Tomorrow's February 1st ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Plus Ca Change...Plus C'est Le Meme Chose...?

The more things change, the more they stay the same? Nuh-uhhhhh!

On Sunday, I dropped in on a Travel Expo and wandered by the Club Med booth. Standing there were two young boys (by young, I mean young-as in early twenties). No doubt they'd heard stories from their parents about the vacation spot known as "the antidote for civilization."

Sadly (sniff, sniff) I overheard the travel agent correct their misperceptions. Club Med is NO LONGER the place for singles. Nope. From what I gather, it answered the call of the aging boomers and ruined everything.

Okay, in case you've never been, let me paint a picture of my first visit. (This is back in 1981 when I was, er, about 28.) I shopped for DAYS prior to the trip, envisioning myself as one of those Vogue models with the Jackie O glasses and the casually chic clothes. After all, this was my first ADULT vacation (y'know, minus the parental units) and I was preparing to attract MEN.

Imagine my dismay when I arrived clad in tailored, belted, walking shorts with matching top, high-heeled sandals, and a floppy straw hat, to find a bunch of half-naked Club Med employees greeting us with some kinda welcome routine that bordered on childish. What had I stumbled into...a camp for overgrown adolescents?

And what was this...? You expect me to carry my own luggage...where? How far?

Cutting to the chase, within days, I was a convert. During the following week, I never once wore shoes. In fact, I hardly wore anything but a bathing suit.

It was all about experiencing the antithesis of real life.

No locks on the doors. No TV's or radio's in the rooms. No newspapers. No telephones. No MONEY, for God sakes! (You stashed your money in the central office at the beginning of your stay, then purchased plastic snap beads to use for buying drinks and other assorted amenities.)

Flash forward to 2007. Plasma screen TV's. CD players. Wireless Internet access.

I tell ya. It's enough to break your heart.

More On Writing (Yawn)

One of my good friends recently confessed she sort of gave up reading my blog when I started talking a lot about writing. (Shrug) I try to mix it up--and I try to make the writing parts interesting to non-writers, but...well, you can't please everyone, yada, yada. Judging by how often my best friends don't have a clue what I've been up to, I guess I'm succeeding more with the writer-readers, than the others. Again, shrug.

Having said that, guess what today's topic is? Yeah, writing (so, move along, friends).

It's been awhile since I judged a contest. Last year some time, I guess. So I've got five entries in the Single Title category (okay, friends...just go with me, here) and I'm struck with how things have changed. Used to be, you pretty much got traditional romance in these submissions. With a touch of suspense, comedy, and/or drama thrown in. This time around, only two of the five can be described that way; the others are paranormal...y'know, with werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, and the rest of your average non-human types.

So when did these books stop having their own category? (okay, I know, I know--some contests still DO make paranormal a separate category, but not this one). Have otherworldly stories really overtaken traditional romance?

I had to put on my best non-judgmental judge's hat for this which, as you might guess, isn't easy. I mean, I don't normally read the stuff so, for example, in answer to the question does the author use a unique twist in her story, I had to be careful, because...hell, yeah. Unique to me! But is it unique to paranormal? Maybe not.

I avoided showing favoritism to the traditional entries--and at the same time refrained from judging them to a higher standard. After all, a story is a story is a story. I concentrated on the qualities shared by good writing, no matter the sub-genre.

Besides, in the end, no matter what, you know in your gut when you're reading a winner. In the case of this particular set of contest entries, I read maybe one that I deemed publishable. Not that the rest weren't well-written, and full of good characterization and well-constructed scenes, still...they just didn't grab me, y'know?

Which takes me back to my own current personal task: editing Leftovers. How do I think it stacks up against the contest entries I'm judging?

Definitely a winner.

But then I'm a little impartial.

About That Recap....

I remember when we used to talk about men and sex...instead of droopy eyelids.

I remember when we used to talk about potential jobs...instead of retirement.

I remember when we used to talk about weddings...instead of funerals.

But some things never change. We still laugh and giggle about our shortcomings. We still stay up all night and wonder how four empty champagne bottles got into the trash can.

We still hug each other when we part.

Here are a few pictures and a little commentary from last weekend.


See what I mean? This is what happens
when three old ladies get together. They
compare ugly feet. (BTW, mine is the best looking one.)

Here's Nancy and Kathleen suffering the effects of muy de alcohol...but, hey...it's a good kinda suffering.



Next up is my cool present from Nancy
(I TOLD YA IT WAS STILL MY
BIRTHDAY!!) And yes, I'm not fond of the
way my face looks in this picture. That's what
computer editing utilities are for.

This is a pic of the harbor where we ate lunch on Saturday after the Fourth Mouseketeer (Juli) joined us. And this is the neat little owl guy we saw (isn't he supposed to be sleeping, or something?)















Next we went hotel hopping--my FAVE thing to do. First stop: The Montage, a 5-star resort in Laguna Beach. Okay, I have to admit the place is gorgeous, but $17 chardonnay? Not so much. AND, I could have done without all the strategically placed "suits with earpieces." You just KNEW that any minute, one of 'em was gonna come up and say: "Excuse me. Unless you can provide satisfactory tax returns for the past ten years, we're going to have to ask you to leave." In other words, not so friendly.

