50 Authors from 50 States: Krista Lynn, Kenneth Weene and Heidi Thomas: Sha...
50 Authors from 50 States: Krista Lynn, Kenneth Weene and Heidi Thomas: Sha...: We Begin with Krista Lynn: Mother Earth and Father Sky This is Arizona What I experienced as a child growing up wild on the desert of Ari...
At least it wasn't a popcorn fire
Note: This is from late November, back before the snow flew. I held onto it, hoping some pictures that involved no snow would cheer me up come winter. They didn't.
A few photos of Albion firefighters refilling a brush truck's water tank and preparing to go back into service, after fighting a cornfield fire north of Albion. No serious damage was reported, although the fire did threaten a combine operating in the field. It was that time of year when farmers were hurrying to get their harvest done before winter weather sets in.
A few photos of Albion firefighters refilling a brush truck's water tank and preparing to go back into service, after fighting a cornfield fire north of Albion. No serious damage was reported, although the fire did threaten a combine operating in the field. It was that time of year when farmers were hurrying to get their harvest done before winter weather sets in.
January Brings Revision Weather
I haven't really given a full report on how National Novel Writing Month went for me way back ... gee, was that a whole month ago?
My NaNoWriMo novel, Fire On Mist Creek, topped out at 58,735 words on around November 26. I even managed to write a few hundred more words on a short story before the thirty day period was up, so all in all it went pretty darned well. Of course, as I've mentioned before, I started November 1st with a full (if messy) outline, character sketches, and other research all done.
But things happen, and I now face major rewrites. One scene is going to be replaced, a character is going to make more appearances and be more antagonistic, and another character just popped into existence in the next to last chapter and now has to be back-written into the story. I also need to add more description. One can't just spend a single month writing a story and be done with it. Well, most of us can't.
December got crazy, as December tends to do. there's still some craziness to come in January, but just the same, it'll be time to start the whole process again. Editing, polishing, submitting, promoting, tracking down agents, editors, and cheerleaders (also knows as reviewers, bloggers, and word of mouth ... mouthers), planning the new books and pushing the old ones, stuff ... things.
It's either that or go outside. In January--no contest.
My NaNoWriMo novel, Fire On Mist Creek, topped out at 58,735 words on around November 26. I even managed to write a few hundred more words on a short story before the thirty day period was up, so all in all it went pretty darned well. Of course, as I've mentioned before, I started November 1st with a full (if messy) outline, character sketches, and other research all done.
But things happen, and I now face major rewrites. One scene is going to be replaced, a character is going to make more appearances and be more antagonistic, and another character just popped into existence in the next to last chapter and now has to be back-written into the story. I also need to add more description. One can't just spend a single month writing a story and be done with it. Well, most of us can't.
December got crazy, as December tends to do. there's still some craziness to come in January, but just the same, it'll be time to start the whole process again. Editing, polishing, submitting, promoting, tracking down agents, editors, and cheerleaders (also knows as reviewers, bloggers, and word of mouth ... mouthers), planning the new books and pushing the old ones, stuff ... things.
It's either that or go outside. In January--no contest.
 |
| This is both stuff and things. |
50 Authors from 50 States: About the AVL
50 Authors from 50 States: About the AVL: Happy New Year! Welcome my blog and some awesome opportunities for readers to win and writing professionals to get the word out about thei...
The 21st Century is old enough to vote!
Happy New Year!
Well. That was kind of anticlimactic, wasn't it? I was at work when the ball dropped, and we were busy enough that I missed it.
I don't do resolutions per se, although I do resolve every year to look up what per se means. My goals remain the same as they are every year: Write, sell my writing, give other people a little smile when I can, avoid negative people to the extent possible (that's a really hard one), and avoid pointless arguments with people who aren't willing to consider all sides of an issue (that's a really, really hard one). The latter explains why I continue to avoid talking politics.
So instead of negative stuff, here's Emily with grand-baby Lilli. Happy New Year!
Well. That was kind of anticlimactic, wasn't it? I was at work when the ball dropped, and we were busy enough that I missed it.
