At RT & Been A While

At RT and it is a blast! Such good people. I'm in my tiara and ball gown for the faery ball. woot!

If you wonder where I've been, I had a spot of bad luck. Food Poisoning was followed by aplumbing issues, followed by a wrestling match with the electric hedge clippers.

They won.

I have stitches & a broken finger, which makes typing tricky.

SO, while I haven't forgotten y'all. This will be short.

Cie

Ahhhhh OOOPS

Okay, presumed I could probably eat regular food yesterday. Nothing too spicy. Just a McDonalds sausage biscuit at breakfast and a pot pie at dinner.

BAAAAAAAAAD idea.

The food poisoning is still kicking my ass.

Which sucketh.

It sucketh more because my plumbing decided to start acting up under the strain. ("Not NOW. You have GOT to be kidding me!"). Landlady is coming with a plumber in the morning. Not sooner because it's still working, it's just fussing about it.

Getting ready for the big trip to RT. Massive laundry run (to the laundromat since plumbing is acting up). Housesitter lined up. Have the short story right at the climax, and the edits ready on the other short story. Oh, and the first pass copyedits arrived on book 2 of the new series.

I'm behind on everything, I'm exhausted, and nauseous.

WHINE, WHINE, WHINE. We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

Seriously, my life is really good most of the time. Love my family. My son rocks. Have great friends and great pets. I have a good job (which aint bad in this economy) and a career (which is a separate thing, which is sort of weird), and more things to be grateful for than I could shake a stick at (if I felt so inclined, which I kinda don't cause it'd look silly.) So, I'm going to chalk this up to the sleep needed grumpies and go back to bed. See if a little sleep improves my attitude.

Later.

STUFF

Okay, read about a YA book where the adult self could call the teenage self. Found this because authors I admire were putting messages to teenage selves on the tweets. Mine was: Dear 15 year old self -- It gets better. Really. When they say "these are the best years of your life" they LIE. Just hang in there.

15 was hades, hideous in intensity and in ways that only the young and ragingly hormonal can understand.

But it got better. For which I need to thank God . . . EVERY . . . FREAKING . . . DAY!

And for kittens, and puppies, and flowers, and all that happy stuff. But definitely for 15 not lasting forever.

********************

One of the coolest things about the major authors I've run into is that they are NICE. I'm sure there are assholes out there. I mean, a major chunk of the population are, so it would follow that a chunk of the author population would be too. But for the most part, the ones I've run into---including the ridiculously successful, powerful and influential ones, are NICE.

Nice is, in my opinion, seriously underrated. People think "nice guys finish last" and that nice people are pushovers. From what I've seen it's not true. Some of the most successful folks I know are nice. Nice does things like set up a charity to end a hideous and devastating illness. Nice donates time and effort to protecting the civil liberties and free speech of everyone, even folks that you don't agree with. Nice encourages struggling newbies and helps them find their footing. Nice meets and greets and promotes charities and is patient and kind when folks gush and are incoherent, and puts up with the crazies (and I'm not talking the nice crazies (for whom I have an abiding fondness), I'm talking the stalker, scary, gee I'm spending the rest of my freaking life with armed security and ooh, isn't it fun they just hacked my system and screwed with the fans because I set a toe out of what they think is line crazies) and keep working under difficult to impossible circumstances.

I hope I can be that nice.

I'm not entirely positive I can.

But hey, it's good to have a goal. As far as goals go, I think nice works for me. Of course raging success would be good too. Really.

Writing

Writing on the short story. It actually seems to be coming together this morning. YAY! Of course that means I'm not sleeping. Not so good.

Wound up eating a plain cheeseburger last night. Had to. Blood sugar had gone so wonky I was dizzy. It stayed down and in me so YAY! We will continue with the bland, but meat is definitely going to be included.

Okay, back to the story folks. I'm about to hit the epic battle scene. Wish me luck!

Recovering from Food Poisoning

Seem to finally be recovering. May I say for the record, food poisoning sucketh. I felt worse than all but one or two times in my life (and one of those was when my kidney went out and I nearly died). I couldn't even keep down water for most of yesterday. Seriously. WATER. I actually decided that if I wasn't better today the hospital was a possibility. When someone without health insurance who loathes hospitals says that you know it's gotten bad.

