my house doesn't feel like people live there

Weird.  I moved in last July and I've painted and unpacked.  There's still a lot to do but the house doesn't feel like someone inhabits it.  When I come home it still feels like the dogs and I live in someone elses house.

I've finished the first run-through of 'If Not for You' which bent and went off in an odd direction.  I think it's okay, but still have much revising and editing to do.

I'm not an authority on marriage...

I honestly wouldn't get married if I could.  But that's me.  In light of the Supreme Court deciding to hear two cases, sometime in the next year, that address gay marriage.  I wanted to point out something I don't often see mentioned in discussions on the topic.

Gay people aren't born into families of gay people, generally.  Racial minorities come from families of minorities.  This may seem ridiculously obvious but consider; how many gay people lose family when they come out.  My Asian friends didn't lose their parents because they were Asian.  My African American friends went through all kinds of stupid unfair sh*t, but they had family to hang onto.  Family had their back.

Gay people are a minority of often dispossessed people.  I lost my family for years.  So did many of my friends.  Many of us never really properly reconciled.  Of all the people in the world who deserve to make and keep family, gay people are probably the ones who need it the most.

And that's my two cents on the issue.

That said you'd have to put a gun to my head to get me down the aisle, lol.

Hockey

I'll update my NaNo info shortly, but right now I want to complain about the hockey lockout.

I don't have really anything interesting to add.   The man here says it all.  I spent all of the Thanksgiving Holiday trying to get as excited about Football as I do about Hockey.  It's a good thing I had family to distract me or I might have become depressed.

Stupid greedy bastards.  Don't ask me to whom I refer.  I am mad at the entire organization right now.  The owners particularly but even the players who I don't feel are as outraged and depressed as we fans.  Nobody could be as outraged and depressed as people living in Los Angeles who have Lord Stanley's Cup here for the first time and can't even throw the party for it! 

razzlefrazzleratfink as the cartoon dog used to say.

One of the things I miss the most is the comforting NHL.com site where I could wander for hours, my brain on half-speed, while recovering from the food and family hangover I have today.

Instead I have to write. 

I hope everyone had a lovely holiday!

still slugging away

Sunday I wrote a little over five hundred words.  I lifted, deleted, rewrote and tightened about 4500, so coming out ahead was a small miracle.  Except I'm not done deleting.

I was in the car for around six hours yesterday.  My clutch-side leg is killing me, from riding it through traffic.  The 'stang needs a physical soon.  As I expected, I wasn't able to write anything.  I did pound out a little this morning, but I can't write at work, so I might not catch up to my writing deadlines until Turkey Day.  I'm cooking, but I got a lot done over the weekend, so I'll have a little free time.

Without hockey and with the Bears looking so bad it hurts my eyes, the only sports I can stand to watch are college bowls. 

Then, last night, I downloaded 'The Back Passage' by James Lear, as a tiny reward to myself.

I can't recall where I first heard of this author, but I've been looking forward to reading his books.  What is it about that slightly amused, facetious and yet basically good humored voice that I find so charming?  I've run into it before in gay literature and, believe it or not, in Jane Austin.  It's clever and wise but doesn't whine.  It isn't sappy or preachy.  It's not that it is or isn't politically incorrect so much as it is apolitical.  Things are what they are.  Life is a great big charming, if sometimes disappointing, story.  And in the end its all about getting off.

Throw in a gloriously dead body and I'm a happy reader.

I love it.  I'm afraid it's like a candy bar, though.  I can't help but read it quickly and then, too soon, I will have read the whole series. 

The Color Not-quite-purple

I didn't write yesterday because I was getting the guest room ready for Thanksgiving.
This old house has popcorn ceiling texture that is unbearably ugly.  Room by room, I'm getting rid of it.  The first room I did was the office, so I could sit here and find excuses to not write.  Scraping the ceiling, repainting it with this awesome stuff called 'ceiling paint'.  Then prepping and painting the walls, two coats even with the 'paint-with-primer' paint.  Then the trim.  It takes at least one day for a small room.  The office took two days because I painted it with this gorgeous paint by Ralph Lauren called 'suede', which requires a second coat to be applied with a hand brush.

