Writing, etc.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2012-01-25T09:07:00.002-05:00

I've recently been dealing with the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue as anyone who follows me on Facebook no doubt has heard. The good thing about it is it provided me fodder for today's post at Working Stiffs. Come on over and join the rant.

The Tax Man Cometh

2012-01-23T13:51:00.000-05:00

It’s January 23^rd in southwestern Pennsylvania and thethermometer reads 50 degrees. And the sun is shining. There’s something verywrong about this. Not that I’m complaining. We had single digits, snow, and icelast week. This is much better. It’s just wrong. It’s in my nature to complainvehemently about winter weather. That’s hard to do when you can wander outsidewithout a coat.

But there’s something else about this time of year that Ican still grumble about. Tax season. If I wanted to spend my life addingcolumns of numbers, I’d have been an accountant. But I’m not on good terms withmath. I prefer words. So I’m a writer.

Except this time of year, I’m a writer trying to balance myspreadsheets.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I only had one business to keeptabs on. Silly me. I have three. Writing. Yoga. And Avon.That last one is the most involved, so I’m doing it first.

Oh, it would be much simpler if I kept up with income andexpenses as they happen instead of letting the receipts collect in a folder allyear long. I always intend to do better. But you know what they say about goodintensions.

So for the next few weeks, I’ll be sorting through almost ayear’s worth of paperwork, receipts, invoices, and bank statements. If you tryto contact me and I sound grouchy (or grouchier than normal), that’s why.

Revising vs. Rewriting

2012-01-16T10:30:00.000-05:00

We’re halfway through January. So how are you doing withyour resolutions and goals? Do you still remember what they were?

Last week, I crossed off a big one. I finished this round ofrevisions and sent it off to The Agent on Thursday. Sound the trumpets.

No, it’s not “done” yet. But I need a break. I need to cleanmy house and get my stuff together for my accountant. While I’m taking that break,I figure The Agent might as well take a look at it and give me her thoughts andsuggestions. Because right now I feel like I’m bumping around in the dark andcould use someone to shine a light on things for me.

Hopefully, the comments I get back will involve onlyrevisions. ONLY revisions. What I’ve just spent the last six months doing was arewrite more than a revision. What’s the difference? Well, here’s mydistinction:

Revising involves tinkering with words, moving scenesaround, fixing odds and ends. Since I live in Pennsylvania, the home of the orange barrel,I compare it to repairing a road. Patch some potholes. Resurface a stretch hereand there.

But rewriting is starting with a blank page and creating newprose. Yes, I copied and pasted chunks from the older version. But a lot ofwhat I did was completely new. I changed my protagonist’s past, her voice, heroutlook on life, and the tone of the story. Or at least I hope I did. That wasthe plan. To use my roadwork comparison, rewriting is like tearing up anexisting highway and laying down a new roadbed. Maybe rebuilding a bridge or anexit ramp.

Revising takes weeks. Rewriting takes months.

So now I wait to hear whether I’ve been successful in myefforts.

Photo Friday: Peek-a-Boo

2012-01-13T10:18:00.000-05:00

Kensi's new favorite game is to burrow into the folds of the afghan we keep thrown over the back of a chair. From this vantage point, she thinks she can observe without being observed.

Working Stiffs Wednesday - Towanda!

2012-01-11T10:33:00.001-05:00

Today, over at Working Stiffs, I'm offering one of my favorite rants regarding parking lots. I also share one of my all time favorite movie moments. TOWANDA!

Goals, Dreams, and Resolutions

2012-01-02T10:02:00.001-05:00

Yes, it’s that time again. Time to make my New Year’sresolutions. In other words, time to set myself up for failure yet again.

In looking back to the goals I set for last year, I didfair. I’ll give myself a B-.

I bought a used treadmill and was really good about using itup for most of the year. But then I got into this heavy duty rewrite thing andall my treadmill time got converted into writing time. But I kept up with theyoga and the weights until about a month ago. For some reason, when winter setsin, I can’t seem to drag my weary butt out of bed when it’s still pitch blackoutside. And the only time I can get a good workout in is before breakfast. Thetreadmill stuff comes later in the day for me. But the yoga or weights have tobe done first thing in the A.M. It’s just the way it is for me. So I alwaysslack off around mid-November.

However, for most of 2011, I did really well with thefitness stuff.

As for writing every day, I did well with that, too. Whilethe fitness stuff dropped off later in the year, the writing cranked up. Buteven at my worst, I wrote five days a week. The part of the goal from last yearthat failed was the red x on the calendar thing. That only lasted until midFebruary. No big deal. By then the writing habit was ingrained.

Okay, maybe I’ll give myself a B+ for last year’s goals.

And I do mean “goals.” Resolutions, like dreams, are toointangible. I’ve heard several people in recent weeks saying their resolutionfor 2012 is to write more.

No, no, no,no, no, no, no. That’s only a resolution.

Someone else said their goal was to get published. That’smore of a dream.

A GOAL is something attainable. Something you have controlover. Something with a time limit.

Don’t say you’re going to write more. Say you’re going towrite so many words or pages a day. Or for so many hours. Say you’re going towrite two hours a day, five days a week. My friend Ramona DeFelice Long set upa nice contract to make with yourself. Check it out here. It’s a great way toget started and stay on track.

Likewise, don’t say you’re going to get published—unless youplan to self publish your work. Otherwise, you don’t have any control over it. Youcan say you’re going to start querying agents. Or submitting to publishers. Butafter that, it’s out of your hands.

You can even turn it into a game and say you’re going tocollect 12 rejections each month. This works great if you’re writing andmarketing short stories or articles. It keeps you pumping out material. Ifsomething sells, you have to get something else done and in the pipeline tokeep your rejection count up.

So my dreams for2012 are to see my book in print.

And to go out West. Yes, that’s just a dream for this year. Butif I keep it in the back of my mind, maybe I can work toward making it a goalfor next year.

My GOALS for 2012 are to get BACK into the fitness routine Iset up last year. I already hit the treadmill yesterday and dragged my ass outof bed this morning to practice yoga. So far, so good. I intend to drop the 15pounds I put on while planting my backside in my chair and writing. And I wantto do it by May. Okay, April. But it goes on sooo much faster and easier than itcomes off.

My other goals are to finish revising this manuscript withinthe next week or week-and-a-half and send it to the agent. Then I intend to sendoff a couple of article proposals to my editor at Pennsylvania Magazine (who probably thinks I’ve died), clean myhouse, and get my taxes in order. And, yes, keep writing. I’m thinking about ashort story or two. By then, I should be ready for the next round of editorialnotes from the agent.

That’s it for me. What about you? Anyone else want to sharetheir goals, dreams, or resolutions?

Happy New Year

2012-01-01T13:17:00.000-05:00

New Year has never been one of my favorite holidays. Iremember when I was a kid I couldn’t wait until I was grown up and could takepart in the merriment. I watched Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve andobserved the partying from the quiet of my living room.

But when I did grow up, I discovered those parties weren’tall they were cracked up to be. I remember getting grabbed and kissed by a lotof guys (generally drunk) I wouldn’t ordinary kiss for a million bucks. Yuck. Oneyear we spent a lot of money for tickets to a swanky party at some hotel. Thefood was bad. The dance floor too crowded. And again, at midnight I wassurrounded by drunks.

Maybe the problem is that I don’t drink. At least not in thequantity to numb me to the madness. I’m a cheap drunk and would fall asleeplong before I hit the proper level of intoxication to be considered a “goodbuzz.” So I always took the job as designated driver. And therefore I was the soberwitness to my friends making asses of themselves.

Hence, I now stay home and go to bed, sleeping through therevelry. It’s just much better that way.

Therefore, here I am, well rested with no hangover, takingthe day off.

I’m still pounding my way toward getting my manuscript readyto turn in to the interested agent I’ve been working with. I “finished” therewrite the Friday before Christmas and took two days off…the first time I’ddone that in over a month. But Monday I was back at the tinkering. Tuesday, Iprinted out a hard copy and started reading and marking it up.

Note to all my critique buddies: If you think I’m tough onyou, you should see how hard I am on me. Hubby looked over my shoulderyesterday and commented, “You’ve got a lot of red ink on that page.” What hedidn’t realize is that he could have picked up just about any of my 390 or sopages and found considerable red chicken scratch.

I finished the hard copy mark up yesterday and claimed todayas another day off. Tomorrow, I’ll be back at it. Writing is rewriting andrevising. With any luck, this particular round of revisions will only take aweek.

I hope the rest of you are enjoying a day off, whether youpartied last night or slept through it. Or rang in the New Year in your pajamasin your living room, rocking with your TV.

Happy 2012!

Working Stiffs Wednesday...again

2011-12-21T09:38:00.000-05:00

Okay, yes. I'm painfully aware that lately, the only time I post here is to announce that I'm blogging at Working Stiffs. But I'm doing it again. I've posted pictures over there from the Pennwriters and Sisters in Crime Christmas parties.

Just so you know, though, I'll be back here in a more regular fashion SOON. My excuse for not blogging is a good one. I'm driving to finish the rewrite of HORSE OF A DIFFERENT KILLER so I can send it off to the agent I've been working with by early January. My plan is to finish this draft (#546) by Friday so I can take the holiday weekend off. Then print it out and give it another quick pass between Christmas and New Years. THEN send it off to my beta readers so they can catch the stuff I've missed. And THEN (drumroll, please) send it to the agent by the middle of the month.

At which point, I will collapse for a day or two before picking myself up and starting in on all the stuff I've been neglecting. Like my housecleaning and my bookkeeping (tax season approacheth). AND this blog.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-12-07T06:59:00.002-05:00

I'm still up to my eyeballs in my revisions, but I'm coming up for air today to get a haircut. And to blog at Working Stiffs. So in the spirit of multitasking, I'm blogging about getting a haircut. Bangs, or no bangs, that is the question.

December's Goals

2011-12-03T09:42:00.002-05:00

Nanowrimo is over for another year. However my revision version marches on.

I met my goal for November. In fact, I beat it by 17 pages! With that kind of momentum going, now is not the time to sit back and bask in the satisfaction. Now is the time to keep going.

So, I've reset my writing clock. Instead of slacking off, I’m determined to maintain the pace. Thirty pages a week. At that rate, I should be done by Christmas. “Done” being a highly relative term. Let’s rephrase that. I should have a revised draft by Christmas. Of course, I’ll still need to read through it to catch the mistakes I made in the rewrite. My critique buddies have already pointed out that I duplicated a scene. Oops. I hate when that happens.

Today’s goal? Six pages. Reasonable. Do-able.

I’d rather think I could manage 10 pages, but I have to take a break at some point and prepare veggies. Tomorrow is my first Christmas party of the season and I’m taking brussel sprouts and cauliflower roasted with rosemary and garlic. The roasting will happen tomorrow before the party, but the prep work happens today.

I could get a lot more work done if I didn't have to cook. Or do laundry. I’d add “or clean,” but if you could see my house these days, you’d realize that isn't really one of my writing deterrents at the moment.

I could get a lot more work done if I didn't go to the party, too, but we writers need to get out on occasion. Especially with this group. My Sisters in Crime. They feed the creative juices. And that’s a real necessity.

Nanowrimo: Day 25

2011-11-25T11:42:00.001-05:00

I just hit page 230 of my rewrite. That means I only have ten more pages to write before the end of the month to meet my Nanowrimo Revision Version goal. Yeah, I think I’ll make it. Especially since my hubby is leaving tomorrow morning for five days at his family’s hunting camp. During those five days, the only thing I have planned outside the house is a trip to the grocery store. And I’m putting that off as long as possible. I hate going shopping this time of year.

Here’s my idea: stores should block off one morning a week for regular shoppers only. No Christmas shoppers allowed. “Regular” shoppers would not be permitted to sneak any gift buying in on their allotted time. I mean, that’s only fair, right? But those of us who have to buy milk and eggs and toilet paper (not to mention cat food) shouldn’t have to deal with the frantic holiday crowds and the parking lots just to purchase our essentials.

Yeah, I know. Ain’t gonna happen. But a girl can dream.

Okay, back to writing. After I meet my November goal, I’ll be starting on my December goal, which is finishing the rewrite before the holidays. It’s definitely do-able. Provided I don’t have to spend hours in line just to buy a box of cereal.

Life is Tough...

2011-11-21T08:47:00.000-05:00

...for Skye. Ho hum.

Progress?

2011-11-20T11:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, when the world here in “farm country” was quiet, I kept hearing a motor running. I imagine in the city, no one pays attention to such things, since there are always cars and trucks bustling along the streets. Even here, there’s a lot of truck traffic. Not to mention we’re relatively close to the Pittsburgh Airport and are under one of the flight paths. But this was different somehow. Like a car idling outside my window. Only there weren’t any vehicles with engines running.

I stepped out on my porch. The sound was there, but I still couldn’t locate it. A steady monotonous rumble. I mentioned it to Hubby, but he didn’t have any answers for me.

Until today. He spotted the source on his way home from errands. It’s begun.

If you’ve followed me here for any length of time, you know that I’ve been waiting for the onslaught of Marcellus Shale drilling to occur. We leased our gas rights over a year ago and rumors have been flying about when and if they would ever drill here. I knew it wouldn’t be ON our land. We didn’t give up our surface rights. But how close would it be?

Answer: VERY.

The source of the endless monotonous rumble is earth movers on the hill directly behind my house. Directly behind our property line. I can’t see them (yet) from my window or my backyard because of the trees. But today as I stood outside my basement door, I could definitely locate them by ear if not by eye. Hubby says they’ve already piled up a mound of dirt as big, or bigger, than our house.

This is why I put “farm country” in quotes above. The area is turning more and more industrial. I also learned this week that our neighbors, who used to have a large herd of cattle until recently, sold their farm to Range Resources. I’m trying not to think about what that means.

