OK, I admit. I sent a query and first page to Miss Snark for her Crapometer.
I wasn't sure how it worked, never having participated in a crapometer before, but let me tell you - I got GREAT feedback.
She doesn't pull her punches, but she gave me some excellent advice.
And so I'd like to say THANK YOU MISS SNARK for giving so much of your time and energy in helping us struggling writers. Because it's ture - no matter how many books you publish it's always a struggle to write. It's a struggle to start a new book, to outline (what I'm thrashing through right now - two outlines for my agent) & wrap everything up in a satisfying ending.
It's very hard to craft a first page that will hook the reader and make him want to keep reading.
Miss Snark might be snarky, she's also terrific. And if I knew who she was, I'd send her a pail of gin.
:-)
Now I don't know the politics of a crapometer, so I'm not telling which number my entry was, lol. Can you guess?
Monday, September 04, 2006
Sunday, September 03, 2006
My bright and shiny new blog!
I love my new blog look - thank you Daisy Mae for fixing this up for me!!!
(if you want a bright and shiny new blog look, click on Daisy's link on the side bar - she's got some great designs!)
It's early Sunday morning. Today I'm heading into Paris to meet some friends. I'm going to spend the day there and then we'll all meet my husband for dinner somewhere. My friends have mostly come in for the 'pret a porter' show here in Paris - two of my friends are buyers and one has a stand, so I'm going to go check it out.
I'm not a fashion victim - like I said before, I buy most of my clothes from Ye Olde Thrifte Shoppe - but my friends don't get to Paris often and I want to see them!!!
Maybe I'll even see some clothes I like, lol.
My husband said to my daughter the other day "Your mom doesn't care what she puts on in the morning."
I overheard that and wasn't sure if he was vexed about having a wife who jumped out of bed and grabbed whatever was on top of the laundry pile, or if he liked having a wife that didn't spend an hour every morning trying to decide what to wear.
I went to Catholic school and wore a uniform - and I loved not having to think about what to wear. I believe I grew out of being fashion-conscious in school. Never having to worry about what I was wearing or what anyone else wore was very liberating for a teen, honest.
My daughter announced her school was going to make the students wear a uniform - and she was thrilled. She agrees with me about the advantages of a uniform (she's not a teen yet - of course she agrees with me) but I was happy to hear that. Too many girls in my daughter's class dress like - well - provocative doesn't begine to describe it. I'm sure you've seen the sexy barbie look - well, it scares me. I don't know what the mothers are thinking.
I think the uniform will be more along the lines of a suggestion here - like navy blue pants, white shirts, and navy pullovers, for example. I'll be interested to see.
What do you think about uniforms for school?
(if you want a bright and shiny new blog look, click on Daisy's link on the side bar - she's got some great designs!)
It's early Sunday morning. Today I'm heading into Paris to meet some friends. I'm going to spend the day there and then we'll all meet my husband for dinner somewhere. My friends have mostly come in for the 'pret a porter' show here in Paris - two of my friends are buyers and one has a stand, so I'm going to go check it out.
I'm not a fashion victim - like I said before, I buy most of my clothes from Ye Olde Thrifte Shoppe - but my friends don't get to Paris often and I want to see them!!!
Maybe I'll even see some clothes I like, lol.
My husband said to my daughter the other day "Your mom doesn't care what she puts on in the morning."
I overheard that and wasn't sure if he was vexed about having a wife who jumped out of bed and grabbed whatever was on top of the laundry pile, or if he liked having a wife that didn't spend an hour every morning trying to decide what to wear.
I went to Catholic school and wore a uniform - and I loved not having to think about what to wear. I believe I grew out of being fashion-conscious in school. Never having to worry about what I was wearing or what anyone else wore was very liberating for a teen, honest.
My daughter announced her school was going to make the students wear a uniform - and she was thrilled. She agrees with me about the advantages of a uniform (she's not a teen yet - of course she agrees with me) but I was happy to hear that. Too many girls in my daughter's class dress like - well - provocative doesn't begine to describe it. I'm sure you've seen the sexy barbie look - well, it scares me. I don't know what the mothers are thinking.
I think the uniform will be more along the lines of a suggestion here - like navy blue pants, white shirts, and navy pullovers, for example. I'll be interested to see.
What do you think about uniforms for school?
Saturday, September 02, 2006
The Bhopal Disaster
The person I detest the most today:
Warren Anderson ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhopal_Disaster )
I saw a documentary about Bhopal and was horrified. How can anything so dreadful happen and a company like Union Carbide be left to continue blithely on its way? I have to find out what Union Carbide manufactures so I can completely boycott it. I will not be affiliated with such horror.
And the worst is going to the Union Carbide site where it tries to explain the horror by claiming it was sabotage, and that the Indian authorities are well aware of the identity of the employee and the nature of the evidence against him; in essense, saying the Indian government is protecting one person responsible for the deaths of over 10,000! Does that make sense? No. And the truth is that a faulty, untested joint had been sent to the factory for the workers to use, and that joint was the cause of the disaster.
"Twenty years after the Bhopal tragedy, Dow Chemical continues to deny responsibility and is still producing some of the world's most deadly chemicals. Today, we are supporting the call for Dow to be held accountable for the devastation that the Bhopal disaster inflicted," says Corporate Accountability International Campaigns Director Patti Lynn.
For more information: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2727721747210557799&q=Union+Carbide+Bhopal&hl=en
Warren Anderson ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhopal_Disaster )
I saw a documentary about Bhopal and was horrified. How can anything so dreadful happen and a company like Union Carbide be left to continue blithely on its way? I have to find out what Union Carbide manufactures so I can completely boycott it. I will not be affiliated with such horror.
And the worst is going to the Union Carbide site where it tries to explain the horror by claiming it was sabotage, and that the Indian authorities are well aware of the identity of the employee and the nature of the evidence against him; in essense, saying the Indian government is protecting one person responsible for the deaths of over 10,000! Does that make sense? No. And the truth is that a faulty, untested joint had been sent to the factory for the workers to use, and that joint was the cause of the disaster.
"Twenty years after the Bhopal tragedy, Dow Chemical continues to deny responsibility and is still producing some of the world's most deadly chemicals. Today, we are supporting the call for Dow to be held accountable for the devastation that the Bhopal disaster inflicted," says Corporate Accountability International Campaigns Director Patti Lynn.
For more information: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2727721747210557799&q=Union+Carbide+Bhopal&hl=en
Friday, September 01, 2006
New Year
It's September!
Yes, and vacation is over. Quite honestly, this is one summer I'm glad to put behind me. I'm starting a new year.
I have always used September as a starting point in the year. Some people use Jan. 1st (for some strange reason) and even others keep the 'olde' ways and start the year off in April, while a good many people in China have their new year February. But for some reason it seemed right to me to start the year in September.
When I was little, that was the month I began a new school year and had crisp new notebooks, sharp yellow pencils that hadn't faded to stubs, pens with ink in them, and even new shoes and clothes. September I walked down the driveway to catch the bus and my bookbag (smelling of new plastic) full of notebooks with nothing doodled on their virgin pages, my new shoes a little stiff, my new sweater a little scratchy, and my new haircut a disaster as usual. My lunchbox was even shiny and new, with no scratches, and my thermos still intact. (The thermos never lasted long.)
