Happy Old Year, Happy New Year

Apparently I've been too lazy or too freaking busy or too something to come on and say hi, lately. Sorry about that.

I've popped a picture on here of my view from the laptop in our hotel room in Georgia last weekend. I have a set of these 'view from my laptop' pictures, to remind me of the places I've dragged my old Dell along in the time it's taken me to write my novel.

JB and I had a nice long weekend away for Christmas weekend...





...and now it's almost like we were never down there and relaxing, as we've both been working our, uh, selves hard at work this week, and the Blondster flew home last evening from the panhandle of Texas, so that was both a celebratory and exhaustingly long day.

Now, we finally have a few minutes in our own home to breathe, so I wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you for your friendship in 2008, and here's to a Happy New Year as well!

Holiday Hiatus

I may not be around the internet for a few days - courtesy of a bet from JB, and a trip down to Georgia, beginning this afternoon - so Happy Holidays everyone!

Hope all of you have a wonderful week, and everyone gets well from their colds!

FH's voice...

...is sublime. She's reading a passage from the middle of my novel, and it made me feel like a writer, hearing her read this. Her voice is gorgeous, and her reading is amazing.

FH, I'm so honored. Thank you very much!

Again, I can't link, guys (I really have to learn), but FH posted a link to her reading in the comments trail under the "Voice Thingy" post below.

And Sylvia posted a link to her reading in the comments trail of "Here's Mine" - and hers has links to everyone's as well, if you want a complete list to check against.
Sylvia, if you pop on today, could you add FH's to your list?

Evil Sex Apeel for the Holidays

No idea how to make this a link, people, but you really do have to go and see this.
I mean, you really, really do. Really.

http://lottery-loser.blogspot.com/2006/12/sex-apeel.html

Here's mine.

Voice thingy has started - Happy holidays!

Hi,

McK has posted her breathy beautiful voice doing a breathy beautiful financial shake-up kind of a deal, to start us off with the proverbial holiday bang. (Sorry, I absolutely had to say it that way. Had to.) As this was her excellent idea, it's the perfect way to start! I haven't learned to link yet in the text, but the links are on the righthand side, although my guess is, we all already have them.

Please pop a note on here when yours is ready, so we know to go there. Mine will be along this afternoon.

And while I'm here, let me wish all of you very happy holidays in whatever way you celebrate! Lots of us will be out of touch next week, so I wanted to make certain I said it early.

ril is...

...a proud papa. Well, he was already a proud papa, but now he's proud times two, with the (very) recent birth of his beautiful son.

ril, you're one of my very favorite people. Congratulations to you and your family!

This one's for Whirl....

I finally found the picture I thought of when Whirl posted the pic of his dog a couple of weeks ago. Well, I didn't find it, the Blondster did, as she was looking through boxes and boxes of family pictures this evening she also found a few choice blackmail-worthy pics of me from back in the day. No, you will never see these. Yes, I'm serious. In one, because of the fading of the photo, my hair looks orange.) For those of you who haven't seen it, Whirl had a hoot picture of his dog, back in the 1970's, sitting in an orangy-brown color scheme room that would knock your little 21st century boots or socks off, were you to time travel back there. Apparently, those were the Orange Years.


Anyway, here I am, 1969 (date on the back of the picture)in my living room, and my dad had dragged these little 'ice cream parlor' chairs, as my mother called them, from the kitchen and posed me with our dog, Cindy. The table in the picture was what my mother referred to as a Willett table, I believe. I don't know why, but it was a big deal to her that she had one. It must have been a status thing for the middle class of the day. When Blondster showed this pic to JB a few minutes ago, he snorted and said it looked like Cindy was winning the chess match. Hmmmmmph.




Got any pics to share of you in your youth, doing something lame? And really, I think even Sparky could do this if he found one from his early, early youth. Because I'm all about sharing.

P.S. I'll post my YouTubey throaty version of a packaging piece of JB's on the evening of the 17th, so if you all wanna pop on that post and let us know when yours are ready, that would be great!

Wanna do one last voice thing for the year here?

Hi,

Sorry I've been mainly absent lately, guys.

ril and his wife are expecting their baby on the 10th (and I think it's already the 11th where he is) so hope we hear from him soon. ril, if you read this later on, could we see a baby picture? I'm hoping all good things for you and yours!

And,I know that paca and freddie were drilled down with school stuff until somewhere in the neighborhood of the 16th to the 18th, so...
how about we do a voices thing, popping them on as we can from the 18th to the 20th?
Does that sound all right?

And what's the topic?

And Sparky, are you in?

Seven Random or Weird Book Facts

Hi. I haven’t been able to look at my manuscript and write or edit/work on finishing it since last Saturday.

Yeah. I’m frustrated. But I’m hoping that being forced by circumstance to take this time off will end up being a blessing – the fresh perspective thing. I guess I’ll know about that theory panning out when I’m finally able to sit back down again in front of this screen I’m looking at now, early on Sunday morning, and have some quiet time (that’s when my hiatus starts over again).

Meanwhile, Pete tagged me with his “seven random or weird book facts” meme, which worked out really well, because I'm antsy to be writing...

So, here I go.

1. I decided I’d write a book when I was a little kid – maybe somewhere in the neighborhood of six to eight. I remember sitting in one of the wingback chairs in the living room, cross-legged, and I remember having lined paper in my lap, but I don’t really remember the story, although it seems like it was about a circus or something. And I remember thinking maybe I could make some money for my family to have, and my father and mother would be happy.

2. I tried again in my late teens. When I was twenty, I wrote a short story that was supposed to be the beginning of a novel, and sent it to The Atlantic Monthly. I was rejected with a nice note – the ‘good but not for us’ variety, as I recall, though not in those words. I quit writing for a while (to put it mildly) after that (not because of that rejection – it just happened to coincide with a couple of other events).

3. I also started notes for a novel that was to be based (vaguely) on some things that happened when I was in New Orleans one summer. The line (you may have read something close to this on EE’s blog) “I saw myself sitting there, a slender, tender blonde girl, nibbling on my orange slice, chewing on my cherry” – was part of these notes. I never forgot that line. It ran through me every once in a while. I think it was me, telling me that I was gonna write that novel, but it wasn’t time yet. I was still stewing it along inside. Last spring I was looking through some old books, and in one of them (The History of Philosophy - a dog-eared paperback of mine from a long time ago) I found a bookmark with the title of this novel - written across the back of the bookmark. And character names. It just about made me cry, seeing that, and realizing how much time had gone by from then until now.

4. I inhaled fiction from the time I could barely read as a kid until I was out of high school – then I took a long sabbatical – then I started up again in my mid-twenties. I stopped again in my early thirties, didn’t start again until about five years ago, other than mysteries. I’ve never stopped reading those. I didn’t realize until recently – there was a reason for this pattern. I think I’ve read every P. D. James mystery there is – unless she’s written one in the last five years that I’m unaware of. I loved her writing style, and the pace of her unfolding.

5. I'm gonna admit - I'm a fiction snob. (Anyone surprised?)

6. I always read the back of a novel before the rest. Well, I read the back cover, the flap copy, and the first few pages. Then, after I’ve decided I might but the book, I flip to the back and read the end. If I like the end, I buy the book. I have no need for unadulterated suspense with regard to the ending.

7.I am a total nerd. I used to love believing I was gonna read the entire encyclopedia (read the A’s over and over during several ‘new beginnings’ of this goal when I was younger), and I love having a “books one must read in order to be well-read” list.

Anybody around here wanna run with this tag? If so, please have at it.

On hiatus for....

a while. I don't know how long.

When this weekend is over, I'll have only a few chapters left to edit to have a decently strong manuscript together; after writing and thinking this through and writing again, and sometimes over, since the summer of 2006, I'm feeling relieved that it's actually coming together.

I'm not saying I'm arrogant or stupid enough to think I won't have to make any changes - but I am saying I'll be 'there' enough to read through it whole, check in here and there (on key passages and on fixes,to see if said fixes worked) with my very small group of close-to-the-vest first readers, and send this novel out into the world.

I'm thinking maybe we could do another group reading between holidays - maybe the first part of December? What do you all think? And what would you want us to read?