I don't do resolutions per se, although I do resolve every year to look up what per se means. My goals remain the same as they are every year: Write, sell my writing, give other people a little smile when I can, avoid negative people to the extent possible (that's a really hard one), and avoid pointless arguments with people who aren't willing to consider all sides of an issue (that's a really, really hard one). The latter explains why I continue to avoid talking politics.
So instead of negative stuff, here's Emily with grand-baby Lilli. Happy New Year!
It's that cold
You know it's cold when the weather forecasters are happy about a warmup coming in a week, even though it's still not going to reach freezing.
 |
| I just threw in this photo because if you look closely, you can see the ice patterns on the glass. |
I hope you winter lovers are satisfied
Well, everybody wanted a white Christmas. There you go, if you live around here: White Christmas. So, Christmas is over now. It can all ... un-whiten up. Here, let me check the forecast.
Nope.
Some people out there say they like long, cold winters. We have a word for that: lunatic fringe. Okay, two words, and a few others I'd add if this wasn't a family column. Well, it looks like they're going to be getting their wish this time around.
I hope they're satisfied.
I hope they're freaking satisfied.
Because I just saw a nine day forecast that never hits twenty for high temps, but goes into minus territory for lows. That's Fahrenheit, people. I learned to spell it just for this.
For several years now, I've predicted that the next winter is going to be a particularly cold, snowy one here in northern Indiana, which used to be the very heart of cold, snowy winters. (Yeah, yeah, I know, Alaska and North Dakota for cold, Vermont and Main for snow, blah blah.) Being an eternal pessimist in the area of winter, my feeling has been that every mild winter gets us one year closer to an un-mild winter, and it's better to be pleasantly surprised compared to just being unpleasant. So every fall, I predict a horrible winter.
It just goes to prove rule #14 of weather forecasting, which is: If you forecast the same thing all the time, sooner or later you'll be right. (Rule #7 continues to be never invade Russia in the winter.)
I was enjoying global warning too much, that's the problem. What the heck, I'm a thousand feet above sea level. More, from my bedroom. We've been getting very mild winters, but the summers haven't seemed unusually hot at all ... or maybe we were just used to them. My wife thought our winters were still cold, but she's from southern Missouri, where the insect problem lessons in July because bugs burst spontaneously into flame. They literally have fireflies.
But I remember the early 80s, right after I became a volunteer firefighter. I joined up on my 18th birthday, which was in July; if I'd known what was coming in January, I'd probably have stayed home and taken up a solitaire hobby. Or a solitary hobby. Or a solitary solitaire hobby. I'm such a card.
I remember coming home from fires and standing my fire coat up, because I couldn't bend it to hang it up. It would be frozen solid. I had a reputation of fighting to be the guy on the nozzle, but it had nothing to do with being brave or some kind of action hero: The nozzle guy was closest to the flames. It was the only place on the fireground that was warm. My fire gloves once froze to a ladder. I had to leave them hanging, literally. Once, during the late stages of a mobile home fire, the regulator on my breathing air tank froze up while I was inside, which is to say it stopped flowing air to my mask. You'd think I wouldn't have minded, since the air was cold, but the whole experience just left me breathless.
But at least back then every joint in my body didn't hurt whenever the temperature fell below forty. I felt the snowstorm that led to this cold snap coming in, and by "felt" I mean I could barely move despite unsafe levels of ibuprofen. When did I become a human barometer? And what kind of a lame superpower is that?
I guess what I'm saying is, winter just isn't my season. But some of you people out there want it. Well, you're going to get a good, long, frozen taste of it this year, and I hope you put your tongue to it and get stuck there for months.
I also hope you're freaking satisfied.
Nope.
Some people out there say they like long, cold winters. We have a word for that: lunatic fringe. Okay, two words, and a few others I'd add if this wasn't a family column. Well, it looks like they're going to be getting their wish this time around.
I hope they're satisfied.
I hope they're freaking satisfied.
Because I just saw a nine day forecast that never hits twenty for high temps, but goes into minus territory for lows. That's Fahrenheit, people. I learned to spell it just for this.
