

On another blog I frequent, we've been discussing marriage, being alone, relationships and all manner of related topics. 30 years ago, I figured I'd meet Mr. Right, we'd have a long, solid marriage, children, and go on to our retirement years until death did us part.

Needless to say, my life didn't turn out that way. Yet, as I've discovered, not having the husband, the marriage, and the children has not meant that I miserably failed in my life's journey. Quite the contrary. I've made a good life for myself and am happy living it. Did I have to do some work to get to this happiness in head and heart. Yes, indeed, but I did it.

In mulling over the story I'm writing, I've thought a lot about the main character. It is really her story. She's in her mid-40s and has been married for over 20 years. Now she's left that marriage and, for the first time ever, is living alone.

I think that situation must be worse. It must be harder for someone to have to learn in her 40s how to be alone and how to construct her own happiness. At least,I think it must be holder, but I realize that I might believe that because I grew into this life. It was, for me, a gradual progression over the years. It didn't just suddenly happen in a matter of weeks or months.

When the end result is the same -- you're living alone in your 40s or 50s -- does how you arrived there mean that the result impacts you differently? Again, I think it must, but I only have my own experience to go by.

What do you think?

New Beginning

2010-08-08T10:40:00.002-04:00

I'm starting a new book today. There. I said it. I can't take it back.

For those of you new to this blog or new to me, I wrote two books that were published in '04 and '05. The sales experience was not kind. Whether the problem stemmed from low print run and light distribution or the overall toughness of the market with a lot of titles competing for readers' dollars or what, the stunning lack of success knocked me on my ass. I tried to invest myself in another story. I ended up starting three or four new books, but fell into a mindset of, "Why am I doing this? I suck. What's the point?"

Writing is not an easy task. Writing a book takes a hell of a lot of commitment in time and creative energy. While I am 100% a writer down to my soul, I truly questioned why I was giving up so much of my life to complete a book, only to spectacularly fail. Like most writers I know, I have a day job and in that job I write all of the time. So, my need to create is met every day.

After a couple of years of trying and not being able to sustain the book-writing effort, I sank from disappointed to completely demoralized. Every time someone asked me, "When is your next book coming out", I cringed inside and felt the failure even more strongly.

That's no way to live and enjoy life. Finally, I owned the fact that I did not want to write for awhile. I put an end to figuratively slamming my head against the wall and gave myself permission to not write another book. The switch to my mindset and emotions was instantaneous and powerful. Instead of wanting to duck and run from the next book question, I could smile and say, "I'm taking a break right now" or "I'm not currently writing."

I stopped feeling like a failure and gave up the guilt. I distanced myself from the previous experience, got involved in some other activities, and enjoyed myself.

After awhile, the expected happened. The urge to write fiction returned. The desire rekindled and a story idea germinated. I signed up for a course called Discovery, taught by outstanding author Lani Diane Rich. (Registration for the fall course is now open at www.storywonk.com.) For six weeks in this class I engaged in the process of discovering this new idea, the characters, the concept, the backstory. I put together a soundtrack and listened to it daily. Picked photos of actors to serve as placeholders for the main characters and put them into a collage. I wrote backstory for the woman who is the heart and purpose of the book.

Out of this Discovery process the characters developed and they grew as people. I've come to know them, to understand what makes them tick, what they're fighting, what they want, and what they need. Pivotal scenes have manifested in my head. I'm excited about writing this story, but I haven't opened up a document to start page one.

I'm a little scared. Okay, I'm a lot scared. No matter what happens, once I start writing this book, I'm not quitting until it's finished. There will be no repeat of getting 50 pages in and then giving up. One day at a time, one page at a time, once the journey starts, the book and I are in this trip together until The End.

That's my commitment to my story and to myself. I'm not concerned right now with submitting or selling the finished book. Until it's written, there's nothing to sell.

I won't do daily updates. Maybe not even weekly, but I'll let you know my progress from time to time. For today, the commitment is that I will write the opening scene. It's in my head. Now, today, it's time to get it out onto the page. A new beginning in more ways than one.

Prescription for Recycling

2010-08-01T16:46:00.002-04:00

First off, thank you for playing the Menopause is like the Mob game with me. I tossed your names into a hat and picked a winner. Kelly, please email me at mary@mary-stella.com with your name and address and which book you'd like a copy of -- All Keyed Up or Key of Sea.

I need to rant a little about recycling, specifically, a complete refusal to consider the possibilities of recycling, as demonstrated by someone at the local chain pharmacy store today. I take four prescriptions. Every month, I peel the labels off the pill bottles and then have to chuck them in the trash because they aren't made from recyclable plastic.

