Problem Vs. Inconvenience

Get ready for a rant.

I normally don't get too serious on this venue; thus the name. But I need to vent. I always seem to need to vent when I spend large amounts of time with my in-laws. So I dedicate this entry and the soapbox that goes with it to them.

When I was a teenager, I read an article that profoundly affected my views. I read it in Readers Digest, of all places. The author related a story about his youth when he worked on a ranch. The cook for the hands on the ranch was an old timer who didn't say much. Well, this young man, after coming in from working hard all day, doing back breaking manual labor in the hot sun stomped inside and knew that if he was going to be served pork and beans for dinner for the fifth time in a row, he'd explode. As soon as he entered the mess hall, the smell of that dinner hit him full in the face. He began complaining loudly as he brought his plate up to the old cook about how they were having pork and beans yet again. As he took a breath to continue his diatribe, the old man, with his thick accent, looked up and quietly asked him a question.

"Is this a problem, or an inconvenience?"

The younger man was taken aback because the cook barely said anything to anyone, ever. But here he was, looking him directly in the eye and questioning him. The young cowboy didn't know what to say, but the old man did.

He told a story of a young boy who lived behind high fences topped with barbed wire, just like the cattle the cowboy tended, except the boy and all the people inside the fence were treated even worse than livestock. He told of fighting rats to wrestle the rotten food away from them so the boy could consume it, of watching everyone around him turn gray and weak, of the big men coming to beat and tear away the people inside the fence from each other. He told of smoke rising from chimneys. Smoke so foul that it laid on your skin like an infection and choked the life from you just by its presence. He told of the boy watching every single person in his family die a slow and dehumanizing death by malnourishment, mistreatment, disease and worst of all - apathy.

The old cook pushed up the sleeve of his tattered flannel shirt and showed the young cowboy the blue tattoo on his arm of numbers blurred by the passing of time, revealing that he, himself, was the boy from the story. He then asked the cowboy again.

"Is having pork and beans served to you every night for a week a problem or an inconvenience?"

The story not only gave the author new perspective, but also myself. The AIDS epidemic in Africa is a problem. Women in the Middle East being stoned to death because they were raped is a problem. Bride burning in India is a problem. Global warming is a problem. Sex trafficking is a problem. Children being conscripted into armies torn by civil war in Africa is a problem. Suicide bombers are a problem.

Having your parents ask if you would like to have heirlooms from their family is not a problem. Having to buy a fourth TV for the kitchen is not a problem. Your teenage daughter wanting to talk on the phone to her boyfriend is not a problem. Not being able to pack all the new presents from the holiday to take back to your house is not a problem. Having to listen to High School Musical is not a problem. Those, and a lot more like them, are inconveniences.

Suck it up and quit complaining. There is always someone who's had it worse than you. If you don't believe that, do one or all of the following:

1. Read Night by Eli Wiesel.
2. Read A Child Called "It" by Dave Pelzer.
3. Read Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe.
4. Watch U571.
5. Watch Saving Private Ryan.
6. Watch Pray the Devil Back to Hell.
7. Watch Hotel Rwanda.
8. Visit a women's shelter.
9. Visit a homeless shelter.
10. Visit a VA hospital.
11. Visit the pediatric wing of your local hospital.

I could go on, but dear readers, I've ranted you to death, and I'm sure you're not guilty of the above. Come back in a few days. I'm sure I'll be perkier since my in -laws will soon be going back to where they came from. I leave with this parting thought that I'm using as my mantra for when I go back to the house where all the in-laws are in just a few short hours. Everyone is going through their own battles. Try and be patient, even if they're only inconveniences and not real problems.

Top 3 Grinch Moments

I know you've been wanting to ask. You've been thinking, "Ava, what are your top three favorite moments from the TV special How the Grinch Stole Christmas?" I'll take pity on you all and give you my top three in reverse order. I won't even make you do a drum roll.

3. When the Grinch brings back all the toys, food and decorations on his sleigh at the end, The Who's in their circle open and shut like a gate. For some odd reason, I love that.

