Hitchhiking Jupiterians?

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Oh dear! I really do not know what I should do.

You see, a foreign rights agent requested copies of my books back in July, so my publisher sent out copies of Braumaru, Cerulea, Viridia, and DTA. But the books seem to have never arrived.

You probably think my publisher should just send out more copies.  That could happen, but that is not the problem.

You see, I just realized that I have not seen hide nor hair of the Jupiterians since July. Right about the time the books shipped to China.

It’s just a saying! I know that the Jupiterians are invisible, so no one can see them. That is what makes them so dangerous. That, and their insatiable desire to play jokes.

Did the Jupiterians hitch a ride? Are they at this minute plotting and planning and preparing to play joke after joke on some unsuspecting Chinese citizen? Am I responsible for unleashing the Jupiterians on China?

As I said, oh dear!

Lottery

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02 – 06 – 15 – 26 – 34 – 44

I looked at the little piece of paper in my hand and gulped. I couldn’t believe it…finally, finally I had picked the right numbers. They matched, the really matched, and I had won! I won the lottery!

I spent the next few minutes divying up the cash in my mind. First there were taxes, then family to help, bills to pay, college tuition for my children, charities in need…so many places for the money to go. Thank goodness there was so much money to go around.

I headed for the door and reached for the knob. The sooner I claimed my prize the better. How horrible it would be if this winning ticket–this lovely, irreplacable, life-changing ticket–was accidently destroyed.

But as I reached the door a strange sound froze me in my tracks. The room began to whirl, and with horror I recognized that annoying sound.

My alarm clock. It was time to wake up.

Killed by Clean

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Each breath was like a knife to my lungs. I was dizzy and tired because of the lack of oxygen. My brain barely functioned, and I had to force my limbs to fight against the lethargy that threatened to make me curl up in a ball and drift off to sleep.

And it was all my fault. When it comes to knowing what my body can and cannot take, I tend to be optimistic. I always think that maybe I am no longer allergic to this or that, maybe that particular reaction has gone away, maybe the last time was all my imagination.

But yesterday, with the mopping of the floor, my reaction to strong smells came back clearly. I am smart enough to move far away from those who wear perfume, but somehow I had forgotten my reaction to cleaning products.

I’ll tell you one thing, if I don’t stop being such an optimistic idiot I might as well pick out my tombstone right now. Something short and to the point, starting with “Here she lies” and then continuing with one of the following:

Killed by Clean
Defeated by Dirtlessness
Asphyxiated by Antiseptic
Hurt by Hygiene
Pulverized by Polish
Laid Low by Luster
Smothered by Smell

Air, air–I need air!

Dangerous dream

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My creative juices must have once again begun to flow, because all of a sudden I am having extremely vivid dreams that stick with me long after I awake. Dreams the likes of which I have not had since I was in the midst of writing the Behold the Eye trilogy.

I don’t mind the good dreams, but some of them, well, I would prefer to let them fade away with the morning light. They are just too disturbing.

Take last night’s dream. I was in my car with three of my four daughters (which three is fuzzy). I was driving across a bridge, only, it was like no bridge I have ever seen. I got halfway across when it suddenly dipped down at an angle that any roller coaster would envy.

I struggled to slow the car, but it was no use, we were out of control. Terror became the overwhelming feeling as I realized that a part of the bridge was washed out and we were careening uncontrollably toward water. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

We hit the water and fear quickly became panic. I struggled to catch my breath as claustrophobia kicked in. How could we get out? Were we going to die, trapped under pounds and pounds of suffocating water?

That was when I noticed that one of my daughters had managed to open a door and was exiting. Hope vanquished the claustrophobia, and I was able to take a deep breath before following my daughter, expecting my other two daughters to do the same.

I swam to the surface and climbed up onto the bridge, struggling all the while to catch my breath. Relief that we had escaped helped to calm the intense shivering that had overtaken my body, but that relief was short-lived when I looked around and discovered the terrible truth that only one daughter was by my side.

Again I panicked. I jumped into the water and dived down as deep as I could, but I could not reach the car. It had sunk too far. I was too weak.

Waiting for help to arrive was torture. There was nothing, absolutely nothing I could do except pray that some miracle would occur and my children would find their way out of the sunken car to the surface. The despair I felt drained every ounce of energy from my body, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide away from the world.