Except for the royalty checks. I do keep reminding myself of those. We could use them right about now.

So at least I know the source of the noise. Like the tractor trailers that roll by our house and the planes that roar overhead, I can tune out the sound as long as I know where it’s coming from.

For now.

As for revisions, I’m happy to report that I have met my weekly goal for three weeks running, AND I’ve passed the 200 word mark on the rewrite. I’m feeling a lot better about my long-term goal of finishing this draft before the holidays…as long as we’re talking the Christmas/New Years holidays and not Thanksgiving.

Diversions

2011-11-10T17:05:00.003-05:00

Diversions. Another form of procrastination. And in case anyone didn’t know, I am the Queen of Procrastination.

Saturday, I took a day off my revision version of Nano to proctor the written exam for Pittsburgh police recruits. I’d done this a couple of years ago and found it interesting, so I agreed to do it again.

I arrived at the convention center at 8:30 in the morning and joined other bleary-eyed proctors setting up the room for the testing. I was assigned to section G and pretty much knew from past experience that my section wouldn’t fill up. But we still had to go through the motions. Label the tablecloth with section-row-seat numbers. Lay out cardstock, answer sheets, test booklets, and pencils. Other important tasks involved stuff like locating the restroom. Always a vital piece of information.

We had our orientation at 9:30. And at 10:00, we positioned ourselves by our assigned tables and the doors opened to the recruits.

Roughly one thousand aspiring police officers promenaded into the hall and took their seats. As expected, section G didn’t fill up. Neither did sections E or F. So while the recruits received their instructions, we proctors collected all the materials we’d just laid out and received our new assignments. I was moved to section B, where I worked as an extra, wandering around the entire section or filling in for proctors who were taking breaks. I also acted as go-fer for the section supervisor.

The main task of a proctor is to simply walk around their assigned tables to make sure no one cheats. We’re not allowed to answer any questions about the test. It’s a lot of walking. And it’s a great chance to observe people.

There is no one kind of person who takes this step toward becoming a cop. My favorite part of the proctoring gig is trying to imagine each of the test-takers in uniform. Some of the guys looked like they could step right into the role. Many of them appeared to be ex-military.

But then there was the Goth Girl with all the funky jewelry and tats. Or the pretty petite blonde, although she could have passed for J.J. on Criminal Minds. For that matter, Goth Girl might have been going for the Abby (NCIS) look.

One guy in particular was dressed in a sharp looking suit and tie, complete with expensive-looking watch and shoes. I was thinking, forget about the uniform; this guy’s headed straight for the police commissioner’s office.

Most dressed toward the other end of the scale. Sweats. Some cargo shorts. Perhaps they’d fit in on the vice squad. Deep undercover.

Regardless of their attire, I wish all of them good luck. Anyone who’s willing to put their life in harm’s way to protect and serve deserves an A plus from me.

As for my page count? I have 14 more to go before Sunday to meet this week’s goal. I think I’ll make it.

Nanowrimo: Day 5

2011-11-05T06:27:00.001-04:00

The Dashofy Revision Version of Nanowrimo is going quite well. I only need three more pages to make my first week’s goal. It won’t happen today because I’m spending the morning proctoring the police recruits testing for the city of Pittsburgh. I’ve done this before. It’s an odd combination of interesting and mind-numbing boredom. All the interesting stuff happens in the first hour: setting up the testing area, orientation, watching the shiny-faced eager recruits enter the room and be seated. The rest of the time is spent walking around the same table, making sure no one cheats. That’s the boring part. But it’s a way of giving back for the Citizen’s Police Academy experience.

Later, I’m heading to my friend Jessi’s house for a Breeders Cup party. The Breeders Cup, in case you don’t know, is the richest day in horse racing. And it isn’t aired on network TV, which is all I have. So for the second year, I’m hanging out with Jessi and her family and watching it there. It’s fun. I’ve printed out the PPs (past performance records) so we can try to pick the winners. Last year, I picked two out of twelve. That’s about par for me. On second thought, that’s darned good for me.

As for the writing, I’ve settled into a rhythm. I write my pages then I stop and plot out the following day’s scene. That way when I sit down to write, I already have a sense of where I’m going. Saves on the blankly-staring-at-the-screen time. For me, doing the figuring out what comes next is easier after I’ve just finished writing the previous scene.

Most days. Hey, I’m making this up as I go along, just like everyone else.

Nanowrimo: Day 2

2011-11-02T08:58:00.002-04:00

I not only met my goal for yesterday, I surpassed it. Eight pages!

Today will be a bit more difficult. I have an Avon order to invoice and a yoga class to teach before I can get to my writing. So I think I'll set today's goal at 5 pages and be happy with 3.

...GO!

2011-11-01T05:31:00.001-04:00

I’ll be offline all day today. That seems to be the only way I can get any serious writing done. And I intend to get some serious writing done today.

Annette Dashofy’s Revision Version of Nanowrimo begins!

That name is way too long. ADRVN?

No.

Oh, well. I can’t waste precious writing time trying to come up with something better.

Anyone out there care to join me? This is an unofficial, make-it-up-as-we-go-along version of Nanowrimo. Set your own goals. Feel free to post them here if you want me to nag/cajole/encourage you to meet them. You can do the same right back at me.

My goal for today is 6 pages. I’m tempted to say 7, but I’m a wuss. I hate to fail on the first day.

Get Ready, Get Set...

2011-10-31T10:21:00.001-04:00

Happy Halloween.

We get zilch in the way of trick-or-treaters around here. In fact, the only time we EVER had trick-or-treaters was when my cousin lived next door and her kids were little. Often, though, I’ve purchased candy JUST IN CASE. Which means I have to eat it all myself. Darn. But not this year. Lately, writing time battles with treadmill time, and the writing time is winning. So no bag of miniature Reese’s Cups for me.

Instead of focusing on Halloween, I’m thinking of this as Nanowrimo Eve. Originally, I’d planned to spend it getting a jump-start on my page count. And since I’m doing my own revision version of Nano, and since I’m making up my own rules for it, starting early would not be deemed cheating.

However, I’ve decided NOT to cheat anyway. Instead, I intend to spend the day cleaning house.

Boy, do I know how to have fun or what?

Seriously, the house needs it. I’ve been letting things pile up (literally) for months now while using the revisions excuse. “I have to get these revisions done! I can’t take time to tidy.” But when I think of what this place will look like after another month, I fear the health department may be summoned.

I’m also catching up on other little sundry items. I owe my online critique group three critiques and one submission. Since I’m the one who keeps tally of these things, I can let myself slide. But again, if I put it off for another month… Besides, I have the critiques done. I just have to post them.

Yes, I should be a member of Procrastinators Anonymous. “My name is Annette, and it’s been six months since I’ve caught up on my email.”

Today I will put aside my revisions to tackle all the other stuff in my life. But tomorrow is November first and the manuscript will once again take top priority. Get ready, get set…

Nanowrimo

2011-10-27T20:08:00.001-04:00

November is National Novel Writing Month, otherwise known as Nanowrimo. The idea is to pound out an entire 50,000 word novel in one month.

I’ve never participated. I do too much editing as I go along to put out those kinds of numbers. But I’m always in awe of those writers who do take part, whether they succeed or not.

This year, while I still don’t plan to sign up for the official version, I do think I’m going to do my own adaptation of the challenge.

I’m currently on page 120 of my revised manuscript. I’ve decided to set a goal of 30 pages a week for the month of November. That would give me double what I have now and put me within 100 pages of being finished. Do I think I’ll meet that goal? Probably not. But I’ll give it my best shot.

Honestly, it’s well within my capabilities to write that much. But as soon as I make any high-minded plans, I fully expect life to get in the way. At least if I set an outrageous goal, I’ll accomplish more than if I don’t push myself at all. I’ll keep you all posted on my progress.

If you’re taking part in Nanowrimo, either officially or unofficially, feel free to post your goals and accomplishments here. And good luck to you all!

Let the writing begin!

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-10-26T07:39:00.002-04:00

We survived the retreat without a major weather event, but that's not to say we got through it without a good story or two. I'm blogging about it over at Working Stiffs today where I ask the question: How many women crime writers does it take to break into a house?

Sisters in Crime 2011 Retreat

2011-10-12T09:33:00.001-04:00

We’re trying it again.

Our local Sisters in Crime chapter seems to have a reputation for not being in Mother Nature’s good graces. We had a blizzard the day Hallie Ephron came to town to present a workshop for us. Our Christmas party was cancelled one year because of a major ice storm. And our last writing retreat in the spring of 2010 will forever be known as The Great Flood and Writers’ Retreat.

But ever undaunted, we’re taking another stab at it. This weekend, we’re heading back to Confluence, although we’re staying in a different place this time. The scariest part for me is the fact that I've somehow become the sole presenter. I never intended it that way. It just happened.

And we only have one other attendee who is a Great Flood survivor. The rest are all newbies, eager to find out what natural disaster will befall us this time.

Frankly, I’m afraid the natural disaster will be me, boring them all to tears. Yes, my insecurities are showing.

At least I got a nice boost credential-wise. Fish Tales was given a lovely review in Mystery Scene Magazine, and my contribution, “A Murder Runs Through It” received a special mention. Prior to that, I was asking myself, “Why would anyone want to listen to a word I have to say???”

I think it’ll be okay, though. I’m stealing my material from some of the best.

Wish me luck.

And keep an eye on the weather forecast for Confluence. Should we warn the locals? They may want to start the evacuation now.

Vacation from Responsibilites

2011-10-03T13:07:00.002-04:00

Pennwriters board of directors, of which I’ve been a member for more years than I care to count, holds three meetings a year. In February, we have a teleconference meeting. In May we have a short evening meeting the Thursday before our annual conference. And in October, we have the big mega meeting that lasts all day, and during which, we hammer out the bulk of the year’s business.

That meeting was this past Saturday in DuBois, PA. This is a new location for us, and frankly, it was a huge improvement. In past years, we met at a “rustic” motel that shall remain nameless to protect the not-so-innocent. I liked their meeting room and the food, but the guest rooms? No internet. No heat. No hot water. Seriously. Cold showers. It could be that the guest rooms were on a hillside above the restaurant and meeting rooms, and the hot water tank was down there and the hot water just never made it up the hill. And it could be that they hadn’t turned the heat on for the season yet. But I froze!

Another venue we used broke just about every fire safety code I can think of. Plus they promised internet, but no one could connect to it. The food was okay. Barely.

THIS time, the rooms were great. The food… well, we won’t discuss that. Suffice it to say I lived on Reese’s Pieces and coffee for much of the stay, although I did venture out through the rain to walk (run) across a four-lane highway to snag a salad at Sheetz.

I love Sheetz.

Anyhow, I stayed over Saturday night after the meeting. Had a room to myself. With my Sheetz salad, Netflix on my laptop (how can cable TV provide 75 channels and still have nothing worth watching?), and NO RESPONSIBILITIES, I was in my own little version of Heaven.

Sunday morning, I continued to enjoy my escape from Responsibility (yes, that’s with a capital R) until check-out time. Then I met up with my dear friend, Paula Matter, who drove two hours from the other direction to join me for lunch. We drove a few miles down the road and found a Ruby Tuesday. Okay, so we got a little lost, too, but we had fun.

Of course, all “vacations” must come to an end. After a three-and-a-half hour drive home, I was greeted by two miffed cats and an upset mom, who thought I should have been home hours ago.

It’s nice to be missed. I think.

I'm baaa-aack

2011-09-26T16:16:00.001-04:00

Betcha thought I dropped off the face of the earth. No such luck. I’m still here. I’ve just been busy writing.

I’ve had a bit of an epiphany about writing. Namely, it’s hard work. I used to write for me. It was an escape. A way of putting myself into a different world and letting my characters do stuff I’d never do in a million years. It was fun.

Now that I’m “on the cusp” of being ready for publication (That’s not my phrase. Three different people have told me I’m “on the cusp.” Whatever that means.) I have to think more about my potential readers and what THEY want. Apparently, in today’s market, it’s not necessarily the same thing.

But my goal is to make some money at this writing gig. I’m realistic. I’m not expecting riches. I’m not even expecting a self-supporting living wage. Just some money. And to do that, I have to give the reader more consideration than I give my own corny tastes.

So I’m working. Really, really hard.

Which is why I haven’t been blogging as much as I should.

The other reason I’ve been MIA is life has been pretty dull around here. But I have a few things coming up on my calendar that may be blog-worthy. So hopefully I’ll make my presence known a little more in the next few weeks.

Working Stiffs Friday

2011-09-16T08:22:00.002-04:00

My friend Ramona Long and I have teamed up for today's blog post over at Working Stiffs to talk about the Outlaws of Love...our name for those illiterate and grammar-challenged guys on Facebook who keep propositioning us.

Ten Years Later

2011-09-11T09:24:00.000-04:00

Like everyone else, I’ve spent the last couple of daysthinking back ten years. Not only about September 11, 2001, but about September10, 2001. About how different our world was on the 10^th whencompared to the 11^th. And every day since. The

United States

lost its innocence onthat Tuesday morning ten years ago.

I was blissfully unaware of the events as they unfolded. Iwas in the basement of the Milsop Community Center in Weirton, West Virginia,teaching my regular yoga class. When class ended at 10AM, I stopped at thefront desk on my way out and the lady behind the counter told me a plane hadhit the World Trade Center.I grinned stupidly at her, waiting for the punch line to what I was certain wasa very bad joke. Even when I realized it was true, I believed it was ahorrible accident. Until I was told a second plane had hit the other tower.

I listened to the events unfold on my radio as I drove home.I don’t have a true sense of the order of things happening because thereporting was so frantic and confused. Reports of what had already happenedwere new to me. But I do remember hearing of the plane going down inShanksville as I drove through my own Pennsylvaniacountryside, not all that far from the final crash site. And I remember lookingup for falling airplanes.