For several years now, I've predicted that the next winter is going to be a particularly cold, snowy one here in northern Indiana, which used to be the very heart of cold, snowy winters. (Yeah, yeah, I know, Alaska and North Dakota for cold, Vermont and Main for snow, blah blah.) Being an eternal pessimist in the area of winter, my feeling has been that every mild winter gets us one year closer to an un-mild winter, and it's better to be pleasantly surprised compared to just being unpleasant. So every fall, I predict a horrible winter.
It just goes to prove rule #14 of weather forecasting, which is: If you forecast the same thing all the time, sooner or later you'll be right. (Rule #7 continues to be never invade Russia in the winter.)
I was enjoying global warning too much, that's the problem. What the heck, I'm a thousand feet above sea level. More, from my bedroom. We've been getting very mild winters, but the summers haven't seemed unusually hot at all ... or maybe we were just used to them. My wife thought our winters were still cold, but she's from southern Missouri, where the insect problem lessons in July because bugs burst spontaneously into flame. They literally have fireflies.
But I remember the early 80s, right after I became a volunteer firefighter. I joined up on my 18th birthday, which was in July; if I'd known what was coming in January, I'd probably have stayed home and taken up a solitaire hobby. Or a solitary hobby. Or a solitary solitaire hobby. I'm such a card.
I remember coming home from fires and standing my fire coat up, because I couldn't bend it to hang it up. It would be frozen solid. I had a reputation of fighting to be the guy on the nozzle, but it had nothing to do with being brave or some kind of action hero: The nozzle guy was closest to the flames. It was the only place on the fireground that was warm. My fire gloves once froze to a ladder. I had to leave them hanging, literally. Once, during the late stages of a mobile home fire, the regulator on my breathing air tank froze up while I was inside, which is to say it stopped flowing air to my mask. You'd think I wouldn't have minded, since the air was cold, but the whole experience just left me breathless.
But at least back then every joint in my body didn't hurt whenever the temperature fell below forty. I felt the snowstorm that led to this cold snap coming in, and by "felt" I mean I could barely move despite unsafe levels of ibuprofen. When did I become a human barometer? And what kind of a lame superpower is that?
I guess what I'm saying is, winter just isn't my season. But some of you people out there want it. Well, you're going to get a good, long, frozen taste of it this year, and I hope you put your tongue to it and get stuck there for months.
I also hope you're freaking satisfied.
 |
| "Well ... I like it." |
Jilly got a Lilli for her birthday
Happy birthday to my youngest, Jillian, who got a very special early birthday present this year:
So Jill and Lillianna will share the same birth month, along with my wife, her father, Jesus, Stan Lee, and several other people in the extended family. We'll just call it a party month.
Here are the birthday girls along with dad, Doug Mapes:
Happy birthday, Jill! Something tells me that coffee maker we got you is going to get quite a workout for the next eighteen years or so. Love you guys!
Here are the birthday girls along with dad, Doug Mapes:
Happy birthday, Jill! Something tells me that coffee maker we got you is going to get quite a workout for the next eighteen years or so. Love you guys!
 |
| That's sister/aunt Charis in the background. It's my turn to hold the baby, Charis! |
T'was the Poem Before Christmas
I’ve
been going through all the boxes of old paperwork in my garage attic—there were
a lot of them—and I stumbled across some of my old columns. How old? Well, so
old they’ve never appeared online.
There
was a time when stuff didn’t appear online. No, really.
Since
time has been very short lately (see above note about going through stuff, and
also recently born grandbaby), I’m posting this as my annual Christmas column,
a little more faith based than my usual fare … and you’d have never known it
wasn’t brand new if I hadn’t told you. Well, except it mentions my youngest
daughter’s fascination with Sailor Moon, which dates back to the turn of the
century.
I’m
typing this in without reading it first … I wonder if it’s any good?
SLIGHTLY
OFF THE MARK
Twas’
the night before Christmas, and all through the house
No
noise could be heard but the click of my mouse
As
I searched on the net for some gifts I could use,
To
keep the kids happy, and thus stop abuse.