But I'm not as weak as I was. I am actually upright. I'm hydrated (and it stayed down!). I was even adventurous enough to try TOAST. But I think I have now crossed Mexican food off of my list of edibles forever. Just typing the words made my stomach roll.

Friends, Online Acquaintances, and Stuff

I have some of the best friends in the world. Seriously. And lucky for me I got to spend most of yesterday with one of them. We plant shopped, grocery shopped, and went to lunch. (Unfortunately, the Mexican food I ate didn't like me a bit and I'm paying for it today).

One of the tricky things I'm mulling in my head is the distinction (if there is one) between online acquaintances and regular acquaintances.

First, online gives you a peculiar intimacy. No one sees you as you type (unless you use the webcam. And oh the scary story in the news about the school district that activated the security program that ran the webcam on unsuspecting teenagers, taking photos of them every 15 minutes, including nude shots in their bedrooms!).

A lot of times you let your guard down. The blog almost seems like a diary. At the same time, you get input, usually from the same folks, and they start to get to know you and vice versa. But, for the most part, you have no idea what they look like, and without body language to judge you have no idea if they really are that nice lady or a raving axe murderer---or just your average, run-of-the-mill fruitcake. (ARE there "average" fruitcakes? A question for another blog perhaps.)

Can real friendships and relationships come out of online? Absolutely. But there is also the potential for the scary stalker stuff too. And how often have tweets or blogs about the upcoming vacation to Aruba giving dates and times led to someone's house/apartment being robbed. A LOT. And there's identity theft too. All this information is out there about you. It would be SOOOOO easy . . . and sometimes it is. And potential employers, and employers are now cruising the net LOOKING for things about job applicants and current employees. So it can really, seriously damage your career or job hunt. (NO more "WHOOOOO HOOO, PARTIED 'TIL DAWN" posts if you want to get/keep that job).

So what do you do? I mean, do you edit everything to death to make sure there's nothing that could possibly cause a problem? Be yourself and take your chances?

I dunno. It's an individual call. I try to make a compromise. I'm me. My posts are going to reflect that. If the potential employer doesn't like that I have pets, get migraines, am depressed about living in Texas, am on thyroid medicine (and Mexican food sometimes messes with my digestion) screw 'em. They probably aren't the person I need to work for if that's going to cause a problem. BUT I don't put my actual birthday and address down online. I use a pre-paid credit card for most online purchases, or PayPal, from an account set up JUST for that purpose. (I go to EBay and buy something for $30.00, I deposit $31.00 to the account.) If they track the account down they'll get something like a whopping $.50-$1.00. Probably not even enough for a cup of coffee.)

When I go on a trip that has been publicized I make sure I have a housesitter. There's not much worth taking in the old abode, but dammit it's MY STUFF. Besides, I need someone there to handle the pet duties.

I've met some wonderful people online. And some others --- not so much. I'm fairly sure some of the people who've met me feel the same way (some think I'm wonderful. Some, not so much.) But that's pretty normal. It's the same way if you meet them in person.

BUT, when you get really in-depth, and talk about your childhood (Mine was mostly pretty terrific. Some dark spots, but I think everybody has a few of those) and relationships (single, and not finding my type in small town Texas), and sexual escapades (see previous note), people who've never met you think they really know you. (And in a way they do.) And sometimes they act on that presumed intimacy in ways you don't want.

SO, I guess what I'm saying is. I'm careful. I try to think about what I put "out there" in public. I wouldn't go to the mall butt naked, so I probably shouldn't have "butt naked" equivalent posts.

Okay, I'm done. Headed into the kitchen to eat some soda crackers and see if the body will settle down. Have a good day.

Cleverness

I am reasonably intelligent. I am reasonably quick. And I used to think I was clever. Not in the bad way (you know what I mean), but in the funny way.

Then I started blogging. Still okay.
MySpace/Facebook? Not TOO bad. Not great, but so/so.

Then came Twitter.

Folks, I hate to say it, but I'm DULL. Seriously boring. Somehow or another I can't seem to fit clever into 150 characters or less.

ARGH!!

On the other hand---how sad is it that life and social interactions are now being REDUCED to 150 characters or less. I mean, really, how much can you convey. Let's try.

