Halloween Frights

Helen here.

I grew up in an old house. I’m talking brick exterior, high ceilings, cracked plaster walls, the whole shebang. It was actually a rectory built in 1905. We had a full attic complete with creaky wooden floors and the occasional flying bat. With uneven cement floors and walls that seeped, our basement was right out of that ending scene in Silence of the Lambs. We even had a hidden staircase off the kitchen. If ever there was a fitting place for ghost hauntings, my childhood house was it.

Amazingly, while I was growing up, I don’t remember feeling nervous or afraid, even when I’d lie in bed in the dark and hear the old walls settling in for the night. In fact, I relished the opportunity to watch scary movies in that house, especially when no one else was home, which didn’t happen often with eight kids in the family. When it did, I was in pure heaven.

There was only one time I remember being truly frightened in that house.

I’m laying in bed and wake up in the middle of the night. A strip of moonlight slashes through my window, and the shadow of the branches of a towering Boxelder tree shift on my bedroom floor. Creeped out, I glance around. There’s a person standing by the door. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. I’m too scared to cry out.

Long minutes pass while I pretend to be asleep, thinking this will save me from certain death. Still, he never moves. This murderer is really patient. When I finally summon the nerve to sit up and take a better look, it turns out the menacing man at the door is really a shirt hanging on a hanger.

Something similar happened when I took a trip a three-week trip out east with two girlfriends. It was right out of college, so we couldn’t afford many hotel rooms. We camped much of the time. Anyway, we’re in New Brunswick, Canada, on our way to Nova Scotia. It’s early June and the campground is empty, and I mean truly deserted. We were the only campers in the entire park. We made a fire, ate supper, turned in early.

Yes, there was alcohol involved, but that’s beside the point.

I’m sound asleep at the edge of the tent, when Kendall, safely ensconced in the middle, whacks me, really hard, and whispers, “There’s someone outside our tent!”

Bleary eyed, I look up. Sure enough, there’s a huge man shadow looming down at us. She whacks Maureen, whispers again. Now the three of us are awake and about peeing in our pants. Bold Kendall—in the middle, remember?—suddenly says, “Who’s out there?”

Nothing. All we hear is the wind rustling through the tops of the big oaks.

Suddenly that hulking shadow morphs into a different shape. I start laughing.

Kendall’s indignant. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s a tree!”

Clearly, my imagination has a tendency to run off on its merry own way. I think many of us lean in that direction.

What I don’t get is why? Why do we love Halloween? Why are campfires the best place to tell spooky stories? Why do we love scaring ourselves?

Got a favorite scary story you’d like to share?

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Equal Opportunity Stupidity

I read an online article recently, by the Associated Press, about a Bedouin man who was the father of 67 children and was seeking a ninth wife. Yes, you read that right: NINTH WIFE. The guy's name is Abu Arrar. He's 58 and part of the "impoverished Israeli Bedouin Arab community" that flouts the Israeli ban on polygamy by marrying and divorcing wives in succession-- though it is understood in the community that the women remain his wives. According to the Israeli Interior Ministry, Abu has 53 children registered as Israeli citizens. He has 14 other children born to Palestinian wives in the West bank and who are not eligible for Israeli citizenship. (That's him in the photo, with a few of his offspring.)

And here is the kicker: "It's unclear how Abu Arrar supports his massive family." When he was visited by an AP reporter, "camels, goats and a cow were grazing on his property." But he wouldn't talk to the AP reporter. Government records show that he receives the equivalent of $1,700.00 in government aid each month.

!!!!!!!!!!

He claims to remember the names of all of his 67 children (what a guy) and says he splits time among his wives. "My first wife is my age," he says, "and today I hardly spend any time with her. Her children are big, and I leave her alone. I have younger wives to spend time with. Every night I decide which wife to be with."

When I read this my blood boiled. This guy's been a sperm donor for 67 children, and his claim to fame in the community is that he can actually remember most of their names!!! Male arrogance and stupidity to the "nth" power. Patriarchy run amok. This is the reason I have concluded that some cultural traditions (middle-eastern male hegemony especially) just have to die in order for humanity to survive. If a culture can't do better than lionizing a penniless man for fathering 67 children he can't support-- it deserves to be crushed under Progress's heel. And the men who perpetuate such an outrage deserve a good hard kick in the dangly bits.

After my blood pressure fell and I started to think rationally again, I began to wonder. . . just who are these women who are so desperate or ignorant or stupid that they'll accept being "taken" by an arthritic old geezer who can't or won't support his offspring and will abandon them as soon as they get a few miles and a few stretch marks on them? Yes, in that culture (as in any other) a woman may be taken against her will. But the article didn't paint old Abu as a serial rapist, only a serial monogamist. Which meant there had to be some level of cooperation from the females involved. ACK!

The end of the article read: "Activists said Abu Arrar's story shows the urgency of raising literacy and education among women in the impoverished Bedouin community. Many are pressured into marriage or feel they have no other options beside raising children, said Khadra al-Sani, director of Sidra, a Bedouin women's rights group."

Societal pressure can indeed be brutal, but it cannot be brought to bear on a woman without the consent and assistance of other women. Look at the "honor killings" in that part of the world in which family members (including mothers!) actually murder their daughters for daring to marry outside the family's wishes or even for being raped! Such things cannot be carried out without the complicity of the women of the culture. . . who at the very least must think their men have the right to do it. And how did they get that idea? They were taught it. . . by their mothers and aunts and cousins and sisters and neighbors. To get rid of that idea, they have to be taught and SHOWN that it's wrong and stupid with a capital S. They have to be shown the power of thinking their own thoughts and deciding for themselves. . . and seize that power to make their lives and culture better.

Can you imagine for a moment living in a world where men have the right to kill you at will to protect THEIR honor? Where there is still lively debate on whether or not you have a soul?

Okay, all I'm saying is, men don't have a lock on stupidity. It's an equal opportunity condition. For every man that's full of ignorant, absurd ideas and vicious ambitions, there's probably a woman somewhere full of ignorance and laziness and the desire for comfort and status she hasn't earned. And if the world's a mess and we're all in trouble because of men's greed, savagery, and aggression. . . then it's partly because we women haven't put a foot down and demanded a halt to war and hatred and "righteous vengeance."

I can recall, as a child, having the idea that it was only right that men be paid more than women because they had families to feed. Now, my mother was educated and hard working, a teacher and a pillar of the community. . . I'm pretty sure I didn't get that from her. But I somehow got it, just the same. . . from TV, school milieu, church, watching the families around mine, even from my own extended family. A subtle and potent set of expectations seeped into me, despite the strong example of my mother. It was years later, in college, that I began to understand how the double standard and the prejudices built into the academic world limited my opportunities. As a young woman growing up in "the land of the free," I still needed to have my consciousness awakened and raised.

