Off to the publishers

Today was a very productive day. I wrote two long synopses for the books being published this fall and did a little more writing, rewriting and editing before sending the finals off to the publisher today. They are still swamped but the hard part is over -- putting finishing touches on the novels. I still have the editor to work with but I'm anxious to get moving on the next novel. Still can't decide if it will be the post-apocalyptic novel or something altogether different about obsession and control or a time travel novel that will most likely end up as a serial novel. It's a long story and I won't put the details here since the stories are still embryonic at this stage.

Sometimes I forget how much I enjoy writing until I get into it and the hours race by. If I watched the sun while I was in the zone, I'm sure I'd see it rise and speed across the sky just like in the movies, but my nose is too close to the grindstone. I have found that I enjoy making notes and working out plot and character points in longhand. Anyone who gets hold of my journals will be utterly confused. Day to day thoughts veer off into ruminations about books and stories and notes I keep on books I'm reading or wish to read. I go with the flow, letting the current take me where it will, but I'd definitely like to follow up the publication of three novels this year with at least two more novels next year, including the usual short story and anthology publications, especially since the hard part is over and I've broken through with the first publisher.

I told Beanie today that I'm halfway through the beautiful journal she gave me as a Xmas gift and that she should have included a couple of refills. She said I wasn't worth spending that much money on, so I shall have to spend my hard earned money to stock up on refills. I don't know if its writing with a fountain pen (I've gone through three ink cartridges) in the beautiful journal that has spurred this writing marathon or if it's something more akin to being excited about writing again, but I'm definitely not going to look this gift horse in the mouth -- so to speak.

I've also been reading new authors -- new to me, not new young authors. I called Spike's leman the other day to tell her that I was wrong about Harlan Ellison -- his writing, not his poisonous personality (or lack thereof). While I still don't consider him a genius, I am impressed and quite taking with his literary abilities. His stories are wonderful. Good thing I look at reviews that pan books in which I'm interested before buying a book. The reviews about Angry Candy, a collection of short stories, were quite vitriolic in some cases and that sold me. I'm glad I did because I am really enjoying what I've read so far and reluctantly put the book aside to get down to the business of writing. Some of the stories sparked ideas for stories of my own -- not duplicates of his situations. The imagery sparked ideas for completely different stories. That's what is so magical about reading other authors, even the bad ones. I can't help but be inspired.

However, I still have not encountered the whining and venom the reviewers mentioned with regard to this book, but I still have hope I shall. Even if it's not there, I am glad to have dived into the literary currents with Ellison. As I told Spike's leman though, I still don't get why Connie Willis is considered such a good writer. I'm always left feeling like I've sat down to a banquet and been served one small and rather empty hors d'ouevres.

Well, I'm off to read a review book (I got three new ones) before I give up the light and plunge gratefully into Morpheus's arms. I think I'll just do a little research on Atlas and Hercules before I settle down for a long winter's nap.

That is all. Disperse.

In the rockets' red glare...

As Israel prepares for a unilateral cease fire demanded by Egypt's Hosni Mubarak, it occurs to me that the world, in its rush to judgment of Israel, has missed the point of Operation Cast Lead in Gaza. It's not about their humane treatment of Palestinians or the way they have conducted themselves by warning civilians of incoming fire, but about war. How many countries in the world would stand by silently without resorting to return fire if another country fired over 6000 rockets at them? It didn't take one rocket on 9/11 for the American people to demand we go to war. It took four planes, one of which failed to reach its target because the passengers decided to take the plane down rather than be turned into a bomb in the midst of another American city.

How can the United Nations and the other countries in this world, including the United States, stand by and demand unilateral surrender when Israel is the injured party? How many of the heads of these countries would tolerate even one child's death or one town's destruction, let along the systematic destruction and death of hundreds over the course of eight years?

The Arab countries that oppose Israel and call "foul" because Israel is fighting back claim that Israel is perpetrating another Holocaust, even though those same countries have publicly stated there was no Holocaust. Little by little, Israel has given up more and more of its land to satisfy the Arabs and the Palestinians in a bid for peace, but there is no peace for Israel and there will be none until the world renounces its hatred of the Jews and gives the Palestinians what they should have had in the first place -- a home in the vast stretches of Arabian lands away from Israel.

Israel is a small country, about the size of Connecticut, and it has been partitioned again and again, pulling back farther and farther from desert lands it turned into a paradise of modernity that bloomed, only to hand over more and more of their territory to the Palestinians to watch it die and turn back into desert. Infrastructure is destroyed and there is no prosperity. It's like building a palace and having to turn it over to people who trash it and turn it into a pig sty.

In Arab hands before the establishment of the state of Israel, the land was a vast desert. The cities were barely above mud hut villages and there was no infrastructure to speak of. When the Jews were granted the land in the wake of World War II, the land bloomed. Cities rose. Roads were built and maintained. Power, heat and water were always available and the facilities maintained. Hundreds of years of Arab occupation had not brought such prosperity and modernity. In less than a decade, Israel became a garden spot that supported and maintained its people and provided wealth the Israeli people shared open handedly with the world in times of famine and destruction and war.

And now the United Nations and the rest of the world demand that Israel turn its cheek once again and pull back from Gaza without demanding Hamas stop firing rockets into Israeli lands. Wake up, people! This isn't about whether or not Israel is right or wrong; it is about the destruction -- once again -- of the Jewish people and the Jewish state.

