'Tis the Season

I always forget this part.

I look forward to the Christmas season all year long. The music, the festive colors, the reminder of what it all means. Sure, it's hectic. And sure, sometimes I get stressed. But what I think of first is the warmth of the season and the sense of celebration.

Then December approaches, and it starts. The rumbling of the retailers. By Thanksgiving week, it's built to a ferocious din as all the stores try to outdo each other. To beat each other to the punch. To be open sooner, to have the sale that YOU CAN'T MISS or you'll be throwing money away. Put down that eggnog!

I'm not into crowds. I usually stay home. But even here, with the blinds drawn, it's hard to escape the persistent feeling that if I'm not shopping RIGHT NOW, it's costing me a fortune.

This year, I'm not only drawing my blinds, I'm thinking of caulking my windows.

I'm neurotic enough without retailers telling me it's do or die and DON'T MISS OUT.

So this year, more than ever, I'm determined to make Christmas what I always promise myself it will be. A time to curl up with that eggnog, listen to the music and, by golly, read some of those Christmas books I've been looking forward to all year.

Yeah, I'll go shopping, too. When I'm good and ready.

Peace on Earth is there for us -- if we allow ourselves to slow down long enough to grasp it.

Don't miss out.

HAPPILY EVER AFTER ... OR NOT?

by Sierra Donovan

As I believe I've mentioned, I'm in the business of helping characters live happily ever after.

But I've got to admit, some of my favorite stories – even my favorite love stories – don't always meet that criteria. Sometimes a tragic or poignant ending is just what's needed.

Below, you'll find some of my favorite stories – some on film, some in books -- that don't end with that traditional happily-ever-after. And although I won't go into great detail, since I'm going to be discussing endings, let me preface the rest of this blog entry with: SPOILER ALERT!!

Casablanca: There's a reason this is considered one of the greatest movies of all time. Take two star-crossed lovers, give them an unresolvable conflict – then manage to have them part and leave the audience feeling good about it. Every scene in this movie is fabulous, but that ending … Here's looking at you, kid.

The Great Gatsby: Oh, I loved this book. At first I didn't think I'd be able to relate to any of the characters, but when I discovered the lengths Gatsby went to for love, I was blown away. He created a complete, artificial persona, yet he was so much more real than the people around him. At the end, he's destroyed by his own idealistic vision of Daisy, but I'm still consoled by Nick's final words to his friend: “You're worth the whole damn bunch put together.”

Roman Holiday: When you start with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, it would be hard to go wrong. And the writers don't go wrong. They even have the guts to resist working out an unlikely Hollywood ending that would make it possible for the couple to be together. It's lump-in-the-throat time, but it's so rewarding.

Tucker: He loses the battle, but it's a triumph of the spirit when he invites the jurors out for a ride in those beautiful, non-existent cars.

Gone With the Wind: Readers and moviegoers may disagree on whether Scarlett could ever get Rhett back, but there's no denying this is one of the most unforgettable endings of all time!

How about you? Which tragic/tear-jerker endings stand out in your mind?

Romance, Television-Style

I'm not a weekly-TV-series type of viewer. My husband and I are much more likely to pop in a movie when we settle in on the couch at night. But with the growth of Netflix and the phenomenon of “binge watching” – largely by my two kids who live at home – I've gotten familiar with some recent series.

I've found that situation comedies have changed a lot since the days of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show,” when the situations and characters changed very slowly over the course of seasons, if they changed at all. Now there's a lot more story progress over the course of even a single season. It's a great opportunity for character and relationship development.

Surprise! Romance figures into this, because a lot of central plots have to do with romantic relationships. Will this couple end up together … or not?

SPOILER ALERT for Netflix viewers: shield your eyes if you haven't seen all of “The Office” or the first six seasons of “Parks and Recreation.”

These two series get it right (in my humble opinion). There's a lot of anticipation and expectation built on key relationships. Then the writers go on to affirm what they've made us believe in our bones: Jim and Pam belong together. Ben and Leslie belong together. The characters are written consistently and believably, even through moments of doubt. And ultimately, and the writers deliver on our expectations.

Now, let's talk for a minute about “How I Met Your Mother,” and where I think this one gets it wrong.

I haven't seen how this series ends. But I do know last year's season finale had viewers screaming. Even without having seen it, I'm pretty sure I can tell you why.

If ever a series was built on expectation, it's this one. It's in the very title. We're teased from Day One that we're building toward the revelation of Ted finding his true love.

Writers, you set your audience up for disappointment.

You promised a payoff, but we keep being told Mom is NOT any of the characters we're watching now. She's going to be someone we haven't invested in. What are the odds that the viewers are NOT going to be disappointed in the outcome?

An even worse sin (in my humble opinion): time and again, the series set us up to anticipate a relationship between one couple or another. Usually the buildup is very well done. The characters spend months out of a season yearning for each other, longing for each other, just missing each other. And then, when the two people do get together, it's usually – PFFFT! – over within a couple of episodes. After that, the much-anticipated couple goes back to interacting pretty much the same way they did before all that longing ever started. What is this, partial amnesia?

No, it's inconsistency. I think the series tried to break ground by flying in the face of viewers' expectations. I think what it did, instead, was tease the viewers, then contradict what it had told us about the characters. I can't address the finale, but from season to season, the series repeatedly went back on its promises.

Romance fiction is often criticized for being predictable. Yes, the couple gets together, as promised. Just as, in a murder mystery, the killer is discovered. As promised.

In real life, we're not promised happy resolutions. In fact, we're not promised resolutions at all. This is where fiction is different. We go in expecting that the story will reach a satisfying resolution. Depending on the genre, that ending may or may not be happy, but it needs to satisfy. It needs to be consistent with the author has told us. It needs to keep its promise.

