A week or so ago, I tried an experiment. The company I use to send out my emailed newsletter (at a very reasonable price) also does postcards. I wondered how good their product was. They allow you to send out one free postcard, so I made one for my upcoming release Chapter & Hearse. I had a little trouble getting my apostrophes to come out, but after fiddling with them for almost half an hour, got it right. They tell you your card will be send out within 3-5 days.
So I waited.
And waited.
And finally TEN days later, I got my postcard.
I must admit, the printing was excellent. The card looked wonderful. I was a bit skeptical of the timing, as the card said it was presorted first class and it took ten days for me to get it, but I figured if I set the thing up, it might be worth sending out a week earlier than planned.
Then I searched the site for the pricing. Oh. Brick wall here. I couldn't find ANYTHING. So I wrote to the company. A day later I had a URL for their cunningly concealed price list.
Wow--did my eyes go boing! or what? The cost came in at 83 cents per card (more if you mail less of them--less if you mail a LOT more).
Well, that was the end of THAT scenario. Mind you, everything is automated. You do the layout, they approve it, they take your mailing list, sort it by zip code, print the card, and out it goes.
I would save at least $313 by doing it myself. Okay, that means I'd have to spend a MINIMUM of 6 hours (more likely 8) putting on address labels and stamps, but hey, $313 is money I could spend doing other promo. And what if I hired someone to put those labels on--I could still save at least $200.
I don't have all the time in the world, but I know how to make time. I have a feeling I'll be sticking down labels while I'm doing other stuff -- like watching TV, or on some rainy Saturday afternoon when there's nothing to do.
What else does an author have to do? (Oh, yeah--write the books!)
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
And such an innocent flower
It shouldn’t be surprising that a mystery author is guilty of wanton murder. Mind you, it wasn’t premeditated, but it was murder just the same.
I’m talking about my houseplants. I’ve always wanted a green thumb. Both my parents could produce flowers and vegetables by barely lifting a finger (okay, hauling 50 lb sacks of manure might help them out a bit). They planted things and they flourished for years. I plant something and it shrivels and dies in days. (Or it’s eaten by bunnies, ground hogs or … something mysterious we haven’t been able to identify. Probably an alien species sent to Earth to thwart my gardening abilities.)
Take for instance the once-lovely primrose I’ve had for a little over a month. The day it arrived home it was flourishing with big purple and yellow flowers. Now it looks like this. Did I water it enough? Too much?
Mind you, I have had a few successes, but I really can’t take credit for them. I inherited a rubber tree when a friend at work retired. It existed (you can’t call what my plants do “living”) in our dining room until all but four leaves had dropped off. With nothing left to lose, I tossed it out on the deck and forgot about it. It thrived on neglect and natural rain and humidity, thinking it had landed back in its homeland. I bring it in for the winter and it goes back to existing until late spring rolls around and the threat of frost is minimized.
Then it goes back to its happy lifestyle for another three to five months (depending on when fall arrives) until I have to bring it in once again.
My Christmas cactus never bloomed and looked ill when I tossed it, too, out on the deck last May. This year it’ll bloom twice. (Although this second blooming won’t be as magnificent as last fall’s.) I find it amazing that I haven't killed it since it came in last October.
On this first day of spring, I’m hoping the primrose survives. If it makes it, it’ll go outside (I’m having a novena said for it). I’ve also got another cactus that can go out on the deck. So far, it has a much better gardening success rate than me.
By the way--Happy First Day of Spring!
I’m talking about my houseplants. I’ve always wanted a green thumb. Both my parents could produce flowers and vegetables by barely lifting a finger (okay, hauling 50 lb sacks of manure might help them out a bit). They planted things and they flourished for years. I plant something and it shrivels and dies in days. (Or it’s eaten by bunnies, ground hogs or … something mysterious we haven’t been able to identify. Probably an alien species sent to Earth to thwart my gardening abilities.)
Take for instance the once-lovely primrose I’ve had for a little over a month. The day it arrived home it was flourishing with big purple and yellow flowers. Now it looks like this. Did I water it enough? Too much? Mind you, I have had a few successes, but I really can’t take credit for them. I inherited a rubber tree when a friend at work retired. It existed (you can’t call what my plants do “living”) in our dining room until all but four leaves had dropped off. With nothing left to lose, I tossed it out on the deck and forgot about it. It thrived on neglect and natural rain and humidity, thinking it had landed back in its homeland. I bring it in for the winter and it goes back to existing until late spring rolls around and the threat of frost is minimized.
Then it goes back to its happy lifestyle for another three to five months (depending on when fall arrives) until I have to bring it in once again.
My Christmas cactus never bloomed and looked ill when I tossed it, too, out on the deck last May. This year it’ll bloom twice. (Although this second blooming won’t be as magnificent as last fall’s.) I find it amazing that I haven't killed it since it came in last October.
On this first day of spring, I’m hoping the primrose survives. If it makes it, it’ll go outside (I’m having a novena said for it). I’ve also got another cactus that can go out on the deck. So far, it has a much better gardening success rate than me.
By the way--Happy First Day of Spring!
Friday, March 19, 2010
Snow peas in my future?
Wednesday was shopping day. Here we are only days from spring and the "seasonal" section of the supermarket was all decked out for summer. Excuse me, but we still have an entire season to go before we get to summer.
But the one thing I was eager to investigate was the seed rack. For several years, I've been trying to find Kentucky blue (pole) beans. I've only been able to find Kentucky wonder, which were good, but not as good as the Kentucky Blue. Yup, the store had them, and I bought three packages.
I usually grow potatoes in a bin, but this year I think I'm going to put them back in the ground. Instead, I'm going to try to grow leeks in the bin. It's the same principal, you cover them up as they grow, so they'll grow taller. This should be fun.
But the most exciting thing is snow pea seeds. I've never grown them before, and they're a "cold" weather crop, so I can plant them in the next couple of weeks. (And hope the rabbits don't get them.)
Meanwhile, tomorrow I'll be talking about some other plants. Stay tuned.
But the one thing I was eager to investigate was the seed rack. For several years, I've been trying to find Kentucky blue (pole) beans. I've only been able to find Kentucky wonder, which were good, but not as good as the Kentucky Blue. Yup, the store had them, and I bought three packages.
I usually grow potatoes in a bin, but this year I think I'm going to put them back in the ground. Instead, I'm going to try to grow leeks in the bin. It's the same principal, you cover them up as they grow, so they'll grow taller. This should be fun.
But the most exciting thing is snow pea seeds. I've never grown them before, and they're a "cold" weather crop, so I can plant them in the next couple of weeks. (And hope the rabbits don't get them.)
Meanwhile, tomorrow I'll be talking about some other plants. Stay tuned.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Time for a purge?
It seems like we have a million pens in this house. You'd think at least a tiny portion of them would actually work.
I've been collecting pens and pencils for years and have a few that seem to work. In fact, some of these pens are really old (in pen life). I have to hold onto them because the new ones seem to work a time or two and then poop out.
I've got mugs of pens scattered around the house (four of them in my office alone) and do you know that if I grab any pen in those mugs they probably won't work. They worked the time before, that's why they're there--but the next time. Nope, won't work.
I've been collecting pens and pencils for years and have a few that seem to work. In fact, some of these pens are really old (in pen life). I have to hold onto them because the new ones seem to work a time or two and then poop out.
A few years ago, I discovered the gel pen. Whoa! Nice--and in great colors. I liked them so much I bought a set of them in about 48 colors. I let them sit for a few weeks and lost the receipt. Do you know that NOT ONE OF THEM WORKED!!!
I've got mugs of pens scattered around the house (four of them in my office alone) and do you know that if I grab any pen in those mugs they probably won't work. They worked the time before, that's why they're there--but the next time. Nope, won't work.The thing is, I always have hope that they WILL work. I love them. I want them to work. When they don't, I take it rather personally.
I've decided I need to do something about it. Have a thorough pen purge.
Gulp.
Now, to find the courage to do it.
And what's bugging YOU today?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Are you wearin' Ore the Green?
I don't know about you, but I'm celebrating St. Paddy's day with Irish soda bread, and corned beef and cabbage.
And here's my favorite Irish Soda Bread recipe (which was included in my first Booktown Mystery, MURDER IS BINDING).
4 cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
1½ cups buttermilk
¼ cup corn or canola oil
2 teaspoons caraway seeds
1 cup golden raisons
1 tablespoon milk
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Foil-line a baking sheet, lightly grease.
In a large bowl, stir the flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and salt together. In a separate bowl, beat the eggs, buttermilk, and oil together. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and pour in the buttermilk mixture. Add the caraway seeds and raisins. Stir until a soft dough forms.
With floured hands, shape the dough into a large ball on a lightly floured board or waxed paper. With a sharp knife, make an X across the top of the dough. Place the dough on the prepared baking sheet. Brush the top with milk. Bake in the center of the oven until golden brown (30 to 40 minutes).
Serve warm with butter.
Enjoy!
Monday, March 15, 2010
S-L-O-W-L-Y I turn...step by step...inch by inch....
I love finishing a book. There's such a sense of satisfaction. There it is, your brand new baby, cute as a button and all you want to do is show it off. Of course, then you have to wait a YEAR or more before that happens . . . .
Unfortunately, I'm not in the last throes of writing the book. I'm not quite in the middle either. I'm still in that EXTREMELY PAINFUL part where I'm hoping the whole thing comes together like a giant wedding cake. I'm still laying the foundation layers right now.
My writing goal is 1250 words five days a week, or 6,250 words a week. Here we are at the 15th of the month (eeek! The Ides of March) and I've only been getting about 295 words a day. S-L-O-W-L-Y the story is coming together, but it's taken me three months to get here, and I have less than three months to go. I can see me rushing when it comes to deadline time -- and then I have another book to deliver three months after that. (Luckily, that book is in better shape than the one I'm working on now--at least I have a complete draft of that done.)
I didn't have a breakthrough yesterday, but I did eek forward more than I have for a full week (despite the fact I had a lot of great ideas on Thursday). So I have pages and pages of scene fragments just sitting there, rather like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Now to figure out where the pieces go, and how they all connect. (This puzzle is beginning to feel like all one color.)
