Fun Times

I'm having a blast re-reading some of my older books. Books that were probably too far out there for their time, or books that just didn't fit into the regular publishing mold, have languished long enough on my hard drive. I'm reworking some of them to put them on Amazon, and if I have half as much fun as I did with THE LAST CAMPAIGN, I'm a very happy woman.

Despite this extra work, SIGNS is progressing. It needs a new title but I'm not inclined to stop the wordsmithing at this point to think of one. Titles, at this stage, tend to be utilitarian. Someday I'll relate the story about my first western, THE LAY OF THE LAND, and what my first editor had to say about its, um, other meaning. I was clueless.

Today, while most of the country hunkers by the fire and makes cocoa, we have warm winds, birds going chirp-happy, and buds on the forsythia. Yeah! I'm taking today as as omen that Spring and racing aren't too far behind.

At Last! The Last Campaign is up!


I could become exclamation point happy, for several reasons. One: THE LAST CAMPAIGN, one of my favorite westerns, is up on Amazon.com in Kindle format. Two: Its new cover is truly a work of art (thanks to JRG, artist extraordinaire) and Three: I figured out how to get it up there.

THE LAST CAMPAIGN is about the Tenth Cavalry (the famed Buffalo soldiers) and its campaign against the Mescalaro Apache,Victorio, and his men. The history alone is thrilling - filled with strategy from the wily Col. Benjamin Grierson, he of Grierson's Raid fame in the Late Unpleasantness, and running battles with guerrilla fighters like no others. I threw into the mix a Medal of Honor winner, our hero, who has grown soft in Washington D.C., hankering to find out if he's still capable of being "a real soldier," the woman he loved and left when he turned his back on his native South to join the Union Army, and the slave he freed when he did so. The kicker is that his lost lady-love, with a twelve year old son by her dead husband, our hero's best friend, is now ranching near Ft. Concho, Texas, with our hero's ex-slave. Yep, there's a romance as well, albeit nothing hot or heavy.

The story is totally PG. It could, in fact, work as a Young Adult. I hope teens and older will read it to find out about a little-known bit of American history and the people who lived it, as well as the fictional story of a man who thinks he's lost everything only to find out he has it all.

Daytona and Change

Not coin of the realm. Change as in: the new surface, lack of striping on the track, and the drivers who are testing have me both excited and sad. No Elliot Sadler. One of my fav photos is of a banana from his bay during testing a couple of years back. Don't ask. And Scott Speed, sitting at home, is a casualty of the Kasey Kahne deal struck with Hendrick to get him in a car for one year. I find myself wishing Rusty Wallace, Ken Schrader, and Michael Waltrip were still running regularly, which I guess makes me an oldie in terms of Nascar. While Sam Hornish never made a good impression on the stock car crowd, I keep wondering if he was really given a fair shake. Shouldn't he have started in trucks for a while before being thrown into the melee? I always worry about drivers who disappear from the scene, like Scott Wimmer.

The up-side is that the live streaming of testing on speedtv.com is great. Makes up, almost, for staying home this year. Locked myself in the office because I'm working hard to get some of my older westerns, including one I consider to be my best, The Last Campaign, into a format Kindle can read. Working on the third Tal Jefferson book for the same deal. Why not? I still have readers who want to know what happened to my slightly crazy heroine. SIGNS progresses slowly because it's a tricky book to write, and I'd like to nail it the first time around. Getting tired of doing a zillion rewrites. At this stage of the game, I should know what I'm doing, LOL.

This crazy cold weather is good for a writer. No temptation to work in the garden. However, the itch to do a little pre-season shopping for new plants and seeds is lurking in the background, trying to entice me into slacking off.

Get thee behind me, plant catalogue satan!

Law School and MLK Day

My law school alumni magazine contained a link to a YouTube hit called "So You Want to Go to Law School." I just about died laughing. It can be found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMvARyOIBLE. (Hope I entered that correctly. If not, just put in the title of the video in YouTube.) Written by a law school alumnus, it hits all the highlights of the young idealist (including switching from medicine to law because of a bad grade in biology) versus the burned-out cynic who has been through the wars.

Call me one of the burned-out cynics. On this day of remembering Dr. King, I wish I could have been more effective in protecting the rights of those the legal system has systematically treated with disdain and lack of protection of their legal rights. Whenever I had a black client in a criminal case, I knew I was already going to lose, no matter what the evidence presented. Black with a prior record? Done deal. Another black man in an orange jump suit. Now substitute cute young white guy/girl, same evidence, and it's a different story. Even if there was a conviction, time was usually suspended, probation imposed. Sorry, but those are the facts of my legal practice when I was a court-appointed defender.

