Putting in my notice!

I quit!

This home maker thing is for the birds. Honestly.

It would be one thing if you cleaned the house and it stayed relatively clean, but this...this is total chaos. No. Wait. It's anarchy!

All I wanted to do was vaccuum. That's it. Even though real writers don't do it, I needed to, because it's spring and the dust bunnies are larger than usual, thanks to my two shedding dogs. So I started at the entryway of the kitchen and moved my way through the house...when suddenly, it hit me. The toddler boy, who usually follows along behind trying to hitch a ride on the vaccuum cleaner, was missing.

So were the dogs.

I shut off the vaccuum cleaner and went on a toddler hunt. As I entered the kitchen, I encoutered...footprints. Made of crumbs. And then, I spotted this:

The child had opened the pantry door and emptied an ENTIRE BOX of Cheerios on the floor. And stepped on them.

Sigh.

I lugged the %&#@!! vaccuum BACK into the kitchen and set about revaccuuming the area I'd spent fifteen minutes on just ten minutes before. (Remember: shedding dogs=lots and lots of fur.) It took me five minutes to finish getting up the cereal and the crumbs. I realized that the toddler had scurried off as I cleaned up this mess (crap!). A quick search found
that the toddler had found the closet, where the clothes hamper is kept.

I've tied him to a chair. (Kidding! He's at the store with Daddy now because Daddy realizes...when Mommy gets that look in her eye, it's best to run away. Fast.)

Please, someone...give me a job and get me out of here!

Hot job? With...hot coffee?

I've been looking for a job. No, wait. Not a job...I'm looking for a career.

Personally, I'm feeling a bit old for this, but I'm hopeful. Enough people have told me that the 40's are the new 20. (What does that make the 20's? And what happens to people under 20? Are they in the negative numbers?) I'm thinking that people who say this haven't reached their 40's yet; there is NO way this body of mine acts 20-something after a long car ride, when I stand up and have to work the kinks out of my hips and knees.

But I digress.

My other concern about finding a career is that HotJobs.com keeps sending me jobs "related to my skills". Apparently, Hot Jobs feels my skills would best be served (so to speak) by working at a Dunkin Donuts. Now you'd think that an Associates degree in Liberal Arts, a Bachelors Degree in English (with a concentration in Secondary Education), four years' experience in the sales (oops, sorry--Admissions) department of a local technical college, and nearly seven years experience in collections and mortgage processing (that's banking, folks!) would count for more than a "career" behind the coffee counter.

Apparently not.

So I ask you...what am I doing wrong? Am I really that unmarketable in today's job market? Am I unworthy of a real career? Unskilled in anything but pouring coffee into a styrofoam cup?

And if 40 is the new 20, why do I have all this gray hair?

Stop by Dunkin Donuts and let me know--I'm easy to find. I'm the bewildered-looking, 43-year-old, twenty-something with stiff knees and aching hips.

Birthday Thought

written on March 14

It's my birthday today.

For a gift, my best friend in the whole world (for 25 years!) gave me a train ticket to come see her in Maine. And even though I'm now the ripe old age of 43, I've never gone anywhere by train. I've taken the T in Boston, but that doesn't really count as taking the train to go somewhere.

I'm blogging from the train right now, as a matter of fact. We just stopped at a station and more people are boarding. More people...that I don't know.

I realized today, sitting in North Station in Boston that there are a lot of people I don't know. Yes, I realize—duuuuuh. But it's never really been something that hit me like it did this morning, watching hundreds of people—hundreds!--pouring out of doorways and scurrying to their destinations, their faces grim and intent on their business. I looked, I watched, and I realized. Out of all those people, there was not one familiar face.

The hazards of going somewhere, I guess.

The thing is...I saw all those people, and realized that there are more. Many more. So many, I could never see them all. Not in this lifetime. It's almost...scary. If I were prone to panic attacks, I would have had one, right there in North Station. Gasp. I felt so damn small and inconsequential, and very, very humbled.

The really strange thing is—out of all those hundreds of people—NONE of them were talking to each other. Even when I took the Orange Line from Back Bay to North Station; jammed together in that train, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, back to back, we were a rocking clump of people that did not communicate. Not a whisper, no eye contact...nothing. So now I really understand how a person can feel their loneliest even when they're surrounded by others.

When I got to North Station, I found a small group of middle school kids on a field trip, huddled together in a self-conscious mass of hormones, giggling and showing off, and I moved closer to this cluster of humanity. It was warm, alive and familiar. The boys, pretending to play baseball, the girls, trying to look grown-up despite their braces and awkwardness; I felt better around them. Especially when one of them made eye contact with me and grinned because he knew he'd caught me smiling at how goofy his friend acted. I felt less panicked at this human contact. This connection.