I'd walk up our long drive, past the fields where the corn was harvested and only tattered stalks remained, past the barn where potatoes were being sorted and sacked, and past the migrant workers sheds. I'd pass the white trailer where the farmer's son and his new wife lived.
At the bus stop there would be a crowd of kids in September. The migrant workers hadn't moved on yet, so their kids started school with us. I'd know them, having played with them all summer, and we'd compare new lunchboxes and shoes, and stand in a wiggley line as the bus drove up, lights flashing.
The air was dusty and smelled like newly dug potatoes and goldenrod, and the first fall leaves would crackle underfoot. We'd hurry to board the bus, our hearts pounding, wondering who our new teacher would be, and if our best friend would be in our class. The driver would hollar for us to sit down and be quiet, and I'd press my forehead against the window and hope this new school year would be wonderful.
Most people see autumn as the end of the year. But I always thought of it as a new beginning.
What is the beginning to your year?
Yes, and vacation is over. Quite honestly, this is one summer I'm glad to put behind me. I'm starting a new year.
I have always used September as a starting point in the year. Some people use Jan. 1st (for some strange reason) and even others keep the 'olde' ways and start the year off in April, while a good many people in China have their new year February. But for some reason it seemed right to me to start the year in September.
When I was little, that was the month I began a new school year and had crisp new notebooks, sharp yellow pencils that hadn't faded to stubs, pens with ink in them, and even new shoes and clothes. September I walked down the driveway to catch the bus and my bookbag (smelling of new plastic) full of notebooks with nothing doodled on their virgin pages, my new shoes a little stiff, my new sweater a little scratchy, and my new haircut a disaster as usual. My lunchbox was even shiny and new, with no scratches, and my thermos still intact. (The thermos never lasted long.)
I'd walk up our long drive, past the fields where the corn was harvested and only tattered stalks remained, past the barn where potatoes were being sorted and sacked, and past the migrant workers sheds. I'd pass the white trailer where the farmer's son and his new wife lived.
At the bus stop there would be a crowd of kids in September. The migrant workers hadn't moved on yet, so their kids started school with us. I'd know them, having played with them all summer, and we'd compare new lunchboxes and shoes, and stand in a wiggley line as the bus drove up, lights flashing.
The air was dusty and smelled like newly dug potatoes and goldenrod, and the first fall leaves would crackle underfoot. We'd hurry to board the bus, our hearts pounding, wondering who our new teacher would be, and if our best friend would be in our class. The driver would hollar for us to sit down and be quiet, and I'd press my forehead against the window and hope this new school year would be wonderful.
Most people see autumn as the end of the year. But I always thought of it as a new beginning.
What is the beginning to your year?
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
My once in a blue moon Promotion Pitch!
I have a new book coming out tomorrow!
Llewellyn's Song
It's an erotic fantasy set in the magical world of Hivernia.
Llewellyn goes to the far north, seeking Frostbone, the ice-demon king in order to save his people. But on the way he finds a wounded Dark T'uath, one of the women warriors of the hidden valley. Proud, untamed, these women have no use for men...but Tamara finds herself falling in love with the tall, one-eyed elf who resued her.
Tamara and Llewellyn have to learn acceptance of each others' beliefs in order to join forces and warn Hivernia of impending war. Acceptance soon turns to love, and love to searing passion. But separation looms for the lovers as both accept the responsibilities thrust upon them by their leaders.
Llewellyn's Song
from Ellora's Cave
www.ellorascave.com
Excerpt:
Agony unlike anything he’d ever felt tore through his body. Everything shook—his hands, his legs, and even his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Darkness crushed him like a physical thing and he tried to push it away, but it pressed down, harder and harder. Confusion followed the shock and pain, and then little bits of memory trickled back. Visions flashed across his mind, bringing with them more terror and pain.
Dragons with dull, iron-gray scales and rusty armor stalking next to hordes of enemy soldiers. The Mouse King, a shape-shifter with a talent for controlling dragons, riding the mightiest dragon, his scepter held aloft. Prince Branagh, in a last, desperate try to stop him, knocking him off the dragon and fighting him in vicious hand-to-hand combat. And he and his brother facing the enraged dragon on their own.
They’d succeeded, killing it when all hope seemed to have fled. But the beast had lashed out one last time, catching his brother across the chest and belly with its razor-sharp claws. Elloran had died in his arms, his pain first washing over Llewellyn then slowly ebbing into cold and darkness.
“No!” An agonized scream echoed in his ears and Llewellyn shot up in his bed, arms outstretched as if to ward off blows. His breathing whistled in his throat as he fought to control his racing heart. Icy sweat trickled down his back and chest. No dragons faced him, no screams assailed his ears, only the silence of the night and his heart pounding in his ears. Slowly he pulled the covers up over his shoulder with hands that still shook from the nightmare.
He wanted to die, for surely death would take away the anguish. He wanted to die, because each day he lived, each minute, every hour, his brother’s last minutes came to him as a torture. He rubbed his forehead and a sigh shuddered from him. Elloran had been his twin, and everything he’d felt, Llewellyn had felt, from joy to love…to excruciating death. Sometimes he feared to open his one good eye after the nightmare, sure to find his sheets drenched with blood. His other eye was nothing but a memory, and an ache sometimes when the weather turned. One battle had cost him an eye and his twin. Some days are better not lived.
Llewellyn's Song
It's an erotic fantasy set in the magical world of Hivernia.
Llewellyn goes to the far north, seeking Frostbone, the ice-demon king in order to save his people. But on the way he finds a wounded Dark T'uath, one of the women warriors of the hidden valley. Proud, untamed, these women have no use for men...but Tamara finds herself falling in love with the tall, one-eyed elf who resued her.
Tamara and Llewellyn have to learn acceptance of each others' beliefs in order to join forces and warn Hivernia of impending war. Acceptance soon turns to love, and love to searing passion. But separation looms for the lovers as both accept the responsibilities thrust upon them by their leaders.
Llewellyn's Song
from Ellora's Cave
www.ellorascave.com
Excerpt:
Agony unlike anything he’d ever felt tore through his body. Everything shook—his hands, his legs, and even his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Darkness crushed him like a physical thing and he tried to push it away, but it pressed down, harder and harder. Confusion followed the shock and pain, and then little bits of memory trickled back. Visions flashed across his mind, bringing with them more terror and pain.
Dragons with dull, iron-gray scales and rusty armor stalking next to hordes of enemy soldiers. The Mouse King, a shape-shifter with a talent for controlling dragons, riding the mightiest dragon, his scepter held aloft. Prince Branagh, in a last, desperate try to stop him, knocking him off the dragon and fighting him in vicious hand-to-hand combat. And he and his brother facing the enraged dragon on their own.
They’d succeeded, killing it when all hope seemed to have fled. But the beast had lashed out one last time, catching his brother across the chest and belly with its razor-sharp claws. Elloran had died in his arms, his pain first washing over Llewellyn then slowly ebbing into cold and darkness.
“No!” An agonized scream echoed in his ears and Llewellyn shot up in his bed, arms outstretched as if to ward off blows. His breathing whistled in his throat as he fought to control his racing heart. Icy sweat trickled down his back and chest. No dragons faced him, no screams assailed his ears, only the silence of the night and his heart pounding in his ears. Slowly he pulled the covers up over his shoulder with hands that still shook from the nightmare.