Love you guys. Talk to you later.

Phoenix did it...

She actually sent me her meme thingie. And it's a good one. Thanks, girl!

And now, for your reading pleasure, I present...

PHOENIX'S MEME

Gee, Robin, thanks for the tag. Please, please allow me to return the favor one of these days.

So here are 6 things about me that will give you a better idea about what makes Phoenix tick.

1) I once played in the Society for Creative Anachronism. I fought heavy weapons (short swords, maces, shields, etc.), and got my 5-foot, 100-pound ass kicked and bruised repeatedly. I also swashbuckled (foils, daggers, capes - think Errol Flynn), and because I was fairly strong and limber back then, in swashing I could kick ass right back.

2) When I was 15, I soloed in gliders -- even before I got my driver's license. I traded work at an airfield for flight lessons and flying time. I also passed my written exam for powered planes, but had to stop work at the airfield before I got enough hours to get my private pilot license. Couldn't afford to pay for flight time, so didn't keep up with it. Sad, because soaring a few thousand feet up with only the buzzards for company -- really awesome.

3) I once accused the management of a company I was working for of unethical treatment of their employees. They put me on 90-day probation under what a coworker referred to as my 12-step program. Tenet 1 was that I refrain from sarcasm (seriously: "Don't be sarcastic." Moi?). Tenet 2 was that I was to assume management was telling the truth about everything. And so they went. During my 90 days, 7 of the 10 people in the department quit. The day I came off probation, I was promoted (!) and given a raise which was retroactive 90 days. As soon as the check cleared, I quit (I had a better-paying job lined up anyway). Any wonder that company didn't stay solvent long?

4) I also filed an anonymous complaint in the early 80s with the Labor Board against a veterinarian I worked for -- he wasn't following minimum wage and overtime laws and, most importantly, didn't care that he was screwing us. The employees were awarded back pay and the vet never knew I was the one who turned him in. In fact, he used to complain about the lawsuit to me because he thought I was on his side. Jerk. If you're upfront and honest with me, I'll give you 110%, do everything I can to help ensure success, and tolerate a heck of a lot. In fact, the adjective most people use to describe me is "sweet." But please, don't ever mess with me. And, if you do, don't ever underestimate me. Even if I am small, have that high-pitched girlish voice, and wear my hair in pigtails. I really don't tolerate fools well.

5) There was a short period of time 20 years ago when I had a bit of success publishing short stories. I attended science fiction conventions as a guest speaker, got my hotel rooms comp'd and once, gasp, even got paid for an appearance.

6) Then all of a sudden I was cursed. My creative writing became the kiss of death -- literally:
* middle-grade novel - small publisher went bankrupt shortly after accepting the work (alas, before any check was cut).
* Limited-issue comic book series - small publisher closed its doors shortly after acceptance (once again before I saw any money).
* script 1 (episode for children's animated series) - picked up on contingency the series wasn't cancelled. It was.
* script 2 (episode for a "Night Gallery"-ripoff series) - picked up on contingency the series wasn't cancelled. It was.
* short story - submitted by request for a paperback anthology to an editor who had published me several times previously. Received a rejection dated the day after she was admitted to the hospital in a coma and the day before she died. I still can picture her struggling out of her coma, gasping, "Must reject Phoenix's story if it's the last thing I do." And it was.

So I've waited a couple of decades and changed my (pen) name in hopes my luck has changed. So far the best I can say is that at least no one's died recently after reading my stuff (that I know of anyway). Let me know if y'all survive...

Tag Centralia

OK. I owe FH and Janey, although not in that order. And here's the thing. I'm a big, big believer in pain sharing. Well, not that is exactly pain (Robin said, chuckling)...but I feel the need to reach out to some people that I don't believe have been hit up lately (and a few, not at all, I'm guessing, not in the traditional meme hitting-up sense anyway...)

My tags go to: Sparky, ril, Wonderwood, BT, Phoenix, and paca. If even two of them do this, I'll...well, I'll be in shock.

Anyway - here's the easy and straightforward '6 Random Things About Me' meme of FH's:

1. I wear wool socks in the house all twelve months of the year. I hate it when my feet are cold, and I hate it when my feet touch bare wood or carpet. So I avoid potentially being cold or hating the feel of stuff on my toes by wearing my trusty SmartWools year-round in the house. I have them in three colors. Sexy, huh? Yeah.

2. I have a stepper in my study. When I work out, I lock the door and step my ass off and pretend stuff that I'm not ever telling any of you lot about. It's fun stuff, baby, in so many ways. And no, I'm not wearing wool socks during this part.

3. I took a Bulgarian guy on my spring break trip when I was in high school. I'd never met a European guy before, so, although this guy had a body you wouldn't fucking believe, I was embarrassed out the ass when he wore his little Euro-version-of-Speedos. In Daytona Beach. In the 1970s. Yeah. Lord.

4. Some chick, on the same trip, came wandering over to us when we were laying out, drunk, in the sand, and tried to tell all me about the Lord and save me. (Probably she had spied those daywear pussboy panties on the Bulgarian, lying there all spraddled out next to me.) I looked up over my cranberry juice and vodka in a plastic cup dealie, and said something about being a Catholic. That did it. She went away. No more trouble. Best thing that ever happened to me from having been screwed by being born into a Catholic household.

5. Same trip - I wore a white halter top to the bars at night, because every bar worth its salt had black lights, so my top glowed in the dark. I wore it every night to different bars. The Bulgarian was with me, but thank God, he didn't have his little navy blue panties on. I made him wear jeans. Dork. Gorgeous dork, daddy was a doctor dork, but still, Dork Boy.

6. One time...no, never mind about that one. Ummmm. OK. Here's one:
I love men in corduroy pants. God, I really do.

Coming next, in a few minutes, Janey's meme dealie. Then, no more meming Robin for a while, unless you wanna read stuff you shouldn't really wanna be reading about a friend. Heh.

OH- and you memed guys, and phoenix. Just pick one of these two memes and have at it. BT, I figure you owe me, son, as you first memed me long, long ago, back in the spring. Back when I was...wait for it...blogless.

NEXT....

Janey's Tag Dealie:

1. What do you do before bedtime? Every other night...well,you can figure it out.
The other nights, I read or I write until I'm about to pass out.

2. What are your favorite sounds?
My husband or one of my kids, when they're jazzed about something and they're telling me all about it...A song I'd forgotten I loved, turned up full bore in the car...my cat purring when she's in bed with me at night and the only other sounds in the world, it seems, are the night sounds outside.

3. What were your childhood fears?
I was certain Dracula lived under my bed, and I had this elaborate way I had to sleep, and if I laid this certain way, somehow for some reason, Dracula couldn't get me. I was certain the Wolf Man could see through my bedroom window screens at night. I was certain someone was in my closet and ready to come out at night and get me. I was terrified of my basement.

4. What place have you visited that you can't forget and want to go back?
Ireland.

5. What has made you unhappy these days?
I'm sick to death of election coverage and the divisiveness it causes. Also, the financial non-well-being of my country, and the wave of problems it's caused all over hell's half acre, and feeling powerless because of it.

6. What websites do you visit daily?
You guys that have a blog (do they count as websites?) Hope so. And, don't laugh...
The Wall Street Journal Online. And the Post. Washington.

7. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Both of them are sweeties and I wish we could hang out together on weekends.

8. What’s the last song that got stuck in your head?
Layla.

9. What’s your favorite item of clothing?
The aformentioned wool socks. And I have one favorite pair of thong undies. Heathered blue. No kidding.

10. What is your dream for the future?
I want to see my book published.

Virus - be careful if you have Windows

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/3220887.stm


Links to the various versions of the patch (provided by “Patch Watch” from Microsoft Secrets):

• Windows 2000 with Service Pack 4 patch download
• Windows XP with Service Pack 2 or 3 patch download
• Windows XP 64-bit Edition patch download
• Windows Server 2003 with Service Pack 1 or 2 patch download
• Windows Server 2003 64-bit Edition patch download
• Windows Vista with or without Service Pack 1 patch download
• Windows Vista 64-bit Edition with or without Service Pack 1 patch download
• Windows Server 2008 32-bit Edition patch download
• Windows Server 2008 64-bit Edition patch download

More information: Please read security bulletin MS08-067. For an excellent technical explanation of the vulnerability and possible mitigations, read TechNet's Oct. 23 description.

