A visit from the bomb squad with my morning coffee

It was wrapped up in plastic and duct tape with camouflage material and a cord handle on top, in the teardrop shape of a grenade, sinister in looks and suspicious in placement. Let the CSI episode in my head begin.

When my husband said he found something under the bedroom window while doing yard work, I didn’t think much of it until he brought it into the house. He said he thought it could have been used to break the window and burglarize the house, but perhaps the burglar had been startled and left it behind in his quick departure. It was heavy, well-used and down-right creepy when it’s under your bedroom window. After examining it, we decided to call the police just in case it was used in the few break-ins we had heard about in the neighborhood.

Flash forward to the officer who showed up at our house and said she had never seen anything like it, it looked like some kind of explosive to her, and since there were some suspicious explosions around the Phoenix area lately she didn’t want to take any chances. One supervisor visit later and the bomb squad was called. Yes, you heard right. The front patio of our house was marked off with yellow police tape and orange cones awaiting the x-ray machine from the bomb squad. I sipped my morning coffee watching the commotion from behind my car (leaving a barrier just in case.)

I secretly told my daughter that I wouldn’t be surprised if that kid next door made this thing, seeing as I found him shooting off firecrackers in the back yard when his parents weren’t home. Fifteen-year-old boys have incredible imaginations and no fear, right? Finally, the neighbor walked over to find out what was happening, his son came up behind him and kept peeking at the taped-off area with curiosity. Hmmm, he’s very interested, isn’t he? He had a very serious look on his face, but said nothing.

Two minutes after the family went home, they came back. He sheepishly followed his father and told the officer in charge, “I made that.” He dropped the bomb, (pardon the pun) and said it was a “bomb” made for a game and got lost as they concealed themselves under the tree by my bedroom window.

OK, so there was no bomb outside my window, that’s a good thing. But how many nights are there teen boys outside my bedroom window? It’s a perfect hiding spot from the street, I can see that now. But I have another thing to worry about, namely, how many teens are outside my bedroom window on any given night?

 

 

The small differences between Stephen King and me

Living in Arizona means there are many more hot days than cold days, no big secret there. And it’s not so bad in the long run, but for someone who loves writing when it’s cold outside, that’s a bummer. I love it when there’s a fire in the hearth or even a heater running, warm tea by my side (or a glass of good single malt Scotch). The words seem to flow and the energy that comes in through the window with the chill air is electric.

Now, as I sit here my mind wanders to great writers, prolific writers and I come to the conclusion that there are only a few small differences between Stephen King and me. (Just a few, you say? Yes, follow along.) First, his fiction has been published. Yes, I know this is a big one. And although I have been published in plenty of nonfiction, I haven’t sent my fiction out there just yet, but I intend to remedy this difference very soon. Then there will be even less difference between me and Stephen, J.K., Ernest and more.

Third, and this is a bigger one…he lives in Maine. It’s cold there and it even snows, and he’s got the fire going, a glass of Scotch, pine trees outside the window, etc. Now, of course I’m only imagining this since Stephen hasn’t yet invited me to his place in Maine (Notice I said yet. I’m keeping the door open on that one). But in my head, that’s what it looks like. And in my head, that’s why he writes so much and so well. The energy of the cool air and the sound of the wind through the trees, even the crackling of the fire behind him in the hearth only add to his creativity. (OK, I know his history and he wrote at a desk between the washer and dryer in a small apartment, but I like to believe that’s all made up. I need a fantasy, so shut up!)

It’s a cool, breezy day here in Arizona, one of the last of the season and I’m taking full advantage of it. I have my tea (it’s still early), the windows are open and the breeze is chilly and crisp. There’s even a chance of rain, which makes me giddy with anticipation. So I close off this blog post in order to use the rest of this splendid weather and write. Hmm, I wonder if there’s room near the washer and dryer for my desk…

 

Do we really hate other writers?

Along with reading a novel from an aspiring writer as a favor, I’ve been watching one of my favorite movies a lot lately. Midnight in Paris, one of Woody Allen’s best in my opinion, has some great dialogue and a beautiful plot line. I love the characters, and the dream-like romp in 1920s Paris, complete with Gertrude Stein, Picasso, and of course, Hemingway.

