Can you force speed reading?

Yesterday, Gizmo Guy and I went to the library to return a research book. While we were there, we spotted Robert B. Parker's latest Jesse Stone novel - Stranger in Paradise. Now, both GG and I like Parker's spare style - he uses the minimum amount of words yet the reader is drawn into the world he's created, and feel like the characters are people they know or at least could relate to.

So we took it over to the counter to check it out. Which is where the library informed us it was a 'Fast Read' meaning that instead of the usual three week loan time, you only got to keep this one a week. Yeah. 7 Days instead of 21. Like it's a new-release video at Blockbuster.

It's 293 pages, and the font's slightly bigger than most (which with GG's and my trifocals comes in really handy) but 7 days? So I turned to GG and said, "Can you read it in that time?"

Now, I meant no disrespect to him at all - I am not implying he's dumb. You see, where I stay home and can read a complete novel in an afternoon, GG works. Full time. And has a 90 minute commute each way to work. Which means his available time to read is much more limited than mine, usually he manages to read only a couple pages a day.

The last book I took out - David Baldacci's The Camel Club (approximately the same size, though with denser text) Gizmo Guy finished on the very day it was due back at the library. 21 days later. (I never did get to read it -- I have to promise not to read his books while he's reading them since I have an annoying tendency to lose his place.)

So on behalf of Gizmo Guy, and other people who have full-time jobs and don't have full days to immerse themselves in reading the way I do, I have to say I'm a little miffed at the library's 'fast read' policy. Are they saying it's an 'easy-to-read' book - like a kiddies' primer? That makes me shudder that such labels could be applied. Are they trying to lessen the line on a book they think might have a queue on a reserve list? Or have people forgotten that not everyone reads at the same rate? Are we so inundated by the fast-in, fast-out video market we've forgotten what it's like to sit down to savor a book and read s-l-o-w-l-y?

Conquering Fear

Yesterday I started working on my synopsis for Private Property my latest contemporary erotic novella. And then I realized I needed to know what length of synopsis I should be writing, as various houses have different expectations regarding length. So I pulled up a list of publishers where I could submit my story and froze. Because nestled on the list of epublishers Cobblestone Press, Samhain and Loose Id, were print publishers Avon Red, Kensington Aphrodisia and Red Sage.

Yikes! thought I.

Avon. Kensington. The big guns. New York publishers -- the proverbial holy grail to a romance writer. Okay, maybe not to every romance writer, but to me.

And Red Sage - I've been reading Red Sage Editor Alicia Rasley's blog Edittorent and every time I read it, that insidious voice in the back of my head whispers how I'd never match her expectations.

I know, I know, you're probably saying "Suck it up, woman! Just send it out and suffer rejection the way everyone else does. That's part of being a writer."

But it got me wondering - do you find yourself submitting to smaller publishers because you figure you have a better chance of getting accepted than with a NY publisher? What other fears do you have that stop you from writing? Or submitting to your dream publisher?

(by the way, when do you know the difference between an erotic romance and pure erotica? One has a HEA and the other doesn't?)

Oh, and is anyone else ticked that it takes an extra click to get to Blogger nowadays? I used to go in through my gmail program - I'd click "More" on the top menu and scroll down to Blogger and it would take me straight to the dashboard. Now I have to go to "More" scroll down and click on "More" again, and a new full screen menu pops up where you have to choose "Blogger" amidst a myriad of other choices. I know, it's silly, it's only a single extra click, but it bugs me.

Distractions

I suppose you've noticed the new look of my blog? Isn't it fantastic? I have to give another shout out to Rae Monet for her wonderful design, and for making my blog look like my webpage. I am so in love with it.

And in a strange twist of timing, I picked up a copy of Allison Brennan's The Kill on Saturday. I started reading it on Sunday and as I am reading the acknowledgments what do I find but a thank to Rae Monet, but in her capacity as a former FBI agent. (squeee! Sorry, fangrrl moment here.) Oh, and if you have an opportunity to read any of Allison's work, I'm only partway through The Kill but so far it's fabulous. It's one of those books I'm having trouble not dashing out and continuing reading even though the subject matter is particularly hard for me to read.

As for my own writing, I'm pretty much finished editing Private Property - I have gone through the comments my critique partners sent back. I'm going to let it rest a few more days and take another look at the ending as it still needs to be tightened a bit. So I think I'm going to tackle the synopsis today. Since I'm spending time blogging first, you can tell that's a task I'm really looking forward to - NOT.

But I need something to focus on - Mom has once again decided that she wants to discharge Dad from the nursing home and bring him home, despite medical advice, despite what her friends say, despite anything my sister and I say . So we're back to where we were in November. In fairness to her I am not sure I could assign Gizmo Guy to a nursing home. But most of Mom's objections are because she's having a hard time adjusting to her new role in his life - she is so focussed on him that she's obsessive compulsive about itand has cut off everyone else in her life that doesn't agree with her. To make matters worse, my sister and I know Dad will get better care in the home than he will from her. Harsh, but true. We've discussed various alternatives - an 'intervention' with her friends hoping to convince her he's better off in the nursing home, we've tried to have private discussions with her doctor hoping to have Dad declared a danger to himself and others - he is and always has been a violent man and this latest stroke has removed all social veneer so now he will attack anyone with little provocation now matter where he is or who it is, but it always comes down to Mom has the power of attorney and we have no say. My sister and I have been advised that Mom has to make her own mistakes, and that we have to deal with her as if she were a child and give her some 'tough love'. In other words, we have to let her fail. But in giving that 'tough love', are we dooming them both?