Ask yourself these questions. Would you tolerate rockets being fired at you for eight years without retaliation? Would you tolerate the death of your children and the destruction of the homes and cities you had built? Would you allow the U.N. or any other country to dictate the terms of your surrender in the face of ongoing attacks? How can you stand by and allow our government, Israel's ally, to continue to turn a blind eye and demand Israel give up more of its small territory?

King Obama

If anything should scare the American people, it's this. Clinton tried it. Eisenhower wanted it and so did Reagan. Clinton's still trying it by using a different tactic, the right of divine inheritance, by trying to get Hillary into the White House. What's next? Chelsea as president after her mother and her children after her?

In Philadelphia when Obama began his triumphal train ride to Washington, D.C., he disappointed hundreds of people who had flown from all over the country to see him. They hadn't paid enough money or knocked on enough doors to get him elected and so they waited in the freezing cold just to catch a glimpse of the back of his head, a hand, anything that they could hold close in memory of the moment when their messiah began his journey to the holy city. I wouldn't be surprised if the people of Washington laid palm fronds in the path of his limousine to welcome him to the feast.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, Obama's eligibility to be president under the terms of the Constitution rage on three fronts. One has to wonder why Obama hasn't satisfied his detractors by producing evidence, as did John McCain when his eligibility was challenged. Instead, Obama has blocked discovery of his past at every turn. Could Obama be the reincarnation of Richard Nixon who, to hide the truth, erased several minutes of White House tapes or is he simply hiding the truth for some other reason? It's a simple question requiring a simple answer: Are you eligible under the U.S. Constitution to be president?

That is all. Disperse.

One expensive train ride

Mike Levine, a retired American journalist (and good friend) who now lives in a kibbutz in Israel, tried to post his letter to President-elect Barack Hussein Obama on his website, but as unable to do so since there was no tab he could use. He sent his letter to friends and I am sharing it with you, along with the newspaper article about Obama's triumphal entry into Washington D.C. It's too bad a slave won't be standing behind him holding a laurel wreath reminding him he is just a man.

An open letter to Barack Hussein Obama
from Mike Levine
.
I meant for this letter to be sent directly to Obama, but surprise, surprise, when I went on to his website the only way you could contact him was if you selected one of the subjects they listed. Well, I had my own subject called, "The Obama Train Drain", and there was no general category under which I could write to him, so here I am. Who knows, maybe someone will be able to figure a way to get this to him.

Obama has rented a plush Pullman coach made in 1930 fitted with every modern luxury known to man, just like fancy multi-million dollar yachts. Of course, he'll need to pay for the use of a locomotive and other cars for his hanger-ons to ride in.

He is replicating Lincoln's train ride to his inauguration from Philadelphia to Washington, DC. However, there are a few differences

Lincoln invited all who wished to see him in Philadelphia, and 30,000 showed up, a gigantic crowd in those days. Obama will not let the ordinary citizens near him in Philadelphia. Only his special 'backers', read big contributors.

Obama wants to be thought of as 'Lincolnesque', something he will never accomplish, no matter how good his PR writers are, and no matter how many train trips he takes. The only similarities between the humble Lincoln and the narcissistic Obama is that both are tall and thin!

Obama has made a big issue of the economy; how horrible it is, and how much sacrifice it will take by all of us to right the ship of state. He is about to begin spending more than a trillion dollars of our tax money, thanks to a captive Congress. Unfortunately, he doesn't act as if 'all of us' includes him! A true statesman leads by example. He does not ask us to do anything he would not do.

He does not send his children to an elitist, extremely expensive, mostly white private school instead of enrolling them in a public school like most of the rest of us.

He does not have 20 expensive inaugural balls when one or two would be more than sufficient, thereby saving untold millions. And it matters not at all who is paying for them. It is perception that matters. Those untold millions could be used to help ease the economic pain for thousands.

He does not whitewash and defend his choice for Treasury Secretary when it turns out the guy's been cheating on his taxes for years, and put him in charge of the IRS!!

A little humility, a bit of frugality would have done much to tell America and the world that we will have a president who shuns extravagance and waste, who walks across the street to his inauguration instead of riding like a potentate in his private train. That our next president is really a man of the people, not a would-be king!

Now that is change you can believe in. Yes, you can!

That is all. Disperse.

There's bad and then there's...

A friend emailed me a link with the title, If you ever think about giving up. I checked out the link and was amazed and touched, but nothing touched me so much as watching the end of the video. Go watch and then come back.

What do you think?

Makes me feel like my problems, as insurmountable and awful as they are to me at the time, are trivial in comparison, but it's not about comparison. It's the old line about being given lemons and making lemonade -- although I prefer to make hummus or avgolemono. I like to mix things up.

The way I believe, each of us choose the lessons we want to learn in this incarnation (life) and he chose to make lemonade. Once upon a less enlightened time, I couldn't understand why me. Why did everything happen to me? To be sure, a lot has happened to me during my lifetime, but nothing I haven't been able to overcome after a brief period of questions, whining and bone shaking fear. I need those moments to utter and complete breakdown before I gird my loins and leap back into the fray, and sometimes the moments happen after I've been through the fire and have a moment to stop and think, What did I just do? before the panicked realization sinks in that I could have been seriously injured or dead. And yet, like Timex...

I have not become so enlightened that adversity makes me say, "Yay, another chance to grow and overcome adversity!" I've paid my dues -- most of them, anyway -- and I'm entitled to some time off before the next round of interesting times comes around, and they will come around. I've no doubt of that. One thing I don't do any more is go looking for trouble. There is no sense looking for something that will find me no matter what I do or where I hide. Instead, I enjoy what I have right this moment and the next moment and the next and thank whatever powers in the Universe guides my fate and watches over me every time I get stupid that I am allowed to continue living and working and writing and enjoying another moment of life.