I guess I'm a little discouraged right now. But I have a feeling when I'm done, this book is going to be one of my favorites. At least, I'm crossing my fingers that it happens.
Unfortunately, I'm not in the last throes of writing the book. I'm not quite in the middle either. I'm still in that EXTREMELY PAINFUL part where I'm hoping the whole thing comes together like a giant wedding cake. I'm still laying the foundation layers right now.
My writing goal is 1250 words five days a week, or 6,250 words a week. Here we are at the 15th of the month (eeek! The Ides of March) and I've only been getting about 295 words a day. S-L-O-W-L-Y the story is coming together, but it's taken me three months to get here, and I have less than three months to go. I can see me rushing when it comes to deadline time -- and then I have another book to deliver three months after that. (Luckily, that book is in better shape than the one I'm working on now--at least I have a complete draft of that done.)
I didn't have a breakthrough yesterday, but I did eek forward more than I have for a full week (despite the fact I had a lot of great ideas on Thursday). So I have pages and pages of scene fragments just sitting there, rather like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Now to figure out where the pieces go, and how they all connect. (This puzzle is beginning to feel like all one color.)
I guess I'm a little discouraged right now. But I have a feeling when I'm done, this book is going to be one of my favorites. At least, I'm crossing my fingers that it happens.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Keep the racket down, boys, some of us are trying to sleep
We've had mild temps for the past week (mild being over 40). The snow, that's been at least two feet deep for at least six weeks, has finally started to melt (or evaporate--I'm not sure which) and slowly my yard is beginning to reappear. Of course, now it's supposed to rain for the next week, but that doesn't bother me as much as snow. And, for writing purposes, it's much easier to work when it's NOT sunny and pretty outside.
The daffodils have poked through the dirt, but even that isn't much of a sign of spring. Last year my daffy daffs poked their little heads out in January.
What really makes it seem like spring is one the way? Birds. Suddenly there are a lot of birds around. And they're tweeting. AND WAKING ME UP BEFORE I WANT TO BE UP AND AWAKE.
Of course, this is just a prelude to April when there'll be even MORE birds sitting on the pine tree outside my bedroom window and starting to squawk about 4 a.m. and continue until at least 7. Cute as they are, hopping around the yard, looking for worms or looking for building materials for nests, couldn't they sleep in until 8 or 9 and THEN become industrious?
Oh well. I suppose it's a small price to pay for sunny days and warm temperatures.
If you live up North, have the birds returned to your town?
What really makes it seem like spring is one the way? Birds. Suddenly there are a lot of birds around. And they're tweeting. AND WAKING ME UP BEFORE I WANT TO BE UP AND AWAKE.
Of course, this is just a prelude to April when there'll be even MORE birds sitting on the pine tree outside my bedroom window and starting to squawk about 4 a.m. and continue until at least 7. Cute as they are, hopping around the yard, looking for worms or looking for building materials for nests, couldn't they sleep in until 8 or 9 and THEN become industrious?
Oh well. I suppose it's a small price to pay for sunny days and warm temperatures.
If you live up North, have the birds returned to your town?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
An unhappy consumer
As some of you will recall, I got a new fridge a couple of weeks ago. The appliance showroom was full of those autopsy fridges (stainless steel) which looked big enough to store a woolly mammoth. Meanwhile, all the fridges that were either white, bisque, or black looked like a LOT smaller than the autopsy fridges.
Eager for a sale, the salesman (no doubt working on commission) shook his head. "No, ma'am, all these fridges have the same square footage."
Hmm. I didn't have a tape measure, so there was no way I could check.
So I purchased my fridge and waited a week for them to deliver it.
It took one huge ice chest, a medium ice chest, and a big plastic bag to empty my old freezer. Luckily, it was about 15 degrees outside, so out in the enclosed porch it went.
The new fridge arrived, and when I put all the stuff back inside of the refrigerator part with no trouble. And then I started putting the frozen stuff away. Guess what? I only managed to put two-thirds of the freezer stuff back. (I still have a bag of bread out on the enclosed porch.) And since then, everything inside of it has been trying to escape--especially heavy pieces of frozen meat.
I've been pelted by chicken, sausage, frozen bags of lima beans and peas, birthday candles, bags of ice, boxes of puff pastry and veggies burgers, and one thing's for sure: That freezer is much, MUCH smaller than the old freezer.
The fridge is DEFINITELY smaller. It might be the same height as the old one, but it's definitely . . . thinner. There's about five inches more space around it than the old one. That's probably why it rates as an Energy Star model. Of course it takes less energy to run . . . IT'S SMALLER!
The thing is...we're stuck with it. No more buying veggies on sale. No more frozen loafs of bread.
I am unhappy and I loathe my new freezer.
Have you ever been disappointed by a major appliance?
Eager for a sale, the salesman (no doubt working on commission) shook his head. "No, ma'am, all these fridges have the same square footage."
Hmm. I didn't have a tape measure, so there was no way I could check.
So I purchased my fridge and waited a week for them to deliver it.
It took one huge ice chest, a medium ice chest, and a big plastic bag to empty my old freezer. Luckily, it was about 15 degrees outside, so out in the enclosed porch it went.
The new fridge arrived, and when I put all the stuff back inside of the refrigerator part with no trouble. And then I started putting the frozen stuff away. Guess what? I only managed to put two-thirds of the freezer stuff back. (I still have a bag of bread out on the enclosed porch.) And since then, everything inside of it has been trying to escape--especially heavy pieces of frozen meat.
I've been pelted by chicken, sausage, frozen bags of lima beans and peas, birthday candles, bags of ice, boxes of puff pastry and veggies burgers, and one thing's for sure: That freezer is much, MUCH smaller than the old freezer.
The fridge is DEFINITELY smaller. It might be the same height as the old one, but it's definitely . . . thinner. There's about five inches more space around it than the old one. That's probably why it rates as an Energy Star model. Of course it takes less energy to run . . . IT'S SMALLER!
The thing is...we're stuck with it. No more buying veggies on sale. No more frozen loafs of bread.
I am unhappy and I loathe my new freezer.
Have you ever been disappointed by a major appliance?
Monday, March 8, 2010
A Little Girl's Best Friend . . .
On Saturday, on the Cozy Chicks Blog (where I post on Saturdays), I wrote about my new cover for the large print edition of Bookplate Special. You can read the entire post here.
One of the things I like about the new cover is . . . Barbie, sitting at a table inside a stylized version of Angelica's cafe, Booked For Lunch.
I got my first Barbie when I was about five. My Aunt Sunny bought it for me and I was absolutely thrilled! I also got at least one outfit, too, Solo in the Spotlight (as per the photo on the left). My Barbie was a brunette--like me! I loved that doll, who was the first of several Barbies I've owned over the years.
My parents gave me my next Barbie. She came in a gold and white lame one-piece bathing suit, with molded dark hair, some kind of triangular kerchief, and three wigs: blonde, brunette, and readhead. The thing is . . . I almost never put the blonde and brunette wigs on that Barbie. I liked the red wig best, maybe because it made her look a little like Marlo Thomas (That Girl!)
There weren't many little girls in my neighborhood, but I'd play with Donna and Jeannie and they had a LOT more Barbie clothes than I did. Their mothers had Barbie clothes patterns and made them up. (Jeannie's mother was either a better seamstress or Donna and her sister Karen were a LOT harder on their Barbie clothes than Jeannie.) My mom tended to knit Barbie clothes. I remember my Barbie had a yellow and white knitted skating outfit, and a red sweater that my mother made on the same knitting needles she used to knit my father socks.
Donna and Jeannie both moved away when I was about eight. After that, I had no one to play Barbie with.
Bummer.
After that, my folks bought me Barbie's little sister, Skipper, and her friend (or was she a cousin?) Scooter? Both were redheads. And then Barbie's Cousin, Francie. Along the way I had a Penny Brite, a Tammy (and her little sister Pepper), and Libby Littlechap, but Barbie was my favorite.
I used to play Star Trek with my Barbies and my brother's G.I. Joe. (He had a Gemini Spacecraft!!!)
But then . . . I moved on.
That wasn't the end my relationship with Barbie. About 19 years ago, before I got married, my friend Anne, who was (and probably still is) a BIG Barbie fan, got me interested in "them" again. I bought yet another brunette Barbie (a cheapie), and started accumulating more Barbie clothes--including a wedding dress. (Doesn't every little girl want to wear a "Barbie" type wedding gown?) About the same time, I found a blonde Skipper doll in almost mint condition . . . except. The poor thing was naked. She and new brunette Barbie have lived on the top of my closet ever since.
And still . . . that wasn't the last Barbie I bought. I was shopping at Toys R Us for my young nieces, and found Star Trek Barbie and Ken--and on sale! How cool was that?
I probably won't buy any more Barbies. Okay, I will occasionally look a the Barbie aisle if I'm in a toy store, but I haven't seen a brunette Barbie in years. I collect enough things, I don't need any more Barbies.
But that doesn't mean I'm still not interested.
How about you?
One of the things I like about the new cover is . . . Barbie, sitting at a table inside a stylized version of Angelica's cafe, Booked For Lunch.
I got my first Barbie when I was about five. My Aunt Sunny bought it for me and I was absolutely thrilled! I also got at least one outfit, too, Solo in the Spotlight (as per the photo on the left). My Barbie was a brunette--like me! I loved that doll, who was the first of several Barbies I've owned over the years.
My parents gave me my next Barbie. She came in a gold and white lame one-piece bathing suit, with molded dark hair, some kind of triangular kerchief, and three wigs: blonde, brunette, and readhead. The thing is . . . I almost never put the blonde and brunette wigs on that Barbie. I liked the red wig best, maybe because it made her look a little like Marlo Thomas (That Girl!)
There weren't many little girls in my neighborhood, but I'd play with Donna and Jeannie and they had a LOT more Barbie clothes than I did. Their mothers had Barbie clothes patterns and made them up. (Jeannie's mother was either a better seamstress or Donna and her sister Karen were a LOT harder on their Barbie clothes than Jeannie.) My mom tended to knit Barbie clothes. I remember my Barbie had a yellow and white knitted skating outfit, and a red sweater that my mother made on the same knitting needles she used to knit my father socks.
