On Math, Cold Snaps, and Dogs on the Sofa

A lot of people say they hated math when they were in school. When I was a kid, I didn’t mind math. (At least not until I got to trigonometry. I still have no idea what trigonometry was, or what it was for.) What I minded was every day trying to grasp a new arithmetic concept, finally having it click—and then having to move on to yet another tricky concept almost immediately.

Frankly, once I finally understood how to add a column of numbers, I wanted to do it for a while. Relax, kick back, put some music on and add a few lines of numbers.

Kind of like knitting. I learned one stitch to begin with, and then made garter stitch scarves for months. Eventually it became boring and I decided to add the purl stitch, but it was in my own time.

Not like in math class, where the minute I understood about adding two columns, they made me add three. Or multiply them. Or draw that little scaffold and learn to divide them. Don’t even get me started.

Unfortunately, I’m discovering that life is more like math class than like knitting. It’s more of an education, I guess, than a leisurely hobby. In life, like math, I don’t seem to be able to relax and bask in “getting it,” in figuring out a problem or solving an issue, before an even more complicated one takes its place.

My relationship with animals is the perfect example. Along with my mother, sister, and husband, I am constantly trying to rescue or help some stray cat or dog. They all come with problems. They all tend to CAUSE problems. We stress and scheme and figure out what to do—and another problem comes along.
This boy (who is going to be the subject of a couple of in-depth posts in the next week or two) is a perfect example.

This is Pegasus Pete, the Pet Pit Puppy. In other words, a pit bull—the kind of dog my family and I always said we would never have. Just asking for trouble, and all that. Those dogs’ll turn on you! (That’s what we heard, anyway.)

But thanks to someone who abandoned him at my elderly mother's house, we have Pete. And we’ve worked out his stealing food from the cats, and stealing their beds (solution: a gated cat sanctuary on one porch) and getting out in the road (solution: extremely expensive fence), and running away from potential adoptive parents and getting lost (solution: go find him and keep him forever), and oh, a whole lot of things. But he has been strictly an outside dog all these months. But that’s okay. We live in Georgia, right? Mild weather and all that.

I know that, compared to a large portion of the country, this will sound very paltry, but suddenly, just when I felt that all was right in our animal world, I hear that the temperature is going to plunge to 12 degrees two nights in a row. And there are all those adopted strays, including several cats and Pete the Pit, who need a warm place to stay.

A new animal problem. Imagine that.

My mother and sister let several outdoors-only stray cats sleep in a guest room last night. So this evening, I will be helping my mother rehang the curtains they tore down and do something with the shredded window shade. Not sure what else I will find. She says I “won’t believe that room.” She’s probably right.

I thought I was getting the hard part. Pete came home with me--his first time inside a house! But he was a very good boy, just nervous. After being dumped as a five-month-old, he has abandonment issues, so he whined when we left him in a kennel in another room to sleep, and he wasn’t really happy until he got back home to my mother’s front porch.

But he did discover that he really likes my comfy

sofa. And he enjoyed watching Parks and Rec with me.

And it makes me smile that he knows that--finally!--he has a home.

Snow is Creepy

When you're a native Georgia girl, snow can be a little bit creepy. Especially when your husband is out of the country, you're all alone in the house, and the snow is falling so hard that you can barely see. I've read horror novels that begin that way.

This was the view of our back yard and shed from the doorway when the snow first started falling. It got more impressive over the next hour or so, but I only had my cell phone for taking pictures (my husband has the camera with him in Chile). So I never managed to capture how beautiful it was. And creepy.

It's been a strange weekend. Yesterday was warm with rain and thunder and tornado warnings all day long. Typical spring weather. When I got up this morning, it was still fairly warm, but then the temperature plummeted. Suddenly we're back to winter.

Dave is in Chile for six weeks, where they're reaching the end of their summer season. I teased him that he's missing the entire Georgia winter and that it will be spring when he gets back next weekend. I may have been right. Next weekend, the high is supposed to be 78 degrees.

That's Georgia for you!

