Not another day...

...will pass without me writing something. I know. I've been MIA these past few days. I have no excuse and no reason. I've been busy and reading and catching up on a lot of things, and, well, I haven't had much to say that would be worth writing about. No pithy observations, no special moments that needed to be inscribed in bits and bytes, nothing to say. And I just took a lot of words to say nothing at all.

Even in my quiet and secluded environment, I have picked up the yarg that is currently making the rounds. Nothing horrible, no gastrointestinal pyrotechnics, just a stuffy head and feeling sub par. It happens. So, taking my own advice I have brewed a cup of green and licorice root tea with honey. That should set things to rights. I culled some wood from the basement and have a lovely warm fire going and I don't feel so cold and icky. I had a short conversation with my favorite person and I think I can finally get motivated to write the reviews I need to write. I also have to write a few articles for the horror site, finish a cat fighting scenario, and dig into the ripped out roots of my NaNo novel and start all over from a better perspective and point in the story.

I've been wrestling with what I need to do with it because it just didn't have the right tone and wasn't doing what I want to do with the story. I just trashed about 15,000 words and I'm starting over. I may be able to salvage what I've already written, but even if I don't at least I know where the story should begin and how it will play out.

The stove is blowing warm air out and up into the loft where I spend most of my days and my fingers are warm and functioning for a change. The licorice root and green tea is soothing my throat and I can breathe again. The washing machine is cleaning a load of clothes and my plants are watered and flourishing--as are the gnats. I don't feel like crawling back into bed with evil intentions of DIY pleasure or just snoozing with another book. The sky outside my window is a fluffy uniform hazy white with ribbons of the palest blue winking between the clouds. I found out there is a chance I will be able to see the aurora borealis tonight since the sun is spitting fire in our direction and I do not want to miss another aurora like the one I missed last night that was visible as far south as Oklahoma.

There is still snow on the ground and the air is crisp, cold, and clear. It's a good day and my mood has definitely taken a detour around icky and slid right into happy and productive. Can't ask for more than that.

Onward and upward...

The first day of the novel writing challenge and I was indulging myself in a hearty breakfast of turkey sausage, eggs, and a big cup of Dagoba Xocolatl (that's pronounced chocolate) Mexican cocoa mix with chilies and cinnamon. For those of you who don't know it, cinnamon has been shown to lower insulin sensitivity in diabetics, but that peculiar mix of chilies and cinnamon is typically Mexican and more delicious than you ever dreamed possible. I'm feeling revved up and warm inside, and not just from the chilies, but from a cup of morning cocoa and good food.

The Dagoba Xocolatl was an impulse buy this weekend at the health food store in Winter Park and I'm already hooked. I had a cup last night with a bowl of frozen mangoes and toasted pumpkin seeds and another cup. I may have another one tonight, so there.

In the meantime, I have cleared out all the emails and made my comments and I'm gearing up for an incest fest of unusual and controversial proportions. I do so love taking the road less traveled and this is no exception, so onward and upward to the 50K words I need to complete before the 15th of this month so I can move on to dark Victorian fiction. I write enough nonfiction all the time that I'm indulging my secret pleasure this month. Humor me or I'll make you read it all.

Join me in the NaNoWriMo challenge even if you think you can't write. You just never know until you try.

That is all. Disperse.

NaNoWriMo

Yes, it's true. I'm going to tackle two books this month because I've been so lazy the rest of the year. Well, not so lazy, but I haven't written any books this year and I need to get back up on that horse.

I see has decided to do the same thing and write two books for the NaNoWriMo challenge this year, but I've decided I am not going to divide my energies and write two books at the same time. So, you ask, how do I plan to write two books in the month of November? Simple. I'm going to write the first one in the first half of the month and then write the second one.

I tend to have tunnel vision when I write, concentrating so intensely I am oblivious to everything and everyone around me, including biological functions. This is a good thing, but it also makes it difficult to write two books at once and still do what I must do to generate funds to pay for the privilege of living and writing. So, the two-pronged approach. A friend told me last year I could write two books a month and I'm going to see if his belief in me is misplaced or simply insane.

I'm going to tackle the incest novel first and then move on to something darker and more Victorian. Or, then again, I may do something completely out of character and write a romance. Quit laughing. I can write romance, but it won't be your Harlequin style, frilly, frothy, empty-headed romance. There will be a story and complex characters. So get ready to swallow your laughter and be amazed.

I am.

Blather

So many thoughts, so much to say, and so little space before the readers get bored or angry and move on. So I'll make it all as brief as possible (for me, too, since I have other things I need to do as well).

Happy Halloween/Blessed Samhain to all and to all a good day and night. Tonight is a special night when the walls between the worlds of the living and the dead are thinnest. It is a time to remember those who have gone on and to, in some societies and beliefs, to set out a little something for them (food & drink) to honor them. It's not such a bad idea, whatever your religion or beliefs, to remember the ones we have loved and who have passed beyond the veil. These are the people who have helped us become who and what we are, good and bad, and who we still think of. Of course, this is also a time of year to remember the opposite side of the coin of death--LIFE! This is also a time that reminds us of the promise of rebirth and the continuity of life. Don't forget to celebrate life as we remember the dead.

Sadly, and her children left this morning. I was sad to see them go. The time went by so quickly this weekend but we had a good time playing games (I actually lost one), carving pumpkins, celebrating the season, watching horror movies (one was good, the others had nothing frightening about them at all except that they were made and people were paid to write and act in the atrocities that they were), and talking. I also made a pot of butternut squash soup and toasted pumpkin seeds to go on top with the sour cream. The kids didn't like it, but their taste buds are still clogged with candy and junk food. It's not their fault, it's just biology. It took me many years to appreciate a good dry or red wine. My palate was immature.

They left this morning for a Democratic rally in downtown Denver at Lincoln Park across from the state house, but not before informing me one of my computers was haunted and dialed up to get online twice during the night. I figured out the problem, but it wasn't haints. It was a rabid program accidentally downloaded when J downloaded some graphics for his PowerPoint presentation for school. No big deal. Just happens sometimes and I seldom use that computer for anything but printing since my main computer was configured improperly and doesn't recognize printers, something I have not had the time or inclination to correct. It was so quiet when they left and I missed them. I always miss them.