Right now, I'm thinking about Abu's current eighth wife, and wondering how old she is and how desperate and uneducated she is. . . wondering if any amount of consciousness raising could reach her. And I'm wondering what I could do to help those little girls in Pakistan and Afghanistan, and Arabia, and Iran. . . and in the slums of Detroit and southside Chicago. . .


What about you? When and where was your "consciousness" raised? Have you ever been the victim of gender bias? Do you think the inequity between the sexes is more a problem of men's behavior or of women's? Is "stupidity" is an equal opportunity characteristic?

Flying Fun!

I won't be flying any time soon, so this is kinda fun. I'm dating myself, but I remember this Foster Brooks guy!!

Dean Martin and Foster Brooks

This one's cute too -

Dean Martin and Victor Borge

I'm on a roll -

Dean Martin sings with Ricky Nelson in a John Wayne western

WE'VE GOT A WINNER!

Commenter Anne!! You are a winner! Please email me at lgreiman@earthlink.net with your snail mail address so I can send you a copy of Unmanned.

And thanks all for blogging with us. You're a great group.

Who's Your Freebie?

Lois Greiman

Hey, I have a new Christina McMullen mystery coming out at the end of the month, so…in honor of her and her horrendous dating history, I ask: Who’s your freebie?

Okay, I understand that some of us have husbands/boyfriends/significant others who wouldn’t agree to a freebie even if the seven horsemen of the Apocalypse were thundering down on us from the sky. But if you could spend the night with anyone free of guilt, blame, and venereal disease, who would it be?

Christina and I discussed this at some length. It was a difficult task, sitting around with my imaginary friend, thinking about hot men, debating their various attributes/body parts, but for you guys…anything.

Anyway, we came to the conclusion that while physical appearances can hardly be discounted (let’s be honest--we’re all shallow here) there are actually other factors which might be more important. Attitude, for instance. Personality. Then there’s that strange inexplicable thing I’ll simply call the ‘wow’ factor.

After this long cerebral discussion, Christina was rather chagrined to admit that her choice would be Colin Farrell, because even though she’s an intelligent woman with a PhD, she has a thing for bad boys with inarticulate Irish accents. (You have to forgive her; she once bought a picture frame that was sold with a photo of a hot guy. She kept the guy in the frame, gave him a name and a history and claimed him for her own. Christina’s got some problems, PhD and all.)

But, I digress.

As for myself, I’m going to have to go with Viggo Mortenson. But it can’t be just the run-of-the-mill Mortenson…it has to be the Aragorn version of Mortenson. He has to have the hair and the sword and that novel-inspiring ‘bring on the hounds of hell’ look in his eye that makes men bristle and women go all noodley. I want the whole enchilada, sour cream and all.

So….what about you? What’s the most important element you look for in a freebie? And…considering those elements…who’s your ultimate pick? Who’s the one person you’d want to spend one mind-bending, bone-melting night with?

State your preferences, please. I’ll be giving away a signed, fresh off the presses copy of Unmanned to one fantasizing commenter.

Guest Author: Tara Janzen

Hey guys.

Cindy here. I’m so jazzed about having my buddy, Tara Janzen, with us in the rag top today – especially since she’s a classic car aficionado! Tara and I go way back to the Loveswept days when she wrote as Glenna McReynolds. Anyone remember Loveswepts? I loved that line! I was a huge fan of hers and when I found out we had a mutual editor, I begged for an introduction. We’ve been friends and supported each other through thick and thin ever since.

For those of you who are already fans of her CRAZY books that have taken action adventure romance to new levels, you’ll be thrilled to know her new book, ON THE LOOSE, features more of those Steele Street hunks! Yea!!

So without further delay, please welcome Tara Janzen.

One of the great things about writing the Crazy books, and now ON THE LOOSE and CUTTING LOOSE, was learning about and falling in love with American muscle cars from the late sixties and early seventies. There is a beautiful, hot, fast car in every book – Jeanette the Jet, Roxanne, Angelina, Charlotte the Harlot, Mercy (because she has none), Babycakes, Trina, Nadine, Betty, Corinna and Coralie - the automotive machines of our dreams, girls! A 1969 Camaro, a 1968 Shelby Cobra Mustang, a 1970 Chevelle SS 454 – all of them with strokers and headers, plenty of torque, more cubic inches than the insurance companies wanted to cover, and quarter miles under fourteen seconds right off the dealer’s floor. Be still my beating heart!

But when I go out to my driveway every morning, there it is, my car, a mini-van on steroids. There aren’t any headers on it, and no sexy Camaro curves. It ain’t no pony car. It’s a draft horse. It’s a ski bus, a Dodge Durango in the nearly invisible color called silver. There are no racing stripes, no cowl induction, no spoiler, no hood pins. It rolls on Michelins, not slicks. It holds a driver, six sound-asleep, drooling teenagers, skis, snowboards, poles, boots, countless bags and boxes of food to power those kids up, and a decent (okay, more than decent) 5.7L Hemi V-8 under the hood. But it’s still a tank, not a 1970 LS6 Chevelle.

How did this happen? What’s feeding my inner NASCAR? I don’t need a jet-fuel dragster, but gosh, is it too much to ask for a Shelby?

Okay, maybe that is a bit much. Carroll Shelby didn’t make that many “snakes,” but goodness, a girl should be able to break out of mom-mode a little and get something that rumbles and roars a bit when she turns the key. I’ve gotten letters from women who have done it. They’ve sent me photos of their “babies,” Malibus, Mustangs, and Chargers, oh my! I’ve heard their stories of street racing (I never did that!), and doing a quarter mile across the Susquehanna Bridge.

So tell me, ladies, how many of you are driving the car of your dreams? How many of us are stuck driving a “bus?” And for those of us still in the bus, what are we dreaming of owning some day, when the kids are gone, and the keys only belong to us? For me – I’ll be turning over those four hundred and fifty four cubic inches of raw power and rumble under the hood of a Black Cherry 1970 LS6 Chevelle with black racing stripes. What about you?

And So Can You!

"This is not a dream. You're not going to wake up from this ..."

Does anyone watch Stephen Colbert’s show? Anyone see Meet the Press Sunday morning with Tim Russert, or should I say, Tim Russair?