I don't know how to do the link thing on the patch download - if anyone does, let me know, and I'll email it to you to help me fix this.

Whirl's Tag Thing

This one's a quickie, so to speak, so I can do it. I haven't forgotten Janey's - but I want to do it the right way, so it will need to be a little while.

Whirl's quickie is this - go to page 56 of the novel you're reading, and share a few lines...

I'm reading World Enough And Time, by Robert Penn Warren, for EE's book chat.

Here are a few lines from page 56:

"No," Wilkie said, slowly, "no."

"Well, why are you so moved and disordered?"

Wilkie stared at him, "staring in wonderment as though he had never seen me and as though he could not believe what he saw." So Jeremiah described the moment, and his own sense of embarrassment and emptiness in the face of the incredulous stare."

What are you all reading? Hopefully at least some of you are reading this book. I'm hosting this chat of EE's, and I'm really looking looking forward to it.

Anyone care to be tagged with this one? Let us know in the comments if you'd like to share.

We interrupt this program...

...or lack thereof, to say that it will most likely be a week or so before I can post anything new.

I owe Janey a tag dealie, and I'll do it as soon as I can, and I'm looking forward to it. Her answers to having been tagged are a hoot. If you haven't seen them, they're fun, right on down to her jammies!

I'm in a good place with the work on my novel right now, and I need to keep the momentum going.

If anyone wants to guest post, have at it.

Meanwhile, see you in several days.

Here's mine...

Hi you all,

I just went and listened to EE's. It's wonderful, not that this is a huge surprise, so I'm apologizing ahead of time for mine being too fast to do this excerpt from Dennis Lehane's novel, Mystic River, justice.

I'm reading the last page from the end of one of the middle chapters. Sean is a cop in the novel, and his wife has left him. She works as a road manager, and she calls him from places and just listens to him talk to her on the phone, that's all. She never speaks. But this time, Sean just can't make himself do things the way they've been doing them, with him talking and her breathing and listening. He's had it. He has his own good reasons.

Can't wait to hear the rest of you all! I'm in the office, so it will be later today before I can really sit and listen. Bye for now.

Reading

Hi,

Whenever you all are ready tomorrow, please post a note here letting us know yours is up, OK?

Thought I'd get an early start for the Britons among us.

I'm looking forward to hearing you!

How about October 9th for author reading?

Okay. How does that sound?

Thursday, October 9th. Is that a good date for you all to post a reading from a scene in one of your favorite novels?

I think Whirl and Kiersten had said that would be all right.

Hope that's a good date for you all, too! Any takers?

Voice time again soon? Because finally, I've finished those mind-sucking chapter edits.

Hey. How are you all?

1. I haven’t posted anything in so long it feels like maybe this is Rod’s blog now, and I’m butting in!

Those of you who weren’t around for the Rod days of old might enjoy checking out his first entrance on Sparky’s blog. It was a day that will live in infamy (at least for me it will). If you have the time, check it out:

It was July 21, 2007, Bad Analogies, Part 3, and mine read as follows:

Going on a vacation he couldn't afford was a pleasure and pain thing, like a roofer up there roofing away on your house and getting a good long hard-on kinda look at the naked sunbather chicks sunbathing around the pool in the next yard and falling off the roof and breaking his leg in your yard ‘cause you didn’t have a pool to fall into. Like that. --Robin S. (By the way, I’m using this analogy, fully intact, in my second novel. So thanks once again for your writing exercises, Sparky.)

Anyway, it was in the comments section that I fell in love with Rod’s poning abilities, and got too-shayed (not necessarily in that order).

2. And, here’s the second anyway: I AM FINALLY FINISHED with what I hope is the final draft of my edits with Chapters 10, 11, 12 and 13. Good Lord, that took a while.

3. So today, before the final pieces of Chapter 12 fell into place, or were shoved kicking and screaming like little bitches, really, I went to the grocery, and I was really getting pissed off. These two little brain-free chicks were manning the cash register and bagging duties, respectively, and they were suckingly slow. I’m talking, slowwwwww…..Yeah.

At first I was not amused, and then - I was.

I started smiling and I didn’t stop, when I realized these little dingbats were talking about sex to the whitebread customers filing down the checkout line, and it was fucking hilarious, watching everyone trying to be politically correctly cool with that, and unoffended.

And damn, that was the most fun conversation I’ve had all week, because when it was my turn at bat, i.e., at the register, I started asking all kinds of questions, and getting some mindbending answers, and if you don’t think I wrote some of this shit down for my next novel, you’re certifiable, baby. Damn, that was fun. Made me happy all day, and helped me stay in the zone long enough to finish some weird, wild edits.

Soooooo….I realize this post is all over the map.

But, even so, here are two more thingies:

4. Today is my birthday.

5. AND…how about we do another voice deal in the next 10 days or so, doing what Sparky suggested, and reading a scene from one of our favorite novels?

That is all. …I swear it is. At least for now. I’ve been pent up, people. Pent, I say.

Mind if I Come In?

This feels mighty strange. It’s kind of like I’ve walked into someone’s house when they’re not home. It’s too quiet, the carpet feels strange underfoot and all the smells are different. I don’t want to make a noise, case someone hears it and tells me I ain’t supposed to be here.

When the young lady asked me if I’d stop by and say a few words, well ‘course I said “yes”, but sayin’ yes is the easy part. Thing is, what will I talk about? There’s only one thing I know about, and that’s the thing I been doin’ all my life -- workin’ on roofs. I don’t know a thing about writin’ and I’m not much of a one for talkin’. But you know, a promise is a promise, and here I am.

Someone asked me one time, what’s the best thing about workin’ on roofs. I told her, I don’t know that there’s just any one thing; there’s a whole host of things to like about it, and I don’t rightly know where to begin. I’m no writer, like I said, but excuse me, and I’ll try my best.

Most of what I do is small stuff. I Fix people’s roofs; patch a few holes, freshen the paint, make sure the insides stay nice and dry. But I guess what I like best is buildin’ a new roof, startin’ from scratch. It starts from nothin’ but an idea of what it might look like; then we put up the frame, the skeleton, and it’s rough, but it’s already got the shape of a roof. Once the frame’s up, we put on the felting, covering over the gaps and keeping everything dry inside, and once the felt’s all battened down it’s really startin’ to look like a roof. The battens are also what we nail the tiles or shingles onto; and once the tiles are on and the ridge is finished off, you can know, just by lookin’ at it, that you got a good roof there. And if it ain’t just right, you can rework it a bit, change it here and there ‘til it’s just how you want it and you’re all done. Buildin’ somethin’ from nothin’ -- I like that.

Now, I just got off a job buildin' a barn. A big old red shingle roof. Took me and a couple of my boys near two weeks to get the job done, and I didn’t get paid ‘cause I was doin’ it for a friend of mine. But when we were done, when I’d hammered in the last nail, I could stand up on the top of the roof, one foot either side of the ridge, feelin' the wind on my face, and I could see for miles. And if I closed my eyes, I could see even further. Guess that’s the best thing about roofin’: just how far you can see.

Rod the Roofer

When I finish 13...

I'll be back with a new post.

Right now I'm reading through Chapters 10, 11, 12 and 13. 13 is close to a done deal. I wrote it almost intact in the winter/early spring of 2007. I wrote a few others in the same way. When it works that way, it's wonderful. Hope you guys have felt that - it's amazing when it happens. Wish it happened more. Chapter 3, I wrote in one ecstatic afternoon in the fall of 2007. What a head rush. I don't think I changed but a few words here and there. It was that clear coming out, almost like automatic writing.

I thought I was finished with 10 - and then I saw plot holes, and had to fix them. (And I think it may really be two chapters, which will take the even 20 I have to an un-even 21.)

11 and 12 are almost there. Still, as I'm guessing you all already know, that last polishing and checking means everything, and consumes time.

15 is absolutely finished - doesn't need a thing, to my mind anyway, as are several others. 16 needs a tighter ending to it. 17, 18 and 19 may become two chapters, because some may come back out - not sure just yet.