Anyway, now my guest room is amethyst.  On the little sample card it looked sophisticated and sort of warm.  On the walls it is suspiciously close to grape.  I think it will be okay if I am careful with the accent colors and stuff.

Tomorrow I have to go to the dentist.  I've bought a house a way out from the city, so going to the dentist means leaving at 4:30 to get to the gym, work out, get dressed and drive for an hour and a half.  This means I probably won't be able to write tomorrow either.  So I got up super early today to write.

Argh.  I have to delete a huge chunk.  I've got two hours to write before the gym opens.  I still have a lot of cleaning and grocery shopping and baking to do today, so I'm going to try to get my 1000 words done in two hours.  ha.  I'll let you know how it goes.

I am not writing today and I am crabby...

... and my eyes itch.

My hair is frizzy and I'm hungry and dinner is three hours away. 

Grrr.

598

Deleted 1100 but I'm still up by 598.

I'm feeling good about this now.  Of course, it's 5 a.m. and I'm always an optimist first thing in the morning.  There is one enormous plot hole that needs to be worked, but the characters just fell into place.

Off to the gym.

1648

I've finally written more than I've deleted and almost enough for the NaNoWriMo requirement of words per day.  Yesterday I wrote 1648 of new material.

It's coming along.  I was horribly stuck and so changed my pov.  I'm not sure if I will keep it for the final but with the enormous cast of characters in this book, it is helpful.

Two Unrelated Things

Well, I've hit the bottom of the deletion cycle, I think.  I wrote 500 words today beyond what I deleted.  There is still a lot to get rid of, but the character arcs have tightened somewhat.  I feel so insecure about this book.  I don't know who this dude is sometimes!

Also, I read a blog post somewhere in which an author complained about authors who talk about politics.  Now, I am one of those people who believes that the personal is political.  That you really can't separate the two.  But I appreciate that my readers may not want to hear my diatribes. 

Those of you who feel that way should probably stop reading now.

The GOP made a fatal mistake this election.  They did not LOOK at the American people.  They looked at the fantasy in their heads in which the vast majority of Americans are white protestants, who hate immigrants, intellectuals, liberated women, foreigners, homosexuals and any race not their own.  And now they will have to wake the Ef up or there will be no Republican party in the future.

Maybe the Green party will be the next challenger?  I could go for that.

Thank God.

Writing backwards

Yesterday I 'fixed' a chapter.  Which means I wrote 1000 words more or less, but deleted about 1800.  I'm down 685.  I don't know if it's better or worse, but at least I'm working on it.

word count

Yesterday was a miserable writing day.  Wrote only 500 and deleted 900.  So I'm down 400.  Today I am approaching the problem area.  If I can just work this part out I might start making some progress.

Day Two

Yesterday I wrote 1200 words and deleted 900, so I'm at 300.  So sad, but that's how it goes.

I may have mentioned 'If Not for You' some time ago, when I first started it.  I sometimes start books and finish them years later.  This one is about a wheeling dealing stockbroker, Eric Tack, living in San Francisco, who is trying to recover from the crash of 2008.  He hears that the man he loved and lost has been murdered and that he, Eric, has been named in the man's will. 

The entire book takes place in Humboldt County, up in the Redwood National Forest, where so many grow houses, legal and illegal, exist.  I got stuck on one of the main character's personalities.  I couldn't seem to nail him down which, you can imagine, created a major problem.  I've written the beginning and the end.  I'm kind of flopping around in the middle trying to get a grip.

NaNoWriMo

I've never done it but it seems like it might be the kick in the butt I need, so I'm going to do the NaNoWriMo on 'If Not for You' this month.