While His Wife is Making Up Stories...

While his wife is struggling to make up good adventures, my husband Dave is off having real ones in the wilds of Chile. He's working down there for six weeks. I'll let him tell you about his weekend:

The day started with me buying a cup of the strongest coffee I ever drank in my entire life. I learned that even though a company is a U.S. company, that doesn't mean the employees speak a word of English. I now know how to ask for a "cafe grande" at the Dunkin Donuts shop.

I met up with William "Willy" Tang (grew up in San Francisco...works in Miami) and we were picked up by a local tour guide. We were told the night before someone would come around and pick us up and take us to the Maipo Valley and the cost would be 180,000 pesos, or 240 dollars. I wouldn't normally spend that kind of money, but after things worked out like they did, I was glad I did.

First we met the tour guide Natural (the closest we could come to his name in Spanish). He then introduced us to Jorge, the driver. And then if that wasn't enough, we met up with a "trekking guide" Rodrique (Rod). He was running late, so we did a little shopping (little tents set up for weekend selling) in San Jose de Maipo, the little town where we met the trekking guide. Once we connected with Rod, we started up into the mountains in the van. The road soon became something that only vaguely resembled a road. We were moving slowly up the mountain. Finally we made it up to a little open area where some kids and a dog were playing and parked. Rod went up to the house and apparently obtained permission for us to use the trail. When he returned, we started up the mountain.

Since Willy is an entomologist, he had an insect net and an aspirator and was collecting insects as we went. We would turn around and Willy would be nowhere in sight. Finally Rod said, through Natural, "We will have some really good collecting areas up ahead." Of course this really meant, "Hurry up...let's go!" So I think Willy caught on because he picked up his pace. We walked for a good hour and finally came to the most rickety bridge--really just a lot of small logs tied up side-by-side--across the creek.

Pretty soon Rod began to whistle really loud. He continued to do this several times and then finally crossed the creek and disappeared up the trail. After a couple of minutes he returned, but with an old man. We all crossed the creek and made it up the hill. We eventually learned that the old man was named Lalo. We walked up to his "house." He pulled some chairs around for us under the trees and we sat down. His dog stretched out on the ground near us and his extremely scraggly chickens, who were pretty much tame, walked around us.

The Chileans talked to Lalo at length and then as the conversation progressed, I noticed that Lalo started to drop some English words in here and there. Eventually he just straight out began to speak English. As it turned out he had lived in England for 5 years, and then went on to Germany, then to France, and finally to Spain. He worked in various jobs in all those countries. Some time ago, he returned to Chile and has been living up in the Andes in his shack for 23 years.

He had a black cook pot hanging over a fire pit, lots of fruit trees, and of course, his chickens. I asked him what the dog eats, and he said the dog has guardian angels who take care of him. Willy asked him if he had cable t.v. (a strange question to ask an old hermit living up in the Andes...but remember, Willy is an Entomologist). He said he only had a c.d. player he listens to sometimes. He also had his gun leaning up against the tree and he said he shoots rabbits from time to time for meat, but he doesn't want to overdo it because there are hunters that come up there and would be upset with him if he over-hunted the area. Rod mentioned through the interpreter that the first time he came up that trail Lalo met him with his gun and demanded, "Who are you and what do you want!!!" They have been friends ever since.

We talked for about an hour and finally got up to go. Lalo shook all our hands and gave us a hug. Well, anyway, maybe I had the honor and distinction of meeting the Ernest T. Bass of Chile. Or maybe what really happened is I saw a reflection of myself in Lalo. Maybe sometime in the future I will be sitting around telling anyone who happens by about all the places I have worked. Even if I don't, so far the highlight of coming to Chile has been meeting Lalo.

(Lalo and Dave outside Lalo's House)

A Very, Very Good Excuse

My excuse for not blogging so far this week? I FINALLY finished my manuscript! Yes!!