Yeah, I definitely need to bury myself in my writing today.

My Website's up!

I am SO excited to announce that my website's up here.

It's come together SO quickly. And it's so beautiful. I've been bugging Gizmo Guy to try to write something, while trying to remember the HTML coding I used to do. (I used to write websites back in the 90's, but I've forgotten it all.) I've tried creating my own page with Dreamweaver, and we've played with some premade templates but realized that Flash coding was totally beyond us. I surfed around other authors' sites to see who had done their work, and even contacted a few of those designers about having a site made specifically for me. And then on Friday, I checked back on a page that I've been watching for a while.

I visited Rae Monet Inc. Design The beautiful, wonderful Rae Monet. A former FBI agent and California PI, Rae not only writes and teaches how to write about agents, she also designs amazing covers and websites. And she had a design up on her site that I just fell immediately in love with.

And now, four days later, my website is up! And it's GORGEOUS! I'm still giggling as I keep pulling it up and staring at it.


(If you want to be linked to my website, shoot me a email or leave a comment here.)

Happy Easter

We had a real bunny in our back yard yesterday and he left a couple big piles of, um, yeah, well, let's just say that they weren't eggs. Hope that's not the Easter Bunny's version of coal in the stocking.

8 things about me Meme

Julia tagged me for this meme ... so here it is, with a bit of a twist for the music, as I figure most people won't know the songs I listen to.
8 things I'm passionate about

1 – Gizmo Guy
2 – my sons, Curly and Guitar Hero
3 – writing
4 – Gizmo Guy. Oh, right, I’ve already said him. Make #4 reading then
5 – my friends
6 – my embroidery
7 - writing
8 – Gizmo Guy and my sons



8 things I want to do before I die

1 – get published – preferably in print. I want to be able to hold up a book with my name on the cover, and say “See? I did it!”
2 - go back to England – for at least a month, preferably even longer. I want to explore York again, and London, and Kent, but this time I want to go with Gizmo Guy.
3 – make sure my boys can fend for themselves – a bigger challenge than I thought when I had them, that’s for sure. I know they can, but as a mother I still worry.
4 – Celebrate my 60th anniversary with Gizmo Guy. Totally out of my control for the most part, I know, but 30 years of marriage hasn’t been long enough.
5 – travel over Europe – Italy, Amsterdam, Holland, Sweden, Germany – maybe stay in the castle Gizmo Guy got to stay in a few years back,
6 – go to Scotland and Wales (sensing a travel trend here?)
7 - pay off my credit cards. (I’m working on it …)
8 - since there are not rich uncles in my family, win a lottery (preferably before #2, so I can really enjoy all that travel.)

8 things I often say

1 – “Sorry, what was that?” to people who talk to me when I’m writing. I’m usually so deep in my own world I don’t hear what they said.
2 - “No, you didn’t interrupt me” although I’m trying to cut down on that one with the ‘boundaries’ I set a while back.
3 - “It’s ok, it’s just me” this is said in a whisper to a sleeping Gizmo Guy when I creep back into bed at 3 a.m. after having to get up to write a scene some character was insisting I write RIGHT THIS INSTANT. Or just because I couldn’t sleep. (like last night, when I came in at midnight, crept out at 2 and crept back in at 5:30 a.m.)
4 - “What did they say?”or its variant “Did you understand what they said?” Usually as a not-so-subtle request to get Gizmo Guy to hit the rewind button on the satellite PVR- especially if there’s loud music that seems to ride roughshod over the dialog on a movie or television show.
5 – “Drive carefully” as Gizmo Guy’s leaving for work– not only on the snowy days he has to drive over the Moraine, but on the good days too – that’s usually when the accidents happen.
6 - "Love you." (numerous times per day to both Gizmo Guy and the boys)
7 - “Stop!” followed by “What part of stop didn’t you understand?” (This is when I’m foolish enough to let Guitar Hero drive, and he's run a red light, or just about put the car into a ditch taking a corner on two wheels.)
8 – “What do you want for dinner?” or if it’s directed at me – “I don’t know, what do you want?”



8 books I've recently read or am reading (* means re-reads)
1 – Julia Quinn’s The Duke and I*
2 - Julia Quinn’s The Viscount Who Loved Me *
3 - Sue Grafton’s T is for Trespass
4 - Robert Parker’s Stone Cold
5 - JR Ward’s Dark Lover*
6 - Julia Quinn’s On the Way To the Wedding*
7 - Julia Quinn’s When He was Wicked*
8 – Robin Rotham’s Alien Overnight*


8 songs I could listen to over and over (now you’ll see how really eclectic my tastes are)

1. Sarabande by Handel

2. Promontory (from the Last of the Mohicans Soundtrack) by Trevor Jones. I LOVE this movie, except the director/editor completely missed the sexual tension and love story between Uncas and Alice. *SPOILER ALERT* Do NOT watch this if you want to watch this movie in the future, as this clip is the ending, and it will completely ruin the movie for you.

3. Unchained Melody by Bill Withers – hey, who can’t hear this song and not get the shivers? Or think of Ghost?

4. She by Elvis Costello By the way, did you know if you switch to the French audio track on the Notting Hill DVD, it’s not Elvis Costello singing but the original Charles Aznavour version. (But I prefer the Elvis version personally.)