Today is my first day.  The book is 62,638 words currently, and I don't expect to publish more than 90,000 but if you knew my process you would weep for me.  This is the point in my novels where I start savagely brutalizing my story.  Cutting out characters, scenes, chapters.  For every word I write, I delete at least another word somewhere else.  So.  If I can write 50,000 and delete 20,000 I should be doing well.

I'll blog about the journey.  It will probably be boring.  Day after day of:  wrote 1200, deleted 1200, but I am going to finish this book and I'm going to be happy with it when it's done!

101 ways to procrastinate

Last weekend, I finished painting and unpacking my office.  The desk faces a window which, now, shows me a patio with sculptures and azaleas.  No more excuses, I was going to finally sit down and finish 'If Not for You' this weekend.

But I let myself get distracted again.  I tried to 'save money' by re-purposing the old sprinkler system valves to go from the main water line to the old sprinkler system.  None of these were properly rigged to begin with and my messing around with them was the last straw.  'POP' went a few joints and water sprayed everywhere until I turned off the main valve.  Now I have no water and had to use the studio gym to shower this morning.

In retrospect, I know I did this on purpose on some deep subconscious level.  I can FEEL that I didn't want to sit at that desk, open the laptop, and deal with those odious story issues at the place I left off in the book.  Now I have a serious problem that will cost money to fix and be yet another really good excuse to delay finishing the book.  This has got to stop.

And the epiphany I had this weekend was this:  If I wait until everything in the house is exactly as I want it to read, play with my friends and, yes, write, I will NEVER do any of the above. 

So I vow to you all and to myself:  For the next three weeks I am going to open the book to the iffy chapters and fix the problems.  I am going to soldier through this damned thing one way or another so that it's finished before the end of the year.  The popcorn on the ceilings, the brown patches in the lawn, the weird plumbing issues and even the rust in the old sinks is going to have to wait.

Lost again

Good news first:  I now can mow my lawn!!!  With the help of two well-meaning neighbors, I finally sorted out what I was doing wrong and my lawnmower started last weekend on only the second try.  One of those neighbors even asked me if he could trim the edges with his new trimmer.

Um.  Sure?

Then he GAVE me an old manual trimmer which I love love love to pieces.  I wish I had more edges to trim. 

I know this will all get old soon enough but it's still new and wonderful.  And my garage smells like fresh mowed grass which is a nice smell anyway and now makes me feel successful and victorious and like a growed up woman.

And, even better, I now feel a little more at home because I have nice neighbors.  Which helps because last week when the pit bulls attacked us nobody came to help and I was starting to wonder if there was anyone out there anymore who actually gave a hoot about people.

On another note, I've read several blogs recently about writers who create fictitious online persona so that they can go onto sites like Amazon and Goodreads and dis the competition.  Now let me explain why I am shocked and horrified by this news.  You see, I've always kind of thought of writers as MORAL.  Because there is so little money or fame for most of us, I figured we did it out of a kind of hopeless, if loving, compulsion to create.  How much more of the already paltry money or fame could one really obtain from giving one star reviews to every other writer of similar genres on goodreads?  Or how much of the creative time it takes to write a fictitious scathing review is really recompensed adequately?  Wouldn't it be more useful just to work on the book at hand and let the process out there take care of itself?  I don't get it.  I thought, in this cold cruel world, that other writers would be my FRIENDS. 

Of course, I DO have friends of the writerly persuasion.  Thank goodness.  They talk me off the cliff.  They kindly point out the places where my book goes awry.  I couldn't survive without them.  I hope they aren't the exception to the rule, like the neighbors who came over unasked and helped me out of a jam this weekend.

lawn mowing and liberation

I want to mow my own lawn.

I've been dreaming of a garden for over a decade and now that I finally have property, I want to maintain ALL of it.  Every rock and weed.  So, the men who were mowing the lawn, who continued mowing the lawn after I bought it, like some old hereditary serfs, had to go.

