Happy Solstice!
I watched Hogfather last night - a tradition in my household. Back when my daughter was in high school, over winter break we'd read the book Hogfather (by Terry Pratchett) out loud to each other, doing voices for the characters. She does a fantastic Death!
This afternoon I'm going to make clam chowder. And poke at the synopsis for Rising Tide.
I may Read A Book! Haven't done that in far too long.
And that's the summary of my oh-so-glamorous life at the moment.
Showing posts with label Maunderings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maunderings. Show all posts
21 December 2014
27 August 2014
I Wrote A Post for My Blog!
The day job has been claiming an increasing amount of my time since around the middle of June, leaving me tired and with few active brain cells come the weekend. Training five people at the same time with little help will do that. If they'd started at the same time, I could have trained with easy, lecture-like sessions. So their starts were staggered. A week or two apart. I mostly get to say the same stuff five times over!
Writing has been sporadic to non-existent.
I did read many books - well, that should be re-read many books. Didn't feel up to the thinking required when reading one for the first time.
I consider re-reading as writing research. When a book is well done, I just devour the story. It takes two or three tries for me to be able to pay attention to how the author managed that magic! So during the re-reads, I flagged pages that might help me with the revisions I have looming.
My novel and a short story need revising. I'm up for critique in September. Last time it was my turn I had to pass. I will not do that again.
Also, I'll start posting here more often. I have a target of once a week.
My plans haven't been working out very well recently. I still make 'em. Maybe I'm the Overly Optimistic Poster Person.
Writing has been sporadic to non-existent.
I did read many books - well, that should be re-read many books. Didn't feel up to the thinking required when reading one for the first time.
I consider re-reading as writing research. When a book is well done, I just devour the story. It takes two or three tries for me to be able to pay attention to how the author managed that magic! So during the re-reads, I flagged pages that might help me with the revisions I have looming.
My novel and a short story need revising. I'm up for critique in September. Last time it was my turn I had to pass. I will not do that again.
Also, I'll start posting here more often. I have a target of once a week.
My plans haven't been working out very well recently. I still make 'em. Maybe I'm the Overly Optimistic Poster Person.
24 October 2013
Rambles when I should be heading to work
A snowflake landed on my windshield yesterday. Spotting the first flake of the season isn't quite as thrilling as the first robin or first butterfly. Quite the opposite, actually.
Techfail:
The iPod won't hold a charge.
One earbud is dead and the other faint.
Last night half-way through my on-line class the modem died.
Well, pretended to die. This morning it's fine.
I have a zombie modem.
Techfail:
The iPod won't hold a charge.
One earbud is dead and the other faint.
Last night half-way through my on-line class the modem died.
Well, pretended to die. This morning it's fine.
I have a zombie modem.
22 July 2013
Signatures
Remember when library books had a pocket that held an index-sized card glued to the inside cover? Glued opposite the pocket was a piece of paper lined off in boxes. To check out the book you removed the card and signed your name. The librarian stamped the date due next to your signature and also on the paper glued in the book. They kept the card in a file so they knew who had the book.
I still remember how grown-up it felt when I was eight and was asked to sign my name on those cards. Now we just hand over our library card to be scanned or swiped. Do kids currently get to sign their names anywhere? On schoolwork they're probably asked to print ...
Adults don't sign things as much as we used to, either. Few write checks when shopping and even for charges we don't have to sign unless the purchase is over some amount, $25 or $50 depending on the store. Bills get paid on line; no checks to sign.
Handwriting is becoming an old-fashioned skill. It's not taught in many schools. The increasing use of PINS, electronic signatures, thumb prints, retinal scans and whatever new techy biometric is on the horizon mean hand-written signatures as proof of identity are maybe already obsolete. The tech solutions, especially biometrics, are certainly harder to forge, which means better security. But we've lost the visible individuality of our John Hancocks.
The use of that famous man's name as a synonym for signature will become one of those sayings that no one under a certain age will understand.
That makes me sad.
I still remember how grown-up it felt when I was eight and was asked to sign my name on those cards. Now we just hand over our library card to be scanned or swiped. Do kids currently get to sign their names anywhere? On schoolwork they're probably asked to print ...
Adults don't sign things as much as we used to, either. Few write checks when shopping and even for charges we don't have to sign unless the purchase is over some amount, $25 or $50 depending on the store. Bills get paid on line; no checks to sign.
Handwriting is becoming an old-fashioned skill. It's not taught in many schools. The increasing use of PINS, electronic signatures, thumb prints, retinal scans and whatever new techy biometric is on the horizon mean hand-written signatures as proof of identity are maybe already obsolete. The tech solutions, especially biometrics, are certainly harder to forge, which means better security. But we've lost the visible individuality of our John Hancocks.
(image from HERE)
The use of that famous man's name as a synonym for signature will become one of those sayings that no one under a certain age will understand.
That makes me sad.
22 March 2013
Dithering
I can't settle on a blog topic, so here's a mix of stuff as it occurs to me.
Princess Cruises sends me emails with enticing sales. I dithered for weeks in late January/ early February about taking a 14 day trans-Atlantic cruise before finally deciding I'd buy a new computer and attend at least one writing conference instead.
About writing conferences: I'm going to WisCon, a science fiction writing convention. It's in Madison, Wisconsin. Shame they didn't name it MadCon ...