5. Nessun Dorma by Puccini - this one is a wonderfully romantic opera - the hero is singing how no one is going to sleep that night. But not for the reasons I'll bet you're thinking ;)

6. Panis Angelicus - I can't help but get shivers up my back when I hear this one played.

7. Duettino - Sull'aria by Mozart (the song Tim Robbins plays to the convicts in Shawshank Redemption) (just the first couple minutes of the track)

8. almost anything by Handel, but particularly Suite Nr1 in F major (9-Allegro Moderato) from the Water Music or his Harp Concerto in B flat Major, Opus 4, Nr 6 (Andante-Allegro)

8 things that attract me to my best friends

1 – people who don’t judge – I spent so much of my childhood under a judgmental authority, that I love people that I can just be ‘me’ around.
2 – other writers – who else can understand the obsessive personality that a writer has?
3 - people with an ironic or rather sardonic sense of humor. Gizmo Guy is so quiet, yet when he makes a joke, it’s so understated and ironic that people blink before they start grinning..
4 – people who don’t have hot tub parties starting at 11 p.m. and ending no earlier than 3 a.m. night after night in the yard beside ours and keep me awake (it’s been going on since early November, I’m ready to start screaming out the window)
5 – people who maintain positive attitudes (which I must admit I’m not doing right now, see #4 above, and #3 of 8 things I say)
6 – people who actually take the time to read my blog ;)
7 - people who take the time to comment on my blog :*
8 - anyone who will willingly come and clean my house for free (haven’t met anyone who’ll do that yet, but I’m hopeful)


I'm supposed to tag eight people now but I'm not sure I know eight people who haven't already been tagged ... so Marley, Cora ... Kim? Um, well, if you've not been tagged, consider yourself 'it!'

Happy Dance time

On the heels of the bad news of my last post, I have good news - for me anyway. I finally finished the rewriting/reworking of Private Property, a contemporary erotic novella I've been working on. I sent it out to my crit partners just now. Yippee!

I'm really happy with how it worked out, the strengthening of the characters, more emotion, etc. Now I just have to convince an editor how good it is ;) After I've written another synopsis, that is. :(

Prayers Needed

We've known the B family for at least six years now, ever since Guitar Hero started dating their daughter Blue Monkey. Gizmo Guy and I have never met a nicer, more supportive family. But times have been tough for the B's. Two and a half years ago, they lost Mr. B. to cancer - they discovered he had it in April, and by September he'd lost his battle.

Mrs. B. has forged on, raising both their son and daughter single-handed, managing the house while working as a French teacher at the local Catholic school system. Every time I see her, Mrs. B. is always smiling, and, despite everything, has managed to maintain a positive attitude. Something I'm not sure I could do under the circumstances.

Today we got the bad news that Mrs. B. has breast cancer. So if you believe in the Almighty, we'd all appreciate a prayer on her behalf as she faces the battle of her life, literally. If you're not a religious person, at least keep a positive thought for Mrs. B. There have been medical studies proving the benefits in the power of prayer. Let's try to make it work this time too.

But it's not my birthday...

My horoscope today read:

A lot of warmth is going to be coming your way today, and it's all coming from your friends. You know, the people who you choose to have in your life. This is a wonderful day: You'll be reminded just how loved you are by your favorite people, and you'll be reminded just how much you love them! Their importance in your life is more paramount than ever, so make time today to just hang out with them. Enjoy the private jokes and silliness you all share together so well.

And it sure came true. While I was taking a break during final edits of Private Property (which is coming along fabulously, by the way), someone knocked on the door. Still wearing my jammy pants, I opened it up to discover a delivery man with a HUGE, and I do mean HUGE, box requiring my signature.

My editing partner, Marley, had sent me 18 pounds of books for my TBR pile! 6 Julia Quinns, 4 Stephanie Laurens, 2 Deborah Smiths, 2 Sharon Salas, 2 Kathy Reichs, an assortment from Kathleen Korbel, Kristin Hannah, Lisa Scottoline and a whole bunch more. And just so Gizmo Guy wouldn't feel ignored, she included a pile of mysteries and suspenses by Harlan Coben and David Baldacci amongst others, for him to read. Talk about feelin' the love!

The Cost of Romance

It just came to our attention this weekend, that Gizmo Guy and I will be celebrating our 30th wedding anniversary in May. With everything that's been going on lately, it managed to slip past both of us.

When we celebrated our first anniversary (with a chiming mantel clock I still prize), we said that for our 25th, we'd buy ourselves a Grandfather clock. (I'm a clock collector, as I've blogged about before.) We priced a few grandfather clocks, and though they are indeed lovely, the ones I like cost over $3,000 and frankly I couldn't justify spending that type of money. Instead we spent a weekend (with Curly tagging along) in Ottawa - not exactly romantic, sharing a hotel room with a 12 year old on your anniversary. (We didn't want to leave him home alone in then-17 year old Guitar Hero's care and we had no one else we could ask. And no, there was no snow there in May, this shot is from another one of our trips there during Winterfest where you can skate up the Rideau Canal for miles.)

But this year ... well, this anniversary we want to do up a bit better. Among our friends who married at about the same time - right out of college - we are the only couple still together. None of the others made it even ten years. Add to that, we're remembering friends who were our age who have lost their battles with cancer. So we both wonder if we'll be around to celebrate #40. (Maudlin thinking, but it is in the back of both of our minds.)

We discussed taking another trip, but figured we'd have to drive rather than fly. And Gizmo Guy has let his passport lapse, so we can't head across the border. So we're left with Ottawa again, or Montreal, (each a five hour drive) or Quebec City (slightly over eight hours), all places we've been multiple times before. And frankly, there are only so many times you can visit the National Art Gallery or the Canadian Parliament, or Notre Dame and Old Montreal, or ride the funicular between Lower Quebec City and the upper part before you shrug and say "yeah, been there, done that, I'm bored." (Terrible because they're all lovely cities, and there are lots of things to do for the average tourist.)