Well, to excuse my heartless letting-go of hard working men in this economy, the lawn hadn't had more than a mow and a trim in YEARS.  It was 75 percent serge, dandelion, and some other noxious weed I couldn't identify, and just a little bit of grass.  The grass was hanging on for dear life.  So I organically fertilized and then began weeding and reseeding by hand.  A foot at a time.

The lawn men kept mowing everything.  The new seed, the old weeds.  I couldn't identify and pull the weeds, and my newly seeded grass was doomed.  So that was part of the reason.

I'll bet they laugh at me now.  The lawn is now great huge spots of brown recently seeded fertized ground, remaining serge, and foot long grass.  I'll bet they drive by and make disgusted noises and think 'serves that mean b**** right' when they see it.  It looks like the pelt of some great green molting animal.

I've got a lawn mower.  I bought it new.  I read the manual cover to cover.  And I can't start it.  I thought it was because of something I didn't put together correctly.  Or some basic misunderstanding about the mechanics of the thing, but I finally stooped to ask a young man for help. And he started it right away.

I mowed for a bit and then aggravated the machine in some way and it gave a great 'POP' and died.  I was too embarrassed to ask the young man again, so here I am with a half mowed lawn, weeds, lumps of fertilized as yet ungrown patches.  And a brand new shiny orange lawn mower.

This is my mother's fault. Or my father's.  I give them both equal responsibility for never teaching me this simple task.  I learned to cook, and iron and clean.  I can, resentfully but adequately, feed a room full of hungry men if necessary.

But I can't mow the damned lawn.  That was my brother's job.  That and taking out the trash.  I HAVE mastered that manly task, at least.

Alright it's nobody's fault but my own.  I like the idea of machines.  The plans and instructions.  I love computers.  Clean, transistors and mother boards and neat little cables and stuff.  But oily greasy hot things with metal parts and rows and rows of DANGER in the instructions just never turned my crank. 

I don't like to maintain my automobile either. 

I hang my head in shame.  I am a lousy feminist.

With an ugly lawn.

new things

Firstly, I've finally 'moved in' to my new home.

I like it.  There's a lot more room, and a walled in garden for the dogs.  I've putzed around out there, moving stones and reinforcing walls.  I had some nice men come and take out trees.  I bought patio chairs and I sit at them in the evening, drinking mineral water and almost in tears with gratitude as I watch the sunset from the safety and quiet of my own little yard.  Several years ago times were really tough and I can't forget how close it all was to catastrophe.  This is a blessing and you'd think I'd be throwing parties, painting, decorating, throwing out old crap and generally celebrating owning my first home.

But mostly I've shoved the carefully packed boxes into closets, hunkered down in a chair in the corner of my nearly empty living room and entered a state of shock.

I realize that I don't do well with change.  This is a surprising realization because I imagined myself to still be the wild 19 year old rebel who moved 11 times in one year, dragging 5 boxes of books, an old samsonite suitcase and a skinny yellow cat with me all over Los Angeles.  But age and the various horrible events that life throws at one have made me nervous and careful and hermit-like.  If I didn't have a job I'd probably wander the house in an old stained robe, hair tangled and held haphazardly up with some pins;  spotty glasses crooked on my nose and no make up...  A female version of Howard Hughes in his dotage.

And then (worse!) I stumbled across the works of Alan Hollinghurst and that was my excuse for not attending to anything.  I'm on the fourth book now. 

I've got my desk in a room which will be a library/office.  Such a luxury!  I have an office that doesn't have to do duty as a guest room, or even as a storage room for all of my daughter's memorabilia.  But I can't work in there.  I go in, sit down.  Set my laptop up and look out the window and its just not right.  it's not the window I look out of when I'm working.  The palm tree with the family of rats is gone and there is this weird, foreign stucco wall.  Ugly little succulent ground cover.  A worrying stain of water near the front mat, coming from the house???