That doesn't mean I don't plan for the future, but I know without a doubt that the future is not guaranteed to come, that I only have this moment. Whatever forces shaped the me I am right now weren't gentle, but they were necessary to create me at this moment. As a friend recently reminded me, there is no going back and there is no sense dwelling on what could've been. I've mourned the lost chances and absent friends, but one thing I do know is that if something is meant to happen and I've missed the chance, the Universe will bring it back around again and give me a swift kick in the hindquarters to move me in the right direction. Until that happens -- and it has happened -- I am thankful for this beautiful sunny morning with the Colorado blue sky above and a glittering expanse of fiery sun struck diamonds on mounds of fluffy white outside the windows while I am safe and warm inside my comfortable cottage sipping green tea with rose hips and writing on my laptop.

Building on a solid foundation

A little music, a filling brunch of boiled egg and a cinnamon roll (homemade, of course) and a pot of green tea and I feel almost human again. I found a 10 x 10 stoneware pan and yesterday baked some cinnamon rolls, iced them and had one this morning. They turned out really good, not too sweet with a soft crumb and a light vanilla glaze. In a word, perfect. The urge to bake is on me and I'm contemplating an Italian olive oil bread but the kitchen has to warm up more first or the dough won't rise sufficiently. That's where turning on the oven comes in and kills two birds with one stone by getting the oven ready for the bread and warming the room.

It's a quiet Sunday and I have taken my time reading the news, checking emails and catching up on writing. The sun shines in a pewter sky, moderating the heavy gray curtain of horizon to sky clouds bearing down from the mountains and promising more snow, hiding the hoary white rise of Pikes Peak. Whether my placid mood is due to impending snow or the slow Sunday pace isn't important, at least not as important as an essay I read by an author on Glimmer Train website about learning from the masters, something I have been contemplating for some time.

As a fledgling artist, I was set to copy the Masters, examining and learning to duplicate their brush work and layering and compounding of color. It is the way artists have learned for millennia. Musicians are taught scales, then taught how the Masters created their own work and set loose to improvise on everything they have internalized. Writers are taught rules and theory, but starting from a Master's work, beginning with the words and construction of plot and characterization, texture and theme isn't quite kosher. Oh, there are some teachers who encourage finding inspiration and experience in great works of literature, past and present, but then writers are told that such copying is beneath them, derivative, cheating and will stunt their growth as a writer, their voice lost in the process. Not true.

While da Vinci and Michelangelo's influence is obvious in Raphael's early work, there is a distinct departure in his more mature work. Each generation of artist learns from the ones who have gone before and then emerge with their own distinctive style. The same is true for writers.

While on a whaling voyage Melville meticulously copied every word of a novel by Hawthorne, getting angry if anyone touched his work or bothered him while he copied. The day he finished copying the novel he gathered all the papers so carefully written and tossed them overboard. Shocked, the sailors asked why he did that and Melville replied that he had learned what he needed to know. Melville also studied James Fenimore Cooper and other contemporary writers, going back to the types of books that he wanted to write.

Modern day writers would do well to emulate their predecessors. Start with an author's work you admire. Take one of their stories or novels and begin by copying what you read, letting the words, characters and plots carry you to a different world. At some point, your own voice will emerge along with your creative instincts with the sure hand of the Master on yours. Dissect and outline novels in every genre to find out how a writer created the effects that made his book so successful. Break down descriptive passages, minutely examine the gestures and dialogue that make characters breathe, leaving no word or phrase untouched. Most of all, read, read, read. Read widely. Read with an eye on construction and method, theme and texture. Pay attention to what arouses your senses, makes your heart beat faster, chills your blood and inflames your passions then go back and dissect them, lay the bones bare and then sit down and write the same scenes. What would you change? How would you get from point A to point B? The trail is blazed, go off the path and find your own way through the wilderness. It's not cheating; it's common sense, a time tested method to help build the sensibilities and tools needed to become a good masterful writer.

There is no sense in reinventing the wheel. Use the wheel to invent something new and different, something uniquely your own.

Blood and gold

My favorite Luddite had surgery yesterday and came through it with flying colors, a bit of vomiting, lots of blood and two splints up his nose. He said he wasn't in much pain but he was still full of anesthesia and drugs so he didn't really know what he was saying. He knows this morning though and I'm sure he'll reach for his Vicodin before the day is out. I'm glad he got through the surgery all right and that the surgeon didn't find more than he expected, but I knew he would. He wouldn't dare tank on me now.

At any rate, today is a new day and the kids are back at school across the street. They didn't come back from winter break until yesterday and I missed it because I was still down for the count after having not slept the night before. This morning I was up and at it early and smiling as I listened to the clamor of kids grumbling and jostling while responding to the bells that tell them it's time to get back to the business of learning. There are no bells to tell me it's time to get back to the business of earning a living, but I don't need reminding that the utilities, phone and rent need to be paid.

I slept pretty well last night, but something called me from my dreams to instant waking. A yellow sodium vapor light a block away shines into the bedroom window and I've learned to sleep with it winking and glaring at me in the darkness of night, but last night a new light shone through the window, one I am not used to ignoring. The full silver face of the moon blazed in through the slatted blinds and shone on my face. That was what woke me. It was a perfect moon hanging directly above the street light, a silver twin to the gold, and it felt magical. It took a while to go back to sleep, but when I did happy dreams welcomed me. When I woke again at eight, the moon was down and the streetlight dimmer while the buildings and sky were touched with bloody gold, and I felt rested and ready for another day.