I guess we lose that ability or desire to connect with people as we grow older. Even me, today, on my birthday at the age of 43; spending most of my morning trying to be one of the crowd, intent on my business and very lonely.

I think that I'll spend this year of my life trying to meet more people. So that next year—if my best friend gives me another train ticket—maybe I'll actually know someone in the crowd.

Is there anybody out there?

Since I've been laid off, I've been making important phone calls. Like the one to my husband's health insurance company, to see if I've been added to his account. Have you done this type of thing, lately? Try to avoid it, if you can, because this is how it goes:


(pleasant pre-recorded female voice, unusually chipper) "Thank you for calling United against your Health, we really don't Care. If you are calling about a claim, please press 1. If you are calling about benefits, please press 2. All other calls, please stay on the line." (Happy man's voice.) "Para continuar en español, presione por favor el número 1."

I press 2. (prerecorded woman's voice. It sounds as if she's got a cold.) "Thank you for calling United, we could care less about your Health Care. This call may be recorded. Please say your identification ID--"

Huh?

"NOW!"

My identification ID? That doesn't even make sense. Identification identification? Where is that anyway--

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand your response--"

No %#@! That makes two of us--

"Please speak or enter your number, NOW."

Here it is. It really is called an identification ID. Enter, enter, enter, enter, enter--oh, crap! wrong number...

"I'm sorry. I did not understand your response. Please hold for the next available representative."

Does this mean a person will answer? If I had known all I needed to do to get a human being was to make a mistake I would have done it sooner.

....musak....
....musak...
...more musak...

click!

Good! Someone's coming--

(Cheerful male voice.) "Due to unusually heavy call volume, your call may be delayed. Please wait for the next available representative."

...musak...
...musak...
...musak...

Oh, crap. Is that Barry Manilow? I hate this song...

Click!

Someone's coming! Yes! That wasn't too--

(condescending woman's voice) "Thank you for waiting. Your call will be answered in the order it was received."

Click!


...musak...

(20 minutes later)

I can't smile--without--you. Can't something without you. Can't laugh and I can't sing, I'm finding it hard to do anything...

(10 minutes later)

I can't snarl without you. Can't hurl, without you. Can't do crap and I can't have a fling, I'm finding it hard, to do anything...

(2 minutes)

I can't talk--without you, can't solve problems without you. If you only knew--that human contact was important--

Click!

"'Dank yoo for calling United, we're making you need Health Care. My nem is Sabeeb and I can help you. May I have your nem, pleez?"

Hi! Yes. I'm so glad you picked up. Yes! I need some information, please.

"Yes and I can help you. Pleez may I have your identification ID number pleeze?"

Yes, it's number, number, number...

"Yes, very good. Yes, I am zeeing it your account. Pleeze, can you hold the line. Dank you."

Click.
Silence.

Hello?

Dead air...

Hello? Hello???
Is there...anybody...out there?
Is there anybody out there?
Is there anybody out there?
Is there anybody? Out there?

Does anyone else feel alone and isolated? Are there any people left in the world anymore? (Maybe they've all been jobbed out to India?) Help?

I wonder if Santa feels this way?

You know how Santa is constantly making his list and checking it twice? I think I know how he feels.

Lately, I'd be lost without lists. Grocery lists, to do lists, laundry lists (literally. Like, Monday house, Tuesday--boy 1, Wednesday--Girl, Thursday--toddler boy, Friday-Husband, Saturday-Me, Sunday...whatever's left), shopping lists (cleaning supplies! Clorox CleanUp, Mr Clean Sponges--WALMART! snacks for school--BJ'S!), to do lists (rake leaves in front beds, 15 minutes. call dept of employment. pick up dog poop in back yard, clean muckboots...)

Otherwise, I feel caught in the swirling wind of chaos that is my life, lately. You see, I got laid off. And now--I'm home again. Despite what my husband thinks, being AT home is different from leaving work and GOING home. Imagine living at your office. Would you ever--truly--be able to relax? Or would you constantly be finding things that need to be done? You'd watch your inbox grow and think, "OH...crap. If I leave that, it will be even bigger tomorrow. I really need to work on that. But first...I need to work on my emails, because I've got a warning message that I'm using too much RAM and..." See? Lists.

Only, at home, the lists are diversified. Where else could you find concerns about cleaning supplies, snacks for school AND poop all in one place?

Of course, BLOG is on a list...somewhere. Usually at the bottom of a list at the bottom of the pile of lists. Ah well. Happy Monday, people. Let the stress begin!

Success!

Okay, it looks like crap, because sometimes what you see is NOT what you get (no matter what wysiwyg promises) but--MY WEBSITE IS UP!