Or at least, I'm finished as far as I'm concerned. I just hit the "send" button and shot it off to Janet, my agent. Now I'll just have to wait and see if she thinks I'm finished. If you would like to say a little prayer for me on that score, please feel free. I want her to have wisdom and guide me in the right direction, but I'd also like to be finished up with this project. At least unless someone gives me a contract and then wants changes. I'll be quite happy to work on it some more then.

But if not...well, I'm ready to move on. Those of you who have put up with my whining and dragging my feet know that this manuscript has been a struggle for me. On a happy note, I have some new ideas I'm excited about, so no matter what happens, I'm looking forward to writing this year.

Anyway, I just wanted you all to celebrate this milestone with me. I'll try to write something more substantial soon. But not tonight. It's fairly late already, and I have to get up at 5 a.m. to drive to an out-of-town work meeting. That may be fairly normal for a lot of you, but I don't do 5 a.m. I'm also dreading the drive because I not only have to drive to Atlanta, but all the way through it and about an hour beyond. All in morning rush hour traffic.

I'm hoping GPS Lady will find me a way around Atlanta. But I've told you how snitty she can be.

Like I said, pray for me!

Christmas Traditions for Readers

We hear all the time about Christmas traditions--things that people do every December with their spouse, or their kids. Some people want to hear Christmas songs over and over. I am apparently developing the need to listen to the same audiobook every Christmas.

I've always had books I love to read every December, that help me get into the spirit. I'm a little disturbed about how my habits have changed, though. I seem to have slid from inspiring Biblical fiction to brain candy and fluff.

For a long time, I kept rereading a wonderful book called How Far to Bethlehem. I think it's out of print now, but if you've never read this, check for a used copy on amazon.com or at your local used bookstore. It's written by one of my favorite authors, Norah Lofts, and it follows different characters from the nativity story (each of the Wise Men, Mary, Joseph, Herod, a Roman soldier, the innkeeper, the shepherd) in the months and hours leading up to Christ's birth. All these characters you've come to know separately converge in Bethlehem at the crucial hour, brought together through heart-stopping, dramatic turns of events. Lofts was a secular historical writer, but she had such an amazing way of bringing characters and past times alive, and this book was no exception. So by the end of each reading, I was ready to sing "O Holy Night" and literally fall on my knees!


My tradition for the last three years or so is not as lofty. I've gotten hooked on the audio version of Skippnig Christmas by John Grisham. I'm not sure why I enjoy it over and over. Maybe because Grisham also has a way with characters. By the time you finish this short bit of fluff, you feel as though you know every resident of Hemlock Street, including my favorite, the roving boy busybody, Spike.

Luther Krank is not exactly Scrooge, but he is definitely--well, cranky. In the beginning of the book, I sort of sympathize with his desire to escape the shallow, materialistic mess that Christmas has become. Trouble is, he substitutes another shallow, materialistic pursuit in its place. He and his wife decide to skip Christmas altogether and take a cruise, which involves new clothes, dieting, tanning beds and the like. By the end of the book, the plan has backfired on them in a big way and--you guessed it--Luther learns about true generosity and giving.

Do any other readers out there have Christmas favorites that you're dipping into again this year?

Fun Stuff

In addition to writing, I've had a lot of other things going on during my official Blogging Break.

I went on a conference for work, but fortunately went with a colleague who loves antiques and crafts as much as I do, so we made a number of fun stops along the way. You've heard of the kid in the candy store?

Well, this is how happy I look when I'm loose in a yarn store. The colors! The ideas! The possibilities for things to knit when I should be writing!

You know that Yoda is often seen lurking around my workplace. A few weeks ago, he was visited by an old friend. Actually an old adversary--and there I am caught between them!

Last but not least, my parents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. This is a photo of them on the beach in South Carolina about a year ago. Sixty years! Now that's perseverance. My husband has probably fainted dead away just thinking about it.

(Thanks to Felicia of Fluffy Flowers for the yarn store and Darth Vader photos)

Left Behind and Enjoying It

Okay, the title is not referring to being left behind after the Rapture. That would not be enjoyable at all.

I’m referring to the fact that lots of my writer and blogger friends are heading out for the annual American Christian Fiction Writers Conference and I’m staying home. I attended the last three years, but I just couldn’t afford it this time.

