Fifty Authors from Fifty States: Aloha From Hawaii and Resident Mary Deal
Fifty Authors from Fifty States: Aloha From Hawaii and Resident Mary Deal: Kauai, where I live, is the northern-most island in the Hawaiian archipelago and the most remote land mass on earth! The serenity of th...
allergic to needles
I had an allergic reaction to my allergy shot.
Now I know the true definition of irony.
Why Amazon Ratings Aren't On A Roll
Those of you who are curious about
whether Amazon book rankings are a good measure of selling success might be
interested in this story:
On January 30th, my Amazon
ranking was 352,039. Two days later two of my books were sold through
Amazon—just two (as far as I can tell), but within just hours of each other.
My Amazon ranking shot to 6,093.
So it’s kind of cool to find yourself
with a high ranking, but it’s not a measure that you’re rolling in new readers.
Just the same, I’ll still shoot for
number one when “No Campfire, Girls” comes
up in a couple of months!
Singing the Snow Blues
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
Okay, okay, we get it: Mother
Nature’s in charge.
Back in 1978 I wrote in my high
school paper that I got cabin fever and opened a window, only to be buried in a
collapsing drift. My attitude toward winter hasn’t changed. Winter itself did
for a while, taking a temporary break … maybe vacationing in Siberia. Now it’s
back, and as sometimes happens when people return from a break, it’s back with
a vengeance.
(When I get back from vacation, I
just want more vacation.)
We got within a smidgen (technical
term, there) of hitting the all-time record amount of snow for winter in this
area, at an estimated forty stories. The only thing standing in our way is one
winter in the early 80’s, when we had so much snow the spring melt formed Lake
Mississippi.
We also
broke five low temperature records this winter. At least one of the old records
dates back to the winter after I was born; imagine a six month old in a house
heated by one coal-burning furnace, with temperatures in the minus teens.
That’s how I grew up to be me.
There have
been many songs written about snow. My favorite title is by Frank Zappa: “Don’t
Eat The Yellow Snow”. Very good advice, especially in a household like mine (with
a dog).
Speaking of
dogs, the first time I let mine out after the last big snowstorm he took two
steps into the back yard, sank up to his chest (he weighs almost 100 pounds) then
turned around to stare at me. I know exactly what he was thinking: “You want me
to go out in that?”
I shoveled
him a pee place. Yes, I did, and maybe someday I’ll write a song about that.
Some people
feel differently about snow, although this year more of them seem to be coming
over to my side. From a music standpoint, there’s actually a group called Snow
Patrol. They had to change their phone number. People kept calling: “I got your
snow right here! You don’t need to patrol for it!”
There’s a
character in a TV show called “The Year Without a Santa Claus” named Snow
Miser. Gotta be the bad guy, right? Here are some lyrics from his song:
“I’m Mister White Christmas, I’m Mister Snow
I’m Mister Icicle, I’m Mister Ten Below.
Friends call me Snow Miser, whatever I touch
Turns to snow in my clutch. I’m too much!”
Yes, you
are. And what, you have friends?
Several
weeks ago I watched White Christmas. I thought it was a horror movie; turns out
it’s a musical. Or maybe it is a horror flick, considering these lyrics from
the song—yes—“Snow”:
“It won’t’ be long before we’ll all be there with snow.
Snow!
I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow.”
Yeah, and I
want to have you committed. I hope at least you’re not washing with the yellow
snow.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers seemed to
more or less like it in their song “Snow (Hey Oh)”, which I would have titled
“Snow (Oh No)”. In fact, I would have changed these lyrics:
“Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it’s so white as snow.”
To:
“Buried in my covers I scream out my horrors
Of another &%#@! Foot of snow.”
Why, yes, I am searching for a job
as a lyricist … say in Los Angeles, where it gets cold so seldom that an inch
of snow can bring out the National Guard.
