Now for the sun

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Done!

Just half a minute ago, I finished rewriting the last word on the last page of the last chapter. Of the Department of Temporal Adjustment, of course! Possibly to be known as the DTA, possibly by some other title.

I am ecstatic, jubilant, and so, so happy.

The sun is shining brightly–at least in my head. As I look out the window all I can see are clouds.

Go away, naughty clouds, I don’t want you around today. I am too happy to put up with your depressing grayness.

Let that glorious sun shine through.

I don’t need it personally, I have loads of internal sunshine.

I would just like to share this feeling with the rest of the world.

A writer

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Tuesday, October 6th 2009, I learned something wonderful. I learned that my husband truly believes in me.

He’s always been supportive, but being supportive isn’t the same as truly believing. Especially since he has known me for more than 25 years, and he is well aware of each and every flaw I possess.

When I began to write, my husband supported me in my ‘little hobby’. He helped me carve a little time out of the week, bought me a computer, and listened as I talked of plots, characters, and sentence structure.

After I completed the first book writing was no longer a hobby to me, but a passion. To my husband, it stayed my ‘little hobby’.

But yesterday he said four wonderful words that let me know he has had a change of heart.

He was telling me about his class. At the start of the year he had written a letter of welcome to all his students, and on Tuesday he decided to check to see how carefully they had read it.

After asking various questions and receiving the appropriate answers, he asked his class, “What does my wife do?”

One bright student answered, “She’s a writer!”

My husband paused in his story to tell me that he told the student that the answer was correct. Then he went on to say, “I never even told them you are also a librarian, you’ve made the transition.”

Have you ever heard four more beautiful words? You’ve made the transition! My wonderful, smart, not-easily-impressed husband now thinks of me as a writer.

I am happy. He believes in me.

U-Haul Zone (part 1)

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Imagine yourself in your neighborhood, walking down a street you had walked down many times before. The trees are the same old trees, the stores are the same old stores, and the houses are the same old houses.

But today, you will not be making your usual stop at Starbucks to get your favorite Venti extra hot latte. No today, you will be going into a new store.

You have passed the store in question numerous times before, but have never felt the need to explore it. As a matter of fact, whenever you looked more than 10 seconds at the store you felt a strange queasiness in the pit of your stomach that only lessened when you allowed your eyes to slide away.

But today you will ignore your feelings of revulsion, and you will visit the store. Not because you have an innate need to visit every store in your neighborhood, but for the simple reason that you need to rent a U-Haul. You have done your Internet searches, you have contacted multiple companies, you have compared prices and reputations. This store, this strangely repulsive store, has the best deal on U-Hauls at the closest location.

You are a mere two businesses away from your destination when the sky opens and rain begins to pour out of the heavens. You begin to run, but stop short when you realize that the only way to get to the store is to cross a veritable moat of mud, water, and what looks suspiciously like motor oil.

You take a step forward and cringe with disgust as your sandal-clad foot lands ankle deep in the slimy mess. But you are on a mission, so with a shrug you continue on. With a little luck, you might be able to get inside before every inch of you is soaking wet.

As you get closer you notice that the entrance is blocked by a man. He is covered in dirt from head to toe, and as he smiles at you, you notice that he is not only missing two front teeth, but he also has an open sore on his cheek the size of a quarter.

—-end of part 1—-

Vlapped!

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I’ve been vlapped! No once, but twice.

It happened this weekend. We had a family birthday party, and one of the guests, a 3 month old baby, was giving his parents a hard time. I could tell the parents were upset and tense (they are new parents and haven’t had him out after his bedtime before), so I offered to walk him a bit to calm him. I wanted to give the new parents an opportunity to enjoy the party and regain their cool.

I knew I could help, since I’d had plenty of practice with my own 4 children, nieces, nephews, neighbors, etc. I’m a pro at keeping the tension out of my body, which is key for calming irrate babies. A baby always knows if the person holding him is stressed.

Vlap! The father of the child told me that I would not be capable of helping. (Even though I’ve successfully managed to soothe multiple babies, multiple times.)

Okay, I thought. I’ll just back off. I’m sure this man who has been a father for all of three months knows loads more than I do about handling babies. I only have a mere 23 + years of experience.

The party continued, and the parents were unable to participate. After about an hour the baby was calm, but not asleep. I asked the mother if she wanted me to hold the little tike so she could socialize for a bit.

Vlap! The mother of the child told me I would not be capable of helping.

So there you have it, two vlaps in one party.

What? You have never heard the term ‘vlap’ before? It is a term I picked up from the Jupiterians–it means virtual slap. It is used all the time on Jupiter.

I like the term.

And in case you are wondering, a vlap hurts like the dickens–just like a slap.

Ouch!

Half-way done!

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Success! (Or at least, half success!)

This morning I reached the halfway mark. I am now officially halfway finished with the last rewrites I need to do of the DTA. I was beginning to feel I’d never get here.

So much for finishing them all before the end of summer.

I don’t understand what has slowed me down so much, but every time I start work the phone rings, or the dog barks, or my computer won’t work, or something else happens to keep me from progressing like I should.

Giggles? Do I hear giggles? Jupiterians, are you here?

What do you mean, you hope I liked your jokes? What jokes?

You were the ones who called me on the phone and hung up as soon as I answered? You made the dog bark? You made my computer suddenly shut down? Why?

I see. They were great jokes. I can tell you really have enjoyed the pranks you’ve pulled.

What is that? They weren’t just pranks, they were for my own good? How so?

Well I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t see how getting the manuscript finished sooner rather than later will hurt anything.

You want to make sure I don’t publish until next year? Well there is no fear of that now. But why will 2010 be a better year than 2009?

