Flashback Friday

Not difficult to choose an old post for today's Flashback Friday. As the tenth anniversary of that fateful day approaches, I'd like to re-visit the post below.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007 (Updated)

Never Forget

My first memory of Mike was when he sat down beside me in a crowded economics class circa 1972. He wasn’t hard to miss, nor forget. A portly guy with an easy smile, a ruddy face, and vacant blue eyes.

His guide dog sat obediently at his feet.

I didn’t really meet Mike until four years later in a graduate seminar in Interpersonal Dynamics. We’d been assigned to the same group and would spend an entire quarter on a project designed to teach us how to work effectively as a team. The task was to pick a project—as banal as putting together a volley ball game or having a dinner party—then observe the process of how we went about doling out tasks, assuming leadership roles, dealing with conflict, and so forth. All skills to be used later when we entered the world armed with freshly-minted MBAs.

Besides Mike and me, our group consisted of an older Asian female mom, a transfer student from Spain, a highly-charged Type-A male, and an easy going young man who always went with the flow.

For some reason, we didn’t take an easy path toward satisfying the requirements of the class. We didn’t just plan a dinner—we planned a 24-hour, overnight stay, at my parents’ house up in Lake Arrowhead.

I’ll never forget our arrival. Instantly, as Mike and his dog stumbled into furniture and as the toddler (brought by the Asian mom along with an adult sister) yanked everything in sight off tables, I questioned the wisdom of having invited this motley crew to my folks’ pristine home. But in the end, we all settled down, accomplished our task, and at the end of the quarter received an A on the paper that I mostly wrote.

Twenty-seven years would pass before I saw Mike again. This time on television. Larry King, to be exact.

A couple days after 9-1-1.

Do you remember the story of the blind man who walked down 78 floors to get out of the first tower?

My old friend, Mike.

Read the riveting account of how Mike escaped on that fateful morning here.

***Edited today, September 9, 2011, to add that Mike has written a book titled Thunder Dog: The True Story of a Blind Man, His Guide Dog, and the Triumph of Trust at Ground Zero. Here's the link at Amazon.

Ground Zero, January 2002.

Labor Day--Better Than New Year's?

Lots of people wait for January 1st to formulate resolutions, but for me, Labor Day's all about new beginnings. Even at 57 (soon to be 58!!), the last holiday of the summer brings back memories of anticipation. Anticipation of a new school year, which meant:

New clothes
New teacher
New subjects
New students
New notebook

New NEW NEW!

Opportunities everywhere for THIS TIME doing things differently.

On the night before the first day of school, I agonized over which of my new outfits to wear. At this stage of the year, they hung neatly in my closet, probably in some kind of pecking order--favorite to least favorite.

On the first day, I'd eagerly jump on the school bus, happy to see friends I hadn't seen all summer. I'd sashay down the aisle, waving at everyone, exulting in the buzz of excitement that underlay just a smidge of apprehension. (After all, first days have their downsides!)

Upon entering class, I'd be exceedingly polite to my new teacher (yes, I proactively aspired to the role of "teacher's pet.") And I'd scan the new classroom walls, taking in the murals and posters, excited about these signs of the learning to come.

Finally, I'd find my assigned seat, swing behind the desk, and place my notebook before me.

Ah......the new notebook.

Nothing cooler.

Its cover unscarred by meaningless doodles...its corners unfrayed by wear. And best of all, the inside of the notebook. All neatly sectioned off by tabbed dividers, protecting the fresh pages of paper not yet scribbled on.

I LOVED a fresh notebook.

And each year, I SWORE, that by the end of the year, the notebook would closely resemble its original form, the only difference being that the pages inside would now be filled with organized lessons, notes, essays--whatever the subject demanded.

Oh, I had a plan. Every year I had a plan.

THE PLAN was that each day, I'd go home after school, sit at the desk in my room, and carefully do my homework before watching any television. I would keep my lessons up-to-date and my reading assignments completed ahead of time.

I would not only be a good student, I would be AN ORGANIZED STUDENT.

* * * * * * S I G H * * * * *

Yeah, right.

You know how THAT turned out every year, huh?

But still...today is Labor Day. As I write this, a plumber is installing a new toilet (I guess the adult version of new beginnings).