THE BUILDING IS ON FIRE! RUN.
(Okay, that's 31 characters, and it conveys a bunch.)

There was a young girl named Anheuser.
Who said that no man could surprise her.
But Pabst took a chance,
Found a Schlitz in her pants,
And now she *is sadder, Budweiser.
(Nope, can't get in a whole limerik, one of the shorter forms of poetry.)

To be, or not to be, that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them
To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.
(DEFINITELY not Shakespeare.)

But -

I love you darling.
(A definite yes.)

or

Go to hell!
(Also a yes.)

and

FOR SALE 74 CAMARO 350 4brl.
(Works)

So, I suppose it depends on what you're trying to convey. Short, to the point works well for some things. But I write better in somewhat longer formats. Which is why, even though I'm on Twitter, and Facebook (and nobody follows me on Twitter, seriously, I'm that dull), I won't be giving up the blog anytime soon.

Good Morning

Good Morning Folks.

It is Wednesday. I am awake (barely/sort of) after spending a long night reading Changes the newest Harry Dresden novel by Jim Butcher. He's brilliant, so there is no surprise that I was up WAAAAAY past my bedtime. Which I will, of course, pay for dearly today. I am not nearly as young as I used to be. In fact, I was so sleepy the last 1/2 of the book I will have to re-read it to make sure I didn't miss something important. AW DARN! (NOT!!).

Okay, time for work.

Later dudes and dudettes.

Cie

Cool Hand Luke, and Current Reality

Cool Hand Luke is a terrific classic movie. If you haven't seen it (and Spartacus, which reminds me of the Pepsi commercial which was a hoot) you should. There is a classic quote in the movie.

"What we have here is a failure to communicate."

That sums up a lot of modern life.

We have all of these communication devices. And we use them endlessly. But as in the tower of Babel everybody's talking and nobody's listening so it's just so much noise. In the written word you can put down the most detailed, step-by-step instructions, but they're basically useless (except as defense against the inevitable lawsuits) because NOBODY READS THEM.

We go blazing through our lives at 90+ mph and barely slow down enough to breathe let alone actually pay attention to what is really going on in other people's lives. And then we wonder why we're lonely. Because honestly, if you don't pay attention to others, they don't pay attention to you. It really is reciprocal.

A friend of mine reminded me of how back when he was in high school it was assumed that we'd be moving to a 3 or 4 day workweek within the decade and have all this free time. So we needed to have hobbies for all of our leisure time. Um, wow. Is that what you're seeing 30 years or so later? I'm not. Even though I've moved to part-time on the day job (with the subsequent pay cut -- ouch), I've got the whole second major career as a writer thing going, so that I actually work 6 days a week.

And life keeps speeding up.

When I first started in law offices people would bring something in and expect it back in about 3 weeks.

Then came the fax machine. Suddenly people expected things back in 3 days.

Then came e-mail. Now people expect it back in 3 hours MAX. They expect you to acknowledge receipt of it in 3 minutes or less.

BUT THEY STILL EXPECT IT TO BE PERFECT.

Now when you consider the average law firm has several hundred (or more) clients ALL of whom are expecting this, tis just a bit stressful. And not at all what was advertised back in high school. Then again, we never did get those rocket packs either. Or that cool hoverboard from Back to the Future. Which, by the way, I SERIOUSLY wanted.

But now my day job calls. So I am off to it.

Procrastination is an Art and Chocolate is a Vegetable

Good Morning.

Sundays are my "day off." I know I probably should work, but I have found that unless I take one day off each week I wear myself out and get ill. SO, I take Sundays, do my church and prayer, putter around the house, and try to have a good time. Yes, it's procrastination, but it's procrastination at its finest. And this afternoon, after church, I'm actually going to get to do one of my favorite things. I'm going out to my friends Don and Cathy's house and shooting pool. WOOT! I haven't shot pool in over a year. Since I used to shoot every single morning it has been something I've seriously missed.

Today is Sunday. SO, while I should be digging thistles, ("Ooh, man, I DIG thistles." "Really? I'm more into music.") I'm sitting listening to Nickelback and typing. Okay, "This Afternoon" came on and I spent the whole song dancing, half of it with Lucky the Wonder Dog in accompaniment. I'm kind of a spastic dancer, so she went a little nuts. But it was FUN.