I currently take four prescription meds a day, so that's four bottles a month that go in the garbage or 48 a year. I'm sure that there are other customers who take less and other who take more. So, for the sake of discussion, let's say that the average customer takes two meds a month. I don't know how many customers frequent this store, but lets say, arbitrarily, that there are 300. So, at minimum, the pharmacy dispenses 600 pill containers a month. That's 7200 a year from a single store.

I'm sure that the chain buys these in bulk, so maybe they only cost .05 each, but what about the cost to the environment. Don't you think they'd want to recycle or at least reuse the containers? How difficult can it be?

I brought this up to the pharmacist today in casual conversation. I received one negative response after the other. Here's a general recap with the gist of the conversation.

Me: Wow, too bad that we can't bring the bottles back to CVS so they can be reused. Him: The labels contain confidential medical information.
Me: I peel them off every month before I throw them out.
Him: Not everyone does. It's too hard for some older people.
Me: Maybe there are easier labels.
Him: But the pill bottles aren't made out of recyclable plastic
Me: But couldn't they be?
Him: Labels don't stick well on all kinds of recyclable plastic
Me: (With confused look) But there are labels on milk jugs and other plastic containers.
Him: Those kinds of labels can't be printed easily on the laser printer.
Me: Well, instead of recycling, could customers return them to the store so they could be reused?
Him: No, there'd be too many for our staff to take the labels off of.

At that point, I realized the futility of continuing the discussion. All he can see are the reasons why it can't be done, instead of seeking possible solutions for how it could be accomplished. As I left, I thought it ironic

Think about all of the people in all of the towns who fill medication prescriptions. Imagine all of those bottles hitting the landfills day after day, month after month, year after year. Surely someone can figure out a solution.

How difficult can it be to create a recyclable plastic pill bottle to which laser-printer compatible labels will adhere and yet be easy to remove? Barring that, how hard is it to create a laser printer label that can be removed from any plastic so that the bottle could be reused instead of trashed?

Anybody out there work in these fields and want to take this on as a project?

Anybody have a kid who wants to take this on as a project for this year's school science fair?

Top Ways that Menopause is Like the Mob

2010-07-29T15:58:00.004-04:00

If you're uncomfortable discussing "womanly" things, stop reading now and head over to YouTube.

Today, we're talking menopause. I'm in the stage medically known as perimenopause which roughly means that the "change" is coming sooner rather than later. (When I say that, I hear Johnny Cash singing Folsum Prison Blues and want to parody the lyrics. "I feel the change a-coming. I'm going round the bend . . ."

I'm not sure how accurate the estimated time frame is for perimenopause, because as near as I can tell, once you hit puberty, you're on the downward side of slope. We're born with a couple of million eggs that naturally die off so that at puberty we're down to about 400,000. After that, we lose about a thousand a month so, really, from the initial two mil, only about 400 ever mature.

However, I've started to have some indications that the time is nigh. I say, "Bring it on." The sooner it starts, the sooner it finishes. I can devote the money spent on tampons to something else. I live in the Florida Keys and the average hot flash can't possibly be more uncomfortable than the heat and humidity of July and August. I might not even notice if I'm outside when one hits.

My body teased me earlier in the year. After a couple of years of significant lessening in my monthly cycle, I skipped two months. I thought, "Okay. We're in full menopause mode." Turns out the cessation of period was more like a comma. I got it again the next month, skipped another month, now it's arrived again -- sort of like bugs in the house. You can exterminate them for awhile, but they always return.

I've been reading up on the whole process. I don't remember my mother's change process being all that big a deal. I recall one hot flash in my presence. Either I was completely oblivious to her journey or she was monumentally discreet about the whole deal. That would have been Mom's way -- go off and experience the misery in private so that she didn't inconvenience anybody.

No matter how bad or how easy a time I have, I'm determined to go through it with a sense of humor. That doesn't mean the whole thing will be a laugh riot, but I'm sure I can find something humorous in even the dark times.

With that in mind, I'm compiling a list of the Top Ways that Menopause is Like the Mob. The first item on the list was obviously inspired by that too-brief respite. I've come up with five and am now throwing open the blog to your suggestions. Leave a comparison in the comments. When this has run its course (pun fully intended), I'll randomly pick a winner from the commenters and send a signed copy of either of my books.