I get up from the desk and come back to my chair in the corner of the living room.  So far this is the only place I feel comfortable.  I've got a bunch of books on the boil, but I can't work on them.  I hate this.  It feels awful.

And then there are so many wonderful books to read, and a walled garden to sit in while reading them...

Review: The Line of Beauty

The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



You perhaps shouldn't read this if you haven't yet read the book. it is a little bit spoilerish.

It is apt that the protagonist is a student of Henry James. His prose has a clear precise simplicity that James seemed to avoid, but in many ways they are like. The beautiful rich descriptions of impressions and the emotional effect of objects and people. And, of course, a study of the upper class which seemed, to me, almost predictable.

When I think of the eighties, especially the 'party' days, I think of coke and sex. So many of my friends became addicts, burning through their inheritance, their scholarships, their lives. Happily many of them are now alive and well and clean.

Not so for many of my friends who contracted HIV before there was any medical knowledge of the disease.

It seems horrible in retrospect. But Hollinghurst reminds us of the wonder, and joy and innocence as the decade opened.

There are so many wonderful sentences in the book. So many surprising little humorous moments that sneak up on you. He gets under the skin of things and stays there, moving flawlessly in the protags head, heart.

I just learned that there was a miniseries adapted from this book and that in it the protag 'cons' his way into an upper class family. This isn't at all what motivates the hero of the book. He's really just looking for love...

Beautiful. I've read it twice and set it aside to read again. What a pleasure.



View all my reviews

packing

Yay, escrow closed! The move is on Tuesday. I can't wait to see my dogs scampering around their own yard.

But first I have to pack.

Why do I hate it so much? I'm compulsively organized, so you'd think I would relish putting my world in square neatly labeled boxes. But I HATE it. HATE HATE HATE. It is endless and boring and why oh why did I collect all of this stupid hockey memorabilia? Or these stupid stupid books? Why do I have SO MANY shoes? And electrical cables and plugs and gimcracks I don't even know what they are for? Christmas decorations, Halloween decorations, EASTER DECORATIONS????? What was I thinking? A massive collection of china, why do I collect china? Every surface covered with boxes, stickers and endless endless bubble wrap and tape. ARGH!!! And at the back of the last china cabinet...

... Yay, I found the alcohol.

I can pack tomorrow.

Any hints on how to make it bearable would be appreciated.

On waiting for the sequel...

I'd like a show of hands, please.

Who out there is hopelessly, pathetically addicted to the 'Game of Thrones' series?  Not the television series, but the books?  Spoilers follow if you haven't read all five yet.  Or if you are only watching the television series which, honestly, pales in comparison and is only redeemed by the hot blond chick with the dragons.

And if you have read all the way through to book five, don't tell me how it ends. I am holding off on reading the last chapters, because Ive heard that it takes years for George R. R. Martin to finish these things.  Waiting is unbearable.  The little girl is blind. Who is the young man in the boat with the dwarf?  And what about the dragons?

I expect a satisfying tieing up of threads for all of the surviving characters.  I don't know how he's going to do it.  If you've read the books you were probably as dizzy from the constantly changing points of view as I was.  Dizzy and enthralled and addicted.  How can he possibly wrap all of these story lines up?

The answer is, obviously, he can't.  He's going to have to kill a bunch of them off.

I've been reading series and checking the stacks of book stores for the next issue of my current faves, since long before amazon or kindle, or any kind of internet.  How many of you were hooked on the PD James series?  Mary Stewart's 'Chrystal Cave'?  Ah, god, I thought I'd expire before the last book came out and then I cried all the way through it.  I hate you Mary Stewart! 

Series are cruel and, yet, the best thing evah.  For me, it goes back to comic books and waiting for the next Sandman issue. 

so, I know what it's like.  And I apologize.

heh.  :P

Where have I been?