We both agree that our ideal vacation (within Canada) would be to head back to Banff, Alberta. But then you're talking air fare and hotel bills, and car rental, which means you're talking a minimum of $2,000 to $2,500. (Outside of Canada - England is top of the list, followed by a mid-winter visit to the British Virgin Islands. One of these years ...)

So now we're having to make a decision - should we be practical and just have an evening out - which would be completely forgettable since we do that fairly regularly. Should we do what we did for our 25th and go on an overnight/weekend trip to one of those three cities even though we figure we'd be bored, but would be easier on the pocketbook? (or do you have any suggestions for other towns within a day's or so drive?) Or should we say, "Heck, how many times do you celebrate your 30th anniversary, and how many people ever make it this long? Let's make it memorable" and spend our hard earned savings and book a flight to Banff? How do you fulfill your taste for champagne on a beer budget?

Needless to say, my conscience (and practical pocketbook) is at war with my romantic side.

A high flying proposal

If you see a red balloon caught in your trees or drifting across the sky, grab it. It may hold a $12,000 diamond engagement ring.

According to this article, one poor guy in England put said ring in a red helium balloon, intending to propose and have his girlfriend pop the balloon and discover the ring. Except as he left the shop, a gust of wind tore the balloon from his grasp. He was forced to watch his dreams drift high above the ground, and out of his reach. Literally. And now his girlfriend won't talk to him until he buys a new ring.

Wouldn't that make a great back-story for a hero? Now he has a fear of wind, or balloons, and won't commit to any woman because the last one was so stupid/selfish. Nah, maybe that would make a good side-kick's story...

(If you're reading Amy's comment go here or view it on Youtube here to find out more.)

Snow snow and more snow

Yay, I get to blog because I finished editing two chapters of Private Property today. Those goals I set are working, thanks to Margie Lawson's Defeat Self-Defeating Behaviors. (I highly recommend it!)

(People in the Rockies - or Buffalo - who normally get dumped on a lot worse should feel free to snicker at this post.)

Normally I cringe at the stereotypical depiction of Canada and snow. We get some darned hot weather here in the summer. Last winter, the golf courses were open in January. We didn't get a snowfall to really be concerned about until February.

But this year ... this year, holy moly, we're being socked in. Last weekend's blow left six foot drifts up at my mother's place. And last night we had more snow. Yet the 186 centimeters (74 inches) the Golden Horseshoe has received so far this year, is no where near what they've had in Montreal - 348 centimeters (139 inches), or Ottawa's staggering 411 cms (164 inches - that's 13.7 feet!) Those figures are brutal!

According to this report Canadians are suffering from something they've dubbed 'Snow Rage'. Apparently, despite priding ourselves as a non-violent society, some Canadians are threatening others not only with their shovels but they're grabbing their guns -- all because of the snow!

It's tough to take pictures of snow - the camera flattens the depth - but the snow here is several feet deep, and this picture was taken before last night's addition. Now imagine trying to shovel a double-width driveway of that stuff. While your neighbour uses his fancy-dancy snowblower and blows the snow away from his hot tub onto your property, so you have to clear IT off too. (Let's not even get into the icy piles left by the plough.)

Driving is tougher because the snow piled at the side of driveways and roads is higher than the car, so you have to edge out into traffic before you can see if there is any oncoming traffic. And half the parking lots are blocked now with huge piles of snow. Which from the looks of it will be lasting halfway through summer. In fact, according to the article, there's one pile in Montreal reaching over 80 foot high they estimate won't melt in time for NEXT winter.

Setting Boundaries

My writing has really suffered these past few months thanks to all the drama going on with my parents. Getting my father into a nursing home has only changed the stress rather than lessening it. Now I'm getting multiple calls from the nursing home every day as they need someone close by to calm him down - he wants to leave, though he doesn't know where he lives, and gets violent when he can't. My mother is still in deep denial about it so I'm fielding several hour+-long calls a day from her. And usually at least an hour on the phone in the evening when my sister checks in as well. Not to mention those continued barbs from both Mom and Sis about how lucky they are that I can do all the stuff I'm doing for them "because I don't have anything else to do during the day."

Well, it's gone on four months now and I'm shaking my fist at the sky - and the phone - and my email - and shouting "ENOUGH ALREADY." It's time for Leah to set some boundaries that should have been set way back in November.

So here's what I've decided to do in order to reclaim my life. I figure if I write it down, and announce it this way, I'll be more motivated to keep to my own rules.

• I am NOT answering the phone before 3 p.m. because my most productive writing time is between 8 am and 2 pm. If it's important, you can leave a message and I'll get back to you.

• I am NOT checking my personal email (the family have a different email addy than everyone else) until the evening.

• I will read my writing email first thing in the morning as usual, as I'm having that 'first cuppa'. Then I'm closing it down and not checking it until either the well is dry, or I've closed up shop for the day. Ouch - this is going to be the toughest one.

• I will not read blogs until I've accomplished my daily Writing Goals. Another Ouch moment since I love reading your blogs, and they're great ways to avoid writing.
  

At least I'm not addicted to keeping Messenger on during the day.