Donna and Jeannie both moved away when I was about eight. After that, I had no one to play Barbie with.
Bummer.
After that, my folks bought me Barbie's little sister, Skipper, and her friend (or was she a cousin?) Scooter? Both were redheads. And then Barbie's Cousin, Francie. Along the way I had a Penny Brite, a Tammy (and her little sister Pepper), and Libby Littlechap, but Barbie was my favorite.
I used to play Star Trek with my Barbies and my brother's G.I. Joe. (He had a Gemini Spacecraft!!!)
But then . . . I moved on.
That wasn't the end my relationship with Barbie. About 19 years ago, before I got married, my friend Anne, who was (and probably still is) a BIG Barbie fan, got me interested in "them" again. I bought yet another brunette Barbie (a cheapie), and started accumulating more Barbie clothes--including a wedding dress. (Doesn't every little girl want to wear a "Barbie" type wedding gown?) About the same time, I found a blonde Skipper doll in almost mint condition . . . except. The poor thing was naked. She and new brunette Barbie have lived on the top of my closet ever since.
And still . . . that wasn't the last Barbie I bought. I was shopping at Toys R Us for my young nieces, and found Star Trek Barbie and Ken--and on sale! How cool was that?
I probably won't buy any more Barbies. Okay, I will occasionally look a the Barbie aisle if I'm in a toy store, but I haven't seen a brunette Barbie in years. I collect enough things, I don't need any more Barbies.
But that doesn't mean I'm still not interested.
How about you?
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Ears Have It!
Have you ever tried to pill a cat? They aren't like dogs. You can't just wrap the pill in ham or smear it in peanut butter. Uh-uh! We've tried EVERYTHING to get pills into our sick kitties. Mostly they just get really, REALLY upset, growl, hiss, and spit out the pill with a smug look on their faces.
I don't know how many cat "pillers" we have in our kitchen junk drawer, but none of them have ever worked unless the one holding the cat (usually me) can yank the cat's head back far enough for an open gullet and the piller (hubby) can hit the eject button fast enough to get the pill down the cat's throat. Then hopefully I can shut her (it's always a girl cat who needs pills) mouth, and massage her throat so she swallows. Then I have to try to yank her mouth open again to see if she somehow hid the pill in her mouth and will spit it out.
So I was not happy yesterday when I called the vet the arrange for meds for our Bonnie cat. (We call her Bon-Bon because she's so sweet.) She'd gone in for blood work on Tuesday and we got the results late Wednesday night. Poor Bon-Bon has thyroid trouble and had been losing weight and drinking a LOT of water. (When you only weigh 11 pounds and you lose 2 of them, that's a pretty drastic weight loss.)
Of course, there are a LOT of options when treating a cat with thyroid problems, and a lot of them are the same as for humans, including surgery and radio iodine treatments. Bonnie is NOT a good patient. She was abused as a kitten (I don't think I've ever had a cat who wasn't abused before I got it), and she doesn't put up with a lot of messing about. She's a wonderful lap cat--on her own terms. Her sister/littermate is a real trooper. When she had lymphoma 2.5 years ago, she underwent chemo for three months and the bloodletting every two weeks without a struggle. (And she's still here!!!) We would have lost Bonnie in no time flat.
So when the first option for thyroid treatment was pills, my heart sank. But then the vet tech said, "we can give you cream to put in her ear," I perked right up. As it happens, Bonnie has picked up an infection, and that means two ear cream treatments. Could she handle it? I figured it was better than trying to pill her.
So yesterday afternoon I picked up the cream. They're both in little syringes, you squirt out the antibiotic and wear a finger cot when you rub it into the cat's ear--that way SHE absorbs the med, not you. The other is in some kind of a tube brush. Turn the handle one revolution and you've got a measured dose. Sounds good, right? Now to administer it.
So I sat down in front of the TV last night with the meds on the side table and waited for my prey. Bingo! The minute This Old House came on TV, Bonnie jumped up on the couch next to me. (For some reason, that show is like a Cat Magnet. I turn it on, and Bonnie isn't far behind. Of course it was a rerun, but that was okay.)
I waited for her to get comfy on her little kitty afghan, and then I got out the syringe brush. I sneaked my hand up behind her neck brushed it in her left ear, and then rubbed her ear. She purred. The other one was a bit messier, and I'm not sure I got as much on the part of her ear without hair, but she didn't seem to mind a bit. She rolled over on her back--still purring.
Why didn't pharmacists think of this years before???
We have to go back in two weeks to see if this cream is doing any good, and if not, we'll try some other treatment, but for now--what a relief not to have to struggle with Bonnie and upset both her and me.
Anyone else have a cat with thyroid problems?
I don't know how many cat "pillers" we have in our kitchen junk drawer, but none of them have ever worked unless the one holding the cat (usually me) can yank the cat's head back far enough for an open gullet and the piller (hubby) can hit the eject button fast enough to get the pill down the cat's throat. Then hopefully I can shut her (it's always a girl cat who needs pills) mouth, and massage her throat so she swallows. Then I have to try to yank her mouth open again to see if she somehow hid the pill in her mouth and will spit it out.
Of course, there are a LOT of options when treating a cat with thyroid problems, and a lot of them are the same as for humans, including surgery and radio iodine treatments. Bonnie is NOT a good patient. She was abused as a kitten (I don't think I've ever had a cat who wasn't abused before I got it), and she doesn't put up with a lot of messing about. She's a wonderful lap cat--on her own terms. Her sister/littermate is a real trooper. When she had lymphoma 2.5 years ago, she underwent chemo for three months and the bloodletting every two weeks without a struggle. (And she's still here!!!) We would have lost Bonnie in no time flat.
So when the first option for thyroid treatment was pills, my heart sank. But then the vet tech said, "we can give you cream to put in her ear," I perked right up. As it happens, Bonnie has picked up an infection, and that means two ear cream treatments. Could she handle it? I figured it was better than trying to pill her.
So yesterday afternoon I picked up the cream. They're both in little syringes, you squirt out the antibiotic and wear a finger cot when you rub it into the cat's ear--that way SHE absorbs the med, not you. The other is in some kind of a tube brush. Turn the handle one revolution and you've got a measured dose. Sounds good, right? Now to administer it.
So I sat down in front of the TV last night with the meds on the side table and waited for my prey. Bingo! The minute This Old House came on TV, Bonnie jumped up on the couch next to me. (For some reason, that show is like a Cat Magnet. I turn it on, and Bonnie isn't far behind. Of course it was a rerun, but that was okay.)
Why didn't pharmacists think of this years before???
We have to go back in two weeks to see if this cream is doing any good, and if not, we'll try some other treatment, but for now--what a relief not to have to struggle with Bonnie and upset both her and me.
Anyone else have a cat with thyroid problems?
Thursday, March 4, 2010
THE ENEMY: SNOW
By guest blogger Jeffrey Cohen
I like watching snow melt. It's like watching Nazis die.
Let's be frank, here--I hate snow. Hate. Not that I consider it a minor inconvenience or that I always hurt my back while shoveling (which I do). I mean, I hate snow. All the time. Have for decades.
Now. I also want to be completely clear on one point: I do not, ever, mean to impinge on your right to adore snow if you feel like it. You think shoulder-high piles of exceeding cold, wet, blinding matter that serves no purpose and brings your life to a screeching halt for a day or two, possibly bringing down power lines and endangering life, is wonderful, more power to you. I respect your view. Enjoy it.
But don't try to convert me, okay? Let's both save our energy for clearing the driveway.
I consider snow the enemy. It interferes with what I want to do. It can sometimes impede my livelihood (as last week's latest in a series of Noreasters kept me from my regular teaching gig in Philadelphia). It can endanger my health (how many overweight middle-aged men have heart attacks shoveling snow every year?). Every time snow is forecast, I take a look out at my sidewalk, my driveway, the street where my car is parked, and I say a mental farewell to all that, knowing that soon, the whole thing will be a slippery, frozen death trap requiring my attention and confining me to quarters.
And this year, every time it snowed, when I turned on my TV to escape from reality, what did I see?
The Winter Olympics. Life ain't fair.
Now, the snow advocates will be screaming, "but it's so beautiful!" Swell. Send me a picture of snow, and I'll look at it all you want. The rings of Saturn are beautiful, too, but I'm relatively sure I wouldn't want to live on them.
By the way, anyone who thinks snow is so beautiful is welcome to come by and shovel me out the next time some falls. I wouldn't want to curtail your fun. Please, feel free.
This past February, the area in which I live was buffeted (and I don't mean with trays of ziti on Sterno) by three major snowstorms. By the end of the month, I wasn't hearing so many people tell me how beautiful snow is anymore.
Let's consider the facts, shall we? (True snow believers are no doubt already shaking their heads, since they deal in the aesthetic, not the factual.) The countries with the highest suicide rates? Belarus, Lithuania, Russia, Kazakhstan, Latvia. LOWEST suicide rates? Antigua, Haiti (yes, Haiti!), Honduras, Jordan, Saint Kitts, followed closely by Egypt, Syria, Jamaica and Iran (yes, Iran!). It doesn't take a professional data analyst to figure out one major difference between those two lists.
Also: Is there a "holiday" upon which a nocturnal rodent is called upon to predict whether or not we'll be subjected to six more weeks of SUMMER?
Ask your travel agent whether s/he books more trips to Bermuda or Antarctica. Go ahead; I'll wait.
Again, I have no desire to "cure" you of your enjoyment of snow. I'm happy for you, truly. Some people like eating liver, too. Doesn't make them wrong.
But I hate snow. And I'll continue to hate it, probably for the rest of my life.
Now you're asking: Well, if you hate snow so much, why don't you move out of New Jersey, where you're going to get some pretty much every winter?
Have you seen what it costs to live in a place that never gets snow?
========================================================
Jeffrey Cohen is NOT the author of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEED: A Haunted Guesthouse Mystery, coming from Berkley Prime Crime on June 1. That author is E.J.Copperman.
I like watching snow melt. It's like watching Nazis die.
Let's be frank, here--I hate snow. Hate. Not that I consider it a minor inconvenience or that I always hurt my back while shoveling (which I do). I mean, I hate snow. All the time. Have for decades.