He wanted to die, for surely death would take away the anguish. He wanted to die, because each day he lived, each minute, every hour, his brother’s last minutes came to him as a torture. He rubbed his forehead and a sigh shuddered from him. Elloran had been his twin, and everything he’d felt, Llewellyn had felt, from joy to love…to excruciating death. Sometimes he feared to open his one good eye after the nightmare, sure to find his sheets drenched with blood. His other eye was nothing but a memory, and an ache sometimes when the weather turned. One battle had cost him an eye and his twin. Some days are better not lived.
Monday, August 28, 2006
The French National Anthem
The other day it was the anniversary of the liberation of Lisieux by the allied forces. In commemoration, a ceremony is held each year in the park in the center of town. This year, I was at my friend Marielle's house when she said to me, "I have to go sing the Marseillaise in town, do you and Julia want to go with me?"
I didn't know the words to the song (I vaguely knew them) but my daughter had sung for the WWII and WWI ceremonies in our town and wasn't shy, so we said yes. (And I figured I'd just move my lips, lol)
We got to the park and I realized this was an official ceremony, and I was given a paper with the words to the song, and everyone made a nice fuss about how great it was that an American was there, and I had to shake everyone's hand and meet the mayor.
Marielle was a member of the chorus, and so we stood in the front facing the guests of honor and the crowd. Everybody who was anybody was there that day - including five 'ancient combatants' which is what the French call the soldiers. The men were from England and Scotland and the mayor gave a speech in English that left them mostly perplexed - (I could see their faces as we were behind the mayor in nice rows, being the chorus.)
Then the mayor finished massacring the English speech and switched to French, and then he nodded to us to sing.
We all took a deep breath, and the choral leader sang the first note - and it was WAY up in the stratosphere - she was a soprano - and we all sounded like a chorus of mice. (Luckily I'm a soprano so even if I didn't know the words I could match her note for note, lol.)
Afterward we were invited to the town hall for traditional speeches, champagne, and little cakes. Yum.
Anyhow, it has often occurred to me that any country thinking about invading another country should study the French national anthem. Take a good look at the words and you will see why.
"La Marseillaise" was written and composed by Claude-Joseph Rouget de Lisle, captain in the Engineering corps garrisoned in Strasbourg during the night of 24 to 25 April 1792.
The lyrics, speaking of bloody battles and a call for citizens to take up arms, have been debated endlessly whether to alter the words to suit the more peaceful times that France currently enjoys, but the original words, capturing the spirit of the French revolution, remain. This is probably due to the fact that "La Marseillaise" is now inexorably linked to France in the mind of the world.
1. Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !
Contre nous de la tyrannie,
L'étendard sanglant est levé !
L'étendard sanglant est levé !
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats ?
Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras
Egorger nos fils et nos compagnes !
CHORUS:
Aux armes, citoyens !
Formez vos bataillons !
Marchons ! marchons !
Qu'un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons !
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
1. Arise children of the fatherland
The day of glory has arrived
Against us tyranny's
Bloody flag is raised
The bloody flag is raised,
Listen to the sound in the fields
The howling of these ferocious soldiers
They are coming right into our midst
To cut the throats of your sons and consorts
To arms citizens
Form you battalions
March, march
Let impure blood
Water our furrows!
Yes, when you see the words you realize that any man will defend his country against invaders, even, as in this case, when they are in a civil war. (So imagine how they feel when another country invades...)
Something to ponder upon.
I didn't know the words to the song (I vaguely knew them) but my daughter had sung for the WWII and WWI ceremonies in our town and wasn't shy, so we said yes. (And I figured I'd just move my lips, lol)
We got to the park and I realized this was an official ceremony, and I was given a paper with the words to the song, and everyone made a nice fuss about how great it was that an American was there, and I had to shake everyone's hand and meet the mayor.
Marielle was a member of the chorus, and so we stood in the front facing the guests of honor and the crowd. Everybody who was anybody was there that day - including five 'ancient combatants' which is what the French call the soldiers. The men were from England and Scotland and the mayor gave a speech in English that left them mostly perplexed - (I could see their faces as we were behind the mayor in nice rows, being the chorus.)
Then the mayor finished massacring the English speech and switched to French, and then he nodded to us to sing.
We all took a deep breath, and the choral leader sang the first note - and it was WAY up in the stratosphere - she was a soprano - and we all sounded like a chorus of mice. (Luckily I'm a soprano so even if I didn't know the words I could match her note for note, lol.)
Afterward we were invited to the town hall for traditional speeches, champagne, and little cakes. Yum.
Anyhow, it has often occurred to me that any country thinking about invading another country should study the French national anthem. Take a good look at the words and you will see why.
"La Marseillaise" was written and composed by Claude-Joseph Rouget de Lisle, captain in the Engineering corps garrisoned in Strasbourg during the night of 24 to 25 April 1792.
The lyrics, speaking of bloody battles and a call for citizens to take up arms, have been debated endlessly whether to alter the words to suit the more peaceful times that France currently enjoys, but the original words, capturing the spirit of the French revolution, remain. This is probably due to the fact that "La Marseillaise" is now inexorably linked to France in the mind of the world.
1. Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !
Contre nous de la tyrannie,
L'étendard sanglant est levé !
L'étendard sanglant est levé !
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats ?
Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras
Egorger nos fils et nos compagnes !
CHORUS:
Aux armes, citoyens !
Formez vos bataillons !
Marchons ! marchons !
Qu'un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons !
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
1. Arise children of the fatherland
The day of glory has arrived
Against us tyranny's
Bloody flag is raised
The bloody flag is raised,
Listen to the sound in the fields
The howling of these ferocious soldiers
They are coming right into our midst
To cut the throats of your sons and consorts
To arms citizens
Form you battalions
March, march
Let impure blood
Water our furrows!
Yes, when you see the words you realize that any man will defend his country against invaders, even, as in this case, when they are in a civil war. (So imagine how they feel when another country invades...)
Something to ponder upon.
Friday, August 25, 2006
What we did in the Rain
The house stands on the high point of a vast prairie. To the south, the land slopes down steeply and the roof of a ruined cider house can just be seen. An apple orchard stretches to the south - it is long past its prime and the trees are stunted with age and bent by the incessant wind.
Two new buildings are nearby on the plain: a round tent with an exercise machine in it for horses, and a brand new aluminum barn with over forty boxes for thoroughbreds. A new track has been laid just west of the house, the orange sand like a raw wound in the deep green grass. Every morning the young horses are cantered along the track, their heads tossing, their tails whipping, their riders dressed in windbreakers and scarves.
The house was chilly and damp, so we loaded the car with firewood one rainy morning and piled it in the entranceway. From then on there was always a fire in the dining room chimney. I set up my computer next to it, we sat around it, and we grilled our dinners there: hamburgers, steaks, and one night we splurged and had salmon.
We went to the Basilica of St. Therese of Lisieux - just beautiful. And we visited a cheese factory in Livarot. It was really fun to see how the cheese was made and the best part of tasting it, of course. And we went to a zoo run by a conservation group called Cerza - and saw four white tigers - two of which were baby cubs. We saw lots of other animals, but these were so lovely we just stood and stared. A white tiger with blue eyes! The zookeeper told us that all white tigers are descended from a single white tiger born in captivity in 1952, and are all fragile because of their consanguinity.
It rained every day. The polo games were cancelled because the grounds were water-logged and sodden. Clouds as black as soot lumbered over the plain, and the wind whistled in the chimney like a locomotive. The twins took my old VCR camera and made a ghost movie using Julia as actress and victim, lol. They also played cards endlessly, as there was no TV or anything else.