Love: The Prime Motivator

“Oh, I don’t care much for romance.”

Those are words that romance writers – and readers – often hear. The funny thing is, it’s hard to find a good story without it.

Last night my husband and I watched a classic ghost story, “The Uninvited.” A man and his sister move into a haunted house. Sort of an unusual domestic arrangement. Why are they brother and sister? So the brother is able to become romantically involved with Stella, the young woman who’s the target of the spirits in the house.

Why is that? Because storytellers recognize that most of us are driven by the need for romantic love. A story may not be billed as a “romance,” but you’ll find romance at the heart of most stories.

Think of the classics, and you’ll find that the desire for romantic love is usually a prime motivator for the characters, even if that pursuit is misguided. In “The Great Gatsby,” the title character builds a new life for, and is finally destroyed by, the pursuit of love. In “Casablanca,” the story hinges on the lost love between Rick and Ilsa. “Gone with the Wind” without the passion of Scarlett and Rhett? I don’t think so.

What about action films? Let’s talk “Spiderman.” In the 2002 film, Peter Parker tells us in the opening narration: “Let me assure you, this, like any story worth telling, is all about a girl.” How about film noir? The leading man in “Double Indemnity” may be motivated by lust rather than love … but he’s built it up into something pretty important by the time he’s willing to kill a guy for it. In horror, the mummy is after his lost mate, and all the Frankenstein monster really wants is a bride. Comedy? Even in something as light, silly and just-for-fun as the “Anchorman” films, Ron Burgundy’s gotta get the girl (or get her back).

Love – the need for it or the lack of it – makes everything more important. It raises the stakes. It’s something we all want. Storytellers, readers and moviegoers are instinctively drawn to it, whether they realize it or not.

Most romance readers and writers simply recognize that need more consciously, so we go after it more directly. Someone may be getting killed, something may be getting stolen, a career may be at stake … but whatever our characters think they’re after, we can be darned sure there’s a happily-ever-after at the end of it.

And that’s a story worth telling.

Weird Al, We Salute You!

Champions of good spelling, grammar and punctuation have a new hero: Weird Al Yankovic.

At the risk of making Weird Al cringe: Who’da thunk it?

The biggest media attention-getter from Weird Al’s newest album, “Mandatory Fun,” has been “Tacky” (his parody of Pharell Williams' “Happy”). But meanwhile, my fellow writer friends on Facebook are geeking out over “Word Crimes” (set to the tune of Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines”). I’ve seen it re-posted about a dozen times in the past two days.

You can watch it here.

It’s wonderful. The guy who’s made us laugh for 30-plus years now has English language fans hooting as he shares our agonies over the misspellings and horrible punctuation that populate the Internet. Al shows his smarts about less versus fewer, whom versus who and the Oxford comma (although he'll let you slide on that one). He even tries to educate the masses about the correct use of the word it’s.

It may be a hopeless cause, and I know a ton of people hearing the song are saying, “HUH?”

But for the grammar geeks out there, it’s 3 minutes and 45 seconds of “Amen!”

Thanks, Al.

Fact vs. Fiction

"Oh! So THAT's how you two met!"

When I told people that my first novel was a romance set at a radio station, I got that reaction a lot. Yes, my husband is a disc jockey; yes, we did work at the same radio station together for seven years. But that happened after we were married.

I borrow from my life. I freely admit it. My stories are filled with first and last names borrowed from family members and friends. The afghan my aunt crocheted for me is in the first chapter of "Love on the Air." And that radio station is filled with small items and incidents from the station where I worked. We really did have a CD player we had to stick a butter knife into to rescue a disc that got stuck. And a break room where there was always danger of coming around the corner and crashing into someone (a perfect accident for my hero and heroine!).

I plant pieces of myself into my stories, and I love it.

But if people were to assume that everything in my books really happened to me ... brrr! That could open a can of worms. If my next hero were an auto mechanic, what if people started thinking I had eyes for the guy who fixes my car? Come to think of it, we have been seeing a lot more of each other lately, as my car gets older.... See? Instant gossip!

I wonder if people who write murder mysteries run into the same reaction. Do people realize it's fiction, since there are no bodies turning up on the author's doorstep? Or do friends start eying them uneasily, wondering if a character who resembles them might turn up as a victim in the next book?

Of course, no one ever said writing fiction was for the faint of heart.

The beauty of writing, as with reading, is that we get to escape into another world and experience it vicariously. Writing can have a tremendous advantage because we control this universe. On the other hand, sometimes it sends us down blind alleys or requires us to cause pain for those characters we love so much.

When I'm doing my job right, I experience the story every bit as much as my readers do. There's great joy in taking just a pinch of my favorite things, a dash of personal experience, and stirring it into a great big bowl of fantasy.

So, if any of you notice a good-looking grocery checker in my next book, why, pay it no mind.

365 Days Till Christmas

"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year."

 - Ebenezer Scrooge, Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol

I've heard those words, or some slight variation of them, at least seven times this Christmas season.

Yes, I admit it: I'm a "Christmas Carol" junkie. My husband and I own an embarrassing number of versions of it on DVD, and every year, we try to fit in as many as we can. We love comparing the merits of each version, debating which is the best retelling of the story, who makes the best Scrooge, which actor is the best Marley, etc.

There's a reason the story is so addictive and so re-watchable. As many times as I've seen it, I always come away a bit inspired, vowing to apply more of the lessons it teaches to my own life.

"I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round  -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely...."

- Scrooge's nephew Fred 

It's a stirring message. It's also a tough one to live up to, once you get up off the couch and get back to the pressures of the holiday season, or of everyday living. Tough -- but then, that's the case with most things that are worth doing. 

This year, I've decided it's at the top of my list of New Year's resolutions.

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....