Think I'll run out and buy a new notebook.

Flashback Friday

Oops. Missed last week. Is that laziness, or what? I mean, how hard is it to paste in something I've already written? Okay, so here's a post from September 5, 2005. Yikes. Six years ago.

The Pink Index Card

...or why it’s good to write things down.

When I see entire workshops devoted to ‘goal setting,’ I shake my head and think what’s the big deal? You set a goal, you strive to achieve it, and bingo—you either succeed or fail. Plain and simple. Why overanalyze? Why turn goal setting into some mysterious ritual full of hocus pocus psychobabble?

So, at the RWA National conference in Reno this past July, we arrived at one of our lunches to find pink index cards on the table. Enough for each of us. Turns out they’re the bright idea of multi-published author Debbie Macomber, our speaker that day. She instructed us to take the pink cards home and use them to write down five writing-related goals for the coming year. Then she called out the names of several authors in the audience who stood and waved their pink cards triumphantly. Recipients of Debbie’s advice in workshops past, they’d followed her advice and achieved their goals.

Well, I may not believe in hocus pocus, but I’m all about being superstitious. So, I toted that pink index card home (mindful that just any ol’ index card wouldn’t do—it had to be the one I got in Reno) and wrote down five goals. The first two were long-term best case scenario kinda things, and the others were stepping stones.

By the end of August, I had started to believe in the magic of the pink index card. Instead of my usual half-assed effort, I’d methodically mailed out several submissions—to agents, editors and contests. Feeling smug, I dug out my pink index card to mentally tick off what I’d accomplished.

Guess what I discovered?

I hadn’t remembered them correctly. I hadn’t even completed one of the stepping stones which, trust me, were quite do-able. This, after even writing them down!

So, it just goes to show you that 1) it’s not enough to store your goals in your head, and 2) it’s not enough to write them down.

I’m tacking that little pink card on the wall next to my computer.

Flashback Friday--A New Feature

Okay, call me lazy. Or call me frugal. I've decided to recycle some old posts and call them Flashback Friday. Well, hey. I've been blogging here for eons (yes, much more frequently in the past), and there are GEMS in those posts, I tell ya, GEMS.

So I went to a random date generator (God bless the Internet), and the first Friday it spit out was September 5, 2008.

Click, click, click (fingers crossed there's something halfway decent on that date, and voila!) The following is an account of what was going on in Randyland September 5, 2008.

Writing Stuff

Contrary to recent posts, Randy DOES continue to write romance. Currently, I'm hacking away at a manuscript for which the full has been requested by an agent.

So, that's something, right?

Meanwhile, partials of various manuscripts remain in slush piles all across Manhattan. My favorite is the partial that's been "with an editor" for nearly two years. (Yep, no typo there. TWO YEARS.) Another one--this an actual REQUEST--is going on ten months. Suffice to say, there are others that I suspect are lost forever with no response, despite the SASE provided. Ditto for a couple of short stories submitted twice (not to True Romance, by the way).

In the department of new writing, well...I'm trying an approach which I think can best be summed up as "letting the story come to me" instead of forcing it. When I first began this journey of questionable wisdom, it seemed prudent to have a second manuscript ready in the event the first one garnered significant interest. So I feverishly went about completing Stealing Amy (and then sold down the river to an epub). Then I wrote Leftovers. These days, I'm not in the same kind of hurry. As a result, after completing Lights! Camera! Love! back in February (March?), I didn't rush to start something new. Did a lot of research, though. Sketched out some characters and snippets of ideas. Conjured up a few possible plot lines. Tossed them out to my critique partners who came back with all kinds of help.

Still, the story didn't take shape--it didn't fit the nebulous vision in my brain.

So I waited.

Yesterday, I admitted to myself that I've been avoiding the structure the book absolutely MUST have if I'm to succeed at what I set out to achieve. Truthfully, I'm not sure I have the chops to pull it off, but I have to try.

The cool thing is that I get a little tingle in my writing fingers when I think about rising to the challenge.

Wish me luck!

Rant for A Sunday

Back when I first started blogging, the title of this site was Randy's Rants, Raves, and Ramblings...or something like that. I forget. Anyway, sometimes I miss having a venue to spill my guts, so today...ta-da! Back to ranting.