The St. Regis, on the other hand, is equally beautiful, equally 5-star (although a bit further from the ocean), but...well...shall we say, friendlier? And with exquisite artwork, to boot.




Okay, this is getting tedious. You folks have NO IDEA how difficult it is to get these damn pictures, words, and videos to settle into their proper place. Anyway, I took this video to record the music. We were back at "our bar" at the Laguna Cliffs, and the performer's name is Kevin Danzig. I don't know if it was the atmosphere, the cocktails, or WHAT, but I bought THREE of his CD's. And I told him I was putting this on Youtube, and he gave me permission, so I'm not ripping him off or anything. Hopefully, I'll come up with a gig for him chez Randy, 'cuz I truly enjoyed his music.



I'd post more here, but, well...gotta get to the day job work. Thought I'd leave you with one last pic, though...and this is what happens when the ladies start the cocktail hour early on a Sunday. I'm tellin' ya...I've always looked best in black and white.

I'm inFAMOUS

You know that old saying: There's no such thing as BAD publicity? Well, let's hope it's true, 'kay?

'Cuz if you wander over to Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels and scroll down to Monday, guess what you'll find? Right. Stealing Amy's cover.

Hey, I laugh out loud at the spot-on snark and no-holds-barred reviews on this site...only...um...I never thought I'd find myself on the receiving end of 'em.

Okay, so it's just my cover. But I kinda LIKED my cover. More importantly, my PARENTS liked my cover. So WHAT if they kinda confused the model with me (ooh, her nails are nice and her hair's a pretty shade of blonde!). So WHAT if guys on Myspace draw the same conclusion and hit on me?

It's all good.

Isn't it?

Hey, Isn't That My Offramp...?

GWO

L to R: Nancy, Randy, Juli, Kathleen

Which is kinda like GNO (girls' night out) except it happens over a weekend. Hell, all my weekends are GWO's. Ha.

Anyway, here's a sneak peek of "the girls" at play. I'll post more pictures and a narrative when I get some extra time...or new brain cells...whichever happens first.

Suffice to say: Oh. My. God. We had SUCH a blast. Although I believe I noticed the genesis of a new phrase: What happens with the girls stays...off Randy's blog.

Tsk. Some people are NO fun at all.

Happy Holidays

Those are supposed to be Christmas lights. Why Christmas lights? Hey, thanks for asking.

Well, this weekend is the annual girls-get-together-to-celebrate-Christmas-and-birthdays weekend. In fact, I've been told we're specifically celebrating MY birthday. Yes, y'all may remember that happened in September, but...well...sometimes it's hard to get four girls together in a timely fashion, y'know? And so what if Kathleen's came after mine? So what if Juli's is closest (next month) and Nancy's right after that?

This weekend, it's all about me.

Or, at least, that's what I'll be telling myself.

Nancy got the ball rolling. She reserved something for us at the Laguna Cliffs Marriott...I can only imagine how beautiful it's gonna be. (Not to mention cold--hey, it snowed in Malibu this week so building snowmen in Laguna Beach ain't out of the question.) Our first plan of attack is drinks at the Montage (go on--take a peek at the picture on their web site--unbelievable!) I figure after incurring the national debt for a glass of wine, we'll move on to cheaper joints. In fact, Kath suggested (only half-jokingly) we eat at Mickey D's...to which Nancy (where have you BEEN, girl?) innocently asked, "Oh? Where's that?"

Suffice to say, we won't be eating under the golden arches.

Anyway, so the blog'll be dark for a couple days while I temporarily live the life of the rich and famous. Stay tuned for pictures!

P.S. Okay, I came back to post a picture in case you're too lazy to click...this is the Montage (sigh). I just wanna move in (totally possible since there are "residences at Montage"...but something tells me I need more than my current bank balance...and none of the Yahoo Winkers--hmm...appropriately named, eh?--are gonna be able to foot the bill.........)

Something Cool To Try--Do Any Of These People Really Look Like Me...?

http://www.myheritage.com

Bonus!

So after typing THE END the other night, I thought about my next plan of attack. Most authors like to set a manuscript aside for awhile before they start revising. Me? I'm eager to dive in, but alas, I see the wisdom in waiting...so what, I asked myself, should I work on in the meantime?

Go back to the nameless NaNo project?

Advertise my Stealing Amy contest?

Hm...but I really wanna get to the next phase with Leftovers. Besides, that timetable of goals I posted in December included having the query letter drafted and mailed out by January 15th. And yet...euw. Query letters. HATE writing query letters. Distilling the gist of your book into one pithy page can be a real killer.

So I browsed through my documents file on the off-chance that somewhere along the line I might have spent a few odd minutes (hours?) on a query letter.

Lo and behold...BINGO!

For whatever reason--a contest?--a Miss Snark crap-o-meter?--just for the helluvit...? I'd written an entire query letter...and a rather good one, if I do say so myself! Whew! It was like cleaning up after Christmas and finding an undiscovered present under the tree!

Now all I have to do is figure out who to send it to....

The End! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I DID IT! ! ! ! ! ! !