Here's the list so far:
1) Just when you think you’ve quit, it pulls you back in
2) The only thing worse in bed than night sweats is a severed horse’s head
3) Older generations of Sicilians don’t like to talk openly about the Cosa Nostra. (This thing of ours.) Older generations of women don’t like to speak openly of Questo Nostro Cambiamento. (This Change of ours.)
4) In the mob, things get ugly in a snap. Women with severe hormonal fluctuations – likewise.
5)Mobsters and menopause -- both known for "packing heat".

Have at it, readers. Have fun!

Scrabble Rant

2010-07-28T09:58:00.002-04:00

Allow me a moment for a slight rant. I love Scrabble. It's my favorite board game. I don't get to play against people very often. Sadly, nobody in my family will play with me. My nephew claims it's humiliating to always get his ass kicked. I'm a little surprised at that 'tude. I've tried to teach them defensive strategies and share other tips. It's not like I did a Scrabble end zone dance that time that I cleared my rack over a Triple Word space, made three new words and scored 90 points in a single turn.

Nobody seems to believe me when I say that success all depends on the letters you happen to have in your rack.

The Scrabble App was the first one I bought for my iPhone. It's a great way to wake up my brain or kill time in a doctor's waiting room or any other place where time needs killin'. I play against the computer in the game. I've noticed something strange in the words that the game accepts. I'm old school Scrabble where you don't use proper names or any word that begins with a capital letter. Imagine my surprise when the computer put down Zaire. I did a quick Google search online and found out that in April of this year one of the game's licensors changed the rules to allow some proper names. (Hasbro has the rights in some countries; Mattel has the rights in others. The App version is by Hasbro.)

Fooey on that, I say, particularly if I can place the F on a Triple Letter space and the Y on a Double Word, thus scoring 38 points. I'd never do that if playing against people on an actual board. However, if the computer can do it, then I am forced to play by its rules.

So, last night I logged on for a quick game. We progressed and I spotted the opportunity to build on the computer's word GRAM to make MONDAY and earn a Triple Word. This message popped up: This word is not in the dictionary. Please try again.

What the hell? It's a day of the week. How can Monday not be in the Scrabble dictionary?? On the off chance that alien parasites had invaded my brain and destroyed the spelling sector, I called a friend.

"Spell Monday for me," I said. Dead silence ensued while she tried to reason out whether this was a trick question or the set-up for a joke.

"Huh?"

"How do you spell Monday?"

More silence, then a tentative, "As in the Monday that's the day of the week?"

"Yes. THAT Monday."

She complied. Assured that my spelling acumen had not vanished I told her why I wanted confirmation. We agreed that the game was screwed up.

I then checked the minimal rules included with the App. They say that some "offensive or obscure words have been eliminated from the game". Granted, a lot of people don't cartwheel with glee when Monday rolls around, but it's hardly an offensive word.

Obscure? This game allows za (slang for pizza), qi (variant of chi) and qat (variant of khat, an Arabic shrub), but not Monday??

I'm not sure whether to write to Hasbro or EA, but someone needs to fix this problem. It's more than a Scrabble fan and confirmed logophile can stand!

The Eyes Wide Open Side

2010-07-26T22:25:00.003-04:00

Have you seen the movie The Blind Side? It was one of my favorite movies last year. I was completely inspired by the story of pro football player Michael Oher. The son of a drug-addicted, empoverished woman, Michael goes through a series of foster homes before a chance meeting at school with the Tuohy family. Sean and Leigh Anne are well-off folks with big hearts. They end up adopting Michael, fighting for him to do better in school, urging him to learn to play football, providing the inspiration and support for him to succeed. It's a story that gets you right in the heart and I'm not surprised that the movie was a sensation.

How many of us have done anything comparable to what the Tuohy family did for that young man? How many of us would? I've heard some more cynical folks suggest that it was easy for them since they had successful businesses and money to spare. I don't care how big someone's bank account might be. Taking someone into your family is an investment of your heart, along with your time, energy and money.

You hear stories about other people who go beyond themselves to truly offer care, shelter and layers of support for people in need. I've seen numerous families like this on Extreme Makover: Home Edition and am thrilled that those people have their goodness repaid with new homes. Still, I'm removed from them, and from the Tuohys. They're people I see on the small and large screen.

Then there's my friend R and his family. (I don't know how he'd feel about me using his name, so I'll keep it simple.) He and my brother met in college and became friends, so I've known him now for most of my life. He has never been anything but warm, kind and loving to me -- even when I was firmly in the pain in the ass younger sister roll. I've gotten to see R enough over the years to have a real friendship.