Another email from Princess Cruises. This time I only dithered for a few days (up until today, actually) about a 12 day cruise around the British Isles that includes England, Ireland and Scotland, even the Orkneys! Still need to buy that new computer, and this cruise, though shorter than the trans-Atlantic one, was half again more expensive. I guess because there are more ports. Really don't have that kind of money, but it sure is fun to dream.
I can't explain why this makes me so excited, but my blog got two hits from KERIBATI, someone searching on red imported fire ants. Hi, Keribati person! I sure hope Solenopsis invicta hasn't invaded your islands.
The Inkwell, a sort-of novel I wrote with a friend, is completely posted now - see tab at top of my blog here. There are 40 sections of roughly 2000 words each. We learned collaborating on a story can be so much fun it's amazing it's not illegal. Have a look if you're so inclined.
I really enjoyed the cruise to Alaska last year and hope one shows up in these sale emails that actually fits my budget. The sea, it is calling me ...
Three interchangeable responses to "You're a bitch!"
1. You say that like it's a bad thing.
2. Everyone has to have a hobby.
3. And?
On Monday I finished reading a book (The World Until Yesterday by Jared Diamond). Since then I've purchased three books (The Fire Ants by Walter Tschinkel; Queen Victoria's Book of Spells, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling; and Shattered Pillars by Elizabeth Bear). My TBR pile will never disappear.
Perhaps I need a large writing project to keep my mind focused. (Rising Tide version 3 is out visiting Beta readers.) Without one ... ooooh shiny!
Princess Cruises sends me emails with enticing sales. I dithered for weeks in late January/ early February about taking a 14 day trans-Atlantic cruise before finally deciding I'd buy a new computer and attend at least one writing conference instead.
About writing conferences: I'm going to WisCon, a science fiction writing convention. It's in Madison, Wisconsin. Shame they didn't name it MadCon ...
Another email from Princess Cruises. This time I only dithered for a few days (up until today, actually) about a 12 day cruise around the British Isles that includes England, Ireland and Scotland, even the Orkneys! Still need to buy that new computer, and this cruise, though shorter than the trans-Atlantic one, was half again more expensive. I guess because there are more ports. Really don't have that kind of money, but it sure is fun to dream.
I can't explain why this makes me so excited, but my blog got two hits from KERIBATI, someone searching on red imported fire ants. Hi, Keribati person! I sure hope Solenopsis invicta hasn't invaded your islands.
The Inkwell, a sort-of novel I wrote with a friend, is completely posted now - see tab at top of my blog here. There are 40 sections of roughly 2000 words each. We learned collaborating on a story can be so much fun it's amazing it's not illegal. Have a look if you're so inclined.
I really enjoyed the cruise to Alaska last year and hope one shows up in these sale emails that actually fits my budget. The sea, it is calling me ...
Three interchangeable responses to "You're a bitch!"
1. You say that like it's a bad thing.
2. Everyone has to have a hobby.
3. And?
On Monday I finished reading a book (The World Until Yesterday by Jared Diamond). Since then I've purchased three books (The Fire Ants by Walter Tschinkel; Queen Victoria's Book of Spells, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling; and Shattered Pillars by Elizabeth Bear). My TBR pile will never disappear.
Perhaps I need a large writing project to keep my mind focused. (Rising Tide version 3 is out visiting Beta readers.) Without one ... ooooh shiny!
17 March 2013
Fire Ant Research Team
I was trying to come up with an idea for a blog post, and what popped up was "Write about FART." Well, that's a part of my life I haven't thought about in many years! I hunted through three boxes of stuff to find this piece of letterhead; folded it so you could see the footer, too. ;-)
For one quarter during my senior year in college, while I worked on my undergraduate research project, I was part of Dr. Walter Tschinkel's Fire Ant Research Team. From information at that link, there are now ten areas of research done in Dr. T's lab. What I did fell under what is currently area Six on that list: allometry. "Division of labor among the workers of ant colonies is based on worker age, but in a minority of species it is also based on worker body size (which varies greatly), a phenomenon referred to as polymorphism." (Under Easily Amused: when I highlighted that quote from the FSU link, the text turned gold and the highlight color was garnet = school colors. Very nice touch!)
I investigated a small aspect of a red fire ant colony's response to threat. I'd mentally outline an area on the side of a mound, stomp on the ground at the base of the mound, then collect every ant that crossed my 'area.' Over the ten week quarter, I made many stops to collect ants. Almost every time I was near a road at least one passerby would warn me that's a fire ant mound and I should stay away! Folks in the south are nice like that. I gave up on sampling near busy streets because too many people interrupted me.
You may be wondering how I collected the ants. With a gadget made in the lab! Nonscientists are probably unaware of how often we use something cobbled together at the bench from stuff in the drawers at the time. I had a glass test tube, maybe an inch across and about six inches long, closed with a black rubber stopper. The stopper had two holes in it. Each hole had a short glassrod tube stuck through it. One glass rod tube had a longish piece (about a foot) of rubber tubing attached. The other had (1) a very small mesh screen tightly covering the end inside the test tube and (2) a shorter piece of rubber tubing. The operator (me) sucked on the shorter piece of tubing and "vacuumed" up ants with the longer piece. (That may have had a bit of glass rod tube on the working end, I just don't remember.) Ants collected in the test tube. The mesh screen prevented me from sucking up ants. I think I had a timer for how long I collected for each session.
So, now I had a test tube with ants. Angry ants, I might add. This was where I could calmly watch what fire ants do when they sting you. Yes, sting. They hang on tight with their big jaws, arch up their bodies, bring their rump (with the stinger) around underneath and then jab. There were times I watched them sting me, too.