I'm in escrow. Because my life was not chaotic enough, I decided to go house shopping. I found a suitable place for a suitable price, the seller accepted my offer, everything seemed normal and good to go.

Hah!

I won't bore you with the details. From what I've heard and read, the madness is to be expected. Real Estate agents should give discount coupons for Xanex to prospective home buyers.

I'm pretty well packed, since I expected to move in about ten days. But now, I hear, that is not going to happen. Everybody chuckling and nodding and smiling and telling me this is what happens. Hehehe. I'm not laughing. I'm drinking.

The boxes I've packed in are reused delivery boxes from a doggy boutique, so they smell like dogs and dog food. Which means my apartment and my belongings also smell like dogs and doggy chow. I've got a weeks worth of clothing in the closet and a weeks worth of linens not yet packed. When I do laundry I sit in my robe waiting for it to finish.

The china is packed and I'm eating off of paper plates.

I can't find any of my socks. Anywhere. I think I used them to pack the china.

My dog who worries about everything simply can't handle the stress of his world in boxes. He has thrown up on the carpet several times now, follows me everywhere, is always underfoot, and sleeps wedged under my bed at night. He cries in his sleep.

I think I cry in my sleep, too.

This does not compute

Possible SAT questions:

Are the following statements true or false?:

Less government = government passing laws about what you can do in your bedroom.

Less government = telling women what they can do with their bodies.

Write an essay explaining how giving women control over their own role in procreation (including the right to NOT exercise that control) violates a churches religious rights?

What politician's know about the voting public.

I watch the news while working out. I usually have music on my digital device feeding motivational sound into both ears, so I watch superimposed online text of the dialogue between the newscasters and their interviewees.

Like a certain politician who shall not be named but whose initials are RS.

I can clearly see the semi-sentences... words just dropped there without noun or verb. Emotionally charged words that have no logical connection to the rest of his sentences. Like 'government forcing us to do what we find morally reprehensible' 'first amendment' 'religious rights'. He is not actually talking about something that abridges these rights or forces anyone to do anything, but he is implying it in a mass of gibberish that is merely impressive sound around those key emotional phrases. When you see it all typed out it is very clear. It's how Miss America contestants are trained to answer those questions about 'world peace'.

But this guy is running for President of the United States! He obviously only wants one thing. To beat the man in office and get his own rich friends back in power. Clearly, that is his only platform. The gibberish he is speaking is not a platform. It has as much substance as jello. So, how the hell do people fall for that crap? You know?

So I looked up 'average intelligence in America' on the internet. Oh, yes I did go there. And I found the following interesting info:

The average IQ is, by definition, 100. To get an idea what this means, someone with an IQ of 80 or below is considered to be marginally able to cope with the adult world. People with IQ's of 80 or below typically work as unskilled laborers such as lawn maintenance and trash pickup. They generally need help from friends or family to manage life's complications. About 10% of the population has an IQ of 80 or below.
People with IQ's of 80-90 are a little on the slow side but may be found in fast-food restaurants, day-care centers, etc. They may also be found in unskilled jobs. About 16% of the population has IQ's in this range.
People with IQ's of 90-110 generally occupy semi-skilled positions, including typists, receptionists, assembly line workers, and checkout clerks. They are able to keep up with the world, and comprise about 46% of the public.
People with IQ's in the 110 to 120 range fill the skilled trades and include some tool and die makers, teachers, and Ph. D.'s among their ranks. They also make up 16% of the population.
People with IQ's of 120 and above tend to staff the professions as doctors, dentists, lawyers, teachers, and college professors. They fall in the upper 10% of the population.

Note that, if you do the math, there are more than fifty percent of our adult population with IQ's 'able to keep up with the world' at best. If you talk really fast and use a lot of big words you can fool those people.

This is what politicians know. This is what the 1% know. They know how to make the sheep go baaa and walk into the pens.

I'm worried.