You say it is because of 20 divided by 10. And what exactly does 20 divided by 10 mean to you?

Yes, well, it is 2 for me too.

Laugh away, Jupiterians. Laugh away.

It must be a cultural thing.

Pepper-before and after

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Don’t tell Pepper, but I managed to get a picture of her. She is so camera shy. You would think I was a member of the paparazzi, and she was an over-worked movie star.

But before I show her new do, let me remind you of her old one. Note the dry grass. With her old fur cut, Pepper and dry grass were like the two connecting pieces of velcro. And just as hard to separate!
Pepper-dirt
Since Pepper’s visit to the salon I haven’t had to de-velcro her a single time.

Here is what she looks like now (otherwise known as AFTER):

Pepper-groomed

Much better, don’t you think!

A dog, a plan, and some clippers

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The price for Behold the Eye trilogy has been lowered! Thanks for the new lowered price belongs to…

Pepper, the Wonder Dog!
Why do I call her a Wonder Dog? Well, she was getting so shaggy she looked like a little brown bear, and I had begun to wonder if she was really a dog.

You see, I’ve wanted to get Pepper’s fur styled for a while, but she didn’t want it, and she is from a stubborn breed. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she liked her fur long, curly, and matted.

I can’t say I blame her. I also remember the fiasco that occurred the last time I took her for a fur cut. She left the pet salon scalped and humiliated. She looked like a naked mole-rat instead of a Schnoodle. She was embarrassed, and I was embarrassed for her.

So I had to be sneaky, which was okay since I had a plan. First I watched a few dog breed competitions on TV with Pepper, and I commented on how silly the shaggy dogs looked, and how great the groomed dogs appeared. I kept up my commentary throughout each entire show.

I noticed Pepper looking in my direction several times, which encouraged me to hope that my words were having the desired effect. (Although I must admit that due to the overgrowth of hair I was unable to read Pepper’s expression, and she might just have been irritated that I was talking during her shows.)

When I felt we had watched enough pampered pet shows I put the rest of my plan into action. I laughed loudly at one well groomed dog told Pepper that understood why she wouldn’t go in for a fur trim, that I bet she would hate to have such a stylish haircut.

Pepper just looked at me for a moment and looked away.

I asked what was wrong, and as she looked at me through her shaggy dredlocks I could tell she was ready for a change. So I told her that if she would gather up enough courage to trust someone near her with shears, I would gather the courage to go to bat with my publishers to get the price of my books lowered.

All is well that ends well.

Pepper is still camera shy, but if I get the chance I’ll post her new stylish do!

An answer to a prayer

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Today is my first day unemployed.

I once wrote a short story with the moral “be careful what you ask for because you might get it.” Maybe, just maybe, I should have listened to my own advice.

I’ve felt for a while that it was time for a change, but I was afraid. I didn’t know what kind of change I needed, what I should do to improve things. So I prayed for guidance, for a clear message that would let me know what my next step in life should be.

The next thing I knew, I was told that my position as Head Librarian in the school was being cut, and I was out of a job.

Gulp!

Message heard loud and clear: I had outlived my time at the BC school.

But what next? What kind of job should I look for? Where was I best suited.

Gulp again! I’ve applied for over 50 jobs this summer, with nary a bite. Another message heard loud and clear. I need to start my own business.

The time has come to stand on my own two feet. To be my own boss. To join the world of business owners.

Time for the next adventure.

Confusion untamed

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I’m confused.
I’m flabbergasted.
I’m, well…I’m puzzled, perplexed, mystified, befuddled, bewildered, and baffled.

I just don’t understand what is happening on the air waves today (or now that so much is digital, I probably should say cable waves). First there was the normalizing of language that makes me blush. This language has never found a place in my mouth, yet I cannot stop it from bombarding my ears. And now…

Last night I heard the following sentence: “I need to make sure the bookcases are functionalability.” ‘Functionalability’? Why the ‘ability’? Why not good old ‘functional’?

I had heard this same man use ‘functionalability’ several times before, but each time I assumed I had heard wrong. Unfortunately, I had not.

What is happening? Is it bad education, bad memory, or, or, or…

Eeeeeek!
We’re being attacked, I just know it! What better way to weaken a country than to break down communication. And what better way to break down communication than to create multiple subgroups with totally different vocabularies.

I can see it now. Within a few years, popular music afficionados will hold long conversations with each other that sound a little like: “Have you seen bleep bleep bleep bleep? Bleep ate all the Cheerios bleep bleep bleep. I need to go to the bleep store and bleep bleep bleep buy groceries.” (excuse the bleeps, I don’t say those kinds of words)

While those who take a more homey approach will say to each other: “I flipped it with functionalability and styleousness, so my houseability reached mountaineous proportions. I think it’s because of the vertacalability of my clothes.”

I cringe at the next step taken by the perpetrators of this dastardly deed. What will they do? What is in store for our national vocabulary, which is being disintegrated one misused word at a time.

We must save ourselves! Rise up citizens, protect your mouths and your minds!
Read a dictionary!

Vocabulability

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Reality TV is great, isn’t it.

It is especially great for enriching our vocabularies. Since I’ve begun to watch HGTV, TLC, BRAVO, and the Food Network, I’ve heard words the likes of which I never knew existed. Words that are so new the dictionaries don’t even recognize them as words yet.

Take for example one of my favorites verticalability – which seems to apply to fabric that creates a long, lean look by making the eye move up and down rather than side to side.

So I’ll keep watching the shows, and I’ll keep adding to my list of new words, because hey, I want to have the best vocabulability I can possibly have!