A dear friend (who has a good eye and a good ear for reading, and isn't afraid to tell me when she doesn't like something) has read the last chapter, and loved it. That feels good, knowing home base was worth working to reach.

The plan is - read through the sections of the remaining-to-be-edited chapters, which are distinctive in important ways (to me at least), and edit transitions, etc. as I go.

During the long weekend we have in mid-Octover (11th through the 13th), I'm sequestering myself to read the entire novel aloud, for flow, for rhythm and sound and meaning.

Then, I'll finally be finished.

I'm telling you all this to help myself stick to the schedule. How about you all?
Where are you on your internal schedules?


P.S. I'm really, really hoping my friend will be blogging here soon.

Sparky is being roasted today

...at BookRoast. The link is here.

Please visit and give him some extra good grief.

Thanks!

Happy Friday…and Saturday…. and Sunday…

…here in Storytelling Land.

Thanks, Whirl, for this great idea of yours. It worked out so very well!

I loved listening to all of you.

Listening again to Pete read my words, I thought about what ril wrote in a comment on McK’s blog, about how arresting it was, in the good way that being taken by surprise can sometimes be, how surprising it was, hearing one’s written words spoken by someone else, as though the words had been separated from your self.

And others mentioned that maybe reading other’s work was different because a certain self-consciousness is blissfully missing. (Sparky, as usual, is exempt from such mundane worries, as he remains very enjoyably supra human.)

Hope you were able to visit everyone and hear them reading. To that end, here’s our list, one more time:

Kiersten and Natalie traded

Freddie and paca traded

McK and ril traded

Julie and BT traded

Sylvia and Whirl traded

I traded with Pete, and Sparky already had something ready that he used.

And now I’m thinking that in the next month or so, or whenever you want to, we’d try an idea of EE’s, and each read a scene or a section from one of our favorite novels. I don’t know about you all, but I don’t have one favorite novel. My favorite reading is mood-dependent, so I’m thinking we can do this one more than once, just as we can trade off more than once.

How about it? Game for this to be the next voice plan?

Here's to you and yours having a wonderful weekend.

ril, reading McK...

Enjoy!

Okay. Ready to go?

Hi you all,

Are the Euros and Aussies (and transplants that happen to already be experiencing Thursday...), are you ready to post your stuff? (And by the way, ril, do you wanna do your own post here this time? That would be great! But if not, no worries - just send me the gobble-de-gook stuff to put on here, please.)

As for the rest of us, should we go now, or wait?

Here's the deal - whatever we decide to do - please pop on here and let us all know where to travel around, when you're ready.

OK- I'm about to go to bed (yeah - I'm a wuss), so, here's my reading of a part of one of Pete's excellent published stories...



I can't wait to hear you all!

Love,

Robin

Tonight I was planning on...

...telling you all the bizarre and funny story about my trip back through the Virginia and Maryland state roads this past Saturday.

About the big plastic sheet that got caught on my axle or shaft or whatever the hell it was, and this guy yelling at me from his Jeep to pull the hell over, and me thinking it was another good-times confrontation, but it was really just a nice guy trying to save me from major car issues out in the middle of nowhere. And then with me stretched out under the car a few minutes later, on the side of the road, with the guy, yanking hot and melty plastic sheeting out from under my car. (A side note: under-the-car is a scary place I'd rather not ever visit again, as I really don't want to know what that crap under there is, as it looks a little suspect as a solid enough system to be carrying me along any damn roads.)

And I was gonna tell you about the weird crap my elderly relative said and did that does the opposite of endearing me to said relative, but I'm stuck, so I might as well laugh, and I figured you might wanna help me out there.

And I was gonna tell you about the Reno 911 kinda cop that pulled me over in Surreal-ville at about 11:00 pm in Nowhere, Maryland, and how that all worked out.

But no.

I'm drinking right now. Shit is going on, and I'm drinking. I just received a phone call that went right through me. Whatever.

Anyway, I'm truly looking forward to seeing everyone and hearing everyone. Hope you all are ready to post, because I'm really ready for some good listening. I'll pop a voices post on here tomorrow night.

Bye for now.

It's almost September and I gotta admit...

I have a bad habit. I don't look up. On vacation last summer, the strength of these colors above me in an archway in a small town in Portugal just about made me look up to see them. I was glad they did. Now, with fall coming, I'm really gonna have to force myself to look up. Usually, when the cold comes, my eyes hibernate along with the rest of me.



By the way, I'm going back down those Virginia back roads this weekend. Down Saturday early, and back late the same damn day. Fun trip. I won't be looking up, but only straight ahead, to get through it, both the trip down and up, and the hours in between.

I'll be recording part of Pete's story on Sunday or Monday. It's a good one, and I'm going to do my best to do it justice.

I'm really looking forward to hearing all of you next Thursday! The switching will be something special. And then there's EE, who doesn't have to switch anything at all, ever, just as long as he keeps coming.

Hope everyone has a good weekend!

Group Photo, Take Two

So someone sends me a note, saying all four people in my photo suffered from a little problem called redeye. And someone fixed that for me, and it worked really well, all "....except for the guy on the right. His eyes stayed red, which, according to the software, means he's a vampire. I took the liberty of making it look like he has sunglasses or black eyes. (Don't leave him alone with either daughter.)"



Should I tell my daughter? What do you think? I mean, that Twilight novel had a good guy of a vampire and everything, so...

Book Roast is happening this week...

...so please pop on over there and say hi! Our friends are running that show.

The link is here on my list.

Thanks,

Robin

My girl is home for a few weeks...

I think you all know that one of my daughters is in school in Britain - she's just finished her second year of studies - Graphic Design and Visual Comunication. One more year for this degree, and then a follow-on year for a BA in Illustration - that's her plan. Here she is with Blondster and their friends at the house we rented in Wales:



And here's my girl in photos from a shoot for a series of ads...



and...



We picked her up at Dulles last night. It's wonderful having her here.

Hat Trick

Voice Drawing...This Afternoon

Hi,

I'll be back in the comments of this post around 5:30 pm - 6:00 pm Eastern to start the drawing for names for people to switch with. What I'm planning on doing is writing the names of the twelve of us who've signed on for this on separate (duh) pieces of paper, folding them up, dropping them in JB's favorite golf cap, and then holding the cap up so I can't see in it, and having JB pull them out one at a time and call the names out to me, and I'll type the pairings, one by one, into the comments.(There will be wine involved somehow.)

So...whoever he pulls out first will swap with who he pulls out second, etc.

Right now I have what I've written ready and what Whirl's written ready, as he popped it to me yesterday. Can the rest of you email me what you want to have read? I'll forward the emails to the lucky recipients tonight, if everyone's writing is ready.

Talk to you all later on.

Intermission #2: Looks Can Be Deceiving

You can learn almost everything you need to know about human beings by watching how they behave when they're driving.

Here’s the thing. If you’re driving along and you look over at another car, it’s easy to go with your preconceived notion about that person from the look of what they’re driving, and from the look of them. Most of the time, this societal shorthand works just fine – but Driver Beware. There are a lot of us out there who no longer look like their backgrounds. I’m just saying…

Take for instance, this past weekend, a middle-aged woman driving down the back roads from the Northern Virginia/DC area to a coastal city in Virginia, to see about a family member that needs some help.

And say this woman drives a while until she hits the outskirts of Fredericksburg, Virginia, and the road has gone from four lanes to six for a while, to accommodate the turning lanes in that little city. And let’s say there’s a stop light, and the woman looks at state road signs and finds that she’s put herself in the wrong lane to make a turn down the next road she needed, so she puts her blinker on and waits for the light to change so she can change lanes.

And let’s say this yellow-orange colored truck is several feet behind her in the lane she needs to switch to, and when the light changes, the truck stays back there – leading the woman to believe it was done purposefully, this waiting when the light changed, so that she can switch lanes. She’s grateful, is the woman, and she moves quickly so as not to disrupt traffic flow and make the driver of the yellow-orange truck wish he/she hadn’t bothered to be nice.