Hand out if you want bailed out

Now that the government has opened its coffers so the rich and powerful can dig deep and spend, spend, spend, they have given the rest of the country's industries the idea that Uncle Sam is easy.

Tattle: Larry Flynt & Joe Francis want U.S. bailout in these 'hard times'

By Howard Gensler
Philadelphia Daily News

Daily News Tattle Columnist
IF BANKS CAN get a bailout and mortgage companies can get a bailout and auto manufacturers can get a bailout, why not companies that provide adult entertainment?

That's what Joe Francis ("Girls Gone Wild") and Larry Flynt ("Hustler") want to know.

With stones as big as the fake boobs in attendance at the Adult Video News Adult Expo, in Las Vegas, this week, Francis and Flynt are petitioning the new Congress to provide a financial bailout for the adult-entertainment industry.

They're seeking $5 billion in federal assistance, "just to see us through hard times," Francis said.

Hard times, get it?

"Congress seems willing to help shore up our nation's most important businesses, we feel we deserve the same consideration. In difficult economic times, Americans turn to entertainment for relief. More and more, the kind of entertainment they turn to is adult entertainment."

Flynt said that the recession has acted like a national cold shower. "People are too depressed to be sexually active," he said. "This is very unhealthy as a nation. Americans can do without cars and such but they cannot do without sex.

"It's time for Congress to rejuvenate the sexual appetite of America," he added. "The only way they can do this is by supporting the adult industry and doing it quickly."

"The popularity of adult entertainment in America has grown steadily for the past half century," Francis said. "Its emergence into the mainstream of popular culture suggests that the U.S. government should actively support the adult industry's survival and growth, just as it feels the need to support any other industry cherished by the American people."

See for yourself.

That is all. Disperse.

Well, did you ever?

It had to happen sooner or later since Chuck Pahlahniuk had one of his characters stealing liposuctioned fat to make soap to sell.

What a swell party this doc and his girlfriend are having now that they've decided to join the conga line in Rio.

That is all. Disperse.

Another voice

It is always gratifying to know one's work is appreciated and this afternoon I received word that an author whose work I reviewed had contacted Authorlink to let me know what he thought of my review.

Jon Land writes thrillers -- marvelous thrillers -- and I have had the opportunity to read and review two of his books. The latest, Strong Enough to Die will be available March 2009 and I reviewed it last month. Here's what Mr. Land had to say about the review:

I was flabbergasted, in a wonderful way, by J. M. Cornwall's [sic] review of STRONG ENOUGH TO DIE. Once again she honed in on all the things I was trying to do and based her review on how well I accomplished them. I couldn't be more inspired by her words, including her one negative comment which I whole-heartedly agree with and even then wouldn't know how to change it. Since these are the first critical comments/review I've gotten on the book, I take them especially to heart.

Could you please forward me J. M.'s e-mail address, or forward mine to her, so I can share my thoughts with her personally? She's a shrewd and sensitive reviewer, as well as a very good writer.

Too often authors, especially those who have received less than glowing reviews, blame the reviewer instead of taking a good look at what the reviewer found questionable or didn't like about the book. Some authors even accuse the reviewer of prejudice or personal disagreements, and on occasion that may be true. However, there are many good reviewers who, in spite of their personal feelings for or against a particular author, write honest critiques of the books they review.

In the end, a reviewer is a writer, a literary journalist, who gives their considered opinion based on their own background and skills, but reviewers are still people and their opinion, however learned and honest, is still just one opinion. I tell authors and readers to use the review as a guideline in forming their own opinions not as the last and only word. It's up to the reader to judge for himself what he does and does not like, but it is also good to get another reader's opinion to compare and contrast.

This is the second time I've reviewed one of Land's books and I look forward to reading and reviewing more of his work. I enjoy the places he takes me with his stories and getting to know those people Land chronicles so convincingly. Best of all, is knowing that Jon Land is one author who takes the time to thank me for my critique of his books -- even when I find something negative. That is the mark of a true professional with class and style.

Thank you, Jon Land.

The time of the ostrich is past

It's time to pull our heads out of the sand and take a hard look at what is really happening in Israel. Would any country endure without retaliation what Israel has endured?

The moral inversion in the west is so egregious, so monstrous, that the better Israel is shown to behave the worse the vilification that rains down upon it. What other country in the world would show such restraint in the face of more than 6000 rocket attacks upon its citizens – 6000! – that it took seven years before going to war to put a stop to it?".

That is all. Disperse.

It's back

It's January so it's time for the annual Preditors & Editors vote for your favorites.

Most people send out the word to promote themselves, hoping everyone on their friends list will vote for them, but the P&E poll is about the best writing and not just a chance to stuff the ballot box -- or at least it shouldn't be. It will take some time to go through the whole list -- if you choose to check out all the categories -- but take the time to read the entries and don't just vote for someone because you know them. Friendship and loyalty are admirable, but should not be a factor when it comes to excellence in writing. You have until January 14th.

Ready.

Set.

VOTE!

Don't forget to scroll all the way down.

Feminization

I've enjoyed what I've read of Michael Montaigne's essays, but the one I read last night was disturbing. He wrote about three kinds of relationships: friends, women and literature. The disturbing part came when I read that he believed women were out of their depth as intellectuals and should stick to what they do best -- provide ornamentation. He wrote that it goes against a woman's nature to put herself in the midst of intellectual discussions and that logic should be avoided. A woman is beautiful and provides a man with what he needs most -- calm, relaxation and romance. I doubt Montaigne would have appreciate the women of today who speak their minds and consider them the equal of men. He would, however, appreciate women who live for fashion and beauty and concern themselves with pleasing men. He was, after all, a man of his time.