The rest of the day I caught up on sleep I missed during our marathon talk fest Friday night/Saturday morning that ended at 5 a.m. We did all the usual fun stuff: shopping, cooking, talking, and just spending time together. I'll go down to see them in December when I take my FCC ham radio operator's tests.

Yes, you read that right. I'm going to get a ham radio operator's license and I'm learning Morse code. I've been told I'm progressing nicely, but it doesn't feel comfortable yet. This morning I had an email from my mentor and friend that said backsliding and plateaus are normal just when I was beginning to believe I was too old to learn and my brain was fried. Well, I haven't been studying that long either. I've only been at this a few days and I tend to get antsy if I don't catch on right away. I need to remember I'm blazing new synapses and not adding new nuances to knowledge I already possess. It's a whole different game. I have six weeks to get it all down and I'm sure I will, but I'm used to learning things a whole lot faster. I'll get over it and I will keep plugging away until those synapses are hard wired. Code will play a big part in a story I've planned to write.

Another bit of my past surfaced this weekend, someone I hear from very seldom--usually when he's updating his contact lists. Now that he's retired (he retired at 49 from the Fire Dept in Columbus, Ohio and the Bomb Squad) and has all this time on his hands he says he misses me. He probably just misses all the days, weekends, and afternoons we spent working on his planes (a Cessna-152 and a home built Cozy), walking his five dogs, and me teaching him how to get the most use out of his computers and peripherals. We did have a good time together, but all of a sudden he misses my physical presence. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder. I have to admit I enjoy spending time with him, too. He was an interesting character, a life long bachelor who loves animals more than most people, and a quick wit. I saw Message in a Bottle with him, and several other movies. We worked good together when we pooled our resources and cooked or just when we spent time together, but time and people (especially me) move on.

Into this maelstrom of remembrance and thoughts of the past rang my mother's strident tones. "Who have you begged, borrowed, stole from, or murdered this week?" she asked when I picked up the phone. I told her the list was very long and indiscriminate and she laughed. She had been reading a magazine and came across the word/herb Rosemary and thought of me. She said my father didn't remember how to make my scalp tonic and I explained it again. They won't remember it even though it is very easy so I'll just make up a batch for them, put it into a spritzer and send it with clear instructions.

Rosemary is a very useful herb in cooking, but it also promotes blood flow, which, in the case of the scalp and thinning hair, is very important. An infusion (or tea for the uninitiated) of rosemary used as a final rinse, and massaged into the scalp, when washing your hair will increase blood flow to the scalp and promote hair growth. Don't believe me? Ask if my hair isn't thicker. My father even noticed it when my parents were here and he asked me how it happened. Herbology is a fascinating subject and I've been studying for a long time.

Since I have been offline for a few days, I got back online this afternoon and began perusing my friends' journals and came across a very interesting and thought provoking post by the usually absent . You ought to check it out.

Basically what it says is that if you are unhappy with the way your county or state treats your civil liberties or your choice of marriage/commitment partner you can take yourself, your family, and your loved one(s) where they will honor your life choices, thus depriving the previous county/state of your tax and consumer dollars. In other words, make your choices known with the currently most powerful force at your command--your money.

Taking that thought a bit farther, it might not be a bad idea to consider moving offshore to Mexico, Pakistan, or India to take advantage of the lower cost of living and go where your job has migrated. You may get less money than what you earn in the U.S. but at least you can continue working and taking your job back. That would also send the legislature of this country a message: If you're going to let companies send my job elsewhere I'll follow the job and deprive you of my tax and consumer dollars.

You may not want to live in a foreign country, but this country is rapidly getting pretty foreign as the government solicits immigrants from all over the world, even to the point of financing their move, while it ignores the native population and their needs/concerns. It's just a casual thought on a dark and snowy night full of shadows and howling winds--at least here. Do with it what you will, but consider your options. You are the captain of your own life and if you fail to guide your vessel the tides and currents will take you where they will and not where you will.

That is all. Disperse.

Blather

So many thoughts, so much to say, and so little space before the readers get bored or angry and move on. So I'll make it all as brief as possible (for me, too, since I have other things I need to do as well).

Happy Halloween/Blessed Samhain to all and to all a good day and night. Tonight is a special night when the walls between the worlds of the living and the dead are thinnest. It is a time to remember those who have gone on and to, in some societies and beliefs, to set out a little something for them (food & drink) to honor them. It's not such a bad idea, whatever your religion or beliefs, to remember the ones we have loved and who have passed beyond the veil. These are the people who have helped us become who and what we are, good and bad, and who we still think of. Of course, this is also a time of year to remember the opposite side of the coin of death--LIFE! This is also a time that reminds us of the promise of rebirth and the continuity of life. Don't forget to celebrate life as we remember the dead.

Sadly, and her children left this morning. I was sad to see them go. The time went by so quickly this weekend but we had a good time playing games (I actually lost), carving pumpkins, celebrating the season, watching horror movies (one was good, the others had nothing frightening about them at all except that they were made and people were paid to write and act in the atrocities that they were), and talking. I also made a pot of butternut squash soup and toasted pumpkin seeds to go on top with the sour cream. The kids didn't like it, but their taste buds are still clogged with candy and junk food. It's not their fault, it's just biology. It took me many years to appreciate a good dry or red wine. My palate was immature.

They left this morning for a Democratic rally in downtown Denver at Lincoln Park across from the state house, but not before informing me one of my computers was haunted and dialed up to get online twice during the night. I figured out the problem, but it wasn't haints. It was a rabid program accidentally downloaded when J downloaded some graphics for his PowerPoint presentation for school. No big deal. Just happens sometimes and I seldom use that computer for anything but printing since my main computer was configured improperly and doesn't recognize printers, something I have not had the time or inclination to correct. It was so quiet when they left and I missed them. I always miss them.

The rest of the day I caught up on sleep I missed during our marathon talk fest Friday night/Saturday morning that ended at 5 a.m. We did all the usual fun stuff: shopping, cooking, talking, and just spending time together. I'll go down to see them in December when I take my FCC ham radio operator's tests.