Anyway, I
didn’t take the time to write my own song about snow, because my fingers can
only type for so long before I have to soak them in hot water. So instead, I
took a famous “Christmas” song, “Let It Snow”—which has nothing to do with
Christmas at all—and put in more realistic lyrics:
Well, the snow just keeps on flying,
Stupid groundhog wasn’t lying.
Into cabin fever hell we go;
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
This cursed white fluff ain’t stopping.
We’ll soon starve without some shopping.
There’s no way to get out we know,
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
Someday the days could turn nice,
I’d pay for that with my own blood.
But I know that we’d pay the price:
When the snow melts into a big flood.
I feel like my soul is dying
If my outlook changed I’d be lying.
I’m tired of this ice show:
Stop the snow, stop the snow, stop the snow!
Fifty Authors from Fifty States: Ana‘Gia Wright’s Southern Comfort of Georgia
Fifty Authors from Fifty States: Ana‘Gia Wright’s Southern Comfort of Georgia: I’m a firm believer that reading and writing go hand and hand. A southerner through and through, I love my Georgia peaches and pecans...
Windchaser's Journey: Who's the Black Widow's Baby Daddy?
Windchaser's Journey: Who's the Black Widow's Baby Daddy?: Recently, it was announced that actress Scarlett Johansson is pregnant with her first child--just as Avengers: Age of Ultron is about to be...
Working titles
My working
title for the Girl Scout story will be “No
Campfire, Girls”, which is certainly better than the “Burning Brownies” that someone suggested!
Meanwhile,
the working title of my “space opera” novella, which is flirting with becoming
a novel, is: “Beowulf: In Harm’s Way”.
Or possibly “The Beowulf: In Harm’s Way”, since that’s the name of a ship.
My Writing Time Isn't Swelling As Much As My Elbow
You’d think only being able to
sleep three or four hours at a stretch would increase my writing time.
Unfortunately, some of the other side-effects of Prednisone—nausea, headache,
tiredness, and don’t get me started on night sweats—have slowed me down. Worse,
I haven’t experienced the side-effect I hoped for: loss of appetite.
But at least my arm feels better.
Oh, wait … no, it doesn’t.
But I’ve been reading more, so
there’s that. Also, we’ve edged closer to finishing preparations for the Girl
Scout story, with the aim of having it on the “shelves” before the end of
spring. Only four votes were received on the poll for a title, with “Best
Session Ever” getting two and the other two split between “No Campfire, Girls”
and “Who Keeps Singing?” (Although “No Campfire, Girls” is leading in comments.)
Some other interesting ideas came
in. Jane and Lance
Hattatt suggested “Girls On Fire”, which
should not be taken literally. (No girls were harmed in the writing of this
novella.) An honest to goodness Scout vet, April Isbell, suggested “Lackablazical”, which is kind of an inside joke and
brilliant, but maybe too obscure.
Then
there’s the fact that I still haven’t named my actual group, which is currently
going by “Yellowbirds” for no good reason other than that it’s not “Girl Scouts”.
Considering Emily’s half done with the
cover material and the story’s pretty much ready to be formatted, I’d better
get cracking. And by that, I don’t mean my elbow.
Speak of the Devil: A Day In The Life Of A Dog
Speak of the Devil: A Day In The Life Of A Dog: Before I get started on the first of two dog and cat blogs, some links to see to. Check out Norma's blog for a look at God's sens...
The Crystal Leather Anniversary
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
It occurs
to me that this column comes out on March 5th, my third wedding
anniversary.
And by
“occurs”, I mean my wife reminded me.
As I wrote
a few years ago, it wasn’t supposed to be our “real” wedding. Our intention was
to get married here in Indiana, then have a bigger celebration in her home
state of Missouri. The first wedding was exactly the kind most guys want: Get
it done and over with:
“Mark,
ya’ll wanna?”
“Well …
ouch! Yep.”
“Emily,
ya’ll wanna?”
“I get his
stuff?”
“Yep.”
“Why not?”
“By the
authority of the World Wide Web Church Of Nigerian Princes, ya’ll is hitched.”