Now. I also want to be completely clear on one point: I do not, ever, mean to impinge on your right to adore snow if you feel like it. You think shoulder-high piles of exceeding cold, wet, blinding matter that serves no purpose and brings your life to a screeching halt for a day or two, possibly bringing down power lines and endangering life, is wonderful, more power to you. I respect your view. Enjoy it.
But don't try to convert me, okay? Let's both save our energy for clearing the driveway.
I consider snow the enemy. It interferes with what I want to do. It can sometimes impede my livelihood (as last week's latest in a series of Noreasters kept me from my regular teaching gig in Philadelphia). It can endanger my health (how many overweight middle-aged men have heart attacks shoveling snow every year?). Every time snow is forecast, I take a look out at my sidewalk, my driveway, the street where my car is parked, and I say a mental farewell to all that, knowing that soon, the whole thing will be a slippery, frozen death trap requiring my attention and confining me to quarters.
And this year, every time it snowed, when I turned on my TV to escape from reality, what did I see?
The Winter Olympics. Life ain't fair.
Now, the snow advocates will be screaming, "but it's so beautiful!" Swell. Send me a picture of snow, and I'll look at it all you want. The rings of Saturn are beautiful, too, but I'm relatively sure I wouldn't want to live on them.
By the way, anyone who thinks snow is so beautiful is welcome to come by and shovel me out the next time some falls. I wouldn't want to curtail your fun. Please, feel free.
This past February, the area in which I live was buffeted (and I don't mean with trays of ziti on Sterno) by three major snowstorms. By the end of the month, I wasn't hearing so many people tell me how beautiful snow is anymore.
Let's consider the facts, shall we? (True snow believers are no doubt already shaking their heads, since they deal in the aesthetic, not the factual.) The countries with the highest suicide rates? Belarus, Lithuania, Russia, Kazakhstan, Latvia. LOWEST suicide rates? Antigua, Haiti (yes, Haiti!), Honduras, Jordan, Saint Kitts, followed closely by Egypt, Syria, Jamaica and Iran (yes, Iran!). It doesn't take a professional data analyst to figure out one major difference between those two lists.
Also: Is there a "holiday" upon which a nocturnal rodent is called upon to predict whether or not we'll be subjected to six more weeks of SUMMER?
Ask your travel agent whether s/he books more trips to Bermuda or Antarctica. Go ahead; I'll wait.
Again, I have no desire to "cure" you of your enjoyment of snow. I'm happy for you, truly. Some people like eating liver, too. Doesn't make them wrong.
But I hate snow. And I'll continue to hate it, probably for the rest of my life.
Now you're asking: Well, if you hate snow so much, why don't you move out of New Jersey, where you're going to get some pretty much every winter?
Have you seen what it costs to live in a place that never gets snow?
========================================================
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Doesn't everyone want to smell like a toilet deordorant cake?
Why is it whenever I like a product--really like it--it gets taken off the market? (Garlic flavored "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter," Reynolds plastic wrap with the easy slider cutter; ice tea flavored Gatorade?) And if they don't take it off the market, they "improve it."
Lots of things DON'T need to be improved, and I ran across one yesterday when I went to ... ahem ... color my hair.
I've been using Nice'N Easy #116A for about 18 years. Okay, I tried to be a redhead for a while, but even though there have been redheads in my family, it just didn't suit me, so back to #116A it was. I've been very happy with the product. They changed the conditioner a few years back, which was okay (but they give you a million times more than you need, and I usually just toss out the newest tube.)
Hubby always complained about the smell. "Ick--like chemical green apples." I got used to it and after a couple of hours, the bathroom doesn't smell anymore and life goes back to normal. Yesterday I used the NEW AND IMPROVED Nice'N Easy #116A and ... quite frankly, it stank. Stank like those little deodorant cakes you hang from the side of the toilet bowl. But ... eventually the odor dissipated and life went back to normal.
EXCEPT -- I could smell my hair. Just a whiff now and then, but it's really revolting. I took the cat to the vet and all the time wondered ... can the vet tech smell my hair? I was awakened in the middle of the night and what did I smell? MY HAIR. LIKE THOSE LITTLE DEODORANT CAKES YOU HANG FROM THE SIDE OF THE TOILET BOWL.
I've been quite happy with this product for almost two decades. Maybe this bottle was a fluke. But next time I use it, if I end up smelling like a deodorant cake, I'm switching brands.
Anyone got a suggestion?
Lots of things DON'T need to be improved, and I ran across one yesterday when I went to ... ahem ... color my hair.
I've been using Nice'N Easy #116A for about 18 years. Okay, I tried to be a redhead for a while, but even though there have been redheads in my family, it just didn't suit me, so back to #116A it was. I've been very happy with the product. They changed the conditioner a few years back, which was okay (but they give you a million times more than you need, and I usually just toss out the newest tube.)
Hubby always complained about the smell. "Ick--like chemical green apples." I got used to it and after a couple of hours, the bathroom doesn't smell anymore and life goes back to normal. Yesterday I used the NEW AND IMPROVED Nice'N Easy #116A and ... quite frankly, it stank. Stank like those little deodorant cakes you hang from the side of the toilet bowl. But ... eventually the odor dissipated and life went back to normal.
EXCEPT -- I could smell my hair. Just a whiff now and then, but it's really revolting. I took the cat to the vet and all the time wondered ... can the vet tech smell my hair? I was awakened in the middle of the night and what did I smell? MY HAIR. LIKE THOSE LITTLE DEODORANT CAKES YOU HANG FROM THE SIDE OF THE TOILET BOWL.
I've been quite happy with this product for almost two decades. Maybe this bottle was a fluke. But next time I use it, if I end up smelling like a deodorant cake, I'm switching brands.
Anyone got a suggestion?
Monday, March 1, 2010
Me and My Rider Jeans (by Lee) Part I
Back in late January, I ranted about an ad where a skinny model was wearing tummy tuck jeans. I railed that they ought to use plus size models. Well, someone at Lee jeans read the blog (ah, the marvel of Google alerts) and offered me a pair of tummy tuck jeans. Uh, I just happen to be a woman of a certain age, and I'm afraid I NEED tummy tuck jeans. So, I called their bluff and said I would love a pair of jeans.
Apparently there was some kind of mix-up at Lee, because I didn't get a pair of jeans. I was contacted, asked if I got them, said no. Thursday, I was contacted again. Still no jeans. Then, my "contact" said she'd find out what was going on. Voila! Friday afternoon, low and behold, there's a BIG box sitting on my doorstep.
I wasn't thinking about jeans when my husband opened the door and brought in the box. I wondered what the heck was in such a large carton. Out came the box cutter, off came the flaps, and not only was there a pair of jeans, whoa! there were FIVE pairs of jeans. All the same size, different lengths, different cuts.
Oh boy! This was just like Christmas!
So off to the bedroom I went to try them on.
And here we veer of topic for a sec . . .
My pal Nancy Martin, of the Lipstick Chronicles (whose new book, Our Lady of Immaculate Deception comes out tomorrow), vowed that TLC would never have diet stories. They're boring. People don't want to read about them. She's right . . . but here I go anyway. (Sorry, Nanc!)
After my Dad died (okay, and during the three months he was ill), I was pretty upset. Like a lot of upset people, I found comfort in food. Especially bread. Especially bread with butter. And now . . . while I can still get in my "from Penney's catalog" jeans, even they're getting a little snug. The truth is, I don't put on my jeans unless I'm leaving the house. I live in sweatpants. They are God's gift to women, and who looks a gift horse in the mouth?
Except, I have another gift horse, in the form of my tummy-tuck jeans. And the bitter fact is, only one of them I would dare wear, and even then, hubby said, "Looks like they were spray-painted on." They're tight, but oddly enough, they have a lot of give. There must be a good amount of spandex in them. But not enough that I'd feel comfortable for any length of time. I mean, I do have to breathe, right?
So I feel terrible. Here this BIG company went and gave me five pairs of beautiful jeans so I could try them out and sing their virtues and that means one thing: I've got to lose some weight. Hey, I need to. What if I win that Best Novel Agatha on May 1st. (I've been called a "Dark Horse" candidate. Everyone in the category has won at least one Agatha. I'm sure it would be as big a shock to them as it would be to me to win the award.) Just say I DID win . . . I'd feel really, REALLY FAT if I had to mount that stage at my present weight.
These really well-made Lee jeans are my incentive. Because each pair is cut different, there's one pair that I can't even get my left leg in. Those are my GOAL JEANS. (I've had goal jeans before, and while it took six months of Nutra-System, I did wear them for a short time. It felt great. (I felt hungry.))
So, while it's boring to hear about diets, I have two months to lose some weight. I'm going the Weight Watchers route. (I don't need to GO to WW, I just need to follow their plan...again. Hey, it works.) Periodically I'll let you know how I'm doing. Not by pounds lost, but by jeans donned.
Any tips on how to feel full without actually eating?
Apparently there was some kind of mix-up at Lee, because I didn't get a pair of jeans. I was contacted, asked if I got them, said no. Thursday, I was contacted again. Still no jeans. Then, my "contact" said she'd find out what was going on. Voila! Friday afternoon, low and behold, there's a BIG box sitting on my doorstep.
I wasn't thinking about jeans when my husband opened the door and brought in the box. I wondered what the heck was in such a large carton. Out came the box cutter, off came the flaps, and not only was there a pair of jeans, whoa! there were FIVE pairs of jeans. All the same size, different lengths, different cuts.
Oh boy! This was just like Christmas!
So off to the bedroom I went to try them on.
And here we veer of topic for a sec . . .
My pal Nancy Martin, of the Lipstick Chronicles (whose new book, Our Lady of Immaculate Deception comes out tomorrow), vowed that TLC would never have diet stories. They're boring. People don't want to read about them. She's right . . . but here I go anyway. (Sorry, Nanc!)
After my Dad died (okay, and during the three months he was ill), I was pretty upset. Like a lot of upset people, I found comfort in food. Especially bread. Especially bread with butter. And now . . . while I can still get in my "from Penney's catalog" jeans, even they're getting a little snug. The truth is, I don't put on my jeans unless I'm leaving the house. I live in sweatpants. They are God's gift to women, and who looks a gift horse in the mouth?