This picture is NOT an ant on me, but from HERE, a good article from the University of California Riverside on red imported fire ants (Solenopsis invicta).
Okay, back to that tube of ants. I only had one sampling gadget, so the ants couldn't stay in there. The solution was plastic boxes with their edges dipped in talc powder. The powder kept the ants from climbing out of the box while I was emptying the tube and before I got the lid on.
Back in the lab, I sorted them by size class (large stack of sieves with grid sizes from larger to smaller). I remember measuring ant heads under a dissecting microscope as part of this. At the end, my results hinted at a skew toward larger ants responding to the threat. I think one of Dr. T's graduate students at the time used my work as a starting point for her thesis.
I can't end this without putting in a plug for Dr. Tschinkel. HERE's an article from Discover Magazine on his work visualizing the shape of ant nests underground. AND he wrote a book!
I'm going to order it today. It may sit in my TBR pile for a while, or I may nibble at it until I finish it. No telling.
Edit: Dr. T's book was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in 2007! Wow!!
For one quarter during my senior year in college, while I worked on my undergraduate research project, I was part of Dr. Walter Tschinkel's Fire Ant Research Team. From information at that link, there are now ten areas of research done in Dr. T's lab. What I did fell under what is currently area Six on that list: allometry. "Division of labor among the workers of ant colonies is based on worker age, but in a minority of species it is also based on worker body size (which varies greatly), a phenomenon referred to as polymorphism." (Under Easily Amused: when I highlighted that quote from the FSU link, the text turned gold and the highlight color was garnet = school colors. Very nice touch!)
I investigated a small aspect of a red fire ant colony's response to threat. I'd mentally outline an area on the side of a mound, stomp on the ground at the base of the mound, then collect every ant that crossed my 'area.' Over the ten week quarter, I made many stops to collect ants. Almost every time I was near a road at least one passerby would warn me that's a fire ant mound and I should stay away! Folks in the south are nice like that. I gave up on sampling near busy streets because too many people interrupted me.
You may be wondering how I collected the ants. With a gadget made in the lab! Nonscientists are probably unaware of how often we use something cobbled together at the bench from stuff in the drawers at the time. I had a glass test tube, maybe an inch across and about six inches long, closed with a black rubber stopper. The stopper had two holes in it. Each hole had a short glass
So, now I had a test tube with ants. Angry ants, I might add. This was where I could calmly watch what fire ants do when they sting you. Yes, sting. They hang on tight with their big jaws, arch up their bodies, bring their rump (with the stinger) around underneath and then jab. There were times I watched them sting me, too.
This picture is NOT an ant on me, but from HERE, a good article from the University of California Riverside on red imported fire ants (Solenopsis invicta).
Okay, back to that tube of ants. I only had one sampling gadget, so the ants couldn't stay in there. The solution was plastic boxes with their edges dipped in talc powder. The powder kept the ants from climbing out of the box while I was emptying the tube and before I got the lid on.
Back in the lab, I sorted them by size class (large stack of sieves with grid sizes from larger to smaller). I remember measuring ant heads under a dissecting microscope as part of this. At the end, my results hinted at a skew toward larger ants responding to the threat. I think one of Dr. T's graduate students at the time used my work as a starting point for her thesis.
I can't end this without putting in a plug for Dr. Tschinkel. HERE's an article from Discover Magazine on his work visualizing the shape of ant nests underground. AND he wrote a book!
I'm going to order it today. It may sit in my TBR pile for a while, or I may nibble at it until I finish it. No telling.
Edit: Dr. T's book was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in 2007! Wow!!
04 March 2013
My Monday Morning Observations
I had an appointment this morning to have blood drawn. I waited almost twenty minutes after checking in. It was good people watching time.
An older lady admired my purse. She said she just couldn't find something that small. I told her where I bought mine. We had a brief discussion about the crazy large purses that are the current style, how you end up putting too much in them and then they're so heavy the strap hurts your shoulder.
The receptionist announced they would be testing the fire alarm shortly. I hoped the nurse wasn't poking me with a needle when the damn thing went off. It was my lucky day. A man came from somewhere in the building, walkie-talkie at his mouth. He told us again that the alarm would be tested, then pulled the lever and walked back to wherever he'd been. The alarm started out at a reasonable level, not like the one at work that has me squealing and out of my chair in seconds, hands over ears. This one slowly got louder. It reached a point where I had to put my fingers in my ears or go outside. Then it stopped.
A man came in, tall, strong-looking, wearing tan worker overalls, in his late forties (I overheard his year of birth). He wanted a note from the doctor so he could stay home from work for two or three days because he was stiff from shoveling snow. He said he'd called in earlier this morning. The receptionist found no appointment for him. He said he didn't need to see the doctor, he just wanted the note. She informed him he had to see the doctor. He seemed surprised by that. She was able to squeeze him in with a just a thirty minute wait. He reluctantly agreed. He went to the far side of the waiting room. I watched him. Our last shovelable snow fell a week ago. He didn't move like he was stiff or in pain at all. Perhaps I'm overly skeptical, but I suspect the forecast of six to twelve inches of snow tomorrow has something to do with his wanting that note.
The nurse came and called my name. Everything went fine. I left the office wondering if the doctor gave the man his note. I went to Egg Harbor for a nice breakfast after my fast. I had a Tuscan omelette (artichoke, zucchini, spinach and tomato with oregano and melted mozzarella cheese on top).