2. Right before the Grinch goes down to steal all the Who's stuff, he whistles for Max, his dog. Max comes leaping up into the sleigh like every dog in the world - all happy for a ride. It makes me smile every time.

And the number one favorite moment from How the Grinch Stole Christmas is. . .

When the Grinch gets his awful idea to steal all the Who's things he smiles the most evil smile ever. I love that smile. I wish I could bring it out and plaster it on my face at appropriate moments. I seem to run into a bunch of appropriate moments for that smile. And boy would I use it!

So there they are. My top three. What are your top three? Or top moments from your favorite Christmas specials?

One last thing. Have you ever played the Whoville drinking game? Every time the word "who" is spoken, you take a drink. You have to look out for, "All the Who's down in Whoville", and "Little Cindy-Lou Who, Who was no more than two." Those are killers.

Sea Monkey Greetings

Greetings silent Lurkers. This one's for you.

Writing versus Reality

Sea monkeys are living in my bathtub. Or, at least, that’s what I’m telling my husband. They come in the night and commandeer the shower, creating an environment conducive to sea monkey survival. That’s why I haven’t cleaned it lately. It’s a little known fact that sea monkeys are on the endangered species list. If I cleaned the tub more often, I’d literally be wiping out one of the largest known colonies on the planet. How could I live with myself?

The dust rhinos, on the other hand, are beginning to bully my dogs. I may need to do some eradicating in that arena soon. What am I talking about? Reality. Yes, reality. Reality crashing in and taking away from my time to write.

I wasn’t raised to be a slovenly housekeeper. On the contrary. Being raised in the home of my grandmother, I can house clean with the best of them. I can shampoo rugs by hand, mix a powerful cleaning solution out of Borax, and fix an old Hoover faster than Macgyver. However, my ability to clean is not under scrutiny right now. The fact that I choose to sacrifice a supremely clean house for time to write is.

As an aspiring author, I’ve found I need to make trade offs with reality to fit in time to write. I’m sure I’m not alone. We all know it’s crucial to make time for the things important to us. In this case – writing. Unfortunately, no matter how sacred writing time is, reality continues to rear its ugly head and take bites out of any carefully laid schedule. Deftly gobbling up chunks of time set aside to write.
Tell me if this sounds familiar. Have to stop at the bank. Must do holiday shopping. Got to get the oil changed. Holy moly, what’s for dinner? Who used every square of toilet paper in the entire house?! Why didn’t you tell me before that you volunteered me for that? How come there’s no dishwashing detergent? What happened to all the towels? Tell me again why you need to be driven to the library right now? If I don’t do the laundry soon I’ll have to beat it back with a stick when it walks out of there of its own volition.

You get the idea. Reality one; writing zero.
My advice? Let go of something small before all your writing time is eaten away. Having time to write is the only way an aspiring author can make it to authordom. Don’t let the reality time-eaters win!
Here are a few guidelines I’ve created to get that writing score a little higher and to ease my conscience from all the housework I am currently dodging. Feel free to adapt it to whatever you might decide to let slip in the name of that elusive writing time.

1. Dust leaves a lovely patina on furniture, especially if left undisturbed.
2. Dust bunnies make excellent pets.
3. Dog hair is the dog’s contribution to decor.
4. Same thing goes for cats.
5. Dishwashing builds character in children.

So now you know my dirty little secret. My house is a bit messy, (NATALIE ALREADY KNEW THAT!) but I’m feverishly typing away in the small intervals of the day to change my status from aspiring to published. I refuse to let the small time-eating realities of everyday living erode what time I have to write. So fight the good fight and struggle on. And know that the sea monkeys are on your side.


Ava Quinn has been a member of RWA and Central Pennsylvania Romance Writers for the past year and is working towards becoming published. You can find out more about her and her writing at www.readavaquinn.com.

The towel comment was a nod to Vicki.

Two more days, citizens!

The One That Didn't Make the Cut

Here is the article that didn't make the cut for this newsletter. It felt a little too didactic coming from the neophyte. (Whoo hoo! triple word score for me!) So, without further ado, here it is.