I can see some of his point and it's one that I have mentioned before. The woman's liberation movement has removed a vital part of the feminine arsenal by competing with men as equals. That is not to say that women and men aren't equal -- in some respects -- but that we all are equipped with abilities and skills that, until recently, were specific to gender. That was before women's lib and the feminization of the male species by increasing amounts of chemicals that raise estrogen levels. You mean you haven't heard about this?

In the animal kingdom -- yes, Virginia, humans are animals, too (biologically speaking) -- more and more species are becoming either hermaphroditic or more female than male. With frogs that's not such a bad deal because when the frog population dwindles, males become females and begin laying eggs. It was a fact that Michael Crichton used in Jurassic Park to explain why all the dinosaur species they bred as males were able to lay eggs; they used frog DNA to fill the breaks in the retrieved dinosaur DNA. The influx of chemicals into the environment that either mimic estrogen or raise estrogen production has produced generations of males with smaller penises, undescended testes and feminine characteristics -- and it's happening among the human species as well.

I doubt, however, that the feminization of the male half of homo sapiens will change the rampant testosterone poisoning that fuels wars and corporate pissing contests any time soon, but it may have a long lasting impact on our continuation as a species. Males may become as rare as hen's teeth and females will have to compete for their sperm.

Did I mention that male births are down? Once upon a time, males outnumbered females 2:1. Not so long ago, the ratio was 1:1 and now it is falling the other way. It doesn't take as many males as females to produce the next generation, but higher ratios of males ensure that homo sapiens does not end up in a genetic cul de sac.

Considering how Montaigne felt about preserving the differences between males and females, I'm sure he would have been appalled at the recent increase in females who should think more about beautifying the world and the dwindling numbers of males to carry the logical and intellectual burdens that fuel civilization's growth. If this trend continues, and we follow Montaigne's advice, society will become more beautiful and less able to think it's way past the obstacles to restoring the male-female balance.

That is all. Disperse.

Wallowing in pork

No, not the bacon or ham kind that is served each morning or during holidays, but political pork.

In books, when an author shovels on what he considers atmosphere it's usually in the form of adjectives and adverbs, most of which are there to disguise the fact that there's no story. There's nothing like painting a literary picture with so many words the picture gets lost. It's sort of like allowing a child or a demented adult to throw buckets of paint and mud on Heironymous Bosch's intricate peopled canvases. The picture is lost. Adverbs and adjectives in moderation are fine but anything else is parody and literary insanity. It's no wonder so many people refuse to read books. They fear the consequences. Unfortunately, Americans have become so complacent they look the other way when Congress goes on a pork diet.

It's too bad there's no real pork in all that pork because we could rid ourselves of the most pernicious and self-serving part of our population. Nothing like getting rid of the worst elements in government.

What purpose does pork serve? In the original automakers' bailout, the bill was 3-4 pages long. By the time everybody added their post Xmas wishes, the bill was over 700 pages long. Didn't anyone notice? Where does Congress think that money is coming from? Not out of their pockets, I can assure you, but out of your pockets and mine. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of paying for the lavish lifestyles of the rich and infamous. I don't remember anything on the Schoolhouse Rock episode of how a bill becomes a bill that included anything about entitlements and it was so simple to understand.

A need is seen, like bailing out the automotive industry because they've fallen on hard times, fueled in part by the United Auto Workers' greed-fueled blackmailing of their employers and by the automakers' stupidity in continuing to turn out gas guzzling SUVs when they should have been turning out plug-in hybrids, electric and flex-fuel vehicles that would help us rid us of our polluting and ruinous addiction to oil. A committee puts together a proposal that is accepted -- or rejected -- by the congressmen and senators duly elected by the American people. When everyone adds their stamp of approval, the proposal becomes a bill. What really happens is the self-serving members of Congress decide that the pie isn't big enough, that they need more money to fund their pet projects, like funding a business that will garner a hefty raise for a spouse or political backer and will eventually put the money in their own pockets. The automakers get your money and mine to keep doing what they've been doing all along -- ruining the economy and the environment -- and Congress gets to feast on USDA grade A pork.

It's like going to a gypsy to have your fortune told. The gypsy, seeing an easy mark, agrees to tell your fortune if you cross her palm with silver. Then the gypsy explains that you are cursed and in order to remove the curse you must cross her palm with even more silver to get rid of the curse, which will inevitably end up being something disgusting and possibly demeaning. After all, the gypsy needs a laugh at your expense while she's removing the contents of your pockets to line her own. The only thing you're cursed with is stupidity and gullibility. In other words, you don't have the sense god gave a goose and will believe anything anyone tells you.

Now, I enjoy a good ham dinner and I like bacon and pork chops and pork roast and pulled pork, but when I eat pork in any form I also add a healthy serving of vegetables and fruit to balance out the meal. I don't enjoy a meal of nothing but pork. I would make a lousy politician. No wonder the Jews and Muslims avoid pork. It'll kill you.

That is all. Disperse.

Diamonds in the dust

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself."

I woke at six this morning with but one thought in mind -- to go back to sleep. I did. The phone rang but I ignored it from the haze of sleep, but for some reason my curiosity made me get up and check to see who called. It was Lynn and talking to her is always interesting and often makes me laugh, so I called back and got what I came for -- good conversation and laughter. That's the thing about friends, they may be irritating when they call and I'm tied up with work or sleep, but talking to them is always worth while.