I'm home, with the laundry going and a pot of coffee brewing. Next is read a book.
An older lady admired my purse. She said she just couldn't find something that small. I told her where I bought mine. We had a brief discussion about the crazy large purses that are the current style, how you end up putting too much in them and then they're so heavy the strap hurts your shoulder.
The receptionist announced they would be testing the fire alarm shortly. I hoped the nurse wasn't poking me with a needle when the damn thing went off. It was my lucky day. A man came from somewhere in the building, walkie-talkie at his mouth. He told us again that the alarm would be tested, then pulled the lever and walked back to wherever he'd been. The alarm started out at a reasonable level, not like the one at work that has me squealing and out of my chair in seconds, hands over ears. This one slowly got louder. It reached a point where I had to put my fingers in my ears or go outside. Then it stopped.
A man came in, tall, strong-looking, wearing tan worker overalls, in his late forties (I overheard his year of birth). He wanted a note from the doctor so he could stay home from work for two or three days because he was stiff from shoveling snow. He said he'd called in earlier this morning. The receptionist found no appointment for him. He said he didn't need to see the doctor, he just wanted the note. She informed him he had to see the doctor. He seemed surprised by that. She was able to squeeze him in with a just a thirty minute wait. He reluctantly agreed. He went to the far side of the waiting room. I watched him. Our last shovelable snow fell a week ago. He didn't move like he was stiff or in pain at all. Perhaps I'm overly skeptical, but I suspect the forecast of six to twelve inches of snow tomorrow has something to do with his wanting that note.
The nurse came and called my name. Everything went fine. I left the office wondering if the doctor gave the man his note. I went to Egg Harbor for a nice breakfast after my fast. I had a Tuscan omelette (artichoke, zucchini, spinach and tomato with oregano and melted mozzarella cheese on top).
I'm home, with the laundry going and a pot of coffee brewing. Next is read a book.
19 January 2013
Brief Update
Work has been very busy. Over the course of about a month we hit the trifecta of regulatory inspections. We had the FDA for three days, ISO for four days, and yesterday the EMA (the European equivalent of the FDA) for one very intense day. I’m proud to be part of the team that came through all that with just a few minor observations.
Perhaps things will return to normal now, whatever that may be. Perhaps there will be less overtime. Now, I like the money from overtime, but it seriously cuts into my writing time. Not just in terms of actual hours. It wears me out mentally so I can’t write on both my days off. I need the first one to rest. As they say, getting older isn’t for wimps.
I am off today! Got a lot to do, including a Bar Mitzvah party tonight. Must head out into the cold ...
Perhaps things will return to normal now, whatever that may be. Perhaps there will be less overtime. Now, I like the money from overtime, but it seriously cuts into my writing time. Not just in terms of actual hours. It wears me out mentally so I can’t write on both my days off. I need the first one to rest. As they say, getting older isn’t for wimps.
I am off today! Got a lot to do, including a Bar Mitzvah party tonight. Must head out into the cold ...
05 December 2012
Outlines
When I was first introduced to formal outlining, whatever elementary grade that was, I found the process fascinating. Indenting the lines brought a step-like appearance to the page. Orderly. Step in, step down, step in, step down, step down, step out ... like a path, a road. And of course that's what it was supposed to be: the path to guide you as you wrote.
I. Heading
__A. Topic
____1. Some words
______a. abashed, objurgate
______b. beguile, proliferate
____2. More words
______a. ineffable
______b. maunder
__B. Another topic
____1. Moar wrdz
____2. Must have a two
____3. I want a tab key that works, dammit!
______a. Rant rant rant
______b. Still moar rant
II. Another heading
__A. Another topic
____1. Some things
______a. ^)^
______b. >^.^<
____2. Some more things
______a. ( '}{' )
______b. *\ 0 /*
__B. Beheading
____1. Because of
______a. Reasons
________i. Good ones
________ii. Bad ones
______b. Because
____2. Methods
______a. Details
______b. Don't look here
I really didn't care what was written on each line. I worked at creating indentation patterns that pleased me. Teachers had us hand in our outlines before we wrote our essay or paper or whatever. Eventually - probably after some rather low grades on my outlines; I really don't remember - I did them properly.
Once I'd absorbed the organization lesson, I resented the extra step of writing an outline before I actually, you know, wrote! When teachers stopped making us do outlines first, I stopped working from outlines. They still wanted to see the bloody things, so I wrote them after I'd finished the paper.
Fast forward.
I don't plan my novels. I just write. Pantser is the technical term. I follow my characters around, try to entice them (sometimes) to go in certain directions. Usually they do quite well on their own and I just stay out of their way.
In 2010, the initial conflict of my NaNo novel suggested a logical ending. It was really nice having that target to write toward. It felt like I had a plan!
In 2011, I had a rough idea of what an ending for my NaNo novel might look like. I even had a few events that "should" happen along the way. I briefly wondered if I still qualified as a pantser.
At this point I can't see me creating an outline for a novel before it's written. Maybe a Six Point Plan, or perhaps a Ten Point Plan.
But no outline.
