Coming Down Off the Sugar

And it's a very scary sight. I don't even want to think about how much sugar I've consumed in the last four days. I'm working the detox as we speak. I haven't been able to blog because my hands were shaking too severely to type.

I had a nice holiday. One day was especially awesome. The most productive thing I did that day was put the red five on the black six. Ahhh. The memories.

So the in-laws got us a Wii. I will now never complete any manuscript ever. I will, however order a pink and black bowling shirt with a crown made of bowling pins embroidered on the back with the name Pin Princess stitched over the breast pocket. I'll also be heading a clinic on my patented Lollipop Release Technique tm - guaranteed to improve your score by at least 3 points or your money back. You too can join this elite ten class series for only nine easy installments of $9.99.

Or could I interest you in a slightly used Hawaii chair?

So, resolutions. I don't believe in them. They're like mystical rainbow farting unicorns, only applicable in the perfect hermetically sealed environs of your Happy Place where everything is perfect. What do you mean you don't have rainbow farting unicorns in your happy place? What's the matter with you? You have no idea what you're missing.

Christmas is Coming, People!

And so is Santa. (OH MY GOD! I KNOW HIM!)

Have a great holiday everybody, no matter what you celebrate!

Pulling Me Back In

So I'm ready to be done with YouTube and the time suck that it presents to me when . . . I see this. (Some may want tissues before viewing)



A story well told. Though I don't agree with everything, it takes you exactly where it wants to go. And I like it when I don't agree with everything. It's so much more interesting that way. Thought provoking. Giving me a view that isn't my own. (There's that challenging of my views I discussed two entries ago.)

So, like the Godfather -



Curse you, YouTube!!!

What's The Matter With Me?

I'm not sure. I keep going on YouTube to find my Christmas spirit. That alone is just wrong. And then I come up with things like this.



It doesn't give me Christmas spirit, yet I can't look away.

Nice Guys Finish Last

I love being surprised by words and having standard perceptions challenged. Like the old riddle about the boy and father who were in a car crash. The father dies at the scene, and the boy is rushed to the hospital. The doctor on call takes one look at the patient, and steps away saying, I can't operate on him. He's my son." How can that be?

George Carlin was a master at coming at an idea from the back door, leaving the listener with a new skewed view and a glimpse into his unorthodox mind.




I heard a new blues song by Johnnie Bassett the other night that took full advantage of the listener's solidified acceptance of a phrase and put a new twist on it. It got me thinking about this again. Blues singers have been playing with words and using humor for years. (Muddy Waters belted out Got my mojo working, but it just don't work on you. B.B. King sang, Nobody loves me but my mother-And she might be jivin' too.)
So when I was listening to the Blues Show on WXPN Phildelphia and heard this:

I'm after your body
Little girl, I'm after your mind,
Yes, I want it all, baby,
But all in good time
No need to move it too fast
I know a woman's needs come first,
And nice guys finish last.

It surprised me and made me laugh. I immediately called my answering machine to record the artist and title of the song so I could buy it later.

Blues singers have used double entendres since the beginning. (Squeeze my lemon til the juice runs down my leg, anyone?) And you hear some very colorful metaphors listening to the Blues.

Anytime someone can jolt me out of my regular thinking patterns and way I view the world, I love it.

So tell me. What trips your trigger? What's something that inspires you?

Happy Silent Lurker Day!

Hello and welcome to the first annual Silent Lurker Day! I'm here to pay tribute to you, the silent lurker, the heart beat of hope of every small time blogger. So where ever you're from, what ever you do, feel free to leave a comment and say howdy. I won't even scare you with any disturbing Elvis pictures or coughborecough regale you with my sea monkey battles. It's all about you today.

In honor of Silent Lurker Day, I'll be coughinflictingonyoucough posting a new excerpt from one of my wips, and offering you a glimpse at some past posts that you may find enjoyable. So sit back and relax as we celebrate you, The Silent Lurker.



Who may very well view this blog as a rather compelling train wreck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<<<<<<>>>>>>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First Draft Excerpt from First Love, Only Love

"So, what do you think, hon?" Dixie asked coyly over the blaring country music, her voice dripping with innuendo.

"If he comes anywhere near me I'll probably puke on his shoes, and then where would I be?" Her voice came out more like a wail than the light-hearted response she’d tried for.

"I'd say out about four hundred bucks. Those are some expensive looking cowboy boots he's sportin'," Dixie drawled.

Why is he looking at me? She checked behind her to make sure there wasn't another girl he was really interested in. But there was no one, and when her eyes met his again they shone with amusement. He leaned over to one of his buddies and said something. They both began to laugh. His eyes had never left hers though, and she felt a blush creep up from the neckline of her silk tank top until it reached her forehead.

