First Tree of Fall

I hereby pronounce this Victorville's first tree of fall ... in my neighborhood, at least.

Fall gets off to a slow start here in Southern California, maybe even more so in the High Desert. A few days ago, this little tree was aflame with red and orange leaves. Unfortunately, the wind got to it before me and my camera.

But as you can see in the next photo, the trees stretching off behind it are all still fully engulfed in green. 

It may be fall, but I guess they didn't get the memo.

Morning Glories, Kevin McCarthy and the Twilight Zone

"We love a rose because we know it will soon be gone. Who ever loved a stone?"

Kevin McCarthy delivered those lovely words, written by Charles Beaumont, from my television screen last night. We were watching the Twilight Zone episode, "Long Live Walter Jameson," in honor of McCarthy's passing earlier this week.

I thought of that line today when I walked outside to admire my morning glories. It's quite a crop, if I do say so myself. I counted 34 of them this morning.

Know what? By tonight every one of them will be gone. The flowers close up and don't re-open. On some hot days, they don't even make it 'til noon.

It's the nature of morning glories. They open as the sun falls on them (as if to trumpet the morning -- hence their name). And they don't last more than a day. They have a shelf life even shorter than a rose.

Amazingly, there might be just as many new ones tomorrow.

There's something special about this kind of transitory beauty, and the way it can replenish itself. It's both temporary and eternal at the same time.

I guess, as people, we're the same way. In most ways, we're temporary. But it's nice to know that Mr. McCarthy, who left us at 96, lived long enough to see his TV episode enjoyed and preserved for generations to follow. We heard his voice on the commentary last night, marveling at the quality of the print and saying very nice things about the actors he worked with.

It's a shame that the writer of the episode, Charles Beaumont, and the show's creator, Rod Serling, didn't live to see how long their work would survive them. Beaumont died at just 38; Serling was only 50. I hate that. But it does show that we don't always know how much of a mark we're going to leave.

The TV episode we watched last night first aired 50 years ago. Fifty years!

It's lasted a heck of a lot longer than a rose. Or a morning glory.

Kitchen Table Talk

Last weekend my mom and sister came out from Texas for an all-too-brief visit. Guess where we spent most of our time for those two days?

Around the kitchen table.

Funny thing is, I didn't even do much cooking while they were here. The kitchen table isn't just about food. It's about sitting around and gabbing.

My husband didn't quite get it. He joined us from time to time, pulling up a chair and chatting sociably. But after a while he'd say, "Wouldn't you guys rather sit in the living room where it's more comfortable?"

I don't know exactly why, but the kitchen table runs deep in the female of the species. Watch at your next family gathering. Whether it's before the meal or after, the women tend to land in the kitchen, the men in the living room. You might think it's because that's where the TV is. Admittedly, the big game can be a big draw at Thanksgiving time. But I say the tradition started way before television. Read a 19th-century novel, and you're likely to see the men retire to the drawing room for brandy and cheroots, while the women ... do what? Wash dishes? Sit in a sewing circle? Faint? I don't remember.

For whatever reason, the kitchen table is the scene for female bonding.

Men don't get it. They prefer a cushy sofa to those hard-backed chairs. And maybe they are lured by the glow of television's electronic hearth -- or, in earlier days, the fireplace. Maybe it's a caveman thing.

But how does that explain us, clustered around a hard surface in those hard-backed chairs?

Maybe it's because, like it or not, the kitchen table puts us closer to the center of traditional female chores. Far from being a physical barrier, it's the perfect place to cluster around, to talk about everything and nothing. It's also a great place to rest that cup of coffee, or soda, or whatever.

I can't really explain it. It just works -- and I wouldn't trade the hours we spent there for the world.

Discipline and the Power of Deadlines

Or, Where's a Deadline When You Need One?

Confession: Every book I've written has been finished after I got a request from an editor or an agent. It wasn't a hard-and-fast calendar deadline – but someone was waiting for it, and it wouldn't look good if I took too long.

But what if there's no one out there waiting for your work? Or they don't need that work Right Now?

In addition to my fiction, I've branched out into the world of freelance journalism. I've produced somewhere around 200 articles in the past year and a half – because someone was waiting for them. And still, I fight the demon of procrastination.