I realized a few days ago that instead of being jealous and disappointed, I’m actually a little relieved. The ACFW conference is a wonderful thing, but it’s also quite stressful—for me, anyway. I know other folks say it energizes them, and that rubbing shoulders with all those other writers fires their imaginations.

This wasn’t happening with me lately. I was putting far too much pressure on myself to pitch and to sell. I scarcely had a discussion with anyone about our stories or characters or the actual love of writing.

I’m pleased to report, however, that I found a substitute conference to recharge my creative batteries. That’s my story, anyway. I may just be entering my second childhood, or having a mid-life crisis. A couple of weeks ago, I did something that I haven’t done since I was in my twenties. I attended a science fiction and fantasy convention.

This one (Dragon Con) was huge—thousands of attendees and events covering four major hotels in downtown Atlanta. There were speakers and panels with writers, actors, directors, artists, costumers, you name it. Half the attendees seemed to be walking around in elaborate costumes, which was silly fun.

I have to confess that I myself wore two different costumes in one evening—one a Pirates of the Caribbean costume that I sewed myself.

I enjoyed hearing Sean Astin speak about playing Sam in the Lord of the Rings movies, and attending a panel with four actors from the Firefly TV series and Serenity movie. I rubbed elbows with tons of folks who may or may not have been writers, but who were passionate about stories and loved characters as if they were real.

What more could a writer on a budget ask for to fire her imagination?

The Great Kitten Caper

Is this a cutie or what?

She better be. I went through enough to get her yesterday.

Last week, my hairdresser told me that someone had dumped two tiny kittens at her house, and she couldn't keep them because her dog considered them squeaky toys, and her indoor cat would see them as rivals--something he absolutely doesn't tolerate.

My wonderful mother said she would take the two babies, a male and female. Dave and I were camping somewhat near my hairdresser's house. Well, nearer than we usually are, anyway. So I thought this would be an excellent time to pick them up. I plugged her address into my GPS to see if it knew where Traci lived. It swore that it did, and I trusted that confident GPS Lady voice of hers. And away we went.

A few minutes later, GPS Lady directed me to turn onto a dirt road. "Are you sure?" I asked her. She seemed pretty positive, so I turned. I drove down miles of red dirt road, seeing nothing on either side but woods and the occasional abandoned, falling-down house. I had no idea that dirt roads registered with satellites and GPS systems, but apparently they do. My GPS Lady seems to love them. She took me down about four of them to reach Traci's house and the kittens.

Or maybe GPS Lady just hates me. Traci sort of laughed when I told her how I came. It wasn't exactly the normal route. But that wasn't the worst of it. I just happened to see that GPS Lady actually directed me PAST Traci's house number, telling me that the house was another mile down the road. However, I got suspicious when the pavement petered out and a very narrow, muddy road led into the woods. I mean, wide, dirt roads are one thing. I tend to balk at logging trails. I called Traci and sure enough, GPS Lady was lying to me.

Why she wanted to take me into the woods I don't know. I think it was an ambush. Maybe she dislikes cats. Either way, I fetched the kittens back home to my mother, and they're definitely worth it. She was having fun this morning, watching them play.

Interestingly enough, I'm the one who got Traci her tom cat who won't tolerate rivals and started this whole mess. Back when he was younger, he needed a home, too. I guess what goes around comes around.

It's Traci's turn next!

Back from the Wilds of...my Back Yard

The camping trip didn't happen. Various family issues kept us from making the trip to the beach with the R.V. However, I still took my long weekend and basically camped on our back porch.



My extremely talented husband just added this screened porch to the back of our house. He did the work all by himself. (A relative once asked if I help Dave with all these projects. I said yes--I stay out of his way. That's about all I'm good for in the carpentry area.)

Then, to make up for our canceled trip, he bought me the most comfortable chaise lounge in the world.




I've wanted one of these babies for a long, long time.

