Shalanna's Scribbles

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CRAFT: When is a character inconsistent? Complex?
Just a quick note before I take off to do errands. TV said (and I always DO WHAT THE TEEVEE SAYS DRAT IT) to get out before noon and stay home out of the heat and pollution afterward.

On a critique-group mailing list, a critter said that the book under discussion had a major problem in that the heroine was "inconsistent." She thought the character should be completely revamped to be believable.

Now, what was it that bothered the critter? The heroine is a vice president of sales in a large corporation. She's tough, realistic, and practical. Frugal, not a money-waster. Wears navy blue business suits even on casual Fridays. But she has a quirk: she keeps catalogs such as Victoria's Secret, Frilly, Rockabilly Girl, and the like at her desk, and now and then she flips through them and orders a totally frothy dress or prom dress or something else outrageous. She never wears them or goes anywhere to wear them, but she has them in one of her closets at home "just in case" she ever gets an invite to a place she can wear them. (To business banquets she wears something designer and subdued.)

I say this is not inconsistent, but a character quirk that deepens the character and makes her more real.

The crit group is dithering.

What say you?

(It's not one of my books, or the heroine's obsession would be something much more offbeat, such as . . . you don't wanna know. *grin*)

My car had a bad horoscope today *BEEP*
At hour 10, minute 11, and second twelve today, the date/time was
07/08/09 10:11:12.

Right around then, we were sitting peacefully in my van at the drugstore drive-through, having just picked up Mama's diabetes test strips. I was just about to put the transmission in "D" when. . . .

BOOM!

Some idiot pulled up behind us and RAN INTO US.

It was a fairly hard "tap," although only a tap. We went forward an inch, caught by our seat belts and shoulder harnesses. I looked into the rear view mirror and saw a compact white car that had bumped us. The driver started honking.

I pulled a few feet forward out of the drive-through lane while the driver continued to honk, jumped out, and examined the back of the car. There was a sort-of scratch on the back of the bumper, but nothing major. I looked back at the white car, and nothing seemed amiss except that she was still tapping on her horn. In a moment a little old woman jumped out and started pointing to her front license plate, jabbering away. I couldn't understand a thing she said; she had on a white headpiece of some type, so maybe she was speaking a foreign language--or maybe she just had a language of her own. I called, "Doesn't look like there's any damage!" Then I jumped back into the car.

"Let's make like bananas and split," said my mother. "She looks like some kind of flake."

"Or maybe she doesn't have good depth/distance perception because of some drug she's on. And that's why she didn't stop in time." But I was glad enough to pull away.

"I got her license plate number."

We shouldn't need it, but if something DID go wrong with the car, I suppose it would be good to have.

Then we stopped by Poor Richard's Cafe (a home cooking establishment that my mother constantly refers to as LITTLE Richard's Cafe, and I think it would be a lot cooler if that were actually the name) to pick up a Southern Breakfast (they make 'em all day) for her and a half-club sandwich for me. The checkout tag read "SOB CLUB." So now we're in a new club! And no dues!

I got outside to find that some other crazy people had been backing into the parking spot next to mine (I left the motor running so Mama and dog could have A/C) and were taking their third try about a half-millimeter from my car. "Did I hit you?" shouted the crazy man at the wheel. "My wife's gonna give it another try." He hopped out and they did Chinese Fire Drill to swap seats. I could only stand and watch as they pulled out and backed in yet again. This time there was enough room for them to squeeze out and for me to squeeze in.

"I think I clipped your rear view mirror a couple of times," he shouted as they ran into the restaurant. "Did I break it?"

"Looks OK," I called back as I jumped into the van. "I'd better get this van home before something worse happens to it! It was born in September, and things must be dangerous for Virgos today."

"Vamoose," said Mama. Dog barked in agreement. "Make like a tree and leave. Make like the wind and blow."

"I get the picture." But I was extra-careful getting us back home and safely parked in our own driveway. We got inside, locked the doors, and pulled down the window shades, feeling we had made a lucky escape from whatever ELSE lurked outside.

"It's because today at 12:34 and 56 seconds, the digital clocks read 12:34:56:78," she said cryptically. "Bad luck in China, and here, too."

"Probably."

I've learned not to argue.

Double standards
"Remakes" and "retellings" seem to be in style. Especially in romance and YA. I haven't read any of these, but here's a laundry list of favorably reviewed current fiction based on classics.

Gordon Korman's _Jake Reinvented_ is based on _The Great Gatsby._ Jake plays the Jay Gatsby character who arrives in town and starts throwing killer parties every Friday night that make him the coolest guy. He has eyes for Didi, the hot cheerleader. Her boyfriend, Todd, isn't too happy about it. Rick (the Nick Carraway character) narrates the tale.

Alan Gratz has "reshaped" (to use the words of the reviewers) Shakespeare's plays into modern mysteries starring teenaged characters. SOMETHING ROTTEN is a twist on Hamlet and SOMETHING WICKED is Macbeth reimagined.

_The Loser's Guide to Life and Love_ by A. E. Cannon is a pastiche of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

_Enthusiasm_ by Polly Shulman is a take on Jane Austen. Of course, the '80s film "Clueless" was supposed to be like _Emma_.

Eileen Cook's YA _What Would Emma Do?_ is said to be a modern version of The Crucible, and her _Getting Revenge on Lauren Wood_ is being called the modern-day version of _The Count of Monte Cristo_.

The YA novel _Troy High_ is a modern-day retelling of the Trojan War, based mostly on the Iliad.

Terry Pratchett's _Masquerade_ is a spoof of _Phantom of the Opera_. Terry Prachett's _Eric_ is a rewrite of Faust, with the Faust character being 15 years old.