Except, I have another gift horse, in the form of my tummy-tuck jeans. And the bitter fact is, only one of them I would dare wear, and even then, hubby said, "Looks like they were spray-painted on." They're tight, but oddly enough, they have a lot of give. There must be a good amount of spandex in them. But not enough that I'd feel comfortable for any length of time. I mean, I do have to breathe, right?
So I feel terrible. Here this BIG company went and gave me five pairs of beautiful jeans so I could try them out and sing their virtues and that means one thing: I've got to lose some weight. Hey, I need to. What if I win that Best Novel Agatha on May 1st. (I've been called a "Dark Horse" candidate. Everyone in the category has won at least one Agatha. I'm sure it would be as big a shock to them as it would be to me to win the award.) Just say I DID win . . . I'd feel really, REALLY FAT if I had to mount that stage at my present weight.
These really well-made Lee jeans are my incentive. Because each pair is cut different, there's one pair that I can't even get my left leg in. Those are my GOAL JEANS. (I've had goal jeans before, and while it took six months of Nutra-System, I did wear them for a short time. It felt great. (I felt hungry.))
So, while it's boring to hear about diets, I have two months to lose some weight. I'm going the Weight Watchers route. (I don't need to GO to WW, I just need to follow their plan...again. Hey, it works.) Periodically I'll let you know how I'm doing. Not by pounds lost, but by jeans donned.
Any tips on how to feel full without actually eating?
Saturday, February 27, 2010
And the prize for the ugliest cover goes to ...
I was poking around Amazon this morning (I'm not one of those paranoid authors who checks her Amazon stats constantly--just a couple times a week), and wondered if they'd posted the cover for the large-print edition yet.Oh yes.
And, oh, is it BAD.
What is that? It has to be the absolute WORST skull and crossbones I have ever seen. I mean, it looks like I might have drawn it! (And I have no artistic skills, believe me.)
Someone must have put all of 30 seconds of thought into this cover.
Now, compare it to the BEAUTIFUL cover that was done by the fabulous Teresa Fasolino for the paperback edition of the book.No contest, eh?
It's a good thing that large-print editions aren't generally bought by the cover art. As it is, large-print editions don't sell terribly well, but looking at this cover, I'd say my poor LP version of Bookplace Special is doomed.
What do you think?
=============
UPDATE: There's more to the story. Check out my blog post of 3/5/10 on The Cozy Chicks Blog.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Cabin Fever?
We've had another winter storm. This one brought 8-10 inches (I didn't get my ruler out to check, but we do have a couple of small drifts in the driveway). Actually, we've missed most of the snow this year (it went to other areas of the country--fine with me, not so fine with my friends in the south), but it's been cold and who wants to deal with that.
My Aunt in sunny Spain wondered if by now we all have cabin fever. (I always get this mental picture of a little cabin in the woods, wood-burning stove, people wearing red longjohns, nothing good to eat, and no indoor plumbing.)
Not me. I went out yesterday. And the day before, and a couple of times last week. Since I lost my day job, I don't get cabin fever as much. If the weather is crappy, I'd just as soon stay home.
I used to get cabin fever all the time when I had a day job. I was out every day, going to work, seeing people. But on the weekend, I had to go somewhere, ANYWHERE, and I'm not exactly sure why. Now it might be weeks before I talk to someone other than the check-out girl at the grocery store, but I tend to stay home a lot more now. Maybe it's because I'm in constant communication with my friends and distant family via the Internet. (Boy am I glad I learned to type.)
What I am jonsing for (and I've said it many times before) is YARD SALE SEASON. Believe me, I am counting the days until the weather is warm and people decide to make a clean sweep and get rid of their junk...er, treasures.
What thoughts of spring are getting you through this long, cold winter?
My Aunt in sunny Spain wondered if by now we all have cabin fever. (I always get this mental picture of a little cabin in the woods, wood-burning stove, people wearing red longjohns, nothing good to eat, and no indoor plumbing.)
Not me. I went out yesterday. And the day before, and a couple of times last week. Since I lost my day job, I don't get cabin fever as much. If the weather is crappy, I'd just as soon stay home.
I used to get cabin fever all the time when I had a day job. I was out every day, going to work, seeing people. But on the weekend, I had to go somewhere, ANYWHERE, and I'm not exactly sure why. Now it might be weeks before I talk to someone other than the check-out girl at the grocery store, but I tend to stay home a lot more now. Maybe it's because I'm in constant communication with my friends and distant family via the Internet. (Boy am I glad I learned to type.)
What I am jonsing for (and I've said it many times before) is YARD SALE SEASON. Believe me, I am counting the days until the weather is warm and people decide to make a clean sweep and get rid of their junk...er, treasures.
What thoughts of spring are getting you through this long, cold winter?
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Too much clutter
Why is it that when I need a BIG carton, there are none to be had. And when I need a small one, there are only big cartons hanging around?
I'm in the middle of a project where I'm transferring a bunch of things from one carton to another. Except I don't have the other carton. The project is in three stages, and I have stuff scattered around my office, which is beginning to look like a warehouse.
Why is it we never seem to have the things we need when we need them?
I need a MUCH bigger office. One like they have in all these decorating magazines I read. They have BIG work tables, HUGE closets with EMPTY SPACE, and no piles of paper hanging around on the floor. My office is a former bedroom, 12 x 16 with a BIG closet. The closet has been full for the last 14 years. I do a purge every couple of years, but no sooner do I empty something from it, than something else takes its place.
I guess I have too much stuff. Too many boxes of books. Too many books of bookmarks. Too many old drafts of manuscripts I just can't seem to part with.
While I'm far from being a hoarder, I can't seem to be ruthless and just toss stuff out. How about you? Have you been able to take control of your life and clutter?
I'm in the middle of a project where I'm transferring a bunch of things from one carton to another. Except I don't have the other carton. The project is in three stages, and I have stuff scattered around my office, which is beginning to look like a warehouse.
Why is it we never seem to have the things we need when we need them?
I need a MUCH bigger office. One like they have in all these decorating magazines I read. They have BIG work tables, HUGE closets with EMPTY SPACE, and no piles of paper hanging around on the floor. My office is a former bedroom, 12 x 16 with a BIG closet. The closet has been full for the last 14 years. I do a purge every couple of years, but no sooner do I empty something from it, than something else takes its place.
I guess I have too much stuff. Too many boxes of books. Too many books of bookmarks. Too many old drafts of manuscripts I just can't seem to part with.
While I'm far from being a hoarder, I can't seem to be ruthless and just toss stuff out. How about you? Have you been able to take control of your life and clutter?
Monday, February 22, 2010
From Warp Speed to Full Stop in only seconds
I was going along at warp speed with my work in progress (Booktown #5) until my copy edit for Chapter & Hearse showed up. Then work came to a screeching halt. (And it will again this weekend, when I have to put it back on the shelf to get the synopsis written for Victoria Square #2.)
For the past two weeks, I've been tippy-toeing around the manuscript. I'd add a sentence here, rearrange a paragraph there . . . but no real progress was made. It was time to sit down and read what I had, and I feared that what I had was one HUGE mess.
The problem turned out to be that I didn't know what day of the week the story started on. I had over 100 pages (about a third) of the book written, and I still wasn't sure where it began.
I first thought the story started on Saturday, but then that would mean Tricia needed to go to the bank on Sunday. Can't have that--the bank isn't open on Sunday. So I backed it up to Friday. Still didn't work, because something else had to happen on Sunday, and Ginny doesn't work at Haven't Got a Clue on Sundays. Is it logical to start the Founders Day Weekend on Thursday? Well, it might be, if the Ferris wheel and puke-a-whirl have to be somewhere else by Saturday.
You see my problem?
Yesterday, I spent two hours tweaking the timeline, moving scenes around, and writing transitions. When I started, I had only six chapters in place. By rearranging scenes, and putting things in order (a lot of times I'll write random scenes as I think of them, and then put them together later, rather like a big jigsaw puzzle), I now have eleven chapters. Whew! that feels more orderly.
I guess that's what I hate most about starting a book. There's no real sense of order. And when things finally start clicking in place, that's when the fun starts to happen. Usually about 40,000 words. Not quite there yet, but I won't be approaching the day's work with quite so much apprehension.
What makes it doubly frustrating, is I can only talk about it in general terms. I wouldn't want to spoil it for my readers.
For the past two weeks, I've been tippy-toeing around the manuscript. I'd add a sentence here, rearrange a paragraph there . . . but no real progress was made. It was time to sit down and read what I had, and I feared that what I had was one HUGE mess.
The problem turned out to be that I didn't know what day of the week the story started on. I had over 100 pages (about a third) of the book written, and I still wasn't sure where it began.
I first thought the story started on Saturday, but then that would mean Tricia needed to go to the bank on Sunday. Can't have that--the bank isn't open on Sunday. So I backed it up to Friday. Still didn't work, because something else had to happen on Sunday, and Ginny doesn't work at Haven't Got a Clue on Sundays. Is it logical to start the Founders Day Weekend on Thursday? Well, it might be, if the Ferris wheel and puke-a-whirl have to be somewhere else by Saturday.
You see my problem?
Yesterday, I spent two hours tweaking the timeline, moving scenes around, and writing transitions. When I started, I had only six chapters in place. By rearranging scenes, and putting things in order (a lot of times I'll write random scenes as I think of them, and then put them together later, rather like a big jigsaw puzzle), I now have eleven chapters. Whew! that feels more orderly.
I guess that's what I hate most about starting a book. There's no real sense of order. And when things finally start clicking in place, that's when the fun starts to happen. Usually about 40,000 words. Not quite there yet, but I won't be approaching the day's work with quite so much apprehension.
What makes it doubly frustrating, is I can only talk about it in general terms. I wouldn't want to spoil it for my readers.
Friday, February 19, 2010
A teapot in my future?
So there I was last Sunday night, sneaking away from the kitchen and dinner prep and the phone rang. I figured it was yet another telemarketer because it said UNKNOWN NAME, UNKNOWN NUMBER on the Caller ID screen.