He impresses me no end. R has three daughters by blood, five other sons and daughters through marriage. I don't think I've ever heard the word "step" applied to any of the kids who came into his life when he married their mothers. They are all kids of his heart. In the last couple of years, the family has grown by one additional youngster who is related by neither blood nor marriage. I think M is a son by need. He needed a family and R and the rest of the clan opened up theirs and made room.

Unlike the Tuohy family of Tennessee, R isn't rolling in money with a near-mansion sized home and a pair of luxurious vehicles in the spacious garage. The four oldest are out on their own -- and amazing women in their own right. (Side note to the ones who read this blog: Yes, this means you! I think you're amazing women and I'm proud to be an honorary aunt.) Even with some of them out of the nest, I don't know how R manages to support the rest, but he does. He provides them with a home, stability, and emotional support, and he models for them admirable, honorable, caring behavior. He's an outspoken proponent of human rights -- whether through Amnesty International or Students for a Free Tibet -- a supporter of the environment, and just an all around good guy.

This week, I feel like he's our own personal Blind Side story. M, that newest son, is heading off to college in the fall and is coming up a little short in financial aid. Determined to help him get what he needs for the upcoming year, R and the family reached out to their friends. I have no doubt that the goal will be met.

I want to thank R for modeling for the rest of us what it means to really open up your heart and your home. The experience of the last 24 hours is a warm, positive, reminder that when we help each other, we truly make the world better for everyone.

The Importance of Not Getting Discouraged

2010-07-25T13:53:00.006-04:00

I took the boat out today for the first time in several weeks. The winds been blowing a lot down here and we've had some stormy weather off and on. Since I only have the weekends, I've been waiting on Mother Nature. Today, I saw a window of time when the wind light and the sky was mostly sunny, so I lowered the boat, hopped in and cruised off.

It was nice in the harbor and I took my time. I kept an eye on the clouds and realized that they were advancing more quickly than I'd estimated. We weren't expecting any fierce fronts and getting hit with raindrops has never concerned me.

Heading for home, I checked the wind direction, estimating that it was blowing toward my sea wall, so I'd have to adjust the angle and speed with which I approached.

Folks, I totally botched my docking maneuver. I came in a little too slow which allowed the wind to blow me too close to the dock. I had to try to push off so that I could approach the lift. I felt way too out of practice and this made me overreact. Too much power. Oversteering. Not thinking it through. One mistake after the other. Don't worry. Nothing got broken, on me or the boat, or the seawall for that matter.

Still, although physically everything was fine, mentally, I was frazzled and discouraged. I'd never done such a horrid docking. My skills were supposed to be improving, not sliding down. Thank God nobody saw me, or I least I couldn't see anyone watching. Had that been the case, I would have added embarrassment to the list of negative emotions.

Although discouraged, I had no choice but to back out, cruise away from the dock, and try the approach again. Same thing happened with the wind, but instead of doing a bunch of different things, I just stopped and held the boat against the seawall so that I could think it through.

Suddenly, all of the right steps became clear. I adjusted the engines in the right direction, pushed myself off a bit and used one engine's throttle to advance the boat in the right direction, onto the lift. I killed the power and pulled myself in tight, raised the lift, and exhaled. I'd done it.

I learned a lot of lessons in one simple, or not so simple, docking. One, you can do everything right, and outside forces, such as the wind, can push you off course. Two, be prepared to make adjustments. Three, overreacting to a challenge only complicates matters. Four, you might get discouraged, but you can't quit. Five, when something's off, stop and think it through. Finally, be proud of yourself when you succeed.

If you only stopped when you got discouraged, you'd never get to the point where you can rejoice in your success. Now, I'm ready to go out again the next time that weather permits.

TV Dinners

2010-07-24T22:40:00.002-04:00

I'm old enough to remember when frozen dinners were new. Swanson TV dinners came in aluminum foil pans, with the different meal elements in their own sections. A full dinner right out of the freezer, into the oven, and onto your tv tray so you could eat with your eyes glued to the evening news. Nowadays there are hundreds of meals in the freezer section of your supermarket for breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, snacks, parties, you name it.

That's not the kind of television dinner I'm musing about tonight. I just took a batch of scones out of the oven. With every breath I smell warm cinnamon. I love scones and am pretty pleased that I've learned to make them from scratch. I tried several recipes, without great success. The results were more like cinnamon-raisin biscuits.

Then, a few years ago while on a Jet Blue flight, I saw a show with Mark Bittman visiting Tartine's, a San Francisco bakery. The head pastry chef took him step by step through the process of making their scones. Immediately I saw all that I'd done wrong all those previous times. As soon as I returned home, I Googled the recipe and have been able to make scrumptious scones ever since.