We had dinner with friends, and on the next to last day, my daughter and I were invited to sing the Marsaillaise with the Lisieux choral group for the official ceremony of the liberation of Lisieux by the allied forces.
Tomorrow I'll blog about that!
Two new buildings are nearby on the plain: a round tent with an exercise machine in it for horses, and a brand new aluminum barn with over forty boxes for thoroughbreds. A new track has been laid just west of the house, the orange sand like a raw wound in the deep green grass. Every morning the young horses are cantered along the track, their heads tossing, their tails whipping, their riders dressed in windbreakers and scarves.
The house was chilly and damp, so we loaded the car with firewood one rainy morning and piled it in the entranceway. From then on there was always a fire in the dining room chimney. I set up my computer next to it, we sat around it, and we grilled our dinners there: hamburgers, steaks, and one night we splurged and had salmon.
We went to the Basilica of St. Therese of Lisieux - just beautiful. And we visited a cheese factory in Livarot. It was really fun to see how the cheese was made and the best part of tasting it, of course. And we went to a zoo run by a conservation group called Cerza - and saw four white tigers - two of which were baby cubs. We saw lots of other animals, but these were so lovely we just stood and stared. A white tiger with blue eyes! The zookeeper told us that all white tigers are descended from a single white tiger born in captivity in 1952, and are all fragile because of their consanguinity.
It rained every day. The polo games were cancelled because the grounds were water-logged and sodden. Clouds as black as soot lumbered over the plain, and the wind whistled in the chimney like a locomotive. The twins took my old VCR camera and made a ghost movie using Julia as actress and victim, lol. They also played cards endlessly, as there was no TV or anything else.
We had dinner with friends, and on the next to last day, my daughter and I were invited to sing the Marsaillaise with the Lisieux choral group for the official ceremony of the liberation of Lisieux by the allied forces.
Tomorrow I'll blog about that!
Saturday, August 19, 2006
A haunted house, an ancient treasure...
This weekend I'm leaving for Normandy. We're going to spend a week in an old house on a windy, treeless plateau. The house hasn't been finished yet - friends of our bought it and plan on renting it out, so there isn't any furniture except for beds, one table, and two benches. There are fireplaces in every room, the floors are wooden and creak upstairs and heavy terracotta farm tiles downstairs. The kitchen is pretty much finished, so I can cook, (and since I just broke my stove, this will even be a move UP from where I am now, lol)
We stayed at the house last week for a night, and my daughter had a terrible nightmare. She dreamed there were two jealous children in the house who wanted parents like she had, so they were going to kill her and take her place. Needless to say she woke up in a state of terror and spent the night curled up next to me. And after she told me her dream, I didn't get much sleep either! I heard creaking floorboards, knocking, and the sound of whispers. So I think the house is haunted. Probably by two children. Creepy, no?
I can't wait to stay there and take notes. Authors are definitely a crazy bunch, I'm already plotting a story about the house.
And speaking of plotting, I'm working on the proposal. I sent the rough draft off and my agent loved it. We are now fleshing it out - and I'm keeping the setting (France) and I'm adding the backstory - the Protestant's treasure which was hidden at the end of the 14th century during the war between the Catholics and the Protestants. It happened here, or very close to my village, and people still seek the treasure, sure that it is buried somewhere nearby. There are caves and passages in the limestone hills beneath our village, and the town hall has an old map or two of these passages - and one lies just beneath my house and goes to the church.
What do you think about books set in other places besides America? My agent says it will be harder to sell, but she said to go ahead anyway, because she loved the premise. Are you open to books set in other countries?
Let me know!
We stayed at the house last week for a night, and my daughter had a terrible nightmare. She dreamed there were two jealous children in the house who wanted parents like she had, so they were going to kill her and take her place. Needless to say she woke up in a state of terror and spent the night curled up next to me. And after she told me her dream, I didn't get much sleep either! I heard creaking floorboards, knocking, and the sound of whispers. So I think the house is haunted. Probably by two children. Creepy, no?
I can't wait to stay there and take notes. Authors are definitely a crazy bunch, I'm already plotting a story about the house.
And speaking of plotting, I'm working on the proposal. I sent the rough draft off and my agent loved it. We are now fleshing it out - and I'm keeping the setting (France) and I'm adding the backstory - the Protestant's treasure which was hidden at the end of the 14th century during the war between the Catholics and the Protestants. It happened here, or very close to my village, and people still seek the treasure, sure that it is buried somewhere nearby. There are caves and passages in the limestone hills beneath our village, and the town hall has an old map or two of these passages - and one lies just beneath my house and goes to the church.
What do you think about books set in other places besides America? My agent says it will be harder to sell, but she said to go ahead anyway, because she loved the premise. Are you open to books set in other countries?
Let me know!
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Paranormal Books we probably won't see
Sleeping with my Dog
Glenda put up with Ron turning into a wolf and mauling her every full moon, until the night he ate her precious poodle. Then she packed up and left. But how can she escape a man with a nose like a bloodhound? Especially since she can't seem to give up her exclusive perfume...
My Ex Vampire
Sharon broke up with Dexter, but now she fears for her life. She bought a sun lamp and sleeps with it on all night long. Her worse fear? Lighting storms will knock out the electricity - and Dexter will come and get her.
The Ghost who Stalked Me
Sally Mae can't get rid of the feeling someone is watching her - all the time. In the office, at the club, in her house. Day and night. And then she meets Fred. He's dead. But he's decided to stay in with her to watch her every move. Forever and ever.
Bringing Back Baby
Zelda loved George so much that when he died she begged a bokor to bring him to life. He agreed, in exchange for a lock of Zelda's hair. And now George is back - but he's different somehow. And Zelda is terrified of her zombie husband. Something is not right. And what is that smell?
Look Who's Coming to Dinner
Trish just met Henry, and she wants to introduce him to her parents. But he's a werewolf, and they're both weresheep. She's afraid Henry will cease to love her if he knows she's a weresheep too. Is there a future for a weresheep and a werewolf? And what will their children be? WereWeeps?
A Vampire's Book of Southern Style Living
Mary, a 600 year old vampire, is bored, so she gets a group of southern vampire women get together on the porch every night and they talk about life and love and trade recipes. Blood pudding, blood sausage, bloody Marys and such. A cute book about friendship in the afterlife and recipes galore for the picky vampire.
Glenda put up with Ron turning into a wolf and mauling her every full moon, until the night he ate her precious poodle. Then she packed up and left. But how can she escape a man with a nose like a bloodhound? Especially since she can't seem to give up her exclusive perfume...
My Ex Vampire
Sharon broke up with Dexter, but now she fears for her life. She bought a sun lamp and sleeps with it on all night long. Her worse fear? Lighting storms will knock out the electricity - and Dexter will come and get her.
The Ghost who Stalked Me
Sally Mae can't get rid of the feeling someone is watching her - all the time. In the office, at the club, in her house. Day and night. And then she meets Fred. He's dead. But he's decided to stay in with her to watch her every move. Forever and ever.
Bringing Back Baby
Zelda loved George so much that when he died she begged a bokor to bring him to life. He agreed, in exchange for a lock of Zelda's hair. And now George is back - but he's different somehow. And Zelda is terrified of her zombie husband. Something is not right. And what is that smell?