Having spent the rest of the morning putting together schedules and deadlines and making notations in my brand new 2009 desk calendar that arrived two days after I purchased it on line, I decided to spend the rest of the day watching movies and goofing off, perfecting, as Carol would say, the art of being lazy. However, my mind is never lazy and was busy with plans and schedules and ideas for the final phase of editing on the two books that I need to get finished before I send them to the publisher this month, especially since new book ideas and characters are beginning to make themselves known and are almost at the stage in their development when they will transfer from the corridors of my mind to the page. It looks as though this year may well be as prolific and busy as the last two have been and that's never a bad thing.

My new desk calendar is from Bylines and has some interesting quotes, like the one about comparing oneself to other writers. It's a mixed bag and sometimes gets ugly, especially when comparing oneself to a writer that the red-suited demon on the left shoulder says the other writer is better. That breeds contempt and envy and neither are good for a writer's soul. Of course, that is not to say that one writer is better than another or that one writer cannot learn from another; that would be untrue. And there are some writers who are worth reading and learning from, but that doesn't mean they are necessarily better or worse or that it's wrong to dislike another writer's work; that's all part of the mystery and difference of being human. To dislike another writer's work is purely subjective, although sometimes it's also an accurate evaluation. What one person likes another may dislike with impunity and without envy. It's all a matter of taste.

For instance, I recently read a review of Stephanie Meyer's vampire series that hit on what makes the series so successful. It's not the writing, but the way people respond to the themes and emotions in the book. That first flush of love and romance in a teenage girl's life and the primal urges that nearly overwhelm a girl when she falls in love for the first time, perched on the edge between innocence and sexual awakening. In that respect, Meyer has touched on something. Technically, the writing is amateurish and -- in at least a few editors' and agents' and reviewers' estimation -- bad. One thing I have learned is that a book or story can fail technically and still retain a spark of magic in the characters and the story line that resonate. I've read enough amateur memoirs to enjoy the story while I cringed at the grammar and lack of technical ability. Even a madman's tale can hit on the truth now and then if you can bear to slog through the inanities heaped on all sides. It's sort of like finding a perfect diamond in the midst of a compost heap.

I hope readers will find a few gems scattered among the dust and compost in my posts and stories and novels. When you get right down to it, it depends on how many people are willing to take a chance and look -- and then tell their friends and relatives and anyone else who will listen. That is the secret to success -- putting the gems as close to the surface as possible.

News flash

I just finished writing the last review for Authorlink for 2008 and decided to count up how many reviews I've written for them this year, which does not include the reviews I've done for other sites or authors. I read and reviewed 69 books this year. That is a new high for me.

The reviews include everything from nonfiction to fiction in every single genre. Not bad for someone started six years ago as a horror reviewer for Authorlink.

This has been a banner year in many respects, not the least of which is seeing stories in six anthologies hit the bookstores, selling one novel to be published in July 2009 and then selling two more novels to be published in the fall of 2009. My best male friend apologized and decided he did want me in his life and, although things have been difficult at times, it looks like this time he's going to stick around for good. I've reconnected with old friends and made a few new ones, but the best part of all of this has been getting closer to the good friends that have always been there.

John told me today that instead of looking at the end of the year and heaving a big sigh that it's over, we should look at each day as a gift and be grateful for it. Then he said he'd been spending too much time with me because he was beginning to sound like me. Imagine that. I've begun to rub off on him.

With all of its ups and downs, I'm sure everyone can find a few things to be grateful for in 2008. I know I can -- and have. The best is yet to come. Each and every morning is a blank sheet just waiting to be filled. I know how I'm going to fill mine. How about you?

I don't believe in making new year's resolutions because they never last, but it's always a good idea to find one thing you have the power to change. Mine is spending more time writing because I need to put more books out. What is yours?

On, one last thing. I made egg nog for the first time and it turned out great -- even without the bourbon and brandy. That's one more thing to add to the list of accomplishments. A small accomplishment to be sure, but one should never under estimate the power of egg nog.

An old Chinese truth

Beanie called me yesterday afternoon to tell me she was on her way to her mother-in-law's for Xmas eve and she had a migraine and then her voice perked up and she said they had given Mom her gift and she was ecstatic.

A couple of months ago, I suggested to my siblings that we go together and get the whole Forever Knight DVD series for Mom. Every time I talk to her, that she isn't eating or making chocolate pudding to eat, she is talking about Nick Knight and her Forever Knight and how she loves to watch the show. It was easy to figure out a gift she would love and luckily my siblings went along with the idea, even my idiot brother, Jimmy, who lives almost full time in his own world and has little to do with the world the rest of us live in.

I called Mom after I talked to Beanie and she was predictably eating. Carol was asleep and Mom was fretting because she doesn't know how to work the DVD player. She wanted to watch Forever Knight. Now there was a glitch in the shipping schedule and they sent the first two seasons to me instead of to Beanie, where they were supposed to go, and the third season, the last, was back ordered. Beanie got that one first and that's the one she took to Carol's last night and gave to Mom, explaining the other two seasons would arrive on Friday. It's a long story, but suffice it to say that Snail Mail screwed up and lived up to its gastropod tendencies (moving as fast as a snail frozen in its slime trail). Mom said she didn't care. She could go back and watch them all again because they were hers. She said she'd never have guessed what it was in a million years.

Carol isn't likely to get much help once Mom figures out how to work the DVD player with so many episodes of Nick's vampiric activities in Toronto to watch. I did offer to take it back since she was so upset we bought her a gift when she couldn't afford to buy gifts for any of us, but she threatened to maim anyone who tried to take it back.