I didn’t see either show this last weekend, but yesterday I couldn’t miss the news that Stephen Colbert announced that he’s running for president on both the Democratic and Republican party primaries in his home state of South Carolina.

I have to admit I don’t watch Colbert’s show. I occasionally watch Jon Stewart’s Daily Show, so I’ve caught a little bit of Colbert. Like any comedian, sometimes he’s funny, sometimes he’s not. Sometimes he hits his mark for me, other times I don’t have a clue where he’s going. This situation is a case in point, and, honestly, I haven’t decided yet. Is this stunt funny or not?

On one hand, his announcement seems to trivialize one of the America’s greatest, most important events, our election process. On the other hand, our recent elections seem to be more and about undermining other candidates and less and less about the real answers to real issues.

I’m wondering if Colbert isn’t making an uncomfortable, but valid point. Is politics all that different than acting?

Off the top of my head … Fred Thompson, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jesse Ventura, Sonny Bono, Ronald Reagan, Clint Eastwood have all been in the entertainment industry and all have served or are serving in one form or another of public office.

What do you think? Funny or not?

Here he is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h66Be4iblRc

Debra - YOU'VE GOT FIVE MINUTES

As I write this, I'm watching CNN and the live pictures of Malibu burning.

All of us hope we'll never have to make this choice, but the day may come that we have to "grab and go."

What will you grab? Five minutes is longer than you think. I figure I can probably grab 10 things, get them to my car and drive away in five minutes. Let's also assume that pets are trained and jump into the car with you, the children are safe at grandma's, and nothing's about to explode so that you aren't pushing the envelope.

What's in your 10?

Mine...

1. computer tower
2. clean out the quilt armoire
3. my guitars
4. photo albums
5. personal papers file from cabinet
6. pictures off the walls
7. my daddy's plaster hand print
8. my son's box of school memories
9. the guns
10. my jewelry

And in actuality I cheated. I've taken much longer to think of the last two items on the list because I thought I was done at #8. My husband added the gun and I figured, why not take my jewelry if I had time?

I had no idea how little in my house would break my heart if I lost it. I don't care about awards, art (not even the original art for my first published romance), electronics, etc. If I got those 10 items out of the house, I'd think I'd been gifted with a miracle. And I'd be estatic that "Bear" (my son's faithful stuffed bear who saw him through childhood) lives with my son at his place. Originally, I'd been concerned about Bear changing residences but my son insisted, and Bear is his, afterall.

So, there you have it-- my version of YOU'VE GOT FIVE MINUTES...GO.

What will you save?

Just like Paris Hilton – Cindy wants to leave her mark on the world.

Okay. Keep this in mind. I HATE it when someone makes the news because they are rich and outrageous and not because they are truly newsworthy. And I, for one, have had just about as much face time via magazines, fanzines, and celebrity gossip TV as I want with Paris Hilton. Eeeew.

Let me repeat: I HATE it when someone makes the news because they are rich and outrageous. So why is Paris Hilton the subject of my blog, you might ask and thereby adding to her celebutant notarity? Well, it horks me off to do it but I saw this article and felt compelled to share the new and improved Paris then get your take on it.

Here goes: The 26-year-old socialite has vowed to change her party-girl image after serving a 23-day jail sentence in June for violating probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case.

"There are a lot of bad people in L.A. Before, my life was about having fun, going to parties -- it was a fantasy," she told Newsweek magazine in its October 22 issue. "But when I had time to reflect, I felt empty inside. I want to leave a mark on the world."

Hilton says she is now committed to using her celebrity status for the greater good. Next month, she plans to pack her bags for Rwanda to bring attention to the African country.

"I'm scared, yeah. I've heard it's really dangerous," she says. "I've never been on a trip like this before."

Hilton, accompanied by a children's charity called Playing for Good, will visit schools and health-care clinics as part of a five-day charity mission. The trip will be filmed -- not surprising, given Hilton's love of the camera.

"I love having everything documented," says Hilton, who hopes to turn the footage into a film. "It shows people what everyday life is like for me, how hard I work. There are a lot of misconceptions about me."

Hilton says her dating life isn't as wild as the tabloids make it out to be.

"I've been linked to so many guys, but there's nothing romantic going on at all," she says. "I get along better with guys than girls. I trust them more. They don't get all girly and mean. Girls have drama."

Okay. The woman wants to leave a mark on the world. That is so HOT! And hello? Hasn’t she already done that? Left a black mark that is.

Am I being a mean girl here like the other girls in Paris’s life? Should I give her the benefit of the doubt and conclude that she really did have an epiphany and now she’s out to rid the world of hunger and disease and dark, grainy movies of her getting it on with her boy toy of the week? Is this simply Paris’ latest ploy for attention and an attempt to stay in the media’s eye? Or do you think she’s sincere? And if she is sincere, (and I’m not ruling out that possibility) do you think she’ll take her dog with her to Africa? And if YOU had the opportunity, what would you do to leave your mark on the world?

The good, the bad, and the Uncle Sam

I was going to blog about something mindless and probably uninteresting today, until I went out for the mail, and there was a book contract waiting for me inside the mailbox. I've been waiting for it almost two months, so I quickly tugged it out and began to read through the tangle of legal wording. (Yes, I read the WHOLE contract. More on that soon.) And then I was reminded that this job of mine, this very cool job that allows me to write in my pajamas and create characters I'd love to meet is really my JOB. A career, in fact.

I believe there's a certain glamourous aspect to being a writer, as does most of the non-writing public. The writer is a part of the entertainment industry, and man, that's cool, isn't it? And yeah, it has its glamourous moments (but trust me, they are mere moments), but I think it's very easy for non-writers, and even writers, to forget that what we do is, in fact, a job.

There are good, bad, and ugly parts to every job out there. I've done the nine-to-five thing. Don't ever want to go near that again, thank you very much. My last nine-to-five, wherein I actually worked from seven-to-seven in a freakin' beige cubicle under unrelenting flourescent lighting, taught me I'm not cut out for stress, and moreso, working alongside others. I get migraines in a situation like that. Serious ones.