I. Heading
__A. Topic
____1. Some words
______a. abashed, objurgate
______b. beguile, proliferate
____2. More words
______a. ineffable
______b. maunder
__B. Another topic
____1. Moar wrdz
____2. Must have a two
____3. I want a tab key that works, dammit!
______a. Rant rant rant
______b. Still moar rant
II. Another heading
__A. Another topic
____1. Some things
______a. ^)^
______b. >^.^<
____2. Some more things
______a. ( '}{' )
______b. *\ 0 /*
__B. Beheading
____1. Because of
______a. Reasons
________i. Good ones
________ii. Bad ones
______b. Because
____2. Methods
______a. Details
______b. Don't look here
I really didn't care what was written on each line. I worked at creating indentation patterns that pleased me. Teachers had us hand in our outlines before we wrote our essay or paper or whatever. Eventually - probably after some rather low grades on my outlines; I really don't remember - I did them properly.
Once I'd absorbed the organization lesson, I resented the extra step of writing an outline before I actually, you know, wrote! When teachers stopped making us do outlines first, I stopped working from outlines. They still wanted to see the bloody things, so I wrote them after I'd finished the paper.
Fast forward.
I don't plan my novels. I just write. Pantser is the technical term. I follow my characters around, try to entice them (sometimes) to go in certain directions. Usually they do quite well on their own and I just stay out of their way.
In 2010, the initial conflict of my NaNo novel suggested a logical ending. It was really nice having that target to write toward. It felt like I had a plan!
In 2011, I had a rough idea of what an ending for my NaNo novel might look like. I even had a few events that "should" happen along the way. I briefly wondered if I still qualified as a pantser.
At this point I can't see me creating an outline for a novel before it's written. Maybe a Six Point Plan, or perhaps a Ten Point Plan.
But no outline.
02 December 2012
NaNoWriMo 2012 Wrap Up
I've participated in National Novel Writing Month eight times. I've made 50,000 words seven of those times. It boggles my mind, it does. Here's how NaNo has gone for me over the years. I put this together back in October, when several other people were posting their NaNo histories.
2002: Signed up 10/31, daughter talked me into it. Managed about 12K of fantasy but it was horrid.
2003: Another attempt at previous year's story. Made 50K but basic conflict didn't hold up.
2007: Third try on same story, pushed time line back about ten years. Best effort to that point, but was an editing nightmare.
2008: Rebel year. Total rewrite of 2007 novel from the beginning. It's decent now, and as soon as I figure out the ending I'll pull it all together.
2009: Rebel year. Three pieces of various lengths; all MCs (Main Characters) telepathic
2010: High fantasy with dragon, dwarf and wizard
2011: Urban science fiction adventure/romance
2012: Rebel year. Sixteen short stories (SF/F, lit fic). Theme - the human condition (yes, anything can fit under that umbrella)
The first four NaNo's were basically me floundering around learning how to write a novel.
My rebellion this year encompassed writing a new ending for last year's novel (over 19K right there) and the beginnings of a bunch of short stories. Four of those are currently around 3K to 5K each. Only one has an ending. The shortest "story" is 120 words - didn't get that one off the ground.
First I think I'll edit the short piece that is the December homework for one of the writing groups I attend. It's currently 670 words. I need to get it down to 500 or less.
After that I just don't know. Maybe I'll take a break from the writing and spend December reading. Oooh, books!
2002: Signed up 10/31, daughter talked me into it. Managed about 12K of fantasy but it was horrid.
2003: Another attempt at previous year's story. Made 50K but basic conflict didn't hold up.
2007: Third try on same story, pushed time line back about ten years. Best effort to that point, but was an editing nightmare.
2008: Rebel year. Total rewrite of 2007 novel from the beginning. It's decent now, and as soon as I figure out the ending I'll pull it all together.
2009: Rebel year. Three pieces of various lengths; all MCs (Main Characters) telepathic
2010: High fantasy with dragon, dwarf and wizard
2011: Urban science fiction adventure/romance
2012: Rebel year. Sixteen short stories (SF/F, lit fic). Theme - the human condition (yes, anything can fit under that umbrella)
The first four NaNo's were basically me floundering around learning how to write a novel.
My rebellion this year encompassed writing a new ending for last year's novel (over 19K right there) and the beginnings of a bunch of short stories. Four of those are currently around 3K to 5K each. Only one has an ending. The shortest "story" is 120 words - didn't get that one off the ground.
First I think I'll edit the short piece that is the December homework for one of the writing groups I attend. It's currently 670 words. I need to get it down to 500 or less.
After that I just don't know. Maybe I'll take a break from the writing and spend December reading. Oooh, books!
03 October 2012
Thoughts Prompted by Alaska Trip
The last few weeks I've taken an introspective meander down Memory Lane. It's full of potholes. Some large enough to swallow a lime green, peace-and-love-symbols-covered VW bus.
Back in the time before dirt, when I graduated from what was then called Palm Beach Junior College [who came up with junior college???] and was applying to universities, I was accepted at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. I lived in south Florida (Palm Beach county!) at the time, but grew up in a Chicago suburb. I had a realistic sense of "winter."
My reaction to Alaska now that I've finally visited? If I had gone there for school, I wouldn't have left the state willingly!
So why didn't I go?
Back in the time before dirt, when I graduated from what was then called Palm Beach Junior College [who came up with junior college???] and was applying to universities, I was accepted at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. I lived in south Florida (Palm Beach county!) at the time, but grew up in a Chicago suburb. I had a realistic sense of "winter."
My reaction to Alaska now that I've finally visited? If I had gone there for school, I wouldn't have left the state willingly!
So why didn't I go?
29 July 2012
Doldrums?