I'll start promptly this morning, I say. After I have this cup of coffee with my husband. After I check my e-mail one more time (and this Yahoo headline about Crystal Bowersox). After I have another quick bite to eat, so I can focus. After I write this blog entry. (Yep, you caught me.)

I'll be EARLY on this deadline because if I am, I can have a free day tomorrow to goof off with no deadline hanging over my head.

Doesn't work. That deadline has to be hovering over me like the black shadow of the sword of Damocles before I really buckle down for hours of straight-ahead, non-distracted work.

I know several writers who are now blessed with contracts from publishers, and most of them admit to the same problem. After finishing their latest novel at a hard sprint, they vow to pace themselves better next time. If I start early, they tell themselves, I'll only have to write "X" number of pages a week. But even when they start early, the pace doesn't really pick up until that deadly sword is hanging low. Could be in the last month before that deadline ... could be the last two weeks.

I think the problem is, we writers are Creative Types. And I think the same part of our brains that makes us Creative Types also, perversely, makes us resist Creating until we're darn good and ready.

I've discovered, time and time again, that self-imposed deadlines aren't enough to make me more productive. They fall under that softer, smushier label called "goals." Goals make me feel guilty, make me aware I'm falling short, but so far, the ugly little buggers have never made me turn out a book according to schedule.

What I need, of course, is self-discipline. I looked up "self-discipline" on Dictionary.com (because I'm too lazy to get up and pull my dictionary off the shelf). It's defined as "discipline and training of oneself, usually for improvement." Doesn't tell me much I didn't know – but I find it interesting that the site says the word didn't originate until around 1830-1840.

"Discipline," on the other hand, appears to be a much older concept, dating back to 1175–1225. Two of the nine definitions sounded appropriate to me. One was "behavior and order maintained by training and control."

The other definition: "an instrument of punishment, esp. a whip or scourge, used in the practice of self-mortification or as an instrument of chastisement …"

With that thought in mind, I think I'll get to work.

Fair Food ... or, is this even legal???!!

Is it my imagination, or has food at county fairs gotten even more unhealthy in recent years?

I remember corn dogs and fried cheese on a stick. But I don't remember fried Klondike bars, fried White Castle burgers, fried Twinkies -- even fried avocados?

(My son begged for the fried frog legs. But I think he did it to mess with my daughter, who was still reeling over the thought that all the livestock at the fair could end up on someone's dinner table.)

All the pictures you see here were taken Saturday at the Orange County Fair. Honest.

However, no actual family members were harmed by any of these foods. We managed to resist the temptation. If only because they didn't have my sinful favorite from the San Bernardino County Fair: Fried Snickers bars.

COMPUTERS CAN'T READ

I saw an article recently about a popular new Web site, "I Write Like." It offers to analyze samples of your writing and tell you what famous author you sound like.

I thought it sounded fun, and ran for some sample text from my work in progress.

My husband, on the other hand, snorted. "Type in some Charles Dickens and see what it says."

I did. I copied-and-pasted a couple of different sections from an online version of A Christmas Carol. It came up with James Joyce once, and Stephen King twice. But no Dickens.

Then I tried a few samples of my own work. Based on samples taken from the same chapter of my current book, it thinks I write like David Foster Wallace, Kurt Vonnegut ... or Stephen King.

I took a closer look at the article, by AP entertainment writer Jake Coyle. Turns out the site was set up by a Russian software programmer named Dmitry Chestnykh. English isn't his first language, and he created the program using three complete books by about 50 authors for comparison. (I'm not sure if Dickens made it or not.)

It sounds like Mr. Chestnykh worked pretty hard on it, poor guy, but there are obviously a few bugs in the system.

Here's the biggest bug: Computers can't read.

No matter how much programmers teach them about types of words, grammar and sentence structure, a computer can't tell what we mean.

In my critique group, we've had some fun lately looking at what Microsoft Word's analysis has to say about our writing. It rates our work in terms of grade level, what percentage of passive voice we use, and "readability." (We're still trying to figure out what "readability" means.)

I'm a big fan of sentence fragments, contractions and sentences that start with words like "but" and "so." So, of course, grammar check has a fit. And Microsoft said my last chapter was written just below the fourth grade level.

OW!!!

