http://www.nanowrimo.org/
Ooooo… it’s almost time to begin my first novel. I’ve never attempted to write one; primarily because I’ve never been able to commit to a plot, characters or even a genre long enough to make a novel out of my scattered fragments of imagination. If I couldn’t come up with the perfect novel, why bother?
Then I heard about National Novel Writing Month… and I read the website. The philosophy seems to be the writing equivalent of running a marathon…one you don’t expect to win but hope to finish…just to say you ran a marathon. It doesn’t matter if your writing is crap, if you ever publish the damn thing, or if it’s literary genius…The goal is writing 50,000 words in a month that—hopefully—resemble a short novel by the end.
Why do it? Here are my reasons. 1) I’d never do it otherwise due to my own fears, picky nature, and procrastination. 2) Freedom to write whatever I want…w/o worrying about perfection. 3) It’ll be good for me…character building and will prove to myself that I can write a novel.
So, my plan is to publish my writing on this blog as I go. I make no guarantees about quality or entertainment value and stress that it may just be total crap…but, hey, hand me a Dixie cup of water and clap as I run by…at least I'm doing it. Or, come along with me and write your own novel in a month. We can puke together at the end… or along the way…
Now, I’d better start thinking about the plot…characters…genre… Hmmm….
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
On What Little Boys are Made Of...
From my husband’s recent email from Guangzhou, China:
Dinner was something called "Hot Pot" in a Szechwan style... (also got pictures) ... I could sum it up as fish head soup... but there was a lot more to it than that... you might have liked it.. but I really didn’t recognize any of the ingredients (well .. except the fish head) ... some were animal ... some were vegetable and some unknown... in fact, I asked the hostess if a certain ingredient was animal or vegetable... she said neither... :-o something looked suspiciously like tongue from its texture... and something else was identified as "part of beef".. but in the shape of fettuccini and looked like nothing I'd seen.... I'm pretty sure it had something to do with a cows digestive system. I took pictures.. which was acceptable because I said they were for my daughter... but really I just wanted to show you and get all freaked out about it later.... I found myself wishing I was blind.... and trying really hard not to imagine what each item might have been.... two eyeballs ended up on my plate and I was told it would be good for my eyesight if I had them..... of course I declined that... but I did dig into the fish brains because it seemed to be the choice cut and I didn’t want to offend. Also .. I ate all the weird veggies and stumbled into some cabbage... I was actually delighted to find cabbage...
Dinner was something called "Hot Pot" in a Szechwan style... (also got pictures) ... I could sum it up as fish head soup... but there was a lot more to it than that... you might have liked it.. but I really didn’t recognize any of the ingredients (well .. except the fish head) ... some were animal ... some were vegetable and some unknown... in fact, I asked the hostess if a certain ingredient was animal or vegetable... she said neither... :-o something looked suspiciously like tongue from its texture... and something else was identified as "part of beef".. but in the shape of fettuccini and looked like nothing I'd seen.... I'm pretty sure it had something to do with a cows digestive system. I took pictures.. which was acceptable because I said they were for my daughter... but really I just wanted to show you and get all freaked out about it later.... I found myself wishing I was blind.... and trying really hard not to imagine what each item might have been.... two eyeballs ended up on my plate and I was told it would be good for my eyesight if I had them..... of course I declined that... but I did dig into the fish brains because it seemed to be the choice cut and I didn’t want to offend. Also .. I ate all the weird veggies and stumbled into some cabbage... I was actually delighted to find cabbage...
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
On Heros and Uninterested Felines...
Save the cheerleader, save the world…
I’m hooked on the NBC show “Heroes” and have not enjoyed television this much since the “Bionic Woman” and “Emergency!.” I’d heard decent reviews before the show began and decided to set the ol’ DVR to record the show… you know, in case of boredom.