One scene in particular stands out for me. The main character, strangely transported to Paris in the 1920s, has a chance to meet Hemingway in a bar. After a little small talk, he asked Papa if he’ll take a look at his novel and give him his opinion. Hemingway’s response?

“My opinion is I hate it,” he says.

“But you haven’t even read it yet,” Gil says.

“If it’s bad, I’ll hate it because I hate bad writing,” Hemingway explains. “If it’s good, I’ll be envious and hate it all the more. You don’t want the opinion of another writer.”

This quote really made me think. Is this true? As writers, we always seek feedback from other writers, we want insights, criticism and tips, right? I’ve had great feedback from friends who were writers, but we were also good friends way before the reading began. I admit I do feel a little apprehensive about sending my work out there for writers to comment if I don’t know them well.

Now, as I read the novel of a newly acquainted writer, I’m thinking how great his book is, and how jealous I am. Yes, I admit it, I’m jealous because it is pretty good. But, I don’t think I hate it because it’s good. I just wish I’d written something this good, although it’s not my genre so there’s no way I would have.

Confusing enough? My question is this…do we hate other writers who are successful? Do we secretly envy their success? Or does it make us just that much more determined to go out and do the same thing? I’ve heard other writers say, “If Stephanie Meyer can do it with that, I can certainly do better.” Well, what are you waiting for? Sometimes the difference between the published writer and the unpublished writer is not the quality of their writing but their determination to get it out there.

How Jim Rash got noticed…Angelina style

Once again, the Oscar telecast was boring and a bit predictable. I wasn’t even intrigued by JLo’s alleged nip slip. No, what I loved were the two scene grabbers on stage. First up, the lovely and poised Angelina Jolie. As she walked the red carpet, Jolie was careful to pose with her right leg outstretched in order to give everyone a gander at her glorious gam. It got old fast, don’t you think? Once or twice and it would have been classy and lovely. After a bit, it became in-your-face camera candy. Not one to shy away from the spotlight, she pulled it off with a smile while on stage presenting.

Enter Jim Rash, one of three winners for the best adapted screenplay for “The Descendants.” He knew that another winner, Alexander Payne, would be accepting the award if they won and wanted to get noticed (who wouldn’t want to when it’s your one big chance on that stage?) But how? He quickly popped out his right leg and put his left hand on his hip a la Jolie. Bam! All eyes were on him. I don’t even remember what his buddy Alexander was saying. All I could do was watch his brilliance. Not only was the pose a brilliant way to get the spotlight, but it did something nobody else was willing to do, mock Angelina for her silly pose.

Haven’t seen what I’m talking about (and it’s amazing if you haven’t)? Go here and check it out. I’m not sure about copyright laws and I know that I can’t pay that photographer what he deserves, so hop over to this sight and get a side by side view of the great Jim Rash/Angelina Poseathon.

Taking a lesson from Jim Rash, I’ve been asking myself one question…how will I get my book noticed out of all those books on the shelves and online? Easy- stand out in the crowd no matter how you have to do it, and get all the cameras on you. When my book is published, I will be promoting it Jim-Rash Style. Out there, not afraid to grab a laugh, and having fun all the way. Congrats to Jim, and Angelina for being a good sport. Stay tuned for my analysis of Tom Cruise’s anti-aging deal with Beelzebub. According to MSNBC, he’s now a living Benjamin Button!

Drink like a writer…

Ah, the life of a writer. It conjures up all kinds of dreamy pictures in our minds. When I think of a writer, I think of Hemingway working in a small Parisian cafe with his notebook and pencil and a glass of spirits beside him. Or Virginia Woolf in her studio writing with the French doors wide open. But mostly, I think of that well-worn stereotype of the tortured writer, baring emotions and feelings on paper, opening a vein and pouring it onto the page for all to see. All the while, he’s got an amber drink with a few ice cubes at his arm.