Equality before the law is fundamental. Until we can achieve that, we're failing Dr. King's vision miserably.

Firefly and food

Watching old episodes of Firefly this weekend, and I notice Summer Glau progressed from crazy River to The Sarah Connor Chronicles, and now to The Cape. Not a great career choice, this last role. Firefly was fun and traditional while trying out both in space. Cape is just boring, so far. Guess they can't all be winners. Well, anything with Colin Firth can't go wrong.

Check out www.afantasteticfoodblog@blogspot.com for simple, cheap meals for one or two people. I love how the Internet is one big cookbook, if you care to hunt for something to cook.

Oh, The King's Speech is wonderful...

Food in America

While at the grocery store yesterday, I followed (without planning to), an elderly lady up and down the various aisles. You know how it is - you reach for something, and you glance at the cart in front of the shelf, and notice the contents without even thinking about it. I was buying salt-free green beans to add to the dog's food, and I saw that this lady was buying all the cheap, sodium-laden beans and veggies in the store's brand. Okay. Then it got worse. She bought the cheapest bread (nothing but air and chemicals), the cheapest hot dogs (don't ask), and that was it. No fruit, no fresh veggies, no real meat. The lady was living on canned beans and cheap hot dogs.

This morning's paper was filled with "how to eat right in the New Year" articles. Fresh vegetables. Add grains. Fresh fruit five times a day. Good enough. Then I thought of the price of fresh broccoli. $1.88 a pound. Canned beans? 42 cents a can. Apples? $1.89 a pound. Pepperidge Farm 15 grain bread? $3.99. Cheap loaf of white bread? 99 cents.

It's all well and good to tell people how to eat a healthy diet, but you have to be able to afford it. How I wish I'd connected the dots earlier and offered to pay that lady's grocery bill so she could have purchased some nutritious, fresh food. My lack of acumen shames me.

America, we have to do better by our less advantaged. NOW!

A New Year, Terminator, and Riddick

We're waiting for the VaTech game to start (who cares who they're playing, it's Virginia Tech!), and Terminator, the first flick, came on. We're glued to it for the thousandth time, no kidding. Everything about it has aged well, from the cyborg's metal skeleton to Linda Hamilton's messy/funky permed hair. Her jeans, however, remind me of the eighties when we all wore our waistbands high and felt fat, no matter how skinny we were. (And I was never skinny, LOL.) I still think it's a little weird that John Connor knows his father's identity and sends him back so he can be conceived. I mean, this whole deal where your father is younger than you and you send him back in time to be a sperm donor is totally sick. But who cares, it's the cyborg and Kyle Reese's story until the last fifteen minutes when Sarah Connor kicks in as an alpha female.

Speaking of alpha females, the women in The Chronicles of Riddick, the first one, kick some serious butt. In many ways, Sarah Connor is their cinematic mother. None of this passive "waiting" for what comes next, like the heroine of The Time Traveler's Wife. (I don't get why the book and flick were so popular. Can anyone explain it to me? The whole dangling-for-love shtick is such a drag.) Get on with your life, for heaven's sake.

Time for the game! Will think about alpha female heroines later.

New Toy

So I,along with with my kids,am now an iPad owner. Notice I didn't say "user." I'm typing this on a bluetooth keyboard that works if I perform tricks like a desperate pony, and I have no idea the correct sequence. Sometimes I guess correctly, sometimes I'm outta luck. The iPad on-screen keyboard makes me feel guilty because I'm touching the screen. Just can't do it. I'm determined to make it work, however! Then I can separate the laptop for work, and everything else to the iPad. However, this tiny keyboard may drive me to drink.

Enough torture for now. My hands are getting a cramp.

Please vote!

My daughter's oldest (since kindergarten) friend is on Youtube, playing her viola as an audition. http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=M-iEuiShwjg

Please vote for Rosalind Soltow, on the viola!
http://www.youtube.com/symphony?x=dGFiPS92b3RlL29yY2hlc3RyYWwmaW5zdHJ1bWVudD12aW9sYSZjYXRlZ29yeT1vcmNoZXN0cmFsJnZpZGVvSWQ9TS1pRXVpU2h3amc

Tacky Won, Kinda


As you can see, the bright lights won. I refrained from putting them around each window, however. And you won't get pictures of the trees in the yard, LOL. I consider this a tasteful compromise between tacky and decorous. It's fun to change things up a little, or a lot, whether in life or in your Christmas decorating.

