Pumpkin time!

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Last night my family got together to carve pumpkins, drink hot apple cider, and talk about everything under the sun. It was a blast.

Some of pumpkins, with their owners, left right around dark, so there was no time for a photo op. But we put candles in the the remaining ones and took a picture.

Ooh, scary!

Or maybe not. This is the one I carved. Not really frightening at all, I know. Just silly.

After the little ones left, five of us watched a scary movie. Bad mistake. Now I’m jumping at shadows.

Oh well. I’m sure it won’t last long. I’ve watched scary movies before and gotten over it.

But at least now I remember why I usually stay away from that genre.

The amazing human brain

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The human brain is the most complex, useful, and wonderful gadget ever invented. It is the only device I can think of that actually works better while it is shut off.

It certainly is a handy-dandy little problem solver. And this whole dream-a-solution thing is amazing, simply amazing.
I finished Gray Zone last year, but I knew it needed something. I wracked my brain for ideas, but nothing would come to me. I was stuck.
So I put Gray Zone aside and pursued a new degree.
About halfway through the program Gray Zone shoved its way from the back of my brain, where it was supposed to be relaxing at my mind spa, and demanded that I spend some time fixing it.
But I didn’t have time. The MFA program was too intense.
So Gray Zone retreated with a huff back to the mind spa to sulk.
I finished my degree program last month and immediately pulled out Gray Zone. There was no further reason for the little book to sulk, I was ready and willing to give it all the attention it could ever want.
So I skimmed through it, waiting for that wondrous flash of brilliance I just knew would come.
Nothing.
I pulled out a piece of paper and tried to create an outline of the book, thinking that it would make it easier for me to see the changes that needed to be made.
Nothing.
I opened Final Draft. If I put the book in screenplay format, the structure would be easy to see, and any problems would jump out at me like a zombie in a haunted house.
Gray Zone, still in a snit, wouldn’t let me write down even a single word. I guess it was still ticked that it had been put aside for over a year.
Every day since I’ve frustrated myself to distraction, trying to come up with a wonderful idea, or a good idea, or even an okay idea.
But nothing.
Until finally, I gave up. I told Gray Zone I was having nothing else to do with it and I put it out of my mind.
And that was when that wonderful device that is the human brain took over. Without any effort on my part I knew the answer to my problem. It just popped into my head, unasked.
I dreamt the answer. And it is a good one!
I can’t wait to start writing!

Horses and bayonets

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Horses and bayonets.

I watched the debate last night, and all I can think about was that snide comment that President Obama made to Mitt Romney.

Did President Obama think he was being witty?
Did he feel the jab made him seem more presidential?
Was it intended to put Mitt Romney in his place?
Was it meant to make him seem old and out of touch?

Tsk, tsk. 


Not cool, and not presidential.

Innocent until proven guilty?

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Once upon a time, in this country I call home, people were considered innocent until their guilt had been proven.

But that was the old days. The pre-Internet days. Innocent until proven guilty no longer applies.

Don’t believe me?

Oh, then you must not have heard about the Boy Scout Perversion Files scandal that all the news agencies around here can’t stop talking about.

It seems that the Boy Scouts organization has kept a file documenting every accusation of impropriety within their ranks. The file goes back to the 1960s.

A judge ordered that the files be made public, so they have been put up on the Internet for all to see. I think the idea is that if you hide wrong-doing, the wrong-doers have the opportunity to reoffend elsewhere.

But here’s the deal. These names that have been released are names of people ACCUSED of wrong-doing, not necessarily names of people PROVEN of wrong-doing.

Get the difference?

Each and every name on that list represents a person who is being labeled as guilty, whether anything had been proven or not. Even worse, since this goes back to the 1960s, some of those names represent people who have died, leaving the icky cloud of unsubstantiated guilt hanging over the heads of their children.

Some justice.

I believe in protecting children, but I also know that we do not live in a perfect world. False accusations are sometimes leveled against perfectly innocent people for a variety of reasons.

Someone seems to have forgotten that accusations do not necessarily equal guilt.

And someone has also forgotten that posting a list on the Internet is not the same as posting a piece of paper in the village green.

Accusation equals guilt, published to all. No court date needed.

The new law of the land.

“I am a writer” video

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I just posted this on the “About the Author” page.

It explains why I became a writer.
I can’t take credit for the idea of doing this little video. It is based on a homework assignment I had to do while obtaining my  MFA.What I like about it is that it made me really think about being a writer.

Someone needs a lesson in ethics!

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I have a code of ethics. Among the rules  that govern my behavior is one that requires me to work hard and give credit where credit is due. So you can be sure if I claim work as mine, it is mine. I don’t cheat or steal.