I also remember just wanting to get home. To be with myfamily. To contact my friends. To take stock and make sure everyone was safe.

I was one of the lucky ones. All of my loved ones wereindeed safe. I don’t know a single person who was killed in New York or Washingtonor Shanksville. Yet I grieved for every last one of them.

I spent the rest of the day glued to the TV watching thesame horrific footage over and over and over again. I wept.

A strange, unearthly silence hung on the air in the daysthat followed as all flights across the country were cancelled. We live alongone of the main flight paths for the Pittsburgh Airport. At any time ofthe day, I can look out my window to see contrails across the sky. More oftenthan not, I can hear the distant roar of a plane overhead. We’re far enoughaway that the noise isn’t obtrusive. In fact, I rarely pay any attention to it.

Until it’s gone. Those days after 9-11 were eerily quiet. Theblue skies were void of those familiar white streaks painted across them. Whenthe noise and the contrails returned, I cheered.

Now, ten years have passed. I’ve been thinking about theworld then and the world now. I’m not at all certain we, as a nation, arestronger having lived through it. In fact, when I look at the news and thesquabbling in Washington,I wonder what happened to all the standing together our nation did right afterthe devastation. But I’ve always avoided political topics in my blogging and Idon’t intend to change that today, of all days.

Instead, I just offer up the prayer I started chanting atthe end of my Weirtonyoga classes after 9-11. Om Shantih.

Peace.

Grandpap's House

2011-09-05T06:19:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning as I walked home from a visit with my mom,I heard pounding from across the road. The reason this got my attention is theonly things across the road are empty fields and my grandfather’s long-vacantfarmhouse.

The pounding was followed by a crash, which helped me locatethe source of the sound. Someone was on the roof, tearing off the sheeting, andtossing it to the ground below.

I grew up in that house. I’ve written about it here before.My grandparents have been dead for over 30 years and the house has gone throughseveral owners since it passed out of the family’s hands. The current owner letit fall into such a state of disrepair that it’s now hopeless. The roof wasalready half gone, thanks to windstorms. The foundation is collapsing. Most ofthe windows are broken, their shutters hanging askew. The back door standsopen. The front porch has crumbled to a heap.

I used to dread the day that the place finally met its end.Now, since I have to look at it out my kitchen door all winter long, I almostwelcome it.

Notice, I mention I only have to look at it in the winter.Right now, it’s pretty well covered with vines. Nature is attempting to reclaimit. Plus my own trees are in leaf, blocking my view. But once the leaves fall,there it’ll be, in all its ramshackle glory.

Or maybe not.

There’s been a lot of odd activity over there lately.Surveyors have been crawling over the property. The absentee landowner has beenout with his mower, clearing the shoulder-high weeds. And now, this guy on theroof.

By the way, he quit working after only a couple of hours,leaving the roof bare, gaping open to the heavens. As if the house weren’thumiliated enough by its sad state.

So what’s going on over there anyway? Is the owner going tosell the property? Or is he preparing it for the onslaught of gas drilling?

That’s my bet. I fear that instead of living in the middleof farm country, I’m going to be transported into the middle of an industrialpark—without having to move at all. It’s happening all around us. Rolling,wooded countryside is giving way to massive pipelines and gas processing plantsand high-tension power lines.

So I’m not just anticipating mourning the destruction of thehouse I grew up in. I’m mourning the destruction of a way of life.

Progress? Yeah, I guess.

I’m not planning to stand in its way. Heck, we’ve alreadyleased our ten acres and could sure use some royalties. But I weep for the lostfarmland and woodlands.

I think somewhere in Heaven, my grandfather’s weeping, too.

Happy Anniversary!

2011-08-31T09:39:00.003-04:00

This is a celebratory week for our family of fur kids. Yesterday, marked one year since Kensi moved into our house. She was so tiny then. She’s still small, but that’s okay. With her high-energy antics, if she were any bigger, she’d wreck our house.

Camping is torture for her. The camper is too small to contain her. No place to run. So she spends her time either watching wildlife outside the window or digging in the litter box. Not necessarily USING the litter box. Just digging in it. Then digging at the throw rugs. And digging at my shoes. We get up in the morning to find my slipper in her water bowl and the rugs in crumpled heaps. Busy, busy, busy.

Here’s a camping shot of her as she contemplates my manuscript. Everyone’s a critic.

On top of Kensi’s one-year anniversary with us, TODAY marks four years since Skye became part of our family. She’s such a love bug. And she’s very much MY cat. Kensi is Daddy’s girl. Skye will let Hubby rub her ears or scratch her chin for a moment, but then that’s enough. “Stop touching me.” However, she’ll lie in my lap for hours on end.

Which makes Miss Kensi extremely jealous. And Skye knows this. I swear, she gloats.

Here’s a shot of Skye doing her favorite camping activity, which is snoozing in a sunspot.

Happy anniversary, girls.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-08-24T06:48:00.002-04:00

I'm taking a day off from my regular rotation at Working Stiffs. In my place is an interview with my friend, Kathleen George. Check it out. Then run out and buy her new book. She's one of my favorite authors as well as one of my favorite people.

Friends

2011-08-22T14:50:00.003-04:00

I've been tearing apart and reconstructing my first three chapters for more than a month now and I'm feeling dizzy. At some point a writer loses focus. I'm there. I don't know if I'm improving the darned thing or just babbling different words and making it all sound like crap.

Excuse my French.

So this morning, I packed it up and sent it off to my favorite critique partner, Donnell Bell, whose debut novel The Past Came Hunting will be released in less than a month. (I've read it. It's fabulous. Put it on your must buy list.) Anyhow, Donnell will be able to tell me where I've gone astray.

While I'm waiting to hear back from her, I've been thinking about how blessed I am. My life is full of wonderful, supportive friends who also happen to be published (or soon-to-be-published) authors.

Nancy Martin, for one. She led that awesome boot camp I recently completed. And she continues to email me, nagging and heckling me to get to work. (I will! Honest! As soon as I post this blog!)

But she's not alone. I recently had lunch with my friend, Kathleen George, whose newest Pittsburgh mystery Hideout is just out to rave reviews. Like this one. Kathy took me to Kaya in the Strip District to thank me for helping her with her blog tour. Hey, I happily work for food. But I feel like I was ripping her off. It was fun lining up some guest blog spots for her. It helps that I love her writing and all her books. Besides, isn't supporting each other what writers are supposed to do? In Pittsburgh it is.

Speaking of Pittsburgh authors, another of my good friends has a debut novel coming out at the end of this month. Meredith Mileti was our 2010 Pennwriters Conference Coordinator and now is preparing for the release of Aftertaste: A Novel in Five Courses. Check out this article about Meredith and her cooking. I've been to Meredith's house and experienced some of her culinary skills. To. Die. For. I suspect I'll need to go on a diet after reading this one.

Here's hoping some of what my friends have (namely TALENT) will rub off on me.

Now I have to get back to work or Nancy will send me another nagging email.

Patient for a Day

2011-08-17T18:15:00.000-04:00

Yes, I’m still up to my eyeballs in revisions, which explains my absence. However, I crawled out of my cave yesterday for some “research.” Sort of.

I received an email a few weeks ago, sent to all members of the Pittsburgh Citizen’s PoliceAcademy, seeking volunteers to help out in the first responder training for the new police recruits.

I’ve many times taken part in these kinds of things from the other side. When I was in EMT training, we had to practice on pretend patients. And while I worked on the ambulance service we’d have mock disasters and training drills to hone our skills. So this seemed like a chance to give back.

I arrived at the police training academy with thoughts of being covered in fake blood, having practiced my agonized moaning and shrieks of pain. Instead, I was assigned the role of a woman with a history of congestive heart failure presenting with shortness of breath. So much for the blood and the screams.

Rich, the EMSI observer, gave me a script of sorts. The medications I was on, my medical history, length of time since the onset of symptoms. And then, one at a time, the recruits came into the room and proceeded to demonstrate how they would handle such a case. It was interesting and sort of fun…for about the first five or six times. Then it continued for another two hours.

One recruit, upon hearing that I was on albuterol, stated his brother was on the same medication. And why didn’t I just take one of my breathing treatments when this happened? I looked to Rich for guidance. This wasn’t on the script! That’s when I realized that my answers weren’t nearly as important as the questions they asked. So I let my creative juices flow and told him I’d run out of my medication and hadn’t gotten my prescription filled. Rich gave me a thumbs up.

After that, I looked for any opportunity to ad lib. Mostly, though, they didn’t venture far from the constraints of their training.

However, everyone handled the situation differently. Some were obviously nervous wrecks. Some came into the room exuding quiet confidence. Until faced with an oxygen cylinder that didn’t operate quite the way they expected. A few had a hard time with the blood pressure cuff.

Have you ever had your blood pressure taken twenty-some times in two hours? I’d lost the feeling in my fingers after the first thirty or forty minutes. One poor guy was doing an excellent job until he got to the blood pressure stuff. Then the valve stuck. He couldn’t hear my pulse through the stethoscope. He pumped it up again. Let it out S-L-O-W. My fingers were turning blue. But I remained quiet, remembering when I’d first encountered that same problem as an EMT trainee. But I felt bad because I could see this guy’s confidence level tanking. His face turned red and sweaty. I know he never did get it and ultimately made up a number, because he said my BP was 160 over 40. I’m familiar with my BP. It’s closer to 100 over 50.

But I give him credit for the effort. Same goes to all of the recruits. It’s hard enough studying to be a cop. Trying to learn some basic medical stuff to help the citizens they’ll swear to protect and serve is definitely above and beyond. Kudos to them all.

Oh, and I have to mention my favorite recruit. He’s the one who didn’t ask my age, but when giving his “report to the responding ambulance,” glanced at me and announced that he had “a 33 year old female patient…”

Give that boy an A+!

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-08-10T06:40:00.001-04:00

I'm at Working Stiffs today after wrapping up our critique boot camp. Bruised, but not bloodied.

West Virginia Derby Day

2011-08-09T15:27:00.005-04:00

Last weekend was a big one for me. Sunday, we held our final boot camp critique meeting. You can read about it tomorrow at Working Stiffs. But Saturday was West Virginia Derby Day at Mountaineer.

Let me just say, if you’re a writer and you don’t like research, you’re writing the wrong stuff. Because researching the world of Thoroughbred racing is a blast. And it helps to have a good friend like Jessi Pizzurro to hang out with and show you the ropes.

I have to be honest, though. It was hot. I mean fry-an-egg-on-the-pavement hot. In past years, we’ve spent Derby Day at the edge of the track, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other horse racing enthusiasts. Then we’d dash back to the paddock between races to watch the horses parade and be saddled.

This year we huddled in the grandstand where it was only 85 degrees instead of 95. (I don’t really know how hot it was. No thermometer. It FELT like 105, but I’ve become an AC addict, so anything over 78 degrees is sweltering to me.) We had a tiny TV to watch the horses close-up. Then when they swept down the homestretch we just looked up to watch the finish of the race right in front of us.

One thing about this method of watching the races—we spent a lot more time studying the program. Jessi and I each made our picks. Lucky for me, I was only betting virtual money, because while I had a number of picks finish in the money, I only had one winner. And that one wasn’t exactly a long shot. I’d have lost money on the day had I actually put cash down.

On Derby Day, all the races are big ones. The track is decked out in fresh paint and banners. The crowds are huge and the lines are long. It’s too bad it isn’t like that every other day of the year.

The highlight and big draw is, of course, the West Virginia Derby. For that one race, Jessi and I left our seats in the grandstand to head out to the paddock. We’d have done it anyway, but the fact that singer Toby Keith owned one of the horses didn’t hurt. I admit it. We had high hopes that he’d be in the paddock, too.

Unfortunately (for us) he never showed. I figure he wisely stayed in his air conditioned box in the clubhouse.

Also, since I didn’t want to lug the Nikon around all day, I only had my little Kodak camera, so the pictures aren’t so great. But here are a few from the paddock.

Toby Keith’s horse is number six.

If you follow horse racing, you probably recognize this fellow.

Calvin Borel. Something of a celebrity for this track.

There was one more race after the Derby, but it was hot and we decided to beat the crowd, so we left.

We COULD have slipped over to the stakes barn in the hopes of seeing Mr. Keith. After all, it was just a couple of years ago that we Thoroughbred groupies did just that and managed to get up-close and personal with Kentucky Derby winner, Mine That Bird.

I guess a famous singer just doesn’t have the same lure as a famous racehorse.

Boot Camp Home Stretch

2011-08-01T16:39:00.000-04:00

I’m conflicted. Okay, any writer worth their salt includes a lot of conflict in their work. But my conflict right now is ABOUT my work.

We’re in the home stretch of our critique boot camp. It’s been an incredible experience. I know it’s raised the level of my writing. It’s also completely worn me out. Part of me can’t wait for it to be over.

The other part dreads seeing it come to an end. Like I said, I’ve learned a lot. My fellow boot campers have provided such insightful commentary on my first four chapters I hate to think of going it alone for the rest of the rewrite.

Sigh.

I’m working on our final assignment: the dreaded synopsis. After many long hours, I’ve completed (sort of) my outline. Okay, so there are some holes that still need to be plugged. But essentially, it’s done. Now I have to distill it down to a few pages. This is the part I really hate.

But that’s okay. Because my fellow boot campers are in this same boat with me. And when we meet on Sunday, we’ll all work on plugging those holes, baling the rising water that threatens to sink our ships. Together.

Misery loves company.