I have other things I am going to do to make sure I keep writing forward as well. Things like working at my desk in the office rather than on my laptop in the family room - that way I'll have a door to close signifying "Do not Disturb" to the boys. And thanks to Candy Haven's Fast Draft and Revision Hell notes, as well as Margie Lawson's Defeat Self Defeating Behaviors notes, I am going to attempt to keep my desk clean and free from distractions. So I've put away the JR Ward and Lynsay Sands books that have been tantalizing me the last couple of days. (Ouch again!) and shoved a pile of papers into a cranny. So though I've still got a few more papers and fiddly things to put into some yet-to-be-bought baskets, it is looking cleaner. Now I just have to not turn around to that five-shelf cabinet behind me that is overflowing with my books and Gizmo Guy's computer paraphernalia. (If I don't see it, it doesn't exist. Right?) And I think I'll leave my two Strider dolls on the shelves for inspiration.

So while I'll miss the bright morning sunlight of the family room, maybe I'll get back on track. With help from my friends who'll keep bugging me about moving forward.

Oobleck

I wimped out and didn't try the roads into TO today, thanks to those two storm fronts that are moving through.

Instead I veg’d out with Gizmo Guy, watching his favorite computer tech show - The Lab With Leo (Episode 156 if you're googling) when they brought on Dr. Kristen Sanford, a 'food scientist' who showed how to make Oobleck, a "non-Newtonian fluid" named after a Dr. Seuss story. (What that had to do with computers, I have no idea.) Gizmo Guy and I found it fascinating, and we immediately wanted to go out into the kitchen and make our own oobleck.

Oobleck is a very strange liquid/solid that resembles Elmer’s glue. If you slowly stick your finger in it and lift it back out, it's liquid. But if you hit it with your finger, it's a solid. If you mush it up in your hand it forms into a ball. And if you drop it, it shatters and then melts - rather like the metallic bad guy in Terminator 2. If you fill up a kiddies' pool with it, you can actually run across the top but if you stop, you’ll sink into it.. (that clip won't let you embed the video unfortunately.)

The government is experimenting with using it as a natural protective agent - sort of like Kevlar. Find it hard to believe that such a simple substance could be used to stop bullets? Well, with a few adjustments, d3o.com has created a similar substance that molds like foam but protects like metal. Take a look at this guy getting whacked on the head and knees with a shovel.



How do you make oobleck at home? Simple: All you need is one part water to two parts cornstarch. Add the cornstarch slowly, giving it a chance to melt properly. That's all you need! And it's safe for the kiddies too.

**Note, have soap and water handy, it's messy!

Will winter NEVER end?

As are most Canadians this year (and probably a lot from the northern US as well), I am sick to death of snow. We seem to have had a standard pattern of a day of snow, a day of recovery, a day of melting, then the whole thing repeats itself. The picture to the right is Gizmo Guy shovelling last November. The banks on either side of the car are now as high as the cars. They'd probably be to the top of the first roof if we hadn't had those melting periods.

Is anyone else fed up of seeing these notices?

A STORM IS CURRENTLY OVER ALABAMA AND WILL PUSH NORTHWARD TODAY GIVING SIGNIFICANT SNOW TO MOST OF SOUTHERN ONTARIO. IT APPEARS THAT THE SNOW WILL COME IN TWO DOSES. THE FIRST ROUND WILL BEGIN AS EARLY AS THIS AFTERNOON FOR SOUTHWESTERN ONTARIO AND NIAGARA THEN LATER TODAY IN EASTERN ONTARIO. WE MAY HAVE A BRIEF REPRIEVE OVERNIGHT INTO SATURDAY MORNING WHERE SNOW MAY BECOME LIGHT AND MORE INTERMITTENT. .(some snipped).

Is anyone else ready to shake their fist at the sky and say "Hey, Mother Nature - We are freakin' fed up with snow!"

Oh, sure, it looks pretty. Yes, I know, it is needed to fill up the lakes and rivers and wells and reservoirs. But, two nights ago, Gizmo Guy stomped into the house - growling. Yes, growling! Gizmo Guy never growls. Thanks to the huge pile of snow left by the plough, he couldn't get into the driveway. I pleaded illness and managed to squirm my way out of shovelling, so he grabbed the boys to help him shovel. And thanks to constantly bottoming out on the drifts up at Mom's place, my car has lost part of its exhaust system. So the mechanic who will have to repair my car is smiling, as is any one in the drug industry profiting from the aching muscles caused by moving all that frickin' white stuff.

So come on, Mother Nature! Enough is enough!

THE HEAVIEST SNOWFALL IS THEN EXPECTED IN THE SECOND ROUND BEGINNING MIDDAY SATURDAY IN THE SOUTHWEST AND IN THE AFTERNOON OVER EASTERN ONTARIO. ... THE HEAVIEST SNOW WILL BE SATURDAY AFTERNOON INTO THE EVENING.WILL LIKELY BE UPGRADED TO A WINTER STORM WARNING DUE TO ADDITIONAL SNOWFALL AND BLOWING SNOW AS THE SECOND ROUND APPROACHES. STORM TOTALS MAY BE 20 TO 30 CENTIMETRES ALONG AND EAST OF A LINE FROM LONG POINT TO THE GOLDEN HORSESHOE THEN TO PETAWAWA. THERE IS POTENTIAL FOR 30 TO 50 CENTIMETRES OF SNOW OVER THE NIAGARA PENINSULA AND PARTS OF EASTERN ONTARIO.

I missed last month's TRW meeting because of snow. Now tomorrow's annual critique session where my first five pages are supposed to be critiqued by Kelley Armstrong is under threat of a double system moving in. They're calling for at least 25 centimeters of snow (that's about a foot for those metrically challenged.) The meeting will go on for those able to attend, but already I'm seeing emails from those of us outside of TO cancelling out.