Yes, you read that right. I'm going to get a ham radio operator's license and I'm learning Morse code. I've been told I'm progressing nicely, but it doesn't feel comfortable yet. This morning I had an email from my mentor and friend that said backsliding and plateaus are normal just when I was beginning to believe I was too old to learn and my brain was fried. Well, I haven't been studying that long either. I've only been at this a few days and I tend to get antsy if I don't catch on right away. I need to remember I'm blazing new synapses and not adding new nuances to knowledge I already possess. It's a whole different game. I have six weeks to get it all down and I'm sure I will, but I'm used to learning things a whole lot faster. I'll get over it and I will keep plugging away until those synapses are hard wired. Code will play a big part in a story I've planned to write.

Another bit of my past surfaced this weekend, someone I hear from very seldom--usually when he's updating his contact lists. Now that he's retired (he retired at 49 from the Fire Dept in Columbus, Ohio and the Bomb Squad) and has all this time on his hands he says he misses me. He probably just misses all the days, weekends, and afternoons we spent working on his planes (a Cessna-152 and a home built Cozy), walking his five dogs, and me teaching him how to get the most use out of his computers and peripherals. We did have a good time together, but all of a sudden he misses my physical presence. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder. I have to admit I enjoy spending time with him, too. He was an interesting character, a life long bachelor who loves animals more than most people, and a quick wit. I saw Message in a Bottle with him, and several other movies. We worked good together when we pooled our resources and cooked or just when we spent time together, but time and people (especially me) move on.

Into this maelstrom of remembrance and thoughts of the past rang my mother's strident tones. "Who have you begged, borrowed, stole from, or murdered this week?" she asked when I picked up the phone. I told her the list was very long and indiscriminate and she laughed. She had been reading a magazine and came across the word/herb Rosemary and thought of me. She said my father didn't remember how to make my scalp tonic and I explained it again. They won't remember it even though it is very easy so I'll just make up a batch for them, put it into a spritzer and send it with clear instructions.

Rosemary is a very useful herb in cooking, but it also promotes blood flow, which, in the case of the scalp and thinning hair, is very important. An infusion (or tea for the uninitiated) of rosemary used as a final rinse, and massaged into the scalp, when washing your hair will increase blood flow to the scalp and promote hair growth. Don't believe me? Ask if my hair isn't thicker. My father even noticed it when my parents were here and he asked me how it happened. Herbology is a fascinating subject and I've been studying for a long time.

Since I have been offline for a few days, I got back online this afternoon and began perusing my friends' journals and came across a very interesting and thought provoking post by the usually absent . You ought to check it out.

Basically what it says is that if you are unhappy with the way your county or state treats your civil liberties or your choice of marriage/commitment partner you can take yourself, your family, and your loved one(s) where they will honor your life choices, thus depriving the previous county/state of your tax and consumer dollars. In other words, make your choices known with the currently most powerful force at your command--your money.

Taking that thought a bit farther, it might not be a bad idea to consider moving offshore to Mexico, Pakistan, or India to take advantage of the lower cost of living and go where your job has migrated. You may get less money than what you earn in the U.S. but at least you can continue working and taking your job back. That would also send the legislature of this country a message: If you're going to let companies send my job elsewhere I'll follow the job and deprive you of my tax and consumer dollars.

You may not want to live in a foreign country, but this country is rapidly getting pretty foreign as the government solicits immigrants from all over the world, even to the point of financing their move, while it ignores the native population and their needs/concerns. It's just a casual thought on a dark and snowy night full of shadows and howling winds--at least here. Do with it what you will, but consider your options. You are the captain of your own life and if you fail to guide your vessel the tides and currents will take you where they will and not where you will.

That is all. Disperse.

Blather

So many thoughts, so much to say, and so little space before the readers get bored or angry and move on. So I'll make it all as brief as possible (for me, too, since I have other things I need to do as well).

Happy Halloween/Blessed Samhain to all and to all a good day and night. Tonight is a special night when the walls between the worlds of the living and the dead are thinnest. It is a time to remember those who have gone on and to, in some societies and beliefs, to set out a little something for them (food & drink) to honor them. It's not such a bad idea, whatever your religion or beliefs, to remember the ones we have loved and who have passed beyond the veil. These are the people who have helped us become who and what we are, good and bad, and who we still think of. Of course, this is also a time of year to remember the opposite side of the coin of death--LIFE! This is also a time that reminds us of the promise of rebirth and the continuity of life. Don't forget to celebrate life as we remember the dead.

Sadly, and her children left this morning. I was sad to see them go. The time went by so quickly this weekend but we had a good time playing games (I actually lost), carving pumpkins, celebrating the season, watching horror movies (one was good, the others had nothing frightening about them at all except that they were made and people were paid to write and act in the atrocities that they were), and talking. I also made a pot of butternut squash soup and toasted pumpkin seeds to go on top with the sour cream. The kids didn't like it, but their taste buds are still clogged with candy and junk food. It's not their fault, it's just biology. It took me many years to appreciate a good dry or red wine. My palate was immature.

They left this morning for a Democratic rally in downtown Denver at Lincoln Park across from the state house, but not before informing me one of my computers was haunted and dialed up to get online twice during the night. I figured out the problem, but it wasn't haints. It was a rabid program accidentally downloaded when J downloaded some graphics for his PowerPoint presentation for school. No big deal. Just happens sometimes and I seldom use that computer for anything but printing since my main computer was configured improperly and doesn't recognize printers, something I have not had the time or inclination to correct. It was so quiet when they left and I missed them. I always miss them.

The rest of the day I caught up on sleep I missed during our marathon talk fest Friday night/Saturday morning that ended at 5 a.m. We did all the usual fun stuff: shopping, cooking, talking, and just spending time together. I'll go down to see them in December when I take my FCC ham radio operator's tests.

Yes, you read that right. I'm going to get a ham radio operator's license and I'm learning Morse code. I've been told I'm progressing nicely, but it doesn't feel comfortable yet. This morning I had an email from my mentor and friend that said backsliding and plateaus are normal just when I was beginning to believe I was too old to learn and my brain was fried. Well, I haven't been studying that long either. I've only been at this a few days and I tend to get antsy if I don't catch on right away. I need to remember I'm blazing new synapses and not adding new nuances to knowledge I already possess. It's a whole different game. I have six weeks to get it all down and I'm sure I will, but I'm used to learning things a whole lot faster. I'll get over it and I will keep plugging away until those synapses are hard wired. Code will play a big part in a story I've planned to write.