This Morning's Entertainment Courtesy of West Penn

2011-07-28T17:12:00.006-04:00

I think I’ve been spending too much time holed up in my cave with my computer. This morning I learned that the power company was going to maneuver one of its massive trucks into our yard, around behind our old barn, and back into the yard on the other side (all to avoid potentially crushing our leech bed—thank you West Penn) so they could work on the electric pole just across the property line. In order to successfully pull this off, Hubby had to take down a small section of fence and remove one fence post.

The fence was no problem. We haven’t owned any livestock in over a decade. Hurricane Ivan took out the bulk of our fence back in 2004. This was just a little piece that had survived and served no good purpose except to hold up the poison ivy vines.

Note to self: add calamine lotion and Benadryl to the grocery list.

The massive truck arrived. Hubby made them use it to pull the fence post. Or, to be more accurate, to snap it off at its rotted base.

Meanwhile, having been cooped up in my cave for way too long, I was watching and photographing the whole process as if it were the circus come to town. The power company employees probably were commenting among themselves, “That lady needs to get out more often.”

Yeah.

They did ask me if I wanted to get in the bucket and do the work for them. I told them thanks, but no thanks. I’m not crazy about heights. I’m even less crazy about getting fried.

The purpose of this particular morning’s work was to cut the wires that used to supply power to my grandparent’s farmhouse across the road. I’ve written about that house here before. It now stands lonely, abandoned, and collapsing. No need for electricity over there any more. So they stopped traffic, and the lineman snipped the ancient wires.

It was kind of cool.

Yeah, I told you I need to get out more.

No one got zapped. Hubby got to play on the old Farmall and mow down the weeds growing where the fence once stood. (For anyone who has followed his recent spate of mishaps with electronics and digital devices, you should know he does much better with vintage farm equipment.)

So, other than having a massive truck in my backyard for almost an hour, the big event was…well…uneventful.

But it got me out of my cave for a bit.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-07-27T06:59:00.001-04:00

I'm at Working Stiffs today inviting everyone to join me in a round of the What If game. Don't know what that is? Come on over and find out.

Climbing Boot Camp Mountain

2011-07-25T13:05:00.001-04:00

For the last four weeks, all I’ve been doing is A.) writing like mad and B.) driving back and forth to our camp in Confluence.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m taking part in a critique boot camp. We’re three weeks into it, and the experience has been amazing. What I THOUGHT was a nearly ready-to-go manuscript has undergone a huge transformation.

Week #1 was what I’d call “the rude awakening.” Like me, all of the participants went in thinking we didn’t have all that much work to do. Ha! WRONG.

Week #2, we presented our attempts at correcting the problems we’d found out about in week #1. Let’s just say, I stopped at the store on the way home to buy some conciliatory chocolate.

Afterwards, I had something of an epiphany… a way to possibly fix the pesky problems that just weren’t going away. It was one of those head-slap moments. Why didn’t I think of that before? Like six years ago???

Week #3 found some of us still scratching for a toe hold, while others were succeeding in climbing the mountain. Thankfully, I think I’m one of the ones who are a little closer to the peak. Not there yet, but it’s in sight.

Now for our final meeting, we’re supposed to turn in a completed synopsis of our story. The problem for me is so much has changed in the last three weeks that many of my clues and plot points don’t work any more.

But the assignment is a good one. I’ve felt a yearning to put aside the manuscript for a bit and focus on the outline. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.A

When I’m not driving back and forth to Confluence.

Too Close For Comfort

2011-07-16T16:52:00.000-04:00

I usually love to retreat to my cave away from home, our camp in Confluence. On most of our trips, I get a lot of work done. And the cats enjoy looking out the windows at the rabbits, squirrels, wrens, moles, and chipmunks that frequent the underbrush behind our trailer.

However, the last two times we’ve been here, my peaceful work environment has been shattered by—NEIGHBORS.

Part of my problem with people living in close proximity is the fact that I grew up on a farm. Our neighbors were cows. The human variety lived at a comfortable distance. I could walk to visit my friends. But they couldn’t look in my kitchen window.

Even now, at home I only have human neighbors on one side of our house, and they’re as reclusive as I am. We wave at each other when we’re out in our yards. But that’s about it. My mom lives nearby. I can walk there in under two minutes. But I can’t hear her talking to her lady friends on her phone.

Here in Confluence, we’re squeezed in between two other camps. On one side, the trailer sits empty and for sale. On the other side, the family rarely shows up. Until recently.

And when they do show up, they show up in droves. I think they invite ALL the relatives to come enjoy the amenities. These relatives hang out on their deck, which is a whopping two feet (maximum) from my kitchen window. They park in our spot if Hubby has the car out, or block us in if the car is here. Kids and dogs overflow onto our campsite and play in our “front yard.”

This morning there was a huge (HUGE) argument between the husband and wife. I don’t think they realized I was inside my cave listening to every word. It’s not eavesdropping if the only way you can avoid hearing it is sticking your fingers in your ears and singing “Lalalalala.”

As I write this, there are six adults and three children right outside my window having a grand ol’ time. I want to yell out at them, “I’m trying to work in here!”

But maybe I’ll keep my mouth shut and my ears open. There’re probably a couple of story ideas in the conversations going on out there.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-07-13T07:28:00.002-04:00

Yes, I've been AWOL around here quite a bit lately. And it will probably continue for a few more weeks. I'm doing revisions. But not just revisions. Revisions on steroids. It's called critique boot camp and I'm blogging about it over at Working Stiffs today.

Finding Friends Wherever She Can

2011-07-06T17:35:00.002-04:00

I've been holed up in my cave working on revisions to my Thoroughbred racetrack mystery. There is very little interesting about this part of the writer's life. Sitting at a computer for long hours while the rest of the world goes on around you doesn't produce much fodder for a blog. So I'll simply post this photo of Kensi, who takes comfort in her other "friends" while her mom is busy writing.

The End of a Story

2011-06-27T15:52:00.003-04:00

But it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

After ten days of forced confinement, followed by four more days of simply choosing to stay in the basement, Moochie finally decided to return to the great outdoors. He returned the next day and snoozed in the shade of my front porch.

The last time I saw him, he was curled up in the wicker chair next to the door.

Sometime between Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning, he was hit by a car and killed as he crossed the road near our house.

After all he and I went through recently—the bite, the rabies scare, the confinement—I’d become attached to the ol’ guy. He’d finally started using the litter box, so he wasn’t such a bad houseguest there at the last.

But he was, in his heart and soul, an outdoor cat. A free spirit with a touch of wanderlust.

Did he simply run out of his supply of nine lives? Did being a pampered indoor cat for two weeks weaken his survival skills or his road smarts? I don’t know. But I’m glad I was able to spend those last two weeks getting to know ol’ Moochie better. He was well fed and got a lot of attention and petting during those days in my basement. Even though he’d bit me and sent me to the ER, I still liked the old reprobate.

R.I.P Moochie.

Superman For Sale

2011-06-25T20:19:00.003-04:00

I'm back to working on my racetrack mystery. After being away from it for a while, it's like coming home and spending time with old friends.

Another benefit is the research. I HAVE to hang out at the track. Dang.

That's sarcasm, in case you're wondering. Any excuse to spend time with horses is a good thing in my book.

I took my camera and got some shots of this guy: Mr. Superman.

FYI, he's for sale! Click here for more info, more pictures, and some video of him moving.

Cat Television

2011-06-23T15:38:00.004-04:00

Kensi wasn’t all together certain she liked this camping stuff at first. She spent most of our two initial trips to the camp in Confluence hiding in the closet. During the day. She made up for it at night by exploring every nook and cranny and getting into stuff that I didn’t even know we had.

However, she’s now a seasoned camping kitty. She and Skye actually get along, sitting side-by-side on the table, looking out at the world. You’ll have to take my word for it, because I didn’t get a picture of them together.

For cats, windows are like television. Windows with screens add the extra dimension of smell-o-vision.

Our windows have some pretty good programming in Confluence. There was a family of wrens who liked to sit on my bicycle and scold the cats. There were also moles, chipmunks, and a pine squirrel. Hubby tells me pine squirrels are the Pit Bulls of the squirrel population. I say they’re more like Chihuahuas. Small, but they have no inkling of their diminutive stature. And they’re LOUD.

Window-TV has no volume control. Other than closing the windows. And Kensi would pout if I did that.

Skye checking out the reception at floor level...

...and obviously not happy to have her TV viewing disturbed.

Closing a Chapter

2011-06-21T14:14:00.001-04:00

This morning, the rabies-threat chapter of my life story came to a close. Yesterday, the lady from the department of health phoned to check on me and announced she was closing the case. This morning the fellow from animal control came to take a look at Moochie. I opened the basement door. Mooch ambled out of his nest and yawned. The animal control guy said, “Good enough for me.”

Moochie is free. But he’s still in the basement. His prison has turned into a bed and breakfast. I opened the door to let him out and he looked at me as if to say, “Surely you can’t be serious.”

So for the time being, we have a basement cat. He’s finally learned to use the litter box. It only took nine of his ten days confinement to figure it out. Guess he decided if his status as house guest was going to continue beyond what was mandatory, he’d better get with the program.

I have no idea what to do with him. Skye and Kensi have found a common cause. Neither one of them want another cat. Besides, his tendency to bite feet—hard—make him a less than ideal house pet. Especially for a mostly barefoot yoga gal such as myself.

I hate to just turn him loose into the world again, though. His wounds from his tom cat battles are only now starting to heal.

Yes, I know. I could have him neutered. And that will likely happen. But it won’t stop him from getting beat up. It’ll only stop him from starting the fight. Maybe.

Ishmael (may the old boy rest in peace) never lost his killer instincts even a decade after having his manhood nipped in the bud. He’d pounce on any cat that wasn’t on his official “approved” list. Kept the strays at bay. But it played havoc on my vet bills.

Ah, Moochie. Our rabies-threat chapter may have closed, but goodness only knows what the next page holds.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-06-15T06:45:00.002-04:00

I'm at Working Stiffs today, putting last week into some kind of writerly perspective and figuring out how to make use of my "experiences."

For the Sake of Research

2011-06-11T15:38:00.001-04:00

It’s been a rough week. Or a wonderful week if you count all the fodder for my writing.

Life started getting interesting on Wednesday when I was doing the dreaded prep for my first (and if I can help it—LAST) colonscopy. I realize how important this test is and how many lives it’s saved, but let me just say, if they can put men on the moon, they should be able to come up with a prep that doesn’t taste quite so dreadful.

But I lived through it, and as I’d been told, the test itself was a piece of cake. I slept through it. Although I made many mental notes about the hospital experience for use in a future story.

The weird complication came when I woke up and announced, through a drug-induced fog, that my eye hurt. Somehow, I’d managed to scratch my cornea. Recovery room staff hustled to bring me eye ointment. The thing hurt like the dickens and my vision was seriously blurred for the rest of the day.

By Friday morning, my eye and my vision were improved. However, the universe wasn’t done with me. The friendly feral cat named Moochie, who I’ve been “sneaking” food to for a couple of years now, decided to join me as I walked around my yard. In doing so, he wound himself around my legs and I tripped over him. In his mind, though, I kicked him.

It’s all in the POV.

Anyhow, in response, Moochie attacked the offending foot—mine. Produced three lovely, bloody tooth marks and some rather colorful language from me.

As I mentioned, Moochie is a feral cat. He’s also an unneutered Tom who gets in lots of scraps. He was a handsome boy at one time, but now his face and ears bear the scars of many battles. I’ve considered changing his name to Mickey Rourke.

The point is Moochie is not up on his vaccinations. Heck, Moochie doesn’t even know what a vaccination is.

So this morning I found myself sitting in the Emergency Room being pumped full of IV antibiotics and filling out an animal bite form for animal control. I was told to catch Moochie and confine him for ten days. If he survives, I won’t have to get that nasty series of rabies shots.

Thankfully, Moochie happened to be hanging around when I returned home. Instead of kicking his little furry ass, which was my first inclination, I cooed and coaxed him into our basement. I gave him food and water and a litter box (which he has no clue of its purpose) and made arrangements with our local animal control guy to come and inspect him at the end of the ten days.

So as “punishment” for attacking my foot and sending me to the ER, Moochie is living in air conditioned splendor.

This whole incident is soooo going into my next book. But I want to issue a message to whatever Universal Power is sending me all these research opportunities: I have a very vivid imagination. I really could make something up without having experienced it first hand.

Guest Blogging

2011-06-08T09:04:00.001-04:00

Today, I'm guest blogging at Five Scribes talking about stuff to do while waiting for "the Call."

Everything New is Old Again

2011-06-06T16:23:00.001-04:00

Our camp in Confluence has always been my own personal writing retreat. After a week of missed writing opportunities, I look forward to a couple of days away to boost the old word count.

Such was this past weekend. We arrived at the campgrounds by 10AM and settled in. After a short bike ride to loosen up after the drive (and to check the river conditions for my fly fishing hubby) and some lunch, Hubby headed for one of his favorite fishing spots, and I unpacked my laptop.

Which is when I had one of those slap-myself-upside-the-head moments.

I’d forgotten to pack the power cord. Yes, I said a few choice bad words. Followed by a few more. I hadn't even fully charged the battery. So I had very limited computer time for the next few days.

But once I calmed down, I found a bright spot in my gloom. Instead of staring at the computer screen trying to conjure up words, I turned the gadget off and pulled out my notebook and purple pen. (I love funky colored inks!) For the next two days, I brainstormed on paper. Roughed out the next few scenes in longhand. I sat and THOUGHT about the scenes and the characters. Not only did I come up with some ideas that I believe I’d have missed by simply trying to increase the word and page counts, but I also realized there were a few gaps in logic in the previous chapter.

When I wasn't writing—literally, in pen on paper—I was reading. I couldn't decide which book to grab on my way out the door before we left home, so I had my Nook with me. I remembered my power cord for it. The problem is the cord I brought was the one that charged it through the computer. Thankfully, I had enough of a charge on it to read an entire novel and part of a second.