This week I've rediscovered music. "Rediscovered?" Yup. I have a magnificent stereo that I haven't hooked up since I moved here six years ago. I have a collection of vinyl, tapes (both 8 track which I can't run and cassette which I can) cd, and an IPOD. I have been such a workhorse that I haven't used any of them more than once every six months or so. BUT the other day I had the radio in the truck cranked trying to wake up for the day job and they played one of my favorite songs. While I knew I remembered the first three bars I COULDN'T REMEMBER THE SONG at first. This is NOT something that's ever been an issue for me. Even songs I HATE I know. But it was gone. And then BAD MEDICINE started blasting out of the speakers. And I rocked out. Parked in front of the office with the stereo blasting loud enough to make my country loving neighbors driving by stare and shake their heads (and maybe one or two fingers LOL), and I DANCED. That is a trick seated, but it's possible. (I've seen my wheelchair-bound acquaintances dance, so why not?!) And it not only woke me up, it made me so happy and energized I had a really GREAT day.

It made me think. When was the last time I played my music the way I want and just cut loose? Answer, over six years ago. I play the radio in the truck (now that they have a station that isn't country in this section of Texas) and the station is pretty good. But it's not the same. So as part of my "let's see if we can't start doing some things for me and if it will improve my life, mood, creativity, and energy" I'm reincorporating music into my life. And thus I, the woman who 'doesn't dance' has started dancing spastically, with my dog.

Saturday Morning Toast

Okay, I know, I need to do a breakfast serial. And I may if I can think clearly. Which means, I may not because my head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton candy. Fluffy, and sticky and a mess. Hopefully doing some physical labor will help.

Still, rather than natter on about nothing in particular, I shall, after all, give it a shot. And speaking of shots . . .

*************************************

"OW!" I turned to glare at Jorge. "I swear you get a perverse pleasure out of that." He gave her a bland smile, but didn't deny it, simply turning to toss the used needle into one of the marked biohazard receptacles. He knew she was watching him, and she knew he knew it.

Of course, everyone watched Jorge. It was hard not to. The man was seriously genetically blessed. Literally tall, dark, and handsome, but there was so much more to it. He was smart (then again, he was a doctor), and funny, and if the rumors she'd heard from Judith in accounting were correct there were horses who'd envy . . . "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said I think this is a bad idea. The Mexican border is very unstable right now."

"It's not like I had a lot of choice. That's why they call them assignments."

"You could have refused."

"Yeah, right." I snorted. "Refused, and watched my entire career go down the toilet. No, I don't think so."

"You are a beautiful woman Hannah. It is a bad plan."

"Thank you. But I'm a big girl. I can handle it." I gave him a slight smile. I didn't feel like smiling. In fact I felt . . . odd. My head was swimming. It was hard to focus. My tongue didn't seem to want to work right. Still, I managed to force the words out clearly enough to be understood. "They need someone who can act in a telenovella, someone attractive and bilingual."

"I know." He stepped forward, shining one of those little penlights in my eyes one at a time. Normally it hurts like hell. My eyes are very light sensitive. But it didn't. And when I pulled back, he had to catch me to keep me from falling over.

"What in the hell was in that shot?" I tried to say it clearly, but it was pretty much an unintelligible mumble.

"It was a bad plan Hannah." He lowered me gently into a lying position on the exam table.

"Bastard." It was a bare mumble. My eyes were too heavy to keep open. As I faded out of consciousness I was almost sure I felt the brush of lips on my forehead.

Strange Days

More good news for more of our friends. This is a happy thing. I like happy.


Yesterday was a little weird. Woke up in the middle of the night because the cat was making unnatural noises. It's spring, they get furballs, but this was just . . . odd. Little Bit had thrown up. Not great, but it happens. I cleaned it up and went back to bed. Woke up again. (Ah, insomnia.) She had thrown up blood. Not a lot, but multiple times.


Took her to the vet. There is nothing obvious so we did some general things. She's doing better, but I'm keeping an eye on her. It is worrisome.