Look Who's Coming to Dinner
Trish just met Henry, and she wants to introduce him to her parents. But he's a werewolf, and they're both weresheep. She's afraid Henry will cease to love her if he knows she's a weresheep too. Is there a future for a weresheep and a werewolf? And what will their children be? WereWeeps?
A Vampire's Book of Southern Style Living
Mary, a 600 year old vampire, is bored, so she gets a group of southern vampire women get together on the porch every night and they talk about life and love and trade recipes. Blood pudding, blood sausage, bloody Marys and such. A cute book about friendship in the afterlife and recipes galore for the picky vampire.
The August issue of the Sirens newsletter is now online!
The August issue of the Sirens newsletter is now online!
Beat the heat with cool Margaritas from our recipe section while you
enjoy the heat of a different kind with our smokin' excerpts.
We've got lots of news about your favorite authors, too.
http://www.sensualromances.com/NewsletterAug06.html
Beat the heat with cool Margaritas from our recipe section while you
enjoy the heat of a different kind with our smokin' excerpts.
We've got lots of news about your favorite authors, too.
http://www.sensualromances.com/NewsletterAug06.html
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Writing a proposition
I've sold a few books on proposition, and I remember when I first heard about that I was amazed. You always hear the advice "finish the book before you start to shop it around." But sometimes the idea is so original you're not quite sure if it will interest anyone, and in that case it might be better to approach a publisher with the idea to see if there is any interest. Another reason could be just the opposite -you have a great idea you know will be a hit, and you want to get to work on it as soon as possible, so you shop it around first.
Another reason for writing a propostion can come from an agent, an editor, or a publisher. I had my editor suggest a book, we wrote up a proposition, and it was contracted before it was written by EC. Changeling Press were launching their line and wanted something original, so I proposed an m/m sci-fi romance, and they contracted the series on proposal. Right now my agent has an idea she thinks would be right for me, and she wants me to write a proposal for it.
What is a proposal?
It's a synopsis and about three chapters. It can include a full outline (or not). Some authors are pantsers and couldn't outline to save their lives - but no problem, most publishers and editors have worked with authors of All types and don't ask for outlines very often.
So what am I doing now? Well, I finished the synopsis and I'm writing the first three chapters of the book. I'm writing a rough draft - no worries about making it perfect yet - what my agent is looking for is character developement and mood.
I'm also doing it in first person POV, which is actually my favorite POV to work in, and I'm hoping it will work for this story. I have a little research to do right now - I'm setting the story in an actual town, and I need to get the street names right. Luckily it's a place I've been to many times, so I know more or less how it looks and what the surroundings are like, but I am a perfectionist...and besides, research is another name for procrastination, and we all know that I am the Queen of Procrastination!!
LOL
Another reason for writing a propostion can come from an agent, an editor, or a publisher. I had my editor suggest a book, we wrote up a proposition, and it was contracted before it was written by EC. Changeling Press were launching their line and wanted something original, so I proposed an m/m sci-fi romance, and they contracted the series on proposal. Right now my agent has an idea she thinks would be right for me, and she wants me to write a proposal for it.
What is a proposal?
It's a synopsis and about three chapters. It can include a full outline (or not). Some authors are pantsers and couldn't outline to save their lives - but no problem, most publishers and editors have worked with authors of All types and don't ask for outlines very often.
So what am I doing now? Well, I finished the synopsis and I'm writing the first three chapters of the book. I'm writing a rough draft - no worries about making it perfect yet - what my agent is looking for is character developement and mood.
I'm also doing it in first person POV, which is actually my favorite POV to work in, and I'm hoping it will work for this story. I have a little research to do right now - I'm setting the story in an actual town, and I need to get the street names right. Luckily it's a place I've been to many times, so I know more or less how it looks and what the surroundings are like, but I am a perfectionist...and besides, research is another name for procrastination, and we all know that I am the Queen of Procrastination!!
LOL
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Plot plot, fizz fizz....
I'm plotting another book. Having fun too. It's nice to invent a whole new cast of characters and set them loose in a whacky world of my invention.
There has to be a heroine and a hero - and there has to be a bad guy (or gal) and a Plot Arc, and all that fun stuff.
And I don't know how other authors plot and plan, but I know I nearly always start with the Heorine.
Is that usual?
I have my new heroine - and then I try to imagine the perfect hero for her. Her soul-mate - her 'one and only'. And then I invent the meanie(s) and all the trials and tribulations and subplots and secondary characters and...
Oh my. I feel a head-ache coming on. I think I need an Alka Seltzer.
I have to leave now - my dog just rolled in something AWFUL and he smells DISGUSTING!
I am off to give Auguste a Big Bath.
LOL!!!
There has to be a heroine and a hero - and there has to be a bad guy (or gal) and a Plot Arc, and all that fun stuff.
And I don't know how other authors plot and plan, but I know I nearly always start with the Heorine.
Is that usual?
I have my new heroine - and then I try to imagine the perfect hero for her. Her soul-mate - her 'one and only'. And then I invent the meanie(s) and all the trials and tribulations and subplots and secondary characters and...
Oh my. I feel a head-ache coming on. I think I need an Alka Seltzer.
I have to leave now - my dog just rolled in something AWFUL and he smells DISGUSTING!
I am off to give Auguste a Big Bath.
LOL!!!
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Igor the Giant Suitcase
This is a silly post, I warn you ahead of time. Fact is, I do most of my shopping at the Thrift store in the US. (I didn't get to go this year so I didn't get to change my entire wardrobe and will have to continue wearing my last-year's Thrift offering...luckily it includes a soft gray sweater that goes with anything.)
Last year I went several times to the Thrift and bought far more than one suitcase could hold. So, I went back to the Thrift and found another suitcase. Choices at the Thrift, as you know, are limited. There were two - one was a very small toilet bag and the other was a HUGE suitcase on wheels. It was the size of an oil barrel, square, and was made of a sort of 'faux taspestry' material in green, magenta, and black. Hideous is the word that comes to mind, but at the time I was only thinking 'Lots of Space' and plunked down seven dollars for the suitcase. I wheeled it outside to the car and got my first shock. It BARELY fit into the trunk. I looked closer at the monster. It was a lot bigger than I'd thought. I got in the car, and my mother and daughter looked at me and said, "Why did you get such a huge suitcase? It's monstrous!"
I leaned back in my seat and shrugged. "I'll call it Igor," I said.
"Igor?" My daughter giggled, but the name stuck.
We drove around to the grocery store and bought our groceries - and we couldn't put them in the trunk because of Igor. We put them in the backseat - and I started to have doubts about Igor. I imagined myself pulling him through the airport - he was nearly as tall as my ten year old daughter. He would weight three tons. He had wheels, but they were wobbly. And once full of clothes - he would weigh...three tons. Three tons. The words were a death knell for Igor. I turned to my mother and said, "We have to take Igor back to the store. He's too big."
My mother bit her lip then said, "you mean, he doesn't fit in with the family?"
My daughter howled with laughter at that one.
"No, he just doesn't fit in." I was giggling too at this point. "But I'll miss him."
"We will all miss Igor," my daughter said.
"Actually, he's hard to miss," my mother said.
Visions of me dragging the monster along the hallway, crowding people to the side, squashing anyone in their way assailed me. Yes, Igor had to go.
We dropped him off at the Thrift. They gave me a gift certificate for seven dollars. We went to another store and bought a normal-sized red duffle bag with two small wheels at one end and a big 'W' on the side.