So, in pursuit of that image, I employed a friend with a large liquor cabinet to help me choose my drink of choice. This time, it was the Scotch. All serious writers drink Scotch, right? Well, if I’m going to do this right, I might as well go all out. (Remind me to tell you of the time I bought Maraschino liquor because it was Papa’s favorite, thinking it was the cherry kind. Big mistake.)

Here is the wide array of Scotch I had to choose from, only one of which was mine. And yes, I tried them all and took copious notes (as any writer would do) to make sure I got what I wanted next time. I would also note that when I posted this photo on my Facebook page, my writer friends were the first to comment and offer to help me choose. There, proof enough?

First off, let me thank my good friend and neighbor, Sherrie Z., who is not a writer but rather a fabulous clay artist. I have many pieces of her work adorning my home, including this awesome 2.5 foot ceramic bird that I refer to as “The Master Bird.” It was a gift, left on my porch one night, for which I am forever grateful.

Back to the Scotch. The best, in my uneducated opinion, were The Balvenie, Doublewood 12, The Glenfarcle 25 (which I cannot afford and neither could Hemingway I’m sure), and the Dalwhinnie 15, which was quite smooth and drinkable with a honey finish. I did drink all of them, just to make sure, but it was just a small sip each time so I could make an informed decision. (OK, two of the Balvenie, but why not?)

No, I don’t suppose drinking will make me a better writer. And once I finished the boxing match out back after drinking the Scotch, and got my fishing pole out, I got down to the important task of writing. Well, OK, I went to sleep instead. How the hell did they do it?

You can laugh or cry or get a facelift

So proud of my husband, who spent the weekend working with homeless veterans during Stand Down Arizona. He loves to volunteer at the VA hospital and work with veterans. He served during the Vietnam War.

Yes, he’s gray and yes, he’s just about to retire-not a spring chicken, for sure. But three times this weekend while working with the veterans, he was asked if he served in the Korean War. Ha, that would make him about 80 years old now, right?

What a hoot. But what I love about him is that he found it funny and laughed every time. Men are funny that way, aren’t they? Now of course, being a woman I don’t think I would have found it that funny if people thought I was 25 years older than I was. Would you? I would be watching the Lifestyle Lift commercial with the phone in my hand. That would be right after I bought every toning cream in Macy’s, finally found the Spanx aisle and googled Botox.

But it’s all how you look at it, isn’t it? He laughed, just laughed. No reason to get upset, no reason to feel bad. He’s a confident man who is secure and happy with his looks, for an old man.

Creating Memories for a Lifetime

A wall of magazine covers may not seem like a big deal, but to a young girl, it’s the beginning of dreams, stories, and memories. How? I mentioned a new app for Life magazine cover art recently and a sweet story emerged from a lovely lady I didn’t know too well, until now. She reminisced about how her family was the last one on the block to have a TV. Instead, her father cleared a wall in the living room and pasted the covers of Life magazine and The Saturday Evening Post on the entire wall until it was completely covered. Norman Rockwell art, photos of President Kennedy, fashion photos, black and white shots frozen in time.

This was the wall the family looked at every day, finding something new to talk about and wonder about each day. It was colorful and a conversation starter for anyone who entered their house. It is something she still thinks about these many years later, long after both of her parents have passed away.

Why did he do it? She didn’t remember. She only knew that he resisted getting the television, fearing it would separate the family and bring about too much solitude. He loved family conversations, loved the discussions the covers generated, even stories made up to the Norman Rockwell paintings on the Post covers. Eventually, he gave in and the television was brought in and placed against a wall in the same room as the magazine wall.

The TV wall became the focal point from then on. “I don’t remember looking at the magazine wall after that,” she said. “Instead, we sat around the TV. I didn’t realize the importance or significance of the magazine wall until I was much older. Even now, I miss it. I think it made him sad that we didn’t look at it anymore.”

What a beautiful memory, and a creative way for a father to connect with his kids. I wish I had known him.

And now I want a magazine wall…

Timeless advice for writers or actors

I saw a brilliant musical adaptation of the novel Daddy Long Legs at the Herberger Theater in Phoenix yesterday morning.

If you haven’t had a chance to see it, I highly recommend it. It’s there until January 15th and moving across the country.