I typed the Six Best Letters in the WHOLE WORLD....THE END! I swear, I've never been through childbirth, but this was the literary equivalent. Now, the last scene needs a smidgen--oh hell, a BOATLOAD--of work, but still...it's THERE.

And there's the re-writing I need to do at the beginning...

And...oh...um....there's all the tightening I need to do...plus the fill-in-the-blank stuff I left for later....

But....I'm so jazzed, I think I'll go lie down...or is it lay down? I'm pretty sure it's lie down.

Brain frazzle!

Hijacked

No wonder I've been having trouble finishing Leftovers. Turns out it's been taken over by space aliens or something. No, really. It started out as the story of a woman who always gets the leftovers in life...and now it's morphed into (eek) a tale about mothers and daughters.

Which would be fine except...I don't have a typical mother/daughter relationship with my (step)mom. Worse, I don't have kids, let alone daughters.

The good news is that I AM heading for the finish. AGAIN. And yes, that 'one or two scenes' I needed to write to get to the end have morphed into four or five. But it's all good. I finally figured out the problem: I lacked a BIG BANG for the ending. Hey, there's a new story step for ya, huh? You got your inciting incident, your turning points, your stakes raising, your black moment, your climax...and now you got your BIG BANG.

See, I went back to the whole character arc issue that I mentioned the other day. I had to ask myself: What has Rose learned? How is she different at the end of the story? What does she do NOW that she wouldn't have been able to do at the beginning?

Which got me to thinking about her step-sister, Angie. I needed to finish her character arc, too.

And that's when I knew how to end the book...with something that will demonstrate the change in both characters...and, as a bonus, create the BIG BANG.

The only problem? It all ties back into the theme of mothers and daughters. Easy to conceive, more difficult to execute.

But then that's why we authors get paid the big bucks. Kidding.

It's The Writing, Stupid

...or not.

Maybe it's everything BUT the writing.

That's how I feel these days as I figure out how to run a contest from my web site, join even MORE Yahoo groups, and...well...exhaust every method available to pimp myself, er, my upcoming book release.

Take last night, for example. Another couple hours spent learning more about the wonderful world of Myspace. For you old fogies out there, Myspace is the equivalent to the party line when we were kids. I guess. Anyway, it's how (cough) younger folks "network" these days. Gotta have a Myspace page.

As it turns out, it's also a hip new way to market books, too. That is, if anyone's reading anymore.

Once you have your site set up, one idea is to search the database for members who list "reading romance novels" among their interests. Then you send them an "invite" to be your "friend." If they accept, their little avatar icon doo-hinkey shows up on your site and your "linked" forever. Now, anytime you send a bulletin (for example, announcing the release of your book), it automatically goes out to all those romance reading "friends" you've hooked up. I know of one author who accumulated 7,000 potential readers that way. Talk about casting a wide net, huh?

So, last night I worked on "pimping" my site again--yep, that's the lingo. When I first created it, I went wacko with this complicated scrolling background consisting of puffy white clouds. That's gone. I've gone the more austere route, albeit with a kinda shocking pink text. Oh, and I added a Lara Fabian song. Bonus! (When you're finished with this post, go check it out HERE...and, by all means, if you're a Myspace member, be sure to invite me to be your friend--I promise never to gossip behind your back or ask to borrow money.)

Okay, that's it for now. I'm off to troll for more friends.

Yep, it's all about the writing.

Write Your Stories Down

Everyone's a writer...in some form or fashion.

Oh, maybe not on a par with Shakespeare, say...or Nora Roberts (yes, I just put them in the same sentence, so sue me). But we all have stories to tell.

I often dispute this fact with my critique partners. I whine about not being one of those authors with a million stories screaming to get out of her head, and it's true. I'm not. But even I have stories to tell.

And so do you.

Maybe not stories the whole world is clamoring to read...but someone, someday, will. Mainly, your children...and their children...and, hopefully, even their children.

One of the greatest gifts ever given to me was a story written by my Aunt Bonnie. About fifteen years before she passed away, she sent me ten handwritten pages recounting the brief span of time in which she knew my mother who died at the age of 41. I still smile as I remember this part of what she wrote:

"When your older brother was born, your mother constantly hovered over his crib, clapping her hands to make sure he hadn't gotten the Gorder family's poor hearing."

I never would have had that glimpse into my mother's life if Aunt Bonnie hadn't written it down.

Yesterday, I wanted to add intelligent narrative to the pictures of my dad and his P-38, but the details I know about my dad's war time experiences are sketchy. I know he was stationed in Foggia, Italy...I know he arrived there on a boat...I know he flew over Yugoslavia...but that's about it.

I'm gonna ask him to write the stories down...for me, and for my niece's kids.

What stories should YOU be writing down?

My Favorite P-38 Pilot

I Don't Want What I Can't Have

(That’s a song title, by the way. Sung by Sinead O’Connor.)

Romance novels (especially category ones of the Harlequin variety) get a bad rap for being formulaic. Yet, as any author knows, all good stories, (from Star Wars to The Wizard of Oz) have at their core the internal and external goal of the hero(ine).