And the traffic moves through the light just fine, until it’s stopped en masse again at the next red light. And then, the woman sees in her rearview mirror the driver of the yellow-orange truck open her door (yes, the other driver, it turns out, is a she as well) and march up to the woman in the black car. The woman in the car doesn’t turn around; she watches the light, because even though she’s mildly curious about the traveling legs in her rearview mirror, she’s a lot more concerned about the light changing to green, and her just sitting there.

BLAM

(pause for maybe a breath’s amount of time)

BLAM

A blam so hard it sounds like the driver’s window may well just go on ahead and crack. Then another.

Hmmm.

Now, here’s where it pays to remember that looks can be deceiving. The woman driving down these back roads to visit her relative looks, in her black German car and her black designer sunglasses and her dyed blonde hair - she looks to be a woman a fool slut in a yellow-orange truck can mess with and have herself a big time, and maybe feel good about herself and really feel powerful there for a few minutes, before reality sets back in.

But that is only because the woman in the black German car with the smooth beige leather interior doesn’t look like the typical picture of a woman whose father quit school at fifteen because he had to scrape together neighborhood jobs working in a corner grocers and hauling coal in hand-pulled wagons to help his mother to make enough money so that the government lady didn’t come around again to try to take his younger brothers and sisters away after his father died, leaving eight children and no paycheck during the Depression. A father who used to walk out of his camelback house with the holes in the outside walls down by the kitchen (and that’s where the rats got in, and they kept patching and patching but it was never enough so the rats kept on getting in), and he’d walk out of that hellhole of a house just about rubbing his hands together with glee, thinking about who he was gonna punch out that afternoon.

And she doesn’t look like a woman whose mother grew up in a coal mining camp in western Kentucky, where beating the shit out of the man who wronged you was not only not frowned upon, back in the day, but was absolutely expected, and if you didn’t do it, don’t bother coming back home.

So, not a good plan, this hitting the window of a stranger’s car.

Ever see the movie True Lies? Remember the part where Arnold Schwarzenegger is in a Corvette with a creepy used car salesman, and it looks like he takes the guy’s head and slams it into the car so that the guys passes out and there’s blood everywhere – but then you realize it’s only the character Arnold is playing, fantasizing about slamming that guy’s face? And the only reason you really thought, as the viewer, that Arnold really did slam the guy is because you already saw the kind of person old Arnold is, character-wise, and so you believe he coulda slammed the guy, no problem?

Yeah.

It took everything I owned in my psyche not to do what the temper of my bloodline was telling me to do.

I kept reminding myself I had a lot to lose, and the woman with her lips now almost right up against the outside of my window, screaming and flailing around, didn’t look like she’d mind figuring out a way to get her hands on it if I even twitched, because she’d have a lot to gain.

I wanted to roll down my window and wait for her to lean in and try to get at me, or I did and I didn't want to, for three conflicting reasons.

One, all I had to do was grab her by the top of her hair and slam her, hard, down (and let’s face it, I had the element of surprise in my favor, as I don’t remotely look like I come from a long line of fighters), and smack her face into that very painful place where the window comes out of the door. Leaving the window maybe an inch above the door line really makes that hurt a lot.

Two, once she reached in at me, and she would’ve reached if I’d given her the chance, I could have her arrested for assault, and that would have been nice, but I wasn’t exactly driving aimlessly down the road – I had to get to the place I was going.

Three, I remember being her. Well, not exactly - not tall and not driving a yellow-orange truck. I drove an old off-white VW bug – so decrepit inside that the floorboards in the backseat area had rusted through so you could see the road, and any passengers had to keep their feet on the seat, or risk loss of limb. Or foot, anyway. But I remember being broke and desperate about it, and thinking for years on end that there would be no end in sight to the way I was living. Feeling that, and being a part of the huge and quiet and ongoing underclass never leaves you. So I recognized her, and it didn’t make me do a happy dance that I am where I am now. Not at all. It made me want to cry with her in her frustration and lashing out at this lady in the nice car - who did she think she was?

Plus, life’s too short to be sidelined by raging buffoons.

So, I smiled at her instead – you know, that certain kind of smile people fucking hate? That’s the one. I felt bad about doing it – but not enough, it seems, to stop myself.

And then the light changed.

Ever have it happen to you? Been mistaken for a different kind of person than you look like you are, and have to grapple with yourself? Because no one is ever only one version of themselves, I don’t think. I think you carry all the earlier versions along with you, always.

Voices: Names drawn on August 21st

Hi you all,

Hope everyone had a good weekend, and hope everyone is thinking about what writing piece they wanna swap out.

I thought we'd do the name drawing, pulling our names out of a golf cap (not mine) this Thursday, the 21st, and post comments with the drawing results, so we'll all know who we're reading.(I’ll ask JB to pull our names out of his cap for me, so I’m not tempted to look. I'll also ask JB to toast with me as each name is drawn, both to say congratulations to each 'coupling' and to, you know, have a good excuse to drink wine.)

That gives everyone several days to send their writing to their ‘reading recipient’, with plenty of time then to do the recording.

Hope that sounds all right.

Meanwhile, Happy Monday!

Voice Discussion Intermission - A Confession. Of a sort.

I make up nonsense words and fold them into my personal lexicon like a crazed mama on a trip to the happy word grocery. I don’t know why.

Example: I call the new family kitten Boo-ka-Cheeka. Actually, I call her ‘Mama’s Little Boo-ka Cheeka Girl’. Her name is Madison. (Don’t tell anybody.)

I suppose it’s all right to simply ‘go phonetic’ here, as the entire naming thing itself, by definition, is meaningless drivel, baby. Drivel, I say, as I honestly have no earthly idea of the origin of this particular term of endearment. I mean, honestly, what the hell is a boo-ka cheeka?

Now, as we all know, I call EE ‘Sparky’, but at least that name was already a ‘nick’, and thus, rendered un-weird. Sorta.

Well, anyway, I don’t know if this is a regional thing, or a weird-family thing, this need for special naming. (Yeah, I have a weird family; it’s not even remotely my fault. I was simply tossed that gene coin and born with it, you know. I remember one of my grandmothers calling us by our actual names, shockingly, and the other one, the fun one, calling us her own pet names that were only halfway and sometimes no way connected with our names, but I do know she only gave pet names to people she cared about.

Interestingly enough, she didn’t give them to several close relatives who didn’t seem to notice this selection process - like her husband/my grandfather. Of course, maybe she saved her pet names for him for when they were all alone….OK- not going any farther on down into that thought, as I prefer to think about everyone in my family as having been chained in/on a long line of immaculate conceptions. It works better that way. Trust me. And does this mean that I prefer to live in a dream world of my own leg-dribble-fluid-free design? Hmmmm. Sorta.)

Anyway, does anyone else do this? Please, someone (or more than one, yes, that would be best) say yes and share, so I don’t feel stupid for admitting this weird thing.

And keep thinking about dates for the voice-a-thon, please. I’m thinking September might be better. Maybe Thursday the 4th? I’d say later for FH, but I noticed she mentioned she might not be able to do this anyway.

And by the way, FH, EE will miss listening to you, you know. I'm just saying! Maybe you could do a voice ahead of time, and then set it to publish on the decided day, if you want. I mean, we certainly wanna keep that boy happy, now don't we, honey?!

Let the voices party games (part 2) ...begin

Hi,

Hope everyone has had a happy August so far.

I slept almost all night last night, even with my brain still living in another time zone, so I'm feeling all right, and hope all is well where you are, too.

How does Thursday, August 21st look for doing the next voice-a-thon? Does that work?

Thursdays seems to be the day most everybody can be around and blogging.

Sorry this is a short and sweet post!

Whoops - almost forgot to say - I'm absolutely up for doing Whirl's idea of doing a voice exchange this time - where we swap writing and read each other's work. I think that would be a scream to do, in oh so many ways.

OK with you? Thoughts?

We're leaving soon...

I'm just stoppin' in to say a quick pass-through hello-goodbye. Hope you all are having some good times and getting the things handled you want to be handling! (OK - I admit, coming from me, that sentence was a little {unintentionally} dicey.)

As for me, we're flyin' outta here on Friday, and my edits, so far, are right on schedule. Slow. But on schedule.