Another bit of my past surfaced this weekend, someone I hear from very seldom--usually when he's updating his contact lists. Now that he's retired (he retired at 49 from the Fire Dept in Columbus, Ohio and the Bomb Squad) and has all this time on his hands he says he misses me. He probably just misses all the days, weekends, and afternoons we spent working on his planes (a Cessna-152 and a home built Cozy), walking his five dogs, and me teaching him how to get the most use out of his computers and peripherals. We did have a good time together, but all of a sudden he misses my physical presence. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder. I have to admit I enjoy spending time with him, too. He was an interesting character, a life long bachelor who loves animals more than most people, and a quick wit. I saw Message in a Bottle with him, and several other movies. We worked good together when we pooled our resources and cooked or just when we spent time together, but time and people (especially me) move on.

Into this maelstrom of remembrance and thoughts of the past rang my mother's strident tones. "Who have you begged, borrowed, stole from, or murdered this week?" she asked when I picked up the phone. I told her the list was very long and indiscriminate and she laughed. She had been reading a magazine and came across the word/herb Rosemary and thought of me. She said my father didn't remember how to make my scalp tonic and I explained it again. They won't remember it even though it is very easy so I'll just make up a batch for them, put it into a spritzer and send it with clear instructions.

Rosemary is a very useful herb in cooking, but it also promotes blood flow, which, in the case of the scalp and thinning hair, is very important. An infusion (or tea for the uninitiated) of rosemary used as a final rinse, and massaged into the scalp, when washing your hair will increase blood flow to the scalp and promote hair growth. Don't believe me? Ask if my hair isn't thicker. My father even noticed it when my parents were here and he asked me how it happened. Herbology is a fascinating subject and I've been studying for a long time.

Since I have been offline for a few days, I got back online this afternoon and began perusing my friends' journals and came across a very interesting and thought provoking post by the usually absent . You ought to check it out.

Basically what it says is that if you are unhappy with the way your county or state treats your civil liberties or your choice of marriage/commitment partner you can take yourself, your family, and your loved one(s) where they will honor your life choices, thus depriving the previous county/state of your tax and consumer dollars. In other words, make your choices known with the currently most powerful force at your command--your money.

Taking that thought a bit farther, it might not be a bad idea to consider moving offshore to Mexico, Pakistan, or India to take advantage of the lower cost of living and go where your job has migrated. You may get less money than what you earn in the U.S. but at least you can continue working and taking your job back. That would also send the legislature of this country a message: If you're going to let companies send my job elsewhere I'll follow the job and deprive you of my tax and consumer dollars.

You may not want to live in a foreign country, but this country is rapidly getting pretty foreign as the government solicits immigrants from all over the world, even to the point of financing their move, while it ignores the native population and their needs/concerns. It's just a casual thought on a dark and snowy night full of shadows and howling winds--at least here. Do with it what you will, but consider your options. You are the captain of your own life and if you fail to guide your vessel the tides and currents will take you where they will and not where you will.

That is all. Disperse.

More politics from the demon side

Say what you will, but Joss Whedon created something special in Buffy and her demon-bashing Scoobie friends and with Angel. You may think he was just writing about demons and vampires and fighting evil, but there was so much more to the show than teenage angst on the Hellmouth. Buffy, the Scoobies, Angel, and (my favorite) Rupert Giles offer so much more.

If you haven't seen Buffy yet, check it out on video. The final season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer will be out on DVD Nov. 16, but be sure to start at the beginning and watch it all the way thru. You'll be glad you did.

The politics of pie

Slapstick is alive and well in Arizona where two students used their right of free speech to make their politics known in a very public way.

Ann Coulter was speaking at the University of Arizona in Tucson when two male students pelted her with something stickier than tough questions.

That is all. Disperse.

Lunar Eclipse Tonight

If you haven't heard about it yet, check out the best times for your area to watch tonight's eclipse.

NASA has all the info and lots more besides. Go down the page and click the link that matches your time zone. Then make sure you're outside with family or friends or just go by yourself and watch.

That is all. Disperse

Lunar Eclipse Tonight

If you haven't heard about it yet, check out the best times for your area to watch tonight's eclipse.

NASA has all the info and lots more besides. Go down the page and click the link that matches your time zone. Then make sure you're outside with family or friends or just go by yourself and watch.

That is all. Disperse

Autumn reminder

I have been so caught up in dealing with the past and finances over the past few weeks, not to mention my parents' visit, that I completely forgot it was autumn. I got a huge reminder yesterday.

I went to the store to pick up some vegetables, envelopes, and pens (since mine are all used up--I go thru so many of them). As I pushed the crotchety cart down the soup aisle I noticed packages of split green and yellow peas, which put me in the mind of split pea soup with ham. I picked up a package of each and made my way to the meat counter to look at ham. The prices were pretty outrageous for something that is sold by the weight, especially when most of the weight is water, but I found a nice butt end with the bone still intact that wasn't too big or too small and within my budget--sort of. Picked up the rest of my things and received a coupon for a free grande anything from the Starbucks in the store. I chose a pumpkin spice latte, decaffeinated, of course, loaded the groceries in the car, parked the crotchety cart in the corral, and headed for home.

All the way down to Fraser the sky was an iron gray that spat snow and ice pellets. By the time I was back to Tabernash lacy flakes and clumps of snow were drifting down thru the leaden skies while smoky trails wound up from chimneys here and there along the road. Safe in the back seat two butternut squash whispered to me of creamy butternut squash soup laced with maple syrup and a caramel apple reminded me of the treat in store for me when I finished putting everything away. Bright red pomegranates rolled thru my memory, another sure sign of autumn.