I spent a lot of my weekend on that new porch, lounging and reading and watching the hummingbirds fight. (Did you know that hummingbirds fight? I didn't until we got a feeder. I thought they were beautiful, sweet, graceful little creatures. I had no idea how mean and territorial they are to one another.)

All in all, it was a wonderful, restful holiday. It was nice to rediscover the joy of sinking into a good book with no time constraints.

Speaking of my talented husband, I mentioned awhile back that he was taking up the dirty old carpet in our bedrooms and refinishing the hardwood floors that were underneath them. He finished that up a few weeks ago, and they're so gorgeous! Here's a picture of our guest room.

Why folks wanted to hide that gorgeous wood under carpet I'm not sure, but finding that hidden treasure is one of the pleasures of having an older house.

Anyway, I'm back to reality now and will try very hard to think of something profound to say for next time. Oh, the pressure!

Winter Keeps Us Warm

I never thought I would refer to T.S. Eliot twice in a short span of time. As I've mentioned, I'm not big on poetry, and it sometimes seems to me that I spent half of my college career slogging through The Waste Land and trying to make sense of it.

Only one line really stuck with me through the years: "Winter kept us warm." I mean, what the heck did that mean? I hate being cold and therefore have always hated winter, and couldn't figure out what ole Eliot was getting at.

Today, as I shivered once again in the middle of a typical Georgia heat wave, I understood. That's right--we're having a heat wave and I'm shivering. If you're cold-natured like me and you've ever spent spring or summer in Georgia, you'll know what I'm talking about--a little thing called "air conditioning."

Lately, in winter, I do fine. I put on my boots and my sweaters and, except in those really bad cold snaps, do fine. The central heating in all the public buildings is generally kept at a reasonable level, so all is well. In other words, winter keeps me warm.

But just let the outside temperature climb to about 65 degrees, and everyone runs for their air conditioners. They may have to set them on 62 to make any difference, but if that's what it takes, by golly, they'll do it.

Most public buildings feel like meat lockers. I tend to dress in layers, wearing sleeveless blouses so I can make it from my car to a building in the blazing heat without fainting, then whipping out my sweater the moment I get inside. Occasionally, as the blasts from the a.c. vents and ceiling fans whip around my head, I wish that women still wore hats.

The interesting thing to me is that everyone talks about "going green" and conserving, but no one seems to be scrimping on the air conditioning around here. A couple of years ago I stayed in a ritzy hotel that had little printed notices all around the room about their conservation efforts. They boasted that they wouldn't be changing my sheets every day for the sake of the environment, and they asked me to re-use my towels. And yet, the air conditioning was set on 58 degrees when I came in! Worse yet, after I turned it WAY up, the housekeeping staff turned it back down the next day.

Church is interesting, too. The men are all dressed in shirts, coats and ties, and thick socks. Women are in sleeveless dresses, with no stockings and sandals. How can anyone possibly get the temperature right with a disparity like that?

Personally, I think the men are winning.

Fourth of July with the Washingtons

Hope you had a great Fourth of July. I can honestly say I celebrated the Fourth in a very appropriate way this year. I attended the Independence Day Festival in Henry County, Georgia, along with George and Martha Washington, John and Abigail Adams, Patrick Henry, and others.

Best of all, Martha was played by none other than my niece, Kristi (second from right, next to George), whom you last saw as the Kissing Wench at the Renaissance Festival. Quite a step up socially, from Kissing Wench to First First Lady.

It was all quite authentic, right down to the genuine Colonial camera man.

I myself am not the greatest camera person in the world, as evidenced by the above photo, but I wanted to show this one for the beautiful scenery. It really was a fun festival, on a farm that's a historic Civil War battlefield. The characters presented a running story throughout the day, with Redcoats breaking up a proclamation by Patrick Henry, duels, and a ladies' tea where women's issues of the day were discussed. (It was heartily agreed by all that women should be educated. Whether education should be co-educational was a bit more controversial.)

Since I normally spend the Fourth of July catching up on projects, like cleaning out my closets, this was a welcome break.

Did you do anything special? Hope you'll share!