We watched the first couple of episodes and mostly enjoyed the Japanese Hiro…I mean, total bubble of internal joy every time he exclaimed, “I DID IT!!” in subtitles… but I had some ambivalence toward the rest of the show. I’d had a new episode waiting on my DVR and kept putting off watching it until, finally, I needed something to watch while working out. That one did it…I couldn’t wait to watch the next one and ultimately found myself oozing, “Awesome!!” to the cat (my only companion at the time) after the most recent episode. When I talk to the cat, it must be good.
Essentially, “Heroes” is a modern day superhero tale. Perhaps it is especially engaging for us children of the 70s who grew up with the superhero genre and crave the nostalgia of our youth. Not unlike the Bionic shows, “Heroes” manages to supply rich character development in addition to the fun of the superpower. All the characters are discovering their abilities, and ultimate purposes, while wrestling with life in general. Believe it or not…
My biggest fear is that the show will follow “Surface” into obscurity. If I spend this season seeking to understand how the indestructible cheerleader fits in to total world obliteration, watching alter ego porn girl (who bares a striking resemblance to Diana Krall) integrate, sympathizing with the mind reading cop…. Only to have NY go boom in the season cliffhanger and NBC cancel the show without any resolution… Oh man, let’s not even think about it. I’ll have a lot more to say to the cat if that happens.
NBC hasn’t exactly been its tip top self since it lost the super-sitcoms of yesteryear—well, and Anthony Edwards. Still, I’m impressed with its efforts to generate shows that provide imaginative storylines (not just “gritty” crime shows), engaging but not Hollywood perfect characters, and non-reality storytelling. Kudos, even if you are loosing money, NBC.
Unfortunately—and I’m only saying this because I’m a parent and I remember how much I adored my childhood heroes—“Heroes” is not appropriate for the youngin’s. Most of it is, but it has adult themes—mainly promiscuity/internet porn… I’d rather not explain that to my 8 year old… but also gore, violence and politicians. I mean, you know…
However, for us 70s kids, this show is—so far—heaven. A balance of good/evil, humor, suspense, personality, mystery, intelligence… it can go anywhere it has a mind to. After all, it’s dealing with space-time continuums, leaping tall buildings, ass-kicking mirror images…. Entertainment candy for those of us who are pretty darned sick of reality at the moment and relish some heroes to root for.
I think one can catch up—if you haven’t been watching it already—by watching episodes on the internet. Save the cheerleader, save the world…
I’m hooked on the NBC show “Heroes” and have not enjoyed television this much since the “Bionic Woman” and “Emergency!.” I’d heard decent reviews before the show began and decided to set the ol’ DVR to record the show… you know, in case of boredom.
We watched the first couple of episodes and mostly enjoyed the Japanese Hiro…I mean, total bubble of internal joy every time he exclaimed, “I DID IT!!” in subtitles… but I had some ambivalence toward the rest of the show. I’d had a new episode waiting on my DVR and kept putting off watching it until, finally, I needed something to watch while working out. That one did it…I couldn’t wait to watch the next one and ultimately found myself oozing, “Awesome!!” to the cat (my only companion at the time) after the most recent episode. When I talk to the cat, it must be good.
Essentially, “Heroes” is a modern day superhero tale. Perhaps it is especially engaging for us children of the 70s who grew up with the superhero genre and crave the nostalgia of our youth. Not unlike the Bionic shows, “Heroes” manages to supply rich character development in addition to the fun of the superpower. All the characters are discovering their abilities, and ultimate purposes, while wrestling with life in general. Believe it or not…
My biggest fear is that the show will follow “Surface” into obscurity. If I spend this season seeking to understand how the indestructible cheerleader fits in to total world obliteration, watching alter ego porn girl (who bares a striking resemblance to Diana Krall) integrate, sympathizing with the mind reading cop…. Only to have NY go boom in the season cliffhanger and NBC cancel the show without any resolution… Oh man, let’s not even think about it. I’ll have a lot more to say to the cat if that happens.