Writing doesn't give me a headache. It sort of feeds my soul, actually. And that's one of the good things about my career. Another great thing is one you hear a lot from writers: we get to work in our jammies and can take breaks whenever we want and it rocks to do a book signing and have readers come up to you and say nice things like 'I loved the book!'. All good stuff. Wouldn't trade it for the nine-to-five, ever. I don't even mind the person who stops by the book signing table, studies the books, then declares grandly "I could write one of those!". Dude, go for it. Look me up when you've completed that 400-page, 100,000 word epic, and then we'll talk. :-)

There's bad stuff too. (Well, not really bad, but that's the word in the subject line, and mediocre just didn't have the same ring.) It's that business part. The very word 'business' sounds so...institutional and wrong for we right-brainers. But really what it means to a writer is that beyond the creative work, there is also marketing, promotion, office upkeep, contracts, and accounting. I don't mind all that stuff. I actually enjoy the promotion part, creating my own flyers, bookmarks, and website and blog. That's cool. And it's creative, so it feeds another part of my soul. The accounting can be a challenge, but I like challenges. Writers are freelancers. We get paid, just like everyone else. But that paycheck? It's not all ours. The majority of writers have agents. Their fees run 10-15% of all monies. It can hurt to have to give up a chunk like that. But I'm glad to have an agent to handle the contracts and legalities and tough phone calls to editors I'd rather not make. Anyway, part of our job then, is to see to that business, and not overlook it. You're not a serious writer if you avoid the business parts. Trust me, it's all part of the package. [If you think otherwise, I want to hear about it.]

Let me just talk about contracts a bit. I'm looking at all the writers out there now, so heads up. Agent or not, do you read your contract completely before signing it and sending it back to the publisher? I hope so! Yet, I can't count how many published authors I know, and have met, that say they usually don't read the contract. Their agent has gone through it, so why bother? Or that they just don't understand all that mumbo-jumbo anyway.

People. Writers! You must read your contracts. From word one, to that last page. Even agented writers. You probably won't understand 90% of the wording, but that's what agents are for. Every single contract I get, I read. Completely. Do I understand it all? Of course not. That's why I wield a pencil as I'm reading. I mark everything I don't understand, then call up the agent and ask her to explain it all. Over and over. I forget from contract to contract what I've learned, because believe me, legal wording is really some tough stuff. So I ask again. Someday I'll remember. Or maybe not. But at least I know what I'm signing at the time. And get this, agents are not infallible. They miss things. Even an agent you've been with for ages, and trust completely can miss something. How many times have we gone over our own manuscripts, thinking it's perfect, only to see a huge mistake circled in red returned with the edits?

That's my writerly pet peeve: writers who don't read contracts. Now, back to our regularly scheduled blog.

So what else? Ah, the ugly. And there is a big ugly to being a freelance writer. It's that money thing again. And I'm not talking lack of it, or heck, even an abundance. (Though I wouldn't mind an abundance.)After we get the check, and take out a percentage for the agent, well then, Uncle Sam stands there waiting for his cut. That's the part that's hard for me. I'm not sure if I ever do figure Uncle Sam's part correctly, but I try, I really do. I mean, it's easier when the money is taken out before you get the check (no matter how much it hurts; and we all know it does hurt). Having to do so after the money is in hand? Not fun. Ugly, even.

But heck, I'll take that ugly, because the good is really great.

So, writers, DO you read your contracts? And readers, what about your jobs? Would you trade your nine-to-five for some creative worldbuilding interspersed with gut-wrenching contract negotiations and solitary, oftentimes frustrating computer time?

M

Wishes, Whirlwinds and Wild, Wigged-Out Wonder

Today we're blessed. C. L. Wilson joins us in the back seat for a breeze through the wild autumn weather! She's become a hot ticket. . . the buzz on her USA Today Bestselling DEBUT BOOK, Lord of the Fading Lands, is incredible. . . as is the book itself! If you've a yen for some fine writing, powerful plotting, mesmerizing characters, and heart-stopping action. . . rush out and get this book. It's an epic fantasy romance that takes you on a thrilling ride through a fabulous alternative world and makes you wish you could just step into the story and stay there!

I confess, I have a special interest in this book. . . having read it early on. . . since C.L. is one of my writing buddies and crit partners. Believe it-- I was blown away by this story and this world. And it only helps that C.L. is one of the funniest, smartest women I know. But, hey, she can speak for herself. . .

One year ago today, I was an unpublished author with four “close, but no cigar” Silhouette-Intimate-Moments-wannabe manuscripts under my bed, a 1,000 page rules-breaking fantasy romance manuscript (aka “The Monsterscript”) I adored still out at three houses, a collection of contest jewelry and a stack of rejection letters I was beginning to think would soon rival the Monsterscript in sheer volume.

One week after that, the Monsterscript was at auction, and my friend, two-time Golden Heart winner and contest diva extraordinaire Carla Hughes, and I were driving up the last hill leading to my family’s home in Atlanta at 3am in the morning, when we both looked up and saw a shooting star cross the heavens over my parents’ house. We both made a wish on that star. In the interest of keeping star-mojo intact, I won’t blab Carla’s wish. But as for mine…well, being a writer, I wished for writerly success.

All I can say is … Dang, that was one powerful star!

Today, LORD OF THE FADING LANDS (the first half of my beloved-but-multi-rejected Monsterscript) is printed, bound and on the shelves of bookstores, grocery aisles, drug stores, Wal-Marts and airport shops all around North America, and LADY OF LIGHT AND SHADOWS (the second half of the Monsterscript) comes out in two weeks. Most incredible of all, as of October 11, 2007, one week after LORD’s debut, I, C.L. Wilson, am a USA Today bestselling author.

Don’t look now, Toto, but we’re not in Kansas anymore.

I am living in Oz. For pretty much the last two weeks, I’ve been thrilling to the Technicolor glory of Munchkinland and gleefully cavorting around the town spiral with Glinda and gang. (Hey, Lollipop Guild! Slap some sugar on me! And ooooh, that yellow brick road sure does look shiny!)

Alas, this basking isn’t going to last much longer than it does in the movie. The Wicked Witch of the West will soon be hot on my trail, demanding the return of her sister’s ruby slippers, and my new journey as a published author will begin in earnest. Deadlines and sell through and sales figures, oh my! (And, ahem, in case you were wondering, the Wicked Witch symbolizes Fear and Self-Doubt, not my editor, who is wonderful. J)

Luckily for me, I know I won’t be making that journey alone. I have some of the best friends in the world traveling with me. Friends with heart, who are so incredibly giving and encouraging and supportive. Friends with brains, who know so much about the publishing business and who help steer me clear of danger. Friends with strength and courage, who have shown me how to carry on in good times and bad.

And even though my journey is just beginning, I already know what awaits me in the Emerald City: belief in myself, confidence to continue pursuing my heart’s desire, and the knowledge that the friends and family I love and hold dear, who’ve been with me all along, are a greater measure of success than any (admittedly thrilling) wonders Oz has to offer.