A Warning for the Published

I just came across an interesting tidbit in the June 2008 issue of College & Research Libraries News. They mention that a Rhode Island book dealer just donated three rare and valuable books to Brown University Library. One of them is a first edition of The Great Gatsby autographed by Fitzgerald to the poet T.S. Eliot. Judging by the enthusiastic wording of the autograph, Fitzgerald was a huge fan of Eliot. He calls him "Greatest of Living Poets" and says that he (Fitzgerald) is his enthusiastic worshipper. (p. 359)

Unfortunately, he not only misspells enthusiastic, but he also flubs the spelling of the Greatest of Living Poets' name. (He spelled it "Elliot.")

Now, I often lament the fact that I'm not published. But at least, I'm not in danger of embarrassing myself in this particular way. Lots of other ways, yes, but not this one.

If I ever do get published, I can just see something like this happening to me. I'd be so excited to present some of my own work to my literary idol, so thrilled to show that I, too, am now a part of the literary world. And then it would happen. Maybe an hour later, maybe a day, maybe a year. But eventually, I would see my literary idol's name someplace, and I would realize that I misspelled her name. Down in the depths of my soul, I would know that no matter how great my writing, how brilliant my metaphors and dialogue, how stirring my characters, the literary idol would always remember me as that idiot that didn't even know how to spell her name.

Perhaps I'm just looking for solace. Maybe I'm just downright mean. But somehow this story really cheered me up.

The Culprit Confesses!

She couldn't take the pressure anymore. She finally broke and confessed. Kathleen--regular visitor to the Queen and self-confessed prankster--sent me the anonymous Pirates clock.

In the comments to the original post, Kathleen said (in response to my guess that the clock was obtained with cereal box tops), "Well, you were partly right. It was from little cardboard tokens off a snack bar (peanut bar with chocolate on the bottom mmm!) box. It was just too tempting. 'Glad you enjoyed it!"

I knew it was her! Mystery solved. Hmmm...maybe I should try my hand at writing mysteries.

A Tax on Hoop Skirts?

Sometimes in my librarian job I get to look at some really fun things. A few weeks ago we received a trial subscription to a database called American Periodicals Series Online. A company called ProQuest has scanned and digitized magazines and journals from about 1740 to the early 1900s. The publications cover all kinds of subjects--medicine, politics, you name it. They also include popular magazines and ladies' journals.


So I did a search on fashion and limited it to a date range of the late 1700s to early 1800s. I came up with lots of interesting stuff, including a hilarious letter to the editor in The Lady's Magazine and Repository of Entertaining Knowledge, November, 1792, "On the Universal Fashion of Wearing Hoops." The poor writer laments the fact that every woman from low-born to high has been coerced into wearing "useless" and "greatly inconvenient" hoops.

Why is this man so concerned about a woman's fashion? Because he has four daughters--and they're about to bankrupt him. Not to buy the dresses and hoops, but because of how it's affecting the rest of their lives. "At first their hoops were small," he says, "and consequently less inconvenient, but they are now grown to such an enormous size that I must be obliged (if they do not retrench them) to leave my house on the account, as the rooms, where we could formerly move very conveniently, are now too small to admit of our stirring, without incommoding each other. The stair-case, which is rather narrow, is become (if not wholly useless) extremely dangerous to the female part of my family, as they can neither ascend, nor descend in any other direction than sideways."

To help alleviate the strain on society, the writer proposes a tax on hoop skirts, which I don't think ever happened.

Next I read an article from the July 11, 1807 Lady's Weekly Miscellany, in which a writer also lamented the unbecoming fashions of the time, especially hats. "Ought not the figure of the head to be oval? Should not every thing which alters this figure, be considered as detracting from nature? What then are we to think of those bonnets that project both before and behind, and give the head of a woman, seen in profile, the form of a hammer!"

Oh, how I would love to sit and read articles from these fun magazines. And if you're a writer of historicals, what a fabulous resource this would be! Just think of the details, the atmosphere you could add to your story after reading such cozy articles from the time period of your novel.