Today was the real surprise. Beanie called me this morning and was so excited because she called me before I called her. I'm always the first to call for birthdays and holidays. She told me about what her boys and Randy got her for Xmas and what she got all of them. She even managed to surprise her husband with a guitar he wanted and thought had been sold out. It was sold out; Beanie got the last one.

Before Beanie called, a dear friend called and wished me a merry Xmas. I didn't recognize her voice. All I could hear was the wind rushing by (she was driving and had the window down), but when she finally told me who it was we both squealed. She has been through so much over the past year or two and she wanted to wish me happy holidays. We talked for a few minutes and laughed and shared a little of the season's joy. We'll do it again on New Year's.

Other friends called and stopped by and it turned out to be a busy and happy day. Food, laughter and friendship were shared and I still managed a nap and some quiet time with the sun and a cool breeze coming through the windows. Although it seems like this time of year is for children, it's really for everyone. The childlike delight of holiday cards and presents and spending time with friends, on the phone and in person, is something we never lose.

As this year comes to an end, I look back and wonder at the many changes, surprises and gifts the year has brought. Many of the gifts have been the result of hard work and waiting and some, like the friends and loved ones who have come back into my life, are serendipitous delights I will always treasure. Maybe it's true that old Chinese saying that if you love something, let it go. It will return if it's meant to be. So many things and people I let go have come back to enrich my life and remind me how wealthy I truly am. That is the gift of the season -- the season that lasts every day if you, like the reformed Scrooge, keep Christmas in your heart all year long.

Happy holidays and may every day be as bright as today.

Priorities speak volumes

I've been eyeing a recipe in a new cookbook for mile high brownies. The recipe calls for icing, but I decided not to make it. It also calls for yogurt and I substituted sour cream and added two teaspoons of espresso powder. They turned out really good. One more baking item down for the holiday dinner. I'll probably make mushroom caviar and sweet potato puffs for appetizers to go with the cranberry glazed ham. Since the pumpkin flan turned out so well for Thanksgiving, I'm making it again. A few veggies and maybe some mashed potatoes and gravy and that should do it. There will be a couple bottles of wine to go with dinner, but I think I'm in good shape, except for the egg nog and gingerbread, but those will be no problem at all.

I wonder sometimes why we don't go all out for every day dinners. There's a lot of work involved, but the results are worth it, especially when there are friends to share the meal. I think I'll propose a monthly dinner to celebrate nothing in particular, except friendship and continued health.

Friends are around more during the holidays, too, although some friends are so busy they can't afford more than five minutes a day to say hello and chat for a while. No matter how busy the days, friends should be able to carve out more than five minutes a day, judging by some of my friends who inundate me with phone calls and emails all hours of the day and night without cease. A happy medium between five minutes and monopolizing the whole day would be good.

New year's resolutions are usually a bad idea since they seldom last into February, but this year I'm making a resolution. If friends cannot spare more than five minutes a day, then it's time to say goodbye until their priorities or their schedules change. Even friends I haven't seen in years spare more than that and then there are the weekly marathon phone calls and chats and emails back and forth. My time is valuable and free time will be at a premium next year with three novels and six more anthologies coming out. And I'm working on another book. I don't have time to spare for people who have no time to spare for me. It's like pruning an LJ friends list in some ways, although I write more for myself than for any specific group of people. In that instance, stay if you want to read and go if you find nothing worth reading. I skip through some of your posts simply because I don't always have the time to read every word, but you'll never know which ones I skim and which ones I read every word because I don't always comment. I wonder if that means I can't spare five minutes a day for them. Hmm.

Relationships are about communication. If there is no communication, there really is no relationship. It's that simple. Stopping by once a month and emailing once or twice a day do not a relationship make. That makes an acquaintance -- and not a very good one at that.

I know this seems a bit cut throat, but there it is. If someone has the time to spend 12+ hours a week watching television, but no more than five minutes a day communicating and connecting then there's not much of a relationship happening -- nor likely to continue. It's like I tell people who say they want to write but don't have the time. If they watch television every night, or for several hours a day, and they really want to write, they'll give up at least 30 minutes of watching TV. If not, then they have no real interest in writing. Relationships, like writing, require commitment and sacrifice. If someone isn't willing to sacrifice even 30 minutes of TV to write -- or to communicate with a friend or loved one -- then their priorities say it all. They don't really want to write, they just like the idea of being a writer. It's sort of like being enthralled with the idea of love but not wanting to love someone -- or in this case, build a real relationship. A person's priorities tell you a lot about who they are and what is important to them and speak so much louder than empty promises and emptier words.

That is all. Disperse.

Free expression

I've been engaged in a discussion about journals and revealing your truest and deepest self. It relates to free expression and the exercise thereof.

As anyone who has read my journal posts for any length of time can tell, I don't do PC. It's phony. You use a lot of words to skirt an issue and end up with the result that people believe they can pick up a turd by the clean end. It's not possible. To paraphrase Shakespeare, a turd by any other name would still smell -- even tens of thousands and millions of years later. Think I'm kidding? Archaeologists get all excited when they find a cave where prehistoric man lived and shat and they will tell you that if you add a bit of water the smell comes back.