As I rounded the curve on the lower part of the winding dirt road that leads to my cabin a doe bounded across my path and stopped on the down slope. I stopped the car and we looked at each other for several minutes, her with curiosity at my strange behavior and me with wonder that I live where beautiful creatures like her wander wherever they will. Smiling, I drove on. I pulled into the road that leads to my cabin and stopped again as a magnificent stag leapt in front of me and into the woods on the other side of the road. He stopped and turned just as I stopped the car. His antlers told the tale of a king among stags, proud and arrogant in his powerful grace, deigning to notice me. He reminded me of the woodcuts in Felix Salten's story of Bambi, Bambi's father standing on the hill waiting for his son to catch up with him.

Just then a yearling buck hop-skipped across the road and stopped, looking up at the stag as if waiting for permission to move. In the gathering dusk, it looked as though he had four points on his tiny rack. Suddenly the stag move regally toward the brow of the hill and down. The little buck hesitated, looking over at me, and then hop-skipped after the stag to disappear into the deeper shadows of the pine trees.

Moments later I pulled into the drive and unloaded the car, locked the door, and dragged my bags upstairs. As I put away the groceries, setting my caramel apple aside and taking a sip of the pumpkin spiced latte, the weight of the past few days lifted. I walked over to the doors that look onto the deck and dreamily watched snowflakes fluttering to the ground, pilling in soft drifts on the deck and across the slopes and rills of my yard, catching in the still green pine needles and sifting thru the branches in a fall of glitter.

Out on the deck as snowflakes settled on my eyelashes and hair, I breathed deeply of wood smoke and the spicy scent of one of my favorite seasons of the year--autumn. I almost forgot and let the season slip away from me in all the worries and day-to-day dealings that I let weigh me down. The bucks and the doe were a reminder to stop and inhale the scent of freedom and joy that comes bounding out of the shadows across my path. I'm glad I paid attention.

Lottery

How many of you have heard about the Green Card lottery?

Now you know

Halloween's a comin'

Ghosts are goblins are tuning up their tricks and parents are gathering treats for beggar's night. In the meantime, I'm spending my time looking for good Halloween books for kids. Know any?

On my new Bella Online Horror Literature site I'm going to focus on a classic Halloween tale and a relatively new tale for children. I'll let you all know when the article is up, but in the meantime any insights into what your kids are reading or have read in the past is always helpful. My kids are grown and gone and I'm a bit out of touch with things, especially since I always opted for stories with a bite that left the reader hungry for bigger and better frights. I'm strange that way.

But while I look into the tricks and treats of days gone by and yet to be, why not tell me what your favorite stories were at this spookiest time of year or what you're reading to your kids and grandkids? What do you look for in a book and what do you think is too much for young minds and hearts? Then tell me, please, the stories that kept you up nights checking the shadows and blowing curtains in your room afraid to shut your eyes and what made them haunt the corners of your active imaginations.

After all, I'm writing for the reading public at large and not just for my own amusement, although I write for that reason, too.

Come one, come all...

...and see the insanity first hand.

Last year I entered the NaNoWriMo contest and finished a 100,000-word novel. I still need to edit it, but it's written. I'm also rewriting it, but that's the beauty of the process.

This year I'm unsure of which novel to begin and I may just write two novels since I can't choose. It would be good for me and a friend told me I could write 12 novels a year, or at least six. He's not a writer, but I'm going to give it a good try and November is a good time to start getting serious.

You may read the progress of said novel(s) at NaNoWriMo Novel Challenge 2004 if you're interested in the insane rantings of a writer.

So, I'm going to give it my best shot, quit chatting with friends on IM, focus on writing something more than blogs, of which I have three (and now four), articles and columns and stretch my creative literary wings. It won't be perfect (well, maybe it will be), but it is a start in the right direction. Who knows? I may end up with 12 novels coming out within the next two years and I will have the rest of my dream...living in a cabin in the Rockies and making a good living as a writer. You never know. Stranger things have happened. Now go write something and give me some competition and some company.

Do you know who you're reading?

On September 25, 1999 I had just moved to Hudson, Ohio when a friend called and told me Marion Zimmer Bradley had just died. Marion was a good friend and a mentor, one of many writers who have given me so much of their time and talent and believed in me.

Marion had been ill for several years and had battled diabetes for a very long time. Her body couldn't take any more and she slipped into a coma and died. It was a loss to her family but also a loss to her friends and to the reading public who had been so ensnared by her stories and characters from so many of her worlds and times.

At the time I was reading a new novel, a continuation of her Avalon series. Something was off with the book and I thought it was Marion's illness. The book was good, but it didn't have Marion's signature style. I soon found out that most of the books in the previous few years were not written by Marion, but by one of her proteges. I had no idea such things happened. I knew James Michener had a staff of researchers and writers who churned out his books on an assembly line. He couldn't have written so much in a short time otherwise. But to find out Marion's books were penned by someone else seemed wrong to me.

It's not uncommon, however. Marion had the name and the writer authoring her books didn't, but s/he knew Marion and could mimic Marion's style.

To anyone who reads an author and gets to know them, any change in the nuances of characterization, plot, and mythology are as obvious as a 6 mm pimple on your nose. So many "lost" novels published after Marion's death are more of the same. Case in point, Witch Hill is the latest book published in the wake of Marion's death. It is purportedly a book that wasn't published prior to her death and part of the LIGHT series.

I finished the book Monday night and was immediately struck by the inconsistencies to Marion's style and her literary sensibilities. There is a brief connection to the characters of Frodo and Emily from The Inheritor, which features two sisters, Emily and Leslie Barnes, who are caught up with a musician who plans to use Emily's musical gifts to bolster his own. Colin McClaren and Claire Moffat, who also briefly appear in Witch Hill to help Sara Latimer free herself from the clutches of a coven of dark witches, one of whom will possess Sara and take over her body and her future.

Despite the recurrence of characters from The Inheritor, Witch Hill does not show Marion's fine hand and sensibilities. Devil worship and graphic sexuality were never part of Marion's writing style. It is immediately obvious that Marion contributed little to this book outside of plot and direction. The gossamer thread that binds Marion's characters is frayed and broken throughout and characters who she likely intended to play a more integral part in the story are shuffled to the sidelines and given little more to do than lend their names and shadowy presence at the end.

That is not to say the book is not good. It does have its moments and I am not opposed to graphic sexual content. However, I am appalled that Marion's name is on this book because she would not have written this book. It's sad to see her name used in this manner and her stories darkened with mythologies that she would have opposed--and did oppose--during her lifetime.