Of course, I'm no Hemingway, but with his legendary simplicity, I'm not so sure he'd get a higher grade than me. I can take comfort in that.

Here's my point. Computers are wonderful tools, but they're just that -- tools. They're made to serve us, not the other way around. They may be able to help us snuff out some of that pesky passive voice – but the darn fools would never notice if your character drove his car into the garbage instead of the garage.

You know what you mean better than any software program can, so don't rush to "up" your grade level just because a computer says so. And don't rush to channel your inner Stephen King just because a Web site says you sound more like Dan Brown. (You shouldn't be trying to sound like anyone else anyway. Right?)

Do what no computer can do. Read your work. Listen to your words. Decide if they say what you want them to say.

But for kicks and giggles, you can check out "I Write Like" here.

Summer Clearance

Have you noticed? Summer's over.

It ended about two weeks ago, at least as far as most stores are concerned. Time to blow out those needless bathing suits, beach towels and flip-flops.

Never mind the fact that here in the High Desert, we're in the midst of the year's first full-blown heat wave. 109 degrees? Must be a figment of our imagination.

I know, it's a well-worn rant. Still, why is it that stores can only stand to have current seasonal merchandise for about two weeks before they usher in the next season? It must work out all right for the retailers, or they wouldn't do it. But really, who buys this stuff? I've seen Valentine candy for sale the day after Christmas. Christmas decorations on display right across from the Halloween aisle. And of course, right now, fall is busting out all over.

I'll admit to a sneaking fondness for this one, however. In Southern California, where summer looms hot and long, it's nice to look forward to the promise of snuggling up indoors. A time when warmth is something to be enjoyed, instead of a blazing sun to cower from. Fall is the season of home and hearth -- of scented candles, pumpkins and rust-colored pillows.

But when they bring in those pastel shades the first week of January, I want to smack someone.

Maybe we all have a built-in resistance to living in the present. We like looking forward to what's around the next corner. When we're not doing that, we're being nostalgic. Just turn on the radio and notice how many of the songs are oldies.

What's the answer to this perversity? Do we embrace the summer heat? Or give in and start stocking up on sweaters?

Me, I'm hiding indoors with the air conditioning.

I've Been Tagged!

Oh, this is so exciting. I feel like I've been asked to my first prom. (Long overdue, since I didn't go to mine in high school.)

Fellow Avalon author I.J. Parnham has tagged me. I'm new to this -- can we say "long overdue" again? -- but here's how it goes: I answer the questions below, which Ian posted on his blog. Then, I "tag" four more people, asking them to post their answers to the same questions. It's not a big pressure thing -- it's up to them if they'd like to respond, and up to them if they'd like to pass it on.

But I wanna play! So here goes:

Four Movies that I can see over and over.
1. Casablanca
2. Return to Me
3. Frankenstein ... or Young Frankenstein ... or any of the classic monsters of the '30s and '40s
4. Galaxy Quest ("Never Give Up! Never Surrender!!!")

Four Places I have lived.
1. Colorado Springs, Colorado
2. Covina, California
3. Los Angeles (about 2 blocks from Farmer's Market -- sigh!)
4. Victorville, California

Four TV shows that I love to watch.
1. Wonder Years
2. I Love Lucy
3. The Andy Griffith Show
4. Carnivale (one of these things is not like the others....)

Four places where I have gone on vacation.
1. Yosemite
2. Bryce Canyon
3. Mustang, Oklahoma
4. San Francisco

Four favorite foods.
1. Chinese/Mongolian Barbeque
2. Hole-in-the-wall Mexican food
3. Lobster (rarely, but I can dream!)
4. Popcorn

Four websites I visit daily
1. Facebook
2. Yahoo Mail
3. Bank of America
4. The blogs I'll list when I do my tagging!

Four places I would rather be.
1. On a walk with my husband
2. Bodacious Bundts, our cozy local coffeehouse
3. Barnes & Noble
4. The Golden Gate Bridge

Four things that I would like to do before I die.
1. Write a bestseller
2. Take my husband to England -- a visit to Abbey Road is a must!
3. See my children happily married (and maybe grandkids?!)
4. Finish knitting that sweater I started in August '05!