Part of the “formula” involves creating a storyline in which the hero(ine) confronts the obstacle preventing him/her from achieving the external goal and overcoming it because he/she is not the same person at the end of the book that he/she was at the beginning. That’s called character arc.

Well, I discovered something this weekend.

In most stories, the way in which the hero(ine) changes or what the character LEARNS is what gives them the ability to achieve their goal in the end.

Guess what? Not in my stories.

Nope. In my stories, the character figures out she had the wrong goal in the first place, thereby removing the necessity to achieve anything.

Hm. Too close a parallel to my own life perhaps…?

Unconstructive Day, or Not? You Be The Judge

I don' t know what it is about lying in bed on Saturday morning, but I wake up with the BEST plans for the day...and then what happens? Seemingly, not much. Maybe if I wrote down a list or something.

Here are the things I DIDN'T do today:

Bring all my lovely Christmas gifts in from the garage. (New Year's Resolution: Upon shutting off the car, gather up all the "stuff" and take it directly inside the house. Even if you don't know where to put it once it gets there.)

Go see a movie. There are tons of movies out there I wanna see. Somehow I didn't get around to actually figuring out the whens and wheres until about 6 o'clock and then I ran the risk of running into date night at the movies (shudder) so I postponed movies once again. Sidenote: About six months ago, I received two free passes that were due to expire on 12/31. I ended up giving them to the bartender at the Bob Hope Airport as I was leaving for Vegas on New Years.

Visit my parents and take them dinner. Ditto the above. Suddenly, 6 o'clock rolled around and I knew it was too late for that plan.

Finish Leftovers. Okay, here I can report a partial victory. I wrote about a page.

So what did I do instead? Well...I tweaked my Myspace page (yeah, that's a noteworthy achievement). And I also revamped my web site to include a contest (complete with new uploaded pictures).

I didn't even take a nap until 4 o'clock.

Still...

Not a very productive day, was it? Hell, I didn't even wash my face or brush my hair, but don't tell anyone.

It's 9:23 on a Saturday night and I think I'll go to bed. Geez...don't spread that around, either. I don't wanna ruin my reputation as the party girl.

Edging Closer

I know you're all waiting for an update on my progress toward ending the long national nightmare known as "finishing Leftovers." Well, good news. I wrote another two pages. And, I SWEAR, I'm on the second-to-last-scene. Okay, maybe third-to-last. Oh, hell...who knows...? Another chapter could always pop up.

To distract myself, I perused the beginning of the Nano Project last night. Geez, until that WIP has a name...anyway, that one's looking better and better (if I do say so myself--and I do). Recall for a moment this is the story begun during the November frenzy. I wrote about 150 pages "on the wing" and lately (after a flurry of brainstorming in my critique group and reading Miss Snark's Hook-o-meter--or whatever she called it) I convinced myself it was a piece of crap. (Ha, something new, huh?) Mainly, I figured I'd woefully underplanned the heroine's external goal...as in...she didn't have one.

Imagine my surprise and glee when I discovered in reading the first ten pages, she does INDEED have a goal. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the study of craft for five years pays off after all! Not only that, but (I say in all modesty) the thing has REAL energy and pacing. Granted I only read the first 25 pages, but still...that's saying something.

Now if only I could wind up the Old...and find a title for the New.

New Year's 2006

Maybe…just maybe…I’ve replenished enough brain cells to recount the 2nd Annual New Years Weekend in Las Vegas. It started on Friday when Cathi and I met Marty and Ann (aka Senor and Senora de La Cruz) at the Burbank Airport. Oops. ‘Scuze me. The Bob Hope Airport. We worked our way through the usual pandemonium (learning about zip-lock bags for lip gloss in the process) and got ourselves through security (please…someone tell me…WHY had I thought to wear BOOTS???) in time for pre-boarding cocktails.

Landed in Vegas to find a crisp and clear Winter’s day (and a new no smoking rule in the airport…I mean, what’re they gonna do with those little smoking rooms NOW??). Marty had rented a car which was nice and all, but, er…not conducive to four people with luggage. We ended up with half of it lying across our laps.

Checked in without fanfare, unpacked, and met back in the Star Wars lounge. Or something like that. Anyway, outer space was involved. There, we toasted the beginning of the trip, and lost our first few bucks in the poker slots.

Eventually, we moved on to other gaming (this part is kind of a blur but I think Texas Hold ‘Em may have been involved—all I know for sure is that this is where my downhill slide began)…then later returned to our rooms…to change? Yeah, I think we changed clothes.

That night, we had dinner (along with Ann’s sister and brother-in-law) at the Hilton Steak House. Oh. My. God. The petit fillet…yummmmmmm (not to mention the expertly prepared baked potato…heaven). The only drawback? How about sixteen dollars for a glass of wine. Yikes.

More gambling ensued following dinner…and more sliding. Too depressing to recount. I should mention here that I normally go solo, but this year I decided to be less anal, so I shared a room with Cathi. Turns out we’re pretty good roommates—both news junkies who love having the TV on 24/7. And on a weekend with Saddam, James Brown, and Gerald Ford all on the menu, we were happy campers on that score. The only problem—each night, Cathi (prudently, I might add) went to bed earlier than I…meaning she also awakened (woke up?) earlier, and hey—if there’s someone to talk to, who am I to continue sleeping? Bottom line: I got VERY FEW ZZZZZZ’s. (Oh, well…that’s what 2007 is for, right?)