NBC hasn’t exactly been its tip top self since it lost the super-sitcoms of yesteryear—well, and Anthony Edwards. Still, I’m impressed with its efforts to generate shows that provide imaginative storylines (not just “gritty” crime shows), engaging but not Hollywood perfect characters, and non-reality storytelling. Kudos, even if you are loosing money, NBC.
Unfortunately—and I’m only saying this because I’m a parent and I remember how much I adored my childhood heroes—“Heroes” is not appropriate for the youngin’s. Most of it is, but it has adult themes—mainly promiscuity/internet porn… I’d rather not explain that to my 8 year old… but also gore, violence and politicians. I mean, you know…
However, for us 70s kids, this show is—so far—heaven. A balance of good/evil, humor, suspense, personality, mystery, intelligence… it can go anywhere it has a mind to. After all, it’s dealing with space-time continuums, leaping tall buildings, ass-kicking mirror images…. Entertainment candy for those of us who are pretty darned sick of reality at the moment and relish some heroes to root for.
I think one can catch up—if you haven’t been watching it already—by watching episodes on the internet. Save the cheerleader, save the world…
Thursday, October 19, 2006
On Bitches and Marketing...
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ucac/20061019/cm_ucac/ojtrialsforterrorists
But, that aside, does she have a point about anything? Probably.
She’s essentially pissed because she feels terrorists and those who cavort with them are perhaps getting off easier than they should. Maybe they are… I don’t know and I don’t care because really none of that matters.
The hell you say? Yes. It’s all crap. It isn’t like other terrorists look at the poor bastards at Gitmo and say, reasonably, “Gee, it looks like Saiib and Jsmahhlsammal are having a pretty rough time in that detention center. I would not like to have such a rough time myself, therefore I will cease my terrorist activities to prevent myself from a similar fate.” It doesn’t matter if they are tortured, punished, taunted, overfed, underfed… it will not change the detainees and it will not change the would-be terrorists. It also does not matter if we treat them well and give them all the creature comforts we can imagine. Nothing we do to them matters.
However, talking about what we do or don’t do…arguing about how we should or shouldn’t treat them… making a big deal out of them at all… That matters. Why? Because it makes us look very very stupid to the other countries. It looks like we can’t get our act together. We’ve become the trailer trash of the world…who yell and scream and blabbidy blab blab about all of our private business.
I don’t get why our politicians,
http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/treasures/trm139.html
Case in point, the “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” theory. We can be pissed off, we can be scared, we can be determined, we can be buttheads… but we can keep all that to ourselves and strategically do what we need to do. Be cool like Fonzie.
But no, everyone goes on and on…blah blah blah axis of evil… blah blah blah war is bad… blah blah blah stay the course…blah blah blah it’s Bush’s fault… blah blah blah it’s gays… The rest of the world is looking at us shaking their collective heads… not because we have prisoners at Gitmo and not because we’re fighting in
Our government needs a Secretary of Marketing/PR and better get one soon. WWIII will be a war of public opinion…mark my words.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
On Vegas and Recovery...
So we’re back from Vegas and I feel as if somebody hit me with a giant bat. I saw a t-shirt in the airport gift shop that said, “Las Vegas: What was I thinking?” I thought, “Amen.”
I mean, it’s a fun place to an extent and like some sort of forgiving foster parent, Vegas accepts all sorts of children….Everyone fits in Vegas.
When I look back on our experience, or when somebody asks me what we did there, I realize that our primary activity—for 3 days—involved walking around looking at hotels. I mean, the hotels are impressive, yes and all have their own personalities. This is interesting and free entertainment, but man, I’m sure time could have been used more wisely…even if only to sit by the pool with a giant fruit beverage.
Occasionally we’d walk to a hotel for a purpose. We deliberately watched the fountains at the Bellagio several times and stood amazed as they popped off water with the force of fireworks. We went to New York, New York to visit a sing-along piano bar—probably the highlight of the trip. We went to Ballys to see Jubilee, an old-school Vegas show involving matter-of-fact topless women, rhinestones and guys on ribbons. We went to the Venetian to eat some Italian food and ride the Gondolas (which go like 2 miles an hour but you have to wear seatbelts)…I tried grappa.