Christmas Lights

Let me be honest - I love tacky houses. Adore the overload, the wealth of mismatched lights and decorations. Total admiration.

But when it comes to our Colonial, I just can't do it. My beloved likes some bling, but he keeps it in the yard. I get a little wild with the fresh greens and ribbons around the porch, but mostly, I like little twinkling white lights that fit the Colonial style of the house. The only problem is, this year I'm fighting a desire for wildly flashing lights and bright colors. We'll see what wins - good taste or cutting loose and getting wild!

Tried to read one of the Bourne books from the 80s, because 1) the movies were so cool and 2) Ludlum is the master of the thriller, right? OMG. SLOW. BORING OPENING. Dialogue that's dated as heck. Couldn't read it.

Today is my oldest daughter's birthday. I'm so glad I'm not in labor for 36 hours. Birthing her was a lot of work, but worth it. She's a gem and a nice young woman as well.

Post Holiday Bloat

I'm fooded out. Too much food is the diagnosis. Spicy food. Rich food. Desserts loaded with whipped cream and sugar. Even the thought has me cringing. I may never cook the Big Feast again. Just tasting the progress of everything on the stove and in the oven sent me into food-overdose. Can't even look at the leftovers in the fridge.

The only solution is shopping, right? All that walking. All that standing in line, it'll get rid of the extras in my system, I hope. Did my best this weekend to stimulate the US economy, but I don't think the jiggle in my wiggle was affected. Sigh. Time for severe austerity in the kitchen.

I really do believe all that food affects my brain. I go into this semi-awake state where every thought is an effort. Maybe it's because all my creativity heads for the kitchen? Recipes are my favorite reading? Whatever it is, the brain has to get back in shape along with the derriere. Time to give it some exercise.

Only solution: WRITE!

Time

In the background, I hear the Rolling Stones shouting "time!" At least, I think it was the Stones. I was more of a Beatles fan myself. In comparison to the Stones, the Beatles wore white hats and were squeaky clean. Although I have to admit, I want to read Keith Richards' biography, just to find out exactly how "stoned" they were. Quite a bit, is my bet.

Anywhoo, I have a new watch. A very pretty new watch. I love timepieces. Collect them. All types, all price ranges, all sizes. However, for a few years now, I've been leaving the wrist bare in an attempt to wean myself away from time: Its permutations, its limitations, its demands. I can function without one pretty well but recently, I've missed the watch as jewelry. So now I have a lovely Seiko I really really like. But am I checking the time every five seconds? I don't think so. Time is just a number. Like any other number, it only has the power you give it.

We're surrounded by numbers. Social Security, age, weight, blood pressure, deli counter lines, height, birth order, IQ and whatnot. Ignore them. They're nothing but a shell game. Who and what you are has nothing to do with time or numbers.

Christmas Shopping and oh my....

Couldn't believe it. We went Christmas shopping yesterday, instead of plunking ourselves in front of the next-to-the-last race in Phoenix. Got home in time to see Denny Hamlin fade to 12th because of fuel issues, (bet he stayed awake last night thinking of new curse words), but didn't need to suffer through the whole ESPN/Commercial show. The only good thing about the race is that JJ didn't win.

I'm out of shopping shape. Sigh. This morning my body said "what did you DO yesterday?" This may be the year Christmas comes from online vendors, LOL. Normally I've done a ton of our shopping by now, but not this November. It's hard to admit, but I'm pretty stumped. When the kids were young, Christmas was so easy it was a ton of fun. How hard is it to open the American Girl catalogue? Ah, for the good old days...

Writing is the one sane part of my day. For those precious hours, I don't worry about what to cook for Thanksgiving, when to get the Christmas decorations from the attic, or if the iPad's second generation is worth waiting for.

Cockiness, or What it Takes


Denny Hamlin is on a roll. He makes promises about his on-track performance, then he goes out and does exactly what he said he'd do. Cocky? Yeah, I'll buy that. Convinced he's a winner? You bet. Arrogant? Comes with the territory in a world that is drowning in testosterone. But you know what? He's a believer. In himself. And that's what it takes to get to the top in the jungle known as Nascar.