Complete with links to all my webfriend's websites. So, kids...visit www.cyndisweet.com within the next few days and let me know if the links is workin' da ways de should.

I'm so punchy. Please 'scuse me. I'm so not a techie and my art major days are far behind me. So this has been an interesting experience. I want the underlines in the hyperlinks to go away, and they don't want to...but they're not in the work space, so I don't know they're there until I go live. So, so frustrating. It got so bad, today, I actually did laundry rather than sit at my computer and try to figure out what was wrong. Gasp!

Tomorrow, however, assuming my mother-law chooses to keep the smallest boy with her, I'll write. I'll actually sit down and work on a story. Maybe the laptop I bought from ebay will arrive. (And if it does, it will work...) Maybe I'll sit and read. Or, both.

What I really need to do is wash the kitchen floor. Thhhpt. Housework.

One thing I want to do is work on the characters in Nuts Over You. I have a fair idea of who they are, but something is missing. I don't like to do charts when it comes to characters because it seems like a tremendous waste of good writing time. I don't like to interview them, either--that just seems weird. Basically, I have to write them to get to know them. But what a waste o'time that is when you just want to finish the damn book. (Why? Why not enjoy the process instead of the product? And if it's a waste to write them, why not try charting them anyway?)

Pooh. Who is this person asking questions? Go 'way. I'm tired. LOL.

How do YOU learn about your characters?

Sigh

I've been trying to figure out how to get my website published.

It's not working.

The worst part is knowing that it's probably very simple. But to a technophobe like me, it's akin to flying to the moon. Even with instructions. I might as well be reading blahblahblah...

At any rate, I've been ignoring my blog in my attempts to get my other site up and running under the domain name, www.cyndisweet.com. Dont' bother clicking on the hyperlink; you'll only get the under construction page that my host put up.

I just hope that it doesn't stay there forever. Wish me luck. I'd rather be writing!

I'm baaack!

Moving!

After more than five days of not being able to log in to my blog for NO APPARENT REASON (scream), I've decided to move. This isn't the first time I've been locked out of my blog here at blogger. In fact, this is my third blog at this site; third, because the same thing happened with my other two.

So--that's it. Three strikes and you're out. Goodbye, Blogger. Hello, wordpress. And while I'm changing my blog site, I've decided to change my pen name. Why? Weeeellll...it's big, it's bulky and it makes a damn difficult domain. Plus, it sounds like a historical writer's name. And...well...I feel like it. So my new name is (insert trumpet sound here): Cyndi Sweet.

Or...Jayci Yates. I haven't quite decided. My friend Jennifer Shirk, who doesn't need a pen name because she's lucky enough to have married a man without a difficult to remember or spell Italian name (ahem), likes Jayci Yates. Yates is my maiden name and to be honest--I also think it's hard for people to spell. My entire pre-D'Attilio life, I heard this: What's your last name? Gates? Gates? Oh! Yates! Oh, I thought...

Not that D'Attilio (yeah, that's my last name) is easier to spell than Yates. Most definitely not. In fact, when I started dating the man who became my husband, it took me a month to even remember his last name--forget trying to spell it. Hence, my reason for trying to find the perfect pen name to begin with. It's purely a marketing decision.

Why Cyndi Sweet? As I thought about last names and pseudonyms, I realized that the best last names are those that are either nouns, verbs or even adjectives. Think of a person named Green. Right away, you picture the color and it's remembered.

Alliterative names are also easier to remember.

Anyhow, I figured that sweet is an adjective AND a noun (if you're someone who calls a piece of candy a sweet, as does a British-born woman with whom I work). And, it's alliterative.

So...there you have it. Cyndi Sweet, writer of comedic contemporary sweet (meaning no sex-aha!) romance. Fine thoughts for a woman not yet published. But there's no reason not to get my ducks lined up. Right?

Which leads me (and you, one of my two readers) to my new blog. I call it Write Away (how clever...bleh). And the address? www.cyndisweet.wordpress.com

I hope to see you there.

Vacation day!

Good morning!

I have a vacation day, today. It's 7:00 am. I've been awake since 5:30 because--I'm a mom.

Vacation days now that I have three kids are very different from vacation days when I used to work, pre-kids.

For one thing, at this very moment, two of my children are pounding on things. My 7 year old has drumsticks and he's pounding on a BJ's Warehouse sized box of oatmeal and the metal paper towel dispenser. The baby is pounding on the front of the stove with the flat of his hand. Meanwhile, my 10 year old is asking me questions and chatting away about something. I'm half-listening amidst the din. As I write.

Pre-children, vacation days were quiet.

