Live, Love, Write

Where's the Grenade?

2006-10-11T00:16:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, like, I'm a really active "sleeper", right? That means that I tend to roll around alot, wriggle, talk in my sleep, etc. I've always been like that, since I can remember. When I was a kid I used to like totally crack up in my sleep and I'd laugh so hard that I'd wake myself up, if I hadn't already woken the rest of the household up with my laughter, right? So, that's not really anything new. But, a couple days ago, my husband asked me to not watch anymore active shows or like the military channel at night, because I guess I pushed him the other night really hard, or maybe I even hit him, I can't remember what he said, cuz I was in total shock.

I knew it was only a matter of time, though. I mean, seriously, how could it not be, right? When you're that active in your sleep, and like my dreams are so totally vivid. Maybe it's the drugs. I dunno. Maybe they make the dreams more vivid, because like I totally feel like I'm right there in my dream and it's all really happening to me. So, I'm actually kind of shocked that I haven't totally busted his cap in my sleep before now and seriously, that's a major reason we don't have any big weapons in the house, or if we do, I have no clue where they'd be, cuz I do think my dh has a weapon of some kind, but I've never seen it and I don't know where he keeps it. And that's just fine with me.

This is actually a symptom of my PTSD, I think. Where I'll be dreaming and sometimes, well, ok, on a regular basis, really, since around January or February of this year, I have THE Nightmare. THE ONE that replays that moment in my head and I feel like I'm right there and it's all happening to me all over again. Only now, because I'm in a safe environment and have been for like the past nearly ten years, and becuase in my head I can be as strong as I want to be, well, I actually try really hard to fight back and defend myself. Well, ok, lemme take that back, too, though, because that's what I was doing until around January or February of this year. But, since then I haven't been fighting back in my dreams, not at all and that was really bothering me ALOT, becuase before that I'd be like getting all Lara Croft on his ass, you know?

Anyway, maybe that feistiness is returning, or like I said, maybe it's cuz they jsut upped the dosage on my pain killers that my dreams are just like going off the hook with reality. At least I'm sleeping again. For several months, well since February or March, I wasn't sleeping unless everyone was gone, out of the house. And even then, I wouldn't let myself sleep for very long. I was really scared of having THOSE dreams every fucking night. They're not at all pleasant.

But, anyway, back to present day: dh tells me no more action flicks late at night before bedtime. But, I'd already stopped that abotu two weeks ago or so, after they upped my PKs, because I was hoping I'd be able to sleep again and that maybe THE dream would go away and be replaced by something less horrifying. I'm not asking for a miracle here or anything. I mean, I know that my dreams are what other people would typically call nightmares, but hey, as long as they're not THE dream, I'm ok with that, basically. There are lots of nights, and dh saw a huge increase in these kinds of dreams since last spring (he doesn't know it, but it's cuz THE Dream was back, but I don't talk about THAT), that I'll start sobbing and crying, or screaming or trying to get away and I curl into an invisible shrinking ball. But, he will wake me up and comfort me and then I stop crying and can go back to sleep if he holds me. If he holds me, I sometimes don't even have THE Dream. After 10 years of marriage, I just discovered this about a month ago. But, I mean, the guy's like a living furnace and there's no way it would be comfortable for him to do that every night. And, it's not very comfortable for me, either, because of my pain issues. Still, if I'm desperate, I know what I need to do and I'll ask him to hold me, if I wake up and am thinking of it.

So, here we are, right? And I guess I'm having this major dream and I couldn't remember it when he was telling me about it, but I think I remember part of it now. Anyway, he said that I was pushing him really ahrd (and, like I said, maybe I hit him, I can't remember, but if I did it wasn't hard enough to make a big deal out of it, because if he had, I'd definitely remember that) and telling him that I was looking for a grenade! lmao! Ok, sorry, I had to laught. That is so freakin' hilarious. a grenade in the bed? Man, I've heard it called alot of things, but that's gotta be a new one. lol

Now, what I remember of my dream is that the Bad Guy, (not THE BAD GUY, just a random bad guy, but still a very bad bad guy), discovered me and was threatening to kill me. He was going to execute me. That was a given. The only question was when? Before or after he tortured me? Before or after he beat the crap outta me? But he didn't know that there were other people in the house with me. But I knew. I knew that the man I loved and my child and maybe there were others were in the house and I knew that they weren't well hidden. I knew that my dh was standing almost directly behind me in the dark and I knew that he wanted to come out and try to protect me by standing between me and that big ass room-broom in the Bad Guy's hands. I couldn't let that happen to him. I had to protect him. He's had a good life. My daughter's had a good life. Everyone I know has had a good life so far, for the most part. I couldn't let him ruin that. So, I was pushing him back, telling him to get back, because the bad guy didn't know he was there, yet. If he'd just listen to me for ONCE and do what I was begging him to do, stay hidden, stay out of sight, don't let him see you. Then, he put his hand on my shoulder and was trying to pull me out of the line of fire. So, I swiped his hand away as quick as I could so the bad guy wouldn't notice, but it was too late, he saw. And that's when I saw it, he had a grenade in his hand and he pulled the pin. Guess he dropped the room-broom or something. Anyway, he pulled the pin and tossed it into another dark corner.

Darnit, honey? Why can't that man ever listen to me? Why won't he do what I ask him to, just once, without needed some long drawn out explanation or some big long statement with facts and references to back up my opinion on a thing? why can't he just scoot away and get the hell outta dodge, take the kid with him, when I ask him to? I was thoroughly pissed off, but I didn't have time to yell at him, which is what I really wanted to do, because I had to find that damn grenade and get rid of it, before it turned all of us into birdseed. So, now, I'm tellign him to get out, to go away and get out of here, take the kid with you, because I have to find this stupid grenade and try to get the pin back into it before it went off and we had a whole 30 seconds to accomplish this in. But, did he listen to me? Well, what do you think.

Exactly. . . . Boom!

(Tune in next time for the rest of the story)

Lesson from the Elephants: Never Forget

2006-09-17T01:51:00.000-07:00

Heard something upsetting, yesterday. Have you heard that they're (Don't know who "they" are exactly, but, they're) actually considering making it legal to hunt ivory again! Can't remember if I heard that about India or Africa,but I'm guessing the Africas, since I'm doing most of my research on that continent, lately. I was quite upset and will have to do some further research. Elephants are my favourite animal, followed by the lion. I wish people didn't find ivory so beautiful or intriguing. I wish there wasn't a market for tusks. It's bad enough right now as it is with poachers killing elephants. If only people cared what it so obviously does to a herd of elephants when one of them dies. They really do grieve. They're very sensitive creatures and so amazing. One of my dreams is to go on a photo-safari in Africa and go elephant watching. I just hope I'll get that opportunity before they all disappear.

I'm reading a short story by Mike Resnick right now and it's so hilarious. But, one of the parallels he makes in the story is from elephants to Jews. "We've always considered ourselves the Jews of the animal kingdom. We often wondered which of us would be extinct first," then, turning to a Jewish man, the elephant asks, "Do your people consider themselves the elephants of the human kingdom?" Well, now that they mention it.... Personally, I think both elephants and Jews should be highly revered and respected. Our world would lose alot of it's luster and beauty without either.

Hero for the Month: SEARS & CO.

2006-09-13T20:25:00.000-07:00

I'm a believer in giving credit where it's due and the credit this month goes out to Sears Roebuck and Co. Did you know...well, you know what? Why don't I just let you see for yourself what they're up to:

Thank you for taking the time to let us know of your support for our actions regarding our associates who have been called into active duty. As you may have read, Sears has extended its program of military pay differential to 60 months. This includes allowing Sears reservists who are full-time employees to continue participating in the company's life insurance, medical and dental programs, if they choose. The company will also hold a comparable position for these individuals for up to five years.

Sears has a heritage of commitment to families and home. This is a difficult time for military families, and we are proud to be able to take these actions to demonstrate support for our many co-workers who are serving our Nation.