The next day, we…er…gambled some more. I think. Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. At night, we drove downtown and…er…gambled some more. Oh, and ate dinner at the Golden Nugget. The good news is that I recouped a bit of my losses during a rousing game of Texas Hold ‘Em.

Later, we did more of the same back at the Hilton. On Sunday, Cathi and I tried to get off premises, but the Monorail wasn’t working, so we…well, we did the usual…we gambled a bit, and (yay) took naps. Around five, we grabbed a taxi, and got ourselves over to the Forum Shops to The Palm Restaurant before the traffic around The Strip got too crazy. Then we hung out at Caesars so that we could step out on their conveniently located patio (just above the street and just below the nightclub PURE) for the fireworks display. Last year, Nicki Hilton hosted Pure’s party and when it came time, she turned to us peons below, and counted down to midnight. This year, Brittney Spears had the job, but she never even noticed us (sob). Anyway, much hoopla ensued (see video in last post) then we crossed the strip over to the Flamingo, caught the Monorail (with tickets we’d purchased earlier in the day)…what a PARTY! Hey, if I ever go again, I think I’ll just ride the Monorail all night. It was the MOST FUN! And how convenient! It dropped us off at a station almost inside our hotel. (After last year’s debacle—walking for hours to find a cab and finally paying a stranger $30 to give us a ride—man, we have this thing DOWN!)

Back at the hotel, Cathi snagged the only available seat at a Texas Hold ‘Em table (ignoring our warnings about the raised minimum) and promptly played three hands at full steam (which ends up amounting to $75 a hand!) and WON $250…in about five minutes. At that point, Ann grabbed Cathi’s chips off the able and physically walked her to the cashier to cash out (way to go, Ann). We did a little more meandering, wasted a little bit more money on stupid slots, then reconvened at Texas Hold ‘Em at 2 a.m. when the minimum was back down to $10 (which means, at full bore, you have $50 on the table). Between 2 and 4, I recouped $250, so I went to bed a happy camper.

A LATE camper, however (Cathi was already in bed again).

We rose at 8 the next morning (albeit, slowly) got our acts together, had breakfast, and made it to the airport for our 3 o’clock flight….which probably would have passed uneventfully if not for the T-shirt Cathi was wearing. Now, please note, this is a BRAND name—sold in many upscale places—but Cathi’s shirt read: “Too Busy To FCUK.” (No, that’s not a typo—that’s what it says.) Well, half-way through the flight, the flight attendant stop and whispers: “Ma’am, could you please put your jacket back on? We’ve had a complaint from someone who finds your shirt offensive.” Okay…I’m not blaming anyone for being offended…and, I wouldn’t blame the flight attendant for “keeping the peace,” but…um…not one passenger could SEE the t-shirt (except for Cathi’s seatmates who expressed amusement over the whole matter) so it had to be the FLIGHT ATTENDANT’s sensibility who’d been injured, and she should have owned up to it. Anyway, Cathi knows enough to see the wisdom of not creating a scene on an airplane, so she obediently re-donned the jacket. But don’t think she won’t be writing a letter!

A fitting end to an amusing weekend…next year PARIS….as in the CITY, not the Las Vegas hotel.

New Year's (the preview)

2006 Round Up

With all the talk of setting goals and making New Year's resolutions, one of my critique partners kinda put something in perspective for me (thanks, Carol!). What good is all that stuff if you never go back to see how you did?? Maybe we should focus more on what we've accomplished THIS year instead of already worrying about the NEXT.

Anyway, so I went a-hunting through the archives for any mention of 2006 goals and, well...apparently I was my usual cynical self last year because this is all I found. Kind of the "anti-goals" thang. (Oh, except for where I casually included the usual weight-loss goal, and DAMN...somehow, I accidentally succeeded at that one!)

What did I accomplish in the writing vein? Hm. Not much, as it turns out. See, I keep an Excel sheet to track my submissions, and 2006 looks pretty skimpy. A total of about five agent submissions, three editors. Oh, and two contest entries. Big deal.

On the other hand, I sold a book this year, so 2006 wasn't a total loss. And I got accepted for PAN (Published Author Network) membership. And started a web site. And wrote a bunch. And learned about self-promotion.

The aforementioned Carol has a list of accomplishments that make me look like a slacker. {shrinks off in shame}But then, she actually set goals last year (imagine that).

With that in mind, I turn you to my earlier post here. Hey, they're better than last year's.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE

Bemco's Christmas Party

Well, we started out on the patio...after all, it was a warm, sunny day in Simi Valley, California. But then...well, it was Simi Valley after all, so the winds kicked up, forcing us inside...to the BAR.







Maybe that's why it turned out to be one of the BEST Bemco Xmas parties EVER. Well, that and because so many of our OLD FRIENDS (and I mean OLD) turned up. I think my favorite quote came from Ali: "You know, when I left Bemco, my son hadn't been born yet. Now he's in pre-med at UCLA." (Eeek, talk about a way to AGE someone.)