Yesterday I took half a day off. I am working today instead to make up for it. Hormones and cat issues made me whacked out and I needed to pull myself together. I spent the day at home

1) Digging thistles. (The woman next door is elderly and her husband isn't doing well. She no longer has a lawn service and she hasn't had time to take care of it herself. SO, her lawn has gone to probably a thousand thistles, which have spread into my lawn. Since I am allergic to virtually all chemicals, the ones near the house are being taken out the old fashioned way. I did ask a friend to come and poison the ones a little further out.

2) When I got tired (hey, it's hard work) (not finished, MAYBE 1/3 done. I have an ugly weekend ahead of me.). I went inside and started in on the house. The living room is now clean. This includes the ceiling. ("The ceiling?" You ask. Yes Gracie, the ceiling. Someone put a textured ceiling in. I have cats. They shed. I have ceiling fans. My ceiling was beginning to look like some sort of weird art form or animal skin. I'm not sure which.) The kitchen is now clean. The hallway is scrubbed (including the floorboards and all of the mud that the dog shook onto the walls and tracked onto the floor, etc.)

When that was done I was really, SERIOUSLY tired. So I watched a couple of shows on Hulu and went to bed.


I slept like a dead thing. I am sore and stiff this morning, but I am by GOD rested. And I feel virtuous. AND I got my exercise. With more to come.


Physical labor isn't exciting, but sometimes I need it. It clears my mind. AND there's a product in the end. I think that's one of the reasons I like writing so much. I can actually SEE a result. (It is also one of the reasons I hate laundry. If you are not naked when you're washing clothes you're not ever going to have it ALL done.)

I have needed to clean house. I HAVE to get rid of the thistles. But more than that. I have needed to clear my head. There's been a lot of ugliness in there. Most of it is directed at me. But that's counterproductive. When I indulge in it I don't get anything positive done, which means that I feel like crap, and indulge in beating myself up, which means I don't get anything positive done . . . you get the picture.


So, the thistles and a clean house are a major deal for this weekend. And in the process I may pull out the old motivational CDs. (The same ones I had in casettes and replaced when cassettes became passe. And I will get myself moving forward and unstuck with the mental equivalent of dynamite and a bulldozer. Because apparently it's necessary.


If I am lucky, perhaps, the book that I didn't find locally by a freakin' New York Times bestselling author and friend will finally arrive and I can reward myself for working so hard by reading it.


Now I am off to take a little something for the stiffness, to cross post this, and to start the day at the day job.


Be well, be happy.





Cie

Equality, Prejudice, Sadness, Frustration & Disgust.

Okay, as you can see, this is a heavy post. Probably foolish of me to embark on it since I have to get ready for work very shortly. But I've been reading the news lately. I don't usually. It only frustrates me and makes me very angry. But I've been online more, and headlines have (sometimes literally) popped out at me. . . and well, there you go.

"All men are created equal."
Define equal for me. We have different talents, abilities. Some are smart (Hello Steve Hawking, Al Einstein, et al), some (being politically incorrect here) SOOOOO aren't. Some are strong, some physically handicapped. It takes all kinds to make a world, and I truly believe we all have a purpose. I'm never going to be a powerlifter, or a scientific powerhouse. But I can write novels, and short stories, and scripts, which some other people can only aspire to.

Recently I've been reading about kids who have commit suicide due to bullying. Two of them. One male, one female. And I read about the lesbian student whose school canceled the prom rather than have her attend with a female student. (And who since had two proms, one where she was invited attended by a whopping 7 students many of whom are learning disabled; and another, to which she was NOT invited, attended by the majority of the students.)

I don't know that we will ever truly be able to stomp out bullying. Even in nature there are packs. To survive animals group themselves into "us" and "them" and try to drive off the "intruders." They select the strongest (sometimes the brightest, but definitely the strongest) to protect themselves. It's called "natural selection" and "survival of the fittest." And ultimately, we are animals.

BUT, that said, we should try. Truly. Because while we are animals. We are also PEOPLE. With intellect and effort we can work to effect change. And change will not happen without WORK.

Am I uncomfortable when I am the only white in a neighborhood filled with people of another color? Oh hell yeah. And it gives me a clue how that first child being bussed to another school must have felt, under GUARD going to a strange place, among people she didn't know, who obviously didn't want her there must have felt.