Again, thank you for your correspondence. We appreciate your interest in our efforts, and hope you will continue to make Sears your choice for quality and value. Sears, Good Life. Great Price.

Sincerely,The Employees of Sears, Roebuck and Co.

As if what they do for the families on Ty's show, MAKEOVER: HOME EDITION, isn't doing enough; as if what they've been doing for the citizens in New Orleans who lost everything to the hurricanes isn't enough, now they gotta go and support our Service-Men and -Women, too? I was so impressed that a big company like this would be so supportive of their employees in this day and age. Before my typically jaded nature could raise it's ugly head and say, "Yeah, well, they're smart; they don't want any 747's tearing through their tower in Chicago," I literally felt a few tiny shards of icy cynicism break off and melt after reading about how Sears was pro-actively supporting their people. I mean, five years? I could pop an eleven pound kid out a hole smaller than a pea and I'd be lucky to get three months outta the deal, but you know that I'd best not come back thinkin' I'm gonna get my job back, as in the same job I had when I left to pop out this noisy, wriggling, squealing sucker, nor it's equivalent, when I return.

No, if I want my job back, then I'd better figure on taking no more than a month's maternity leave, at most, before heading back to claim my kingdom, or principality. Well, ok, so maybe it's more like a municipality.... Village? Right, well, ok, in all honesty, it was probably like a tent, or even a tree stump. Whatever. Now, I'm going to start supporting Sears so they'll continue doing this for theirs, yeah? :) How about you? Have you heard of any major companies, Sears-size, who're pledging their patriotic support in various ways to their reservist employees? If so, leave a comment and tell us what you know. I'll do some research to double check the facts and will post them next month and we'll have a kind of Christmas shopping directory of places that give back to those who lay their lives on the line for us.

Thanks Sears and please, continue setting the example, taking the lead and show us how it's done.

SEARS. GOOD LIFE, GREAT PRICE.

Goodbye Croc Hunter!

2006-09-05T02:30:00.000-07:00

We're so sad today, finding out that the crocodile hunter, Steve Irwin of Australia, died over the weekend after being stabbed by a stingray. :( I rarely cry over celebrity deaths, because honestly, I don't know them. I think the only one I ever cried over was Bob Hope when he died. I'll definitely cry when Jerry Lewis dies, too. They've brought me so much laughter in my life. But, our family adores Steve Irwin and his family and I couldn't hold back the tears when I thought of little Bindy, eight years old, who is most certainly a daddy's girl all the way, having to grow up without a father, now. And little Bob, only three.

And really, it's so rare when you see a marriage you can envy and Steve and his wife, Terri, had one of those rare marriages. Anyone with eyes could see just by the glances they exchanged that they were truly, madly in love with each other and it was genuine.

One of the things we admired most about Steve was the respect he showed the animals and had for them. I really liked the way he handled them, much better and much safer than the other guys like Jeff Corwin and Jack Hanna.

Steve never hurt any of the animals and never even looked or seemed like he was. He never behaved recklessly around them, always setting a good example for the kids in how to behave around wild animals. He always would remind them that he was a professional with special training and that they shouldn't get as close as he did or do the same things he did without a professional or a responsible adult there to help them. I liked that about him, because my daughter is an animal lover and would be just the sort of kid to pull what our family calls a "Corwin" and get close and try some goofy trick or play with an animal that really shouldn't be played with, becuase she loves animals and thinks that they're all her friends. So, as a mama, I really appreciated his attitude.

Now, I know that you're probably scratching your head (if anyone's reading this besides me, lol), as I say this about Steve, because there was an incident in 2004 where the media and, frankly, uninformed soccer moms who'd probably never or rarely watched his show got their panties in a twist because he seemingly got too close to a croc while holding 1 month old Bob in his arms. Ok, here's the thing. I don't think that would've gotten as much attention as it did if Whacko Jacko hadn't just tried to toss his kid off a balcony to a bunch of raving lunatics in Germany. There's a HUGE difference between a love-starved perverted rock star dangling his baby by a leg over a balcony and Steve Irwin, the crocodile educator, holding his baby securely in his arms and standing near, but nowhere close to the croc's mouth, to help educate the public on crocs. Steve's always involved his family in his work. It's one of his most endearing qualities that he just loved being with his family and sharing his passion with them. We see that too rarely these days. How many dads or moms do you know who enjoy the company of their family so much they want them around 24/7?

Anyway, back to the controversial incident: the thing is that this man has spent his entire lifetime around these animals. No one on this planet is more informed about how these animals react. He knew exactly what he was doing. The child was far enough out of danger, safely in Irwin's arms and believe me, that croc was a heck of alot more interested in the food Irwin was about to toss to it than anything else going on there. Now, if it was a lion or some other fast moving animal, then yes, he would've been endangering Bob's life, but it wasnt'. And if it had been, he wouldn't have had Bob anywhere near an animal like that.

But, this particular croc, if I'm remembering it right, was one he'd rescued with his dad as a child. He'd basically grown up with this croc. And, if I remember right, this particulare croc had major physical problems and couldn't move fast if his life depended on it, which is why Steve kept it and took care of it, because it wouldn't ahve survived in the wild. So, it wasn't like he had his baby around any real danger. It was a perceived danger. Perceived by the minds of uneducated, uninformed viewers who rarely watched his show, or at least didn't watch it often enough to know this particular croc.

He defended his actions at the time, as did his wife, Terri and rightly so. The only thing I think he should've done differently was to think about his image and not do it, because the public, the media wouldn't understand. But, see, that's just another of his adorable traits. He really didn't think of himself as the big star he really was. I think before that incident, he really didn't realize how important, how significant, how totally HUGE he'd become.

Steve always knew exactly how close he should and shouldn't get to the animals. And, he knew each animal's personality that he worked with. He knew the crocs he owned by heart and they knew him. Bob was never in any danger and anyone who knew him would know that he'd die before he allowed anything bad to happen to his kids or Terri. It was so obvious that it distressed him that anyone could think otherwise at the time.

That incident, well, actually, the public outcry because of that incident really infuriated me at the time. And, really, it wasn't just because of the way the media went on and on about it, even more than they did about Whacko Jacko's attempt to toss the baby out with the bathwater, but it was the way his colleagues turned on him in a flash. I mean, they knew better, knew what he was doing and which animal he was with, and they still turned on him like a pack of hungry wolves. It was sickening.

Loyalty is extremely important to me and always has been. I probably favor that virtue above all the others, right or wrong it's how I am. It didn't take much time at all for them to turn on him when asked for their opinions of what happened. It was ridiculous how fast they put him down and with such ease.

That's when we stopped watching their shows and focused exclusively on Irwin's. It spoke volumes about the kind of character they have. And it spoke highly of his character that he never put his colleagues down the way they did to him and believe me, they've given him plenty of opportunities to do so over the years. Especially that Jeff Corwin character. Jeez! I can't watch his show after watching Steve's for so many years, because he's so reckless in the way he deals with the wild animals, it's scary and insulting to the animals and to the viewers.

I've seen Jeff Corwin do some amazingly stupid stunts with wild animals and do things that were frankly at the very least disrespectful to the animal, but also that looked like it would hurt the animals he works with just so he could be "funny" or look cool or whatever. Those stunts never seem to make the press which just reinforces my opinion that the only reasons Steve was blasted by the media and uninformed soccer moms was because a) he had his little baby girl in his arms and 2) he's the most successful out of all those animal handlers and zoologists and they're jealous, plain and simple.

And, though I do respect Jack Hanna, I've seen him do things that certainly would hurt an animal like whipping horses and whacking donkeys or goats or elephants with a stick, whereas, Steve, in the same situation, didn't do that. That's an impressive gift. I never saw him do anything that would do more than discomfort an animal and for the least amount of time necessary. And, another thing I liked is that he rarely doped the animals up. He did everything naturally and just respected them, their space, their territory and their feelings. Animals have pride and he seemd to be aware of that.