Just like
that. Well, except without the accents, or the hesitation, or the questionable
legality. Okay, really not like that at all.
But things
happened: medical stuff, money stuff, bad timing stuff. Basically, real life.
While we still intend to have that down south celebration, it’s far too late
for that be our “real” anniversary.
March 5th
isn’t so bad, because isn’t March when things start to warm up, the snow melts
away, and we see the first signs of nature’s renewal? Okay, not this year, but
still.
So what do
we do for our anniversary? For early March, my idea included a trip to a place
where you can sit on the beach without seeing chunks of ice, unless it’s the
ice in your drinks.
Then I
checked my bank account. There will be no dunes this anniversary, unless you
count snowdrifts in the back yard.
As I
mentioned in my Valentine’s Day column, I really stink at this kind of thing.
So, for what to get my wife for our third anniversary I consulted a trusted
source: Wikipedia.
Wikipedia
is an internet website in which any Joe and his brother, and his brother’s dog
(with internet access) can put in information, so it has to be always accurate.
Right? So I asked it about wedding anniversaries, and this is the first line:
“A wedding
anniversary is the anniversary of the date a wedding took place.”
Why, thank
you, Captain Obvious.
But what
should I get her as a present? Or should I just skip that and move a couch out
to the garage? Too cold for that. So, it turns out there are two kinds of
anniversary gift lists: the traditional one, and a “modern” list created by
librarians at the Chicago Public Library.
If you need
to know something ask a librarian. If they don’t know the answer, it’s not
worth knowing.
So, the
modern suggested gift is crystal and/or glass. Okay. Crystal! Snowflakes are
crystals; I’ll just get her a bowl of snow. Salt’s a crystal; Pass the salt at
dinner, and done. Or salt the snow! But no way could it be that easy.
I could go
with glass—new windows for the house. I know she wants new windows, but that
also seemed a bit too easy.
So I went
to the internet again and asked what the difference is between crystal and
glass. Turns out the librarians are talking about glass kitchen stuff, like
glasses (which, duh) and bowls, and other breakables. As that last word
implies, glass kitchen stuff doesn’t last long around my house.
So, what’s
crystal? It turns out crystal is just glass, with the addition of at least 24%
of … lead.
I thought
lead was bad. Although I ate lead paint chips as a child, but it never seemed
to have any ill … what were we talking about?
Okay, then what’s the
traditional third anniversary gift? Turns out, according to the unimpeachable
Wikipedia, it’s leather.
One can go
two ways on the subject of leather anniversary presents. The first, which I
call “50 Shades of Leather”, is questionable for a column that aims to bore
people of all ages. Okay, so what about the second? Exactly when did leather
become the ideal anniversary gift? Did women of olden times have a lot of
leather underwear? That would explain why the women in old photos always looked
so dour: They weren’t chaffing only because they couldn’t vote.
Armed with
this, I knew instantly what my wife would like for our third anniversary: Tack.
For those of you who don’t know (I didn’t, until my horse-loving wife told me),
tack is all that stuff that goes on horses while they’re being ridden, like the
reins, and the bridle (which isn’t related to brides at all), and bits, which
are apparently the stuff that the horses bite. Better it than me.
So tack for
my wife, who loves horses, and I actually did some window shopping before I
remembered we had no horse. Just a horse-sized dog.
This whole
time something had been bothering me, something niggling at the back of my
mind. I’d been ignoring that as I searched for leather and crystal, or maybe crystal
leather, which might be a brilliant invention and forget it, it’s mine. Finally
I went back to the column I wrote just after we married, in which I described
the wedding situation. Maybe I’d forgotten some detail.
I read the
thing through twice. It wasn’t one of my best. Finally, something caught my
interest: The date. I posted it on March 14th …
2012.
This isn’t
our third anniversary. It’s our second
anniversary.
So I’m off
to find some China, thanks to the librarians. Or some cotton, thanks to someone
from Medieval days. Or, I don’t know, a cotton plant made of China.
Anybody want some crystal leather?
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