Yesterday, step-bro Patrick phoned with an ominous message--Charter Cable was threatening to cut off my mom's cable and Internet service if the outstanding bill wasn't paid within twenty-four hours. Since I handle all their finances, yeah, the issue landed in my lap.

And since I handle all their finances, WTF? Had I missed something?

Which meant a trip to the office where I keep all my paperwork. Just what I wanted to do on a Saturday, right? Schlep into the office? But schlep I did. And as I careened into the parking lot, it occurred to me...um...did I have my keys?

Spent ten minutes going through my purse a million times. No keys.

Schlepped back home (with a detour for gas), pawed through my other purses (y'know--the black one, the white one, the beige one). Finally found them in...you guessed it...the ORIGINAL purse. (How did I forget to check the little zippered pocket on the outside of the damn thing?)

Schlepped back to the office.

Hauled out my records and fired up the computer. Sure enough, there was the payment I made on July 23. Next, I called up the on-line bank statement.

Oops.

But, hey. Is it my fault someone (Charter? the bank?) mis-read my handwriting? That 188 looked a teensy bit like 108...? And aren't they supposed to go by the WRITTEN amount (y'know where the words are actually spelled out?). Meanwhile, I called stepbro, and the new bill had just arrived. Wasn't even due yet.

So, let me get this straight. For all Charter knows, I made a PARTIAL payment, the next payment isn't even due yet, and they're threatening to cut off the service??

Naturally, speaking to a human is nearly impossible, so rather than spend any more time on it, I paid the whole thing with a credit card. But I'm seriously pissed at Charter. (Yeah, and I know they're quaking in their boots.)

And while we're on a rant, how about this one? I ordered a rather pretty dress from an outfit called Soft Surroundings last week. It arrived on Friday, and for various reasons, I went back to the website to see what it looked like on-line. Well, crap. The thing was now on sale for FORTY DOLLARS less than I paid only a week ago! And, as I checked the dress out, I noticed it was made in China.

Back it goes.

Okay. Feeling better now. How 'bout you?

Leftovers Available Now! (Edited LOL)

Nooooo...we're not talking food, although each chapter begins with a tasty little recipe from my heroine's kitchen.

Leftovers is my latest release! (Pause for the applause)

I've gotta be honest here. Leftovers is a little different from my previous two books. Let's just say that while Stealing Amy and Lights! Cameras! Love! are romances that also happen to be mysteries, Leftovers is more like women's fiction that also happens to have romance. Go figure. I don't seem to be able to get away from it.

Anyway, just in case the description's not up at Amazon yet, here's what it will say when it arrives (okay, don't quote me on this, 'cuz I've already forgotten what I posted, but this is a reasonable facsimile):

Rose waited too long to get married...now she's stuck with other women's leftovers.

Call her an anti-feminist, but Rose Thornton doesn't care about 'having it all.' She just wants a husband and kids of her own to make up for inheriting the step-family from hell at the age of ten. Impending marriage to her boss John Worthington (the third, and a doctor no less!) bodes well for the dream...until she catches him with a hussy who turns out to be pregnant with his child.

Out of a job, temporarily bunking with a girlfriend, but still fiercely attached to her goal, Rose goes the Murphy Brown route, with only two minor glitches to solve: no money...no sperm. She gets the finances handled, then proceeds with daddy donor options: there's the "baby back-up" (her ex-beau who promised to do the deed if they managed to hit forty still childless); the Internet sperm bank (who knew swimmers were only a click away?);

and...well...there's dating.

Meanwhile, there's also Sam Sheridan--father of two daughters and married to Rose's sister, Angie. Only Angie's currently on hiatus in Borneo doing a spiritual cleanse and Sam's bi-coastal job's left him needing someone to watch the girls. Who better than a family member like jobless, homeless, Rose?

Treading in her sister's stilettos is pathetic enough, but when Rose finds herself falling for Sam, it's her worst nightmare come true.

Talk about your leftovers....

Available now as a digital download at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords. And as soon as Smashwords ships to Apple and all the rest, you'll be the first to know!

And shhh...don't tell Amy or Daphne, but Rose's book is my favorite to date. ('Course I'll probably say the same thing about Jen And The Art of Menopausal Maintenance when I get around to finishing it.)