But, you know why he was so successful? Because you couldn't help "catching" his enthusiasm about the animals he was teaching us about. It was contagious and his love and respect for them was so very obvious, written all over his face. :) He was the kind of man that you could see as a big brother or favourite uncle. He was that approachable. You jsut knew that if you met him on the street, you could approach him and he wouldn't snub you or be a jerk or have some kind of "God" complex, etc. that so many celebs have when approached in public. He'd still be flattered if someone wanted his autograph, even after all these years. And the way he treated animals, translated into every area of his life.

His employees and other people he knew would always say things like that he treated them with respect regardless their positions at the zoo. He wasn't a respecter of "persons" of title and rank. He just respected people. And the way he treated his wife was exemplary, in my opinion. He respected her opinion, wasn't intimidated by her professional knowledge or the power she had in her own right. He even seemed amazed by her alot of the time, by her courage and how she handled the animals and by the way she worked with them. I thought that was really neat. He was in a phrase, a good person. Salt o' the earth, as my mom would probably say.

My daughter's grown up on all of Irwin's shows, The Crocodile Hunter, Crocodile Hunter Diaries, and so forth, since she was around four years old. We watched every day as a family and would talk about what we learned from him and Terri and they provided so much fun and joy in our lives. The world truly lost a great man, a wonderful champion for animals that weren't considered anything but evil and mean before he introduced us to them through his eyes.

My heart and prayers go out to his family, now. I can imagine what Terri's going through, having lost the love of my life when I was younger, (long before current Hubby came into my life), and I know she must be in incredible pain right now. I wish she didn't have to go through this. But, at the same time, she's been so fortunate to find that kind of love in life and to have a husband she could be proud of is something she and the kids will remember the rest of their lives.

Before he died, Steve was able to convince the Australian government that allowing wealthy tourists to come to their contry on hunting expeditions, where they'd kill crocs and other wild animals purely for sport was a horrid idea and would in the long run be terrible for Australian tourism and their wildlife. Could you imagine what that would've been like? It would've gotten out of control so quickly. Whoever had that big idea should be taken to task in a big way. Oy! I can't help but feel that we've all lost a piece of wonderful in Steve's passing. He will be sorely missed and fondly remembered.

Rest peacefully, Steve. We love ya!

See http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20060905/people_nm/australia_irwin_dc for more information on Steve's Death.

For information on Irwin's life and work, click on the title.

And this one gives sort of a timeline of key events in his life: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060904/ap_on_en_tv/crocodile_hunter_timeline_1

Character's Journals

2006-08-20T12:20:00.000-07:00

I'm going to start writing in my character's voices and keeping a journal for them. Don't know how many "journal" pages I'll have for however many povs, but we'll start off with Georgia, the heroine of my book.
**************************
Day 1

What a horrible day. I spent 12 hours on a plane flying from California to Nairobi, Kenya in East Africa with a three hour layover in London. I left last night from California or was it yesterday. See what I mean? My times are all goofed up now. I have no idea whether it's yesterday, today or tomorrow here, but here I am in the plane swirling over the Jomo Kenyatta Airport in Nairobi at last. I'll say this much, this excursion already is memorable. If it's adventure I wanted, and I didn't, not really, then that's what I'm getting out of this crazy deal. What made me think I could even do this in the first place. I mean, I must be crazy or desperate or ....

Right, that's it of coruse. I'm so damned broke that this is my only and last hope. I really do need to start thinking thankful thoughts. Thankful that I'm going to have room and board, such as it will be, for the next three months. Thankful that I'm going to get the financial aid I'll need to finish my last year at med school by working for this NGO over the summer. Thankful that they even accepted me in the first place out of who knows how many volunteers there were.

It's really going to be a great experience for me. I've never been out of the city before, not for longer than a day to go to that Pilgrim Farm in the country with my 8th grade class for a field trip when we were studying the Mayflower and all that in history. And we really don't want to go there, now do we? Oh, sure, this is my diary, so why the hell not air out all the dirty laundry. Ok, so I threw up when I saw how the pigs ate and what they ate. It was disgusting. Anyone would throw up. And, sure, I didn't exactly volunteer to pull an egg out from under a chicken's butt. Then there were all the bugs attacking me left and right. That really wasn't my cup of tea either. But, that was a long time ago. I'm much tougher now, not nearly as squeamish as I used to be and I've gotten older and wiser,(I hope!), so I think this experience will not only be good for me, but I think I can handle it for three short months. No problem.

Besides, when I put it up next to the alternative, well, this is the lesser of two evils, to be sure. I knew I should never have listened to Old Ms. Disco-Pants, but see what happens when you're desperate for money? If only Mom had kept up on her life insurance payments. Sure, it wasn't alot of money, but she'd had one of those policies that covers burial expenses and that's all I needed, really. Instead, as with just about everything in her life, she'd let it lapse. Gosh, by the time we knew she was dying, she couldn't even remember the name of the company or where they were located. *sigh* That means I'm sighing. I've been doing alot of that lately. Sighing. Sad. I shouldn't be doing that until I'm like in my 60's or 70's. I'm only 28. What'll I be doing when I'm thirty? Grunting when I sit down? Sheesh!

So,w here was I? Oh, right, scrounging to pay for mom's funeral and burial expenses. I hope she'll forgive me one day for cremating her. She didn't want that. She hated the idea of having her body burned up and, frankly, so do I, but I had no choice. I hate that, not having a choice, being forced into a decision because the circumstances are beyond my control. It totally bites!

Well, I just needed two grand more, that's it. So, I listened to Crazy Pants and went to visit her "employer". That's in quotes now that I know what kind of establishment Leon runs. What a sleaze. But, where else was I going to be able to make that kind of money in two nights? I was still in school a month ago and at this point, if I miss a day of classes, it's like missing two years of high school, not to mention that I'd end up stuck with the crappiest assignments, sitting in the back of my classes where I can't see or hear the professor. I like to sit right in front where I don't miss a thing and to keep the distractions behind me. Plus, that way if I have a question, the professor answers it rightaway. It's awesome. I get really good grades, but that's because I work my ass off and I'm so totally broke all the time that I can't afford entertainment, so I study instead. I know how dull I seem, but this is my dream. This is what I've wanted my whole life, to be a doctor, ever since I was like 4 years old probably.

Oh, right, so back to my humiliation. I visit Leon and he tells me I don't have to do anything with the customers that I'm not comfortable with. After all, prostitution is illegal in CA as it is in every other state, except some parts of NV., and that kind of thing is not part of the fee. Basically, all I had to do was go out with a guy who was too dorky, ugly, or busy to get his own date, and be nice to him, smile pretty, look sexy/gorgeous or whatever the date called for and make nice conversation and make him look good for his friends or boss or whomever. EAsy. And for that I'd earn the outrageous fee of $1,000/night. Apparetnly, Leon's company, Elite Escorts, caters only to the cream of the crop. I thought, wow, if this really is all there is to it, then I might start doing this for the summer and get paid for going out with losers, which is how it should be anyway. I mean, how many dates have I gone on where at the end of the too long evening I thought to myself, "you couldn't PAY me to go out with that jerk again!" Well, now I would be getting paid to go out with the jerks.