The 7-year-old has now put down the drumsticks and is doing "hi-yah!" karate stuff at the baby, who's running away from him. Now the baby's hanging on to my leg because he's afraid of his brother. And my 10-year-old is asking me to put a link to her website on my page.

In books, especially romance books, people have several children. Usually four, for some reason. They are well-behaved. The adults don't feel exhausted around them. There is no screaming. Or questions asked in the middle of chaos. No barking dogs. No tupperware container covers strewn on the kitchen floor, or spilled dog-water or hi-yah! hi-yah! hi-YAH! Everyone is cheerful. People can talk. People can think.

Then again, it is fiction.

Funny, too, how the formerly alpha males in books manage to absorb the chaos and remain cheerful. In fact, they've become beta males. No, wait...they've become completely emasculated. (It's fiction!) I know this is not what happens in real life because I married an alpha male. I know the first rule of alpha males is: Once an alpha, always an alpha. And when real alpha males are confronted with kid chaos, they stand there and yell until everyone else is quiet (or cowering). Alpha males can't help it. They can't stand other people's noise because they have to be the loudest.

So vacation days are nice, but...I think I'd rather be at work.

An Explanation

More or less.

Hello, faithful reader(s). I'm sorry I haven't been blogging this week. I can't even say I've been busy.

But I've been reading. My author of choice--in honor of the Patriots--is Susan Elizabeth Phillips. I never read her before, even though critique partners recommended her to me. When I'd picked up her books and read the summaries, I'd thought--euww, football?--and put them back. I guess I'm at a different point in my life, now.

The one where I'm actually resigned to my husband's sports obsession.

Despite the football stuff, I'm really enjoying Ms. Phillips books. They're funny, for one thing. When I read (or listened to) her book It Had to Be You at work, I had to shut off my Mp3 and leave my desk to howl with laughter at what happened to Phoebe (and her little dog, too) at her father's funeral. (hook, hook...)

Her characters are wonderful, too. It appears that most of them suffer with backgrounds of neglect. Negligent parents, indifferent parents, parents who died and guardians who don't understand them. (Or guardians who couldn't keep them.)

Ah, angst. It makes for good reading.

I've also been reading some really wonderful books titled things like: Baby's First Words (toes, ears, nose, hand....) Water (taking a bath, washing the car, swimming...), I Love My Family (mommy, daddy, brother, sister...) and other stimulating names. Fascinating reading. :)

Have a great Sunday!
Cyn

Tuesday Technology

I heard something interesting the other day, which I must attribute to entertainer, Robert Wuhl, and his HBO special, Assume the Position 201 with Mr. Wuhl.

He talked about the actress Hedy Lamar, an actress some of you may have heard of. She lived way back when everything was in black and white. (I'm not sure that color had been invented yet.) She also starred in the first major film where nudity was shown. According to Wikipedia: In early 1933, she starred in Symphonie der Liebe or Ecstasy, a Czechoslovak film made in Prague, in which she played a love-hungry young wife of an indifferent old husband. Closeups of her face in orgasm, and long shots of her running nude through the woods, gave the film notoriety.

As Mr. Wahl said, she was The Bimbo of her day. Beautiful, racy, artistic...Bimbo. And that's primarily how people remember her.

But here's something else, and it ties in with today's technology theme. Hedy Lamar co-created something called spread spectrum, which is a key to today's wireless communications. As Wikipedia says: Spread-spectrum techniques are methods by which energy generated in a particular bandwidth is deliberately spread in the frequency domain, resulting in a signal with a wider bandwidth. These techniques are used for a variety of reasons, including the establishment of secure communications, increasing resistance to natural interference and jamming, and to prevent detection.

Basically, she discovered a way to block radio communications. Her idea was to make radio-guided missiles difficult for enemies (in 1942, that was the Germans and the Japanese) to detect or jam. This concept was so ahead of the technology of the times that the US was unable to use it until 1962. Today, the frequency-hopping idea is the basis for spread-spectrum communication technology used in cordless telephones and WiFi Internet connections, among other things.

Not bad for a nude girl from the days before color, huh? Speaking of color, here's a link to an HTML code chart:

http://tips-for-new-bloggers.blogspot.com/2007/02/hexadecimal-html-color-codes-and-names.html

Happy Tuesday!

Monday Musings

Did you ever wonder...

Crap. I sound like Andy Rooney. Not that that's a bad thing, but...Let me try again.

Have you ever noticed (I think that's better. Is it?) how you get ideas? People haven't often (or ever) asked me where I get my ideas for stories. Probably because the only people who have read my stuff are writers and they know where ideas come from.

(The Idea Fairy?)