You can't win the Cup by saying "we're pretty good," or "the car's real nice today." Pshaw! Phooey! Let your opponents in the Chase know you've got the right stuff and you know how to use it. In this contest, the man who's got his head where the Cup is waiting, is the man to beat.

You can't write unless you believe you're a writer. You can't tell stories others will want to read unless you KNOW they're good. Man up. Grow some. Use your talent to do what you know you were born to do, and write, write, write. Set a goal: win a Pulitzer, make a bestseller list, go viral on the Web. Then go for it with dogged determination and the guts to know you're the best and you'll make it.

A Perfect Day

No humidity, blue skies, temps in the seventies, and I'm a new woman. After church, put on some Doors, fix a big glass of iced tea, forget the "to do" list, watch the Martinsville race (bad coverage by ESPN), take an unexpected nap, and it's a perfect Sunday.

Add to that, Denny Hamlin won! Go, Virginia Boy!

Baseball!

I love baseball. If I'd been born with perfect vision and a boy, I'd have worked really, really hard to be a professional ball player. Hopefully, hard work would have trumped talent, because I have none. Zilch. Nothing but a love of the game, and a passion for a perfect triple play. And a sinking ball. And catchers with their cute fingers flying in their crotches, giving instructions to the pitchers. I played on a lady lawyer softball team when I was single and had a great time despite our lack of a bench or decent fielders. I'll never forget our coach's shock when I caught a fly ball in right field. Guess he didn't think I could do it!

I root for anyone who's up against the Yankees. However, watching them rally in the first game of the playoffs against Texas, I could see why they're a championship team. They never gave up. Just plugged away, until finally, they got a run up on Texas.

Does anyone know what the meaning of the braided-looking necklaces some of the players are wearing? They look at little bit Second Grade, so I couldn't help but wonder if someone's daughter made them for the team.

Dirty Politics/Rob Whitman/Krystal Ball

I have to be up-front here. I don't like Rob Whitman either as a person or as a politician. This means nothing to you unless you're in the 1st Congressional District of Virginia, which I am not, so I can't vote against the man.

As the French would say, tant pis. Too bloody bad. If I lived in his district, I'd be hoofing it door to door, campaigning against him, and it has nothing to do with party affiliation.

Do I for one second believe his campaign for re-election had nothing to do with posting the photo of his opponent, Krystal Ball, online? The private picture with her ex-husband, when they were married and at a Halloween party, with a definitely ribald pose? The picture Whitman's campaign must have been digging for, because it had never been seen anywhere before it showed up on the Web a few days ago?

Absolutely not, I don't believe Whitman's protestations of innocence. Whitman's people are jumping with joy about getting this picture into the public eye. Why? Does a 29 year old accountant with a toddler and a small business scare Whitman so much? He won't debate her, which leads me to believe she has something going for her that he's avoiding. Like integrity. A sane voice on the issues. Honesty. A sincere desire to serve.

Maybe he's afraid because she's running for the right reasons - to work on the issues, not for political power and personal gain. I have observed that people who suck up to the power brokers and those who can advance them personally are not the people I want in office. Fits Whitman to a "T."

Watch how politicians treat those who aren't wealthy, powerful, or well-known. Observe their manners when speaking with the "regular" people in their sphere. You'll learn a lot. Whitman deserves to lose on November 2, and not just because of the dirty tricks he's pulling on Krystal Ball.

Protecting children

from Disney. Yes, the Walter Disney Company. Hang in there with me. . . .

My daughter who is working on her master's degree in Library Information Services tells me she had a deprived childhood. Not only did she not get to read THE GIVER, but I also withheld OLD YELLER (film and book) and anything dealing with death of animals and/or best friends. Let me warn you about the first Kirsten book in the American Girl series. I couldn't believe it when Kirsten's friend died of yellow fever on the boat to America. Could not believe it.

I also promptly gave away any and all videos of BAMBI and OLD YELLER, and to this day, unless my adult kids are lying, they haven't seen them. Nightmares, that's what those movies gave me. Unadulterated nightmares. What was Disney thinking? Bambi's mother's death scarred me for life. Not joking here. No child should have those images inflicted on her. So mine didn't.

Normally, Newbery books are required reading in this house, but THE GIVER was just too morbid. Why can't we let kids be kids as long as possible? I read every book my kids read before they got it in their hands. Call me the Mom-censor. I wear the badge proudly. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.