So, the first date actually was way better than I thought it would be. The guy was drop-dead gorgeous and I couldn't figure out why he had trouble finding a date. I figured it must be a personality deficiency. But, no, there again, he had a great personality, sweet, considerate, funny as all get out and a great dancer. I almost felt as if I were on a real date, I had so much fun and he said that he had a blast too. As it turned out, he was gay and up for a promotion at his company. He's still in the closet in his business life and when I met the rest of the staff and his bosses in particular, I could understand why he hadn't come out, yet, even in this day and age, even in CA! I mean, in CA, for goodness sakes. This is the Coming Out State! But, his bosses would've made Hitler seem tolerant. So, I told Jeff, just ask for me if you want to go out again and I'd be happy to help you out of a jam like that anytime. Unfortunately, he works in Japan where he lives with his lover and I guess he only has to meet with his bosses a couple times a year and this is the first ever company party he'd ever gone to. So, slim chance I'll ever see him again, but for my first day, it was a good icebreaker. And he gave me a tip of $400! That was so awesome. So, I got $1400 for that night and I was able to get some much needed groceries and a pack of new pens and I splurged on a little bucket of Hagen Dasz, a pack of wine coolers and some bubble bath. I felt really guilty and at the same time like I'd just landed in the lap of luxury. It was a good thing, too, because my next date was coming up and I was going to need all the fortification I could get for that one.

It was with one of our senators or maybe he was a representative, I really don't remember now. I've tried hard over the past three weeks to forget all about that jerk, ugh! We'll just call him Senater Baldy. Sen. Baldy picked me up in a stretch limo and immediately told me that I'd be paid at the end of the night when he was satisfied with my work. I told him that he needed to pay me half up front, at least, or I wasn't getting in the limo. So, he did and I did. He was fairly decent to me, had a list of requests, would I be so kind as to hang on him a little extra because his ex was going to be there; would I make him look extra good tonight so she'd be jealous or at least feel horrible for dumping him; would I say nice compliments to him and about him to others all night so he'd look good. I reassured him that that's what I was there for, so not to worry about it.

Well, by the end of the night, he was really snockered, but we'd had a good time. He was a gentleman all night. I had to move his hands to my waist once while we were dancing, but I chalked that up mor eto the fact that he was so drunk he was falling asleep out there and I was proably the only thing holding him upright, so maybe he slipped, maybe it was deliberate. All I know is he apologized and looked adequately ashamed, and we went back to having fun. So, it's the end of the night and he's really drunk and I'm thinking, I'll just take a cab home instead of going with the soused up Senator, right? Well, we're walking outside and I ask him to pay up, becaust I've decided that I'm not going straight home, instead I'm going to go to my friends house ofr a bit so I'll just take a cab, I don't want him to have to go out of his way to get me there, etc.

Well, he insists that I go with him and he'll be happy to drop me off wherever I like, but he'd feel awful if anything happened to me, especially as I was dressed to the nines, provocatively, (but not too), and so forth. He made a pretty good case so I decided to go with him, but I did insist he finish paying me before we get in the limo again, just in case he falls asleep on the way. Well, he pays me another $200 and says he'll get the rest to me once we're in the car, because he doesn't keep more than that in his wallet. So, I get in the Limo with him and we pull out of the lot. After we drive a little ways, he asks if I want a drink and I say I've had enough and mayb ehe should ease up, too, but he pours himself another drink anyway. Then he starts complimenting me alot and I could see where this was going right? Well, that led to some inappropriate touching so I moved to the opposite seat form him and told him that I wasnt' part of the package, not like that. The guy couldn't, wouldn't take no for an answer, so eventually, I ended up kneeing him when he tried to force me into a laying down position as he clumsily grabbed at my spaghetti strap and tried to rip it off, succesfful. I was so mad! It's my nicest party dress and it's not like I can just replace it like that, you know? So, then, when I push him away, he slapped me! Slapped me! Me! So, I kneed him and then I opened the car door and shouted for the driver to stop the limo or I'd jump and I'd call the papers and tell the police if I survived. Well, he stops the limo, the Senator hasn't caught his breath yet, and I get out screamin' mad, but intact--barely. Well, that's when I knew, I couldn't go through that every night or even once a week. NO amount of money is worth being raped or almost raped on a regular basis.

Unfortunately, that left me $300 short of what I needed to pay for Mama's funeral. The next morning, I called Leon and quit. He was real heartbroken over it--NOT! lol Then I had to figure out how to get an extra $50+/-. See, I still had over $200 of that $400 tip left over, thank goodness I didn't go spend it all. Well, I remembered that I'd socked some cash away in a hiding spot over the Christmas holidays last year. It was money Mom had given me as a gift and I always figured I'd save it for an emergency. So, I just needed to remember where I'd hidden it! I tore my tiny studio apartment (it's actually just an attic room, but calling it a studio sounds like I chose that kind of apartment, like an artist or something) and I finally found it stuffed at the toe of a pair of old sneakers that I rarely wear, because the new ones I got for Christmas are way better. And I went down to the funeral home and paid for Mama's cremation, all $3500, for their cheapest urn and all the other fees and stuff they tack on. Such a scam. Mama would've been pissed. lol And I took her ashes and scattered them beneath the Cypress tree she always admired out on the craggy rock shelf at Cypress Point. I think she would've approved of that, since I had no choice about cremating her.

And, then I picked up a newspaper and looked at the help wanteds section once I got home. I had to do it with a box of kleenex next to me, because basically, I wasn't going to be able to finish med school next year like I'd wanted to. I mean, I've been in college, working my way through it and then through Med School for eight years now. Having to work has really slowed things way down. But, when it rains it pours and just before Mama died, I'd found out that the organizations that usually gave me scholarships and financial aid weren't going to do that for me the coming year for a number of reasons that have very little to do with me and everything to do with the economy. So, I was going to have to earn ALL my monies for next year, which meant that I was going to have to get a part time job, at least, and work my courses around that schedule. This really blew chunks, you know?

And that's when I saw the ad for CIPRO, INt'l. They were in desperate need of female obstetricians, pediatricians or neonatalogists. well, Neonatology is the specialty I chose after I found out that I would never have children of my own and that's a long story for another day. :/ I love babies, adore them and so I sent my resume, it's very short, and a letter, very long to make up for the very short resume, and begged them to give me an interview.

Well, the thing is that this is the first time CIPRO's ever done anything like this before, but they were trying a new program to entice the medical field to donate their time. If I would sign a contract giving them three years of my time, and I could do it in spurts, they didn't mind that, then they'd pay me in the way of training. IN other words, they would pay the school my tuition and I'd work for them on my holidays and summer vacation until I'd fulfilled my contract. A very sweet deal indeed, since once my schooling is finished, I'll have two years of residency schooling and then my internship for four years at the teaching hospital. Now, I won't have to pay for those, actually, I'll be getting paid a small amount, enough to live on, sort of, and start paying back my student loans. So, I really hoped that I'd get this job and guess what? I did. I was accepted. Of course, it's a "volunteer" position, but I got it and that's why I'm headed to Bakari, Africa. A landlocked country north and west of the DRC, south of the CAR and Sudan with Uganda and Rwanda to the east. A country so small it doesn't even have it's own airport. Once we land, oops, and that'll be like, now, so I've got to go and deplane in a few. Anyhow, once I land in Nairobi, then someone from the Refugee Camp, well, they're calld IDP camps actually, anyway, someone from there will pick me up and we'll fly by charter plane to the Kenyan border and from there we'll take a chopper to the Camp, or we'll drive all the way, depending on whether or not there are other's who need to be transported to and from the country and so forth. It's really mindboggling- all the logistics. But, wow, I'm here and this is really happening. I'm in Africa, the oldest continent, the place everyone, no matter what their skin color, originates from. And I'm going to go help alot of people and learn alot and hopefully bring alot of special babies into the world. I'm excited...and terrified. That's all for now.

New Title

2006-08-20T12:18:00.000-07:00

I need a new title for this blog. Any suggestions? I mean, the title I have was meant to be a working title, but now that I'm getting serious about keeping this blog if not every day, then at least a few days a week, I really need something with a bit more pep and pizzazz you know? Help?!