We called this one Mr. Wilson. On his first trip he got a rip in the wheelie end and now sports a large patch of silver duct tape.
He's still with us. It makes people turn and stare at the baggage claim when he pops out of the chute and my daughter yells "There goes Mr. Wilson with the tape on his butt! Get him quick!"
But we still think of Igor now and then...
Last year I went several times to the Thrift and bought far more than one suitcase could hold. So, I went back to the Thrift and found another suitcase. Choices at the Thrift, as you know, are limited. There were two - one was a very small toilet bag and the other was a HUGE suitcase on wheels. It was the size of an oil barrel, square, and was made of a sort of 'faux taspestry' material in green, magenta, and black. Hideous is the word that comes to mind, but at the time I was only thinking 'Lots of Space' and plunked down seven dollars for the suitcase. I wheeled it outside to the car and got my first shock. It BARELY fit into the trunk. I looked closer at the monster. It was a lot bigger than I'd thought. I got in the car, and my mother and daughter looked at me and said, "Why did you get such a huge suitcase? It's monstrous!"
I leaned back in my seat and shrugged. "I'll call it Igor," I said.
"Igor?" My daughter giggled, but the name stuck.
We drove around to the grocery store and bought our groceries - and we couldn't put them in the trunk because of Igor. We put them in the backseat - and I started to have doubts about Igor. I imagined myself pulling him through the airport - he was nearly as tall as my ten year old daughter. He would weight three tons. He had wheels, but they were wobbly. And once full of clothes - he would weigh...three tons. Three tons. The words were a death knell for Igor. I turned to my mother and said, "We have to take Igor back to the store. He's too big."
My mother bit her lip then said, "you mean, he doesn't fit in with the family?"
My daughter howled with laughter at that one.
"No, he just doesn't fit in." I was giggling too at this point. "But I'll miss him."
"We will all miss Igor," my daughter said.
"Actually, he's hard to miss," my mother said.
Visions of me dragging the monster along the hallway, crowding people to the side, squashing anyone in their way assailed me. Yes, Igor had to go.
We dropped him off at the Thrift. They gave me a gift certificate for seven dollars. We went to another store and bought a normal-sized red duffle bag with two small wheels at one end and a big 'W' on the side.
We called this one Mr. Wilson. On his first trip he got a rip in the wheelie end and now sports a large patch of silver duct tape.
He's still with us. It makes people turn and stare at the baggage claim when he pops out of the chute and my daughter yells "There goes Mr. Wilson with the tape on his butt! Get him quick!"
But we still think of Igor now and then...
Monday, July 31, 2006
Lunch with my Agent
For those who have always wondered what happens when you lunch with your agent - this post is for you.
And for all you who wonder what it's like to say "I'm having lunch with my agent", know that my head will Never be the same size.
So anyway, I called Caren and told her I was in NY (this is the day I arrived and I am still jet-lagged but in the good way - when you come over from Europe you are all full of energy from 4 am until 4 pm and then suddenly you keel over.) Anyhow, I was still awake so I called Caren and she said "Great - let's meet at this restaurant in Union Square. I'll call and make reservations for two!"
and I said, "Well, I think I'll be bringing my daughter." and when I said this, my mom made all kinds of waving motions that meant 'me too, me too!' so I said, "and my mom will be there too."
"And Sam!" my mom said loudly.
Caren said "What?"
And I said, "My mom wants to come. And Sam will be there too. He's my step brother. Sort of. Well, you'll see."
But she was cool and said, "Great - see you tomorrow!"
And the next day we got up before the sunrise (jetlag the right way, remember) and caught the train to the city. We did the NY Times crossword going down - my mom is a whizz at that - and my daughter looked at the Hudson river and asked "are we there yet?" a hundred times. And then we Were there, in the city - and we took the subway to Union Square because the subway is the only way to get around in the city. (when you're on a budget.) But it was Hot that day - hot and humid. There was the Gay Pride parade on 5th ave. so we stopped and watched for a while. We got to the restaurant (a Cuban place on 17th street) and we met Caren and she had brought her boyfriend. He was raelly cute, and he was from Westerville, of all places. You find out how small the world really is when you find out your agent's boyfriend is from the town your sister lives in now. Weird.
And the conversation went like this:
Me: How do you like being an agent?
Caren: I...
My Mother: So, when are you going to sell Jenny's books?
Caren: Well, I sent them to some editors and...
My Mother: And did you read her Iskander series yet? And the Promise? You have to read the Promise, my kids love it.
Caren: Your kids?
My Mother : I teach English in a maximum security prison and I use Jenny's books for my classes. So, when are Jenny's books going to sell?
But like I said, Caren was cool, and she just laughed and didn't grip her knife tighter or anything, and she told my mother where she'd sent my books and which editors were reading them.
Of course that's when I knock over my black bean soup and I don't get to hear the last part because the waiter is looking Daggers at me, and my daughter is laughing like a loon because she heard the waiter say 'Oh Great'. I try to mop up the mess and make it worse, and then Sam comes in and takes over the conversation, thank goodness, because I'm really shy and shyness makes me nervous and when I get nervous I get clumsy, & I'm just sure my mom is going to make my agent wish she'd never signed me on. (Just kidding. Honest mom.)
Sam tells us about his brother's Tony awards (yes, awardS with an S - Jason won Two!) We're all impressed. Sam calls Jason and tells him how impressed we are. VERY. I wonder briefly where Caren sent my books. Figure mom will tell me later. (she forgot - thought I was taking notes.) Ha.
Anyway.
After lunch we all walked down to SOHO, Little Italy (for some ice-cream, of course) and then to Chinatown just for fun. (It's like going to a foreign country - so amazing - they sell these huge frogs in a bucket and there were kids reaching in to grab them with tongs!) And then we took the subway back to Penn Station - it was almost 5 pm and I had keeled over mentally about an hour back. (Sorry Caren, anything I said after 4 pm made no sense at all, but my brain was fried) My daughter was asleep on her feet. Mom adored Caren from the minute she saw her and she kept saying "Your agent is so nice!" she also thought she was awfully young. LOL. That part is true - she is young. Thank goodness. Sam made sure we got our train (he is so sweet!!) and we went back to Hudson - my daughter and I fell asleep on the train - jet lag is such a pain.
And for all you who wonder what it's like to say "I'm having lunch with my agent", know that my head will Never be the same size.
So anyway, I called Caren and told her I was in NY (this is the day I arrived and I am still jet-lagged but in the good way - when you come over from Europe you are all full of energy from 4 am until 4 pm and then suddenly you keel over.) Anyhow, I was still awake so I called Caren and she said "Great - let's meet at this restaurant in Union Square. I'll call and make reservations for two!"
and I said, "Well, I think I'll be bringing my daughter." and when I said this, my mom made all kinds of waving motions that meant 'me too, me too!' so I said, "and my mom will be there too."
"And Sam!" my mom said loudly.
Caren said "What?"
And I said, "My mom wants to come. And Sam will be there too. He's my step brother. Sort of. Well, you'll see."
But she was cool and said, "Great - see you tomorrow!"