Alas, we weren't able to purchase this database. Too expensive. But it's a great reminder of what's out there in college libraries that you won't be able to find on the free Internet. If you have a large university near you, in particular, check it out sometime. Often you can go in and pull up gems like these on their computers.

Stalked By Pirates

If you've been reading this blog long, you know I'm fond of pirates. (Not real ones. Pretend ones. Particularly the ones with the really cool outfits.) You also know I seem to run across them wherever I go. But now I've started getting anonymous pirate paraphernalia in the mail!

A few days ago I received a mysterious package with a return address of the Kellogg Company. Little knowing what was in store, I tore it open, and this is what I found:


Someone with a weaker constitution might have fainted dead away. But I took it pretty well.

It's a Pirates of the Caribbean alarm clock. I figure it was one of those prizes you can get by saving up your cereal box tops and sending away for it. The question is, who used their box tops on me?

I have my ideas. First I accused my husband, but I've cleared him.

I think I know who the culprit is. I think she's even a regular reader of this blog.

Any confessions?

They Were Animals!

Last weekend I made a trip with blog friend Kathleen to the Yellow River Game Ranch. The game ranch is the home of Georgia's famous groundhog/official weather prognosticator General Lee, who is very popular. Of course, as Kathleen pointed out, you can tell the Game Ranch is in the South when you visit the other general in residence:




Poor little skunk.



The Game Ranch was a fun experience, because we didn't just get to look at the animals but also interact with them. Deer and ducks follow you around, begging for you to feed them--which is allowed, provided you stick to approved treats. Although you have to keep a safe distance from critters like bears, many of the cuddlier types just wander around the park and will eat right out of your hand.



The animals had different ways of approaching visitors and snagging their snacks. In many ways, visiting the Game Ranch reminded me of attending a writers' conference. If you've been to a conference, you know what I mean. All us poor writers fighting for attention, for scraps of hope from editors and agents. And we all have different ways of going about it.

Some of us will do anything to get that editor's attention. We'll overcome any barrier...

We don't care how silly we look, or how strange our story about the old lady abducted by aliens from the produce section of the supermarket sounds...

Others of us are above all that. We know our writing is wonderful, and frankly you're just very fortunate we came to share it with you...

Sometimes it all works out. We strike up a wonderful relationship with an editor or agent or fellow writer, and it's great on both sides.

Where do I fit in this picture? I had a nagging feeling I'm like this bear. Good things were being tossed at him, opportunities were all around him, but he was just too lazy to reach out and grasp most of them. Unless the snacks landed either right in front of him or right in his mouth--I'm not making that up. He sat with his mouth open and actually caught an apple and a couple of crackers--he just couldn't exert the effort to see it through. In fact, a cracker landed behind him, and he reached back with a paw and tried to drag it. But after a couple of tries he gave up, totally exhausted.

Okay, I think I'm learning my lesson here. I think I'll go home and do LOTS of writing tonight.

From the Middle of Nowhere to the Center of Everything.

Last night, my husband said something to the effect of, "In two days we've gone from the wilderness to the center of the world's news." From Saturday through Monday, we did a couple of things that were not exactly our normal routine. And boy, were those two things different!

Monday night, we sat in the studio at CNN with Nancy Grace as she did her show live. (I apologize in advance to my sister, Frankie, and Dave for the following photo. I don't usually subject them to appearing on the blog, but this picture is just too good. Plus, Nancy showed us on camera for about two seconds, so we've already made fools of ourselves, anyway.)







Nancy and I have known each other since we were six. I lost touch with her for years, but it's been fun to reconnect lately. She invited me, Dave, and Frankie to come to her show. What a fascinating experience, to see all the feverish activity that's going on around Nancy while video clips or commercials are playing. How she juggles all that information, and the folks talking at her in her earpiece, and clips and callers and guests is beyond me.


Our destination the weekend before was a little bit different from a bustling place like CNN. Dave and I, his boss and boss's wife went hiking. We stayed at the Len Foote Hike Inn at Amacalola Falls State Park.