Dixie guffawed long and loud at her reaction, practically spewing her beer all over Bethany. "Oh honey, if you get any redder, you're gonna have heat stroke! Here. Drink this, it'll put hair on your chest and give you the courage you'll need when he struts his fine self over here to talk to you." She shoved the shot glass up to her mouth and practically drowned her cousin in booze in perfect drink or swim fashion.

Bethany sputtered and coughed as the liquid burned down her throat. She peeked up again, and the larger than life cowboy was laughing at her. Laughing! At her! Oh good gravy. Her eyes darted towards the exit again. It seemed miles away. She didn't really want to meet anyone. Especially not some huge masculine cowboy who made her quake in her little strappy sandals. It was all a mistake. She should just go back home to her farm in Vermont and forget all about experiencing men. Maybe she could get one of those electric boyfriends Dixie had told her about and just please herself for the rest of her life.

Her gaze gravitated back to the man across the room. She watched as he threw some money on the bar, said something to his friend and slapped him on the back. Then he turned his impressive body and headed straight for her.

Eeep! He's coming over here! Bethany turned wide panicked eyes to Dixie and sputtered, "Quick Dixie, make a diversion! I have to get out of here."

"A diversion? What are you talkin' about, honey?"

"You're good at making a spectacle of yourself. Just do something. Now!" she gritted through her teeth.

Before she knew what she was doing, Bethany slid all five feet nine inches of herself under the small table and crouched down as far as she could and stared at the floor. Clutching the circular support that held up the tabletop as much for support as for the tiny amount of cover it afforded her she chanted in her head. Be the table. Beee the table. Blend. Blend.

She could hear Dixie above her ranting indignantly to herself. "Of all the ungrateful ingrates. I do not make a spectacle of myself. I'm spunky, that's all!"

Just then two very large cowboy boots came to a stop directly in the little patch of scuffed floor she'd been praying would open so she could dive through it.

She pulled in a deep breath and held it. That's when she heard Dixie drawl, "Hey there, cowboy. She's under the table."

It's still very rough and like everything else - incomplete.

Here are some posts you may have missed that you will probably enjoy

The Dead Mouse Disposal Saga of a Reformed Horror Flick Junkie

Unbelievable - (my run in with a zealot)

Menagerie of Misgivings

So Happy Silent Lurker Day to all. And to those of you crazy enough to follow me publicly, I salute you! You're braver than I am.

I So Wanna See It!

Have To!!

Have I Mentioned

how much I want to see this movie?



Bad.

Back In the Saddle and Poor Research Practices

So, the antibiotics are starting to kick in. And the most wonderful medicine of all - codeine- has ensured a full night's rest. So I'm on the mend. I was looking back over the last few posts, and I definitely need to quit the bellyachin. But here's the last one. I lost one of my slippers two weeks ago. I sit here typing with only one slipper on. Of course I've looked everywhere, but no luck. So my left foot is out in the cold for now.

What does your Christmas list say about you? The only thing on mine right now is a new pair of slippers. Kinda pathetic, huh? I'd even be pleased with one left slipper. I don't even need a matched set. You got any requests for Mr. Claus?

On to other, loftier thoughts besides the contemplation of my indoor foot coverings. Do you think an author has a responsibility to the genre? I've been reading (a dangerous pastime if ever I heard of one, because we all know what that can lead to- *horrific shudder* - thinking). Some people out there are concerned about the reputation of the oft maligned romance genre. It seems, many times, that its detractors are people who've never actually read a romance. The harsh stereotype of bodice ripping, poorly written porn gets thrown around, a proclamation is made about how worthless the entire genre is, and the opinion is repeated ad nauseum all over the place until others take up the call and it gets taken for fact.

There are bad books in any genre. But should romance authors feel an extra guarded duty to protect and/or elevate romance? My opinion is to write the stories you think up to the best of your ability.

But the real bottom line is sex. People's views on sex are often entwined in emotions and religion which boils down to beliefs. Which then leads to strong opinions. There's enough disagreement over the amount of sex included in romance books between authors within the genre to make a federal case. This isn't a new argument by any stretch of the imagination. It's just one I've been giving a little consideration recently.

The article (and I use that term very, very loosely) I read that started these musings is How Romance Novels Take the Romance Out of Romance. It's touched off a lot of nerves within the romance community. I'll only mention that the author obviously went into his grand experiment with his mind already made up, admits he did some shoddy research and then made some large opinionated proclamations. Which he's completely entitled to do.

I don't get too worked up about these things. Yet the scientific part of my brain rebels at the thought of making a decision based on heresay or crappy research. The mind is a terrible thing to waste, and even our publicly funded education introduced the concept of the scientific method. Not that anyone has to employ it in the strictest sense, just being aware of the concept should allow a person to have the resources to make informed decisions instead of uneducated spoutings. But as we all know, that's not what blogs are about. And that's an entry for a different day.

Until next time, citizens!

So. . .

I still don't have a voice. (It's been a week and a half.) The only writing I've done is on Ebay auction descriptions. And my phone is still out.

I thought this was the most wonderful time of the year?