A Writer's Mind--The Adventure Begins

2006-06-19T11:37:00.000-07:00

I'm finding out that I have two minds. I have my mind that I think with, solve problems with, use for every area of my life--except my writing. For my writing, I have a completely seperate mind. Sometimes, I wonder if it's because of the accident. I never had this kind of mind before that. When I wrote as a kid and a teen, I wrote the same way I thought about things. I'm an analytical type, a thinker, a planner, the kind of person that sees a problem from all sides and then once I understand it, I can figure out the solution. When I was working, I would make out my to do list every morning and then I'd prioritize my duties and carry them out. I'm a linear thinker and I think chronologically.

When it comes to my writing, it's completely different and at first it really freaked me out, because I don't feel in control at all of this process that my mind goes through to come up with the story or scene. That's why I say, it's like having a second brain. I thought when I decided I'd write this book and got the idea for it that I would start writing the story at the beginning and follow it through to the end, writing ten pages a day. NO problem, right? Only no matter how hard I tried to do that, the words just wouldn't come. I just couldn't see the story unfold in my mind.

See, I see the story, like a film or a screenplay in my head. It flashes on and I start writing as fast as I can to keep up with the events. As soon as it's over, then I stop writing and it's over. I then go back and fill in the holes or write in the transitions and make things more smooth, think things through more logically, do my research if it calls for that to make sure that what I've written is indeed possible.

The problem came up when I found that the story wasn't coming to me chronologically. It comes in "scenes". My subconcious is almost always working on the story. And then when it has a scene worked out, I feel this urgency in my gut, almost like I'm gonna throw up or something. It's really weird and I know I've got to get to the computer right away. So, I do. Even if I'm sound asleep when this happens or in the middle of something else. I just know that if I don't get it down right then, it won't ever get written exactly how I want it to sound/read. So, I sit down to write, but it's just a scene and sometimes I have no idea where in the story that scene is going to go exactly. I may have a rough idea or like after I write it I'll look at it and go, Oh, yeah, that'll go in the middle or that'll be in Chapter 3, etc. I don't know how I know these things and until the book is written, I won't even know if my hunches, my instincts are right on or not. So, rightnow, I have several scenes prepared for my book, but only one entire chapter mostly written. I still have to do a little work on it, because I researched and found out that I couldn't do a certain thing, so I need to find a different way of doing it. And I need ot put in some transitional phrasing. But, beyond that. I've basically got it written out in a rough format. The second chapter, I have the first half written. I have a scene ready that will go in the fourth chapter. I have a few other scenes also and know that they'll go in themiddle and in the last third of the book.

The only thing I really don't like about writing the book this way is that I can't plan it all out the way I wanted to. I mean, I know generally what's going to happen in the story, but how I'll get there and how I'll go from there is anyone's guess basically. The other part of that is that I can't exactly self-edit or do rewrites, because I dont' know what's going to come before or after that part, so if I rewrite it, I could end up cutting out some vital information that will be necessary for those other parts, you see? So, it's really been an interesting journey so far, if you can call it that. It's just so unexpected and somethign I really wasn't aware would happen. It's like, well, it's an adventure that's what it is. Not a journey, an adventure. And in htat sense it's exciting and I'm full of suspense waiting to find out how it will look when I'm finished.

Until next time...

Book Review: A Stranger in the Family

2006-06-10T22:42:00.000-07:00

I just read a wonderful book called, A Stranger in the Family written by Patricia McLinn. I mean, it's one of those books that when you finish, you think, “I'm definitely going to read that again and everything else this author has ever written that I can get my hands on!” and then you’ll want to rush out and buy all her books, just based on this one here. I love those kinds of books, don't you?

The story’s about a man who finds out that his high school sweetheart had a child and gave him up for adoption, sixteen years previously. Now, he has to decide whether or not he should interfere in his son’s life. To make matters worse, he finds himself attracted to his son’s older, pretty adopted sister. From this concept, McLinn weaves an intricate tale involving moral choices, lessons in letting go and learning to trust as well as running the full gamut of emotions from joy to love to pain to hope and forgiveness. She doesn’t disappoint for a minute and I couldn’t put her story away! It was just that good. I didn’t want to go to sleep until I finished it.

I don’t want to give away anymore of the story, so I won’t, but I can tell you that McLinn’s writing is flawless. This was book one in the Bardville Trilogy. I can’t wait to read the next two books in the series, but I have to wait for them to come out in e-book format, A Stranger to Love and The Rancher Meets His Match.

This book was beautifully written with rich 3-D characters who had deep personal issues that had to be worked out in order for the characters to mature and that made them seem very real to life and believable. The situations were credible and their reactions to their circumstances were true to life. Nothing was overdone or blown out of proportion for effect. Neither were the serious issues underplayed. She really did an excellent job of balancing and developing the emotions in her story. This is the kind of book you want to curl up under the shade of a leafy oak with a cool margarita, er, I mean, ice tea with a squeeze of lemon and a sprig of mint as you read whiling away the hours with a group of fascinating characters you’ll never forget.

McLinn’s writing is so tight, I felt like I was right there with her characters on the ranch in Wyoming. McLinn’s writing is smooth and flawless. She left me with a deeply sated feeling, as if I’d just eaten a seven course meal topped off with my favourite dessert, Black Forest German Chocolate cake with raspberry-chocolate pudding filling. Yummy! For $5, I couldn’t have asked for better. McLinn is one of those master storytellers and it’s obvious that she enjoyed writing A Stranger in the Family.

I bought this book in an e-book format at www.fictionwise.com, but you can also find it and a host of other Patricia McLinn books at Belgrave House, http://www.belgravehouse.com/.

The Syringe

2006-06-01T19:47:00.000-07:00

I wrote this from a prompt I was given with my online writing group. Enjoy!

The Syringe

The clanging and din grew stronger. God, someone please stop the pounding! Lisa felt her way along the short hallway to the bathroom in the dark. Not bothering to flip on the light switch, she made her way over to the sink by rote and flipped on the small 20-watt night light in the plug. Briefly, she opened her eyes, catching a glimpse of her pinched face in the mirror. Big mistake. She thought she’d been coping alright until then. She saw the face of desperation staring back at her. Her brows were furrowed deeply, lips pursed, eyes squinting to keep out the ngihtlight’s mellow glow, keep it from assaulting her and driving the pain up another level. She’d waited too long, apparently, to take care of this and had thought she was being so brave. Idiot.

Bending over, she dove down into the undersink cupboard, pulling out appliances, make up bags, feminine products, extra toilet paper, cleansers. Oh, God, where could it be? Frantically, she reached in and tore out all the extra odds and ends that were left in the very back, as if at the end of her rummaging she’d find what she was looking for, but either it was invisible or it wasn’t there.

Shit. What was she going to do now? Where’d she put it? Opening the narrow cabinets, next to the sink, she reached in amongst the clean towels and sheets and began pulling everything out. Her hands began to shake as her head swelled with pressure. She felt each blow of Thor’s hammer as it rained down in painful blows on her tender brain. Felt Medusa’s fingers squeezing every nerve ending until she was certain, even wished, they ‘d pop from her constrictions. But, they didn’t. It never ceased to amaze her just how much pain she could tolerate, before passing out.

It wasn’t there. She stepped back, staring at the deep, dark blank space in front of her. The shelves took on an eerily ethereal quality right before her eyes as if they were endless, the bleak darkness of each shelf stretching on forever. Maybe it’s way back there? Maybe the shelves did go further back and she’d hidden it far back so that she wouldn’t be tempted to use it more often than absolutely necessary. With that thought came another, perhaps she’d hidden it from herself. Perhaps she’d even thrown it out. Oh, God, please, don’t let her have thrown it out. She’d never be that foolish, that cocky, would she? But, she knew it was possible on a good day when she felt like herself, or on a bad day when she was sick of the whole bloody game, she might’ve gotten rid of it. She tried to remember the last time she used it. It was recent wasn’t it?