Four novels I wish that I was reading for the first time.
1. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
2. The Lucifer Cove series by Virginia Coffman
3. The Stand by Stephen King
4. Cold Tea on a Hot Day by Curtiss Ann Matlock

Four people to tag.
1. Stephanie Newton
2. Jennifer Shirk
3. Curtiss Ann Matlock
4. Cathy Pegau

I Hate When This Happens

That blank TV screen over there is ours. It's been like that for four days now … and not for lack of trying to turn it on.

See, we bought a Toshiba DLP television set in 2004. It has a nasty habit, about once a year, of blowing the light bulb that provides the picture. This time we replaced the bulb, but it still doesn't work. That means the problem may be the "ballast," whatever that is, which we replaced about 2 years ago. (I don't know how much the situation has improved, but if you're shopping for a Toshiba TV, be sure to check out the consumer satisfaction reports.)

The worst part of having a broken TV is realizing how much we depend on it.

I hate that. Because it blows my delusions. We used to say, "We don't watch that much TV." And we don't ... if you're talking about current TV. A little Jeopardy, a little news, the occasional David Letterman or SNL, if there's a guest we're interested in.

What we have found, since we got our problem TV, is that our family of four does watch a lot of "pre-recorded" TV. DVDs of favorite movies, rentals from Netflix, episodes of classic TV shows like The Twilight Zone, the Honeymooners and The Andy Griffith Show. (Yes, we're very retro.)

It's a little alarming to discover how tough it can be to spend a family evening at home without That Box. On the plus side, TV is something we share -- we don't go to separate corners of the house and watch separate sets. But we never realized how much the television acts as a social center for our family. Board games are great, but sometimes they take a little more "oomph" than my husband and I have at the end of the day. And I love to read, but when everyone's together, it feels kind of antisocial. We've yet to try sitting in a circle, all ensconced in our own books.

Instead, the other night we found ourselves in front of the computer, searching YouTube for old TV commercials featuring Muhammad Ali, while I read selections from a book of David Letterman's Top 10 lists. We went to bed early.

The next day my husband and I were out for a walk. I asked him, "What did people do at night back in the '40s?"

"Listened to the radio."

"Okay. What did they do in the '20s?"

"Scrubbed clothes on a washboard. Came home late from the factory. Drank bathtub gin."

Hoo, boy.

The TV repairman is scheduled to come today. If it's not good news ... anybody got a recipe for bathtub gin?

What Is So Rare As A Day In June?

(with apologies to poet James Russell Lowell)


In the High Desert, a day like this in June is especially rare. While people in other parts of the world look forward to the summer sun, I hug on to cloudy days like this with all my might.

See, we desert denizens know what's comin'. Summer is ruthless here, and it's long. We continue to get some blasting hot days through October, although cool breezes come by and kiss us more often by then.

Rain is even more rare than clouds, but when we get it, it can be pretty dramatic. Like the thunderstorm that hit this afternoon, about twenty minutes after I shot these pictures. (How's that for timing?) We had some huge thunder cracks, about thirty seconds of hale, then some great big drops of rain. Toward the end, it was raining through bright sunshine.

Earlier today, I went for a walk with my husband and discovered this peculiar tree. What the heck is it? A gold star to anyone who can tell me! (For a closer look, just click on the photos.) The fronds look like something from the willow family. The buds of the yellow flowers look like little green peas before they open. And by the way, they smell great.

Whatever the tree is, I doubt very much it's from around here. It's funny how much we've tried to adapt the desert to ourselves, instead of the other way around. (Except for central air. That's a MUST.) But then, I don't think most of us actually planned to live in the Mojave Desert.

I suppose, like my mystery tree, we all find a way to bloom where we're planted!

The Time Sucker, Revisited

About a week ago on this blog, I confessed my Internet addiction and vowed -- publicly! -- to change my ways. I would stay offline between 10 AM and 4 PM, the period when I'm most likely to succumb to temptation. (The rest of the time, my household is pretty active, so there's less chance to get lost in cyberspace.)

Three days later, a kind and attentive friend CAUGHT me when I posted a new blog entry during the forbidden time zone.

Whoa. Talk about accountability.

I learned an important lesson that day. If I'm gonna cheat and go on the Internet, I'd better not post and get caught.

But in all honesty, how have I done?