Then there was Loui, who started with Bemco when he was 24 and left when he was about 35...he's turning FIFTY this year. And he brought along a grown son whose finger I accidentally bit when he was a baby (long, unfortunate story).

Anyway, I suck at being able to put captions next to photos on blogger, so I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. (And, yes...Elvis is IN the building--that's ex-draftsman turned mortgage mogul, Loui) (The blonde with glasses is ex-assistant Kari; the other blonde is sister-in-law Polly; the two cute brunettes are twins Joey (current assistant) and Jacqui (ex-assistant) and the young guy with the Santa hat is stockroom guy Jeremiah (their brother)...oh, and (cough) grey-haired guy pictured with them is their dad, John--he holds the current record for longest employment with Bemco at 30 plus years.

Small Writing Epiphany

So I've been laboring over what I thought was the final chapter of Leftovers. (Operative word: thought--turns out, it's NOT the final chapter.) Now, as y'all might remember, during NaNovember, I was cranking out 5 - 10 pages a day on another story. Then came December...and...yep, the output ratcheted down to anywhere from a paragraph to ONE page a day.

What is it about NaNo that unleashes the, je ne sais quoi, unbridled creativity...?...writer's fear....?

Anyway, so I'm writing this crappy scene, pretty sure the whole book must be crappy, and it's stalling me out. Totally. (Fer sure, and gag me with a spoon.) In the midst of all this crap, I had to trudge back into the middle of the story to find a character's name or some other factoid, and I started reading. And kept reading. I couldn't stop reading.

Hey, good sign, right?

So, small lesson. Just because the scene you're writing doesn't feel like it's working; don't let yourself fall under the misconception that the entire story sucks.

And that concludes today's public service announcement for writers. You may all return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Evolution Of A Dream

Did I not mention in a recent post that I felt old and decrepit? Here's more proof:

I’ve always dreamt in the past. Not the present. Not the future. Just the past. “Home” is my parents house, “work” is the building we moved out of in 1991, and my parents look and act like they did twenty years ago.

For three decades I had a recurring nightmare of the past—the one where I stood in front of my high school locker totally clueless about the combination. Or where I walked into Biology and realized I hadn’t opened the book since the first day of school.

Sound familiar?

Only, with me there was a bit of a twist. See, in my recurring nightmare, after that fleeting uh-oh moment, I relaxed...because I remembered I was beyond high school, and that I was only standing in front of that locker or walking into that biology class because of some recently discovered administrative snafu (kinda like marriages that aren’t legit because the minister wasn’t legal). Yep, me and my whole graduating class had to go back and serve out one year—didn’t matter how old we were.

Usually, this realization hit when I recalled I had a Master’s Degree. As in…who cares about an old biology exam? I’ve got a Master’s Degree! From that point on, the nightmare turned into a dream where high school was all about the social, and nothing about the angst. (After all, teens worry most about the future, and I already know what the future holds!)

Anyway, so throughout my 20’s, 30’s, and 40’s, I had that same dream…until last night. The new version had me standing around talking to friends, saying: “Hey, remember when we all had to go back and do one more year of high school? I wonder why we had to do that.”

See the difference?

Now I not only dream about the past. I dream about past dreams.

Weird.

When Were You Born?

Go HERE to learn stuff about yourself. The best thing I discovered is that I was probably conceived on Christmas Eve in 1952, which will probably make for some interesting dinner conversation next Sunday night.

TG for Document Recovery...

...otherwise, the world would have missed out on this scintillating post.


It occurred to me this morning that you can tell a lot about your friends from scoping out the reading material in their guest bathroom.

Take Nancy and John, for example. Definitely not the People Magazine types. Nor Vogue or Cosmo. But if you’re in the mood for National Geographic, or something on fishing or mountain climbing, theirs is the bathroom you wanna be stuck in.

Kathleen, on the other hand, leans toward the more esoteric stuff. Yes, you might find a fashion magazine, but it’ll be Marie Claire, not Vogue. Once I think I even picked up Caroline Kennedy’s book about privacy. Definitely not your average bathroom reading.

Then there’s Blog Reader Joe who offers NOTHING to read. This is the situation that forces you to grab a can of Glade and make anagrams from the advertising slogan.

So what do I have? A quick review of the years reveals an evolution of sorts. At one time I had a decorative waste paper basket containing rolled up copies of Conde Nast’s Traveler Magazine. On the back of the toilet, for my guest’s brief amusement, I had something called, “Never Eat Anything Bigger Than Your Elbow.” (Oh, and for further hilarity, I hung my Bachelors and Masters degree above the commode.) Then, when I remodeled, I dunno…maybe I matured? Well, at minimum, I color-coordinated. A lovely book on lighthouses replaced the elbow tome, and the Travelers went in the trash. Now, on the countertop, I have one of those women’s magazines circa 1957—the kind with useful tips on how to keep a husband and which brand of tissue the smart wife buys.

So what's in YOUR guest bathroom?

And The Brain Cells Go "Whirrrrrr"

Morning dawns with tons of possibilities.

I’ll drive down to Malibu, I think. Do some Christmas shopping in the cute little mall where I’m sure to find uniquely wonderful gifts. Then maybe up the coast to the Paradise Cove Beach Café for a solitary lunch overlooking the ocean.