To stay there, you must hike the five-mile trail to the inn, so the plan was to hike up there on Saturday, spend the night, and hike back down. (Again, I apologize in advance for the photos. I took these with my cell phone, and apparently I always hold the cell phone sideways when I snap the picture.) I took this one in back of the Visitors' Center, just before we started out, which shows that you're near the start of the Appalachian Trail.



I was a little nervous about this trip. Dave and the others are experienced hikers and campers. I'm experienced at taking elevators and staying in hotels. I was afraid I couldn't keep up, and they'd be sick of me by Sunday. But we took our time, and it was fine.

Still, I've never been so happy to see anything as I was to see the Lodge about three hours after we started the hike.

Especially since, right before we reached the Inn, we saw a sign that said, "Please don't feed the bears." If I had realized there was a possibility that I might provide food for a bear on that trail, I probably would have waited in the van!

The Queen Visits the Faire

I knew I was going to enjoy the Renaissance Festival this past Saturday when I found this t-shirt right inside the gate. Obviously, these people understood royalty, and I would no doubt feel right at home.

Of course, I was a bit miffed when I attended the joust and saw that some other young upstart was sitting on the pavilion and calling herself Queen. Imagine!

I've been taking my niece, Kristi, to the Renaissance Festival since she was a little girl. Now she works there as a Kissing Wench. I'm so proud! (I really am, actually. She's about to get a degree in Theatre and Performance Studies. I discovered that the actors playing these characters rehearse for weeks and are chosen for their ability to improvise.)

You knew I'd have to find a few pirates, didn't you? Even I was surprised to find Captain Jack himself!

This guy was a bit of a shock after Jack Sparrow, but he was pleasant enough if you could get past the toothy smile.

All in all, a very pleasant way to spend a Saturday. Even if my sister did force me onto a kiddie ride--a big swing in the form of a ship. The most embarrassing part was that I had to beg the lad pushing it to slow down, ere I threw up on him. (At least I used proper Renaissance language for it.)

Oh No, Not Again!

My brain is fried tonight. Dave and I just did our tax returns. So I don't think I'll be able to come up with anything particularly profound or inspiring to tell you. Instead, let's just have a little fun at my cats' expense.

Last week it was time to go to the groomer again. I have to have their hair cut once a year because it gets so matted. (Because they won't behave and let me comb them.) You may recall that last year, bad, bad Cera gave the groomers so much trouble that they only managed to shave half of her. Would you believe...

Yes, that's right! She did it again. No toenails clipped, no bath, just half of her hair cut off. Doesn't she look proud of herself?

She would almost look like one of those show dogs that prance around with bizarre, intricate hair-dos if hers were only symmetrical. I can't adequately show you how bad this looks in a flat photo, but on one side she's completely bald. On the other, her hair poofs out about halfway down.

Last year, I drew some profound insights from Cera's shenanigans. This year I don't have the heart. I will say, though, that if anyone illustrates perseverance, it's my Cera. She may only weigh eight pounds. There may be three or four hundred total pounds of groomers trying to hold her down--and those groomers may come from the dominant species on Planet Earth. But they give up before she does every time!

One last photo. This is Wendy--who is nicer and does give up:

If you want to see how she looked before, take a look at this post from December.

Maybe I understand why Cera fights the groomer, after all.

Wendy Picks a Winner!

I didn't intend for this to happen, but Wendy ended up picking the winner of Rotten Reviews & Rejections. I put the basket with the names on the floor and stirred them up with my hand. The sound of the rattling paper drew her like a dinner gong. I turned my back for a minute, looked back, and she was pulling out one slip of paper. I thought, what the heck? At least she's impartial!

And Wendy picked...Elizabeth Musser. Congratulations, Elizabeth! I'll get the book on its way to you.

By the way, you may notice in the above photo that Wendy appears to have lost most of her hair. Yes, it was time for the cats to go to the groomer again. That's a whole other story. Maybe more about that next week.

Have a great weekend, and thanks to everyone who entered the contest.