Well, accountability is a wonderful thing. Knowing that my sharp-eyed friends may notice if I contact them in my "down" hours, I've pretty much avoided any posting or e-mailing during the Forbidden Zone. I won't say I haven't broken the rules at all, but I've discovered it's hard to go online and stay quiet. For me, anyway.

So I plan to stay the course. With more self-discipline, I hope to report lots of productive uses for all those new-found minutes. Today, for starters, I finally put away all those clean clothes that were piled up in the laundry room. Well, almost all. I've got it down to one REALLY scary basket of socks. Tomorrow maybe I'll find out if any of them belong together.

Crime and Punishment and Me

I just found out I'm a sociopath.

This morning I took one of those online quizzes: "What Work of Literature are You?" Here's the disturbing outcome:

Your result is Crime and Punishment.

You have an unimaginable ability to rationalize your own wrongdoings. You see the world through your own eyes. Laws weren't made for you, no, they were made for those who are not destined for greatness, and no matter what "wrongs" you commit, in truth it's all for the good of the world, right?

Now, I've always thought of myself as a pretty mild-mannered sort. This sounds like there must be bodies stashed in my basement. And I don't even have a basement! I've been framed, I tell ya.

So I went back over the quiz and tried to figure out which of my responses could have tripped the amoral-psycho button. Here's what it asked me, followed by my answers ... and my defenses.

Q: If I could live at any time and place in history, it would be...
A: 20th Century Europe (never mind the blasted war!).
I chose this one only because "here and now" wasn't an option. And hey, some mighty fine music came out during that blasted war.

Q: Which passage most appeals to you?
A: "The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it."
I liked the folksy style of this one immediately, even before reading far enough to recognize it as a line from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. You can't go wrong with Mark Twain. Or so I thought....

Q: Your best friend is...

A: My family.
Hey, what could be nicer than that?

Q: When confronted in life by difficulty, your attitude is...
A: There are some things which are surmountable, and some that are not. Isn't it strange that what some of us perceive as difficult and impossible, other perceive as simple, or character-building, or valorous. I wonder, where do these perceptions come from?
Okay, that's pretty pretentious. Maybe that's the one that nailed me. But the other choices ranged from Super-Teflon-Woman to helplessly wringing my hands and dunking my head in a bucket.

Q: Of the following films, which has been your favorite?

A: Chinatown.
Yeah, this one could have gotten me into trouble, too. But my unlikely alternatives included Star Wars, Milo and Otis, Love in the Time of Cholera, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (another Jack Nicholson film likely to set off the psycho buzzer).

Q: Your preferred mode of transportation would be...
A: Anything that brings me homeward.
See? See what a nice, loving homebody I am? I admit, I did flirt with "a steam engine, rolling through the hills and jungle." But it sounded kinda hot and sticky.

Q: What gets you through the day?
A: The pursuit of greatness, despite humble surroundings.
Maybe this one pushed some closet-megalomaniac button. But the other available choices didn't include anything close to "a hug from my husband," "a good book," or even "coffee -- and lots of it." So, I settled for the dream of being a bestselling author living in the heart of suburbia.

(sigh)

The charge of "soulless anarchist" is a hard one to defend. Kind of like the accused witches of Salem. The more you try to deny it, the more guilty you sound. So I'll leave the verdict up to you.

If you're reading this, you have two obvious choices:

A) Don't believe everything you read in quizzes.
B) Don't sit anywhere near me at a dinner party.

The Time Sucker

I don't know about you, but my computer has tentacles that reach out and grab me by the face whenever I sit down to use it.

I wish I could tell you those tentacles belong to my Muse. That when I sit down, I create page after page of compelling prose, dragged forward by characters who won't let me go until they live happily ever after, or at least until the need for food drags me away from my chair before I fall over.

But this tentacled time sucker goes by another name, and I think you and I both know what it is.

The Internet.

This wonderful source of information and communication has a sinister dark side that most writers know all too well. Sit down to write? Better check my e-mail first. And my other two e-mail accounts. I'll reply to this one. Oh look, here's a link to a review of that new movie. And while I'm at it, I've been meaning to look up that familiar face I saw on a movie two weeks ago on IMDb (the Internet Movie Data Base, which really is a gold mine). Wonder who's on Facebook. And what's going on with my favorite blogs? Oh, and maybe I've gotten a reply to my reply....