Betina here, again. Okay, you guys. Hit the keyboards and ask the questions and make the comments. She's all ours. Muwahahahaha!

Christie: On the Lookout for Fearless Babes

A number of years ago, I listened to a talk by one of my favorite romance authors, Susan Elizabeth Phillips. In encouraging us to dare to go our own way and pursue our individual dreams, she suggested imagining the singer/actress Madonna when we questioned ourselves. Would Madonna be worried? she asked us rhetorically.

I don’t know much of what’s up with Madonna these days, but I think we can always benefit by being inspired by fearless, far-reaching females. So who is today’s Madonna? I can think of a few possibilities. Pink. Janet Jackson (the new movie she’s in was #1 this week). And there’s an artist who is on the current playlist I’m listening to as I write my manuscript-in-progress.

Fergie. I’m loving her “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” And then I read that she has voiced the character of Sally for some Charlie Brown specials! Wow. There’s a range. So while I was sorta made uneasy by her “London Bridges” song and the accompanying music video, I did find “Fergielicious” pretty hard to get out of my head. And as I said, I really like “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” which is co-written by Fergie and not the same as the Frankie Valli song of the same title. Fergie’s seems to be about a woman who is walking away from a lover because she needs time to find herself, by herself. And while all “fairytales don’t always have a happy ending” as the song says, I like the message that a woman can choose to leave a relationship in order to do something for herself.

It’s not all been roses and roles for Fergie. From her bio on wikipedia, she seems to have been a wild child of the L.A. area (and the daughter of teachers!--always freaks me out to hear stories like this since my dh is a teacher) and did have a crystal meth addiction that she has since beaten. That’s scary stuff. But she’s able to tell me a story in song that I’m using to inspire me to tell my own story.

So what fearless, far-reaching females can you name that inspire you? We can go outside of pop music (I think of women like Madeline Albright, for example) or stick strictly to the pages of People magazine.

By any other name . . .

So I'm watching the baseball playoffs. I'm not a huge baseball fan, but I'll catch a game now and then, and my parents were over, so . . . I'm half paying attention, and glance up to see a scroll across the bottom of the screen:

On deck: Coco Crisp.

"Did I just see that guy's name is Coco Crisp?"

"Yup," my dad says.

Okay, so it's not his real name. It's Covelli Crisp. But I got to thinking . . . what's the wierdest name you've all ever known in real life? I know someone who named her son Skeeter. Not a nickname, the real, on the birth certificate name.

I used to call my middle boy Sunshine. Because he was. Once, in line at a smoothie stand, the young guy manning the blender caught me, and gave me a sad scowl. "Please tell me that's not his real name."

Nope.

The heroine of my new book's real name is Wildflower Meadow. She changed it as soon as she could. To Ann.

I was one of three Susans in my class when I started school. A bitty little school, with less than 20 people in a class. Swore I'd give my kids more unique names when I grew up . . . but when does unique veer over into wierd? (I was Susie growing up, tried to be a grown-up Susan for a few years. But there were three Susans in my writing group when I joined, and something like eight at my first publisher, so I gave up and went back to Susie.)

So what's the wierdest name you know? Do you like yours? Do you wish it was more unusual, or LESS so?

Susie

Debra - ADVICE PLEASE !!

When do you have to retire from competition?

I'm a Southern girl. Raised to be polite. Warned against pride. Encouraged to take the lead in making everyone comfortable at a dinner party. None of that training is helping right now.

If I were a man, I don't think I'd be asking this question. They seem to be taught different lessons.

Here's the deal...

I've spoken before about my quilting. The last two times I entered the local fair's quilting competition, I've won. This time (two weeks ago) I won *all* three top awards--Best Of Show, best hand-quilting, and best applique with two quilts. Last time I won Best Of Show from the "amateur" category and they told me I'd have to move up to advanced. So I did. And I won again.

(Excuse the pics which were done in a big cavernous building with a cell phone.)

Of course I was tickled pink. Pleased as punch. Darn right giddy. Who doesn't love appreciation for the things we've worked so hard to create? But then I became a little embarrassed when people asked me if I'd enter next year. Suddenly I felt a little like I might be kicking puppies.

I love entering a local show. I can carry my quilts to the show with my own hands. There's no shipping to fret and worry about. I can pick them up at the crack of dawn on the day they open to return exhibits. We have three local quilt quilds. (I don't belong to any of them.) There are a fair number of quilts entered. Plenty of local expertise, workshops from time to time. (I haven't gone to any.) If I knew these other quilters maybe I'd have a better sense of whether it's kosher to continue to enter locally.

When I picked my quilts up, the coordinator asked me if I'd enter again and I said, "Probably not. I'm not sure that would be fair." She was appalled and gave me a speech about how quality workmanship helps celebrate the craft and inspires others. Blah. Blah. Blah. But it sounded pretty good to me because that's what I wanted to hear. And there is a chance I could have my brains beat out next time.

Still I'm second guessing whether I should move on permanently. There are regional and national shows, which I do have plans to enter at some point. I've been to them. I think I can be accepted into some of those shows. I have quilts which I've designed just for that purpose, but does any of that have anything to do with entering a local show?

I would never say, "I've won too many writing awards. I won't enter again." Competition is the only way to know how you stack up. Where you fall short. Who's grabbing the hearts of readers, peers, reviewers. I don't hate Nora Roberts. I'd just want to write a book that would beat hers. That's a milestone.

One more thing... The quilt that went Best Of Show was only entered because I thought the green and red quilt wouldn't be finished in time. I figured I'd go ahead and enter the scrap quilt just to at least support the entries and have something there. The green/red quilt was supposed to be the "contender." That multi-colored scrap quilt was never made to be a show quilt. I won't go into all the reasons I wouldn't have selected it as one of my show quilts, but trust me when I say, "I was stunned to discover they'd chosen that quilt over the red and green quilt." I love that scrap quilt, but I never thought others would love it as much as I did. I thought it was ordinary. Charming but ordinary. What do I know? Go figure.

So, is it rude or egotistical to enter the local show? Or is it okay to enter so I can see my quilts displayed and my family can be excited? Do you think the other exhibitors really want me to leave or do you think they take inspiration from the quilts that place higher than theirs?

What's a girl to do?

Kathleen asks: What's the Best Party You've Had?