I said I was looking forward to what came next after finishing v2 of Rising Tide. Well, it appears that what’s next is mental fatigue. It crept up on me over the course of the week. By Thursday I couldn’t work on the short story any more. Yesterday I was lucky to have some tasks at work that weren’t mentally demanding. I copied and stamped numbers on the bottom of forms for about an hour. :-) Helped our IT guru with an issue off and on for most of the morning - which consisted of him saying “try this” and me trying that and disappointing him with the results. It worked for him, just not for me. I told him the system liked him best. Probably not all that helpful, really, but I’m sure it’s true. Did normal stuff where I had to think, too. I’m scheduled for some training most of the upcoming week. The ol’ brain cells better be back from coffee break by then.
Today I have a list of things to accomplish:
Read or watch a movie
So far I took a shower... Guess I’ll head to the grocery store before the rain arrives.
Edit: Crossed shopping, cooking, napping and editing off the list. Did some on-line reading, although when I made the list I had reading a book in mind. Well, there's still a bit of evening left. It's time for Mr. Pratchett's latest, The Long Earth. ;-)
21 June 2012
My First Car
Thinking about drivers ed got me thinking about my first car. Thanks to the wonders of Google and the Internets, I found a picture:
Isn't she cute? It's a Hillman Super Minx. Don’t worry if you didn’t get that first try. Few people in the US seem to have heard of these.
That's the color scheme I had, too, although mine was faded from years in the Florida sun. I purchased it at a used car lot, actually heard it was "only driven by a little old lady to and from church." Didn't believe it for a minute, but that line seemed essential to the car buying process to nineteen-year old me. My uncle, a mechanic for Mercedes at the time, checked out the car and broke into guffaws when he looked under the hood. "The thing is powered by a sewing machine!"
The engine did have a sweet little ticking sound to it. Got decent gas mileage, too, when I could calculate it. The speedometer cable broke and I drove for nearly two years not knowing my speed or miles traveled. This must have been A Feature of the car, because it was broken on every Hillman my mechanic checked in the junk yards. (By the time I bought the car they had long ago stopped importing them from England.)
My mechanic Joe had worked at a local Mercedes dealership, but left to open his own shop. Because he was an old friend of my dad and uncle, he agreed to work on my car. I loved driving into his place. The lot had Jaguars, Lamborghinis, Maseratis, Mercedes - and my boxy little Hillman!
Joe told me that he enjoyed the car because there was enough room for him to work, unlike many of the fancy ones where nearly every square inch under the hood was occupied. My engine took up maybe half the available space - hence my uncle dubbing it a sewing machine. Joe checked for Hillmans in every junk yard he went to - even out of state - and had a collection of parts. The two parts he/we needed that he never found were the above-mentioned speedometer cable and the nut that held the fly wheel pulley on.
The fly wheel pulley fell off near sundown in front of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach.
There’d been a rattle under the hood for several weeks, but my dad kept saying he couldn’t hear it, it was nothing, etc. I was on my way to a party and heard a clunk when the part fell off. I stopped the car, ran back and picked up the mystery Piece!Of!My!Car! that looked important. And was hot. But, hey, the rattle stopped! Scared that when I turned off the engine it wouldn’t start again and being a broke community college student not willing to pay for a tow, I drove home with a close eye on the engine temperature. Made it to our driveway, strutted into the house in my party dress and heels, greasy pulley in my hand, and announced to my dad, “I found the rattle!”
He about fainted.
Oh, yeah, important bit of info. My dad was a mechanic, too. I handed him the pulley and asked for his keys so I could go to the party. He was so shocked he gave them to me.
Well, the fly wheel pulley nut was missing from every junker Joe checked. Another Feature, I suppose. He rigged up something. Whatever he did, the repair held.
I really loved that goofy little car.
Isn't she cute? It's a Hillman Super Minx. Don’t worry if you didn’t get that first try. Few people in the US seem to have heard of these.
That's the color scheme I had, too, although mine was faded from years in the Florida sun. I purchased it at a used car lot, actually heard it was "only driven by a little old lady to and from church." Didn't believe it for a minute, but that line seemed essential to the car buying process to nineteen-year old me. My uncle, a mechanic for Mercedes at the time, checked out the car and broke into guffaws when he looked under the hood. "The thing is powered by a sewing machine!"
The engine did have a sweet little ticking sound to it. Got decent gas mileage, too, when I could calculate it. The speedometer cable broke and I drove for nearly two years not knowing my speed or miles traveled. This must have been A Feature of the car, because it was broken on every Hillman my mechanic checked in the junk yards. (By the time I bought the car they had long ago stopped importing them from England.)
My mechanic Joe had worked at a local Mercedes dealership, but left to open his own shop. Because he was an old friend of my dad and uncle, he agreed to work on my car. I loved driving into his place. The lot had Jaguars, Lamborghinis, Maseratis, Mercedes - and my boxy little Hillman!
Joe told me that he enjoyed the car because there was enough room for him to work, unlike many of the fancy ones where nearly every square inch under the hood was occupied. My engine took up maybe half the available space - hence my uncle dubbing it a sewing machine. Joe checked for Hillmans in every junk yard he went to - even out of state - and had a collection of parts. The two parts he/we needed that he never found were the above-mentioned speedometer cable and the nut that held the fly wheel pulley on.
The fly wheel pulley fell off near sundown in front of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach.