When I'm not writing and hugging on people I love that I haven't seen in a while, I'll be drinking with them in this pub called the George & Pilgrim...



...and, if the weather is warm enough, I'll be up here, sharing a bottle of white wine with my white wine friend who is my sister-in-law. This is her rooftop garden. (And if the weather isn't really warm enough, we'll wear blankets.)



This after a week in Wales where we've rented this converted barn and stable, which just happens to be twenty yards from an excellent, musty old pub, and only a ten minute walk from the hillside I talked about before. I'm going exploring again.




Exploring, writing, pubbing, coastal cliff-path walking, pubbing, hugging my daughters and other family, pubbing, writing, whatever. And maybe I'll even come back. (Maybe.)

The penalty: having to go to the dead zone from hell - the airport. I hate airports.
They suck. But there you go.

So, I hope you guys have a wonderful beginning of August - if you do something kinda crazy, please let us know - and freddie, isn't school about to start? Paca - how's the paper coming? Chris, have a great time in California! And all the rest of you lot, behave yourselves and be thinking about what piece you're gonna choose to do for the mid-August voice-a-thon, please!!! Whirl, you're on that one, right? ril, selfishly,I'll sure be glad when you're back from being gone.

EE, are you doing one? Please? (If you don't wanna write one, Sparky, I've got just the thing for you to read.)

We'll be back the evening of the eleventh. I may or may not be able to be on before then - so be good, you all. (Sure.)

Hiatus

I've wanted to be a writer, to write and finish a piece of fiction and see it in print and bound in book form, since I was about seven years old, the age I was in the picture above.

Now, I'm quite close to finishing the novel that's been wandering around inside my head for a long time, waiting for me to finally believe that I was capable of working it out and thinking it through, and of writing it.

A sentence in what has become my tenth chapter is a sentence I wrote, verbatim, one night when I was about twenty years old, just after I'd arrived home, worse for wear, from a long, long weekend in New Orleans... She saw herself sitting there, a slender tender blonde girl, chewing on her orange slice, nibbling on her cherry... And there are other phrases and a few sentences here and there in my novel, that I've carried around a whole long time.

I'm excited and concerned at the same time right now, because I'm worried I'll trip myself up with a mighty chunk of procrastinating, right here before I finally finish.

I'm gonna miss you guys like crazy - in fact, because I'm a sap, I'm tearing up a little just thinking about this - but I have to take a total blogging break until mid-August if I'm going to actually do what I've wanted to do for so very long.

Hope it's all right - and that you all are still around when I come back.

Whirl, when you get back, if you're reading this, can you send me a note after we get back from Britain (we fly back to the States on August 11th)? I'd love it if we could all do our voices in mid-August.

And EE, if you're reading, please do one, too, and maybe we can trade off reading material, as Whirl suggested. It would make for a wonderful close-to-the-end-of-summer celebration.

Meanwhile, I hope you all have amazing days and your summers are fine ones!

See you all in mid-August.

Love,

Robin

P.S. I'm pretty sure there will be a surprise on here in a few weeks - one that I didn't create.

Wanna ask my husband some questions? (Almost) any questions?

Hi you all,

I thought you guys might get a kick out of having an open mike night with my husband, JB.

Here's a picture of JB's arm, sitting in the hot tub I'm always talking about. As you can imagine, I don't sit in it all alone, and he is who I sit in it with.



When I asked JB if he'd guest blog for me, until my friend who was gonna guest blog for me has time to do so...well, JB made a face at first. I know he did, even though he was on his cell phone when I asked him to do it, because of the ever popular pregnant pause he employs with me when I've asked him a question out of seeming 'space', and he's quickly processing the ramifications of said request.

Anyway, he said yes, slowly, which means he'll fuss about it but he'll do it, and then, after a while he'll enjoy himself, even if he never actually says so, as he's a Brit, and thus must make certain he doesn't come across as having too much damn fun, because we can't be having that, now, can we? Gratuitous fun? It's just not right.

Feel free to ask him whatever you want - no holds barred. If he doesn't want you to know the answer, he'll do the polite verbal tap dance his people are famous for. And then, take my word for it, he'll get a big good grin on his face. Just remember, if he was boring and dry and had no sense of humor, I wouldn't love him so much.

Just post the questions whenever you have time - and he'll be on here, answering and hanging out a while, beginning Tuesday after about 6:00 pm Eastern, and on for a while.

P.S. My baby, JB, knows stuff. He really does. So have fun with him. He'll like it.

And it's fine to ask whatever floats your boat. He's a hardy soul- he can handle it.Take my word for it - I oughtta know.

Here's a picture 'of his eyes only', so you'll sort of know who you're talking to when you're talking to him.






JB and Robin

Coming soon...

I'm gonna be out of town again this weekend. And all this week and next, I'm gonna be slogging away on my edits.

So for now, for your listening and viewing pleasure, here's some music that I absolutely lived by a while back. Southern blues rock.



I tried to find a good YouTube with my absolute favorite Allman Brothers song, Ain't Wastin' Time No More - but the choices were limited. It's worth a purchase on I-Tunes if you're interested at all in the mindset of a certain societal strata in the American South, in the 1970s, and on down to now. It's got the rain, the trains, and the whole damn thing, all embedded and distilled into one sardonic and damn good song.

And, a much more important thing to know, is that coming soon, one of my favoritest favorite people will be here, blogging on this blog...Don't know which day it will be. I just know that he's said he will, and that's enough for me to know it's true.

Weekend in New York City

Hi,

While waiting on a certain evil someone to make my day (or not), here are some pictures of where I was the past three days...

The first two are views of Central Park from our room.





A blue head on Park Avenue...



View from Pier 16 - a place I didn't know existed until this past weekend when we went up to see the waterfall art. We didn't end up going on a boat out to see the falls, because we could see four of them just fine from this pier. And, an added bonus, that dead-bodies-stripped-down-to-nerves-muscle-etc exhibit was in a building upstairs from where I sat at a bar, drinking white wine and talking to an interesting and engaging Albanian bartender while my husband, my closest friend who is my cousin, and her husband were all upstairs checking out dead people.



Here's one of the waterfalls, as seen from the pier...



Then back up to the Boat House in Central Park...



So there ya go. I never thought all of those "WhatI Did on My Summer Vacation" essays they make you write in elementary school would ever actually come in handy, but turns out, they do. Especially when you 'say it with pictures'. If only the nuns had let me do that. Maybe I'd have liked them better.......nah. Not a chance in hell of that ever happening.

How about you all? Where are you going this summer, or where have you already been?
Got any pics for us?

Telling each other a story...

Hi you all,

Here's my mini-story (and my side patio) for you:




I'm really looking forward to hearing yours!

And if I did this correctly, here's ril's - which I am damn well dying to hear but won't be able to hear until I'm home later...

Speak up...

Hi you all,

July 10th is the day we talked about having everyone post voices again - as it was so much fun before. As that is a week from today, thought I'd better check to see who's up for it.

I think maybe ril, paca, phoenix, freddie and a few others may join this time, right?

And if you don't have a blog, feel free to post your PodBean or YouTube or whatever, here on the day. If you have a blog, pop a note on the post next week that it's ready so we can come and have a listen.

Here's the question- Whirl had a cool idea about doing a voice exchange- where we'd read each other's work.

We just need to know whether you all want to do that this time or do one more of our own voices, and exchange in mid-August.

The only reason to wait would be to hear the voices we haven't heard, read their own prose, but it doesn't matter either way.

What do you think? And, are you in for voices next week?

Sense of Place

Sometimes there’s a way to find a different place, even in the middle of a sea of sameness. This grass-roofed open hut sits on a hillside in Wales, hidden on the backside of a very clean-shaven gray and beige housing development.



There’s a small path at the back of the housing development, and it isn’t well traveled. People walk right past it, as it’s just about hidden at the entrance, but it opens up into a road of sorts, once you’re down inside.

And once you’re down the hillside, you’re in a different world. Small camper-sized trailers are set among thick, overgrown woods. A strange mix of lush wet wood scent and propane from the tanks outside the camper homes come together and separate and permeate the air.