Instead, it was from the head of the Agatha Awards Committee. Bookplate Special had been nominated for an Agatha Award for best novel.
Whoa!
The first thing I did was burst into tears. I wish I could say they were of joy, but I'd been having kind of a bummer of an evening, and to top it off, had been listening to the Chieftains' CD Santiago, and in particular Galician Overture, which is incredibly sad (hey, it's got bagpipes--nuff said). So when she said Bookplate Special had been nominated ... I kinda lost it.
Of course, she asked that I not say a word about it until after all the nominees had been informed. I did ask if I could tell my mother and my agent and editor, and she said yes.
By the time I got off the phone, I had cheered up immensely. (Just about the time the Chieftains were hitting their stride with Getting Sail/Muineira de Frexido--which must be one of the most joyful tunes ever recorded.) I yelled to my husband, "Bookplate Special--a major award!" (I figured he was in the exempt column, too.) And of course, you know what he thought.
It was a l-o-n-g four days until the announcement was made public last night. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if A.) I had hallucinated the entire phone call or B.) Someone had been playing an elaborate joke on me. But, no--my name (or Lorna's) really was on the list of nominees (Second, in fact! We'll just pretend it's NOT in alphabetical order, eh?)
But whoa again--take a look at the nominees on that short list for Best Novel. How could anyone NOT be thrilled to have their work among these names:
Swan for the Money, Donna Andrews, St. Martin’s Minotaur
Bookplate Special, Lorna Barrett, Berkley Prime Crime
Royal Flush, Rhys Bowen, Berkley Prime Crime
A Brutal Telling, Louise Penny, Minotaur Books
Air Time, Hank Phillippi Ryan, MIRA
Bookmarked for Death was actually eligible for nomination, as well, but I'm really proud that Bookplate Special got it. I love that little story (and LOVE the cover, too). And while the competition is so stiff there isn't a chance in H-E Double Hockey Sticks it can win, it's going to be a fun ride until they announce the winner on May 1st.
My thanks to everyone who nominated my book. It's a terrific honor!
Instead, it was from the head of the Agatha Awards Committee. Bookplate Special had been nominated for an Agatha Award for best novel.
Whoa!
The first thing I did was burst into tears. I wish I could say they were of joy, but I'd been having kind of a bummer of an evening, and to top it off, had been listening to the Chieftains' CD Santiago, and in particular Galician Overture, which is incredibly sad (hey, it's got bagpipes--nuff said). So when she said Bookplate Special had been nominated ... I kinda lost it.
Of course, she asked that I not say a word about it until after all the nominees had been informed. I did ask if I could tell my mother and my agent and editor, and she said yes.
By the time I got off the phone, I had cheered up immensely. (Just about the time the Chieftains were hitting their stride with Getting Sail/Muineira de Frexido--which must be one of the most joyful tunes ever recorded.) I yelled to my husband, "Bookplate Special--a major award!" (I figured he was in the exempt column, too.) And of course, you know what he thought.
It was a l-o-n-g four days until the announcement was made public last night. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if A.) I had hallucinated the entire phone call or B.) Someone had been playing an elaborate joke on me. But, no--my name (or Lorna's) really was on the list of nominees (Second, in fact! We'll just pretend it's NOT in alphabetical order, eh?)
But whoa again--take a look at the nominees on that short list for Best Novel. How could anyone NOT be thrilled to have their work among these names:
Swan for the Money, Donna Andrews, St. Martin’s Minotaur
Bookplate Special, Lorna Barrett, Berkley Prime Crime
Royal Flush, Rhys Bowen, Berkley Prime Crime
A Brutal Telling, Louise Penny, Minotaur Books
Air Time, Hank Phillippi Ryan, MIRA
My thanks to everyone who nominated my book. It's a terrific honor!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Bland up my kitchen?
My leftovers don't go bad as fast as they used to. Why? Because my 16-year-old fridge likes to pretend it's a freezer, and we all know frozen food has a much longer shelf life. But when you go to pour yourself a glass of milk and get only shards of ice . . . it's time for a new fridge.
We've been waiting for February because NY is offering a Energy Star rebate. Replace an old appliance and get back cold hard cash. Truly, this fridge is sucking up energy like crazy. The gasket has come away from the door and there's a BIG gap. The fridge runs overtime, and -- you have a big electricity bill and frozen milk. (And frozen leftover potatoes, salad, celery, onions, and on and on . . . .)
I watch SPICE UP MY KITCHEN on HGTV on a regular basis, and in all the renovations not ONE consumer has ever bought a fridge that wasn't stainless steel. (They also buy stainlesss microwaves, dishwashers, and stoves, usually with at least 6 burners and a grill. How much energy do THEY save?) Ever seen the inside of an autopsy room? Okay, maybe not in person, but on TV? What do the meat lockers look like? Stainless steel.
No, thanks. Not in my kitchen.
Of course, the options for anything but stainless are pretty slim. In fact, there were only four "bisque" (used to be called "almond") fridges on the sales floor. (They also had one white and one black one, too.) Since everything else in my kitchen is bisque (except the microwave, it's white. They didn't have any bisque ones), that's what I went for. Wow--fridges have gone up in price in the last 16 years. But a bisque fridge costs at least $400 less than a stainless steel one, and as we're recycling the old fridge, we're going to get a total of $105 bucks back. It's still a bite for someone who gets paid twice a year (April is a l-o-n-g way away), but it's time. Still, for all the price, there aren't a lot of bells and whistles. (No ice maker.)
The best thing is the door will whole gallon containers. I don't have to buy my milk in a half gallon jug anymore. (Yup, I drink a gallon of it a week!) And this fridge is 4 square feet larger than our last one. Plenty of room for all those half jars of of jam, pickles, mustard, and chutneys.
I was in and out of the appliance (I bought locally--yea me!) in less than an hour. (It would have been shorter, but I had to wait while my mother bought an Energy Star washer and dryer.) Now to wait for delivery. It's going to be ten days. Why? Because just about everybody else in the area was waiting for the Energy Star rebate.
What was the last major appliance you bought?
We've been waiting for February because NY is offering a Energy Star rebate. Replace an old appliance and get back cold hard cash. Truly, this fridge is sucking up energy like crazy. The gasket has come away from the door and there's a BIG gap. The fridge runs overtime, and -- you have a big electricity bill and frozen milk. (And frozen leftover potatoes, salad, celery, onions, and on and on . . . .)
I watch SPICE UP MY KITCHEN on HGTV on a regular basis, and in all the renovations not ONE consumer has ever bought a fridge that wasn't stainless steel. (They also buy stainlesss microwaves, dishwashers, and stoves, usually with at least 6 burners and a grill. How much energy do THEY save?) Ever seen the inside of an autopsy room? Okay, maybe not in person, but on TV? What do the meat lockers look like? Stainless steel.
No, thanks. Not in my kitchen.
Of course, the options for anything but stainless are pretty slim. In fact, there were only four "bisque" (used to be called "almond") fridges on the sales floor. (They also had one white and one black one, too.) Since everything else in my kitchen is bisque (except the microwave, it's white. They didn't have any bisque ones), that's what I went for. Wow--fridges have gone up in price in the last 16 years. But a bisque fridge costs at least $400 less than a stainless steel one, and as we're recycling the old fridge, we're going to get a total of $105 bucks back. It's still a bite for someone who gets paid twice a year (April is a l-o-n-g way away), but it's time. Still, for all the price, there aren't a lot of bells and whistles. (No ice maker.)
The best thing is the door will whole gallon containers. I don't have to buy my milk in a half gallon jug anymore. (Yup, I drink a gallon of it a week!) And this fridge is 4 square feet larger than our last one. Plenty of room for all those half jars of of jam, pickles, mustard, and chutneys.
I was in and out of the appliance (I bought locally--yea me!) in less than an hour. (It would have been shorter, but I had to wait while my mother bought an Energy Star washer and dryer.) Now to wait for delivery. It's going to be ten days. Why? Because just about everybody else in the area was waiting for the Energy Star rebate.
What was the last major appliance you bought?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Haunted by MSDS
If you've ever read my bio, you know it says (and rather cheerfully): "She's done it all, from drilling holes for NASA to typing scripts in Hollywood."
Yes, I did type scripts, but technically I was in West L.A., not Hollywood. And I did drill and tap holes for NASA, but it was in a stinky, dirty, horrible little machine shop where the men leered at every one of the woman and spoke to us in sexist terms that today would be the basis of a lawsuit. Everyone swore worse than sailors, using the F word as nouns, verbs, and adjectives (and often three or five times in each sentence).
For years, every time I'd get stressed out, I'd dream I was back in that hell hole with aluminum chips in my hair and cursing the day I ever entered the New York State Unemployment system that sent me to that grubby machine shop. At the time, I was living with my parents and was dead broke, so I took that production job and stayed with it for 18 long months.
I often worked on a Cincinnati milling machine where I'd have a full two minutes and forty-nine seconds between parts and could write. I kept a little notebook in my green apron pocket and scribbled notes, snatches of dialog, and often entire scenes. I wrote quite a few short stories and most of a novella during my tenure. I quit that job to take one as a secretary at a large local college. Eleven months later, I quit that to head for California and the movie studio.
What's all this got to do with stress?
For years afterward, whenever I felt totally stressed out, I'd fall asleep and dream I was back in the dirty machine shop, tapping holes on a drill press.
As time went by, the dreams came less and less, and then stopped all together ...
Replaced by my LAST day job. I worked for a former Fortune 500 company as a clerical worker for almost 26 years. Now when I'm stressed, I end up in my last office, working on MSDS. (Material Safety Data Sheets.) Mind you, I didn't mind the actual work. What I minded was one or two particularly nasty (two-faced) people who mentally abused the majority of us in one way or another.
In my dreams, I've been working on MSDS a lot lately. I'm mired in stacks of them (we're talking up to a foot high--which was actually what the shelf across from my desk often held). Is this an 8-part MSDS or a 16-part MSDS? Where's the specific gravity? I'll page through the documents over and over again, searching for a certain piece of information that is never there.
Why was/am I stressed? Because stuff keep happening that keeps me from writing. The book is about a third finished and I'm falling behind. I need a few stress-free days to catch up.