When we were young, my older brother and I loved to get mail. I can remember races to the death involving so much illegal tackling and shirt holding that we would have been banned from the NFL for life. Just to see if we got any mail. You can imagine the mountain of mail a six and nine year old child would get on a normal business day. So after the winner of the battle royale, bloodied and bruised and walking with a severe limp, would bring the mail to dear old Mom, the disappointment would be almost comical. But still we loved to get mail. So much so, that we would fight over any junk mail that would be shuffled in with the bills, correspondence and catalogs. As Mom would sort through, two youngsters, at every piece of mail would ask, “Can I have that?” Until a chorus of Canihavethat?Canihavethat?Canihavethats echoed after even the slightest twitch of her fingers. So, necessity being the mother of invention, and my mom the most inventive of them all, in her infinite wisdom decreed that forever forward I would be known as Occupant and my brother, Resident.

With our new titles, our Canihavethats turned into “C’mon, occupant” or “resident resident resident” prayerfully beseeching under our breaths. Fingers, toes, legs and eyes all crossed to endear ourselves to the luck and mail gods in the universe who mandated the writing of occupant or resident on all junk mail. Hardened gamblers at the racetrack had nothing on us. The anticipation as our eyes watched Mom’s every movement while she flipped through the stack. The gleeful dances of the one who got lucky. The sick disappointment of the one who walked away empty handed. To live or die at the whim of companies’ advertising department, only to start it all over the next day.

I relate that embarrassing childhood story to punctuate the power of the written word. As authors, we are already well aware of that power and strive to wield it as we create our stories. But more specifically, I refer to the power of a letter. The written word purposefully given to another.

Authors use their time and talent to entertain and inform the masses. They can also use those same skills to lift the spirit, boost morale and deliver hope to another person. There are many websites that offer that opportunity to anyone, not just writing professionals.

Anysoldier.com, Soldiersangels.org, uso.org, letterstosoldiers.org, are all organizations that provide addresses for you to write a soldier stationed in a combat zone. Saying thank you, showing your appreciation, or just a friendly hello are all powerful ways for authors to use their gifts.

If you’re brave enough, you can even write an inmate. WriteAPrisoner.com will set you up with a male or female inmate to become pen pals with.

Just a little reminder that the power of the written word distributed to the masses or to a single person can create an impact each in its own unique way. So if you’re looking for a special project, and volunteering at a homeless shelter, a soup kitchen or food bank is not up your alley, here is a way in which you can make a difference without even having to leave your own home. And who knows, you just may inspire a gleeful victory dance from the recipient.

I think I made the right choice by submitting the sea monkey article instead. I'll post that one in its entirety for my adoring silent lurkers after the newsletter is released. Have a good one, and may all your sea monkeys be the invisible kind.

Annoyed! (and other stuff)

Annoyed, annoyed, annoyed. I haven't been able to update my website for a couple months now, and I'm not sure if it's iweb, filezilla or my web hosting that is the problem. I now need to go through all the lines of error codes to try and figure it out. I'm not relishing that particular chore at all. Could be worse, but still annoying.

I've decided on the sea monkey article for the newsletter, but not if I should add it to the Editor's Link or not. I'm not sure why I'm having such a hard time making a decision about it. I think because I'm a newbie at this whole writing gig, and I don't know how it would be perceived (big industry picture-wise)to have my dinky little article out there. I don't want to look like a fool, or come across arrogant or pushy. Which will probably mean that I will keep it to the local writing group only. When in doubt, leave it out.

I'm full of cliches. Sometime I think I'll try to speak only in cliches or well known phrases for the entire day. I bet I could do it.

Speaking of cliches and old adages, I said one the other day that I hadn't thought of since I was a little girl. Smoke follows beauty. I have a million of them, some are more obscure than others. For example, if your nose itches, my mom always said that person would get a kiss or a letter or something better. Many people have told me over the years that if your nose itches you'll get in a fight or kiss a fool. I like mine better.

How about you? Any old sayings that you use? Maybe ones you grew up with? Let's hear them!

Official Announcement

Today is canceled. Everyone back to bed.