Otherwise, we generally divided our time between looking at hotels and deciding what to eat. We did a little gambling and I lost a whopping $7. We never did play at any of the tables, where the minimum bets exceeded our risk comfort zone, but did goof off with the penny and nickel slots.
The weird thing about the place is the lack of seating. I sort had the image of parking ourselves in some hotel lobbies for people watching, but realized quickly that you pretty much have to be a paying customer in a bar or restaurant to find a seat. Vegas does not want you to stay in one place for long.
I do not recommend Quark’s Bar at the Hilton… though the Romulan Ale is worth having for obvious reasons…the food is overpriced cafeteria fare. However, I do recommend Ellis Island for both Karaoke and cheap but decent 24-hr food—and breakfast anytime.
We made it to the Dam and took the Dam tour—which has been, unfortunately, shortened after 9/11 for security reasons. And, I told my mom we went and she informed me that a couple years after the Hoover-Fuck incident, she and Dad went back and toured the thing. She regaled me with the parts of the tour no longer available. Great. She got to go on the full tour and I get “Look, generators… Look tunnel… OK, end of tour.” Figures.
The best part of the trip happened in the desert at the Valley of Fire State Park. Essentially a poor-man’s Zion/Bryce Canyon but beautiful. We arrived before sunset and wandered among the red rock formations until we could hardly see them.
I’m glad to know what Vegas is all about… but I’m also glad to be home. Vegas…what was I thinking??
I mean, it’s a fun place to an extent and like some sort of forgiving foster parent, Vegas accepts all sorts of children….Everyone fits in Vegas.
When I look back on our experience, or when somebody asks me what we did there, I realize that our primary activity—for 3 days—involved walking around looking at hotels. I mean, the hotels are impressive, yes and all have their own personalities. This is interesting and free entertainment, but man, I’m sure time could have been used more wisely…even if only to sit by the pool with a giant fruit beverage.
Occasionally we’d walk to a hotel for a purpose. We deliberately watched the fountains at the Bellagio several times and stood amazed as they popped off water with the force of fireworks. We went to New York, New York to visit a sing-along piano bar—probably the highlight of the trip. We went to Ballys to see Jubilee, an old-school Vegas show involving matter-of-fact topless women, rhinestones and guys on ribbons. We went to the Venetian to eat some Italian food and ride the Gondolas (which go like 2 miles an hour but you have to wear seatbelts)…I tried grappa.
Otherwise, we generally divided our time between looking at hotels and deciding what to eat. We did a little gambling and I lost a whopping $7. We never did play at any of the tables, where the minimum bets exceeded our risk comfort zone, but did goof off with the penny and nickel slots.
The weird thing about the place is the lack of seating. I sort had the image of parking ourselves in some hotel lobbies for people watching, but realized quickly that you pretty much have to be a paying customer in a bar or restaurant to find a seat. Vegas does not want you to stay in one place for long.
I do not recommend Quark’s Bar at the Hilton… though the Romulan Ale is worth having for obvious reasons…the food is overpriced cafeteria fare. However, I do recommend Ellis Island for both Karaoke and cheap but decent 24-hr food—and breakfast anytime.
We made it to the Dam and took the Dam tour—which has been, unfortunately, shortened after 9/11 for security reasons. And, I told my mom we went and she informed me that a couple years after the Hoover-Fuck incident, she and Dad went back and toured the thing. She regaled me with the parts of the tour no longer available. Great. She got to go on the full tour and I get “Look, generators… Look tunnel… OK, end of tour.” Figures.
The best part of the trip happened in the desert at the Valley of Fire State Park. Essentially a poor-man’s Zion/Bryce Canyon but beautiful. We arrived before sunset and wandered among the red rock formations until we could hardly see them.
I’m glad to know what Vegas is all about… but I’m also glad to be home. Vegas…what was I thinking??
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
On Birthdays and Dams...