I learned three lessons this weekend. Never leave home without packing the laptop’s power cord. Never leave home without a good old fashioned notebook and pen. And never leave home without a real honest-to-goodness BOOK. Because gadgets are great, but sometimes there’s no substitute for those things that don’t require electricity.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-06-01T15:22:00.001-04:00

I'm at Working Stiffs today trying to find reasons (make excuses) for my shoddy daily word count.

Kensi and Skye Update

2011-05-31T10:30:00.002-04:00

Considering that Skye refused to be in the same room with Kensi when we first brought the new baby into the house, the fact that she's sharing desk space with her now is a major victory. Oh, they still fight on occasion. Okay, daily. But Skye no longer retreats in a snit. She's put the pesky little sister in her place and is back to being the Queen, while Kensi claims the title of Princess.

And, no, I haven't found the memory card yet. This was taken with Hubby's little camera.

The Mysterious Case of the Missing Memory Card

2011-05-28T16:21:00.001-04:00

The sun has finally come out. My rhododendron is in full bloom. The locust tree across the road is dripping with blooms. Photo ops abound.

This morning, I lugged my beloved Nikon to Mountaineer Racetrack bright and early because my friend Jessi had a horse in an 8:30AM schooling race. I found myself in prime photo op territory, perched right next to the starting gate. I pulled out my camera, giddy at the thought of the great pictures I’d make. But to my dismay, the window on the top of the camera read –E-

That means EMPTY. As in no memory card.

And that means no photos. I said some bad words. Shoved the Nikon back in its case. And tried to shake off my state of total annoyance in time to at least enjoy being there.

Jessi’s colt broke well and the exercise rider was pleased with his performance.

But I have no photos.

I spent the next hour or so pondering the location of the missing memory card and decided it certainly must still be stuck in the slot of my laptop at home. The last photos I shot were of the Pennwriters Conference and those had been successfully uploaded onto the computer. Apparently, I forgot to remove the card.

Which seemed odd, because I distinctly remember removing the card. What I don’t remember is what I did with it next. Because, you see, I returned home to discover the card is NOT in the laptop.

It isn’t in the slot of my desktop computer either. In fact, I have no clue where it is.

So I’m blaming Kensi. She loves to claim small objects as her own. And she loves to hide those possessions in strange places. Like under the refrigerator. Or behind the armoire. In other words, I may not find said missing memory card for decades.

Or at least until I go out and purchase a new one. THEN the old one will mysteriously reappear.

The Times They Are A-Changing

2011-05-25T10:08:00.002-04:00

Late last year I wrote about my farmer neighbor who was in the process of selling off his cattle herd. I’ve missed watching those cows and steers from my office window.

At some point in the last several months, the neighbor on the other side of us sold his herd as well. I didn’t miss them right away since they generally spent the winter months on the far side of the pasture where the farmer kept their hay and feed. But as spring approached, I started looking for the annual crop of calves only to discover there were none. In fact there were no cows at all.

After living in cow country my entire life, I find myself surrounded by empty pasture. It’s kind of lonely.

But I have a feeling I should appreciate the quiet while it lasts. As the farming business is dying off in my corner of the world, a new industry is taking its place.

Drilling for gas.

I’ve known for several years that we’re living on what amounts to the Saudi Arabia of natural gas. Marcellus shale is the hot button topic in southwestern Pennsylvania. And it’s changed the countryside all around us. Find a hilltop with a lovely view, and that view will no undoubtedly include a gas rig or two.

I admit to mixed feelings about the whole thing. As a lifelong farm girl, I find the new industrial landscape abhorrent. But farms were dying out before this new trend hit. Gas leases and royalties have allowed many farmers to stay in business, buy new equipment, remodel their homes and barns. The running joke now is when we see a farmhouse or barn being fixed up, we say “Gas drilling money.”

Plus we’ve leased our own ten acres to one of the drillers. With times being tough, part of me would love to see them drilling here.

However, some stakes with pink flags have cropped up in the field outside my kitchen window. Surveyors have been mapping out the land belonging to the old farmer who sold his herd last winter and is now selling all his farm property. My world is on the verge of changing, and I’m not sure at all that I’m ready for it.

In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m NOT ready.

Anthologies R Us

2011-05-20T08:08:00.004-04:00

I forgot to mention that I was posting more memories of the Pennwriters Conference at Working Stiffs yesterday. If you missed it, you can still see it here.

Last night I attended the launch party for Pittsburgh Noir at Mystery Lovers Bookshop. I had so much fun catching up with old friends, I didn't think to take any photos. You'll have to take my word for it. It was fun. And the book is great. But you don't have to take my word for that. You can order a signed copy here.

Since I'm plugging anthologies, and in case you haven't bought it yet, Mystery Lovers also still has signed (by me, Beth Groundwater, and Daryl Wood Gerber at least) copies of Fish Tales in stock.

More on the Conference at Working Stiffs

2011-05-18T07:12:00.001-04:00

I'm at Working Stiffs today with more on the conference and a bunch of photos.

Conference Flattery

2011-05-16T14:53:00.004-04:00

Another Pennwriters Conference has come and gone. Almost two years’ worth of planning goes into the weekend event that’s over in a blink of an eye. Having been the coordinator two years ago, I know all too well what’s involved. It makes me appreciate it all the more.
Julie Long and Meredith Cohen did a fabulous job. FABulous. I’m saving the bulk of my report on it for this Wednesday’s Working Stiffs (hey, I’m just too lazy to try to think of another topic!), but I’ll share a
few highlights here.

First, there was the bellhop who lugged my stuff to my room Thursday afternoon and asked if I was in town to run the Pittsburgh Marathon, because (he said) I looked like I was in good enough shape for it. Okay, yes. I’m a sucker for a compliment. I gave the guy a really good tip. Which was probably
his goal all along.

Then there was the guy who told me I looked like Susan Sarandon. HA! THAT fellow needs glasses. Seriously. But I told him he was my new favorite person. Near sightedness and all.

All right, there was a lot of great writing stuff, too. And a ton of schmoozing AKA networking. My personal favorite part of the weekend (beyond the flattery) was Jonathan Maberry’s keynote speech at Saturday’s lunch. It was funny and inspirational and it made me want to be a better writer. More
importantly, it made me believe I could be.

One last highpoint that combines flattery with writing: my friend Fred Connors purchased and had me sign a copy of Fish Tales. The next day he told me about how, even though he was totally exhausted when he picked it up the previous night, “A Murder Runs Through It” had sucked him in, and he couldn’t put it down.

Forget about looking like Susan Sarandon. THAT was the best compliment I received all weekend.

Back-to-Conference Shopping

2011-05-11T11:13:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow, the 2011 Pennwriters Conference gets underway with the Thursday Intensives. I didn’t sign up for one this year in an attempt to save some pennies. But I know I should have. These workshops are fabulous.

Instead, I’ll head to the hotel in plenty of time for the Board of Directors meeting. I’m now Vice President of Pennwriters, which sounds like a bigger deal than my old Area 3 Rep title, but in fact is much less work.

And, NO, I have no intension of stepping into the president’s position next. Ain’t gonna happen, folks. Don’t even joke about it.

Anyhow, the conference itself gets underway bright and early Friday morning. I’ll be helping with the Twitter for Twits workshop at 10:30AM led by the incredible Tamara Girardi.

There are sooo many workshops that I want to see. It’s overwhelming. And wonderful. Meredith Cohen and Julie Long have done a phenomenal job putting this thing together.

But before I get there, I have to handle one important bit of preparation.

What to pack?

When I was a kid, every year before school started, Mom and I would hit the stores to buy me a new wardrobe. After I graduated, I remember missing back-to-school shopping. I no longer had that annual excuse to buy new clothes.

Now there’s Back-to-Conference shopping! Not an entire wardrobe. But every year I pick up a few things to augment my attire. This year I wanted a new jacket, but couldn’t find what I wanted. The idiot sales lady at Macy’s lost a potential sale when she told me I should consider looking at the more mature line of separates. Excuse me???? It was a plain gray gabardine jacket, not some loud and gaudy thing only Lady Gaga would wear! In fact, as far as I was concerned it was TOO plain.

So, anyhow, I’ll be wearing the same jackets I’ve worn to the last several conferences.

However, on Monday, Mom and I went shoe shopping. I needed a pair of comfy black flats. Notice I said NEEDED. Not wanted. My old pair literally fell apart. You know you need new shoes when your toes are sticking out of the old ones. And mine were. I could not return home empty handed.

As it turns out, that wasn’t the problem. Not only did I find a cute and comfy (I hope… Only a full day of bopping around the conference will tell the true tale) pair of black flats, I also found a pair of black heels to replace my 20-year-old black pumps. AND a pair of New Balance sneakers to replace my battered 3-year-old pair of walking shoes.

So if you spot me at the Pennwriters Conference, be sure to stop me and say “Hi.” And make sure you check out my new shoes!

Not According to Plan

2011-05-09T08:59:00.002-04:00

As I mentioned earlier, I had grand plans for the weekend. What I didn’t mention is that the “cave” I was crawling into was our camp in Confluence. I usually get lots of work done there.

The first sign of things going awry was the news on Friday that my Kentucky Derby pick, Uncle Mo, had been scratched. But writing-wise, I was on a roll. Hubby was off doing his fly fishing thing. Both cats were napping. Life was good.

Then Hubby came back to camp complaining about his shoulder. By Saturday morning, he was totally miserable. He hadn’t been able to sleep. And when I asked him if he wanted to go home early, he said, “Yes.” Not the answer I expected, so I knew he was in serious pain.

So my writing plans went up in smoke, and we headed home.

My consolation prize was getting to watch the Kentucky Derby on TV instead of online. By post time, I’d finally made my picks: Soldat, Dialed In, and ArchArchArch. Typical of my weekend, none of them finished in the money.

I thought, well, maybe I’d get some writing done at home on Sunday. But since I was home instead of at camp, I looked around and saw cat fur tumbleweeds ambling across the floor and leaning towers of old newspapers piled on the spare kitchen chair. So while it wasn’t in my plans, I gave the house a good cleaning and decluttering.

Now, a new week begins. Or half week. The 2011 Pennwriters Conference is only 3 days away! Let’s hope NEXT weekend goes a little more according to plans.

Bugging Out

2011-05-05T18:44:00.000-04:00

It’s been a busy week…for everything except writing. So I’ve decided to bug out for a few days. I’m not exactly going “unplugged,” but I’m avoiding such distractions as the Internet and phone. Basically, I’m crawling into my cave and hanging out the DO NOT DISTURB sign.

My goal is one chapter by Monday morning. The only distraction I’m allowing myself is a bike ride each day. Plotting on wheels. So even that distraction counts toward production.

Okay, I will come out of exile on Saturday afternoon for a little thing called the Kentucky Derby.

Generally, when I make predictions about who will win, the wisest thing to do is bet on any other horse. However, I’m still going to be cheering for Uncle Mo. I picked him for the Breeders Cup Juvie last year and he won. Hopefully, he’ll do it again. Yes, I know there are lots of unanswered questions about him. Is he recovered from the ailment that plagued him in the Wood? Can he handle the extra distance? Can he overcome his post position (18)?

Only time and a field of 20 horses will tell.

And as for those “distractions” I mentioned? The Kentucky Derby technically isn’t one, because it’s “research.”

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-05-04T07:33:00.002-04:00

Today at Working Stiffs, I'm sharing my experience and photos from Monday's Festival of Mystery in Oakmont, PA. What a blast!

Monday News

2011-05-02T08:53:00.003-04:00

I had a post all drafted out about our weekend camping, but with the news this morning, it seemed too trivial. So I’ll save it for another day.

Instead, let me say GO USA. Thanks to all our armed forces all over the world. You rock!

Okay, I do have to add this: if you’re going to be in the Pittsburgh area this afternoon, come to the Festival of Mystery in Oakmont. I’ll be there with two of my anthology mates signing copies of Fish Tales.

Scene Under Construction

2011-04-27T10:01:00.000-04:00

The last couple of scenes I’ve written in my WIP (Work In Progress) have been construction projects. No, I’m not writing about buildings. But I am building a scene, and there are similarities to building a house.

The scenes in question are what I call “technical” scenes. In the story there has been a shooting. My protagonist is a paramedic and my second main character is a cop. The first scene involves the medical response. Granted, I used to be an EMT, but procedures, laws, and technology have changed since I rode on an ambulance crew. So I have to do research.

For me, research equals a blueprint.

From there, I start to write. Using the research/blueprint, I lay out the technical layer of the story. It’s mostly dialogue and who does what. Details, details, details. The result reads like a textbook. A dry textbook. But this is only the beginning. The walls of the house are up, but are nothing more than two-by-fours. Maybe some plumbing and wiring. Necessary, but nothing great to look at.

Now, I have to go back and start adding layers. Emotions and tension. How does my protagonist feel about the patient? Do her feelings affect the way she does her job? If so, how?

In construction terms, the dry wall is going up. It’s beginning to look like a house.

More layers go in. Sensory stuff. Smells, sounds, dust, heat.

Those walls are getting a coat or two of paint.

And maybe I’ll add some small clue. Or have my protagonist take note of some other character’s reaction to the scene.

Now we’re adding the furnishings to our house.

It’s time to move on. Oh, I may think of something and come back to move the furniture around a bit. And a lot of that detailed technical stuff I started with may get cut or condensed so that the scene doesn’t read like an article in the Journal of Emergency Medicine. But overall, the scene has everything it needs.

The next technical scene takes place when the police move in to investigate the shooting. But the process is the same. Research. Technical details. Emotions, reactions, tension. Tickle as many of the senses as possible. And finally, the small, obscure stuff like a clue or a hint. Or a red herring.