It's strange, really. I think writers pull ideas from everywhere, from all experiences. Somewhere, deep in the center of a writer's brain, there's a cauldron. It's filled with a murky purple liquid that bubbles and glurks; that's where useable things go to perk. As time goes on, the cauldron fills and finally spills. Ideas flood the brain. Voices babble. Thoughts fly. The Muse is awakened and the writer must write!

Happy Monday.

Sunday is a day of rest

...for some folks. For me, it's just another day to do laundry.

For my husband, Sunday=Football. Especially today, when the Pats play the Chargers for a chance to play in the Super Bowl. And then there's another game, with Green Bay and The NY Giants.

Geesh. You'd think I'd know what I was talking about, wouldn't you? In a way, I have no choice. Even my children are football obsessed. (I suppose my dogs would be, too. If they could talk:

Duffy(reading the newspaper): Ooh. I hope the Patriots win, today. Do you think the Cheese Heads will beat the Giants?

Rosie(nodding): If I were a giant, I'd eat the cheese heads. I like cheese.

Duffy (rubbing his head with a forepaw): No, no, no. Stupid puppy. They aren't really giants or cheese heads. Those are just their names.

Rosie: But if they're not giants or cheese heads, then why would they call themselves that? And...where is the cheese, anyway? (sniffs around)

Duffy: There's no cheese, puppy! There's just yellow helmets.

Rosie (sitting on her bum with her hind paws up): How do you know their helmets are yellow? You're color-blind.

Duffy(rolling onto his back for a tummy rub from passing human): Just forget it.

Perhaps I should consider Sunday a day of rest from writing. I think my brain is melting.

Happy Sunday!

Saturday Silliness

Sorry I missed Friday's posting. I couldn't think of a good alliteration (or one that didn't make me say "enh"), so I just played with my formatting, instead. Tell me what you think, faithful reader (of one). I decided the blue was easy. Call it Formatting Friday. (geesh.)

Have you noticed that HTML rhymes with hell? Hmmm. I wonder if that's intentional?

Anyhow:

My family has created their own loop on Yahoo. I've put a hyperlink at the bottom of my posts there, inviting them to visit this blog. Think they will?

Nah.

We're planning a reunion. Because we are who we are, we plan to the max. There's lots of discussion, charts, maps, graphs, letters, notes and reservations. But we're so busy focusing on getting organized, no one listens or reads the charts, everyone gets lost, forgets the letters and confuses the reservations. We're really a silly bunch.

I took some photos from the last reunion, in July of 2005.

Oh, and here are some other folks that wandered in front of my camera just as I snapped the shot at the Chicago Museum of blahblahblah. I'm calling them the family we never knew we had; the fact they wandered in front of the camera and didn't say "Oh! Excuse us!" proves it. If they really were members of the Lokovic Clan, they wouldn't pay attention to the loop, lists, charts, maps, plans, reservations or directions, either.

Happy Saturday!

Thirteen things I love about winter: 1.... Snow is pretty. 2....I have an awesome sweater collection. 3....I don't have to worry about looking fat in a bathing suit. 4....Ditto. In shorts. 5....I don't have to clean the pool. 6....There's no pollen. 7....Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day. 8....The cold air makes the stars sparkle at night. 9.... Snowmen are cool. 10...It's easier to get warm and stay warm than it is to get cool and stay cool. 11....The kids are in school most of the day, instead of at home complaining about having nothing to do. 12....All the bugs are dead. 13....Wrapping up in a blanket, drinking a cup of hot chocolate and reading a thick book in front of a warm fire wouldn't be fun in the summer.

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

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Wednesday is for...whaaaat?

I hate it whenever there's a newsbreak and the headline suddenly becomes a perky alliteration. You know, like Death for Diana or Kennedy Catastrophe or whatever.

I can't believe I'm trying to think of perky alliterations for my blog. Eeeek!

It's Wacky Wednesday...Worry Wednesday...Wordy Wednesday...Wierd Story Wednesday...Heart-Warming Wednesday...Writerly Wednesday...

W-T-F. Wednesday...

Waaaaah! Wednesday!

Then I started thinking about Wednesday as Hump Day. Happy Humpday! Hulabaloo Humpday! Holy Humpday, Batman! (It's superhero day!), Humpty Dumpty Humpday! (nursury rhyme day), Hippity-hoppity Humpday, Ha-ha-humpday!

Hump this.

I then thought about sentences with the "Whu" sound. You know, like, What I'm Reading Wednesday or What's on the Menu Wednesday? Where's Waldo Wednesday!
Where's my brain Wednesday?
What's my topic Wednesday?
What kind of coffee did you have today Wednesday?

The only thing I can really think is: What do you think I should write about on Wednesday?

Technology Tuesday: Or not.