Holly Black's VALIANT is a Beauty and the Beast retelling, as is Alex Flinn's BEASTLY. Jackson Pearce retells Shakespeare's Tempest in AS YOU WISH, and the Cinderella retelling titled ASH is by Malinda Lo. RADIANT DARKNESS, by Emily Whitman, is a retelling of the story of Persephone and Hades. A CURSE DARK AS GOLD is a feminist industrial age retelling of "Rumpelstiltskin" done by Elizabeth Bunce.

Huckleberry Finn itself is a sort of retelling of The Odyssey. (That one I've read.)

So why is it that if I say my Pundit novel is loosely based on or is a homage to the Tracy-Hepburn film DESK SET (updated), or I mention that I'd like to do a retelling of some other film classic such as TEACHER'S PET, editors fall apart, having a cow? If Hollyweird can try remaking THE WOMEN (and screw up royally in the attempt), why can't I update or spoof DESK SET (without stealing the dialogue, of course)?

Why is it that when Chevy Chase's character in "Fletch" uses false names out of classic films or fiction it's OK, but when one of my characters does it in a funny novel, everyone yells, "That pulled me out of the story"? And why am I not allowed to reply with, "Well, then, increase your reading comprehension! Don't read Benchley, Thurber, P. G. Wodehouse, or anyone clever until you do."??

Rhetorical questions.

I looked at the paperback fiction in the supermarket today. I browsed the racks at Target and Wal-Mart this past weekend. You know what the problem is? I simply don't like any of those popular or best-selling books. The style doesn't appeal to me (based on the first page and a random page or two), the plots don't appeal to me, the Muses don't sing. The books I like are at least several years old. I am out of step with what is considered The Grail of fiction today. This is the basic problem with my trying to publish.

Something's gotta give. I suspect it won't be my sensibilities and proclivities. (They gave at the office.)

The Faust retelling that I love best is Dudley Moore and Peter Cook's original version of the movie "Bedazzled." It's a witty, cerebral take on the Faust legend that has at least one literary allusion per film minute (it seems). Of course I figure most people who watch this 1967 version nowadays won't get all of the asides; a lot of the Faust references might be lost on them. (The bit about "he who sups with the devil should use a long spoon" is very subtle.) Still, they'd probably laugh. This movie came before most of the Monty Python humor, but epitomizes that kind of British sensibility. It's well worth catching the next time it's on cable. Note that I am NOT talking about the Brendan Frazier remake, which went for the slapstick.

Reviews of the film over at Amazon mention that "it's slow" and "it's too talky." Well . . . that's exactly the kind of thing I like. Out of step. Knew it already. Don't really care. Must be hopeless.

And speaking of remaking THE WOMEN (which I was, upstairs--try to keep up), I always wanted to. I hate the ending of the original, of course, where the heroine crawls back to the stupid man who cheated. I've always wanted her to push him OFF the roof of the hotel instead of running into his sticky old arms. But the basic IDEA and premise is still really cool and would fly today. Here's how I would steal it:

A woman's friends are a bunch of jealous, meddling cats who want to break up her marriage. A few believe it's "for her own good," but others are just destroyers of anything they touch. They believe the husband is cheating, and they try every way in the world to have the woman "run across evidence" of this. Finally they send her to a talky manicurist who gossips about him without realizing she's the wife with the "horns." The heroine resolves not to let the cats know that she was clued in, but to investigate it. Pretty soon the mistress (or purported mistress) is practically in her face in public, and she snaps and confronts the husband. In the original, he's guilty. In my version, he wouldn't be, but it would sure LOOK that way. And the purported mistress would be a woman who WANTS to get him, and therefore she plays along and pretends to already be cheating with him. This way, there could be a reconciliation that wouldn't be a total turnoff. The various women who manipulated the situation would get their comeuppances, but in different ways from the original.

I think I could make that work, but I'm not going to do it, at least for a while. I should watch that remake before I get too carried away. Heard it was worthy of going straight to DVD at best. But I ought to see for myself (and see what I could steal and twist, of course!)

My version would be all talky, ideally.

If you like talky stuff, let's talk. We can have our own club. So there!

Wonder what's going on with the Benchley contest?
The Robert Benchley Society held its annual essay contest this year, just as it has for several years, and I entered an essay. July 1st was the day they were supposed to announce the semifinalists. Well . . . no word yet.

But that wouldn't be disturbing by itself. The news blog at http://benchley.blogspot.com/ hasn't been updated since May; they never posted the list of preliminary round judges or named the celebrity judge for the final round. And e-mail to the two people who maintain the blog and head up the society has gone unanswered.

This morning I got e-mail from a fellow contestant who got my e-mail addy from a comment I had made on the Benchley blog asking when we'd be hearing. He was concerned that they might've pulled a fast one--there are entry fees involved, and he figured the total (what with all the essays that are posted on the preliminary round webpage) of fees as almost $500.00.

I don't think that's it at all. (For one thing, they have held an annual gathering for years, and I think they're pretty high-profile. For another, I've corresponded with the guys who head up the Society, and they seem like good people. Of course that's always what *I* think. *grin*)

My first clue came when they never named anyone as a preliminary or celebrity judge. Do you suppose they're having trouble finding anyone who's willing to take on the task? It's very time-consuming to read and rank all the essays; I always end up reading contest entries more than once when I judge for RWA or a similar group, and I fret over the scoresheet and over my comments. You sometimes don't realize the time/energy commitment this is until you've done it once . . . and you might not volunteer again.