This second scene still bears an Under Construction sign. Time to break out the hard hat and get back to work.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-04-20T09:02:00.002-04:00

It feels like ages since I've blogged at Working Stiffs, but I'm back. Today, I tell about finally getting my hands on a real copy of Fish Tales and my first time signing it. Oh, and my friend Lisa Scottoline was in town, too!

Kensi's First Camping Trip

2011-04-14T16:06:00.003-04:00

As I mentioned last week, Confluence beckoned. And we responded. We spent the last two days at our camp.

It wasn’t a vacation. It was more of a test—seeing how certain new components worked out. Hubby had torn out our old lumpy, mushy bed and redid the thing. New plywood. New mattress. New covering. It worked out pretty well. I think it’ll be much better for our backs and sleep in general.

I say “I think” because I couldn’t swear by it. Not this weekend. There was no sleep for me regardless of the new bed…because of the other new component.

Kensi.

If you followed this blog at all over the last couple of years, you already know that Skye is a wonderful camping kitty. She loves it. Travels well. No fuss, no muss, no bother.

We went and messed up our lovely, drama-free camping home by adding one small cat to the mix.

Kensi meowed the entire two-hour drive to Confluence. Also, the entire two-hour drive home. In between, she explored. In less than two days, she found nooks and crannies and hidey-holes that Skye never bothered with in two years.

I only brought “quiet” toys with us, so Kensi found new toys that made lots of racket at 2AM. The strainer/drain plug from the kitchen sink makes quite a bit of noise when batted around the floor. So does the small plastic level we keep on a shelf in the kitchen. And then there was a stray spoon someone left out on the counter.

We won’t even discuss how she strummed the window blinds as though they were guitar strings.

All. Night. Long.

She had tons of fun.

The rest of us? Not so much.

It could be an interesting summer at Camp Dashofy in Confluence.

Come and Find Me by Hallie Ephron

2011-04-11T10:30:00.003-04:00

Spring sprung yesterday. And just in time. Last time Hallie Ephron came to town, we had a blizzard!

But the sun came out along with temperatures in the 80s for her visit to Mystery Lovers Bookshop yesterday.

I’ve been a huge fan for years, and Hallie’s new suspense novel, Come and Find Me, sounds incredible. I can’t wait to dig in. It’s about a computer security expert and reformed hacker, who hasn’t ventured out of her home in over a year, following a devastating personal tragedy. However, she still functions quite well from her home in her pajamas, taking care of business courtesy of the Internet and a virtual world. That is until her sister goes missing, forcing her back into the real world to face her personal demons.

As a wannabe computer geek (who is, in reality, very far from it), I’m already hooked.

Me, Hallie, and Mary Alice Gorman of Mystery Lovers Bookshop

Preparing for Spring--Weather Permitting

2011-04-06T09:57:00.001-04:00

It snowed yesterday. This is hardly news. Winter roared in here December 1st and has refused to budge an inch. For months, all plans come with the disclaimer “weather permitting.”

This morning I took a long hard look at the calendar. It’s April for heaven’s sake!

Something clicked in my brain. It was audible. CLICK. It’s spring. Snow be damned.

Okay, I’m also the person who, on day two of a head cold, is convinced I’ll be completely better by day four. Never. Happens.

But today I’m in that kind of mindset where spring is concerned. I’m making plans to head to my beloved camp in Confluence…next week.

I’ve decided the weather will be better by then. Just like day four of a head cold.

The weather isn’t the only obstacle, however. We currently have no bed at the camp. And we tore the plumbing apart before we left last October.

The bed has long been a source of pain and annoyance for us. Neither Hubby nor I have the best backs in the world. We both had too much fun in our younger days. (Who said “if I’d have known I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself”?) While I love our camper and its location, I’ve long hated that bed. It’s too mushy. Plus, since it’s in a camper, it’s really a futon kind of thing. Couch during the day. Bed at night. And where it hinges… Owww. Think the Princess and the Pea times twenty.

So Hubby brought the futon/couch/bed home this winter and dissembled it. He’s added plywood where there were once flimsy, saggy springs. We bought a bolt of upholstery fabric from the sale bin at JoAnn Fabrics. Now we’re waiting for the foam I ordered to come in.

When I announced my intentions this morning to head to the camp next week, Hubby’s eyes glazed over. He has since left the house on a quest for plumbing fixtures.

Did I mention this first trip to the camp will be a working vacation? More work than vacation.

There are some other minor tidbits I need to take care of before we go. I need to take Kensi to be microchipped. I also need to get a new collar and ID tags for her. Not to mention a second cat carrier.

I vaguely remember a fantasy I had about Skye and Kensi sharing one cat carrier. Ha! No, I’m not prepared for that kind of adventure. They’ll each have their own.

Yes, it’s going to be a frantic week. And an even more frantic trip. But once we get the bed and the plumbing and the cat situations all sorted out, I’ll be set for the season. After all, I already bought the new laptop. I’m ready!

Almost.

Weather permitting.

Sticky Fingers Launch Party

2011-04-04T14:42:00.008-04:00

Saturday afternoon, I joined my fellow members of the Mary Roberts Rinehart chapter of Sisters in Crime at Mystery Lovers Bookshop for the launch party of STICKY FINGERS, Nancy Martin’s latest mystery. The day also included the launch of the paperback/repackaged version of last year’s release—the book formerly known as Our Lady of Immaculate Deception and now known as Foxy Roxy.
Whatever the title, you should get it.

We (as in the aforementioned MRR Sisters in Crime) also managed to pull off a surprise and presented Nancy with a token of our appreciation: a lifetime achievement plaque.

Quite a few of our “sibs” and fellow Pittsburgh authors turned out.

Nancy Martin and Lila Shaara.

Some of our local sibs: Tamara Girardi, Colette Garmer, new sib Janet, and Tory Butterworth.

More sibs (standing) Gina Sestak, Carol Herder, Andrea Diana, Kathleen George, Martha Reed (hiding behind Kathy George), and Rebecca Drake.

And what would a party be without a cake? This one was yummy!

Congratulations to Nancy for yet another rockin’ Roxy mystery. I can’t wait to read it!

The Case of the Missing Birdie

2011-04-02T08:08:00.000-04:00

Two weeks ago, I brought home some new cat toys for Skye and Kensi. As I expected, Kensi took possession of all of them. Mine, all mine. Sharing is not one of her strong suits.

Her favorite of the toys, without a doubt, is a small chirpy bird. You touch it, and it chirps. You move it the slightest little bit, and it chirps. Lifelike, real bird chirps.

What was I thinking?

Yes, it will drive you to drink. But Kensi loves it. It’s her constant companion. One moment, it’s her prey. The next, it’s her baby.

And then it disappeared.

Hubby swore he didn’t hide it. I know I didn’t. If Kensi did, she couldn’t remember where she put it.

I learned that Kensi understands some English. When I’d ask her “where’s your birdie?” she’d become distraught. Frantic, she’d search all her favorite toy-hiding spots. With a flashlight, I helped, looking under the bed, the couch, the chair, the armoire…

No birdie.

The birdie flew the coop.

For two days, Kensi gave me the sad face. Her favorite toy was gone. “Make it come back, Mom.”

The really bad news was that I had anticipated something like this (only I figured she’d wear it out or the chirper would break—not necessarily a bad thing) and had tried to buy a spare chirpy bird. But the store was sold out. Looking at that sad little kitty, I was suddenly plotting a store-to-store search for a new one.

Do they have chirpy birds on eBay?

But then yesterday morning, there it was! On the floor at the foot of the bed. I have no idea where it had been or how it got there (Skye???). Kensi didn’t care. Her birdie was back!

As luck would have it, I also found more of them at the store. They must have restocked a high-demand item. Yes, I bought another one to keep as a spare. Just in case the old one decides to fly the coop again.

Or in case Skye steals it again.

I’d wondered why she seemed so smug the last few days…

Dear Blogger...

2011-04-01T15:31:00.001-04:00

...where have you put my paragraph breaks? They seem to have gone missing.

Crash Course in BSP

2011-04-01T15:21:00.003-04:00

It’s been a busy and interesting week around here. I’m getting a crash course in book promotion (or Blatant Self Promotion) thanks to Fish Tales. As promised, I have posted the link to Mystery Lovers Bookshop to the right (or if you click on the picture of the book cover) for purchasing it in trade paperback. I’ve also updated my website for the first time in way too long. Many thanks to my webmaster Mike Holmes for tolerating the short notice. I’ve learned (or attempted to learn) a number of lessons on self promotion in the last few days. I now have a “fan page” on Facebook. Why? Darned if I know. At last count I have 3 fans. That’s probably about right. Mainly I did it because of a story one of the other Fish Tales authors shared about someone else creating a fan page for her that she has nothing to do with and can’t control. So I figured I’d do my own so no one else could. Kind of like reserving your domain name even when you don’t have a website…so it’ll be there when you DO want one. So my fan page exists, even if I feel like I’m talking to myself when I post on it. Speaking of fan pages, we have one for Fish Tales. And this one DOES have fans. I invite you to come “like” us. The other page I tried to create was an Amazon Author page. “Tried” being the key word. They apparently know I love my indy book store and therefore refused to accept me. Besides Fish Tales, there are some other new releases that I’m excited about. Not MY new releases, of course. But two of my favorite authors. Julia Spencer-Fleming’s latest Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne novel One Was A Soldier is about to hit the selves. I can’t wait to read it. If you haven’t discovered this author’s work yet, go back to her first, In the Bleak Midwinter and enjoy the journey through the entire series. Fabulous. And tomorrow I’m attending the launch party at Mystery Lovers Bookshop for Nancy Martin’s Sticky Fingers, the second Roxy Abruzzo mystery. It should be quite the shindig. If you’re in the Pittsburgh area, stop in. The festivities begin at 2PM. There will be cake!

Pub Day!

2011-03-29T11:12:00.002-04:00

I’m sure in the real world, authors know well in advance of their scheduled publication date. However, everything about the release of Fish Tales has come as a surprise, albeit a happy one. Less than two weeks ago, we got our cover. Last week it showed up on sale as an ebook. And this morning, I awoke to news that, mysteriously overnight, the trade paperback version is now available. I’m not sure if the lack of forewarning is because it’s a small press or because there are 22 of us included in this anthology, and keeping everyone in the loop was too labor intensive. Whatever the reason, I’m not complaining. Instead, I’m explaining why my website isn’t updated. My webmaster wasn’t expecting to get a major update from me. So it’s in the works, but… Also, the good folks at Mystery Lovers Bookshop are scrambling to get it on their website. I’ll have a link here as soon as it’s available, because as you probably all know, I’m a strong supporter of independent booksellers. In the meantime, you can find the print version of Fish Tales at the usual online locations (Amazon, B&N.com, etc) if you absolutely can’t wait. For the record, I don’t have a copy of it yet, either!

On Sale Now

2011-03-25T14:55:00.002-04:00

The print version isn't available yet, but for those of you with e-readers, Fish Tales can now be downloaded for Mobi, Kindle, or Nook!

Yes, I'm just a little excited.

Horse Lust

2011-03-21T11:35:00.008-04:00

It’s been a very long winter here in southwestern Pennsylvania. I’m not a fan of winter, even in a mild year, so this one has been especially tough.

But finally, spring has arrived. I’ve traded in walks on the treadmill for walks in the great outdoors most days.

And, on Saturday, I finally got my hands on some horses.

I’ve been in withdrawal. All winter, I’ve been watching reruns of old westerns (I can recite dialogue from most episodes of Alias Smith and Jones) just to see the horses. Okay, maybe I enjoy the cute cowboys, too. Just a little.

But I digress. Saturday, I headed to Mountaineer for the first time since last fall. I arrived before my trainer friend, Jessi, so I found a place to sit next to the rail on the far turn to take some photos.

At 8:30, there was a schooling race.

It may have been for practice, but no one told the horses that.

Afterwards, I headed backside and spent some private time in Jessi’s barn with her horses. Several of them weren’t interested in letting me satisfy my horse lust and threatened to nip. But two of them were quite content to permit me to scratch their itches (and warm my fingers…it was still a tad chilly at that hour). One of them was Plunge for Gold AKA Goldie. We soon formed a firm friendship.

Once Jessi arrived, I was given the task of walking horses while she cleaned their stalls. First I walked my other itch-scratching buddy—a filly named Not Very Posh. I didn’t get any pictures of her because I was too busy walking. Next, Jessi and I gave Goldie a bath, and I walked him until he dried off. He’s for sale, and Jessi wanted some good photos of him.

Before the photo shoot, though, she wanted to braid his bridle path. The problem is Goldie’s notoriously ear shy. But that early morning itch-scratching session had bonded us, and he allowed me to play with his forelock a bit. With both Jessi and I cooing and praising him, she managed to get the braids in. No problem.

Here are some of the shots I got of him all prettied up.

Here’s Jessi smooching on him.

And here I am with my new best friend.

I think he likes me.

Photo Friday: My First Cover

2011-03-18T02:16:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I received word that we have a cover for the Fish Tales anthology, which includes my short story "A Murder Runs Through It." Even better, we have a release date of late April 2011. Yep. NEXT MONTH!

It's really happening!

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-03-16T09:44:00.001-04:00

My new HP laptop arrived yesterday! Just in time to provide fodder for today's Working Stiffs' post. Come on over and check out my diary of day one with my new toy.

What time is it?

2011-03-15T10:17:00.001-04:00

Welcome to Daylight Saving Time. Yes, it’s another sign of spring, but without a doubt, it’s my least favorite.

Okay, we could quibble about mud and flooded basements, but that’s a topic for another day. Right now, I have DST jetlag. It comes without the benefits of having traveled.