(slurrp)

That's the sound of my face being sucked into the computer, along with a lot of my time and very possibly some of my brains.

For a person who often complains about not having enough time, I surrender a lot of it to this brain sucking beast. The thing is, unlike writing -- or doing the laundry or cleaning the house -- the Internet requires almost no effort. No discipline, no prep time, and hey, it'll only take a few minutes. (HA!!) Do monitors have cathode rays that lull us into a near-hypnotic state? Whatever it is, for me, it's way more addictive than channel-surfing.

Now that I've made a public confession, I feel a need to follow through and clean up my act. So here it is: I hereby limit my Internet hours. I'm going to shoot for nothing between 10 AM and 4 PM -- that's when those "quick checks" seem to gobble up the most of my time. 'Course, I'm breaking my own rules by posting this now, but after all, the rules are brand new. Watch me from here on out, and see if I can stick to my guns.

And the same goes for the Internet's wicked cousin, Spider Solitaire....

Keep Your Hands Off My Bodice

I'm blogging today at the Avalon Authors blog! Come share your thoughts on that inescapable phrase, "bodice ripper," at:

Avalon Authors: Keep Your Hands Off My Bodice

See you there!

Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone

or, Frank Sinatra Remembered ... Again

How can Frank Sinatra be dead? He was singing in my living room just the other day, sounding as big as life on my home stereo.

I've got you under my skin....

Nevertheless, May 14th marks the eleventh anniversary of his death, and I couldn't resist the desire to say a few words about him. Even though it's hard to find say anything about Sinatra that hasn't already been said.

When somebody loves you, it's no good unless he loves you
All the way....

Every time I put on some of his music, I'm struck anew. Popular music may not change the world very much, but still -- the world sounds better because he was in it.

The world may forget you as time goes passing by
The stars will remember, and so will I.

That last set of lyrics comes, ironically, from a forgotten song Sinatra recorded in 1947, "The Stars Will Remember," written by Leo Towers and Don Pelosi. (If you can hunt it down, it's a beauty.) While Frank Sinatra is in no danger of being forgotten any time soon, he is in danger of being oversimplified. Too many people today know him only as the Rat Pack guy, the finger-popping dude who did songs like "Luck Be a Lady" and "New York, New York." That's one side of Sinatra, and the razzle-dazzle style is hard to forget. But there was so much more. That fourteen-carat voice gave us some of the most amazing melodies ever sung, and he knew just how to caress the words and make them glow.

In this world of overrated pleasures
Of underrated treasures
I'm glad there is you....

Frank Sinatra didn't write any of the lyrics I've posted here. But he was one of the first to re-record many of the songs we now know as standards, songs that came before his initial heyday of the 1940s. Without Sinatra, we might not know "I've Got You Under My Skin," "I've Got a Crush on You" or "The Way You Look Tonight." Or songs he made famous in his era, like "All the Way," "I've Got the World on a String" and "Young at Heart." That's what I love about Sinatra. His work embodies so much of the greatest music ever written.

So, in that way, Sinatra lives, alongside great songwriters like Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart, Oscar Hammerstein, Jerome Kern, Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, George and Ira Gershwin, Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen. He brought their music to life, for me and countless others.

And I guess that's as close to immortality as you can get.

The Best Part of "Sleepover" ...

... is "over."

To be fair, the boys were actually very good. And we shortened the living room invasion by taking them to a ball game first. Even better, the home team won. 9-1. Woo-hoo, High Desert Mavericks!

Preparing for Home Invasion

You read it right. I'm preparing for a home invasion.

In a few hours, my house will be overrun by four extra teen boys. My son turns 14 on Monday, so it's time for his third annual birthday sleepover.

Hold me.

When my husband and I started this now-ingrained tradition, it sounded like a welcome relief after all the years of Chuck E. Cheese parties. (May I add that it was HIS idea?) But every year, the boys get a little bigger, and we become more aware of what to expect.

A living room laden with sleeping bags, soda and popcorn. Sounds of explosions from Naruto Ultimate Ninja, Transformers and James Bond. While my husband and I hide in the bedroom, and my nine-year-old daughter huddles with us, looking at me piteously for her share of the attention. The grinding of our teeth when the video game marathon stretches past midnight. The agonizing over where to draw the line on this semi-supervised anarchy.