I have the feeling that they're having problems getting judges, especially a celebrity judge. The celebs have discovered that it takes a lot of time to read and decide, and maybe there's not enough honorarium money to pay them. Perhaps the people who used to shoulder the responsibility are ill or otherwise out of pocket. I found out the hard way that to be a newsletter editor or vice president of some group (any group! From a ham radio club to a writers' circle to a Sunday school class) is NOT easy or simple. When life intervenes and you can't keep all the plates spinning, the doodoo hits the fan. Everyone wants his/her newsletter on time and as good as usual. Running this contest must be similar, or even worse.

I can't find any mention of the contest on the 'net this year, though, outside of the Society's own web pages. Usually there's at least one press release by this time. That's another reason I wonder if there are personal problems preventing the usual crew from manning the helm. Contestants don't know where to turn next, except perhaps the press . . . but who IS the press nowadays? I mean, maybe the New York Times could do a story on the contest and how it's in limbo, but they wouldn't want to do that until about a month has gone by. They might have better luck investigating, as they are "The Press" and not just a couple of contestants.

On the other hand, we're impatient because we want to know whose essays made the final round. We might just be making too much of it. The announcement could come within the next couple of days, after all.

If they're having trouble finding a judge, I'd be happy to serve . . . my essay this year is (I think) funnier than the one I did last year, but perhaps I am not unbiased. **GRIN**

I am still happy to have my essay online where it might get read by people who run across it. I'm a real sucker for publication/publicity, and my weblog/journal just isn't enough. I need to be famous!

Is there NO END to the panics?!
[EDIT: We dodged it this time. They're sending my aunt home right now, after a couple of hours of observation. It appears to have been a mild reaction to this extreme heat, and possibly she took an "extra" blood pressure pill by accident. (She won't admit that she rode with her neighbor to Kroger this morning, but we suspect she did--and when she got home, she couldn't cool off fast enough.) They gave her morphine because she got panicky and had some angina early on, but now her vitals have stabilized and look OK ("considering her health issues," the resident said). Thank you all for the positive thoughts! It always does the trick!]

Please pray or send positive thoughts--my aunt Jean, age 83, has just been rushed to the hospital in Sherman (60 miles north of us) with numb arms and a suspected heart attack or other failure. Thank you for any positive thinks! [EDIT: They worked!]

And it's 106 out there, heat index, according to reports. We will commence pacing and praying until we hear something; I can't take my mother out in the heat (not in Orange air alert conditions, because of her COPD/asthma/heart stuff herself) and need to wait until it cools off. But at least I do have that new tire (I forgot to mention that one of my rear tires cracked and the guy at Sears said it was ready to blow, and that it was a good thing I brought it to him last Thursday to be looked at--the crack was on the inside rim, and all I thought was wrong was that it might have a nail, because I didn't see the CRACK) if we need to travel on short notice.

I'm going to go pack us a couple of overnight bags and get the ice chest out, just in case.

*sigh*

[EDIT: I'm keeping the bags packed. Maybe we can go somewhere FUN. . . .]

Any man's death diminishes me, for I am part of mankind
The Internet is reeling--Twitter and LJ both crashed for a while, as did the LA Times website and to some extent the MS-NBC site, I am told--and I don't know HOW I feel, other than a little overwhelmed and sad.

Because not only did Heaven take Ed McMahon just the other day and then Farrah this morning, but also Michael "Jacko" Jackson as of a short time ago. Jacko was only fifty and was a health nut, as I understand it . . . so that one is a shocker. We were kind of expecting the other two, although you're never really ready. That's three celebrities in the span of a couple of days. The old superstition holds true.

(I'm counting David Carradine in the previous celeb threesome with Sky Saxon and the Carbondale character whose last words purportedly were, "I can't believe Keith Richards outlived me!!")

Last Friday, just before my brother-in-law's surgery on Monday, one of my sister-in-law's co-workers threw a pulmonary embolism and died in exactly the same way--she was dead on arrival and was revived, but died again without regaining consciousness . . . she was thirty-six and in "perfect health."

This is all a wake-up call to each of us to say, "Live for today. Be happy today. Live as if today were the last day of the world." Find something beautiful in the chaos and ugliness and smile about it.

My mother's first words on hearing about Jacko were, "Thank God that [Our Favorite Older Celebrity] is safe!" I merely thought it, as I don't like to sin out loud. Aren't we awful? But we are steeling ourselves, because many of our favorite celebs are getting up there in years, and it's scary. [And we believe in the by-threes superstition.]

We mourn. We hurt. For these people, but also for all the unsung . . . the hundreds of people who also crossed over to the Other Side today and who were ALL just as important as these celebrities, people you've never heard of but who were someone's child, someone's friend, someone's co-worker. "Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee," wrote John Donne. But the part they quote far less often goes on: "[A]ll mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another."

Amen.

Cookies being celebrated. What'll happen next?
Today, June 23rd, is National Pecan Sandies Day.

How did this come about? I smell a marketing bozo. Still, those are good cookies. I can't eat cookies because ALL of them are high in carbs, and I save my carbs for veggies and such, but if I could still eat cookies, sandies would be on my list. Right after chocolate chip, thin mints (those Girl Scout ones), and Snickerdoodles.

Now my stomach hurts.

Summer solstice . . . Father's Day
Happy Father's Day to those who celebrate it!

Today is the summer solstice. I can't remember whether that means the day and night today are the same length, and from here on in the days will get longer until the next solstice, or what. That sounds good, so we'll go with that instead of Googling up a proper definition!

The Garden Club had its annual tour yesterday. I did the tour the moment it opened at 9AM, because by 10 (when I finished--I stopped to chat with several neighbors) it was hot and muggy and the mosquitoes/gnats from the creek at the last property were out in force. Pretty nice stuff.