BEHIND THIS SYSTEM STRONG NORTHERLY WINDS TO 70 KM/H ARE POSSIBLE. ON SATURDAY STRONG WINDS COMBINED WITH FRESH SNOW WILL CAUSE BLOWING SNOW TO LOWER VISIBILITIES AND CREATE DANGEROUS DRIVING CONDITIONS. WHITEOUT CONDITIONS FROM HEAVY SNOW AND BLOWING SNOW ARE POSSIBLE SO TRAVELLERS SHOULD BE PREPARED TO CHANGE THEIR PLANS ACCORDINGLY. (snipped the rest)

I've been working hard all week editing those first five pages. In fact what I now have barely resembles that I started with. Oh, it's better. It's got visceral emotion, more showing, less telling. I'm happy with it and I needed it to get done anyway but now I may not get to yet another meeting because of another freakin' snowstorm. Come on, Mother Nature, cut us some slack! How often do you get to have your work critiqued by a NY Times best selling author?

Men's Brains vs Women's Brains

Thanks to Terri for sending me the link to this clip:



I found it hilarious. Of course, maybe it was that double jigger of rum ...

which of course lead me to this one ...

Home Remedies

I'm sick.

No, it's nothing life threatening, it's only a cold. But it just won't go away. Normally after a week, it's starting to get better, but this darned one just keeps getting worse. I've tried Sudafeds, NeoCitrans, Tylenol Cold medicine, you name it. I've even tried the tried-and-true chicken soup.

Yet I continue to fill the grocery bag beside my chair with tissues.

Last night I couldn't get to sleep - hard to sleep if you can't breathe. So at 1 a.m. I stumbled out of bed and down to the kitchen and, in desperation, resorted to my father's ancient recipe - the hot toddy. You take a mug of orange juice and heat it up, then add a dollop of honey, and a tot of rum. (rye or vodka will do as well, but he always used - and I prefer - rum.)

And then you drink it down as hot as you can. That part is important, my father used to lecture. Hot hot hot. It doesn't taste the best (though I'm finding that it's growing on me.) The American Lung Association has stated that it shouldn't be used as a curative, that it doesn't do anything. Bollocks, says I. It makes you sweat like the dickens and, man, does it clear your sinuses faster and better than any medicine I've taken so far.

I'm having another right now and it's not even noon. The tot of rum is a bit bigger ;) And my sinuses are already clearing. **This is not to be used if you're planning on driving, of course. And it definitely may make you drowsy.**

I'm rather interested to see what effect it'll have on my writing ...

Seventeen Years ago today ...

Happy birthday, not-so-little-boy

Didn't Leah just write a blog like that? you're asking. Yup, my two boys' birthdays are exactly one week (and six years) apart. Well, except on Leap Years. *blushes* I forgot it was leap year and wished him Happy Birthday yesterday. Whoops!

It was seventeen years ago today ... well, actually it was seventeen years ago yesterday that I told Gizmo Guy that he'd better get me to the hospital. Fast. Which naturally caused some panic because we'd had a major ice storm and the car was covered with an inch and a half of ice that took GG about 45 minutes to pound off the windshield. In the meantime I had phoned my parents - who had agreed to look after six-year-old Guitar Hero for me - to discover they couldn't even get out of their driveway for all the ice. (They live 45 minutes away and in a snow belt area, so their weather's always worse than ours.) So GG took Guitar Hero over to our neighbors who had also offered to take care of GH 'just in case'. Only to discover they were in the middle of a screaming battle and was told 'this isn't a very good time'. By this time, my labor pains, which at eight p.m had been "I think I might be in labor? I've had a couple of really light twinges" by this point at 9 p.m. were "oh my God, get me to a hospital, I have to push, damn it!"

Luckily enough my sister who was leaving her job at the funeral home at 10:00 picked Guitar Hero up for us and kept him overnight. We made it to the hospital at10:30 finally, and our youngest son didn't arrive quite as quick as I was expecting. After having a fourteen hour hellish labor with Guitar Hero, our youngest son arrived at 12:07 a.m., after only four hours of labor.

While Guitar Hero has found a nickname that's stuck on this blog, our youngest son hasn't. I think in a couple posts I called him Curly and usually just call him YS (as in youngest son) now. (Any suggestions are welcome.) But these pictures tell why I called him Curly. I LOVE his hair - when it gets a bit longer, it goes into Shirley-Temple-like ringlets. It was the most gorgeous head of hair I'd ever seen. He definitely didn't get it from I-pay-big-money-for-waves-let-alone-curls me. Of course, being a boy he hates it and constantly tries to straighten it, just like his Dad.

This is one of my favorite pictures of him - he was three years old and running over bales of hay at an apple orchard that fall. I love the absolute pure joy in his face.

That's a picture of my three men at Burleigh Falls in 1993. See the laughter on YS's face? He always found such joy in everything he did. (Hmm, I just noticed I'm using a lot of past tense when I'm talking about that. Phooey on life for making him so serious the way he is now.)

He lost a lot of the laughter when he went to school. We discovered he had a learning disability, and it took me years of advocacy to get the school to listen - and I was a teacher, for pete's sake! Eventually the only way we could help him was to move and change his school. We were all relieved at the new school to find a much more supportive teaching staff who knew just how to help him - and he shot to the top of the class in some of his marks.