This photo was taken October 10, 1970--37 years ago tonight. We're marking the occasion with less fanfare than usual. Clyde has his i-pod strapped to his ear, 2 bags of ice strapped to the knee he had surgically repaired yesterday, and a prescription drug-induced vacancy in his normally smiling eyes. I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. Tomorrow night I'll be the guest speaker for a library fund raiser called "A Night Of Romance." When I accepted the invitation, I envisioned saying something about the previous night exemplifying just this theme, even after 37 years. We weren't planning anything big this year, but SOMETHING, surely. We can still shake a tail feather.

Our wedding, as you see, was simple. And our honeymoon was one night at the Wrangler Motel. We've remembered smiling every October 10th anniversary except the first, when he was stationed in Korea. On our 25th (right) we took a ride on a train and stayed in several lovely Minnesota B&B's. We had gone to Hawaii that summer and said that was our anniversary splurge. Remembering Mama's admonition (see my comments this week on Helen's Do-Over post) regarding "don't put it off--go when you can," we toasted my parents' marriage as well as ours.

Here we are sailing in Florida on our 30th. I love this picture. We seem to have reached that point we write about in our books. You can't tell where he ends and I begin. Our 35th saw us in Hawaii again. We promised we'd return every year after that, but that's a promise we obviously haven't kept. (You can't go when you can't.)

This year I'm changing ice packs and watching The Colbert Report. Stephen has a new book out this week. So do I. (Well, a new paperback. It's been out in hardcover.) He interviewed himself last night on national TV. I'm blogging with myself tonight on the internet. I wonder what he'll be doing on his 37th wedding anniversary. He got a lot of promotional mileage out of his wrist surgery recently. Auctioned off his cast for charity. Just before his book came out. Coincidence? Hmm. I'm an avid e-bayer. Wonder what I could do with ice packs and a knee brace. Autographed by...hmmm.

This was some late-night stream of conscious, brought to you by someone who missed a party tonight and felt just a teensy bit sorry for herself.

So cheer me up, blog buddies. (I should mention that dear daughter dropped by with a gift certificate to the best seafood restaurant in the Twin Cities and instructions to go get ourselves a taste of Hawaii as soon as Dad can walk. What a sweetie!)

Let's talk a good celebration. What's the best party you've ever had?

Wednesday's winner is...

nathalie!

Nathalie, please email Michele at toastfaery @ gmail.com (no space) with your snailmail address and she'll forward that on to Nina!

Thanks for stopping by!

Guest Blogger: Nina Bruhns

Everyone welcome Nina to the convertible! (Actually, Nina arrived in her own cute little SmartCar.) Are you beginning to think the Dark Enchantments chicks have taken over this blog? Well, we have, and will continue to do so! Nina wrote book #3, NIGHT MISCHIEF in the series, which features books set in a paranormal world (and all the authors involved are great friends; one of them is moi). :-)

Nina is giving away an autographed copy of her latest, TOP SECRET BRIDE to one lucky poster. Check back tomorrow for the winner's name! Here's Nina...

Hi! My name is Nina Bruhns. I currently write romantic suspense and paranormal romance for Silhouette.
So, anyone out there watching TV these days? Good grief. There are so many new shows, it’s taking me an hour just to decide which ones to Tivo! Of course, I may be paying extra attention, because I am currently enrolled in a Writing For TV course from the UCLA Writers Program. Tell you what, so far it’s been a real education. And not necessarily in the way you might think!

Why am I doing this, you ask? Temporary insanity? Ha ha. No, this year my personal goal is to take my writing craft to the next level, and the way I’m doing it is by furiously studying screenwriting. Whoa. What? Yeah. Screenwriting. If you write fiction and have never taken a screenwriting class (a real one, not some hour thing at RWA National) do yourself (and your writing) a huge favor and take one. Don’t ask. Just do it. Anyway, since I write genre fiction, I thought perhaps learning about how TV shows are written might be more applicable to my work than feature film writing.

Boy, was I wrong. Well, in a sense I wasn’t. As with romance (or mystery, or westerns, or sci fi), and especially category romance, there are guidelines that must be followed. Same for writing for TV. LOTS of guidelines. Yikes a’mighty, so many rules! And these are set in stone, too. Sheesh. Think brides/babies/cowboys is limiting? Try putting together a spec script for a network TV show. You will truly learn the meaning of bondage. Whoops. Did my Nikita just pop out? Sorry.

Anyway. I am learning tons. Mostly about myself and why I belong in fiction and not the world of TV writing. And it also answers one of the most persistent questions I’ve had (for years and years) when some idiot 20 year old male TV writer gets it wrong AGAIN (meaning women, love, sex, fill-in-the-blank, that we romance writers do so well), which is: why the heck don’t they ask a romance writer to at least consult on the script? Or maybe (gasp!) actually write it? Yeah. Now I know. We would never put up with their dang rules!!!

My name is Nina Bruhns. I write fiction. :D Drop by my website. I’d love to hear from you!
www.NinaBruhns.com
Good reading!
Nina

Tuesday's Winner!

Thanks to all of you who stopped by on Tuesday and an extra thanks to all who posted. It's fun to see who's out there!!

Robynl wins a copy of Helen's TREASURE! Email me at helenbrenna@comcast.net and I'll send it out.

Do Overs, ala Helen

I have very few regrets in my life.

There is one, though, that keeps coming back over and over again. I’m sure some of this revisiting right now has to do with a daughter heading off to college and living vicariously through her. But this is, in any case, something I’ve thought of off and on through the years.

Have you ever thought if you could do your life over again what you’d do differently the next time around?

If I could do my life over again, there’s one big change I’d make. It’s something I can’t fix now. It’s the type of thing where so many part of your life must align in order to make it happen, that once you miss it, it’s gone. For forever, it seems.

I wish that during college I’d taken a year and gone over to Europe for school, or just taken one of the three month summer breaks and gone backpacking all over Europe. England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Spain, Italy, yada, yada, yada …

Yes, I would have ended up with a few more student loans to pay off. Yes, it would have taken me an extra year to graduate. Yes, my parents would have put up a fuss, said I was being irresponsible, that I should graduate as quickly as possible (even though I paid for college myself) and get to work. Pay off my car loan. Earn a living. Be a good Catholic, German girl. We’ve been over this a few times. All right already.

I think it would have been worth dealing with all of the above.

I’m not sure what I might have gained from the experience. It certainly wouldn’t have cured my wanderlust. I don’t think I would have actually ended up living somewhere over seas. I think I simply crave experience.

Still.

You have the rest of your life to work, raise kids, lose sleep, pay bills, clean the house (or not) and be responsible.

College is such a carefree time in one’s life. No full time job. No husband. No kids. No mortgage. Go. Be. Once you settle in to adulthood, that chance doesn’t come again for a looooong time.