Finally, after what seemed like days, a tow truck arrived that was able to reach down into the depths of the lake and pull out my car.  By this time my heart was so broken into bits that I did not know how I could still be alive.

Tears poured down my face as I waited for the police to open the door to the car. I had lost two of my daughters, life would never be the same again.

Only, I had not lost two of my daughters. When the door was opened, it was discovered that a miracle had happened and air pocket of sufficient size had been trapped in the car. My unconscious daughters were alive and well. After they were checked out it was discovered that they both only had a few bumps and bruises. They were perfectly fine.

The dream might have turned out well, but it was still rather disturbing. The emotions I felt were deep and broad and felt very, very real.

I have to wonder if there is a message in it for me.

Maybe that I should be more careful of what I eat right before bedtime.

Cen…Sen…Cim…Sim…Symmetrical

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Throughout my life my dreams have helped me solve problems.

In high school, I remember several instances when I struggled with a math problem for hours. I would sit on my bed, handy-dandy pencil in hand, writing and rewriting, figuring and re-figuring, struggling to understand what mistake I was making that kept the solution out of my reach. Frustrated and tired, I would finally give up and go to bed, disgusted with my failure.

I guess my brain did not like failing, because it would continue to struggle with the problem while my tired body got much needed rest. Invariably, I would awake in the morning able to easily complete the math problem.

The same would happen with sports. I was a gymnast, and I remember often falling to sleep with the routines playing and replaying in my head. The next day, after a full night of dream-practice, moves that had been difficult would become miraculously easy.

But the other night, the oddest thing happened. I awoke in the middle of the night, sat up in bed, and started mumbling to myself. I knew, I just knew, that it was vitally important that I spell the word symmetrical. Only, in my groggy state, I did not know how.

“Cen…no that’s not right, that’s how central is spelled,” I said shaking my head, “it must be sen. Yes, that’s it–s-e-n-i-t-r-i-c-a-l.”

I lay back down, but the word floating in my head looked funny. “I must still have it wrong. I need to get it right, but I think the beginning is all wrong, it starts with a C. Cim. Yeah. Cimitrical. Good, now I can go back to sleep.”

Closing my eyes, the letters c-i-m-i-t-r-i-c-a-l floated across my mind’s landscape, disrupting any possibility of a relaxing dream. It floated across fields and through cities, and even followed me up in a hot air balloon. It would not go away. It tortured me with its wrongness.

“Okay, okay, so I’ve got it wrong. How about Sim, that’s about all that is left. S-i-m-i-t-r-i-c-a-l. Now I don’t want to think about it anymore, I just want to sleep. Go away word!”

After telling the word to go away, I drifted back off to sleep.

Only, I guess the word did not really go away, because my first thought when I awoke in the morning were the letters S-y-m-m-e-t-r-i-c-a-l. Symmetrical.

I still don’t know why that particular word, or why it was so important to spell at 3 in the morning.

Rewrites – the beginning

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I just rewrote the beginning of Fair Game this morning. It had been bugging me, so I decided to spend a little time on it this morning. It is probably not yet in its finished form, but I feel it is improved!

I hope everyone else thinks to too!

Old:Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
“Now what?” I grumbled. “I don’t have time for this.”
The chirp caught me just as I was about to take a deep breath—it took a lot of oxygen to make the big climb—and caused me to snort instead. Which was a real shame, because snorting was not very lady-like, and first impressions counted for a lot. I certainly did not want to become known as the girl who snorts.
Besides, I had spent an entire week preparing myself for this moment, this climb.

New:
I was just about to take a deep breath—it took a lot of oxygen to make the big climb—when the tweet of my phone startled a snort out of me.

“Darn it,” I grumbled as I realized that everyone around me probably heard that snort.

I knew how things got started. It took very little to get a reputation as “the person who____”, where all you have to do is fill in the blank with something embarrassing. I was probably going to be known forever more as the girl who snorts, or even worse, they might give me a new nickname like Snorter Girl, or even Miss Piggy.

All because my stupid phone chose the wrong moment to tweet at me. Just one little tweet that I am sure no one but me heard, but I bet everyone heard that loud, obnoxious snort!