And the next day we got up before the sunrise (jetlag the right way, remember) and caught the train to the city. We did the NY Times crossword going down - my mom is a whizz at that - and my daughter looked at the Hudson river and asked "are we there yet?" a hundred times. And then we Were there, in the city - and we took the subway to Union Square because the subway is the only way to get around in the city. (when you're on a budget.) But it was Hot that day - hot and humid. There was the Gay Pride parade on 5th ave. so we stopped and watched for a while. We got to the restaurant (a Cuban place on 17th street) and we met Caren and she had brought her boyfriend. He was raelly cute, and he was from Westerville, of all places. You find out how small the world really is when you find out your agent's boyfriend is from the town your sister lives in now. Weird.
And the conversation went like this:
Me: How do you like being an agent?
Caren: I...
My Mother: So, when are you going to sell Jenny's books?
Caren: Well, I sent them to some editors and...
My Mother: And did you read her Iskander series yet? And the Promise? You have to read the Promise, my kids love it.
Caren: Your kids?
My Mother : I teach English in a maximum security prison and I use Jenny's books for my classes. So, when are Jenny's books going to sell?
But like I said, Caren was cool, and she just laughed and didn't grip her knife tighter or anything, and she told my mother where she'd sent my books and which editors were reading them.
Of course that's when I knock over my black bean soup and I don't get to hear the last part because the waiter is looking Daggers at me, and my daughter is laughing like a loon because she heard the waiter say 'Oh Great'. I try to mop up the mess and make it worse, and then Sam comes in and takes over the conversation, thank goodness, because I'm really shy and shyness makes me nervous and when I get nervous I get clumsy, & I'm just sure my mom is going to make my agent wish she'd never signed me on. (Just kidding. Honest mom.)
Sam tells us about his brother's Tony awards (yes, awardS with an S - Jason won Two!) We're all impressed. Sam calls Jason and tells him how impressed we are. VERY. I wonder briefly where Caren sent my books. Figure mom will tell me later. (she forgot - thought I was taking notes.) Ha.
Anyway.
After lunch we all walked down to SOHO, Little Italy (for some ice-cream, of course) and then to Chinatown just for fun. (It's like going to a foreign country - so amazing - they sell these huge frogs in a bucket and there were kids reaching in to grab them with tongs!) And then we took the subway back to Penn Station - it was almost 5 pm and I had keeled over mentally about an hour back. (Sorry Caren, anything I said after 4 pm made no sense at all, but my brain was fried) My daughter was asleep on her feet. Mom adored Caren from the minute she saw her and she kept saying "Your agent is so nice!" she also thought she was awfully young. LOL. That part is true - she is young. Thank goodness. Sam made sure we got our train (he is so sweet!!) and we went back to Hudson - my daughter and I fell asleep on the train - jet lag is such a pain.
Tagged
Patrice Michelle tagged me, so here is the result:
When did you start blogging and why? I started about two years ago because I've always had a diary and this just seemed a logical extension of that. I stopped writing on paper and transposed onto the net.
What don't you talk about? Oh, lots of things. I think everyone is entitled to their beliefs and opnions - but you don't have to wave them around, jump up and down, and express yourself constantly. I try to keep my blog more about my life than about my opinions.
Are you and your blogging persona the same person? I think so - I don't really think about it to tell the truth. I'm just writing a diary here...
How do you use blogging to build friendships? Definetely - I have 'met' many wonderful people online that I could not have 'met' anywhere or anyhow else and I'm grateful. (and hope someday to meet everyone in person!)
How would you describe your writing style? Relaxed, I suppose. It's not particularly snarky or clever, although I do admire cleverly written blogs, and snarky blogs often have me laughing outloud. But I'm just writing my diary, so somedays it's boring and somedays it's not...Like my life, I suppose!
When did you start blogging and why? I started about two years ago because I've always had a diary and this just seemed a logical extension of that. I stopped writing on paper and transposed onto the net.
What don't you talk about? Oh, lots of things. I think everyone is entitled to their beliefs and opnions - but you don't have to wave them around, jump up and down, and express yourself constantly. I try to keep my blog more about my life than about my opinions.
Are you and your blogging persona the same person? I think so - I don't really think about it to tell the truth. I'm just writing a diary here...
How do you use blogging to build friendships? Definetely - I have 'met' many wonderful people online that I could not have 'met' anywhere or anyhow else and I'm grateful. (and hope someday to meet everyone in person!)
How would you describe your writing style? Relaxed, I suppose. It's not particularly snarky or clever, although I do admire cleverly written blogs, and snarky blogs often have me laughing outloud. But I'm just writing my diary, so somedays it's boring and somedays it's not...Like my life, I suppose!
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Sam the camera nut
Here is a picture of me taken by my sister two weeks ago. We were at my uncle's camp where we wre' having a family picnic. The sun was shining. We'd left all our worries about my dad at home (we agreed on that when we went out that day) and we were just having a nice time. As you can see, I have a camera in my hands. (photo to be added later when Blogger stops acting up)
I almost always have a camera in my hand or in my purse. My dad, who was an avid photographer, bought me my first camera when I was 6 years old, (a little brownie camera) and when my first roll of film was developed we discovered a whole tribe of headless monsters. I'd cut the head off every person I'd taken pictures of. So my father didn't develop another roll of film for a while, but had me 'practice' with my empty camera trying to frame my shots better. When I said I was ready, he gave me another roll of film (this was back in the 60's and film and developing pictures was pretty expensive.)
I loved experimenting with my camera, and took pictures of everything. Once, wanting to be a playboy photographer, I asked my sister (then about 7) to pose in the nude holding only a big flower to cover herself modestly. The picture was so cute my mom showed it to everyone, which infuriated my sister and she tore the photo to shreds.
I graduated to a polaroid camera, and then, when I graduated highschool, my father bought me my first real camera, a wonderful Canon. I loved that camera and took it all over the world with me, taking photos of camels in Morrocco, the coast in Israel, and beaches in the Bahamas and the Canary Islands. Most of my pictures I sent back to my dad. But then his house burned down, and all his photos burned too. It was a tragedy for my father. He had been taking pictures since he was a kid too - and I think he was far more upset about his photo collection than about his house.
Over the years, I've taken thousands of photos, and I have two bookcases full of photo albums, and a 'treasure box' of an odd assortment of pictures that my kids love to dig through.
Do you like taking pictures too?
Monday, July 24, 2006
French Fireman
My son Sebi is almost done with his training. I love his uniform - all that's missing is the helmet (shiny and gold here). He posed for me so I thought I'd post his photo here. If you come to France and see this uniform, you will know it's a fireman!
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Hot weather
It's far hotter than usual here in France. The grass, despite the frequent thunderstorms, is bleached nearly white and the air is heavy and still. I bought two fans at the hardware store - they were the two last fans in the store! I rather like them; they're retro style, silver, like something you'd see in the office of a private eye in an old detective movie. When I see them I feel like leaning back in my chair and putting my feet up on my desk.
I have been trying to catch up on blogs and such, but haven't had much time. I was gone for over a month, and my son and husband were here by themselves...and neither is 'into' housework. So I've been busy scrubbing and cleaning. In the heat it takes longer.
I've also been reading a lot. My mom gave me a stack of books when I was in NY (my suitcases were Heavy!) and I read Mo Hayder's 'The Devil of Nanking' with my skin just crawing in horror. What a cool book. I'm also reading 'Flyboys', a terrific book about Io and Imo Jima in the Pacific. Absolutely fascinating. And sad too. The Human race is SO fucked up. The word is strong, but you have to read the book to understand why I use it.