(No, OUR yard wasn't on the tour. Eep! Although I'll say that aside from the water features and that kind of thing, my mother used to have a yard that would beat any and all of the displays I saw. Back when she could get outside--her twenties through early sixties--she spent most of the daylight hours out in the yard planting and replanting and watering and talking to her plants. When she got too hot, she'd just shower with the hose, which she dragged behind her all the time. Her extension phone was on the patio, and all else could wait. Her cigs were also on the patio. They caused her to get COPD and asthma and now she can't get out and plant any more. That drives her batty! But she had any and every plant going out there.)

Wanna come out and see the people! (Somebody else's dogs. They didn't get to come outside.)

Happy Bloomsday!
June 16th is Bloomsday, for all those who admire the multiverse of James Joyce's _Ulysses_. You may have run across traveling "re-creationists" today who celebrated by reading the book while copying its protatagonist's perambulations for the day. But probably you didn't. *grin*

Michael Nellis of WRITING2 quips, "Personally, I will celebrate by quietly contemplating the fact that I joined the 100 Page Club. Three times."

You're either a fan or you can't stand the book--that's what I find. Whichever way, you've still gotta admire a book with fans like those!

I celebrated by getting up early to meet the lawn/tree crew. Remember how I thought we'd dodged the bullet with our large trees in the back yard, from that mini-nado we had on Friday night?

Yesterday my neighbor on the south side of the fence (side yard) called to tell me that several large limbs actually HAD cracked. She'd been watching to see if they'd fall off on their own (!). Never wish for something you don't really want, because as soon as she got up yesterday, she heard a CRACK, and saw that a couple of branches had fallen on her side of the fence.

(Oh, so THAT'S what we heard . . . I thought it was something out in the sunroom. Dog barked, but I couldn't find anything amiss in the sunroom. I just wasn't looking far enough west.)

Worse, the branches mostly fell on her power/phone lines that lead into the house (yep, we're in THAT old a neighborhood), so she went outside to pull them off in the heat. But it was Too Hot for that . . . no kidding. Therefore, she was calling to ask me if my yardmen would come tomorrow to saw them into pieces (they're BIG limbs and branches) and haul them away. (They know my yardmen are fond of Mama and will do things for her on the spur of the moment that they wouldn't do for just anyone. I don't know whether this is because she tries to speak pidgin Spanish/Tex-Mex patois to them ("el perro rojas . . ."--hand waving--"you know, like Clifford") or because she reminds them of their grandmothers, but they've even done favors such as burying some of the neighborhood pets and other sorta-personal things like that for the elderly in our little circle. Also, this lady's yardmen are more expensive than ours, so we got a bargain.)

As she spoke, I peered out and saw that despite Hubby's assurance the other day, we DID have a few limbs broken off of our trees that line the side yard at the fence line. (Neighbor has two large mulberries there, and we have trees that I planted when I was ten . . . a mimosa that I dug up as a seedling one day when we visited some of my mother's friends in Oak Cliff is my personal "pet." It grew tall because it couldn't go horizontal in that crowd, and it's fifteen or twenty feet tall!) *Waaah*! Half of my tall mimosa branches! Covered with puffy pink blossoms!

(Mimosa, pre-storm)

Obviously these were too large for either of us to drag out to the front for pickup, *and* there were still a couple hanging off of MY phone/power lines. She said we could go halfsies on having the remaining stuff cleaned up.

It looked to me as if a number of the branches were from her tree, so that sounded fair.

I like to be neighborly. I've also known this woman since she was in second grade and I was in fifth. (She came home after a tour of the world to move in with her mom, and is perfectly happy there. Her mom still owns the house.) I called my yard guys and they promised to show up today as soon as it got hot enough. Ha, ha.

True to their word, they got here around 11:30. My heat sensitivity had already kicked in. But anyhow, I met the neighbors around back and watched the guys as they pulled some really large branches down and out and sawed them into the required four-foot lengths so the city can pick them up at curbside. These were five- and eight-inch diameter branches! Good thing we got them before they completely pulled down some wire or another. And I suppose that's one lucky thing about not having a pool *pout*.

By the time they were finished picking up all the debris, it was REALLY HOT. My neighbor examined the leaves on the stack at the curb and said that most of them were her branches after all, so she tossed in an extra $10 (making it about 60-40). I mourned the BIG MIMOSA BRANCH one more time before crawling inside to lie under the ceiling fan and pour water over my head.

"I want to go to the cafeteria!" Mama had her shoes on and was ready to be taken out to lunch.

"Let me cool off first."

"But the cafeteria will be packed if we don't go now!"

Sometimes my family members think of me as a robot that never has any needs and can always just soldier on like a machine that you don't have to feed or water or wash or worry about.

We compromised. I called in a take-out order to Poor Richard's Cafe in old downtown Plano, and the dog got to ride and see all the sweaty people. This also meant I didn't have to eat that nasty cafeteria jello. The flavors are called "red" and "green" rather than "strawberry" and "lime" for a reason.

Whee! What an exciting life! Makes for an exciting blog of nonstop action! No wonder I've had a couple of people dump (de-friend) me here on LJ lately. Not that it HURTS MY FEELINGS or anything *sniff*

Want to be HERE (Asilomar State Beach, Monterey peninsula, California, USA)

Or HERE (Carmel-by-the-sea, Calif.)

Instead, this is as far as I can afford to go *sigh* "Whaddaya mean, you don't got no diet RC left?!"

Consolation view (supposedly from a church in west Texas)

Complaints, b*tchin', etc.
Amazon doesn't have a good system for reporting problems with downloads of their MP3s (sales, not free stuff.) I'm fuming because I bought the Puppini Sisters' "Betcha Bottom Dollar"--they're an Andrews Sisters-type trio who sing oldies and newies in that style, and they're pretty good--but after it got the first three songs on side one, my browser popped up a window saying that the Amazon MP3 downloader had a problem and was closing--"input file corrupt." I reported this through the Amazon online system, but have heard zip. Phooey! It's back to iTunes Store for me, even though there is crummy protection on some tracks. (I get Plus whenever it's available so as to get no DRM on the files and a higher bitrate. But still. *fume*)

The first three weren't the songs I was buying the album for, mostly. *grump* Plus, I prefer the Bette Midler recording of "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." I guess I just like her voice better--it's more distinctive. She's another overlooked treasure, IMHO. "The Divine Miss M."