Marion belongs to a generation of writers who believed that although sex sold books, it wouldn't be the central theme in any book she wrote. There is a time and place for graphic sexual content and I have enjoyed and written it many times. However, I also enjoy reading books that focus on other things and still offer readers an alternative rich in history, mythology, and characters that don't follow the graphic sexual pack.

If you want to feast at Marion's table read The Fall of Atlantis, which begins the story of Emily and Leslie and provides the background to Mists of Avalon and the story of sisters and the men who loved them reincarnated again and again to learn and grow. You will notice the difference in writing and style.

Marion invited many writers to play in her worlds and created anthologies for new writers to test their wings and grow. Marion also borrowed from history, mythology, and other writers, just as Witch Hill borrows from H. P. Lovecraft's settings of Arkham and the dark backward communities of the eastern seaboard to create his Cthulu mythos, but paying homage to another writer is not taking their name and their audience to turn a fast buck and lie to the public.

Ultimately, it is about the bottom line--money--and not about honesty or faithfulness to an author's creations. The question is how readers and writers feel about this issue. I will not deny a good story, but I prefer honesty. How do you feel? Does it really matter if an author writes their books or not?

Mixed bag o' thoughts

It's Monday and it's snowing just a little bit. Funny, but I always know when it's snowing even when I'm sleeping. Must be something about the difference in sound. Snow softens and deadens sound or maybe it just insulates everything and pushes the rest of the noisy world away. I don't know for sure, but I know when it happens even when I sleep.

I had a semi-productive weekend, finishing off all the library books and three books I need to review, one for my new horror site. I'll be writing more articles and replacing the old stuff today and tomorrow, getting ready for the new launch. I'm getting excited now and anxious to move on. The urge to crawl under the deck and stay there until the shouting and arguing are over (from when my parents were here) is gone and I'm back to feeling normal.

You have no idea, or maybe you do, how sleeping in a too soft bed where you can hear every single snore, gripe, moan, groan, and complaint wrecks my sleep. It took me a while to catch up, but I'm back and the psychic bubble has burst. Time to burn some sage and sweet grass and clear the air.

I knew the psychic bubble had burst on Friday evening when I got a call from Ginny at Atriad Press to tell me she had been trying to get hold of me for two weeks to let me know they were buying one of my stories for their anthology. That's two weeks, bookended before and after my parents' visit, where two of my stories have been bought and checks are being sent. Good news overall. Saturday got better.

I found a strange name on Yahoo Messenger and, since the person was online, asked them who they were. I vaguely recognized the name, but not really and had not had YIM on for at least two years. We began talking and it turns out he was looking for a writer to do something unusual. He hired me for $50 a 2000-word story and the contract could turn into something really big and lucrative. Bingo! Regular money and lots of it. There is one small hitch to the deal, he seems to have developed an affection for me after we talked on the phone. I told him that I wanted to keep things friendly but focus on business since I'm not in the market for a lover/boyfriend/significant other. He seems to think he can wear me down, but 41-year-olds are like that, especially the entrepreneurial types. Oh, and I did eventually remember him when we talked.

On a last note, since the snow seems to have stopped drifting past my window, I received an email about a situation about which everyone should be aware. Ever hear of a 12-year-old Palestinian boy named Mohammed al-Dura who was gunned down by Israeli soldiers? Well, truth is stranger than fiction, but it is evidently fiction the PLO and Yasser Arafat is creating and passing off as documentary journalism. More people should be from Missouri.

That is all. Disperse.

Sunday at home

Yesterday was a very busy day. We got up at 6 oh-my-god-o'clock and got out of the house by 8 after spending part of Friday night (Dad and me) searching the curving road from my cabin to the highway for a half-cord of wood with a sign saying "FREE WOOD" my mother saw when they followed me up to the cabin earlier that evening. She was so insistent Dad and I went on the hunt and didn't find the wood until we passed by the entrance to the Highlands on the way out of town to drive down to Canon City to take the Royal Gorge train ride. Oh, well, no wood. It was gone when we returned home at 9 last night. Long day, but an interesting one.

I mapped the route and had all the directions, but my parents are sticklers for following the rules. Dad drove and the one hour of leeway I figured in was quickly eaten up by Dad driving about 55 and Mom keeping an eagle eye on the speedometer and reminding him (loudly and often) that he was driving too fast and he should "pick a lane," not to mention all the stops for hard candy for Mom, water, and vacation silliness. I'm more of a drive the speed limit, and stop only for gas and bathroom when absolutely necessary, and get there kind of person.

We got to the train station just in time to be told there were no more seats and only passengers holding reservations would be allowed on the train. Okay, I did not come 200 miles to be told we could not get on the train. Mom has had her heart set on this trip for three years and I did not want to disappoint them. So, putting on my best innocent and heartbroken face, I shamelessly talked the ticket agents into allowing us on the train. Quite simply, I told them my parents had come all the way from Ohio to ride the train and this would be our only day in town. The first agent broke quickly, but the head agent said no...at first. I repeated my sad tale and she relented within about 30 seconds. Hey, what can I say? I'm good.

On the train we followed the rest of the crowd searching for a seat and found lots of empty seats with coats, hats, and feet on seats. My parents are in their 70s and my Mom could not stand in the open observation car for 2 hours, so I started asking if the seats were taken and was told over and over they were. Heartless gits.

On the way back through five cars toward the observation car I stopped when I saw the conductor, explained my mother could not stand for 2 hours in the hot sun in the observation car and asked if they couldn't they find her a seat. He gave her his seat and Dad and I went out to the observation car. We hadn't been out there more than 15 minutes when some smiling, impish-eyed little old lady came out and told Dad he was to come back and sit with Mom. They had found him a seat. He left and I stayed among the rest of the tourist cattle.