The
reason, for me, was that Christmas meant presents,
And
a lack of the same could make my life unpleasant.
For
I have two daughters, who I thought could be mean,
Because
one still knows Santa, and the other’s a teen.
So
I surfed on the net, and I found Sailor Moon
Comics,
two dolls, and all things cartoon.
For
the old: books, tapes, her piece of the pie,
And
she wanted orange clothing—don’t’ ask me why.
So
my credit card screamed as I roamed cyberspace,
Begging
for mercy while I wore down its face.
My
bank account suffered, collapsed, and then died.
No
team from “ER” could keep it alive.
Headlong
for bankruptcy, I found myself hurrying.
Yes,
I was broke, but I wasn’t worrying.
After
all, I was experiencing the joy of giving,
And
that seemed to me the way to be living.
Then
in my computer I heard such a clatter,
I
thought it was crashing! Almost emptied my bladder.
A
new icon appeared on my desktop display:
“Press
here for Santa—now, don’t delay!”
With
a trembling hand I ran virus scans first,
But
it said “nothing detected” so it wasn’t the worst.
I
couldn’t resist; the button I pushed,
And
suddenly Santa appeared with a “whoosh”.
Although
no longer fat, he still had that grin.
“My
wife gets the credit for the shape that I’m in.
The
doc said lose weight or one day I’ll keel over,
So
Mrs. Claus feeds me stuff that tastes just like clover.”
“You’re
looking good, Santa,” I had to agree.
“And
you’re in my computer—high tech now, I see.”
But
something about my words made him frown:
“That’s
why I’m here: You’ve got it all turned around.”
“But
Santa,” I told him, “I’m into the spirit.
This
stuff isn’t for me—I wouldn’t hear it!
I
like buying for kids, it’s the spirit of giving;
Thinking
not of yourself is the way to be living.”
He
shook his head sadly. “You just don’t understand.
A
big present exchange isn’t what should be planned.
What
good does it do? What do your kids learn?
To
get lots of things? To spend more than you earn?”
I
sat there in shock—didn’t know what to say.
This
didn’t sound like our Santa today.
“Why
do you say this? You sound kind of blue.
Is
material hoopla getting you, too?”
“It
was different before,” Santa said with a frown.
“There
wasn’t this focus on cost all around.
People
were thankful, whatever they got;
Gifts
came from the heart, that’s what they were taught.”
“Do
you think what they want, or what you think is nice?
Do
you buy best for each, or balance out price?
I
know you like giving, but is that what they learn?
Or
do they just know ‘get’ and you’ve money to burn?”
“All
the gifts in the world don’t play a part
In
the meaning of Christmas if He’s not in your heart.
And
you know who He is! So get off your can.
If
you can’t afford gifts make your kids understand.”
And
then he was gone. He left no gifts from his sack.
But
he did leave some interesting thoughts to take back
To
consider for people who go fret and worry
About
gifts and cards and the holiday hurry.
There’s
nothing wrong with having a nice holiday
(At
least until January’s bill paying day.)
But
Santa’s not the Big Guy of the season, you see.
So
relax and have fun … don’t just load up the tree.
Merry Christmas!
 |
| It's the Santa Mafia! And they're going to make you a present you can't refuse. |
Happy Short First Winter Day Birthday, Emily
It's the shortest day of the year, and the first day of winter.
But on the brighter side, all the days are getting longer after this, and it's the birthday of my wonderful wife, Emily.
It's been a rough year for Emily, and she deserves more than my usual lame and last-minute acknowledgements of special dates. Just the same, I try to make her aware every day that I love her more than chocolate. That's a big deal for me. I really love chocolate.
And I love you, Emily. Just as the days got brighter after you were born, my life got brighter after we met.
But on the brighter side, all the days are getting longer after this, and it's the birthday of my wonderful wife, Emily.
 |
| She has an animal attraction. |
And I love you, Emily. Just as the days got brighter after you were born, my life got brighter after we met.
 |
| "You'd better not be taking my picture while I'm trying to make a left turn." |
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