I turned the house upside down yesterday looking for an old piano sheet music book that I've had since I was a kid. It's "Best Pops '72" and has the good old arrangements of a number of tunes I would like to play again. I noodled around a bit, and some of them came back in parts, so I know they'd come back quickly if I had the music. I know I've seen that, and I had it by the piano, but . . . didn't find it anywhere. They do have one for sale online through Amazon (hah--as IF they will get more business at this point from me), but it's priced at over $50. Come on! Get real!

I know that many sites online have PDF files for sale with arrangements of this old music, but it isn't the arrangement I learned, so (1) it won't come back easily the way the ones I learned will, and (2) it doesn't sound right. I've already checked.

Why not just play it all by ear? I do, mostly. But there's a hitch. The piano desperately needs to be tuned. EVERY note is getting sour. She can't be brought up to concert pitch anyhow, but she can be tuned to herself, which is what needs to be done.

Ripping in tracks off of my old vinyl albums using the Brookstone ION USB turntable works pretty well. But the trouble I've had is that you have to press the REC button at the beginning of each track and then again at the end . . . and then again to start recording at the beginning of the next track. This means that I missed the beginning of most tracks. I hate that! Phooey. Man, records sound so much better in some ways than MP3s, but they are lots more work and so fragile.

"That Girl, Season One" is $27 at Fry's, which is the least expensive place. Man! That's a lot for ONE season. Why don't they re-run that somewhere? I know it's dated. That's the POINT. It's supposed to be. I love seeing those old dresses like Mama and my aunts and my teachers wore--and often *I* had mini-versions of the same clothes to wear to third, fourth, and fifth grade. We watched the show after school in re-runs. And what about Dobie Gillis?! Dwayne Hickman is a hottie. Still pretty cute, too (judging by his website.)

And I have a hangnail. *pout*

But . . . there weren't any more bad storms, and we didn't lose any more big trees, and we can afford groceries, and my cousin is in PARIS being mentored by an architect there. (This past week, he was taken to see drawings by the Old Masters that are kept under lock and key in the catacombs under . . . THE LOUVRE. You can't beat THAT with a stick! He can't believe he's not dreaming.)

So I shouldn't complain.

(Why did the neighborhood need a new fountain? It's cool . . . but we didn't need another one. Did we?)

Stormy weather . . . mini-twister

The weather bureaus of the world will never admit it, but during the "wall cloud" storm on the evening of June 10th--the one that swept across Texas and stretched down US 75 from south of Dallas almost to the Red River--the bad clouds spawned a number of mini-twisters over our area of northwest Richardson, Texas. And with little warning. The storm came up suddenly, and pow!

The sky had been overcast and oddly greenish-gray most of the day. We were at home working on various silly projects that evening when we became aware of this weird warbling sound. I finally realized that this was the sound of the old Civil Defense sirens (now called something else and used to warn us about weather) that they'd moved recently; now they're not at our fire station on the corner, but farther north by almost a mile. Mama realized it at the same time, and in a moment the deluge hit. She shouted towards my end of the house, and we both ran towards the sunroom, where Hubby was working on the setup he has out there to test the new computer gear for work.

"Come in the house!" I yelled. He immediately stepped outside under the patio cover "to close the gate," and was just about blown away. Once I got him hauled indoors, I ran to look out the front windows, and we saw that all our trees and bushes were blowing around . . . as if a whirlwind were rotating them.

The aftermath, today

One of our tree-sized crepe myrtles couldn't take it, and snapped. A few large branches fell across the courtyard wall and onto the glass-topped table. The power started flickering on and off, so I ran to unplug the stereo and computers. Fortunately, THIS time our old transformer held, and the power only stayed off for a couple of minutes at a time.

The violent portion of this storm passed over us rather quickly, but left a trail of destruction across our neighborhood, including our park with the waterfall/creek. It lost a large Daddy/Mama tree on the edge of the waterfall, as well as many other large trees of all kinds. But it could have been a lot worse.

Here's the tree that I believe was the victim, in a 2007 shot (to the left of the bench, partial photo):

Here's what it looked like yesterday, with the neighbor's kids gazing on the destruction:

My dog is terrified of storms. He couldn't sleep at all, because the rest of the night was filled with thunder, lightning, and rain. It would have been restful if he could have been calmer. . . .

The weather people may claim this was only "straight-line winds of 80 mph," and claim that only Anna and Allen got actual twisters, but we know better.

Fixture Fail!
Hubby's boss and Significant Other dropped by on their way to a concert or Event or something at the nearby Eisemann Center. They duly admired Hubby's new setup of his "extra" computer and the gear he's testing for work out in our sunroom, and watched how the software executes, and all that good stuff. They even complimented Mama's new TV and oxygen concentrator (!) Nice people. The lady fair decided to stop by our Facilities before they departed, as there would be a line to powder one's nose at the opera. A few moments after she closed the door, we heard a shriek and a splash.

How did the potty seat KNOW that it was a visitor, and a newcomer at that? I mean . . . it's amazing how inanimate objects aren't so inanimate when they're in a bad mood. So many times I've seen Fixture Fail, but this one was particularly embarrassing for all. Who thinks it'd be fun to ride the toilet seat down to the floor as if it were some kind of Happy Water Slide?