In a flash, she was stumbling through the house on wobbly legs, her breathing ragged. She puzzled over her own body’s response to the pain that worsened, deepened exponentially by the minute. If she didn’t find it soon, she’d die, wouldn’t she? Surely, this kind of pain, if it got much worse, would kill her one day, wouldn’t it? She wasn’t sure whether she hoped it would or was simply curious. A few years ago, she would’ve thought that she’d die from the level of pain she was now feeling and yet, the invisible bar that measured her pain tolerance level just seemed to increase each year, moving the ultimate relief that much further beyond her grasp.

She stumbled down the stairs from her porch and into her yard. It was dark and the air was bitingly cold. She welcomed the shocking cold that assailed her bare skin, whipping through the silky shorts and lacy camisole she wore. It was a too brief respite from the pain that had descended like a cloud surrounding her with fiery tongues lapping at what was left of her ability to reason. She had one purpose and one purpose only. Find it. She wasn’t even sure at this point what IT was. She had an image in her mind of a black case, leather she thought, but what was in it she couldn’t remember. She only knew that she needed it and needed it like yesterday.

Tearing the lid off the rubber can at the edge of her driveway, she dove her hands in amongst the cutting glass of broken bottles, old chicken fat and skin from dinner four nights ago, fish bones, whose eyeballs lolled sightlessly in their dismembered heads, staring at her accusingly from a sea of scales, wide jeering smiles on their faces.

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” she yelled at the yellow eyes. If those heads weren’t already dismembered.... Her fingers dove further down into the mush and goo of apricots, mangos and bananas, pureed into baby food, breakfast, lunch and dinner over the past two days. She didn’t notice the trail of blood her hands left as she flung waste and garbage, old bills and used tissues onto the pavement like a neighborhood dog might’ve done. Lights and colors swirled and flashed before her eyes and yellow and blue spots danced in her vision. Pretty soon she’d pass out. Pretty soon she’d get the relief she needed, even if it were for less than thirty seconds, it was still thirty seconds without pain and what she wouldn’t give for that right now. She’d sell her body, her soul, her house for just thirty seconds of relief. The pounding worsened and the cacophonous engine roar, like an old train rumbling through her head at top speed with it’s horn blaring, stymied her briefly as her legs gave way under her and she sank down to the grass next to the military green rubber can. It wasn’t there. Dammit, it wasn’t there!

She wanted to cry, but knew from past experience that would make the pain even worse. While she sat there, trembling, her vision almost completely clouded with lights and hallucinatory disturbances, she wondered how much actual damage she could possibly do if she were to just pound her head on the ground. Certain that it would make her pass out quicker and of course, the whole name of the game was pain relief, escape. Just get her the hell out of this pain, dammit! She just wanted to be out of pain. Thirty seconds. Was it really too much to ask for, God?

Then God spoke to her from somewhere far above her, or, at least, she thought it was God. “Uh, do you need some help?”

What the hell? Hadn’t he been fucking listening? “Yeah, I need some fuckin’ help, whatdya think?”

God cleared his throat, shifting his weight and suddenly came into sharp, clear hyper-focus for her. He had longish curly black hair and dark skin the color of suntanned caramel. His eyes were almond shaped, dark black holes that if she allowed herself to fall into, she was sure she’d never find her way back out of them again. He wasn’t smiling with his naturally red lips hiding under a short mustache that surrounded them like a square ring with a short beard. His face was grim and brooding as he stared at her, but she wasn’t embarrassed to be sitting in a pile of filth in her night clothes, bleeding from the cuts covering her arms, because there was only one thought mercilessly consuming her pain-befuddled mind: Find it.

“What can I do?” God asked in the gentlest voice she’d ever heard. It was so tender she almost cried the instant she heard him speak, because instinctively she knew that God would know where IT was.

It took a great deal of effort to speak, to form a coherent sentence in a language that resembled as closely as possible English. It was hard to think with the nerve-shattering jackhammering going on under her scalp. It was hard to speak when every movement, no matter how miniscule, even simply moving her jaws, sent shooting pains like icepicks or tiny poisoned spears into her brain.

“I need...I...need...help me, please.” She was begging God to guess at what she needed. She couldn’t stay focused long enough to remember what it was called or what she needed or even why. If only this damn pain...if only the damn hammering would just...just fucking shut the hell up, dammit!

“Were you looking for something?” Well, God was good at asking questions at least, though she’d expected alot more from him...like a miracle maybe? Couldn’t he see that she was in pain? Why didn’t he do something...anything?

“Yes. I need....kit.” Would God think she’s a lost cause, a complete idiot, because she couldn’t speak coherently?

“You’re looking for a kit?”

“Yes.”

“You think it’s in the garbage?”

“No. Not there.” She’d looked there, already. God, why didn’t He know this stuff? Couldn’t He see that she’d transferred every bit of garbage and waste from the can onto her driveway before He deigned to show up?

“Where do you think it is? I’ll get it for you.”
Finally, a practical suggestion. But, where was it? And then, like a miracle from the hand of God, Himself, she remembered. She’d hidden it from herself in the closet, on the shelf above the hanging clothes, in her bedroom. So, she told him, her words stumbling over each other in her excitement and desperation. “Hurry!” she yelled after Him as God ran away and disappeared into her house.

She knew she was in bad shape. Her whole body was trembling, her brain was constricted in the worst pain she’d felt since the last time this happened, about a week or so ago. She was both on fire and bathed in ice at the same time. She didn’t feel any pain from the gashes scattered jaggedly in no set order or fashion from her wrists to about two inches above her elbows on each arm. She watched, fascinated as the blood dripped from some of the more garish wounds, mingling with the yellow and blue polka dots in her vision. She saw the blood form into polka dots, too, and float away like brilliant crimson bubbles in the night sky, toward a streetlamp in the distance. If only she could wrap up this searing pain, this blindingly life-stealing pain in a bubble and send it up to the stars, just like the blood-bubbles. If only...

And then God was beside her, opening the small black pouch and withdrawing a syringe.

She glanced at him, briefly, hoping he could read the thankfulness in her eyes, because she had no time for pleasantries as she grabbed the syringe out of his hand and pulled a needle and two small vials from the bag. She fitted the syringe with the long, micro-thin needle. No small feat as her hands shook so hard it took several tries, a gasp of frustration, a roar that came from god only knew where in her own body, (she could feel it’s rumblings, like magical molten lava, defying gravity, as it flowed upward from the depths of her belly to her lungs, through her esophagus and out through her voice box and mouth). That roar gave her the magic impetus, effectively calming her tremors briefly and she was able to fit the needle onto the syringe. But, now she faced the daunting task of filling the syringe from the two small vials she’d retrieved from the little black bag. Just sustaining a realistic image of the items despite the hallucinations was challenge enough.

“Here, let me.” God took the syringe & vials from her tight grasp. She didn’t want to let go. This was her only salvation. Didn’t He understand that? God, what was He waiting for? Why didn’t he reach in and grab the fiery ball of pain out of the center of her brain and throw it as far as the east is from the west? She thought God could do anything. After all, hadn’t she been taught that from her youth? God is great and mighty and able to do exceedingly beyond what she could even imagine. She’s sure she’d heard those words spoken in church to a congregation of gullible fanatics. Suckers. Well, God’s right here and he’s not doing a damn thing, just sitting there waiting for her to collect her thoughts long enough to tell him how to fill up the damn syringe.

“Y-you j-just t-take it and stick the n-needle into the v-vial, right here.” Was she going into shock? Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably and she hugged herself tightly with her bloody arms. They felt slippery, sticky, next to each other, on her cold, damp bare skin. She was sweating profusely. She felt the sweat running down her forehead, down her face in rivers, washing her eyes and dripping onto her dry tongue, tasting of salt.

She watched greedily as God filled the syringe as she’d directed. Then, He took the other bottle and held it up for her inspection. “Should I do both of them in this one needle or do I need another needle for this?”

“Both.”