There’d been a rattle under the hood for several weeks, but my dad kept saying he couldn’t hear it, it was nothing, etc. I was on my way to a party and heard a clunk when the part fell off. I stopped the car, ran back and picked up the mystery Piece!Of!My!Car! that looked important. And was hot. But, hey, the rattle stopped! Scared that when I turned off the engine it wouldn’t start again and being a broke community college student not willing to pay for a tow, I drove home with a close eye on the engine temperature. Made it to our driveway, strutted into the house in my party dress and heels, greasy pulley in my hand, and announced to my dad, “I found the rattle!”
He about fainted.
Oh, yeah, important bit of info. My dad was a mechanic, too. I handed him the pulley and asked for his keys so I could go to the party. He was so shocked he gave them to me.
Well, the fly wheel pulley nut was missing from every junker Joe checked. Another Feature, I suppose. He rigged up something. Whatever he did, the repair held.
I really loved that goofy little car.
18 June 2012
Drivers Ed
Today I made my annual trek to the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) office to renew the sticker on my car’s license plate. My timing was good; the line wasn’t very long and I was only in there about ten minutes. Most of the chairs were occupied by students from a driving school, all in bright blue t-shirts with the school’s name and phone number across their backs in Large Letters. They were probably there for their learner’s permits. While I waited in line another drivers ed company brought in about a dozen students in bright red t-shirts with the company name on the front.
Summer recess just started for the high schools around here.
The local high schools do teach drivers ed, but because of funding cuts there are limited spaces. Who gets in is decided by lottery. Everyone else must take one of these commercial classes because the State of Illinois requires professional instruction.
Things were different in my day. (OMG I’m old enough to write that!) Drivers education was a required course in high school; everyone took it. There was a movie we all had to watch - they showed it in the auditorium - called “Mechanized Death” or something equally horrid. The cameramen accompanied EMTs to car accidents and filmed them saving lives - or not. Several people fainted, including at least one guy. I cheated by covering my eyes.
For me, the school behind-the-wheel instruction included a stop at Dog and Suds. Do they still exist? It was a drive-in hot dogs and root beer place. You parked, and when they brought your order it was on a tray that hooked over the window opening of the car. Our instructor called it parking practice. He always paid for root beer for himself and the three students in the car. It was pull-straight-into-the-parking-spot-and-straight-out-again parking. I have no memory of what kind of car the school had us drive.
When I finally got brave enough to go for my drivers test, here’s what I drove ... a Ford Galaxy 500.
Not sure I’ve got the year right, and my dad wouldn’t have been caught dead in a car this color, but you get the idea. (I think the only acceptable car colors for Dad were black, grey and white.)
I failed the driving test. Asked to parallel park on a hill, I was too far from the curb and had the wheels angled the wrong way. As you can guess, I practiced and practiced parking on hills. When I retook the test, that officer didn’t even ask me to parallel park! So I passed.
For comparison, this is what my daughter drove for her driving test:
A Toyota Tercel coupe. Yes, in that marvelous color! She was one of the lucky ones and had drivers ed through her school. They didn't stop for soda that I know of. She passed the test first try.
Summer recess just started for the high schools around here.
The local high schools do teach drivers ed, but because of funding cuts there are limited spaces. Who gets in is decided by lottery. Everyone else must take one of these commercial classes because the State of Illinois requires professional instruction.
Things were different in my day. (OMG I’m old enough to write that!) Drivers education was a required course in high school; everyone took it. There was a movie we all had to watch - they showed it in the auditorium - called “Mechanized Death” or something equally horrid. The cameramen accompanied EMTs to car accidents and filmed them saving lives - or not. Several people fainted, including at least one guy. I cheated by covering my eyes.
For me, the school behind-the-wheel instruction included a stop at Dog and Suds. Do they still exist? It was a drive-in hot dogs and root beer place. You parked, and when they brought your order it was on a tray that hooked over the window opening of the car. Our instructor called it parking practice. He always paid for root beer for himself and the three students in the car. It was pull-straight-into-the-parking-spot-and-straight-out-again parking. I have no memory of what kind of car the school had us drive.
When I finally got brave enough to go for my drivers test, here’s what I drove ... a Ford Galaxy 500.
Not sure I’ve got the year right, and my dad wouldn’t have been caught dead in a car this color, but you get the idea. (I think the only acceptable car colors for Dad were black, grey and white.)
I failed the driving test. Asked to parallel park on a hill, I was too far from the curb and had the wheels angled the wrong way. As you can guess, I practiced and practiced parking on hills. When I retook the test, that officer didn’t even ask me to parallel park! So I passed.
For comparison, this is what my daughter drove for her driving test:
31 May 2012
Just drop off the TV. Git yourself free.
In a recent conversation with yet another incredulous person about how I don’t watch television (said person trying to sell me cable TV over the phone), I referred to the DVD player as The Gadget Hooked to the TV That Plays Movies (or something equally odd). My daughter rolled her eyes and said how it made me sound old.
Maybe it was a senior moment. Hey, they can happen to anyone.
Or it was one of those curious turns my mind sometimes takes to avoid a perceived cliché. (If everyone says that, it must be cliché. Avoid! Avoid! Avoid!) This leads to me sounding a bit like Mr. Pratchett’s character Leonard of Quirm on occasion, who famously named his submarine “The Going Under the Water Safely Device” and something similar to Scrabble “The Make Words with Letters That Have All Been Mixed Up Game.” (See Jingo. On second thought, read Jingo! Advice from your local Evangelical Pratchettian. You’re welcome.)