Yesterday, I mentioned I wanted to try writing in themes to help me actually blog each day. (waving to my one faithful reader...)

Anyhow, I thought Tuesday could be Technology Day.

I'm not technological.

I'm not even logical.

That's probably why I clicked on the button at blogger that asked if I wanted to attach my blog to a domain name (thus, I think, even losing my one faithful reader). Since then, I've been trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do next. I'm not even sure what a domain is!

Definition of the day:

Domain= a fancy word for website address.

If you create a domain, you can register it (for a fee) so that people can find your site using that address. So it's a good thing for someone who might want to--say--write a book and then have readers look for them on the internet. (Well, gee. Why didn't they just say that to begin with?)

Other fun tech stuff:

I found a website--thanks to my good friend (and faithful reader!) Jennifer Shirk. If you look to the right of the page...somewhere...scroll down...you'll see a little, blue icon button. Tips for New Bloggers. What a great site! They have all kinds of good stuff for technopaires like moi. Like...information.

They also pointed me in the direction of widgetbox, where I found a hypoallergic kitty and a fish tank that never needs cleaning. Oh, and a thing that will help me tune my daughter's guitar!

None of these have anything to do with writing. Faithful reader...do you care?

Off the cuff stuff

Jan 9, 12:55 PM (ET)
DES MOINES, Iowa (AP) - Jane Hambleton has dubbed herself the "meanest mom on the planet."
After finding alcohol in her son's car, she decided to sell the car and share her 19-year-old's misdeed with everyone - by placing an ad in the local newspaper.
The ad reads: "OLDS 1999 Intrigue. Totally uncool parents who obviously don't love teenage son, selling his car. Only driven for three weeks before snoopy mom who needs to get a life found booze under front seat. $3,700/offer. Call meanest mom on the planet."
Hambleton has heard from people besides interested buyers since recently placing the ad in The Des Moines Register.
The 48-year-old from Fort Dodge says she has fielded more than 70 telephone calls from emergency room technicians, nurses, school counselors and even a Georgia man who wanted to congratulate her.
"The ad cost a fortune, but you know what? I'm telling people what happened here," Hambleton says. "I'm not just gonna put the car for resale when there's nothing wrong with it, except the driver made a dumb decision.
"It's overwhelming the number of calls I've gotten from people saying 'Thank you, it's nice to see a responsible parent.' So far there are no calls from anyone saying, 'You're really strict. You're real overboard, lady.'"
The only critic is her son, who Hambleton says is "very, very unhappy" with the ad and claims the alcohol was left by a passenger.
Hambleton believes her son but has decided mercy isn't the best policy in this case. She says she set two rules when she bought the car at Thanksgiving: No booze, and always keep it locked.
The car has been sold, but Hambleton says she will continue the ad for another week - just for the feedback.

Yeah, Mom!! I think this is great news. If more parents acted this way, we'd have less teenage deaths from drunk driving. AND, we'd probably have less obnoxious teens wandering around.

Though I have to admit--I like teens. When I used to teach (about a million years ago), my favorite students were the 13-17 year old set. People complain about teens, but I find them fascinating. And a bit sad. They're struggling so hard to find themselves. But how do you find yourself when you're following the trends of others? And then, there are those hormones racing through you, causing you to just act badly. You can't control your emotions, your skin, your odor, your peers--horrible. Just horrible.

One thing teens can control are the decisions they make. Unfortunately, those decisions are often bad ones. I made bad choices and decisions during my teen years. Did you?

Hmmm...this would be one of those good questions for those folks who like to interview their characters during pre-writing. What bad decisions did you make during your teen years? What motivated you to make that decision? If you could change it, would you? Why? Why not?
How do you suppose that decision affects you today?

Other stuff:
I'm trying to blog more. (Lucky you.) I'm thinking, perhaps, if I had more structure to my blogs I'd have more posts. (If time permits, of course.) You know, like the Thursday Thirteen folks. (Hm. Maybe I should do THAT on Thursday. One day down, six to go...) I'll play around with ideas and post about it tomorrow. Hopefully.

Happy Snow Day New Englanders!
Cyn

You will be reading in the very near future.

I collect fortune cookie fortunes. Not like stamps or coins; I don't stop at other people's tables and pick up their litter just so I can have their fortunes.

I don't even put them into albums.

Mostly, I just stick them into my pocket and then, later, tape them to my monitor. Or my refrigerator. Or wherever they might fit. I remember I had one taped to the dashboard of my first car. (Don't ask me what it said. Probably something like You will be traveling a great distance in a very small space.)