Today is my birthday (at the risk of revealing personal information that could result in identity theft or other heinous scary things that I can’t even imagine but will hear about via the media eventually because they are out to scare the shit out of every American until we are so tired of being scared that apathy really sets in and we throw our collective media devices and Katie Couric into the Boston Harbor…)
I’m halfway to 68 and I don’t care who knows it. It’s all relative anyway. I’m the Goldilocks of aging. At work, I’m about the only female who still menstruates so people naturally don’t take me seriously. In Mazatlan, like 4 years ago, I felt like a fat dinosaur. Among my friends, I feel just right…Sophisticated and wise and yet young enough to appreciate sarcasm.
These be the good old days ~ Ziggy Marley
Today I’m at work and my perfunctory birthday card (signed by everyone whether they know me or not, with a variety of the same statements everyone makes on every office birthday card, “Have a Good One. Best Wishes. You’re Sweet. Enjoy Yourself,” and of course, “Happy Birthday” ad nauseam) is displayed prominently over my flat screen. I’m touched. I wasn’t sure there were enough emails about whose birthdays are in October that they’d remember. Them’s good people.
My co-workers also pitched in to get me a little travel kit involving soaps. This is a thoughtful gift (even if somebody did bring it home from a hotel in Wisconsin, didn’t use it and decided to pass it to me). It’s the thought that counts; and think they did, because I’m on my way to Vegas, baby, tomorrow afternoon and could use a variety of soaps; especially exfoliating soaps. There’s no such thing as too much soap, I always say.
You have to say Vegas baby, when you talk about going there. It just feels good. Not “Las Vegas,” or “Vegas,” but “Vegas comma baby.” I have only visited Vegas as a child and frankly I confuse those memories with those of Reno. Somewhere in there are hamburgers and a cheap stuffed monkey named Fred, won at Circus Circus; along with trying to figure out where kids were allowed and not allowed. I vaguely see myself positioned just outside a velvet rope watching my mother on the opposite side of the rope at a nickel slot machine.
The most vivid childhood memory of Vegas specifically, baby, is not Vegas itself but Hoover Dam; and not the Dam itself but the argument my parents had about whether to go on the damn tour of the Dam. This monumental parental event took place in a Winnebago in front of my step-brother, myself and our wiener dog, Gretchen.
Essentially my mom is scared of heights, enclosed spaces, turbines and anything involving fun and adventure (or so it seemed to my young self, sitting in the RV hoping with all my might that I might get to go into that incredible edifice and understand the dynamics of hydroelectric power…or at least ride a really cool elevator…whatever). Essentially my dad is scared of doing anything without my mom, so when Mom decided she would not participate and would “be fine here in the motor home, reading with the dog…” my dad’s thoughtful response was, “well then, none of us will go.” What followed is relatively blurry but involved lots of huffing, circular reasoning, passive aggressive statements, martyrdom, and most significantly my mom saying “Fuck” in front of us for the first time.
I, of course, burst into tears. Who was this woman?? I didn’t even know her anymore. I didn’t know whose side to be on. Hers, because she said she wanted to stay behind and would be ok if we went ahead… or his, because even though she said this, it could have just been code for “I’m only saying I’ll be fine and that you can go ahead but really I don’t want you to go but I’m going to pretend like it’s ok and make you all feel really guilty anyway.” Or hers, because she really didn’t care if we went our not and would have been fine but my dad is a stubborn fart who’d rather ruin everybody’s fun than just go see the stupid thing without my mother. In the end, none of us went any farther into the dam than the bathroom at the visitor center.
Truly, it made no sense to me at the time. And though I’m still perplexed by the actual nature of the disagreement or the logic on either side of it, I can’t hold it against them because I’ve had more than my fair share of ridiculous arguments with my spouse. Plus, it’s a really fun memory to rehash and never let them live down and it brought the word “fuck” into the family. It’s fodder for years of ribbing and cussing.