Where was I? Oh, right, mind avoiding anything that may resemble a cliché. This has happened to me for years. I suppose the blame lies in the writing workshops I took years ago. They beat the word “that” out of my prose and set some kind of alarm system for those nasty common phrases.
[Side trip to the thesaurus. Cliché: n. platitude, truism, saw, maxim, stereotype, Inf. bromide, prosaism, banality, commonplace, old story, old song, familiar tune, old saw, chestnut. wOOt! I came up with one not on the list. What does your thesaurus say? I have The Synonym Finder by J.I. Rodale.]
Clichés do pop up in my conversations, of course, but the alarm goes off in my head when it happens, followed by an immediate desire to edit what I said. Weird writer chick, that's me.
{Today's blog title from "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover" by Paul Simon}
Maybe it was a senior moment. Hey, they can happen to anyone.
Or it was one of those curious turns my mind sometimes takes to avoid a perceived cliché. (If everyone says that, it must be cliché. Avoid! Avoid! Avoid!) This leads to me sounding a bit like Mr. Pratchett’s character Leonard of Quirm on occasion, who famously named his submarine “The Going Under the Water Safely Device” and something similar to Scrabble “The Make Words with Letters That Have All Been Mixed Up Game.” (See Jingo. On second thought, read Jingo! Advice from your local Evangelical Pratchettian. You’re welcome.)
Where was I? Oh, right, mind avoiding anything that may resemble a cliché. This has happened to me for years. I suppose the blame lies in the writing workshops I took years ago. They beat the word “that” out of my prose and set some kind of alarm system for those nasty common phrases.
[Side trip to the thesaurus. Cliché: n. platitude, truism, saw, maxim, stereotype, Inf. bromide, prosaism, banality, commonplace, old story, old song, familiar tune, old saw, chestnut. wOOt! I came up with one not on the list. What does your thesaurus say? I have The Synonym Finder by J.I. Rodale.]
Clichés do pop up in my conversations, of course, but the alarm goes off in my head when it happens, followed by an immediate desire to edit what I said. Weird writer chick, that's me.
{Today's blog title from "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover" by Paul Simon}
21 May 2012
I do my part by simply smiling
I am still around, puttering and muttering and proclaiming there are Not Enough Hours in Thee Day. Fortunately you’re out of earshot. Daughter goes off to the stable or work so doesn’t have to hear it, either.
Da books! Da movies! Da writing! (groans Da Chicagoan) They are all Piling Up!
There’s a brief window around here between freezing your tushie and frying your tushie and we are THERE. So I’ve been outside a lot. Not doing anything particularly interesting - although I saw a pair of eagles the other day while walking. No camera with me, of course. I never seem to have it when cool stuff happens. And they were right overhead!
No eclipse viewing for me. It was primarily west of here, but Chicago had clouds in honor of the astronomical event anyway.
I have bought books (Carol King’s autobiography and Naked City, an urban fantasy short story anthology). The second season of Sherlock comes out tomorrow and I have a coupon ... I still haven’t reached the new ending on the novel, although it is now longer than ever (over 55K).
Ze piles they do grow.
(Title of today’s entry is a line from the song “Ampersand” by Amanda Palmer, the current choice of the iPod shuffle.)
Da books! Da movies! Da writing! (groans Da Chicagoan) They are all Piling Up!
There’s a brief window around here between freezing your tushie and frying your tushie and we are THERE. So I’ve been outside a lot. Not doing anything particularly interesting - although I saw a pair of eagles the other day while walking. No camera with me, of course. I never seem to have it when cool stuff happens. And they were right overhead!
No eclipse viewing for me. It was primarily west of here, but Chicago had clouds in honor of the astronomical event anyway.
(Photo by wunderphotographer mcgino, in New Mexico. No clouds there yesterday.)
I have bought books (Carol King’s autobiography and Naked City, an urban fantasy short story anthology). The second season of Sherlock comes out tomorrow and I have a coupon ... I still haven’t reached the new ending on the novel, although it is now longer than ever (over 55K).
Ze piles they do grow.
(Title of today’s entry is a line from the song “Ampersand” by Amanda Palmer, the current choice of the iPod shuffle.)
11 March 2012
Dem Fishies Can Swim
I am now completely convinced that entertainment is lacking in my life. I just spent mumbly mumble minutes watching the fish swim around at the top of my blog. The cursor was out of site (oops, tyop there, but it’s funny so I’ll leave it), so the little guys just roamed around. They bump noses (greetings?), sometimes swim together side by side, sometimes take rest breaks. The red one does seem to go her own way and be a bit more of a loner. Kudos to the programmer(s) who designed that little aquarium of fluffy zen-ness.
If you bring the cursor into the box the fishies will chase it ... and if you click they get food!
What should be happening is sending out my offering for critique. Ah, yes, can you say avoidance behavior? Having an attack of “this is a pile of coprolites and shouldn’t be shared.” Not good timing there.
Okay, off to find a useful and perhaps productive activity, like fix another cup of mocha. Or research brain damage. Or something.
If you bring the cursor into the box the fishies will chase it ... and if you click they get food!
What should be happening is sending out my offering for critique. Ah, yes, can you say avoidance behavior? Having an attack of “this is a pile of coprolites and shouldn’t be shared.” Not good timing there.
Okay, off to find a useful and perhaps productive activity, like fix another cup of mocha. Or research brain damage. Or something.
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