Anyhow, for summer reading I would reccommend 'Flyboys' and 'The' Devil of Nanking' and for something light and fun, 'Eleven on Top' by Janet Evanovich. (recommended by my aunt)
What are you reading this summer?
I have been trying to catch up on blogs and such, but haven't had much time. I was gone for over a month, and my son and husband were here by themselves...and neither is 'into' housework. So I've been busy scrubbing and cleaning. In the heat it takes longer.
I've also been reading a lot. My mom gave me a stack of books when I was in NY (my suitcases were Heavy!) and I read Mo Hayder's 'The Devil of Nanking' with my skin just crawing in horror. What a cool book. I'm also reading 'Flyboys', a terrific book about Io and Imo Jima in the Pacific. Absolutely fascinating. And sad too. The Human race is SO fucked up. The word is strong, but you have to read the book to understand why I use it.
Anyhow, for summer reading I would reccommend 'Flyboys' and 'The' Devil of Nanking' and for something light and fun, 'Eleven on Top' by Janet Evanovich. (recommended by my aunt)
What are you reading this summer?
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Been gone
I've been remiss about writing in my blog, but I've had a very sad summer so far. In the space of a month, my father fell ill and died, and I will miss him dreadfully.
Now I am trying to think of other things and find joys in small things; thankfully that has always been easy for me. A butterfly, a summer storm, a book someone sent me, a bracelet from Lourdes, and a note written on rice paper...Every day brings small pleasures and my heart grows lighter. Today, I decided that my blog looked sad and empty and I found I wanted to change that.
I went back and found something I'd written about him a while ago and wanted to post it, so here it is:
I thought I knew my dad - well, I mean, I do know him. He's the best dad I could ever wish for. He built us a tree fort, he loved to do things with us, and he's always loved to take us places. He was never too busy for us. My sisters and brothers all agree - he is a terrific dad. Anyway, My uncle came to visit the other week. He came on an army plane, so he flew for free. He was in the army for ages, and he fought in Vietnam and in the first Gulf War. He's NRA all the way, and a right wing conservative. I, (being a bleeding heart liberal,) get along really well with him, lol. Actually, we get along great. We both love to talk, and we both love to discuss matters. Well, we were discussing the war (both of us firmly on our sides, neither giving an inch, but having a good time.) and he said, "well, your dad would agree (I forgot what we were arguing about) because he fought in the Korean war."
I knew that. But you know what? It didn't mean anything to me. I never learned about the Korean war. I imagined him on a boat somewhere (marine = boat) And then my uncle said, "Yeah, he was in the battle of the Chosin Resevoire" in a tone of voice that could only be described as awe. I had no idea what that was. And so, to educate me, my uncle sent me a book to read. It was pretty amazing. I thought I knew everything about my dad, and here I discover he was in the marines, in the Fox company, fighting an amazing battle in the Chosin resevoire. (He just says, 'yeah, I fought against the Chinese and crossed the frozen Chosin.') Well, the book is the story told by different soldiers - it's called 'The Korean War, From Pusan to Chosin', and it's compiled by Donald Knox. It is just an amazing book. My son is reading it now, and he won't put it down. I thought I knew my history, but I didn't. And I missed something important about my dad too.
It puts another facet on the diamond that's my dad. He shines even brighter now.
I wrote that a while ago, and I wish I'd had more time to talk to him - but I suppose we always think that when someone we love passes away.
Mostly, I like to look at the photos I have of him and remember the things he did or said - he had a wonderful sense of humor and was always telling a funny story or a joke.
Here is a photo of my father when he was 18 and had just joined the marines.
Dad, I'm going to miss you.
Now I am trying to think of other things and find joys in small things; thankfully that has always been easy for me. A butterfly, a summer storm, a book someone sent me, a bracelet from Lourdes, and a note written on rice paper...Every day brings small pleasures and my heart grows lighter. Today, I decided that my blog looked sad and empty and I found I wanted to change that.
I went back and found something I'd written about him a while ago and wanted to post it, so here it is:
I thought I knew my dad - well, I mean, I do know him. He's the best dad I could ever wish for. He built us a tree fort, he loved to do things with us, and he's always loved to take us places. He was never too busy for us. My sisters and brothers all agree - he is a terrific dad. Anyway, My uncle came to visit the other week. He came on an army plane, so he flew for free. He was in the army for ages, and he fought in Vietnam and in the first Gulf War. He's NRA all the way, and a right wing conservative. I, (being a bleeding heart liberal,) get along really well with him, lol. Actually, we get along great. We both love to talk, and we both love to discuss matters. Well, we were discussing the war (both of us firmly on our sides, neither giving an inch, but having a good time.) and he said, "well, your dad would agree (I forgot what we were arguing about) because he fought in the Korean war."
I knew that. But you know what? It didn't mean anything to me. I never learned about the Korean war. I imagined him on a boat somewhere (marine = boat) And then my uncle said, "Yeah, he was in the battle of the Chosin Resevoire" in a tone of voice that could only be described as awe. I had no idea what that was. And so, to educate me, my uncle sent me a book to read. It was pretty amazing. I thought I knew everything about my dad, and here I discover he was in the marines, in the Fox company, fighting an amazing battle in the Chosin resevoire. (He just says, 'yeah, I fought against the Chinese and crossed the frozen Chosin.') Well, the book is the story told by different soldiers - it's called 'The Korean War, From Pusan to Chosin', and it's compiled by Donald Knox. It is just an amazing book. My son is reading it now, and he won't put it down. I thought I knew my history, but I didn't. And I missed something important about my dad too.
It puts another facet on the diamond that's my dad. He shines even brighter now.
I wrote that a while ago, and I wish I'd had more time to talk to him - but I suppose we always think that when someone we love passes away.
Mostly, I like to look at the photos I have of him and remember the things he did or said - he had a wonderful sense of humor and was always telling a funny story or a joke.
Here is a photo of my father when he was 18 and had just joined the marines.
Dad, I'm going to miss you.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
been away a while
My trip to NY has not gone as planned - my dad was very ill and I spent lots of time in the hospital with him. I am in Ohio now, visiting with my sister (who drove to NY to see my dad too - we drove back to her house together)
I keep trying to get computer time but it's not easy, nor have I been trying very hard - summer is kid and family time, so forgive me if I don't post often!
I did go to NYC and met my agent, caren. It was a lot of fun. I brought my mom, daughter, and Sam, my step-brother. LOL! Caren brought her boyfriend, who, it turns out, is from my sister's town here in Ohio! We had a great lunch in a Cuban restaurant - and then we strolled through China town and Soho. Lots of fun. I can't wait to go to NYC again - hopefully for longer than just an afternoon this time. I didn't have time to plan anything - it was in between hospital visits, but hopefully things will quiet down and I'll be back in NYC again soon!
I keep trying to get computer time but it's not easy, nor have I been trying very hard - summer is kid and family time, so forgive me if I don't post often!
I did go to NYC and met my agent, caren. It was a lot of fun. I brought my mom, daughter, and Sam, my step-brother. LOL! Caren brought her boyfriend, who, it turns out, is from my sister's town here in Ohio! We had a great lunch in a Cuban restaurant - and then we strolled through China town and Soho. Lots of fun. I can't wait to go to NYC again - hopefully for longer than just an afternoon this time. I didn't have time to plan anything - it was in between hospital visits, but hopefully things will quiet down and I'll be back in NYC again soon!
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