Oddly, during the most stressful part of my recent life (when my Dad was in the hospital/nursing home), I was able to write straight through it. writing was my respite. Even when my Dad was dying, he'd ask, "did you get your words today?" Work was therapy. Work got me through it. Now . . . stupid stuff keeps interfering.
Are you ever haunted by dreams of a past job?
Yes, I did type scripts, but technically I was in West L.A., not Hollywood. And I did drill and tap holes for NASA, but it was in a stinky, dirty, horrible little machine shop where the men leered at every one of the woman and spoke to us in sexist terms that today would be the basis of a lawsuit. Everyone swore worse than sailors, using the F word as nouns, verbs, and adjectives (and often three or five times in each sentence).
For years, every time I'd get stressed out, I'd dream I was back in that hell hole with aluminum chips in my hair and cursing the day I ever entered the New York State Unemployment system that sent me to that grubby machine shop. At the time, I was living with my parents and was dead broke, so I took that production job and stayed with it for 18 long months.
I often worked on a Cincinnati milling machine where I'd have a full two minutes and forty-nine seconds between parts and could write. I kept a little notebook in my green apron pocket and scribbled notes, snatches of dialog, and often entire scenes. I wrote quite a few short stories and most of a novella during my tenure. I quit that job to take one as a secretary at a large local college. Eleven months later, I quit that to head for California and the movie studio.
What's all this got to do with stress?
For years afterward, whenever I felt totally stressed out, I'd fall asleep and dream I was back in the dirty machine shop, tapping holes on a drill press.
As time went by, the dreams came less and less, and then stopped all together ...
Replaced by my LAST day job. I worked for a former Fortune 500 company as a clerical worker for almost 26 years. Now when I'm stressed, I end up in my last office, working on MSDS. (Material Safety Data Sheets.) Mind you, I didn't mind the actual work. What I minded was one or two particularly nasty (two-faced) people who mentally abused the majority of us in one way or another.
In my dreams, I've been working on MSDS a lot lately. I'm mired in stacks of them (we're talking up to a foot high--which was actually what the shelf across from my desk often held). Is this an 8-part MSDS or a 16-part MSDS? Where's the specific gravity? I'll page through the documents over and over again, searching for a certain piece of information that is never there.
Why was/am I stressed? Because stuff keep happening that keeps me from writing. The book is about a third finished and I'm falling behind. I need a few stress-free days to catch up.
Oddly, during the most stressful part of my recent life (when my Dad was in the hospital/nursing home), I was able to write straight through it. writing was my respite. Even when my Dad was dying, he'd ask, "did you get your words today?" Work was therapy. Work got me through it. Now . . . stupid stuff keeps interfering.
Are you ever haunted by dreams of a past job?
Monday, February 15, 2010
No More Mail for YOU!
The other night I couldn't sleep, so I dragged my sorry butt into my office at 2:42 a.m. to check my e-mail. I logged on to find a messages from AOL:
You have hit 1,000 messages in your in box.
Naughty, wicked, YOU!
We will now bounce EVERYTHING that comes into your in box.
(EVIL AOL.)
I quickly started deleting messages. But the thing is--I've saved almost 900 of these messages for a pretty good reason. Or, at least it seemed like it at the time. Okay, so a couple of them go back to May 2009. I keep stuff I think I might need. Or that I might want to revisit. Stuff like the many kind notes I received when my Dad died in October. Fan letters. Invoices. Backed-up files.
But some of these notes can't be filed because they're still pending, like a note from my agent two weeks ago on something she's trying to negotiate with my publisher. Or a web site a colleague has told me I really need to check out/join. (I just haven't had time to do so.)
There are several lists I follow where I get the individual messages instead of the digest. (Hi Guppies, Cozy Authors, Cozy Armchair pals and Cozy Chicks!) I estimate that to go through all my messages and file them, I'd need 6-8 hours to do so. As it is, I spend up to four hours a day going through my email and answering fan mail, taking care of bookmark/bookplate request, and commenting on other posts.
My god, it's waaaaay too easy to put myself in Leonardo DiCaprio's place as Jack at the nose of the Titanic and think: I AM THE KING OF THE WORLD...and we all know what happened to HIM!
Something has GOT to go. And I'm seriously thinking of going digest on at least one of my lists. Of course, I rarely "play" on the lists where I get messages as digest., but something's gotta give.
Have you ever had the same problem?
You have hit 1,000 messages in your in box.
Naughty, wicked, YOU!
We will now bounce EVERYTHING that comes into your in box.
(EVIL AOL.)
I quickly started deleting messages. But the thing is--I've saved almost 900 of these messages for a pretty good reason. Or, at least it seemed like it at the time. Okay, so a couple of them go back to May 2009. I keep stuff I think I might need. Or that I might want to revisit. Stuff like the many kind notes I received when my Dad died in October. Fan letters. Invoices. Backed-up files.
But some of these notes can't be filed because they're still pending, like a note from my agent two weeks ago on something she's trying to negotiate with my publisher. Or a web site a colleague has told me I really need to check out/join. (I just haven't had time to do so.)
There are several lists I follow where I get the individual messages instead of the digest. (Hi Guppies, Cozy Authors, Cozy Armchair pals and Cozy Chicks!) I estimate that to go through all my messages and file them, I'd need 6-8 hours to do so. As it is, I spend up to four hours a day going through my email and answering fan mail, taking care of bookmark/bookplate request, and commenting on other posts.
My god, it's waaaaay too easy to put myself in Leonardo DiCaprio's place as Jack at the nose of the Titanic and think: I AM THE KING OF THE WORLD...and we all know what happened to HIM!
Something has GOT to go. And I'm seriously thinking of going digest on at least one of my lists. Of course, I rarely "play" on the lists where I get messages as digest., but something's gotta give.
Have you ever had the same problem?
Saturday, February 13, 2010
I knew there were still Edgar Allan Poe stamps available!!!
I sent out a LOT of mail. That means many trips to the Post Office, or at least it did. I recently discovered the joy of ordering online. I tried downloading software to print my own postage, but that didn't work and I just gave up and ordered stamps. I ordered a LOT of stamps. It annoyed me that they charged me a buck surcharge, but I figured it was actually worth it because I would've made more than a dollar's worth of trips to the P.O. for all the postage I bought.
I don't like boring stamps. I mean, the forever stamp has got to be one of THE most boring stamps every printed. (Okay, I'm pretty sick of the generic flag ones, too. Even the 50-coil 44-cent flags of the US only have 14 states and the US flag interspersed. BORING.)
I like interesting stamps. For a while there, I was buying tropical fish stamps, but lovely as they were, there were only 10 to a sheet, and it was kinda hard to find the fish among all the sea weed and stuff. And it turns out that our little P.O. just doesn't have the variety that's out there. Shopping online I found 17-cent goat stamps. How cool is that. (Okay, I have this thing about goats. Hubby and I look for our goat of the day, on TV, in books, online, and especially when driving around in the car.) What the heck. I bought a page of them. [UPDATE: Okay, it turns out that's not a goat, it's a sheep. Can you tell I was not brought up on a farm?]
Last year, I bought a LOT of Edgar Allan Poe stamps. I mean, how cool is that for a mystery author to put a stamp (and it's a very nice stamp, too) of the father of the modern mystery on every single letter. I was very disappointed when our local Post Master told me there were no more Poe stamps to be had. Gone. Everywhere. Ah, not so I discovered online. They're there for the asking. So I bought three sheets. And I wondered if maybe I should have bought more. Okay, they're 42 cents and I have to use a 2-cent stamp along with it, but still, I'm back to being cool when I mail out bookmarks.
But it seems to me that compared to other countries, we have some pretty boring stamps. I love it at Christmastime when I get cards from my relatives overseas and can see the beautiful stamps their country has issued. The non-religious X-mas stamps this year looked ... well, like a high school art project.
As a kid, I collected stamps and I was more aware of the wonderful stamps from other countries. Canada has always had lovely stamps. And they issue them on on a variety of wonderful subjects. The Internet is a wonderful place to find all kinds of oddball stuff and I came across these wonderful cat stamps from Sweden. Now, why can't we have cool stamps like that? (Okay, I might be biased because I have black cats.)
Have you ever had a favorite stamp? (Elvis counts!)
I don't like boring stamps. I mean, the forever stamp has got to be one of THE most boring stamps every printed. (Okay, I'm pretty sick of the generic flag ones, too. Even the 50-coil 44-cent flags of the US only have 14 states and the US flag interspersed. BORING.)
I like interesting stamps. For a while there, I was buying tropical fish stamps, but lovely as they were, there were only 10 to a sheet, and it was kinda hard to find the fish among all the sea weed and stuff. And it turns out that our little P.O. just doesn't have the variety that's out there. Shopping online I found 17-cent goat stamps. How cool is that. (Okay, I have this thing about goats. Hubby and I look for our goat of the day, on TV, in books, online, and especially when driving around in the car.) What the heck. I bought a page of them. [UPDATE: Okay, it turns out that's not a goat, it's a sheep. Can you tell I was not brought up on a farm?]
Last year, I bought a LOT of Edgar Allan Poe stamps. I mean, how cool is that for a mystery author to put a stamp (and it's a very nice stamp, too) of the father of the modern mystery on every single letter. I was very disappointed when our local Post Master told me there were no more Poe stamps to be had. Gone. Everywhere. Ah, not so I discovered online. They're there for the asking. So I bought three sheets. And I wondered if maybe I should have bought more. Okay, they're 42 cents and I have to use a 2-cent stamp along with it, but still, I'm back to being cool when I mail out bookmarks.
But it seems to me that compared to other countries, we have some pretty boring stamps. I love it at Christmastime when I get cards from my relatives overseas and can see the beautiful stamps their country has issued. The non-religious X-mas stamps this year looked ... well, like a high school art project.
As a kid, I collected stamps and I was more aware of the wonderful stamps from other countries. Canada has always had lovely stamps. And they issue them on on a variety of wonderful subjects. The Internet is a wonderful place to find all kinds of oddball stuff and I came across these wonderful cat stamps from Sweden. Now, why can't we have cool stamps like that? (Okay, I might be biased because I have black cats.)