So I spent my Saturday night . . . apologizing to this lady and getting her dried off (!) to attend the Opera or whatever it was, and then heading to WallyWorld to get a new toilet seat--this one with steel screws and hinges--and installing it. Then I made us some cheese broccoli soup for dinner, as I wasn't up to much more. Afterward, I lay quietly in the dark listening to Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert piano music for several hours to soothe my savage breast until crawling off to bed. What a wild, crazy Saturday night!

You envy me my life. Don't pretend you don't.

"You always do this . . . squawk yak caw" "Oh, hush"

I've e-mailed the editor of "The Storyteller" and we're going to figure out how we can replace the disturbing language (it's really very mild--but it was realistic) and image. I'm waiting for her to point me towards the exact words and lines that would bug her readers. (I hope they don't have cable TV!)

Exactly how obscure and impenetrable are the following? (I ask because I've joined an online crit circle and I'm getting flak for these.)

In the new YA thingie that I'm having fun tossing off, my character April Bliss (yes, it's a symbolic name--it's one of those things that makes me so fey and twee and a joy to all who read me) has a nickname. Her sister, June, refers to her as "Cruelest." April mentions that it's some kind of reference to a poem or something, because I don't want her to come across as too erudite, but it'll be SO OBVIOUS to most readers in my audience that I feel she should acknowledge it. The critters say that they have NO IDEA what I'm talking about. Is T. S. Eliot's THE WASTE LAND so obscure to this generation? And I stole this from THE EGYPT GAME by Zilpha Keatley Snyder, anyway, as a homage to her book (which is for the same age group or those just a little younger.) What ARE they teaching them in these schools?

"What's a fallen woman?" they also ask. *sigh* This is said in jest anyhow, but seriously, hmm.

"What is consensus reality?" Perhaps this bit IS a little obscure to those who have never read Philip K. Dick. However, I expect my audience to be able to get stuff from the context.

Meantime, we can wait for the blue whale songs.

"Blue Whale Mating Song Recorded in New York Waters Just Off New York Harbor

"ITHACA, New York, May 31, 2009 (ENS) - The voices of singing blue whales have been identified for the first time in New York coastal waters, acoustic experts at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's Bioacoustics Research Program and the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation have confirmed.

"The voice of a male blue whale was tracked about 70 miles off the south shore of Long Island on January 10 and 11, 2009, as the whale swam slowly from east to west. At the same time, a second blue whale was heard singing offshore in the far distance. "

*swoons with "Isn't It Romantic" echoing in head*

Also, Vic Damone is still recording. He was born in 1928, making him even older than MAMA, but he still has a great set of pipes! His autobiography comes out in a few days. I couldn't believe he has a website and will respond to fans. I'm going to send him some e-mail telling him how much she and I have both enjoyed his work over the years and to hang in there.

Visit him (if you have any idea who he is) at www.vicdamone.com

iTunes, on the other hand, has marked some unclean rap tracks as being by Vic Damone. They are actually the product of one VicD person, a rapper. I've already e-mailed the iTunes store about this. Little old ladies trying to d/l Damone tracks might be seriously injured if this track ("Hey Li'l Mama") sneaked into their mass download!

Actually About Marketing: Should We "Clean Up" a Story For An Editor/Market?
I'm not going to tell you ( what I'm not going to complain about today )
Instead, I come here to ask for artistic advice.

Remember how the first place story from that NETWO conference is to be published in THE STORYTELLER, a magazine done by an Arkansas university press? Well, today I got an e-mail message from the editor confirming that she'd received the copy from the conference group and was looking at it for her fall issue, EXCEPT. . . .

She says that her readers subscribe so they don't have to read "dirty words" or nasty stuff. She says that she wants my permission to "clean up those dirty words" and take out one particular reference that a mean boy says about a girl he was mean to (it has to do with "doing" him.) Now, I have no recollection of that stuff being in the story, except that it is a realistic story that deals with three buddies in a small Texas town, three rednecks, one of whom is a mean braggart and bullies everyone. So I can see where I might have put some words into his mouth as he was bragging to let readers know what a jerk he is.

Okay. Since I don't even really remember it, it must not be a Big Issue for me. However, should I take into consideration that to sanitize or Bowdlerize the story might be compromising it artistically? The conference people probably didn't think of this little hitch, or maybe they're used to being edited. Still, they're small-town East Texas residents, and they didn't flip their lids over the "f-bomb" or whatever it is that's in the story (I still haven't even looked yet.). Should it be this big a deal in this day and age? Especially since turning on the television in any small town will expose these readers to much worse situations and language? Should I say, "Hey, they told me that the prize was publication AS IS, not in a modified form," and play the jackass for The Principle Of The Thing the way my hero Harlan probably would? (I don't really want to, honestly . . . one picks one's battles. But it's an option on the table.) Perhaps I should just say, "Let me take a look and I'll do the editing until you feel it's Clean Enough." That's what I lean towards doing.

But it IS an artistic issue, I think. So I felt it was worth bringing it to the Hivemind. What say ye? Does anyone have any thoughts on this?

Does this happen a lot? I see novels (even YA novels) getting more and more edgy, so I would suspect this doesn't happen too often.

It warn't so dang funny when it was happenin', y'know

tl;dr

Okay, you were warned.

On Tuesday, my mother and I had our annual physicals. He decided Mama should have another colon scope just to make sure the minor symptoms she has now and then aren't a problem, and he changed some of her medications. To cheer her up, I dropped by the house to pick up the tiny dog (he goes crazy if we leave him alone at home for hours--he gets bored, poor baby) and headed over to the Black-Eyed Pea for a to-go treat.

We were ALMOST home. We turned onto Renner, a six-lane road that could pass for a drag race track at rush hour, and the car lost power.
( Fun every minute )
Innocent victim here before the chaos began, headed inside to pick up food order. Note Visa card gripped in left hand.