Some people believe their turds don't stink. They do. I've been in the bathroom with some of those people (in public restrooms) or just after them (in more private venues) and I can attest to the fact. That's not to say it's bad or good, just a fact. Turds are the smelly ash left over after the body has extracted all the nourishment from food. It's human compost and anyone who has been near a compost heap will tell you just how much it smells on hot sunny days, especially when you're turning it so that all the compost can rot evenly. Eventually, the compost rots enough and bacteria and insects work on the pile to reduce it to earthy fertilizer that can be spread on gardens to help plants grow, so even compost and turds have uses, even if it's just a dung fire to stay warm on cold nights, keep away predators and cook food. Everything has a use, even free expression in this politically correct morass of a world when people don't say what they mean or mean what they say. Instead, they hide their truest selves behind an endless stream of watered down words or keep them bottled up. Don't you know what happens to anything volatile when it's bottled up for too long? It explodes.

asked me if I'd be afraid to let people see what's in my paper journals. Once upon a time the answer would have been yes. Now it's no. I've already faced that demon when my mother got hold of years of paper journals and read every word. She thought they were all about her and ended up finding the real me, a me she never knew -- and still doesn't. She didn't know I was so unhappy or that my interests range from quantum physics to philosophy and everything in between. She didn't know my dreams or my fears or what I had kept inside me for fear someone would find me out and decide I was a lunatic, and she understood some of what she read and urged me to have the journals published. That brought me to blogging where I decided that I wouldn't censor myself or hide it away for only certain people (or no one) to see. That is not an indictment of people who need or choose to keep their journals locked to only friends.

The problem as I see it is that we treat the people around us as foes ready to pounce on us and destroy our lives, and there are people out there like that, but they are for the most part faux foes. They are more interested in their own pain and creating drama. Those who wish to create drama will find a way with or without your help, but by putting your truest self out here you can defuse their nefarious schemes by just being who and what you are, warts and all.

For instance, Mom and I had a talk not too long ago about why she resented Dad's brother, Don, so much. I posted some of that here previously. She doesn't understand why a man who drank and raised hell and chased women (successfully) was still alive with all of his physical ailments and a good man like Dad was gone. She resented Uncle Don the way most of the family resents her. Mom has had several different types of cancer and many of her organs surgically removed, partially and completely. She has had so many surgeries that her body is a jigsaw puzzle of silvery scars and puckered skin. Her skin is like paper and she is usually covered in bruises and has to be sustained with monthly blood transfusions and B12 shots, in short, a vampire (in more ways than one). She has been a selfish, self centered, egotistical woman who believes the world revolves around her and she has made sure the world revolved around her, and yet she is still here while a good man like Dad is dead.

Mom keeps whining about being alone, although my sisters and brother dance to her tune every single day, and how she wants to die and be with Dad. She's been close to death a few times and she's still here. Neither heaven nor hell want her, and I'm sure Dad isn't too anxious to see her again so soon after getting his reprieve, so she is still here. There are times when I hope her wish will be granted SOON and she'll die, but then I think about her wish. She wants her ashes to be put in Dad's urn so her ashes will spend eternity with his ashes. Even in death Dad can't get away from her. I think I'll honor Dad's wishes, get hold of his ashes and spread them to the winds. I can replace his ashes with plain old fireplace ash and Mom won't know the difference. Yes, it's her dying wish, but she won't die, and Dad's dying wish to be scattered to the winds was not honored. Even though Dad broke his promise to me and didn't take Mom with him when he died, I understand why and I empathize.

Maybe this revelation doesn't come as a surprise to people who know me and my history with Mom and maybe it does, but it's the way I feel. It's my truest self and I'm not ashamed to put it out here. Mom is manipulative and egocentric and she really doesn't care for anyone but herself. She made so many lives miserable, even her mother's. Gram was a wonderful woman who loved Mom unconditionally and Mom often treated Gram like a mangy cur. When the prostate cancer metastasized into Dad's bones and he was in so much pain, Mom screamed and railed at him because he didn't know the meaning of pain. She had lived with pain all her life and she didn't act like a pantywaist about it. She demeaned and punished him for more than fifty years and Dad stuck by her. Dad's dead and she's still here. Is it any wonder I wish she weren't?

I love Mom, but I don't like most of what she's done -- to Dad, to Gram, to the people around her, to my children or to me. She has destroyed lives and did her best to try destroy the people who loved her the most. And she's still here.

That, gentle readers, is free expression. I am not afraid to reveal my shadow self. I'm not perfect and I never claimed to be. I have faults and flaws and can be incredibly insensitive on occasion, but one thing I am not is phony. What you read here is my truest self, warts and all, and I apologize for none of it because it needs no apology. There is more to me than these few posts and they fill many paper journals, and will fill many more, but I am no different here than in real life. This is what Mark Twain meant.

This is how you get to know a person -- by the freest and most honest expression of their deepest self. I think we'd all be better off if we got rid of anything politically correct and let the shadows out of their closets, along with the skeletons. There is nothing new in heaven or earth and never will be. What you have thought in moments of anguish or pain or fear are the same as the thoughts shared by any number of people in every civilization throughout time. The technology is different, but man and woman remain the same. Let it out and you will find many kindred spirits. Let it out and maybe we can finally put the demons to rest. Let it out and be who you really are -- warts and all.

That is all. Disperse.

Just the facts

Well, I got a surprise today when I read the group email from the publisher. They have revamped the website and there are now two pages all about me and mine. A third page lists upcoming titles for 2009 and Past Imperfect is on the list. Since I won't get the contracts for the other two novels until January, they aren't included in the list, but my book is on the list and now has it's own page. How cool is that?

There was more Cup of Comfort news and there will be more book signings, appearances, readings and interviews, but I'm going to see if I can't combine them with the upcoming novel. Nothing like getting more bang for your literary buck. I also have to begin promoting the new novel before it hits the bookshelves, or at least that's what I'm finding out works best with marketing. So much to do and so many miles before the end of the road.

That is all. Disperse.