I love watching shows on the Food Network. The competition shows are my favorite. I'm fascinated by trained chefs who can take seemingly random ingredients and create fabulous dishes. While I'm not ready to conjure up a clafoutis, and I don't think I could whip out five beautifully designed dishes in an hour a la the Iron Chefs, I've picked up a few pointers. I'm yet to try to replicate a full meal from any television show.

Some of the best pointers come from Good Eats with Alton Brown. I learned more about filet mignon from him in one hour than in a lifetime of eating that meat.

There are dishes that I've read about in books that I've tried to make at home, most notably some things that Robert B. Parker wrote up in his Spenser series. I have a favorite pasta meal that I can throw together with very little effort thanks to Spenser.

What about you? Do you enjoy watching cooking shows? Which show or chef is your favorite? Have you ever looked at what they make on tv and tried to cook it yourself at home? (Recipe sharing is encouraged!)

Memory Snapshots

2010-07-21T22:04:00.002-04:00

Today was the 41st anniversary of the day man first walked on the moon. I remember exactly where I was -- summer camp, New York State. They halted the regular camp activities and gathered all of us in the big dining hall. Long before the days of wide-screen televisions, they'd placed a regular sized black and white set on a ladder so that we all could see that moonwalk.

Thinking about this monumental event today led to discussion of other happenings that are so significant, so major, that we retain a clear memory - captured like a photograph in our memories.

I was five when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. My mother told me the news. A few days later, my brother and some of our neighborhood friends were sitting around a plastic tablecloth in our living room, attention riveted on the small b&w tv, watching when Jack Ruby stepped forward and shot Lee Harvey Oswald. We yelled for Mom who was making us sandwiches in the kitchen. The tablecloth had gold roosters printed on it. I don't remember any other colors from that moment -- not the room, or what any of us were wearing -- just the gold roosters. Seeing someone murdered made quite an impact.

I can still see the face of the 5th grade classmate who told me that RFK had been shot. We were living in France that year and all day long we waited for news. No Internet back then so we didn't find out until Mom picked us up from the school. We pulled up to a streetside newspaper kiosk and saw the headline in bold black letters three inches high - Il Est Mort. (He is dead.)

The pictures are scattered across the years.

The day that Elvis died. The night John Lennon was murdered. I can feel and hear the crunch of snow under my boots when I walked out of an office after learning of the Challenger explosion.

A friend called to tell me that a plane had just flown into one of the World Trade Center towers. I turned on the tv and saw the second plane hit.

In reviewing all of the snapshot memories, I realize many of them are connected to bad and sad things. It's like tragedy locks the frame with sharper, clearer images.

There are, however, many happier standouts. Where I was and who I was with when the Phillies won the World Series in 1980. The phone calls from my mother telling me my nephews had been born. The night I logged online and opened the email from a publisher offering me a contract on my first book. The meeting with my boss when she offered me this job.

In recalling all these things tonight, I also recognized an interesting difference. When I think of all the bad memories, the emotions are muted. For the happy events, I feel everything the way that I did when they first happened. The cheering. The welling of joy in my heart. The mind-blowing excitement. The excited nerves. They're all there, ready to be relived again along with the memories.

What snapshot memories do you carry in your head?

Professional Perspectives

2010-07-19T16:23:00.002-04:00

Does everybody notice different things depending on what we do for a living? As a writer, I know that I see things in books that drive me crazy. Things I might not have noticed before, like frequent shifts between the point of view of different characters. I'm re-reading a book right now and it kills me that the copy editor didn't catch (or perhaps is responsible for) all the references to Columbian art. Since I know that the author is not talking about art from Columbia, SC, all those references should be Colombia.

I started pondering this topic early this morning while stretched out in the dentist chair having my teeth cleaned. When a dentist meets someone, do they notice the other person's teeth and smile before anything else? Are hairstylists forever critiquing styles and thinking what would look better on the person in their line of sight? Does an auto mechanic pull up next to a rumbling or pinging car and think, "Jesus, dude, get a tune up?"

Can a good chef ever eat anywhere but a top restaurant? What about those professional stylists who advise people how to dress on What Not to Wear? Can they ever walk down the street in a crowd and not recoil from any egregious fashion faux pas?

Finally, I have to ask. Does a plastic surgeon automatically check out breasts, purely from professional curiosity, and think, "I would have gone a little rounder and up a cup size?"

Does what you do for a living influence how you look at things around you? Let's discuss.