I did find the card, in fact. It was in the *passenger* door grabby-hole. Apparently when I climbed into the car and tried to wrestle the digital camera out of Mama's hands so she would not take my photo again, she got my card and dropped it into the slot. Ergo I didn't think to check that spot when we were making our emergency escape. Fortunately, the Ford repair crew is scrupulously honest. They didn't even steal any of the change out of the cup holders. Although, come to think of it, I didn't see Mama's lucky penny that she keeps on the floor mat under her left shoe whenever she rides in the car . . . they probably picked THAT one up. Maybe it'll be luckier for them.

Next up: tale of antique books being semi-consumed by vermin. Yikes!!

Remember
Remember.

Overheard in Richardson, TX
"I'm never telling that doctor any symptoms again! Next he'll have me sleeping in an iron lung, and then I'll never get any! . . . not that I'm gettin' any now."
# # #
"So the day after I got my license I got my first ticket. Two days after that I got stopped AGAIN. And then they pulled me over FOR NO REASON the next week. So now my license is already suspended!"
"Unbelievable."
# # #
"It's my body wash and stuff--it's all made in China, did you know? I looked on my bottles last night and sure enough, all of 'em were made in China. They're poisoning me. It's just like with the pet food and all the baby formula and stuff that they put toxic sh*t in, you know? I tossed 'em all. Now I'm having a tough time finding body wash that isn't made over there, except the really expensive brands like Origins and Perlier and Neiman Marcus. What am I going to do? I've already lost part of my sense of smell!"
# # #
"She's supposed to be doing her homework, but instead I go in and she's sitting there in the middle of the new carpet eating candy and zoned out to Emir. But I'll admit, you gotta love a group calls themselves 'Emir & the Frozen Camels.'"
# # #
"Pleasure is the object, duty, and goal of all rational creatures."--Voltaire

Every silver lining's got a touch of gray
As I rounded the corner on a farm-to-market road earlier today, the van's wipers scraping across the windshield regularly because it was drizzling heavily, the CD player clicked on to the Grateful Dead CD "American Beauty" and the cut "Touch of Grey." I wished for a camcorder, because the scene through the windshield would have been a PERFECT movie opener (rolling credits above the wipers), complete with soundtrack.

Then I got home with the groceries to find the family watching an episode of "Unexplained Mysteries" on the National Geographic channel--not the one with the guy who talked about people disappearing and such, but one that's about natural mysteries. As I walked in, the guy was talking about ley lines, the lines of natural energy/force that circle the globe. I used this idea in "Dulcinea," where my "magic" was actually a drawing on Earth's power via the manipulation of these ley lines of force through specially trained people with the proper talent. Hey, that's how we play the piano or the flute--we have a certain talent (don't tell me people with no sense of rhythm, slappity slap, or a tin ear can play well, because they simply cannot--they can't keep a flute in the proper intonation, for example, and a string instrument can go slightly sour when the A/C comes on) and we are specially trained. It made sense. Yet I still had the objections from family, friends, and the peanut gallery that my book "was witchcraft from the Devil!" I specifically did not portray it as such, as a religion at all but as a specialized natural philosophy (early science was called natural philosophy) usable by trained adepts, but they still leaped on this and insisted that was the ONLY definition of magic. Hmph.

But the NEXT segment was more interesting. They spotlighted [wordplay alert] the MARFA LIGHTS! There were several lifelong residents of Marfa who had seen them several times, and there was footage of the lights and photographs of various sightings. The lights were first documented by a rancher in the 1800s (pre-Civil War), so they cannot be "headlights from hwy 67," though I *have* seen headlights--they look completely different. The Cherokee legend about the "ghost lights" is that these are braves sent out on a mission who were killed by warring tribes and cannot find their way back to the village . . . the tribes have moved on, but the ghost light still searches forever. Scientists in Japan said it was a particular kind of earth phenomenon that happens in various places--but they couldn't get the lights to perform for them until the day they were set to depart, so they didn't get the data they wanted. Anyhow, the segment covered it completely without the usual curled-lip sneer stuff, and without a whole lot of woo-woo. They went on to discuss sprites and other atmospheric phenomena observed by astronauts in orbit. It was neat.

What I wished was that Toni Plummer, the editor who has my Marfa novel on her desk (supposedly, according to my contest judge), had seen this segment . . . maybe she'd be more interested then. She could see that I have several marketing hooks: Marfa lights fans, fans of all such phenomena, fans of woo-woo stuff in general, people who like mysteries, SMU graduates, and so forth. I mean . . . I gotta platform here! Also, there's "Richardson Reads One Book," a program they hold here for the entire TOWN to read one novel. They picked someone's book this year just 'cause he lives in the area. Well, I have lived here longer than that library has even been standing!! I have one of the original cardboard library cards! (In my scrapbook now--they only take the electronic ones now.) There's no reason I could not get my friends at the library to pimp any book I publish to become that book, and it would mean LOTS OF SALES. But I cannot get anything at all into print, so sigh.

I did get a mention on the NETWO conference contest "winners" page, though. I'm listed under my mundane name, Denise G. Weeks. When you Google that name now, you get mostly hits for my famous rap/soul recordings that are now charting . . . o'course that is not me, but now I have a fun double-take joke I can pull on people. There's also a Denise Weeks who is head of the legislature in North Carolina or someplace (I haven't looked for a while, and that's what I recall.) Aren't we famous? Look, another selling hook I can talk about if I ever go on a book tour.