This is us in front of the White House in Washington DC in August 2003. (He's the one on the left beneath that big floppy hat). Now take a look at how tall he is compared to us just three years later:



That's us on the way to Lake Louise in Banff National Park in the top picture, and in the bottom picture, beside Gizmo Guy overlooking the town of Banff in 2006. He towers over both of us. Gizmo Guy is six foot tall, by the way. And YS has grown at least another inch since then! (Add in his thick crop of hair, and he's about 6'4" and towers over all of us.) Needless to say, we've had to stop calling him his usual nickname of Munchkin, or Munch. A nickname I'm sure he's very happy to lose.

This is him all dressed up in a tux for a concert at his school Christmas 2007 (doesn't he look thrilled at having his picture taken?) YS has a real musical gift - he played violin for six years, absolutely amazing tone-deaf-me with his ability to just pick up any song he heard by ear and play it. Four years ago, he switched from the violin to the flute. And in the past few months, since Guitar Hero has decided to learn to play a real guitar, he's trying his hand at that too - and doing better than Guitar Hero from what I hear.

In all honesty, YS is better at the game Guitar Hero than Guitar Hero is. They tell me that YS is in the top thousand players in the world. I guess that's an accomplishment? Now if he'd just apply the same dedication he does to the game to his studies, and he'd have a PhD in no time.

Historical Heroines pasttimes

Painting of girl embroidering, by Georg Friedrich Kersting, ca. 1814:

Last week, I posted a blog about my embroidery. And I realized that it was a BIG part of a historical woman’s world … even as late as the 1930’s and 1940’s, embroidery and sewing was a required part of the curriculum for women. Heck, even when I went to high school in the 70s, all the girls had to take Home Economics and learn how to cook and sew in order to get their diploma – it was as required back then as English and Math! The boys of course had to take Shop – electrical, wood or metalworking, or auto mechanics. Me being the forward thinker I was back then took both Home Ec and Auto Mechanics. But I digress…

If you're writing historicals, your heroine would definitely know how to embroider – especially if she’s upper class. Sewing was considered a ‘gentle art’ and ‘idle hands were the devil’s workshop’ so young girls would be set to sewing samplers with biblical sayings on them, like the one on the left - the alphabet, and a biblical saying surrounded by a floral design. Colonial samplers often had a house in the centre with a woman standing on one side, a man (or a tree) on the other. Often the tree would be an apple tree with a serpent carefully hidden in the picture. They also embroidered monograms on pillowcases and handkerchiefs (remember them? I love that scene in You’ve Got Mail where Meg Ryan has to explain to Tom Hank’s aunt (who is all of 7 years old) what a hanky is.) They’d start off with simple stitches such as the satin stitch, stem stitch, running stitch and the lazy daisy, with the stitches gradually gaining more complexity until they were doing stitches such as bullion knots and stump work. (I’ll explain about them in a different post – probably in an article I’ll put up on my website eventually.)

The type of embroidery that your upper class heroine would be doing is generally done on finer linens – the best is made in Ireland from flax. The lower classes might use rougher home made fabrics which would have a lot more slubs or bumps that would distort the weave of the fabric, and therefore change the pattern of the embroidery. A lower class girl who showed an aptitude might earn money for the family by doing embroidery for the local modiste or seamstress - adding the beads to a lady's dress, or embellishments to their undergarments. If you go to local museums, you'll see that pioneer women recycled potato sacks, cutting them up and embroidering them in an effort to beautify their surroundings. I remember reading one historical where the heroine worked as a governess. Since she was of a ‘lower’ class and was to set an example for her charges, she had to dress in very plain clothes so she couldn’t adorn her clothes. So she spent her free time in the evening embroidering her stays and undergarments – much to the delight of the hero who discovered her handiwork when he undressed her.

If you have your hero walking in on your heroine while she's sewing, or perhaps she's in a group with other women as they discuss the latest on dits, you need to know what she'll have to hand to add that little bit of realistic detail. To the right is a picture of a sewing box dated to 1820.

A good embroiderer will have a selection of needles (they can grow dull, and if you get into a real tangle, snap usually at the eye.) There are different sizes and types of needles according to what fiber she's working with. If she's beading - a beading needle is long and very fine, and the eye doesn't enlarge like a regular needle does as it has to get through the tiny hole of the bead. She may use a wooden hoop (there are two an inner hoop and an outer hoop to stretch the fabric and keep it in place for consistency in her stitches), a lump of beeswax to run the threads through so they’ll sit properly. (Threads must lie side-by-side to reflect the light evenly, if they twist, it changes the light's reflection. I've known other embroiderers to pull out magnifying glasses to make sure their (or my) threads are lying properly. That's how they're judged in contests. And you thought writing contest judges were tough!)

If she’s in late Georgian or Regency times or later, your heroine will have a tiny pair of gold scissors – often in the shape of a stork. Many times the embroiderer will tie a piece of lace or embroider a small square with a saying and attach it to the scissors and pin them to her dress so she doesn't lose them. Or she may wear a 'chatelaine' which is almost like a priest's stole with a pocket for her scissors.

If she's in medieval times, she'll have a very small, very sharp knife. She’ll also have a sewing chest of various threads of either wool, cotton or silk, depending upon what she’s sewing, and how rich they are. And she’ll ALWAYS sit near the window with the best light. She may even change rooms as the sun moves from one side to another. Even if you write in later Victorian times where they did have electrical light, an embroiderer always uses real light as it’s easier on the eyes and doesn’t change the hue of the threads the way incandescent lights do. Take a look at the picture at the top - see how she's sitting right by the window? Also, you'll see she's not using a hoop but stretcher bars placed on a floor frame. This is used for larger pieces of embroidery and holds the fabric taut. This helps the threads to lay properly, but using a frame is very unwieldy when you're starting or ending a thread. You have to keep flipping the frame over. Also, you'll notice a small basket of threads on the right, and her scissors lying on the fabric.