Lots of people detest the time change. Last night I was talking to my cousin on the phone and he says he doesn’t care whether we’re in DST or EST. Just pick one and stick with it.

He’s not alone.

Personally, I don’t mind the time change. I do like the additional hour of light in the evening. What I despise is dragging myself out of bed in the pitch black of morning. I mean, it was just starting to get light earlier and WHAM! We have to set our clocks ahead. Now we’re back to it being dark until almost 8AM! What kind of sick joke is that?

In the “good ol’ days” Daylight Saving Time didn’t kick in until early April. Seems to me, at one time, it was even LATE April. Now THAT was fine. The days were already long enough that the extra hour of darkness in the morning didn’t hurt quite so much.

So I propose we set our clocks back to those days. Start DST in late April and go back to regular time in early October.

Of course, no one in charge ever discusses these important decisions with me.

Photo Friday on Saturday: Sprouts!

2011-03-12T15:57:00.003-05:00

After six inches of snow yesterday, the sun came out this morning and temperatures climbed to 60 degrees. I took a little walk around my yard and found these sprouts worshipping the sunshine.

Office Purge

2011-03-07T10:50:00.002-05:00

Last week’s episode of CSI freaked me out. It was about a hoarder. The house was jam packed with everything single idem that had ever come into it. Floor to ceiling. And, being CSI, there was a decomposing body and several skeletons.

Let me just say, I am not a hoarder. But I do have a few areas of clutter. Some days I have to clear a space on the kitchen table in order to eat. Stuff just seems to get dumped there, waiting to be sorted and tossed or placed in a file. Newspapers tend to collect on the old wooden chest that serves as my coffee table.

After watching Thursday’s episode, I immediately cleared both those spots. It took maybe ten minutes.

This weekend, I tackled a much more serious clutter hotspot: my office. Kensi keeps me somewhat in control here. She loves to climb on piles of papers and send them avalanching to the floor. But I had a couple of bins where papers kept getting stashed until I had time to look at them. And there were a couple of piles of manuscripts…

Okay, my office was a mess, I admit it. So I launched into purge mode. I tossed old Avon brochures. I shredded some old paperwork and forms. I pitched outdated office supply catalogs.

And I cleared out those odds-and-ends bins.

I’m pleased with the results. So is Kensi. She now has a new place to hang out.

Photo Friday: Skye and Kensi

2011-03-04T15:09:00.002-05:00

On rare occasions, Skye gets the upper hand where Kensi's concerned. This is one of those times.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-03-02T10:31:00.001-05:00

There have been some speed bumps and snafus on the way to the 2011 Pennwriters Conference, including a major change. Learn all about it at Working Stiffs today.

Photo Friday on Saturday: Gimme!

2011-02-26T09:06:00.002-05:00

Kensi always wants what she's not allowed to have. She wants to sit where she's not allowed to sit. Here, she's on the top shelf of my knick knack stand...forbidden territory. But little Miss Kensi isn't content. She wants to play with Hubby's mounted deer head. If only her arms were a little longer...

Day One of Operation: Get in Shape

2011-02-21T14:51:00.001-05:00

I now have a treadmill. It’s in my basement, facing the big window looking out into our backyard.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about how Darling Hubby found me a used one. Well, yesterday, we went to pick it up.

The trip alone was a bit of an adventure. He had to put the battery charger on the old pickup truck to get it started. It’s a 1990 Chevy Silverado Heavy Duty. We bought it new when gas was around a dollar a gallon. I love that truck. It pulled my horse trailer for many years. The horse and the trailer are gone, but we still have the truck.

We just can’t afford to drive it.

I commented to DH as we cruised down the road yesterday, “I feel like I’m on top of the world.” Compared to my Saturn Ion, where my backside is about six inches off the ground. DH just grinned. He loves that truck, too.

What we expected to be a forty-five minute trip turned into an hour. One way. Gracie Garmin, the GPS, took us a long way around to avoid 25MPH traffic through a park. But it was a nice day to take a scenic drive.

Even in a gas-guzzler.

Coming home, we cut through the park. DH insisted Gracie Garmin was insane, taking us the long way. When we were almost home, I pointed out that it still took us an hour.

The nice thing about going one way and coming home another is you get twice the scenery.

Anyhow, we now have a treadmill in our basement. It tells you how far you’ve walked and how long you’ve been walking. It tells you how many calories you’ve burnt and what your pulse is. It will incline if you want and you can stroll, walk, jog, or run depending on the speed you set.

This morning, I tried it out for the first time. I thought I should be able to handle 4MPH. At that rate, if I walked for a half hour, I’d go two miles. That’s what I was doing on the trails last summer. More or less.

Well, this machine knows nothing about more or less. You don’t stop to smell the roses or take in the sights along the way. You WALK. And pant. And sweat.

Egads, I’m out of shape!

So on DAY ONE of Operation: Get Back In Shape, I walked for 30 minutes. I warmed up at a leisurely stroll for five of those minutes and cooled down by gradually slowing the speed during the last four minutes. In between, I topped out at 3MPH. And no incline.

When I stepped off, I thought my knees had turned to mush.

I needed a nap.

I didn’t take one. Don’t plan to. What I do plan is to spend the rest of the day writing. Because besides walking, I was also running through my next scene in my head.

Tomorrow will be a yoga day. No weights (which I also did this morning) and no treadmill. I want to get in shape…not kill myself.

Coming Out of the Funk

2011-02-18T10:14:00.000-05:00

The thermometer has reacquainted itself with the sixty degree mark…even if just for a couple of days…so I’ve been able to shed the funk I’ve been along with my winter coat.

But it’s not only the weather that’s lifted my spirits. Yesterday, I downloaded the proofs for the upcoming Guppies Anthology, Fish Tales, including my short story “A Murder Runs Through It.” All contributors were asked to check their pieces for typos and such.

I’m a lousy editor where my own work is concerned, so the fact that nothing glaring jumped out at me doesn’t mean much. Well, it means that after the thing is published and readers start pointing mistakes out to me, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

The other thing that perked me up yesterday was the release of the list of Agatha Award nominees. I’m thrilled to see so many friends’ names. I was jumping up and down as if I were on the list. Hey, if I’m not there, at least I can live vicariously through my mystery writing pals. Congratulations all around!

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-02-16T09:00:00.002-05:00

I'm over at Working Stiffs today blogging about my role as Conference Yoda for the 2011 Pennwriters Conference. Actually, I'm touting the wonderful work done by this year's conference coordinators while I simply sit in my cave in my swamp and offer advice. Come over and see what's in store for this year's conference goers.

Photo Friday: Gnarly Crab Apple

2011-02-11T16:07:00.002-05:00

I shot this while wandering around my yard this afternoon. I love the texture of the bark and the contrast of the snow and the blue sky.

It Doesn't Take Much

2011-02-10T11:22:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know I haven’t been blogging as much as I should. My excuse? It’s winter and there hasn’t been anything to write about other than the miserable snow and cold. And since I’ve been griping about that since early December, I figure it’s getting old.

To show how miserable this winter has been, let me tell you what just happened this morning that absolutely made my day. My darling hubby came home with the news that someone he works with is selling a really nice treadmill for really cheap. As in we-can-afford-it cheap. Did I want it, he asked. Hell yes, I want it, I replied.

Pathetic, don’t you think?

With the aforementioned snow and cold, I haven’t been getting out to walk. With the dreary, dark mornings, I’ve been sleeping in all too frequently instead of getting my backside out of bed to workout or do yoga. As a result…well, let’s just say not only don’t my skinny jeans fit, but I’m starting to fill out the fat jeans.

Plus, my mother keeps coming out of the grocery store with bakery items like sticky buns. I always thought I inherited my sweet tooth from my dad, but now I realize I’ve been hit with a genetic double whammy. However, Mom has her own method to control herself. She buys a dozen sticky buns, eats two, and then sends the rest home with me to get them out of her house.

And into mine. Where they loudly demand that I eat them.

This puts a huge crimp into my attempt to at least slow the weight gain until I can get back on the walking trails.

So it looks like I’ll be getting a treadmill. I thrilled!

And just a little depressed that it takes so little to excite me right these days.

Working Stiffs Monday

2011-02-07T07:42:00.003-05:00

Over at Working Stiffs, I'm subbing for Will today. Since there was a little football game going on during the time I would normally write my blog post, I simply made it a diary of the Super Bowl. Unfortunately, the ending didn't turn out the way I'd hoped, but if you can stand to see a grown woman cry, come on over and check it out.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-02-02T09:07:00.002-05:00

Steeler mania is rocking my brain this week, and since it's my day to blog at Working Stiffs, what else would I possibly write about?

Thoughts of Spring

2011-01-30T14:46:00.004-05:00

It’s too early for spring fever, but signs that we’ve had our fill of winter are cropping up all around.

This coming Wednesday is Groundhog Day. The little town of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania becomes the focus of the world for one morning each year. Punxsutawney isn’t all that far from here. Easy driving distance to be honest. However, don’t look for me in the crowd. More often than not, February 2nd is a crappy, gray, cold, snowy day, and I am not a morning person. Besides, is there any doubt what the little rodent is going to predict? If he sees his shadow, six more weeks of winter. If he doesn’t, about a month and a half.

No, I look for other signs of spring.

Hubby is talking about getting his fishing license. That’s a good one. The RV show in Pittsburgh has already come and gone. I missed it, though, darn it. Last winter, I had great fun there, although I still refuse to consider owning a camper that’s nicer and bigger than my house.

The best sign of spring for me came in the mail this week. The campground where we have our camper in Confluence sent me its annual letter announcing upgrades and changes…and our bill…for 2011.

Prices went up. No surprise. And frankly, I don’t care. I’ll cut back elsewhere. The annual camp fee is the cost of my sanity. I place high value on that little piece of property where the Laurel Highlands swoop down to kiss the Youghiogheny River.

The letter contained one bit of news that I have mixed feelings about. We now have cell phone service in Confluence. Part of me enjoyed being out of touch there. Sure, I had to drive two miles to the top of the mountain to get a signal once a day, so I could check in with my mom. I guess having cell service will save us some gasoline. And it’s a bit of a comfort to know Mom can reach me if she needs me. Besides, I’ve discovered with caller ID, I can pick and choose whether to answer the phone or let it go to voicemail. Wonderful invention.

So I will write my check for our camp fee and gladly mail it off to reserve my little spot of sanity in the mountains. Until spring actually arrives, though, I’m stuck looking out my window at shades of gray and white. If that’s the case where you are, too, I offer the following photos from my archives as a brief respite from the bleak scenery of winter.

I Learned to Write From Watching the Steelers

2011-01-24T11:11:00.003-05:00

The Pittsburgh Steelers are Super Bowl bound yet again.
The thrill never gets old. Possibly because the Steelers know how build tension and create drama better than most thriller writers. We never seem to play some boring old blow-out game. Never mind that minutes before halftime, the score last night was Steelers 24-Jets 0. Like a good mystery/suspense/thriller writer, they had to throw in a twist at the midpoint by letting the Jets get a momentum shifting field goal.

Then came the second half. The Jets scraped and clawed their way back into the game and the Steelers seemed content to let them. Just to keep us fans on the edge of our seats. One never falls asleep in front of the TV during a Steelers game.

I’ve learned a lot about writing a good page-turner by watching Steelers football games over the years. Never mind that about half of my gray hairs can be directly attributed to this team I affectionately refer to as “the Cardiac Kids.” The big lesson is keep the fan—or reader—guessing until the very last minute—or page.

Having said that, for the sake of my blood pressure and heart health, I’m hoping the Steelers blast the Packers 141-0 in the Super Bowl. It ain’t gonna happen, but I can always dream.

My real prediction? Steelers by 3. Possibly in overtime.

Go Steelers!

A Kitten's Tale

2011-01-21T11:28:00.003-05:00

A morning in Kensi's life. In her words.

I very cute. But bored. Must find trouble to get into.

Let's PLAY! I vicious beast! Rawrrr!

Attacking toy ball. Must kill it!

Ah, there's big sister Skye looking much too content.

And now she has a toy. MY toy!

Gimme my toy!

Oops. Skye means business. I outta here.

BYE!

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-01-19T15:09:00.001-05:00

On a cold night in December, my Citizen's Police Academy class toured the Allegheny County Medical Examiner's Office. As in morgue. I'm sharing the experience today at Working Stiffs.

Is That a Nook?

2011-01-14T16:17:00.000-05:00

One of my Christmas gifts this year was a Nook e-reader. I dragged my feet a long time regarding the e-book phenomenon, but rather than get left in the dust of what seems to be the brave new world of publishing, I asked Santa for the Nook, and he acquiesced. (Actually, I told my husband what I wanted and he told me to go out and buy it. Much easier.)

Anyway, I’ve stocked it with books…something that is dangerously easy to do…and carry it with me everywhere I go.

Something odd has started happening. At least, it seems odd to me. In the short time I’ve had the thing, TWICE total strangers have approached me while I was reading and started a discussion about e-readers. Even odder is the fact that both times it was a man. Okay, don’t try telling me these guys were flirting…I’m too old for that crap. They weren’t. Trust me.

I can’t remember the last time someone came up to me when I was reading a real book and asked me about it. And these guys weren’t asking “what are you reading?” They were asking, “Is that a Kindle or a Nook?” In the first case (while I was sitting in Wal-Mart, waiting for my mom to finish her shopping), after I replied “It’s a Nook,” the guy told me he’d just gotten a Nook for Christmas, too, and thought it was really great. Today, while I was waiting to get my new snow tires put on, it happened again. But this guy had just bought his son a Kindle and proceeded to tell me why he chose that one over the Nook.

Frankly, I didn’t care.

But my question is: Does the advent of the e-reader’s popularity signal an increase in the general public’s interest in reading? This would be good!