Yes, this is what I’ll do.

Or…maybe, I’ll go see a movie. Those free coupons expire on December 31st, so I’d better use them up. Today would be perfect.

Or…I’ll just run over to that boutique and pick up something new to wear to the holiday party tonight.

Oh, wait. Crap. I hear the rain pounding on my roof. And wouldn’t you know…I need a new windshield wiper blade.

I can’t go ANYWHERE. Not shopping, not to the movies, not even to the holiday party. Unless I kinda shrink down in the driver’s seat and find that one spot that miraculously wipes clean. But then I might muss my hair, so that option’s kinda out.

Nope. I’m housebound. Doomed to stay inside until the California rain passes.

And then…

It occurs to me…

I COULD go to one of those auto supply stores and probably BUY a new blade. MAYBE even put it on myself.

I mean, just because I’m blonde and female…doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

Full Disclosure

Okay, so maybe it's unfair of me to tell stories on other people while keeping my own embarrassments to myself. Granted. (And thank God, Anna Margarita hasn't figured out how to leave a comment!!)

To make up for this little indiscretion, today I offer a pink-hued moment that happened to me this week.

I'm at the hair salon getting a cut and weave. My stylist stands with clippers poised.

"Would you mind if I trim your eyebrows?" she asks politely.

"Huh?"

"I notice you have some that are getting kinda bushy."

Shit. They're probably grey, too. Visions of my late-great-aunt with her rogue hairs flash before me.

I am officially old.

And decrepit.

Happy Anniversary!

Yep…10 years ago today, Senor de la Cruz escorted the lovely Anna Margarita to dinner on their first date. If modern lore is to be believed, the evening went so well, the Senor never returned to his abode. If modern lore is further to be believed, there was some sort of health club tour during the date and a subsequent sigh-up…but likewise, the Senor never returned there either.

Anyway, it wouldn’t be an anniversary without a roadtrip, right?

So off we went this weekend.

On Saturday, the scheduled pick-up time was set for ten a.m. At about eight-thirty I got the first call. “Um, it’ll be more like eleven,” Senor de la Cruz tells me.

Okay, so I took my time.

At about eleven, I got the second call. “Um, we’re leaving in five minutes. And, er…if we wanna do a swing through Jack-In-The-Box, will it make the blog?”

“Yes,” I told him emphatically.

At noon, the Denali pulled into my driveway, and we set out on our journey. Suspiciously, we drove straight through to the McDonalds Bistro in Del Mar. (Ha, the Senor and Senora obviously believe they’re dealing with a rookie here if they think I don’t know they stopped to eat on the way to my house.)

So there we were, a half hour later, driving down this winding canyon road with sheer drops on either side, and the Senor is cramming Cheetos in his mouth at a rapid rate.

“Both hands on the wheel,” the lovely wife commanded. (Which I silently applauded ‘cuz, y’know…I really didn’t want my obituary to read: She died in a tragic Cheetos accident.)

As darkness fell, we arrived at Sycuan, a lovely casino about 15 miles east of El Cajon. The sign greeting us at the entrance sent my spirits plummeting: No one under age 18. This is Indianspeak for “No alcohol here, babe.” Sure enough, no bars, no alcohol. I could see our minutes here were numbered. Especially when our foray to the Texas Hold ‘em Table was less than stellar (with the exception of moi, I might point out—and, as a matter of fact, this was to be the last moment I was ahead the entire trip).

Next stop: Barona. This is the casino you see Kenny Rogers advertise all the time. Another treacherous road, this time west of El Cajon. Another “no one under age 18” sign, and I knew our stay here wouldn’t be long, either.

Next stop: Viejas, up the road a piece. Now, at both Sycuan and Barona, we were told that the booze restriction was because of the dangerous roads. This time, we only traveled a mile off the freeway which was a good sign. Sure enough, yep. This place had bars, entertainment, and a TON of floorspace. Enough to keep us occupied until…approximately two-thirty a.m.

Hey, did you notice, we haven’t checked into a hotel yet? Yeah, that’s because we didn’t make reservations anywhere. So, there we were, traveling up the 15 at 3 in the morning (in the rain) looking for a place to stay. Luckily, our second try resulted in vacancies and by four a.m. we were snug in our Best Western beds with a 1 o’clock check-out.


The next morning, after breakfast/lunch at Keith’s, we continued North? West? East?—as many times as I’ve been there, I couldn’t tell you…past Pala, to Harrah’s where we (BONUS) got rooms for free!

Which was as close to winning as I got all weekend.

Long, sad, story short…Senora de la Cruz and I spent about seven hours at the Texas Hold-‘Em table and it would’ve been a helluva lot easier if I’d just written her a check. Cuz what I lost, she won.

Yes, I awoke the next morning making a solemn vow: MY GAMBLING DAYS ARE OVER…well, at least until three weeks from now when I’ll be hitting the tables in Vegas.

Please. Someone just shoot me.