So, Vegas, baby. The strip, the food, the drink, the shows, the Dam… I’m on my way tomorrow and not looking back. Hedonism take me away. Happy fucking birrrthdayyyy tooo meeeeee…..
I’m halfway to 68 and I don’t care who knows it. It’s all relative anyway. I’m the Goldilocks of aging. At work, I’m about the only female who still menstruates so people naturally don’t take me seriously. In Mazatlan, like 4 years ago, I felt like a fat dinosaur. Among my friends, I feel just right…Sophisticated and wise and yet young enough to appreciate sarcasm.
These be the good old days ~ Ziggy Marley
Today I’m at work and my perfunctory birthday card (signed by everyone whether they know me or not, with a variety of the same statements everyone makes on every office birthday card, “Have a Good One. Best Wishes. You’re Sweet. Enjoy Yourself,” and of course, “Happy Birthday” ad nauseam) is displayed prominently over my flat screen. I’m touched. I wasn’t sure there were enough emails about whose birthdays are in October that they’d remember. Them’s good people.
My co-workers also pitched in to get me a little travel kit involving soaps. This is a thoughtful gift (even if somebody did bring it home from a hotel in Wisconsin, didn’t use it and decided to pass it to me). It’s the thought that counts; and think they did, because I’m on my way to Vegas, baby, tomorrow afternoon and could use a variety of soaps; especially exfoliating soaps. There’s no such thing as too much soap, I always say.
You have to say Vegas baby, when you talk about going there. It just feels good. Not “Las Vegas,” or “Vegas,” but “Vegas comma baby.” I have only visited Vegas as a child and frankly I confuse those memories with those of Reno. Somewhere in there are hamburgers and a cheap stuffed monkey named Fred, won at Circus Circus; along with trying to figure out where kids were allowed and not allowed. I vaguely see myself positioned just outside a velvet rope watching my mother on the opposite side of the rope at a nickel slot machine.
The most vivid childhood memory of Vegas specifically, baby, is not Vegas itself but Hoover Dam; and not the Dam itself but the argument my parents had about whether to go on the damn tour of the Dam. This monumental parental event took place in a Winnebago in front of my step-brother, myself and our wiener dog, Gretchen.
Essentially my mom is scared of heights, enclosed spaces, turbines and anything involving fun and adventure (or so it seemed to my young self, sitting in the RV hoping with all my might that I might get to go into that incredible edifice and understand the dynamics of hydroelectric power…or at least ride a really cool elevator…whatever). Essentially my dad is scared of doing anything without my mom, so when Mom decided she would not participate and would “be fine here in the motor home, reading with the dog…” my dad’s thoughtful response was, “well then, none of us will go.” What followed is relatively blurry but involved lots of huffing, circular reasoning, passive aggressive statements, martyrdom, and most significantly my mom saying “Fuck” in front of us for the first time.
I, of course, burst into tears. Who was this woman?? I didn’t even know her anymore. I didn’t know whose side to be on. Hers, because she said she wanted to stay behind and would be ok if we went ahead… or his, because even though she said this, it could have just been code for “I’m only saying I’ll be fine and that you can go ahead but really I don’t want you to go but I’m going to pretend like it’s ok and make you all feel really guilty anyway.” Or hers, because she really didn’t care if we went our not and would have been fine but my dad is a stubborn fart who’d rather ruin everybody’s fun than just go see the stupid thing without my mother. In the end, none of us went any farther into the dam than the bathroom at the visitor center.
Truly, it made no sense to me at the time. And though I’m still perplexed by the actual nature of the disagreement or the logic on either side of it, I can’t hold it against them because I’ve had more than my fair share of ridiculous arguments with my spouse. Plus, it’s a really fun memory to rehash and never let them live down and it brought the word “fuck” into the family. It’s fodder for years of ribbing and cussing.
So, Vegas, baby. The strip, the food, the drink, the shows, the Dam… I’m on my way tomorrow and not looking back. Hedonism take me away. Happy fucking birrrthdayyyy tooo meeeeee…..
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