So …

If you had a do over what one thing would you do differently? Would you go on that date? Buy that sports car? Take that job in Manhattan? Kiss that guy? Get pregnant again? Buy that killer dress? Make love on that deserted beach in Hawaii, back when there were deserted beaches in Hawaii? Oops, did I say I had only one regret?

So if you had one thing to go back and do something differently, what would it be?

More importantly, can you make it happen now?

And just because I feel like it, I'm giving away a copy of my first book TREASURE to one of today's commentors. So stop by tomorrow to see who won!

Christie Asks: Just Like Hunting?

I spoke to my mom over the weekend about her husband’s recent angioplasty. (Is that right? She can never get the names right of procedures. It’s the one where they put stents in.) Anyhow, in the middle of this detailed discussion of the location of the procedure (no, not on his body, I mean geographically, in San Francisco) and the difficulties in parking and her worries over security as she left the hospital late at night for the underground garage down the street, she also told me about his post-op instructions. One in particular stood out in her mind.

He was not to do any vacuuming for two weeks.

Mom was startled. Was the doctor (very cute, we both should marry him she said, and not just cute cute, but cute and distinguished) a mind-reader? How did he know that vacuuming is her darling hubby’s one and only contribution to the process of cleaning house? Well, cute and distinguished M.D. said, "I know from experience with my patients. That’s the only housework that men ever do."

So I started sifting through my mind. Now, I usually like my blogs to relate to romance books in some way, so I started thinking if any of my heroes ever showed signs of any kind of cleaning. Um, no. I think I usually mention a weekly service they use for their own home. And then there was once where I had the hero scraping the hull of his boat. I’ve had heroes who worked in a bar and I remember them wiping things down and putting chairs on tabletops. But even they never got close to actual cleaning—but if I did write a scene with guys doing something around the home…yeah, it would probably be vacuuming.

In my own life, with a husband and two sons, I must admit vacuuming is the only chore that I’ve regularly given them besides emptying the dishwasher. Which is a shame, I realize now, when they should be regularly cleaning the bathrooms, and we all know why.

So what’s the reason that vacuuming is the provenance of men? Is it like hunting in some way? You know, the wide field, the sweeping back and forth looking for prey, er dust bunnies… I do see it as the closest household task to mowing the lawn, so maybe that’s why it’s regularly assigned to men.

What’s your take? And what household cleaning chores have the men in your life routinely accomplished?

Zach, the Amazing

Watch this little fingerpainter go, go, go. He's only three!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ux6J9xcPaGI

And don't forget ...




Nina Bruhns is stopping by for a visit on Wednesday, 10/10.







C.L. Wilson's coming by on Wednesday, 10/17, and ...









Tara Janzen is visiting on Wednesday, 10/24!

Behold one of the best screen kisses I've seen in a long time. It was tender and bittersweet, and the couple is gorgeous. From one of the best movies of the year--I think--Eastern Promises. Just came out last week. Loved the sexual tension between the two characters, but it's not a Romance. It's probably the most violent movie I've seen in a while. But, okay, I went for Viggo. If he's in the cast, I'm there.

So I open the Friday Entertainment section of the paper this morning, and I see that Hollywood is pumping up the raunchy sex for the holiday season, citing the latest Ben Stiller/Farrelly bros collaboration, Heartbreak Kid. They did There's Something About Mary, which I loved. But the trailers for this one don't interest me. I could be wrong. But the premise doesn't seem to go with 6th grade boy humor, which I enjoyed in Knocked Up and 40-Year Old Virgin, but the premise of HK doesn't sound like it would work for me. According to the Strib, "There's never been so much sex and skin in theaters." Graphic violence seems to be hitting a new high, too. For me, theses are elements that only work in the hands of a master storyteller. Otherwise, it's just titillation, which, on its own, pretty much turns me off.

I want character, and Eastern Promises has it in spades. Viggo plays the "driver" for a Russian mob boss's son. He's wonderful. I don't know whether he's actually fluent in Russian, but I was convinced. He plays this mysterious character with such restraint that you can't take your eyes off him lest you miss some nuance. You know he's dangerous, but it's more about what you're conviced he could do than anything he actually does. Well, until those thugs attack him in the steam room. Yep, that's quite a scene. Yep, the full monty. But it's not gratuitous. It's ... you have to see it. I looked away from a couple of parts of this movie, but not this part. Not that I considered the violence gratuitous, but I'm a wimp when the bloodletting looks real. But when the story is this gripping, I can look away for a few seconds and appreciate the fact that this is about real people caught up in a real-world situation that ain't pretty.
But they have their pretty side, their good side.

Can we talk about personal boundaries regarding sex and violence in our entertainment? Any examples of popular stuff that just didn't work for you? Anything that really (and maybe surprisingly) did?

Michele asks: Bath or Shower?

Yep, that's me. Sitting in the bathtub, looking cute. Do you like my new hair? This new short do is so easy to care for. Ahhh, the bath. There's no place I'd rather be.

So I settled into the tub of almost-too-hot-to-bear bath-salt-sprinkled water to ponder over what I should blog about today. Nothing profound came to me. I was too blissed out to care. My brain slows function when I'm in the tub. And then I thought, "Yeah, baths."

You see, I believe there are only two types of people in this world. Bath people, and shower people. We bath people love a good soak. We'll fill up that tub for a five minute quickie or an hour-long vacation. TIme doesn't matter, it's quantity of water and whether or not there's a lock on the bathroom door to keep the rest of the world away. Bath people are afficionados of bath oils and beads and bubbles and gels and bars. We love nothing more than to plunge ourselves into huge tubs of water and just...transcend.

You'd think, as a writer, soaking in a tub would be a time to plot and work out ideas for me. Nope. When I'm in the tub is about the only time my mind goes completely to zero. Zilch. Doesn't even move the readout on the (brain-scanner thingie). [Unless of course, I'm plotting out a blog.] And let me tell you, running out of bubble bath in my house is akin to, well...running out of toilet paper. It's a red-alert emergency.

As for shower people? Well, I'm not sure what the deal is with those people. And I don't want to know.

Oh, sure, bath people will take showers. I shower a couple times a week, just to wash my hair. Still can't do the washing the hair in the tub thing. But a shower is not enjoyable to me. Get in, get wet, soap up, rinse, and get the heck out of there.