2007 (EEK!) Writing Goals

Since author friend Jax CAJOLED me into setting some writing goals for next year, I decided I might as well use 'em for today's blog post. So, for your viewing pleasure (revised/edited for public consumption) I give you:


Leftovers – finish writing by December 31.
Craft Query letter by January 15th
Send queries out by January 31 (Shhh...don't tell anyone I plan to simultaneously submit)
Month of January; begin revisions/rewrites

Untitled Nano – finish first draft by March 1
Craft Query letter by March 15
Send queries by March 31 (Shhh...don't tell anyone I plan to simultaneously submit)
Month of March begin revisions/rewrites

Sign up for agent/editor appointments at National for Leftovers/Untitled?

Apply for PAN
Apply for Stealing Amy copyright when Trisk gives me ISBN number

Stealing Amy Promo:
December, January, February, March – run contests for Stealing Amy
December, January, February--ongoing – participate in on-line chats to promote Stealing Amy
December 31 – create banner for Stealing Amy – look into buying time on review sites for banner
Host author day on Trisk sometime in February

Devise contingency plan for Fit For Love

If all goes according to schedule, start another book in April!

Attend RWA in July

Miscellaneous--start "good news" blog
Write article I've always wanted to write...about what we can learn from applying theories of organizational conflict to GMC
Judge GH, Daphne, and maybe Great Expectations

Read lots of good books, watch a lot of reality-based TV programming, and lose another ten pounds (okay that last one was to see if anyone was paying attention)

And Now For Some Good News....

Every time the world inches in a positive direction, I have to rub my eyes. Am I seeing things? Surely, the news can't be true?

But, yes. It can.

Another country has vowed to enact guidelines/legislation/something to counterract the western world's preoccupation with uber-thin women. Italy's the latest and, arguably, the most influential of the three who have thus far decided enough is enough. Or rather too little is, well...too little. Even fatal.

In case you haven't been paying attention, the initial salvo in the war against figures-to-die-from was launched by Brazil when celebrated model Ana Carolino Resto succumbed to anorexia-related causes. (Sidenote: when Blogreader Joe and I were in Argentina seven years ago, he raved about how the women there could eat like horses late into the evening yet maintain such fabulous bodies; when we got back to the room one night, I hauled out the Buenos Aires version of the Yellow Pages, turned to the "C's" and found a zillion "Clinica Anorexia" listings. "There," I told him. "There's your explanation.")

In September, Milan jumped on the bandwagon, barring models beneath a certain weight from the catwalks. And now, Italy is whipping up something similar.

Kinda makes you believe there's hope for western civilization after all!

No Sooner Were The Words Typed...

..final chapter? Hm. Maybe not.

Doncha hate when that happens? Suddenly, what I call "interstitial scenes" (and, no I'm not talkin' anything medical here) seem to pop up and get in the way. Not only that, but they pop up in the wrong order.

Yeah, last night, I spent more time in the bathtub than I did in front of the computer. (Long time blogreaders know what that meant--the rest of you, get your minds out of the gutter--or wherever they are).

Anyway, I'm still marching ahead toward the finish line. Two steps forward, one step back, yada, yada...you know the drill.

Stay tuned for snoopy dancing IF and when I type "the end."

In other writing news, one of my critique mates challenged me to set out my 2007 goals. On a friggin' CALENDAR, no less.

Doesn't she know I'm still trying to figure out the ones for 2006?

The Final Chapter

Endings have a way of evoking an array of emotions.

They can leave you happy or sad. Uplifted or bitter. Full of hope or full of despair. A sense of fulfillment--or one of loss.

I started writing Leftovers so long ago I've forgotten now just how long ago. But if I checked the blog, I'd probably discover that I considered pitching it in Reno. Hell, come to think of it, I DID pitch it in Reno (August 2005!!!). At the time, I think I'd completed three chapters and I threw it out there when I discovered the editor I was pitching to had changed the parameters of what she was looking for. I remember her brows raised with interest when I summed up my storyline in one sentence. Her house didn't accept unfinished manuscripts (which I knew beforehand, but hey--like I said, she was supposed to be looking for romantic suspense) however, she gave me her card and invited me to send the manuscript when it was done.

I kept that card on my mirror for months and months...while I slogged away ever-so-slowly on this WIP. So long, in fact, that this particular editor no longer works for that house.

Voila. One wasted pitch and invitation.

Yeah, opportunity knocked...

At least she's still alive, which is more than can be said for chick lit--the genre for which Leftovers was originally intended. Ha.

So over the weekend, after the month-long NaNo frenzy, I re-visited Leftovers and found myself starting the last chapter. This is by far the "heaviest" book I've ever written, so bringing the story to a close is even harder than usual. There's this weighty sense of responsibility toward the characters--like, I wanna do RIGHT by them, y'know?

There's more of me in the heroine (Rose) than in any other character I've ever created. Which is a good thing, I suppose, but also dangerous because she's so UNlike me, too. If this book ever sees the light of day, I'm gonna have lots of 'splaining to do...starting with the dedication which will be to my very own step-mother with the strong caveat that Rose's stepmom is NOTHING like my own.

But, I digress...which is also a way of saying that as long as I keep blogging, I can avoid writing that final chapter. Avoid the array of emotions.

Then I remind myself that sometimes endings bring relief.