Oh, The Pressure

So, I got tapped to write an article for the CPRW newsletter, and ooohhh, the pressure. I could write about almost anything I want. Anything at all from the realm of writing. And what do I come up with? Sea monkeys. Yes, sea monkeys. I have an entire article revolving around sea monkeys.

Just to cover my bases, I started writing a second one, in case the sea monkey one doesn't land, but really. C'mon. Who wouldn't love an article about sea monkeys? But hey, like I said, I'm covering my bases. So what do I come up with for the second article? Relating an embarrassing childhood story about myself and my brother and the battle royales we would have over junk mail. Yep. Those are your choices. Sea monkeys or junk mail. They really know who to come to for class, huh?

So those of you who read this who aren't members, (yes all you millions of silent lurkers who adore my blog, but just never say anything) you'll just have to leave it up to your imagination. As for Natalie and Vicki, you guys will see in January.

Hopefully the suspense doesn't kill you both. Then who'd read my blog? *sigh* If I kill off my only two readers, that would be bad. Plus, now I'm alienating my millions of silent lurkers who are too shy to comment. Ok. Sneak peak. Remember, they're still in rough draft form. Be easy on me.

When we were young, my older brother and I loved to get mail. I can remember races to the death involving so much illegal tackling and shirt holding that we would have been banned from the NFL for life. Just to see if we got any mail. You can imagine the mountain of mail a six and nine year old child would get on a normal business day. So after the winner of the battle royale, bloodied and bruised and walking with a severe limp, would bring the mail to dear old Mom, the disappointment would be almost comical. But still we loved to get mail. So much so, that we would fight over any junk mail that would be shuffled in with the bills, correspondence and catalogs. As Mom would sort through, two youngsters, at every piece of mail would ask, “Can I have that?” Until a chorus of Canihavethat?Canihavethat?Canihavethats echoed after her every move. So, necessity being the mother of invention, and my mom the most inventive of them all, in her infinite wisdom decreed that fovever forward I would be known as Occupant and my brother, Resident.


Sea monkeys are living in my bathtub. Or, at least, that’s what I’m telling my husband. They come in the night and commandeer the shower, creating an environment conducive to sea monkey survival. That’s why I haven’t cleaned it lately. Because sea monkeys are on the endangered species list. Bet you didn’t know that. If I cleaned the tub more often, I’d be committing mass genocide. How could I live with myself?
The dust rhinos, on the other hand, are beginning to bully my dogs. I may need to do some eradicating in that arena. What am I talking about? Reality. Yes, reality.

On those two notes, I wrap this up. If I do a bad enough job, I may not be asked to do it again. That would be . . . ummmm terrible. Yeah. Just terrible. Have a good one, all two of you! And may the sea monkeys stay out of your tubs!

Undead? Yeah, Not So Much

I learned what Twilight was about a month and a half ago (for the answer to your question please reference previous entry-Pop Culture is Passing Me By). I'm not usually much of a fan of vampires which should have tipped me off that I shouldn't buy a story about them. No, it wasn't Twilight, but I do blame that story/movie for this bad read.

The ebook I bought was about vampires, and was not very well written. I have a feeling the company pushed it through so that the release was close to Halloween and the movie debut of Twilight. I was interested in several of the other earlier releases of this author, and the first chapter excerpt of the vampire story I bought by her captured my interest. But that was the only part that did. It was all downhill after that. Part of it was the writing, (which was choppy, underdeveloped, and trite) and part of it was my own dumb fault.

I have un-dead issues. Yes. Un-dead issues. I can't seem to suspend disbelief for romance between a walking, animated corpse and the living. Maybe I'm prejudiced. I could probably see it between two un-dead, but it smacks too much of necrophilia to me for the living and a vamp. As Alicia Silverstone's character Cher put it in Clueless, "You see how picky I am about my shoes, and they only go on my feet!" There's just too much of an ick factor when I consider a vampire sticking that thing anywhere near the vicinity it's trying to go to.