He filled the syringe again. As soon as the vial was empty, she snatched the liquid-filled syringe from his hand, ignoring his startled outcry and the wide-eyed protest in his face. She jabbed the needle into her thigh and pushed on the syringe, emptying the burning solution into her leg. She waited, trembling, teeth chattering, sirens wailing in her head, as she counted, “One-fucking-thousand, Two-fucking-thousand, Three-fucking-thousand....” she didn’t know whether or not she was counting aloud and didn’t care. She only knew that by the time she got to four-fucking-thousand she was going to feel something besides pain for the first time in more than two days.

Sulfuric-like flavoring burned her tongue and left a bitter taste in her mouth as her body shuddered and she sighed as she felt the pain ooze like yellow vapor from her fingertips, from her toes, rise like steam from the top of her head and evaporate into the ether. No longer trembling, her teeth no longer chattering, she slipped into blissful night, gathering about herself nothingness. She floated down toward the earth and that’s when she felt the hand of God, gently easing her head down onto the grass. She could smell the grass, the dirt, even, she thought, the dew on each blade as she closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel the blessedness of feeling nothing. The pain was gone, little more than a nightmarish memory.

“Thank you, God,” she told Him and sighed with pleasure. The constricton, the pounding was gone and she was enveloped in stillness and silence. Wasn’t there some scripture about an old prophet who looked for God in the tornadoes and earthquakes, but didn’t hear from him until things had settled down? She had a fuzzy recollection of that story and wasn’t the least surprised when out of the silence she heard God’s voice talking to her.

“Lisa. Your name’s Lisa Green, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm.” She agreed. If he’d asked if her name was Hermen Labinsky, she would’ve agreed. It was so easy to be sweet and agreeable when she wasn’t in pain. Man, she didn’t feel a damn thing right now. Just blessed relief and a feeling of floating. Just floating, Man, floating.

Opening her eyes, she was surprised to discover that God was Indian. He looked alot like her new neighbor in fact. What a funny coincidence. She’d have to tell Naveen when she saw him. He might think that was funny. She wondered if Naveen believed in God? Probably. He probably believed in lots and lots of Gods. She remembered seeing a giant Kali, with her many arms, carried into his house the day he moved in.

“I think it’s time to go to bed, Lisa, don’t you?”

Whoa. Now, this was big. If only she could write, right now, she’d write in her journal, ”Wednesday night, January, 2006, God told me he wanted to take me to bed.” No one would believe her.

“Sure. Take me to bed.” She said blearily. God was hot!

She heard God laugh softly as he lifted her in his strong arms. No one would believe that, either, would they? Well, they might believe that God had the arms of a carpenter or a Navy SEAL. She didn’t know He was so strong. But, of course, this was the first time she’d ever really met God, so how could she have known?

She noticed that the jouncing she felt, riding limply as she was in God’s tender embrace, didn’t cause any pain to shoot through her brain. Her head almost felt as if it had been lopped off. If only, she thought wryly. If only it were that simple. The jouncing stopped and she felt herself falling. How could He just let go like that?

She threw her hands up and grasped at the dark curls and screamed, “Catch me!”

God grunted. “You’re ok, Lisa. You’re not falling. I just put you in your bed. Please, let go of my hair.”

He was stronger than she, of course. He would be even if she weren’t stoned, which, she had to admit, she now was...very...stoned. Long fingers wound around her own, pulling them loose from his curls. It was highly likely that all of this was a figment of her hallucinations induced by the copious amounts of drugs she’d just plied her system with. But, whether God was a hallucination or not, she didn’t want to know just yet. She didn’t want to be alone.

She had a vague notion she may have taken just a little too much of the pain killing medication, since she forgot to check the amount as she injected it. She was so intent on gaining relief as she injected. She didn’t care how much of the drug she shoved into her veins at the time. But, the consequences could be, well, permanent. But, she didn’t say a thing. She couldn’t say that. If she did, she’d end up at the hospital and alot of good those bastards would do her.

They’d pump her stomach and pull out all the pain relieving medication. Then, they’d write a report and send it to her doctor who would never prescribe the pain killers for her again. Then she’d have to live the rest of her life in complete and abject horror from pain and end up killing herself. No, she’d just wait this out, see where it went. Besides, she didn’t want to think about any of this just now. She just wanted to get back to the business of floating. Floating in God’s arms.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Weird, she’d thought her eyes were already open. What was all that stuff she’d seen? It got even weirder. With her eyes open, the view was exactly the same as it had been, only she felt wet. She looked up and God was looking at her body as he tenderly ministered to her cuts with cotton swabs and hydro peroxide. It smelled dry and acidic at the same time. She tried to lick her lips, but her tongue was so dry it felt like she was wiping sandpaper over them instead.

“Hang on,” God said as he leaned out of her field of vision for a brief moment. “How’s this?”

Feeling a tiny poking at her lips, she opened her mouth and sucked on the stick, which turned out to be a straw. The cold water shot through her mouth, freezing the back of her throat. Taking another gulp, she swished it around in her mouth, feeling the icy liquid swishing over her teeth and rolling it on her tongue. It felt indescribably good, better than anything she’d ever tasted.

“Thanks.”

“There you go. That should do you,” God pronounced as he wrapped the last bandaid over her last cut and it sounded like the last thing he was going to say to her.

“Please, don’t go.” She was begging God to stay just a little longer. She wanted to talk to him and had many questions she’d like to ask, but just couldn’t remember even one of them right now. When the fog lifted a little, she’d be able to remember what they were. If only he could stay a little longer.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere, except maybe over to your dresser. Do you think you could dress yourself? You’ve got blood and...stuff...all over your, uh, what you’re wearing there.”

She nodded, yes; not at all sure she really could since she wasn’t sure her appendages were even attached to her body anymore.

She must’ve closed her eyes, because God disappeared and she was only vaguely aware of the sounds of wooden drawers being opened and closed. Then, she felt her arms being tugged. What do you know? They were still attached to her body after all. She tried to move them herself, but couldn’t. She was floating, stop bothering her. Who cared if her clothes were dirty and she smelled like the inside of a garbage pail? Where’d he think all those cuts came from, anyway? More tugging, this time at her legs. But, all Lisa wanted was to float away into the darkness rapidly enveloping her. Into the silence she’d craved for hours, no, days, before the injections.

It was weird that she could find peace and quiet, complete rest and relaxation, in a tiny vial of clear liquid. When she was a little kid, no one had ever told her that in order to find peace all you’d need was a prescription from you doctor and a syringe-with-needle. People sure were going to be surprised when she told them that the truth of the matter is you don’t have to be good and do what’s right all the time. You just have to have a good health plan to cover the out-of-this-world expense of the injections. Suckers.

The things that made me nervous about this piece were: did the franeticism and pain come across right? Did the character's desperation come across clearly enough? What do you think?

Today's Vocabulary

2006-05-27T05:03:00.000-07:00

Today's vocabulary words are taken from the book, The Runaway Princess by Christina Dodd. I use Merriam Webster's Dictionay for the definitions, but occasionally, if I need more clarification, I'll also use Roget's Thesaurus. Both can be found online, by clicking the title, here. I may also use Thesaurus.com and Dictionary.com.

cozen: to deceive, win over, or induce to do something by artful coaxing and wheedling or shrewd trickery; syn. CHEAT

prodigious: exciting amazement or wonder; extraordinary in bulk, quantity, or degree; enormous or monstrous

sybaritism: (comes from the word, sybarite), [from the notorious luxury of the Sybarites] : voluptuary (a person whose chief interests are luxury and the gratification of sensual appetites), sensualist (persistent or excessive pursuit of sensual pleasures and interests); if it's capitalized, then it means: a native or resident of the ancient city of Sybaris; from Thesaurus.com= debauchery, self-indulgence; from Dictionary.com= A person devoted to pleasure and luxury; a voluptuary (Good word!)

termagant: an overbearing or nagging woman; a quarrelsome, scolding woman; a shrew

libertine: usually disparaging : a freethinker especially in religious matters; a person who is unrestrained by convention or morality; specifically : one leading a dissolute (or, unrestrained) life

dishabille: the state of being dressed in a casual or careless style

perfidious: (from perfidy) the quality or state of being faithless or disloyal; treachery; the act or instance of disloyalty; syn. faithless

bumptious: presumptuously, obtusely, and often noisily self-assertive; obtrusive

castigation: (from castigate), to subject to severe punishment, reproof, or criticism; to chasten

majordomo: a head steward of a large household; a butler; a person who speaks, makes arrangements, or takes charge for another

capon: a castrated male chicken

All of the books on writing a novel and even the publisher's guidelines and their editors say that you shouldn't use big words or unusual vocabulary in your writing. That it's a turn-off for readers. Well, I disagree. I love to learn new words and see how "big" words are used in a sentence. I love it when a book has words that I don't know and I have no problem underlining the words and looking them up at the end of a chapter or the book. Of course, if it bugs me enough, I'll even look it up immediately so I know what the author is talking about.