I guess I should not blame my phone—it was only doing its job. And to be perfectly honest I guess I should not say it tweeted—it would be more accurate if I said it chirped. My parents, who were a bit out of date, would not allow me to have a phone that had access to the Internet. The only phone they would buy me was the old fashioned kind that let me text and talk. So tweeting, real tweeting, was definitely out.

The chirp, which was to warn me that I had received a text, had distracted me at a very important moment. One of the most important moments of my life. I was just about the make the big climb, the climb I had spent an entire week preparing myself for, the climb that would define my future.

Another book on a shelf

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Don’t think me totally dorky, but I am so excited this morning. I found out that another public library is carrying one of my books!

Look, before you laugh and shake your head, you’ve got to understand life from my point of view. I may not be employed as one at the moment, but I have a librarian’s soul.

No, I didn’t steal some poor librarian’s soul! It is mine, all mine. I am a librarian, and will always be one. I will also always be an archaeologist and a writer. Things you love don’t go away simply because you are not being paid to do the thing.

So it is little wonder that I’m excited that another librarian has honored one of my books by allowing it shelf space. What a concept, they actually used some of their precious budget to buy one of my books to share with the world.

When I put it that way, you can see why I am so excited. Money talks.

So to date, my books are in 6 different library systems across the country. Two systems in Washington state (KCLS and Timberland) 1 in Florida, 1 in Idaho, 1 in Texas, and the new 1 is in Utah.

Wow, what progress–only 45 more states to go!

All in a name

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Sometimes when I am bored, I take a few minutes to google my friends.

I know, I know, I really should not admit anything so silly, but hey, we all have our faults.

Anyway, I googled a close friend today. I have known her forever, over 25 years, and I have seen how hard she has worked to succeed. I am very proud of all her accomplishments–the doctorate, the happy marriage, the beautiful children.

Mainly what I was looking for was her website. She recently opened a psychology practice and I wanted to see how easy it was to find.

I can happily report that the website is supremely easy to find and contains all the attributes it needs to help her be successful.

But there was a surprise, there among the search results. You see, what I discovered is that my friend shares a name with a musician. But not just any musician, she shares her name with one who glorifies in being deranged.

How strange that a search brings up my friend the psychologist who is set on a course of helping people maintain their sanity, mixed in with an musical artist by the same name who is intent on crazying up the world.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Someone, somewhere, must be playing a joke! A quixotic, daft joke. How else could such a thing be explained, it surely could not be a mere coincidence?

I’m glad my friend has a good sense of humor. She is going to need it when she opens her office door to find herself bombarded by delirious fans expecting a lunatic musician to provide them all with autographs!

What do they mean?

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What do they mean “all information is kept confidential”?
What do they mean “we are required by the Federal government to report racial and ethnic data on all employees”?
What do they mean “we do not discriminate”?
What do they mean “all employees must self-identify race and ethnicity”?
What do they mean “if not marked an observer will determine race and ethnicity”?

If the information demanded of the employees is not for discriminatory or sharing purposes, what do they mean to do with it?

Public art?

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Art comes in many shapes, sizes, and mediums and can vary so much that at times it may be overlooked.

Take for example the public art I have been fortunate to pass every day on my block for about 3 years now. Art that I will admit, in my ignorance, that I almost did not recognize as art.

At first I barely noticed it. I thought it was simply a stop-gap measure, a way for the utility company to hold up a weakening pole until a new one could be put in its place.

After all, I had seen similar structures in other parts of the city. Tall giant Xs, looming over the population, keeping electrical wires safely out of roads and walkways. All very similar to the one on my block, all temporary.

My first clue that I had overlooked something special was time. It was only after the poles remained in place over 2 years that the truth began to dawn on me. These were not utilitarian poles, they had another purpose!
Further study strengthened my belief. An abundance of creativity and thought had gone into placing these poles. They simply oozed art.
To begin with, much time and hard work had gone into balancing the poles very precisely, creating the impression of shoes on feet. If you look at just the lower part of the poles, the image of a giant strolling along is clear. The artist must have thought a long time to come up with just the right angle to achieve such a pleasing aspect.
The impression of humaness is furthered by the lovely bowtie the creative genius provided. Just think of the hours of practice required to tie such a knot! What skill! What dexterity!
Yes, it is a thing of beauty. Beauty I can enjoy every day for free.