If you want to read more about intelligence and all of the statistics about the statistics, go here: http://hiqnews.megafoundation.org/Definition_of_IQ%27.html

Time is on our side, but still it's nice

I'm sure you've heard, the courts overturned Prop 8 here in California today:

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/lookout/court-overturns-prop-8-california-says-state-t-181451250.html

A cheer travelled down the hallways of the studio as the info came through on tweets, facebook and good ol' fashioned email. The thing is, most people with more than half a brain and/or half a heart already think you should be able to love who you love and take care of them under the law with your social security or health insurance. We all know future generations will look back and shake their heads in disbelief that ANYONE in our era thought gay and bisexual relationships should be stigmatized.

My theory is that it's all about DNA. Some people fear the coming tide because they feel in their gut that their genetic material will be selected out as inferior or just plain evil. Call me elitist. I don't care.

This will be challenged and challenged and then, one day, everyone will just wonder why anyone even questions the rights of individuals who only want to love each other.

my digital life

At 5:30 am I am on an elyptical machine at 'Golds'. My nano is blasting a selection of workout focused music into my head while the T.V. on the elyptical shows the weather and news of the day, with a typed transcript on the bottom of the screen. So I'm listening to Beyonce while watching Newt and Romney argue. It's pitch black out side. The person on the treadmill in front of me has the finest ass I've seen in ages and there's a video screen on the wall beyond that plays a selection of music vids interspersed with diet and exercise advice.

And still I daydream. I see the second to last chapter of the book I'm working on played out in technicolor. I imagine the alternate reality in which I can sing and see myself mixing on the stage behind Beyonce. I visualize fat disappearing from my body like steam rising. And the guy next to me, who is into Wicca, tells me about manifesting magic.

The brain is amazing, infinitely powerful and the best toy ever.

The day the LOLcats died. An anti SOPA video

About SOPA my letter to Dianne Feinstein

My letter to my state senator:

Dear Ms. Feinstein,

I am an author whose books are frequently pirated online. Even though this possibly affects my income, I DO NOT SUPPORT the SOPA act.

I should mention that I do not rely on the sale of my books as my primary income. I may not be injured to the extent that an author, artist or musician may who relies on the sale of his/her digital product to put food on the table and pay rent. But may I just suggest that the people who pirate might not buy the products they steal if they were unable to acquire them illegally? Yes, its wrong, but does it really represent income lost? Perhaps they would simply do without the book/music/movie. I wonder.

In the interest of continued uncensored access to the rest of the world, though, I would willingly sacrifice whatever income I am losing. In truth, I probably already contribute more money to political organizations than I lose to pirates. But I'd be willing to contribute more to keep the internet free.

If you want to know more about the act, see this article: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/18/sopa-5-things-you-should-_n_1213797.html

And if you are an American citizen, please call your senator. They will be voting on this soon.

Why the Broncos lost so badly... one woman's opinion.

Okay, I'd drunk the Tebow Koolaid. I was rooting for the underdogs. Until that awful 'focus on the family' ad that appeared part way through the first half of the playoff game between the Broncos and the Patriots.

Oh, come on, you can't tell me they didn't put that there because Tebow has demonstrated his faith repeatedly on the field. Not that I have issues with his faith. Good for him. Weird that he has to keep doing it. I mean, does he not think God knows how he feels? Hmm. Seems like a mini commercial there to me. But whatever. Good for him.

But that ad really burned me.

And then I was screaming 'kill them'. For the next three quarters. And the Lord Almighty did.

I think God looked down and said, 'I do NOT support those people'. And he smote the Broncos bad.

Of course the Patriots rocked but I think that ad had something to do with it. Denver was holding their own until that ad.

Football lovers '1' Haters '0'

Ha.

Should I try to self-publish Kindle books on Amazon?

It looks so easy.