When I was in high school football players and cheerleaders ruled. And some of them packed up, and became assholes and abusive. Others didn't, for the record. But I remember the ones who did---vividly. But I also remember how helpless the "powers that be" felt and truly WERE. They couldn't be there 24/7. If they protected you in school, you could be damned sure you'd pay for it after. Does that mean they shouldn't protect students in school? NO. But it means that as outsiders they can't impose their beliefs and morality on others wholesale in only one area of life and make it stick.

The change in attitudes has to be across the board. At home; in school; in outside-of-school arenas. And it has to start from infancy. Which means that parents, with their own prejudices and history of pain have to step up to the plate and say "I want to do better for my kid. I want to BE better for my kid. And I'm willing to work against my ingrained behaviors to do it."

Some will/do. Some won't/don't.

Again, for example I use the civil rights movement. We have come a long way. Are we there yet? Consistently? Without blemish and throughout the country and the world? Hell no. I feel like the little kid in the back seat "Are we there yet?" "No honey, not yet."

Will we ever get there?

I don't know. But it's worth the trip. Hell, I'll even chip in for the gas.

Up Early to Write

Okay, up early to write. Got started on the short story yesterday, but I didn't get it finished. I have no idea if it's any good. It may be total crap. That happens sometimes.

Today looks as if it will be a good day. One of my favorite authors, Jim Butcher, has a book coming out that I've been waiting for! Changes is the next Dresden File book and I am SOOOOO rockin Harry.

Earned major Mom points last night. I found out on Twitter that Neil Gaiman is doing an American Gods event with The House on the Rock. I got details. I told James. If at all possible we are so doing this. He is the ultimate American Gods fan and I am a great enabler of this.

Okay, now off to work.

Just a Quickie

Okay, I've GOT to get things done today. I've been sleeping more (probably a good thing for my body, but such a bad thing for my schedule!). I'm VERY behind on things.

Friday night my glasses broke. The metal gave, so they fell into two separate pieces. I didn't realize how much worse my eyes have gotten until I didn't have them. Holy CRAP! Okay, this was bad. Tried the reading glasses thing. It didn't work. Okay it worked, kinda. But not well enough to really function. SO bad. Now, fortunately, I need them for close stuff and for an astygmatism, so I could still drive, BUT I'm a writer. Not being able to read ANYTHING with print less than an inch tall was SO not working. Of course this being a holiday weekend the small town where I reside had nothing open in the way of optometrists. SO I had to go to the nearest city. Went to a quickie optical, but because they're no line bifocals (you may now make jokes about my age. I'm okay with it.) I can't have them until Tuesday or Wednesday. At least they only cost 1/2 of what the original pair ran, but finding frames I could stand was a challenge. And the thought of being as non-functional as I was (did I mention the headache? The being off-balance because suddenly the astygmatism [which I'd lived with before glasses for years just fine] suddenly being uncorrected made my world shift?)

But the optical guy (who suddenly became heroic optical guy and I would give him a shout out if I could remember the name of the store without any caffeine in my system) told me that a jeweler could probably solder the frames for about $20.00. SO I go to the mall and find a jeweler who did, indeed, solder the frames back together. (WOO HOO -- Let's hear it for the jeweler at XIV KARATS in the Sunset Mall, San Angelo!!!)

SO I now can see. And, you know, um, WALK. But I spent quite a bit of money this weekend that I really didn't want to. And an entire day of writing went down the toilet. BUT now I can see, so I can write. And I'd better do just that.

Later.

Cie/C.T. Adams

Ambition and a Game

Trying to reconcile where I am and who I am with where I want to be and who I need to be to get there. The question is how far can hard work take you, and is the talent level up to the ambition level? Only way to find out is to try and to work hard. But it is scary.

Because if you give it everything you've got and you fail there are no excuses. But I don't want to "play it safe." I want to live.

Which, I suppose, is very good news.

At least my son would think so. :) And the dog.

And perhaps the cats.

*************************
Boris Karloff
Attilla the Hun
Karl Mauldin
Jimmy Durante

And the question is -- Men who would look seriously awful as women.

Your turn. Give me 3.