After the performance, we were lucky enough to attend a Q&A with the actors, Megan McGinnis and Robert Adelman Hancock. They were generous with their time even though they had just performed for more than 2 hours.

Of course, the obligatory question came up: What advice would you give upcoming actors? But the answer Hancock gave  resonated with me. He answered, simply, “Learn as much as you can about many things.” Don’t focus on just acting or just singing. Rather, learn about chemistry, engineering, drama, English, history, etc. This way, you are able to pull from so much knowledge about life and that can only make your craft stronger. Simple advice that many people forget in the pursuit of a profession.

And the same advice applies to writers, does it not? That book you’re reading on physics is not a waste of time, and neither is that Nazi documentary on the history channel. Even reading People magazine can be helpful and build your knowledge of current trends for future writing. It’s all research and education. Don’t feel guilty about hitting the art museum or Musical Instrument Museum, it will help you when you least expect it.

I was advised when I entered Journalism school to take as many classes in as much as I could in order to be a better writer. I believe it was the best advice I was given (other than to stay away from that burrito place on Mill Ave).

I agree with Hancock and it definitely shows in his performance of an early 20^th-century gentleman. Go see the show and then grab a Newsweek Magazine on your way home.

At least it’s not the plague

I’m knee-deep in research for the WIP and this leads me to try and find a deadly plague that works with my timeline (late 1700s)  and setting (Europe). Not so easy since I want this to be believable enough but also work with my story. After considering Russia, Germany or France, I’ve decided on a time and place (you’ll have to read it to find out). But now comes the research of the actual symptoms and oh my, that was a nasty business.

So many people died, and such an awful death. The best that can be said for it is that it was quick. Dead within a week (Ok, a long and painful week with swelling, fever, delirium, pain), or within hours with the pneumonic version (sounds good after the bubonic version). Lovely huh? And, your entire family was probably going with you.

Downer, right? But at the start of this new year as I ponder all the wonderful things I want to do and all the great things I have planned for family and career, it’s a great comfort to know that we’re not going through a plague, right? (I’m trying to be positive…it’s a resolution) So, my new mantra is…”at least it’s not the plague.” How does that work?

Oy, my back hurts…at least it’s not the plague.

Damn, I can’t sleep…at least it’s not the plague.

I can’t find my muse and I’m stuck on a storyline…at least it’s not the plague.

I feel better already.

Looking ahead

The best thing about the New Year is that it’s only a new beginning and a fresh start if you want it to be. But then again, June 2 can be one, can’t it? December 27th can be one too. It’s not about the date so much as the feeling of starting over and having another chance that always feels so great to me. And why not do it on the first?

I usually make weight goals as my resolutions, but since I finally lost all the weight I wanted and have kept it off for a few years, I feel confident in leaving that one behind. My goals for this year are different than they have been in previous years because my outlook on life is different. What was important years ago has taken on new meaning. So, without further discussion, my goals are simple and as follows:

1. Finish editing novel #1 and submit to agents.

2. Finish writing novel #2.

3. Forgive myself for the crap I’ve done this year. What the hell, I should start with a new slate of crap, right?

4. More discipline. It’s about time I stick to a schedule (or at least try this year.) Any help on that matter is most appreciated. How do you stick to a schedule?

5. Spend as much time with my daughter as possible. She gets her driver’s license this year, which means I will see less and less of her now. So, I’ll spend as much time as I can before my time is limited.

6. Spend as much time with my new nephew as possible. He’ll be born any day now and will live just 15 minutes away. No reason not to see him weekly and hug him as much as possible. Starting out in life, you can never have too many hugs.

7. Stay away from bullshit. I’m old enough now to resolve that I don’t want to be around it and I don’t have to be polite and put up with it. Life’s too short to put up with crap anymore.

8. Blog more often. Isn’t this fun? I’m going to spend more time blogging, learning about blogging and promoting myself (as an author and all around fun person who doesn’t like bullshit…)

Here’s to your New Year, free from crap and full of hugs and friendship. Thanks for following this year and making it a fun and prosperous year for me.