That's probably why I have such a problem with Sam and Ruby in Supernatural. When they got it on, it was a totally hot scene, but if I put it in the context of demon animating a corpse and a human guy, I feel like I need to go Oedipal with the eyes. At least make use of the eye wash station in my old high school chem class. Yick. This is where Natalie gets frustrated with me. I just can't get around the dead part to find it alluring.

So, needless to say, I probably won't be seeing Twilight any time soon. I'd be hard pressed to even name a movie that's out right now. The only one I had been interested in earlier in the fall releases was Pray the Devil Back to Hell. I know. Sounds all supernatural, but sorry to disappoint. It's not.

On the upside, the crappy story gave me a little motivation this week, which I've been sadly lacking. A crappy story got published. Maybe if I actually finish, one of my crappy stories will too! :)

Look Out-My Tomboy is Showing

OK, so I'm going to go a little bit tomboy on this one. Here are five vehicles that would be in my Fantasy Garage.

2009 red Mini Cooper S (Turbo)
2009 black Kawasaki Ninja 250 (I would rather have a Suzuki Hayabusa, but it's too much motorcycle for little ole me. Oooh! Or maybe a splashy Ducati Superbike!)
1969 orange convertible VW Thing
1948 hunter green Chevy pickup truck
1976 maroon and cream two toned t-top corvette (oops! My high profile trailer trashiness is peeking!)

The Ninja is a throw away for the Fantasy Garage since I own a black 2005 Ninja 250, but I still must have a motorcycle in there, and that's the best one I've ridden or owned.

So, tell me, what's in your Fantasy Garage?

In Which Way Do Threes Come?

So I thought I was done complaining, but evidently I'm not. The old saying goes, bad luck comes in threes. I'm wondering how it comes in threes because by this point I'm thinking three months of bad luck instead of three bad things happening. Here's the latest round of three.

A deer hit my husband's car, I had a tire blowout while I was driving, and yesterday we woke up to a cold house and no gas to heat it.

The deer hit the car earlier in the month. My husband decided that it wasn't all that bad, and that he could repair it himself, thereby bypassing the cost of labor. The parts arrived (with a hefty price tag), and have been sitting in my dining room for the month. He hasn't had the time, energy or good enough weather to begin the repairs.

Last Wednesday I was driving along a back road, when the minivan started shaking. I knew right away what it was. This is the second blowout I've had in my lifetime. The first was getting off of a highway on the outlying area of Philadelphia. That one was scary, especially for a nineteen year old. So anyway, everyone was fine, but we need four new tires on the minivan because the one that blew really brought home the fact that they're worn out. (the radials are showing through on the inside track.) So there's four new tires and an alignment.

Yesterday, Sunday of course, I wake up to sleet outside, and fifty degree temps inside. Our gas had run out. Now, I guess part of that is our fault for not checking diligently, but we're on an automatic delivery system with Amerigas, that sometimes they don't deliver as regularly as they should. Plus, when we moved in, the gas gauge for one of the tanks was broken. The gas company owns the tanks, and refuses to fix it or replace it. Don't get me started on the evils of Amerigas. I will be giving some poor secretary or hopefully customer representative a hard time later this morning. So since it's Sunday, there is no one at Amerigas. They're closed. So the best thing I can do is leave a message. And you can bet your sweet bippy I did. This isn't the first time they've left us without gas. The first time was Christmas Eve a few years back. That was pleasant, let me tell you.

So there are three new ones for the month of November. It's not all the crappy stuff that happened, but the major highlights. November hasn't shaped up to be any better than October was. But let's try and look on the bright side, shall we? The deer didn't total the car. No one got hurt in the tire blowout. The gas ran out Sunday instead of Saturday when we had my brother and his family up for Thanksgiving, and we were able to cook the turkey and all the trimmings. Plus we have a wood stove and lots o' wood to burn.

So in which ways do threes come? Three and they're done? Three per month? Three a day? I have to tell you, I'm starting to get superstitious. I keep trying to think back. Did I break a mirror? Did I cross paths with a black cat? Did I piss off some entity that's now exacting revenge? It's probably the last one. I think I'll hang up some garlic garland with my tinsel this year and hope that the new year brings some better luck with it.