My husband and I took a walk down this hillside last summer. We walked a kind of hide-n-seek hike down the hill, as we were seeking to see people, and they seemed to be seeking just the opposite. Finally, about halfway down, we met a woman sporting high Army-green Wellington-style plastic boots, and two long white chin hairs tucked into her dark blue turtleneck. She eyed us up and walked us on down and out of there, down the rest of the path, which we’d lost in the thick brush, down to a place where the green opened wide and offered up a gorgeous full frontal view of the Bristol Channel.

She walked on with us a little farther, and I swear it felt like we were being ushered away; that if she could've shut a conjured door and locked it behind her to keep us out afterward, she would have.

As we came closer to the sea, we saw the hut. She told us, just before she turned around and left us there, that the hillside people had built it for a gathering place.

I’ve stumbled upon enough separated places like this in my life, often hidden in plain sight, behind a wall of trees, inside a pub, inside a building somewhere, that my view of what constitutes reality is very fluid. It affects my worldview, and it enters my writing, as this place did.

How about you? What kinds of places have entered your writing? What kinds of places tug at you?

The Stories of Us

At my office a few days ago, a Chief of Staff level exec and I were having a discussion. This guy is one of my favorite people in the place where I work. You know how you sometimes have to warm up to people, and how you sometimes simply know you like someone from the first time you meet them? This guy's on that nice and easy second list.

We were talking about how to approach a certain issue, and he said, only half-joking, that he wasn't going to use a confrontational approach, and neither would his boss, as they were both Norwegians. And he looked over at me and grinned. I knew without further explanation what he meant. "We're Norwegian" meant to both of us that they were quiet, not prone to loud or argumentative behavior; that they were going to be polite and subdued in their approaches.

"Well," I said. "I'm Irish." And I grinned back at him.

"Yes...I thought so."

And we both had a good grin then, because our conversation was in a kind of ancestry-shorthand-code; we both knew he was telling me his story, about the end-game he and his boss were looking for, so that I could look for a social, vocal, pushier way to a solution for all involved - which, in this case, was called for.

We'd both heard stories growing up, as everyone does, about who we are, about where we and our people came from, and what that means in the scheme of the definition of them as individuals.

I learned about who I was and what the history of my 'people' was, by listening to family stories, and learning about the personality traits held in esteem by my family.

One half of my family came from a poor area in the city I'm from, a neighborhood called Irish Hill.



This picture is of my father, on the left, and my uncle, on the right, during the Great Depression, in Irish Hill. In less than ten years, both of these brothers were in the Pacific, fighting in the Second World War. After the war, both of these brothers had their children later in life than their postwar peer group did, in general. And both of these brothers had the 'gift of the gab' without ever laying their eyes on Ireland, the country their ancestors called home until the mid 1800s.

Stories we're told about who we are matter. We fold them into who we become, and we pass them on for generations.

My family stories included tales of bravado (false and otherwise), smart mouths, raucous humor, tough "I can make it through anything" attitudes, self-reliance, distrust of authority figures, and emphasis on the importance of story, and of sticking together, as well as an inordinate emphasis on intelligence as a way of measuring self-worth. (One of my cousins and I saw a long time ago that this lifelong family emphasis stemmed from placing a value on the one thing our fathers had - the one thing they 'owned' - that was good enough not to be ashamed of, when they were growing up so desperately poor.)

What are your family stories about who you are and where you came from, and what is held most dear, most important, in your family story?

Do you agree or disagree with the ancestry-shorthand-code idea?

Update on our voices

Hi, you all. Please sign up here if you wanna do a 'voice/reading exhange'.

(Please see end comments in the "read you a story" post just below the Dale post below.)

Dale

I mentioned before that I used to change my avatar and the "About Me" bit on Blogger every once in a while, as a stand-in/substitute for blogging.

This is one I wrote last year. The laid-to-rest avatar is below it.

Dale the Cat has been my baby for sixteen years. He is one year older than my younger daughter, which makes him a little bit of a middle child. Dale is a beautiful and needy boy; high strung, afraid of his shadow, a wonderfully sensuous sleeper. He is without meows; he emits only a warm, soft purr or a high-pitched whine, depending upon his mood. In this picture he’s perched on one of his favorite seats in the back of our house, in a section of our living room. He sits here when he wants to get away from my daughter and her friends, when her gaggle of girlfriends gets to be too, too much for Dale’s sensibilities. It’s quiet back here and no one bothers him. Behind Dale, on the hearth, is a dulcimer my father made a long time ago.



Dale became our pet in 1991. He was born in a lovely crackhouse part of town in Kansas City. We adopted he and his brother, Chip, when they were barely six weeks old, and took them back out to the Army post town where we were living at the time.

My older daughter was then my only daughter. She was three at the time - and she named her new kittens after the chipmunks in her favorite afternoon cartoon. Chip didn't make it a year - killed by a car. Dale lived until yesterday.

Dale was always retarded (truly), scatty, afraid of his shadow, and loved being petted only by women. He was afraid of men. And he'd never sit on my lap, or anyone else's. He'd sit about a foot away from you, so you had to do some hard work to love him.

He used to be quite a hunter. He was beautiful. He was virtually vacant inside. He liked tuna.

And he got lost all the time, through the three states and several neighborhoods he's lived in. He'd climb up on places and he couldn't get down again, and then off would go the high-pitched help-me cries. I've retrieved him by climbing three stories up a firetruck ladder and grabbing him off a flat roof, by climbing up extendable ladders with a bucket in my hand and holding him in it all the way down, by skinnying under the deck of a neighbor's, and grabbing him, because he was afraid to come out and walk the thirty yards or so home past some fenced-in puppies. I've fought off cats trying to get him.

One time at 2:00 am or so, when he was three or four years old, he scratched on an upstairs bedroom window to be let in (he used to go in and out of it by climbing onto a ledge) and when he woke me up and I opened the window for him, he popped on in, with a live mouse in his mouth. After a few minutes of the three of us scurrying around the bedroom, with me trying to keep all of us quiet enough not to wake up both girls (I was alone a lot then, my ex was a military officer, and out more than he was in)- I finally saw the mouse hiding in the folds of an overnight bag under the bed - I opened the window and tossed the mouse and the bag onto the ledge, holding Dale so he couldn't go on outside and finish his killing.

He'd lost a lot of weight - several pounds. His mind was gone, was essentially, in absentia, and we decided better to go out peacefully than cornered and killed by a fox in the yard, or tortured by the new kitten, Madison, that Blondster received from friends on her birthday. So, my husband and I took Dale to the vet yesterday, and had him 'put to sleep'. In other words, we ended his life.

It was a heartrending experience. Dale lay on a soft warm towel in the office, and he was anesthetized. He hates going anywhere, so some part of him remembered mama took care of him, and he butted his little head up into my stomach as I stroked his back, and he got his shot. That act of his just about took me out.

Then they came in a few minutes later, when he was asleep with his eyes open, and they shaved a small section of fur off his leg, and inserted a tube and into the tube inserted the drug that stopped his heart. That heart-stopping part only took maybe five seconds.

There's one damn thin line between life and death, between existing and not existing. We all know this, and we all do a pretty good job of blocking that out, because we have to. Because it's one of those things you can't dwell on if you want any peace at all within yourself.

But when you do see it, you find yourself stepping back and doing some hard thinking.
I've seen it before. My guess is, most of you have. I saw it in my father's eyes just before he died, when there was no longer any blue in his beautiful blue eyes.

I noticed that color loss again yesterday in Dale, when his blue eyes drained of their strong color, when he was dying, and then dead.

We should celebrate life while we have it - and I guess we mainly do - but breathing and blinking and walking around sure as hell is more tenuous than we like to face, isn't it?

I'm (sort of) reading you a story...

Voices and accents matter. It's not like this is big news. We all know it - and I think it's something I miss with you guys. (Also, I knew 'as if in a dream' that you were just dying to see our front hallway.)

I've seen one of you, spoken to two others of you, and heard one of your voices on a link thing (paca); it was nice to confirm that we're not only ether.

So....here's my voice, reading you the paragraphs I wrote about in 'Edit Me' earlier on.