She'll have a variety of threads, though they were much more limited than we are today. To the left is a picture of just one of my sewing boxes - yes, it's actually a fishing tackle box. I have two filled with cottons and silks and beads. The picture to the right is just some of my silks - you'll see that they come in all different sizes of skeins as well as colors. Some are considered half skeins (those in the box), and some are on bobbins (hard to see, I know) but back 'in the old days' those bobbins would be made of ivory or wood. If you follow the link for the Regency Box, they're made of ivory. There's also a tiny wooden hoop in there, though I have multiple sizes of hoops. And the green bit of fabric at the top right, is a pouch I made to hold my needles so I can take them with me without them jabbing me or falling out. (This is NOT how I store them by the way, they're normally neat, but I was trying to show the variety.)

The colors were achieved by using plant dyes in the earlier days and did not have the luxury of being consistently the same color for each batch. Some of the dyes were quite acidic and would end up causing the fibres to disintegrate far quicker than they normally would - that's just one of the reasons why it's so hard to find examples of sewing from ages past. Anyway, back to dyes, it still applies today. I remember doing a petit point keyboard runner (yes, it looks like a keyboard and sits under my keyboard … I’m a geek in SO many ways. With a one-inch square remaining, I ran out of the blue I’d been using for the border. Trouble was, the store had run out of that particular dye lot, and though I got the same color code, it wasn’t exactly the same color and to this day I can tell the spot where I used the different thread.

Don’t forget those little threads that your heroine snips off have to go someplace – often women kept (and still do keep) jars to hold the remnants because you never know when you’ll need that particular shade for just one or two stitches. I cannot tell you the number of times I’ve gone to the store and found multiple threads clinging to my top or my jeans. Perhaps your heroine might have that problem too – especially if you want to make her look a little ditzy.

In addition to working on linen, needlework can also be done on a canvas – it’s still threads with a warp and a weft, but it’s generally stiffer and the threads have more space between them for thicker fibers. It’s used for heavy-use items – table runners, fire screens, upholstery. Older ladies (even today) often switch to canvaswork because it’s easier to see the holes than it is with linen. So if you’ve got a group of women sitting together sewing, you may see the young girls sewing samplers (if they’re ever allowed to be with the grown ups, which they probably rarely were unless perhaps it’s a special occasion), younger women making fancy designs that can be put into lockets, sewing table runners and doing fancy embroidery, along with sewing baby clothes, etc, while the older women (whose eyesight isn’t as good) work with wools and heavier fibers on pillows and firescreens. The firescreen on the left is a reasonably small one, they could be quite large. By the way, firescreens aren't used to shield a woman from sparks jumping from the fire, but from the heat which often melted their makeup.

And not to be sexist, I should mention that some men embroider too, though I doubt you’d have your hero in Regency England indulging in such a pastime. But if he’s a pirate, or a captain on a Royal Navy ship or for the East India trading company, some of his sailors – bored with long stretches away from home – may have embroidered as a means to kill time. (And this I speak from experience, my grandfather – a Royal Navy Mechanics’ Mate who worked himself up to the rank of Midshipman – used to embroider.) The picture to the left is a pair of 'woolies' or undergarments embroidered by a sailor in the 19th century. Monks sewed kneelers, vestments and altar pieces for their abbeys. I’ve heard that fishermen often joined their family in creating lacework as a way to supplement their income in off seasons. Also, if your novel is set in India or Asia, you’d better check your cultural mores because very often men were not only the tailors, but the professional embroiderers. And, I hate to admit this, but the men that I know who embroider seem to have a finer hand that some women. They have a totally different approach to it – almost a scientific approach.

That said, you don't have to have your heroine embroider well! She can hate it, get confused in her counting which throws the whole design off, get her threads tangled up, use threads that don’t blend in color because it’s from a different dye lot, cut the wrong threads if she’s doing hemstitching or pulled thread work, prick her finger and get blood on the linen, or stitch a design or perhaps a saying on a sampler that sets tongues wagging.

If your heroine is of a working class who must suddenly hobnob with the gentry, you could ‘show the difference in class’ by having her embarrassed by the state of her hands and what it does to her threads, especially if she’s using silk and hasn’t before. You don’t realize how rough your hands are until you handle silk thread – it’ll snag and pull until the fibers stick out in all directions when it’s supposed to lie smooth and reflect the light. And it’s too expensive to just ‘throw away.’ (I have a really easy, cheap and natural way to get your hands baby soft – but I think I’ll save that for my website when I finally get it going.)

And if you really want your heroine to have a bad day, get her frustrated by letting her cat (or the heroes’ cat perhaps) get into her sewing basket and start chewing on the last of the silk threads that she absolutely has to have to finish Lady XXX youngest daughter’s come-out dress that she’s already been paid for and now doesn’t have the money – or time – to replace. Or have moths get into her linens or wools (I just discovered that had happened when I opened up the Rubbermaid box I keep my finished works in – talk about a YIKES moment.)

Oh, and if you want to get the blood out of that snowy linen – best way is by licking or sucking it out. Yes, I know it’s gross but saliva has a compound in it that will remove blood from cloth where soap – especially the harsh soaps of historical times – couldn’t.