Have you ever had a favorite stamp? (Elvis counts!)
Thursday, February 11, 2010
What's with the stinky magazine inserts?
By Guest Blogger Sandra Parshall vents on today's Pet Peeve Thursday
All I wanted to do was read a magazine article about the movie Nine. But the magazine was Vogue, and I could smell it from twenty feet away. If I ventured closer, my eyes would tear up and I would start sneezing. If I opened it, I ran the risk of asphyxiation by perfume.
Vogue probably has more perfume advertising inserts than any other magazine on the planet. You know what I mean – those glued-down flaps you’re supposed to pull open to experience the rapture of the scent. Trouble is, you can smell the perfume long before you open the flap, and when a magazine has half a dozen inserts in one issue, the rapture-inducing scents combine to form one unholy stench. I can almost see the fumes rising from the pages.
Why do advertisers think this is a good way to introduce potential customers to a particular perfume? It isn’t, but that’s their problem. Our problem – I speak for those of us who are sensitive to chemical odors – is how to make use of a magazine that sets off a massive allergic reaction. I once knew a woman who tore out all the inserts, threw them in the trash – outdoors – then left magazines lying open in the garage for a week to air out before she even tried to read them. I could do that, but I don’t want to throw paper in the trash. It belongs in the paper recycling bin. The bin, however, is in the basement, and I know the whole house will reek of perfume if I ditch the inserts anywhere indoors. Paper is biodegradable, but ink isn’t, so I can’t bury the things in the garden (although the stench might get rid of the mole that’s been tunneling under my daylilies).
As you might guess, I pass up a lot of magazines because I can’t stand the way they smell. I know some people love those perfume inserts, though. I read in the “Hints from Heloise” column that they make dandy “fresheners” for linen closets and underwear drawers. From the amount of perfume that assaults my respiratory system every time I’m in a crowd, I have to assume the majority of women douse themselves with fragrances. Men also contribute to air pollution, although to a lesser degree – do guys who overdo the cologne and aftershave think they smell sexy? – and male-oriented magazines probably have their share of stinky inserts.
I know from experience that women who wear perfume don’t like the suggestion that they refrain when they’re going to be in a closed, crowded space such as a theater. Perfume companies, I’m sure, wouldn’t appreciate the suggestion that they stop placing inserts in magazines. So I will continue to steer clear of magazines that reek, even if they contain something I want to read. I have come to expect a headache and runny nose every time I see a movie or stage performance or go anywhere a lot of people congregate.
These problems are just the tip of the fragrance iceberg, though. I haven’t even mentioned perfumed soap, shampoo, detergent, cat litter, furniture polish, glass cleaner....
And what's bugging YOU today?
------------------------------------
Sandra Parshall is the Agatha Award-winning author of the Rachel Goddard Mystery series. Her current book, BROKEN PLACES, is hot off the press. For more information on Sandra and her books, please check out her website. Sandra is also a regular at the Poe's Deadly Daughters blog.
All I wanted to do was read a magazine article about the movie Nine. But the magazine was Vogue, and I could smell it from twenty feet away. If I ventured closer, my eyes would tear up and I would start sneezing. If I opened it, I ran the risk of asphyxiation by perfume.
Vogue probably has more perfume advertising inserts than any other magazine on the planet. You know what I mean – those glued-down flaps you’re supposed to pull open to experience the rapture of the scent. Trouble is, you can smell the perfume long before you open the flap, and when a magazine has half a dozen inserts in one issue, the rapture-inducing scents combine to form one unholy stench. I can almost see the fumes rising from the pages.
Why do advertisers think this is a good way to introduce potential customers to a particular perfume? It isn’t, but that’s their problem. Our problem – I speak for those of us who are sensitive to chemical odors – is how to make use of a magazine that sets off a massive allergic reaction. I once knew a woman who tore out all the inserts, threw them in the trash – outdoors – then left magazines lying open in the garage for a week to air out before she even tried to read them. I could do that, but I don’t want to throw paper in the trash. It belongs in the paper recycling bin. The bin, however, is in the basement, and I know the whole house will reek of perfume if I ditch the inserts anywhere indoors. Paper is biodegradable, but ink isn’t, so I can’t bury the things in the garden (although the stench might get rid of the mole that’s been tunneling under my daylilies).
As you might guess, I pass up a lot of magazines because I can’t stand the way they smell. I know some people love those perfume inserts, though. I read in the “Hints from Heloise” column that they make dandy “fresheners” for linen closets and underwear drawers. From the amount of perfume that assaults my respiratory system every time I’m in a crowd, I have to assume the majority of women douse themselves with fragrances. Men also contribute to air pollution, although to a lesser degree – do guys who overdo the cologne and aftershave think they smell sexy? – and male-oriented magazines probably have their share of stinky inserts.
I know from experience that women who wear perfume don’t like the suggestion that they refrain when they’re going to be in a closed, crowded space such as a theater. Perfume companies, I’m sure, wouldn’t appreciate the suggestion that they stop placing inserts in magazines. So I will continue to steer clear of magazines that reek, even if they contain something I want to read. I have come to expect a headache and runny nose every time I see a movie or stage performance or go anywhere a lot of people congregate.
These problems are just the tip of the fragrance iceberg, though. I haven’t even mentioned perfumed soap, shampoo, detergent, cat litter, furniture polish, glass cleaner....
And what's bugging YOU today?
------------------------------------
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
In the bleak mid-winter . . .
My blog posts would a lot more interesting and fun if I actually led an interesting and fun life. It's hard to have much fun when you're squirreled away for a very L-O-N-G, D-A-R-K winter in Western New York. There's a lot to do around here if you don't mind getting frostbite on some appendage (skiing, skating, sledding, etc.), but us writer types tend to hole up in our garrets and write. So instead of actually living an interesting and fun life, I'm writing about somebody else's interesting and (possibly) fun life (and/or lives).
Of course, I don't actually have a garret--one of the problems of living in a one-story home, but when I get up in the morning, it's usually 59 degrees in my office (and takes approximately 6 hours for my little heater to pull it up to 70 at eye level--I have no hope of warm feet until July), and I pretend I'm Sarah Crewe as I pull my shawl (or in this case, a sweater or two) a little tighter around me and make believe it's summer in New Hampshire, where my characters are running around in short sleeves and admiring the geraniums. (How's that for one helluva run-on sentence?)
The book was just starting to really MOVE, and then came to a screeching halt as I had to put it aside for the copy edit of the last book. I hate copy edits. I never get the same copy editor twice. I don't like to make waves, so I accept a lot of the crap they toss at me. This one wants a comma after "she said, and" -- the last one didn't. But this one is also tossing in all kinds of exclamation points where they aren't needed and look how she changed one particular sentence:
My version: "I must admit, I had the same idea," Tricia said.
Her version: "I must admit, I had the same Idea, Tricia admitted.
ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!
(There's a reason authors need high-blood pressure medication during copy edits.)
Okay, end of rant for today. I'm off now ... to do something interesting and fun. Like laundry.
What are you doing today?
The book was just starting to really MOVE, and then came to a screeching halt as I had to put it aside for the copy edit of the last book. I hate copy edits. I never get the same copy editor twice. I don't like to make waves, so I accept a lot of the crap they toss at me. This one wants a comma after "she said, and" -- the last one didn't. But this one is also tossing in all kinds of exclamation points where they aren't needed and look how she changed one particular sentence:
Her version: "I must admit, I had the same Idea, Tricia admitted.
ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!
(There's a reason authors need high-blood pressure medication during copy edits.)
Okay, end of rant for today. I'm off now ... to do something interesting and fun. Like laundry.
What are you doing today?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A Dish To Pass
I collect Syracuse China Americana dishware. It all started when I visited a bed and breakfast in Stowe, Vermont. They served their magnificent breakfasts on that dishware. When I saw a piece at a yard sale, I decided then and there that I would like to use the same dishware at my family's summer cottage--a place I've come to call B&B Cottage.
Ah, but finding pieces of this restaurant (think diner) quality china has not been so easy. In the past 10 or 12 years I've managed to find:
2 dinner plates
14 cake (or sandwich) plates
6 cups and saucers
4 soup cups
1 salad bowl
3 relish dishes
1 coffee mug
2 roll plates
and an assortment of odd-sized plates.
I traveled to the Syracuse China outlet store on a number of occasions, but in all my searches I only found one piece (the salad bowl). I was told it was no longer a popular pattern and had a limited run. Since then, of course, the company has folded. So now my only option is to buy used pieces.
I bought most of my pieces at yard sales, antique stores, and thrift shops. I have yet to really look online--mostly because restaurant china is so darned heavy the shipping charges would be out of this world. (Okay, I did peek on Replacements Inc. (which sells odd pieces of china) and would be a
good source--if I wanted to pay astronomical prices. That's not my goal.)
I have other dishware (Stoneware--that chips like crazy), but because I so enjoyed my time at that Vermont inn, I long to eat off the same tableware at my own B&B Cottage. I wonder how long it will take to find/accumulate all these place settings.
Is there something you collect that seems like an impossible dream to find?
Ah, but finding pieces of this restaurant (think diner) quality china has not been so easy. In the past 10 or 12 years I've managed to find:
2 dinner plates
14 cake (or sandwich) plates
6 cups and saucers
4 soup cups
1 salad bowl
3 relish dishes
1 coffee mug
2 roll plates
and an assortment of odd-sized plates.
I traveled to the Syracuse China outlet store on a number of occasions, but in all my searches I only found one piece (the salad bowl). I was told it was no longer a popular pattern and had a limited run. Since then, of course, the company has folded. So now my only option is to buy used pieces.
I bought most of my pieces at yard sales, antique stores, and thrift shops. I have yet to really look online--mostly because restaurant china is so darned heavy the shipping charges would be out of this world. (Okay, I did peek on Replacements Inc. (which sells odd pieces of china) and would be a
good source--if I wanted to pay astronomical prices. That's not my goal.)
I have other dishware (Stoneware--that chips like crazy), but because I so enjoyed my time at that Vermont inn, I long to eat off the same tableware at my own B&B Cottage. I wonder how long it will take to find/accumulate all these place settings.
Is there something you collect that seems like an impossible dream to find?
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