It has always seemed irresistibly magical to me, when something that was once difficult suddenly becomes easy. I can't keep my hands off it. For instance: Thai food. There was a time when I had to drive all the way into the city for Thai food. I lived in the boonies of Chicago suburbs and the most exotic food one could find locally was Taco Bell. So when I moved to Los Angeles and Thai food was abundant and available for delivery I could not stop ordering it. Until I od'd on msg one Saturday night and was cured of the craving.

I've got a Kindle. Because I can not get over the wonder of having a book delivered to me instantly. Instantly. God, how awesome is that? I have heard and understand all of the issues with Kindle and Amazon. Sure sure sure, but its so cool, isn't it? So easy.

Now, I've got a small stack of stories of varying lengths featuring Elves, Fairies, Banshees, Ogres, Leprachauns and a few odd Bogeymen lying about on my laptop. I'm working on them with an eye toward various epub houses. But then I thought, hey! I could self-pub them. Wouldn't that be cool? To pub my own books and have them available to people via instant electronic delivery? Pretty neat. I could sell them for just a dollar, design my own book covers, and just have fun with it. No worries about sales or house standards. To smex or not to smex. Just stories about the Fae.

But I'm looking at the Kindle instructions on Amazon and they have a CONTENT stipulation. As in, no so-called pornography. And I'm guessing that smex between consulting Fairies is perceived as porn by some. So, what does that mean? Is this some ugly area that I should just avoid?

Or would it be the super coolest thing evah?

How to Manage Your Money Plant

A co-worker came up with the title when he saw me watering my 'lucky' money plant in the sink. "Sounds like the title to a blog," I said. And so, since I'm desperately trying to think of up ideas with which to fill this blog, I stole it. Because that's how I roll.

Here's the thing about the money plant. Feng Shui dictates that one take great care of the damned thing or ill fortune might befall ones actual finances. Or at least that's the way I interpret the Feng Shui strictures about plants and lucky 'cures'. And because I superstitiously fear a direct relationship between the darned plant and my bank account, I tend it religiously.

It occurs to me that I put a lot less energy into my relationships with real live people. I don't check to see that my friendships are not drying up, or needing more sun. I don't worry about feeding or trimming my communications with my relatives, who live far away. In other words, I'm more worried about my so-called luck than I am about my real life.

Now when I look at the plant I feel guilty. How is that supposed to help anything?

But I can't get rid of it. Geez, I can't even imagine what would happen to me if I threw it away. Or gave it away. Or let it die. Lets face it, the plant owns me.

Getting out there

I've made a small resolution to post more frequently. We'll see how I do.

The problem is, I don't seem to have much to report most days. This is my life: I get up before dawn, take my (3) dogs for a mile or so hike in the dark. Drive to the Gold's gym. Sweat for an hour and a half, trying not to stare at the hard bodies around me. Drive home. Shower and dress and go to work.

Work. I wish I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you.

I'm home by 8pm. Walk the dogs again. Make dinner. Frequently fall asleep before finishing dinner. And get a few hours sleep before the alarm goes off and I do it all again.

Somewhere in there I write. I carry the books around on my lap top so location doesn't much matter to me. I have headphones and I block out the world and type away. This is one reason that I publish unevenly and sporadically. Somewhere in there, also, I watch movies. I have to. Its like a homework assignment. I have to see them at the theater, too. At least, quite a few of them.

What a pain, right?

I have other hobbies! I knit. With me, its less a craft and more a furious venting of anxiety and fussiness into a ball of yarn via bamboo knitting needles.

And I have a child and friends. All of whom despair of ever seeing me again.

I wish I didn't have to sleep.

What Genre do you like me to write?

I've written vampire, banshees and vice cops. There's an odd little angel story out there, also. I've written characters and romances for lesbian, gay and het. I don't think of myself as having a 'genre' but I wonder if readers expect a certain sort of book from me?

I ask because I'm currently laboring in my so-called spare time on a contemporary fairy fic. The concern is that readers would be wary of reading elves and the like if I penned it.

What do you think?