Here's the NETWO site. (NorthEast Texas Writers' Organization.) I'm listed as winning first place and two honorable mentions. Cool. But, of course, it is merely a little egoboo. That doesn't mean a thing to editors and agents and The Anointed of Real Publishing. My mother was finally impressed, which mystifies me, but that's about all you get out of THAT. Unless you're at the conference and get to talk to people of like minds, which was what I had in mind. *sigh*

I do wish I could have been there to actually thank the judges. But I did send the judges some e-mail thanking them for their insightful judging sheets. Mostly they said things that made me see that they really GOT IT. They understood that these were literary stories with literary allusions and SYMBOLISM and so forth. They didn't say, "Huh?" or "What does this word mean? Why would you name a character 'Jeep'?" or even "I think you should write about your uncle Zeke who had the first dairy farm in Delta County and all his kids" the way my family always does. They compared my fairytale retelling to something that Anne Sexton did! They compared my literary allusions to those of established members of the Western canon of literature! They actually got it!

That was a birthday gift from the Universe, I suppose. Now I need the matching book contract. When's the next gift-giving holiday?

Why Word has a "whole words only" thing in the "replace" function
Guess what I just did--in the Word document I was editing, I changed all "Stan" to "Gary," but forgot to tell it "whole words only" or put a space at the end, so I made words like "underGarydable" and "diGaryt" all through my silly new teenybopper book. Whee!

I especially liked "Garyding on the curb," "she won't garyd for it," "I don't underGaryd that man," and the ever-popular Garyford University! Ivy League!

Anyhow. Didn't realize I had not updated the journal for eight days or however long. We've been so exhausted around here for a couple of weeks that I figure we've been fighting off that flu. But I did have a cool inspiration for a silly YA novel, so I'm working on that. I figure, what the hell?

"I can't understand why a person will take a year to write a novel when he can easily buy one for a few dollars."-—Fred Allen (radio star from the 1940s/50s)

LJ responds to users quickly . . . don't panic
I have a paid account, so it surprised me to see someone mention a banner ad that offended them so badly they were leaving LJ . . . and even when I followed the link, I never did see that ad.

But the ad caused a furor, and lots of people started saying they were leaving LJ over it.

Okay . . . first, LJ's staff is taking care of having this ad and a couple of others removed from LJ rotation.

The way those banner ads work, as I understand it, is they're contracted out. A company can arrange to not have particular categories of ads display on their site, so I assume that is what LJ is going to do now. But if you jump up and scream, "LJ did this to me on purpose!" you are jumping the gun. It was more than likely just the way the DoubleClick ads work--your journal for some reason fit the target audience for their product, or so they imagined. (They do want to sell things, after all, not irritate people. Tough as that may be to believe.) They will be (I assume) monitoring this stuff in the future to keep particular categories of political ads away, if they're smart.

But the hysteria has already hit. People are beating their chests and rending their garments. But it's not necessary! Unlike some other businesses, LJ actually was paying attention. Staff member Marta is responding in a thread about it.

I've never seen the ad. I tried, but never did, even when I had links to it! But I also don't agree with those who are choosing to get all offended about it--after all, I'll wager they don't stop watching (for example) Comedy Central after seeing an ad for something they think is scary-bad, or a rah-rah from some local city council candidate who holds ridiculously prejudiced views, or whatever. They don't stop watching CNN or FoxNews just because there's a promo spot from someone they don't support. My feeling is that this is like Amazonfail, where people get all excited because there's finally something they can take offense to and make their voices heard (which I suppose is something) even though the BUSINESS has not been given a chance to fix the situation, but I also think that the appropriate response is to contact customer service or other staff first, to give people a chance to fix things. My elderly mother was getting "male enlargement" and even weirder stuff in text messages on her cell phone, and was hysterical (she IS almost eighty, after all--until she was 14, she says, she never knew there COULD be a prez other than FDR), but I didn't throw the phone away or tell Cingular to stuff it--I called Cingular and turned off text messaging (she never used it.).

I am pleased to see that LJ (in the person of Marta) is going to try to find the source of this particular ad and eliminate it and others like it BECAUSE that is good customer service for those who have asked--not because I believe in stifling the voices of the opposition.

Whoa! Here I am, leaping into the air and shouting "Pull!" again! For I have just said something that will anger those who are offended by the ad. However, a moment's thought will show that to say those people can't advertise and should be exterminated and so forth is pretty much the same thing as THEM saying the same about us, saying that YOU/WE should disappear, is it not? (After all . . . to say they can't advertise AT ALL is trying to stifle their voice, isn't it? So they're kind of right? To guarantee they cannot be heard at all would mean that OUR voices are then not protected either, right? Um.) We must tolerate the dissenting and even the wicked voices if ours are to be protected.

That's part of the arrangement for this country. We don't suppress dissidents. It may be tougher to stomach when the dissidents are suddenly those people you believe have been oppressing others (and for whom the flippity has recently flopped, the majority now being against them, apparently), but you MUST grin and just shake your head indulgently and bear it. For if we silence them and ban them and raise all kinds of heck over it, then they can do the same to us and we can't say a word about it.

(I'm not saying that a completely outrageous thing such as a "kill all the Xs" would pass the test. But as described, this ad is not that kind of thing. It is a political statement/appeal. It simply says that a group is trying to silence another group. And the reaction is kind of, um, proving their point. Unfortunately.)

Now, this doesn't mean that you have to listen to the program on which someone is preaching against your beliefs. You can flip the channel. You can protest to the station. But you can't say that NO ONE should hear that person talking or make a rule that they must be kept off A, B, and C channels. Because then they could say that NO ONE should hear YOU talking. This is what I'm getting at. I am not taking sides in the controversy addressed by that upsetting banner ad.

Of course, if people wish to go to another provider for ANY reason or for no reason at all, that is their privilege! I have no problem with that, either. It's all part of the free market and freedom of choice!