I dream about bathtubs. About owning the ultimate bathroom. Just look at that tub. It's a tub in a big freakin' rock! How cool is that? I want it! I know when the hubby and I finally get to build that dreamhouse, the bathroom is tops on the list. We shall spare no expenses. I want a tub (without a shower, because I'm tired of shoving that shower curtain out of the way every time I want to bathe) and I want a seperate walk-in shower that two people can fit in (Cause really, can two people ever share a shower when they're slipping and sliding around for prime water space in the tub? Or am I missing the point of sharing a shower somehow?).

About a month ago I suffered dire bath withdrawal. You see, I got a tattoo for my birthday. You're not supposed to bathe for three weeks after you get inked. I marked the twenty-first day on the calendar. I tell you, I've never jonesed for a bath so desperately as those three weeks. It was torture! By day nineteen I stormed the bathroom and locked myself inside. My favorite bubble bath was waiting to soothe me. Yes, I cheated. But sometimes, you just gotta take the plunge.

So what about you? Are you a bath person or a shower person?

C.L. Wilson's coming!

Wow! We snagged talented new author C.L. Wilson for a guest slot in the convertible! She's the author of the much buzzed-about epic fantasy romance: Lord of the Fading Lands! And her second book follows right on the heels of her first: Lady of Light and Shadows will be out in November. So we epic romance fans won't have long to wait for another part of the story.

Join us on Wednesday, October 17th, when C.L. will be stuck in our backseat and you can ask her whatever you want. Right, C.L.?

::ducking fast::

::grinning::

Dating 101

How long has it been since you were on a date? A real, honest-to-goodness, Do-I or don't-I, does-he or doesn't-he. . . will-we or won't-we DATE?

Being thrown back into the "dating pool" at this stage of life was a real eye-opener. Not, however, the refresher course in Romance that I had hoped it would be. Dating at 45 (Okay, 50!) was pretty much the same as it was at 18-- until I learned to relax and be myself-- all over again. The big difference here is that at 50, all of the guys are losers. That is, if they're dating again it's because they've lost someone. . . whether due to divorce or to death. Interestingly, so had I. You'd think that would put us on an even footing and somewhat on the same page, relationship-wise.

Not so. It seems that everybody handles loss and the changes it brings in a different way. Some men carry around a huge gaping wound and are more than happy to share it and how they got it at the lightest hint of sympathy. Some embrace the freedom that being spouseless brings and go buy a Harley and some leathers and live out their alternative dream-- expecting that this will make them seem virile and dangerous and "cool" at last. Some settle into fusty middle age and indulge way too much in food and drink, drowning their sorrows and waiting to be rescued by a "good" woman. Some make finding a new relationship a project, sort of like remodeling the basement; make a plan, screen applicants, put in the required time and effort, and voila-- relationship. Some read a whole book and become relationship experts: start administering personality tests and testing truthfulness by whether you look to the left or the right when answering a question. Some just use the "new car" approach: "hey, that baby looks fast-- I'll take 'er!"

But almost all of them have one thing in common with the "new car" guys: they want a "test drive" ASAP. And if the test drive is successful, they're done; they've found the next "One." Instant relationship. All comfy once again.

If all that sounds vaguely like the guys in high school, it's probably because these ARE the guys from high school. . . with a few miles and a few pounds and a lot less hair. Oh, and varying amounts of baggage. Imagine Motorhead Bob or Stretch Kelly from the 11th grade. . . grown up and with 35 years of marriage and kids and bills and at least one big disappointment. . .

For a person with an earnestly compassionate side, it's not easy sorting through all the needs, wants and desires and hopes and negotiating all the pitfalls of second(or third)-time around love. You have to learn to say "no". . . sometimes graciously, sometimes not. You have to think about what is good for you, what meets your needs, and not be too tempted to rescue men from their own idiocy.

Interestingly, there are some real jewels out there, too. Men who have taken the time to put their losses and triumphs in perspective, men who have taken time to understand themselves and know their needs and their desires aren't necessarily the same thing, men who don't feel the need to retrieve or re-live a youth-that-never-was, men who have mature and compassionate natures and think about the world at large. Men who know how to laugh and how to cry and how to hold you as you do both.

You might have already guessed: I'm not very good at dating. Never have been. The whole "choosing" and "rejecting" thing just hurts me, no matter which end of it I'm on. But I'm pretty good at relationships. . . and getting better all the time. . . more honest, more open, more lucid and realistic. And part of that learning and growing comes from finding someone I really do "fit" with, flaws and all. My suspicion is that at this age and stage, it's all about finding someone whose flaws and faults you can live with. . . as much as finding someone whose strengths and character compliment yours. And I have to say, finding the right person to compliment your life and your heart gives Romance an entirely different glow at this age. Has it affected my writing? Undoubtedly.

No, I'm not going to tell the story of the Harley guys or the "new car" guys or the bleeding-heart guys. . . well, at least not in this post. Someday at a conference. . . in a bar. . . after a couple of margaritas, maybe. . .

What about you? Does the prospect of dating "mid-life" give you the willies? Care to share your worst date-- then or now? Want to give your opinion of middle aged men on Harleys? LOL!

Even Writers Get the Blues

Greiman here.

Okay, so things haven’t been going so great recently. Generally speaking I’ve screwed up everything I can screw up in the past week. So I thought, hey, I’d better check my schedule to see what I’ve neglected/forgotten/botched today. And lo and behold, looks like I’ve forgotten that it’s my day to blog.

My next thought was, you know, people don’t want to hear from me right now, cuz I’m in one mother of a mood. But I agreed to blog on October 1st (today, for those of you who are as out of it as I) and I am true to my obligations, so now you are obliged to listen to me moan.

Where to start--ummm--okay, that’s what makes me nuts. In actuality, things aren’t so bad. My family is healthy, I am, for the moment, employed, and we have food on the table.
Granted, a recent review sucked the big one, I’m still mourning my daughter’s exodus to college, and I’m getting behind on a deadline, but what it boils down to is that I’m just ‘off’. I’ve got the blues. I’m melancholy, down in the mouth, down in the dumps. Just plain down. And I’m ashamed of it. Cuz I feel like I should be happy all the time, singing like a little Snow White as I laboriously scrub the flagstones. But there ain’t a lot of singin’ going on at the ol’ Greiman estate. Mostly if someone opens his mouth, I glare him into oblivion. A bit more reminiscent of Grumpy than the pigment challenged little princess, perhaps.

So anyway, I thought I’d look for advice from people I haven’t yet cowed into silence: What are your tricks for getting out of the doldrums? Do you just hunker down and charge through it or is there a better way? Time with friends? Copious amounts of alcohol? A one way ticket to the Bahamas? Speak now or forever let my family suffer.