Currently, I have two taped to my monitor. One says The difficulty is not coming up with new ideas but to undo the old ones. I like that. It fits, especially now that I'm doing rewrites on one of my books. Even though there are some scenes I love, the book would be better if those scenes were undone. (aka--ack!--deleted...)

The other fortune reads: :) You have much skill in expressing yourself to be effective. :) I like this one particularly because it almost, but not quite, makes sense. I have much skill in...expressing myself to...what? Does this mean that I'm effective because I have much skill in expressing myself? Or that I'm so skilled at expressing myself that I'm not effective at all?

Either way, there are smiley faces on both sides of the phrase, so whatever the fortune means, it's happy.

My favorite fortune is taped to a frame on my desk. The frame holds a photo of my two older children, meeting their baby brother for the very first time. They're cradling him on their laps, and they've got looks of wonder on their faces. The fortune says: You lead a useful life no matter what riches are coming to you.

Looking at that photo, I have to agree. I've given birth to three beautiful children, and no matter what material wealth occurs, my life has been a good one.

Have a great weekend.

Cough. Cough.

I have no voice today. I have The Cold.

Assuming that most of you (my one or two readers) also have The Cold, I decided to post the following, courtesy of CNN.com.

Cold remedies. What works:

• Water and other fluids like juice, clear broth or warm lemon water with honey help loosen congestion and prevent dehydration.
• Salt water. A saltwater gargle — 1/2 teaspoon salt in an 8-ounce glass of warm water — can temporarily relieve a sore or scratchy throat.
  Saline nasal sprays to combat stuffiness and congestion. These don't have decongestants in them, so there are no rebound effects to deal with.
• Chicken soup. Oy. Really. Scientists have found it works as an anti-inflammatory by inhibiting the movement of neutrophils, immune systems cells that participate in the body's inflammatory response. (What I want to know is...how? And...why? What is it about chicken soup vs....say, Campbells ABC vegetable soup that inhibits the movement of neutrophils?) Second, it temporarily speeds up the movement of mucus through the nose, helping relieve congestion and limiting the amount of time viruses are in contact with the nose lining. Researchers at the University of Nebraska compared homemade chicken soup with canned versions and found that many, though not all, canned chicken soups worked just as well as soups made from scratch. (So quit your kvetching and eat your soup, already.)
• Over-the-counter cold medications. Nonprescription decongestants and pain relievers offer some symptom relief, but they won't prevent a cold or shorten its duration, and most have some side effects.
• Humidity. Cold viruses thrive in dry conditions — another reason why colds are more common in winter. Parched air also dries the mucous membranes, causing a stuffy nose and scratchy throat. A humidifier can add moisture to your home, but it can also add mold, fungi and bacteria if not cleaned properly. (Umm...eeew.)
  

I find it interesting to note that antibacterial wipes, soaps and gels are ineffective against colds, which are caused by a virus, not by bacteria. Along that same line, antibiotics (meaning: against bacteria, btw) are also ineffective. Most interesting (to me): The American College of Chest Physicians strongly discourages the use of Over The Counter cold medicines because they're not effective at treating the underlying cause of cough due to colds. In fact, some contain ingredients that may stop or diminish coughing, but the amounts are too small to do much good and may actually be harmful for children. The college has strongly recommended against using OTC cough syrups or cold medicines for any child younger than 14.

On that note, I'm going to go eat some chicken soup, drink some decaf tea. Feel well, dear reader (s). And, go wash your hands!

Oooo-la-not so much-la

Today's blog topic was inspired by an email to my friend and soon-to-be-published author, Jennifer Shirk. I told her, "...I didn't insert the love scene. I just don't want to go there, though I know I need to. I'm sorry, but you just have to be in the mood to write that stuff. Plus, you need privacy. And I mean PRIVACY. You can't have your husband sitting 10 feet away watching the NFL playoffs. You can't have your seven-year-old bopping in and out asking about when he has to go to bed (NOW! I said NOW!) or your ten-year-old asking when she can get on the computer. (Tomorrow, dammit!)

You can't have a cold, or heartburn or a pile of socks to be sorted and folded. You need the atmosphere to write a sexy scene for imaginary people, but not feel like you're writing porn. (!)..."

Later, as I sorted and folded socks, I thought about it some more and realized why I really couldn't write the necessary between-the-sheets scene. It's got nothing to do with being in "the" mood. And though I've read articles that tell you how to get into the mood for writing a love scene (drink a glass of wine, scatter rosepetals, light scented candles, take a bubble bath, wear a sexy nightie, pop some Viagra, etc.) I realized that none of those things will help. The reason is because I'm not writing about sex (no matter what my husband thinks). I'm writing about my characters connecting to one another on an emotional level.