I think it would be a very sad day indeed when writers stop using "big" words to describe something and will only write for the third and fourth grade reading levels like the newspapers do. I think that if I were to only read books with language I could easily understand, my mind would become very lazy. I want to have lots of wrinkles in my brain by the time I pass away and I hope that my vocabulary will increase every day, or at least every week. There's nothing more exciting to me than learning something new and that includes something as simple as learning a new word.

What do you think about that? Do you agree that books should be written in plain and simple language? Or do you prefer to read a book where you'll learn a new word and have a chance to increase your vocabulary? Does it bug you when you come across a word you've never heard or seen before? Are you good about looking it up or do you just skip it and guess at its meaning by the context it's used in?

Quote of the Day

2006-05-27T04:43:00.000-07:00

The fire that melts the candle also tempers the steel.

--Christina Dodd (The Runaway Princess)

A Grown-up Fairytale: The Runaway Princess

2006-05-27T04:00:00.000-07:00

The Runaway Princess

by Christina Dodd

This was a wonderful book that made me wistful for the fairytales I read as a girl. If you liked fairytales when you were a child, you'll love the grown-up version that Christina Dodd writes in this book.

The theme is about honesty, complete and total honesty. It's also about being your authentic self and how it's the only way that you can truly fulfill your destiny, just like that Shakespearean line, "To thine own self be true". Dodd weaves this theme throughout the book as a counterfeit princess tries to convince everyone, especially the Prince, that she really isn't THE princess they're looking for. She's just a look-alike, a very intelligent, noble, brave and compassionate look alike. No-one, especially not the prince, believes her until the very end when it matters the most and by then she really wants to be the princess, because she's fallen so in love with the determined prince. Don't worry, I'm not going to give anything away, here, because I don't want to ruin any of this exquisite experience for you. I relished every moment that I read this book and will most definitely read it again.

An orphan from a small town at the end of the Regency period who's inherited a small fortune from her mentor, she's decided to go off and find an adventure of her own for once, before she settles down to run a bookstore and lead the dull and uneventful life of a grown-up orphan with few, if any, prospects. She's not the most likely candidate for a heroine, not physically anyway. She's described as Amazonian, very tall, large breasted, nothing dainty or even average about her. She's on vacation at a spa, feeling lonely and a little disappointed that she hasn't discovered love or even sex on her trip and resigned to leaving her vacation sooner than later as her funds were dwindling quicker than expected.

The prince shall embrace his greatest fear and make it his own.

That's when the Prince arrives on the scene, mistakes her for the princess he's been searching for since they were about twelve years old or so and now that he's found her, he's not about to lose her. As a matter of fact, if he can't convince her to come away with him, he's perfectly comfortable with kidnapping her and forcibly bringing her home with him to wed. You'll love this wild romp through fairytale kingdoms while they're hunted by rebels, face natural dangers and intrigue and one of the most unique romances I've read.

There's plenty of adventure, humor, spirituality (in a mild and peaceful sense, not out-there or new agey at all, very nice and practical imho and enjoyable), and true love as they face their fears and vulnerabilities and in the end the orphan-Princess not only finds herself, but finds out that she doesn't have to lose her true self to fulfill her destiny, rather she needs to be completely honest with herself and must be her complete self to become the woman she is destined to be.

The hero is to die for as well, and I imagined him to look like Rock Hudson as I read it, which made it all the more enjoyable, since Rock was such a dish. The hero learns that in order to have the life he desires the most he must not only embrace his greatest fear, but be humble enough to make it his own. It was the most difficult thing he ever had to do, yet it was the one thing that brought him the greatest reward. One of the things I loved the most about this Prince was that he was so completely forthright and honest, never lied to anyone about anything. He was confident and really went after what he wanted with gusto, yet his vulnerability, which was thoroughly explained and believable, gave him his most human quality.

The only thing that I thought some people might have a problem with was that Dodd's main characters in this book were more like super-heros than people. At least, that's a complaint that I'd read a few places about these characters. Here's what I have to say about that: In any romance book, or any fiction book for that matter, the main characters are always larger than life. That's what heros are. They're supposed to be people we can look up to and aspire to be like-honest, brave or fearless, kind and gracious, romantic. This being a fairytale, of course, there has to be some magic involved or it's not really a fairytale, is it?

However, although I found the Prince's character to be a bit super-hero-ish, I really liked him that way and found it perfectly acceptable in this story. As a matter of fact, I think it would've been dissappointing if he'd been any less heroic than Dodd made him to be. So, I personally didn't have a problem with that and don't think you will either, because it fits the story and era that he's in. I didn't feel that any of the other characters had that super-hero quality to them, but were very convincing as heros. And that's really the main point: they have to be believable, convincing and their motives need to make sense and the way Dodd writes these characters, they absolutely do make sense and are certainly believable. It was a wonderful fairytale and I'm just about to go purchase the sequel to this book, Someday My Prince.

You can find this book as an e-book through Fictionwise.com or purchase it at any bookstore, including Barnes & Noble online and Amazon.

To go to Christina Dodd's website, simply click on her name.

Chapter 1--Finished

2006-05-26T22:10:00.000-07:00

I wrote Chapter 2 yesterday. It feels so good! I never thought I'd do it, because I've been dry as a dessert the past month, or maybe even longer! But, it's like all of a sudden, "the feeling" overwhelmed me and I just knew I had to get to the keyboard fast and write. So, I wrote and wrote until it was almost the way I wanted it to come out and now I have to do a little more research to make sure that what I want to do is in fact possible, if not probable.

The weird thing about fiction is that everything you write has to make sense, unlike real life where things rarely, if ever, make sense.

Quote of the Day

2006-05-25T09:26:00.000-07:00

"There's such a fine line between stupid and clever."

---line from Spinal Tap

Writing Tips Thursday

2006-05-18T22:20:00.001-07:00

Here are some good articles. A long list of them to pick and choose from of writing tips, like:

Creating a Worthy Villain
Essay writing Resources
Tips for the Beginning Horror Writer
Openings that Hook
Five Sure-Fire Suspense Building Techniques, etc.

http://www.writermag.com/wrt/default.aspx?c=ss&id=101

My New Blog

2006-05-18T17:54:00.000-07:00

I'm going to use this blog to record my progress as a writer. I'll post things like, how I feel about my writing; concerns I have; articles and sites that are valuable for me as a writer; reviews; news; creative writings; notes, and more. I may post from a character's pov, or post things that have to do with my writing, so don't take it too personally if I post something and it seems weird or shocking or whatever. Well, you'll see what I mean, eventually.

Everything is copyrighted to me as of the date it's written. Nothing here may be reprinted without my permission. To contact me, post on the section you're interested and I will go to your blog and leave my contact info for you. Please, no ads or spams. Hope you enjoy, but remember, the whole point of this blog is for my own personal organization and enjoyment. I'm writing, here, for me.