Could be worse, you parents of older teens are probably saying. At least we know where they are.

Oh, YEAH, we know where they are.

And right now they're still polite to us. I should be counting my blessings. But I've figured it out. They know that putting up with dorky adults is a necessity. At least until they're 16, and big enough to get their hands on the car keys.

Will there be a 15-year-old sleepover? I'm not sure yet. But when I think of what happens when he hits sixteen....

Hold me.

Sibling Rivalry

This photo sort of sums up the relationship between my two dogs.

I'm trying to take a picture of our old girl, Taz, wearing my Colorado Rockies t-shirt. Then, new boy Bela butts his head in.

For the record, I don't usually dress up my dogs in people clothes. Or even dog clothes. But we gave Taz her spring haircut last week ... and then it turned cold again. She shivered around the house, giving us pleading looks. So I donated my treasured, but weathered, Rockies shirt. I think it looks good on her, don't you?

It does appear to have given her self-confidence a boost. Bela still butts in when she's getting attention -- he answers to her name far more quickly than to his -- but she's standing her ground more these days.

Just like any good ball player. Even at fourteen and a half, she keeps on sluggin'.

Uh-oh ... I'm not THAT Sierra Donovan!

I was Googling myself yesterday and nearly fell out of my chair when I read this:

"In Southern California, Sierra Donovan is stunned by the photos she just received of her naked except for chocolate syrup...."

ACK!!!

The fact that I live in Southern California added an extra, bone-chilling element. Did some cyber-stalker sneak a webcam into my house, spot my emergency stash of Hershey's kisses, and get the wrong idea?

Peering nervously over my shoulder, I read on. Turns out the piece is a review of an upcoming Harlequin Blaze novel by Tawny Weber. And the fictional Sierra Donovan isn't any more of a chocolate eclair than I am. Those nasty photos in the story were doctored up by some bad guys who are out to blackmail the heroine.

But how'd the heroine get my name? If she had red hair and an addiction to Spider Solitaire, I might start hunting under my bed for that webcam.

So I contacted author Tawny Weber to ask how she ended up turning me into a dessert. (We've bumped into each other on author websites a few times, but let's just say her name is more recognizable than mine.) She explained that when she was looking for a last name for her character Sierra -- named after her dog!! -- "Donovan" sounded right. She just didn't realize it was the ring of familiarity.

Hey, I've always been pretty partial to the name myself. And I know what catch-alls our writers' brains can be.

Since the book is coming out in black and white next month, I can look on the bright side. It's always nice to see my name in print. And I can certainly think of worse fates than being rolled in chocolate. It couldn've been Crisco. Or peanut butter. Or killer bees. (Although, come to think of it, where there's chocolate, the bees might not be far behind....)

If you're curious about Tawny's book, you'll find an excerpt here. You'll find that her Sierra Donovan is a smart businesswoman (dark brunette, by the way). As a Blaze character, she may be a bit more adventuresome than my heroines ... but a truffle she's not.

So here's to Tawny, who put me in print without my having to lift a finger. Can't ask for better publicity than that!

Although, fair warning, girlfriend: My sister once had a golden retriever named Tawny....

GUILTY PLEASURE: Beyonce's "Single Ladies"

"If you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it...."

I admit it: I can't resist this song. I love that big hook line. But the lingering feminist part of me can't help feeling guilty.

On the surface, it's a gal celebrating her freedom, because she got away from some guy who wouldn't commit. In your face, commitment-phobe!

Why I feel guilty:

1) A single lady shouldn't think of herself as an "it" -- a piece of property to be branded if a guy wants to keep a hold of "it."

2) Single ladies are now putting their hands in the air at some club to advertise that they're up for grabs. (We're not really supposed to believe they're just there to dance with each other, are we?) Seems like they're in an awful big hurry to find some other guy....

3) Single ladies should know this is EXACTLY how they're most likely to meet up with ANOTHER guy who's not gonna put a ring on it.

But man, it's catchy.

Bet you a quarter: In less than a year, there'll be a romance on the shelves with a title based on that hook!