OR are these guys interrupting my reading enjoyment because they’re gadget geeks and see me as one of their own?

If that’s the case, sorry, guys. And stop bugging me! I’m trying to read!

X Marks the Resolution

2011-01-09T09:43:00.001-05:00

It’s a good thing one of my New Year’s resolutions wasn’t to stop procrastinating, because here it is, January 9th and I’m only now getting around to sorting out my goals and intentions for the year.

Basically, I’m limiting my resolutions to TWO this year. I’m tired of failing at a long list of things. Better to only fail at two, don’t you think?

First, I intend to get back to my health and fitness routine. I’d rather say I was planning to expand on it, but I’ve really derailed, so simply getting back on track will make me happy. I can handle the yoga, weight workouts, and eating healthier parts. But getting on a good walking routine when it’s 11 degrees outside will be a real challenge. Anyone have an old treadmill taking up space that you’d like to donate to my cause?

The second goal is one that I really hope I can stick to. I hope to write every day. I’ve never really stated that before, because I’ve known that I’d fail at it. Life and family get in the way. And I may very well fail at it again, but I’ve found a way to possibly motivate myself toward success. I read this.

I have a love of checking off things. I create to-do lists not only so I’ll remember what needs to be done, but also for the satisfaction of crossing things off as I do them. The idea of big red Xs marching across the calendar in my office appeals to me. Plus I’ve decided that the definition of writing can be flexible.

Today, for example, I have a ton of non-writing work to do, so I’m going to count this blog as my writing. Red X! Yay! Some days I spend hours working on a plot twist or figuring out where my story is going. I’m going to count that, too. Drafting fiction or nonfiction, give me an X. Editing or revising, another X. Critique group meetings will count.

Writing group meetings won’t. Those don’t usually pertain to my work in particular, so I’ll need to come home and apply what I’ve learned by writing in order to earn that X.

I may have to mold and shape this particular goal as the year goes on. But I think I can do it.

Want to join me?

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2011-01-05T07:54:00.002-05:00

Last night I graduated from the Pennsylvania State Police Citizen's Police Academy. We had a lovely buffet dinner and received our certificates of completion. I'm still not a cop, but I feel I can write about them with much greater understanding now.

Over on Working Stiffs, however, I'm still only on Week 8 of CPA, which was the week we toured the Allegheny County Jail and visiting night court. Click here to read about the experience.

Looking Back on 2010

2010-12-30T14:55:00.005-05:00

A large portion of 2010 was clouded by my hubby’s seven-month bout of unemployment. And I started out the year by parting company with my agent. Nevertheless, there were some moments worthy of acknowledgment before we send the year packing.

First would be February’s snowmageddon.

It was one of those things that’s better to look back on than it was to live through. Once the roads were cleared and the power restored, we had to travel to Confluence to shovel six-plus feet of snow from our camper’s roof. This involved snowshoeing into the campground, which was an adventure by itself.

Continuing 2010’s fun with foul weather, in March, our local Sisters in Crime chapter ventured to Confluence (otherwise known as weather central) during a major flood (not part of the plan) for our weekend writing retreat. I can’t believe none of us have written a murder mystery story about that weekend yet. While the rising river vied for our attention, we did manage to have a lot of fun, eat a lot of food, and learn a lot of skills to improve our writing. A big THANK YOU to Ramona DeFelice Long for being a good sport and an excellent presenter.

By May the weather had improved for the Pennwriters Conference in Lancaster. In retrospect, the highlights included meeting Janet Reid, the visit by Paula “Victim of the Query Shark” Matter, and the really nice shower in the hotel room I shared with fellow Working Stiff Joyce Tremel. Possibly, but not necessarily in that order. (The shower was REALLY nice.)

In August, we gained a new addition to our family. Kensi.

Cute as the devil and twice as ornery, she managed to charm even my cranky, unemployed husband. Skye, however, was not amused and remains unimpressed by her to this day.

September was devoted to pulling together a Pennwriters workshop with Debra Dixon. It was a smash hit. My favorite part was taking our presenter out to dinner afterwards and having Debra all to myself for three hours of fascinating conversation.

I started the Pennsylvania State Police Citizens’ Academy in October.

I’ve been blogging about it over at Working Stiffs. It’s been an incredible experience. If you ever get a chance to do one of these, do yourself a favor and sign up. You’ll be amazed at how much you’ll learn.

Finally, early this month, I learned that the Guppies’ anthology Fish Tales, which includes my short story “A Murder Runs Through It” has found a publisher.

So there have been highs and lows, just like most other years. Granted the lows have been pretty lousy. I’m happy to see 2010 on the way out the door. But I’m optimistic about the coming of 2011.

An End to an Era

2010-12-26T14:38:00.001-05:00

I’ve lived my entire life on property that at one time belonged to my grandfather. My folks built a house on one corner of Grandpap’s farm. When I married, we built our house on another ten-acre chunk of it. These two lots are the only ones that remain in the family. Over the years, I’ve mourned as the rest of acreage was sold off to others.

But some things didn’t change. The neighboring farm remained in the same family it had since long before I was born. Mr. C kept a large herd of beef cattle on several hundred acres. As I sit in my office at my computer, I look out my window to a view of his hillside. Pasture, some woods, and those beef cattle. Amazing how you take something for granted when it’s been there for decades.

Mr. C is one of those guys you just assume will go on forever. He never changes.

Except he is.

He’s getting older, like the rest of us. His hips are bad, so his jaunts around his property are done on tractor instead of on foot. Still, he loves his herd of cattle.

Or did.

Rumor has it he’s developing other health issues. It must be true. Because over the last week or so, he sold his herd. Every last cow, steer, calf, and bull. I watched them corral them and load them on a convoy of stock trailers.

Over the years, the fences between his property and ours have gotten worn and brittle. We’ve helped chase his cows back into his pasture and helped patch the broken wire. But that’s come to an end. Now the fence is only a rustic reminder of days gone by.

So today I gaze out my window at a snowy hillside and a stark strand of trees. Empty pasture. Not one head of beef in sight. No tractor making its way up that hill to drop off a round bale.

As 2010 winds down, here in cow country, I feel like it’s an end to an era. Oh, our other neighbors still have a small herd of Black Angus on the other side of our property. There will still be calves in the spring and the soft moo of the cows and brash bawl of the bull. But it won’t be the same. The land out my window looks sad and lonely to me, and I have to wonder; what will I watch as I procrastinate in my writing now?

Getting My Fix

2010-12-20T16:34:00.007-05:00

Anyone who knows me will tell you I am not a fan of winter. I don’t ski or ice skate. I used to love to sled ride, but suspect I’d break something vital if I tried it now. At least if I tried some of the stunts I did when I was a kid. But that’s a blog for another day.

No, I don’t much care for cold weather, snow, and ice. Hibernation has always seemed like a good idea to me. And when people ask me if I miss owning horses, I can honestly say, yes. I miss Jenny and Brandy and Gypsy. And most of the others who passed through my barn. However I do not miss breaking ice out of water buckets and chopping up frozen manure and sawdust to clean the stalls.

This morning, though, I bundled up in multiple layers and headed to Mountaineer to visit my friend Jessi. The excuse was that we had Christmas gifts to exchange and I had Avon stuff to deliver to her. But I really needed to get my hands on a horse. Yes, I’m an addict and there are times when nothing else will quench the craving…twenty degree weather or not.

I hadn’t been there long before I was put to work walking a couple of horses while Jessi cleaned their stalls. After that, I whipped out my camera to capture some photos of life on the backside.

This is Jessi walking No Doubt by Roman Ruler.

I was told this filly is a ball of fire, but I walked her one lap around the shedrow and both my arms are still the same length. They love to make liars out of you. No Doubt runs this Wednesday night, so hopefully she’s saving herself for the race.

And this is Streaterville waiting to get his hoofs packed. Basically, it’s the human equivalent of a manicure.

Afterwards, Jessi wraps his legs.

This cute filly is Alluvatar.

And this would be Chesapeake Bay.

And this guy is my current favorite in the barn.

His registered name is Pepas Little Henry, but we just call him Henry. He’s a sweetheart who lets me rub his face and ears and get a good “fix” of horseyness without trying to bite.

Here are some shots of the whole gang.

Including a little neighborly dispute.

So I’m content. I got to play with the horses and not have to chisel ice out of the water buckets. Life is good.

Working Stiffs Wednesday

2010-12-15T08:02:00.003-05:00

Today at Working Stiffs, I'm blogging about week 7 of Citizens' Police Academy. It feels odd because last night I actually attended week 10 of it. Since I'm only blogging at Working Stiffs every other Wednesday now, I'm behind. So while last night I heard all about the relationship between the police and the media, I'm blogging about drug investigations. Come check it out.

Photo Friday: Sisterly Tolerance

2010-12-10T04:04:00.000-05:00

I figured I'm overdue for both a Photo Friday post AND an update on the cats, so here goes.

While it's still not sisterly love, at lease we've reached a truce of sorts. Kind of a sisterly tolerance.

And here's Skye taking a bath.

Kensi doesn't look much like a kitten any more. Still acts like it, though. And she loves having her picture taken.

Mutiny

2010-12-09T10:56:00.004-05:00

My “stuff” is ganging up on my wallet. I was going to say appliances or electronics, but it’s more than just that.

First my trusty black-and-white laserjet printer’s drum went bad. I use the thing just about every day and have run a small forest’s worth of paper through it, so it was no surprise. But when I learned what a drum costs? Yeouch! For an additional $10 I could buy a whole new printer…same thing as I had, only newer and slightly upgraded. No brainer. I came home with a new printer.

A week later, my more-than-five-year-old color all-in-one inkjet died. I tried printer CPR. Nothing. She flat-lined on me. I had used and abused that poor old thing. I bought it when my dad was going into long-term nursing care and we were dealing with legal and financial issues that required lots and lots of copies. I’m shocked it survived that first year.

So I ordered a new all-in-one online, and the guy in the big brown truck delivered it to my door. It’s faster and easier to use than the old one. I’m happy. My stash of mad money has been severely compromised, but I’m still happy.

THEN our ancient DVD player ground to a halt. Literally. It sounded like it was chewing up the discs into little plastic confetti. I expected to see smoke, but no. The picture froze up and that was all she wrote. A new DVD/BluRay player is waiting for me at Wal-Mart. There goes our Christmas money.

And now it’s my car. I turned on the windshield wipers the other day and the driver’s side one when completely off the side of the car. I don’t think it was meant to clean the window on the door. While Hubby drove the car over to my mom’s garage to work on it, he noticed a clunking noise and asked me if I’d heard it, too. Well, yes. But I was trying to ignore it and hoped it would go away. Never mind that it sounds like the entire drive train (whatever that is) is about to drop off. It only makes the noise when it’s cold. Okay, so it’s December and spring is a long way off. I hate dealing with automotive issues.

Hubby tore into the windshield wiper problem and discovered the situation was worse than he expected. We’re talking over a hundred dollars for a small piece of plastic that broke. Fortunately, he found the piece in a junkyard for half that much. In the meantime, I’ve been driving my mom’s old Ford Contour. Its battery needs replaced and the “Check Engine” light stays on.

Once my car is back on the road, I need snow tires. And I’m still ignoring the clunking noise. My mad money stash is about drained.

I’m not stupid enough to ask, “what else could go wrong?” You ask that question and the universe promptly gives you a reply by SHOWING you what else. Similarly, I never say, “it can’t get any worse.” Oh, yes. It ALWAYS can. And does, if you dare utter those words.
Instead, I’m holding my breath and talking nice to my computer, microwave, refrigerator, and stove. All are past their expiration dates according to modern manufacturing standards.

So what I want to know is this: is Mercury in retrograde? Or Mars? Is anyone else out there experiencing a mutiny of their stuff?

Fish Tales!

2010-12-03T11:38:00.002-05:00

Just about two years ago, the Guppies (Great UnPublished chapter of Sisters in Crime) announced our intention to put together an anthology of members’ short stories. I decided to give it a shot and wrote a tale about a romantic riverside picnic ruined when a dead body floats by. I was thrilled when, months later, my story was chosen to be a part of the anthology. I worked with our editor, Ramona DeFelice Long, who has since become a cherished friend (and a fellow survivor of the 2010 Sisters in Crime Great Flood and Writers’ Retreat).

After the usual long, drawn-out query and submission process (which I had nothing to do with…thank heavens!) The Guppies Anthology: Fish Tales has found a publisher in Wildside Press!

Here is a listing of the stories and authors:

“Thicker Than Blood” by Leslie Budewitz
“Secret of the Red Mullet” by Nancy Adams
“Accidents Happen” by Jim Jackson
“Identity Crisis” by Diane Vallere
“Sleeping with the Fish” by KB Inglee
“Feeding Frenzy” by Patricia Winton
“SASE” by Karen Pullen
“New Age Old Story” by Sarah Glenn
“Shadow of the River” by Gigi Pandian
“Turkey Hill” by Warren Bull
“Something Fishy” by Peggy Ehrhart
“Truck Contest” by Kaye George
“Amazing Grace” by Betsy Bitner
“A Murder Runs Through It” by Annette Dashofy
“Dead-Eye Gravy” by Krista Davis
“The Professor’s Books” by Gloria Alden
“Koi Palace” by Heidi Saunders
“Something Fishy This Way Comes” by Deborah Benoit
“Palace on the Lake” by Daryl Wood Gerber
“Fatal Fish Flop” by Beth Groundwater
“The Frain Legacy” by Darlene Ryan
“Critique Group” by Patricia Gulley

There I am, about two-thirds of the way down. I’m amazed and deeply honored to be included with these other fabulous authors. I keep looking at the list and saying, “Wow.”

We don’t have a publication date yet. Rest assured, I’ll announce it here as soon as we do.