Now, five years ago I could not have stood for more than 5 minutes, let alone two hours, but I did... Well, I almost did. Looking at endless striated rock passing in front of me brought back an attack of something I had not had since I was a kid right before Mom doped me up on dramamine--motion sickness. The tales of my delicate stomach have crisscrossed continents, oceans, and states, but I'm older now. I'm a driver. I also can't stand watching slow moving rock walls and tracks and water in a swaying open cattle car without getting nauseous. I drank from the water bottles in my bag and tried to find a stationary point to watch, but the nausea won and I went back into the car where my parents sat and the same impish-eyed little lady took a pile of coats and purses off the seat next to her and told me to sit down. I did and spent the last 40 minutes of the ride inside.

She was a very interesting little old lady and I will write more about her later. She deserves a post all to herself.

At any rate, we drove back to Colorado Springs with Mom wailing about stopping at a Denny's. As luck would have it, a Denny's was one exit before the one we wanted, but I relented and we motored on and down into Old Colorado City for a scheduled meeting with my new coven mates and elementalmuse and her children. Parked the car and Dad checked over my directions while I waited for Mom to get out of the car and get situated with her cane and purse. I thought I saw someone I knew, uniqueluddite to be specific, but when I walked toward him he didn't recognize me so it evidently wasn't him. Couldn't have been anyway; he was wearing shorts and an untucked shirt tail. The Luddite is much neater than that.

We strolled across the street and went inside the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, which was much smaller than I envisioned. It did smell wonderful and freshly made caramel apples were on display. It was like shopping in a sensorium with all the best sights, sounds, and smells in the world decorating every available corner. They were not, however, doing any chocolate demos. Maybe some other time.

Old Colorado City is a delight to the eye and the senses and I want to go back and explore more, not for antiques but for all the arts and crafts and picturesque views. Next time when I am not on a tight schedule.

Outside, having around a doorway a couple of doors east of the chocolate shop like a bunch of colorful characters were elementalmuse and some of my coven mates, Autumn and her husband Brian, in particular, among others. I told Mom I recognized some people and went over to them. She sat at a little patio table and I greeted my friends. Autumn is a petite little thing with delicate bones and features and hair the color of dried cherries and a smile that is open and wide. Brian is a preppy looking guy with an easy smile and darting eyes that seem to catalog everything around him.

After a couple of minutes, I introduced them to my mother and told them we had to leave because Mom was hungry (she's always hungry) and we were going to Denny's. The Muse asked if we'd mind if they met us there, but Autumn and her family had other plans. I told them which Denny's we planned to go to and they said they'd meet us after they got their chocolate fix.

One wrong turn later we finally found the Denny's and went inside. Mom was a little uncomfortable at the idea of my friends sitting down with them because she's not quite as friendly as my father and I are, so I told them I'd sit with my friends at the next booth. Worked out fine, especially when the Muse arrived with the kidlets and Desert Frost followed not long after.

Desert Frost looks like a dusky African with an infectious smile and a musical voice who has lots of stories about family and Colorado Springs and I certainly didn't get to hear enough of them. The time was too short and my parents were tired. For that matter, so was I, but I could have gone on at least another ten hours under sheer power and the unquenchable desire to spend time with friends. So, I said my goodbyes and helped Mom out to the car and we got back on the road.

We missed our turn-off to skirt Denver and ended up driving in the swiftly gathering dark thru the middle of mid-town Denver and finally got back on track and into the heights toward home. As much as I enjoy traveling and seeing sights and friends, and people in general, I have to admit that I love driving home to the peace and tranquility of my mountain aerie.

Like a kid yelling, "Are we there yet?" Mom asked, "How much longer?" all the way back. Just past the little waterfall down a spill of rocks on the mountainside before the final hairpin curve, we entered the final track toward home and back into the star studded night thru the deep shadows and night-dark roads back up into the Highlands. I thought I lost my keys, but found them in my jacket pocket, raced for the door, fumbled the key into the lock, hit the outside and inside lights and toiled up the steps to the bathroom right before my bladder exploded with a delicious sigh of relief. I had to battle a big spider who did not want to go back down the drain to wash my hands and shucked my clothes on my way thru the bedroom and into the comfortable wrinkled T-shirt and back out the other door to grab a pickle and head to the loft to drop into the bed and rest. I changed my mind, went back downstairs to wash my face and for some strawberry shortcake and came back upstairs to get really comfortable, dropped my clothes on the chair by the extra bed in the loft and crawled into the covers and settled down with my paper journal and a really good book I'm finishing about Arthur Conan Doyle, possession, and the psychiatric practices in the 20s in England. This one is getting a good review, but that's because it's a really engrossing and fascinating book.

Soon I was reading the same sentence over and over and forgetting what it said, so I turned out the light, pulled up the covers and sought pleasant dreams until this morning.

Today is a day full of the usual chores of washing dishes, running the vacuum, and more laundry, but Mom and Dad have decided to give me my birthday and Xmas early this year with a brand new electric chainsaw (and hopefully a really long extension cord) so I can quit fussing and fretting over the gas-powered job that doesn't want to start. I'll stain the deck in the warm sunshine and drag down more fallen trees and ready them for cutting up with my new chainsaw and enjoy a relaxing day. Tomorrow we buy the chainsaw and take a trek into Wyoming to see if I can find Cheyenne and then back here for another day of time with my parents who have turned out, after all these years, to be pretty cool people.

And, yes, guys, there are girls who do get all excited about power tools as gifts. Like me, for example.

I'll shut up now so you can go enjoy your own Sunday. Make sure you do.

Debate

No, not the political kind, the personal kind.

There is a discussion going on in one of the communities about whether or not marriage has outlived its usefulness. (wouldn't you just know I'd get caught up in this one?)

At any rate, the idea is that marriage doesn't work any more and poses more problems than answers. I find it rather funny that homosexuals are pushing for marriage while heterosexuals are questioning the validity and need for marriage. Don't you?

The conservative political factions in this country are determined to define marriage in terms of male and female when what marriage has become is a tool for bureaucracy. Easy to get into and really hard to get out of, except where fancy, over priced, and over done weddings are considered.

In the good old days (really old, mostly ancient days), marriage was about political and financial liaisons and legitimizing children. That's why it was imperative the bride be a virgin so the husband could be sure the offspring were his, which turned out to be the case in very few instances. The only parent a child can be sure of is the mother, which is why in really ancient days (before the advent of society, civilization, and marriage laws) knowing a child's father wasn't all that important and most communities were matrilineal. But with civilization came laws and bureaucracies and legal marriages.