So, I don't need to feel sexy to write the luuuv scene. I need to feel emotional. And not just emotional about my love life (or lack of one, especially during NFL playoffs). I have to be able to zone in on each of my characters' deepest, most intimate feelings. It's not just writing the word penis that's difficult. Or the ability to find a new euphamism for climax that's hard. It's being able to get so into my characters' heads (and bodies) that I'm feeling everything--emotionally as well as physically.

Writing is such a schizophrenic activity.

Anyhow, I'm going to put away the lingerie and the rose petals, and try and figure out how to get into JP and Emma's hearts. The nice thing is--I've realized that no matter what people say about romance, I'm not writing porn. That's more of a insert tab b into slot a exercise.

Yuck.

So...what do you do to get into your characters heads, hearts and--beds?

Recently overheard:

1. "So the electrician told me that something chewed up the wires between the walls. I asked him if he saw any mouse drippings."

2. "I'm not wrong very often, especially when I'm right."

3. "Are all the people buried in that cemetery dead?"

I started thinking about what I write about the most. What's my big theme? Everyone's got one. It's something that rears its head in your writing whether you want it to, or not.

I write about family.

Usually, my protagonist is the one person who doesn't quite fit into the niche their family has placed them in. I think this is common. We all feel jammed into the pigeon hole our siblings or parents or whoever has placed us in, I think. And the worst part is, no matter how hard we try to escape The Hole, it doesn't quite happen.

Which is okay--in fiction, anyway--because it creates both internal and external conflict.

The book I'm rewriting (for the 10,000 time, I think) is about a guy who wants success in his career. Why? Because he's the youngest of five boys. All his brothers have career success and he doesn't want to be the only one left to live in their parents' home forever. Besides, they torment him--he needs to prove himself.

Another one of my books--now mellowing before I begin rewrites--is about one of his brothers. He can't shake his family's view of him no matter how hard he tries to show them he's changed. (Hmm...that sounds vaguely familier.) Funny how these things tend to run in series.

One book NOT about that particular family involves a woman named Chesca. She's trying to make her family stop pestering her to get married (and make babies) by dating a completely unacceptable guy. Little does she know he's not really a bicycle delivery boy for Rocco's Meat Market but an FBI agent trying to gather as much information about the mob guys in the back room. (Think: My Big Fat Greek Wedding hangs out at Satrialli's in The Sopranos...)

In one way, I find it sad that I write about people trying to escape their family's expectations (or pressures) because I know I'm using my writing as a catharsis. On the other hand, it's easy to figure out where to start when I begin plotting a new story because all I need to do is start with the family and work my way out from there.

What's your theme?

Remind me...

...never to live in Washington.

Here's why: (Associated Press) BREMERTON, Wash. - A 25-year-old woman was arrested for investigation of second-degree assault for getting into an argument with her boyfriend over whether his dog should be in the bathroom while the couple were taking a shower together.
A police report said the man, 26, wanted his dog to join them in the bathroom, but the woman objected on Thursday night.
The woman told her boyfriend that if the dog doesn't stay out, she didn't want to be his girlfriend anymore. He replied that maybe his next girlfriend would appreciate the dog more, and called her a name.
The police report said the woman punched him in the face several times and the man dislocated his shoulder after the naked couple grappled. He told police his girlfriend threw a picture frame, which broke and cut him.
The woman was taken to the Kitsap County Jail in Port Orchard. Bail has been set at $50,000.

I'd like to know what name he called her. You don't suppose it was...b**ch, do you?

Personally, I'd like to hear the story from the dog's point of view: "Wuff. I went into the water room to get a drink from the perpetual bowl and my master and his female were wuff and getting wet. I don't know why anyone would want to get wet. It's just nasty. And they use the bitter foam with the bubbles and it tastes just awful. I hate getting wet and I hate bubbles! Wuff. But then, the female began to bark and point at me, and my master barked back. And then, there was a fight! I barked, too. Especially when the female threw something at my master! I don't think she wanted to play fetch. I tried to get the thing she threw, but it broke. Then my master yelled some more. Wuff! Wuff! Then some people in blue uniforms who were not the mailman came and took the female away. Her fur was still wet.
Then I went and took a nap."

In other news: Hey, it's 2008. You didn't think I wasn't going to mention it, did you? I wonder how many blogs are about the new year, today? How many are about New Year's Resolutions?

I hate resolutions. Not that they're bad or anything. It's just that they don't work for me. Some people like to have something to strive for, and they're really good about achieving their resolutions. But I am the type of person who--when she fails at remembering she resolved not to X, or forgets she's supposed to Y--beats herself up about it and ends up feeling crappy.

With that in mind, here is my resolution for 2008: I resolve not to make any resolutions.

Happy New Year!
Cyn