Unfortunately, not everyone lives by that same code.

I was shocked to find an ad on Craigslist that claims to be posted by a graduate student who wants to hire a writer to write his/her papers. The ad states that there is plenty of work to be done, and that the assignments will continue for a number of years.

Oh, and the writer must have a graduate degree, because the poster only wants graduate level papers, which can only be written by someone who has a graduate degree.

Obviously the poster knows that this is a shady deal, since he/she will only pay in cash through a bank, allowing him/her to cover his/her tracks.

This goes way past plagiarism! Way past!

Odd encounter

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“Where do you get your hair done?” the waiter asked as he picked up a lock of my hair and twirled it around his finger.
“Gene Juarez,” I answered, a little confused. Why was this strange man touching my hair?
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I could do a much better job for less money. You should let me do your hair. I’d fix it.”

As the waiter walked off I had to wonder if I had just been insulted. But since I was at the restaurant to celebrate my sister-in-law’s birthday, I decided to ignore the odd little conversation I had just had.

Only the waiter would not let me. He returned for round two about ten minutes later.

“Excuse me,” the waiter said, tapping me on the shoulder. “I just realized that I might have been rather insulting before. I just meant that I hate to see my girls spend all that money on their hair when they don’t need to.”

I nodded, confused by the “my girls” comment. Whatever did he mean?

He moved away and went about his business, so I turned my attention back to the birthday party.

It was a full thirty minutes before round three occurred.

“Take this,” the waiter said as he stuck a business card in front of my face and scared the wits out of me. “You should come to me and let me do your hair for you.”
I took the card.
“I really want to play with your hair.”

We left about ten minutes later.

For whatever reason, people talk to me. I know this and I’m accustomed to it. For some unfathomable reason people tell me things. I once sat down in the audience to wait for my child’s concert to begin, and within just a few minutes the person beside me had told me about her impending divorce and custody battle.

But I found the whole hair thing odd. I’m not really sure what I should think about it.

Jackhammers at breakfast

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Ahhhh! I can’t think!

At 8:00 this morning (a Saturday morning no less) utility crews pulled into my street with four or five huge trucks. At 8:30 they began work with that machine that slams against concrete until it breaks it up. (I usually know the name of this noisy piece of equipment, but as I said, I can’t think right now.)

It is filling my house with irritating sound. Even worse, my house is shaking, like we are experiencing a series of small earthquakes.

I know why they are here, my next-door neighbor wants to have a gas stove so they are putting in a gas line. Of course, she hasn’t moved in yet. So the noise isn’t bothering her one iota.

I hope this is an efficient crew that finishes quickly. Before I go batty.

Wait…I think the name of that horribly noisy machine is coming to me. It is a…it is a… it is a…come on, you can do it, it is a…jackhammer! That’s right. That’s what it is called!

Whew!

Now, if I can just get my brain to ignore the noise long enough to remember how to make breakfast.

Not worth the brain power

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I spend a good bit of time on the Internet. I read things written by people of all walks of life, stages of education, and mental abilities.

When someone understands that writing is all about communication, it shows. Sentences are well structured. Spelling is correct. Actual punctuation is used.

In other words, people can read and understand it.
What a concept!

But many of those who plaster the Internet with their ramblings in the big bad world of the Web are lazy. What pass for paragraph are litters with grammatical errors. Speling is slopie. Sentences any old way no real structure or punctuation Homonyms create chaos weather ewe no watt is mint or knot.

Some sentences go on and on and never seem to stop but just keep running on as if the person writing never has to take a breath and never plans to stop because they just have so much to say. Sometimeseventhespacesbetweenwordsareleftout.

The oddness of writing

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This writing business is odd.

I want to submit my script to a contest, and I want it to be the best possible script I can write. So yesterday I looked over the last comments my instructor made about my script so I could decide what changes I need to make.

It looked, frankly, unmanageable! I felt I was done, but she suggested deleting some scenes, writing a few new ones, and redoing several others. I couldn’t do it! I was too overwhelmed just thinking about it.

But I figured I would put in a few hours, just to get it a tiny bit closer to “perfect”. I’ve learned that the one-step-at-a-time system will get any project done, if I had the patience to keep plugging away.

I got out my computer and began to work. By the time I’d finished for the day I’d put in six very satisfactory hours.

Today I put in another five hours, and I’m amazed to see that I actually got it all done.

Now this in no way means that the script will not get any more rewrites. It is really difficult to put it aside and say that it can’t get any better.

But I won’t be ashamed to submit it to the contest. I actually like it!

And that’s what is so odd about writing. How did I get from overwhelmed to finished in a mere eleven hours?

Odd. Truly odd.