I see marriage as a commitment between two people to live and work together for the good of all involved. The kinds of open, multi-partner marriages that Robert Heinlein posited in his later books are more feasible than what marriage has currently turned into. It has become a pleasure trap at best and an emotional and societal trap at worst. Although polygamy is outlawed in this country, there are literally thousands of polygamist marriages. The people involved are happy with their situations, although they are a bit unfair about how such marriages are run, especially since they consist of one male and lots of females. In the Middle East and Asia they are called harems. Personally, I believe in quid pro quo where polygamy is concerned and those women who want to marry more than one man (and the men who agree to that kind of arrangement) should have their share of the polygamist pie.

Has marriage outlived its usefulness? Should a different type of marriage be instituted whereby you contract for a certain number of years? Such a contract could be renewed at the end of each period of the original contract, but if things aren't working out or either of you want to be free to sign a contract with another party, then there would be no onus attached to letting the contract expire and moving on. Children would still be taken care of by their parents, something that could be built into the contract, but there would be no loss suffered on either side. The contract would expire and the parties would remain amicable. Of course, if the contract term is not yet up and both parties feel the need to end said contract, why not end it early without rancor or penalty (mental, physical, emotional, or financial)?

Modern pagans hold handfastings and the term of commitment is usually a year and a day, but can be for longer. However, bureaucracies and lawyers tend not to take handfastings as legal marriage and that poses its own problems.

Personally, I favor the contract method for those who need such things (and to satisfy bureaucracy and lawyers) or polygamy for those men and women who prefer that route. I do not believe government should have any say in the manner or style in which a marriage is conducted or that religions should be allowed to define marriage for people outside of their faith. Marriage is a personal choice and should be more malleable and move with the changing needs of society and religion and the style and mode of marriage dictated only by the people involved.

What do you think?

Foggy day in Tabernash town

...A foggy day in London Town had me low and had me down. The lyrics go with the gossamer veil between me and the rest of the world where trees are ghostly shapes in faded greens and browns, but not with my mood.

This is the kind of day to go for a walk in the fog, disappear into the mists and breathe cool, wet air searching for ghosts and the fairy realms. It's such an unreal day when anything is possible...even dreams. A day when I feel like I can shape my own reality and make it real. This is the kind of day I hope for at Halloween when the walls between the worlds are thin as spider webs and crossing into a different reality is as easy as walking thru the fog.

I am reminded of some sad news I got the other day. One of my friends in Arvada and I talked and he told me his father died. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a year ago and the chemo didn't work. Now he's gone, but, my friend says, not too far away. He still sees his father.

I had many wonderful conversations with his father, who wasn't much older than I am, and I miss him. That makes six people close to me that have died in the past six months. Not a good average. I am sad to know he's gone but happy that he is no longer in any pain. My favorite aunt died of pancreatic cancer after successfully battling breast cancer and I still miss her.

Maybe the fog makes me think of ghosts and dying more or maybe it's just because so many people I knew are now gone. There are new friends to take up the slack, but they can never fill the space left by the friends who are gone.

On a happier note, my parents arrive tomorrow morning and Saturday we will be traveling to Silverton for the Royal Gorge train ride and then back to Old Colorado City so my mother can gorge herself on chocolate and wander among the antiques on Colorado Avenue. I seldom come down from my mountain for long trips. There is some talk among the locals that I'm turning into an anchorite, but it's not that bad yet. I'll be the one with the distinguished and handsome gentleman with the silver hair and very Cherokee features and the tiny little woman with the glittering brown eyes who's telling me my hair is too red. You'll recognize me by my smile.

Low down

I feel lower than an old sow's dugs right now. I need to get busy and write and for some reason I'm getting a lot of requests to review books. Must be that time of the year. I'm saying yes but what I want to say is leave me alone right now. I hope something can pull me out of this silent funk.

I did talk to another old friend from high school that lives in the plains in eastern Colorado. He grows flowers. He also told me there is another one of our classmates here in Colorado and said he'd find out where so all of us could schedule some time to get together up here at my cabin--a little mini reunion of people who don't go to reunions. Interestingly, I'll be the only female -- at least so far.

The minute we started talking last night I realized something I didn't know in high school; he's gay. We talked about everything and nothing and even sex. We talked about the difference in relationships between gay and straight. I asked him how gays started relationships and he said they say "hi". Then they have sex and talk afterward, finding out about each other's likes, dislikes, etc. If there's anything there they move to a relationship and if not they say hi to someone else and start the process all over. He thinks it's easier for straights than gays and I think it's easier for gays. The grass is always greener.

Unfortunately, he is HIV-positive and has been for 25 years but is not in full blown AIDS. He also has a cast iron bathtub in his front yard and I accused him of being a redneck Fred Sanford and he laughed. He actually takes baths in the tub in the front yard under the tree when the weather's nice. That sounds at once sexy and weird. Something about the idea of a warm breeze and water on naked skin makes me weak in the knees. He lives on 15 acres and his neighbors aren't close enough to see (so he says), but I reminded him of telescopes, binoculars, and other spy devices. He laughed. "If they want to see me that bad they're welcome to watch."

He is that rare mix of innocence and openness that is so refreshing. And he's still a virgin at 49. For him, girls have a big YUCK factor and that's so funny, especially when he told me about the girl who chased him into the shower intent on changing his virginal status. He won. She lost. I told him he was safe with me.

I am still amazed how quick the connections are repaired between old friend who haven't seen each other in over 30 years and how much we remember. I've always believed the memories of youth are hard wired, branded into the synapses. Looks more and more like I was right.

Strangely enough he remembered me. I wrote him last week since I couldn't find an email address--and he isn't wired into the net. He has a laptop and it gathers dust on a shelf. Fine situation for an ex-computer programmer. He said I could teach him and bring him up to date.

He told me that several guys considered me out of their league. I can't figure out why. He told me it was because I was so smart, talented and pretty. Wish I'd known back then. I thought I was the original ugly duckling, but that I'd never turn into a swan. He said I was silly. Well, I think the boys were silly for keeping me in the dark.

In some parallel universe there is a Jackie who knew she had value as a youth. I wonder if she's happier?