This is my first attempt at one of these, so I sound a bit like I'm hollering out from inside a nice cozy tin can. But the only reason I chose YouTubing is because I don't know how to use anything else and get it into the blog (actually, I don't know how to use this either, which is why it sounds louder than I sounded when I was reading it. And Blondster did the whole thing for me on her Mac. If she hadn't been around, there'd be no sound going on, I can tell you.)

If any of you guys know how to embed any other sound things, let me know. And now, it's somebody else's turn...

Fun storm stuff....

Sorry I'm late!! This afternoon, an oak tree with a five-foot diameter trunk from an adjacent property came down in a strong thunderstorm, took out three other trees in our parkland of a back yard, smashed into a bungalow-sized 'shed' filled with family antiques, and slammed through the roof of our newly-county-inspection-approved freaking addition.



AND - I was at work and missed the amazing Woods-Mediate 19 hole playoff.

Yeah. It's been one damn fine afternoon.

Hope nobody else had storm damage today.

I've been reading your comments today as they were emailed to me. I was itching to be on here, answering and talking, but in the office, that's problematic. I wasn't all that worried- because I'm usually on here by 5:30 pm Eastern or so. Then I came home and saw the damage done, and my husband arrived home just after me - we had to take quick action, as more storms are expected tonight.

I'm so sorry I wasn't here a lot earlier. I feel rude (I'm from the South. It's a thing we have - feeling rude. I can't help myself.)

I'll be on either here in a little bit, or very early in the morning. And thanks so much for the great discussion, you all! Seriously. It was wonderful to read it unfolding. If there's one thing I want this place to be, it's the kind of place where people feel at home to speak their minds. (Yeah - even you, Lyle, so don't get on your high horse, and you know you like to get right up on it, about how you're going to be run away on a pole, blah blah blah. Just don't be stinky mean, 'K?)

I'll be giving you more good grief later - rest assured!

P.S. Our shed is behind the tree, in the center of the picture. You can just see it in there. Among other things, there's an old piece in there that my great-grandmother called a 'shiff-a-robe' (she was from rural Kentucky), about 140 years old, and a handmade cherrywood cradle that my father made my older daughter. It looks salvageable.

Coming soon...

A new post - sometime later this afternoon. Right now, I'm getting ready to run my Mom Taxi Service for Blondster. It's just gotta be done. According to Blondster, anyway.

Meanwhile, I found some pictures from my forays in Germany in the 80s. Put two border pics on the pic list on the right - in the Hartz (sp?) Mountains area - and one of a German village that I can't remember, but I must have seen, since I took the pictures.

Here's a quote from my novel - and this is what I'd like to talk about:

"It's not like vaginal activity and cussing have anything to do with who is or isn't good. What's good mean, anyway? I mean, what's good?"

I've been thinking about how to talk about the next topic for a while, in a way that isn't offensive, but says what I want to say.

So - should I just 'say it'? Or couch it in polite terms? What do you think?

Private Time

Every family has them. The slots you fit in, in your family. You're defined. And you spend your life being defined, and making the best, or the worst, or a middle-of the-road kind of grounding of it. Sometimes you forget you even have that definition inside, until you see family again, and are reminded.

In my family, my main slot was "she looks like her mother but she acts like her father". I had other slots, of course, but this one overwrote, or maybe underwrote, them all.



Privacy. Time to be alone with his thoughts. That was a major definition of my father. He wasn't a loner, but he needed his time alone. An ample amount of time to himself. And I was the same way; still am. I love the people I love, like the people I like, but I go crazy without my private time.

I mention this because when I write I like to be alone. I can be in a room full of strangers, if they're quiet, or with my husband or daughters, if they're not talking directly to me and I have my music going in my ears, my I-Tunes deal, to keep me separated. But when I really need to write in a deeper way, I need to be alone. No audience at all.

I drive my sweet husband nuts, because I can't just relax and 'let it be' at home sometimes. I have to be sequestered, to think. So...I'm going to the library, beginning this weekend. I'm working under a deadline I've given myself, to finish the edits on my novel. And I need to be alone.

I guess that's what I meant when I said I needed to listen to music. It's a mood enhancer - but it's also a separator. Right now, it's not enough - and I think it's because I'm nervous about finishing.

How about you all? Anybody else a privacy hound?

Getting in the Mood

Because the novel I'm writing takes place in the late 1960s and in the 1970s, I have mood music to take me traveling back there. This is the opening song for a certain set I play. It's a theme song, of sorts, and it gets me in the mood to write:




Now I'm telling you, if you can listen to that first two minutes and not feel something special, well, all I can say is, sorry about that. (P.S. Turn it up LOUD. Make that, DAMN LOUD. Let it seep inside you. There. You just took a music toke.)

Other songs on this particular playlist include:

Rickie Lee Jones - Young Blood

Post Toastee - Tommy Bolin

Run - Pink Floyd

Layla - Eric Clapton pretending there were others, well, yeah, Duane Allman, a Southern boy par excellence, saved his ass AND did the amazing guitar opening, but yeah, Eric.

Statesboro Blues - Allman Brothers

Gimme Shelter - Rolling Stones

The Year of Living Dangerously - from the movie soundtrack, same name

....and some others.

(I may add to this post later, but my word count is waiting. So, chance are, I'm listening to one of the songs above, or one of the thirty others on this playlist, that get me in a certain mood, and take me back to a certain place.)

How about you all?

Do you like silence when you write, or certain songs, or something else?

Writing Away

Hi.

I love photography and I love going away. Traveling.

So, I added a column of pictures this morning. They’re down the right-hand side. I’ll add to the column as I find and scan more places. For now- sorry- limited menu of destinations. (These were the ones saved on my laptop.)

I could live in a long series of hotel rooms located in places I want to see, and be perfectly content for a long, long time.

For now, with family, that’s not gonna happen. But when I’m away, I make the most of what I have when I have it. I love to write when I’m there, wherever there is. I feel less constrained. I know it’s only perception, but it’s also more than a little bit of reality.

One of my favorite “writing books” is The Forest for the Trees, by Betsy Lerner.
Here’s a quote from it (she’s quoting Joyce Maynard who is in turn quoting or paraphrasing J. D. Salinger, speaking to the then-nineteen-year-old Maynard):

“Some day, there will be a story you want to tell for no better reason than it matters to you more than any other. You’ll stop looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re keeping everybody happy, and you’ll simply write what’s real and true. Honest writing always makes people nervous, and they’ll think of all kinds of ways to make your life hell. One day a long time from now you’ll cease to care anymore whom you please or what anybody has to say about you. That’s when you’ll finally produce the work you’re capable of.”

Words that struck me, for a set of very particular reasons. I think about this quote and try to remember it when I’m writing - most especially when I’m writing and I’m fortunate enough to be gone.

How about you all? Do you like to write in one particular place, or all over the place?

The sex parts are coming, the sex parts are coming

...soon.

No worries there. I’m trying to figure out how to put a You-Tube thingy on here. Well, actually, I’ve emailed BT and asked him if HE could tell me how to put a You-Tube thingy on here, because the instructions on Blogger give me no real and useful information (although they do give me one helluva fine headache).

Once I (BT) get(s) the You-Tube thing down, I’ll be ready to roll. So to speak.

And – Warning Warning Warning – there will be some nasty parts. I’m just saying -
I gotta be me.

Also, I found the picture I was trying to find for my little meme on BT's blog - about the long and good weekend in Dallas, from the 1970s. I'm the girl in the foreground, with her face turned away from the camera. The one with the lovely rainbow belt on. The one who spent most of the (purported) religious retreat weekend partying on a parked tour bus. (P.S. Those rainbow belts were back in style a few years ago, you know. My kids called them retro. Lovely.)

Damn. I had to hit 'edit post' - because I just looked at this picture again, and realized that one of the guys from Savannah, from the meme story on BT's (I'm not retelling the whole thing here) is IN this picture. The tall guy with the bushy brown hair and the orange-yellow T-shirt- standing in the back of the picture. He had some eyes on him that you wouldn't believe. I guess he still does. Mmmmm mmmm good.



Here's BT's blog address:
http://bloglesstroll.blogspot.com/. If you've never been to see him before,and you have even one tiny iota of a funny bone inside your precious body - well then, I'd say you're missing out.