What a weekend this turned out to be. First, I was blessed with two awesome awards from fellow bloggers, then my blog achieved the milestone (for me) of reaching 100 followers. When 2010 began, my goal was to have 100 followers by the end of the year. I achieved that goal by the end of the first month. Talk about setting your sights too low.
It’s not all about the numbers though, is it? No. It’s about reaching out, to other aspiring writers, to accomplished authors who are compelled to share their experience, and to those who simply enjoy the turn of a phrase and an occasional witticism. But it’s also about what we get in return. The feedback, the encouragement, the inspiration, and the support…all invaluable.
As I started approaching the magic number, I found myself wondering what I should discern from reaching my goal? That I read a whole lot of blogs? That is the easiest way to garner readers, just follow their blogs. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Although gratifying, it’s not entirely satisfying. My true goal, one that is only remotely associated with numbers, is the tingle factor. When thinking about your own list of followed blogs, I bet there are a select few that stir excitement in you when that update notification pops up in your reader. So much so that you can hardly wait until there’s a quiet moment to read it. The anticipation is because you know you’ll be treated to something that will either further your personal growth, brighten your day, or touch your emotions. That’s the tingle factor, and that’s what I want to strive for. I believe you can’t really gauge that by just the number of followers, but it’s hinted at in the amount and quality of comments you receive from your postings. Can you write something that would awaken even the lurkers? A perfect grade would be one comment, per follower, per post. A standard that is too high? I don’t think so, not if I am to become the writer I hope to be!
So, you all know what reaching a 100 followers means, right? Yep, a party! One with prizes. I’m not calling it a contest, because it really isn’t. It’s more of a celebration. I’d like to give each and every one of you something as a reward, but Oprah I’m not. What I can do is give to a gift to a lucky two. That’s right, two. The first, a $25 gift certificate to Amazon, will be awarded to one of my original 100. The second, a $15 gift certificate to Barnes and Noble, is open to new and old alike.
Here are the rules and guidelines. You must be a follower to Cruising Altitude and leave a comment to this post to have your name thrown into the pot. If you’re one of the mighty 100, you will automatically receive two points, new follower’s one point. If you post about Cruising Altitude on your own blog (so make sure to tell me about it) you’ll receive another point. If a reader of your blog becomes a follower here as a result of your posting (they have to mention you directly, in their first posting), yet another point to you. Oh yeah…family members are excluded (let the grumbling begin). I’ll announce the lucky winners on Monday, February 8th.
Thank you all…for letting me stand upon your shoulders.
DL
Booyah!
If I had a webcam hooked up to my PC right now you could watch me doing a Snoopy Dance. I received two more blog awards! And I don’t treat being the recipient of these awards lightly (although I do break their rules sometimes). It’s such a rush when you receive just one, so learning of two on the same day was phenomenal. I consider it affirmation, an act by one of my fellow bloggers that lets me know I’m doing something right. I guess now I should figure out how to display them in my sidebar.
The first one is the Honest Scrap award, bestowed to me by Tiana at Spilled Ink. For this award the recipient (that’s me) is urged to reveal ten truths about themselves. I secretly believe this is payback for my seeding so much BS around the blogosphere. Anyway, read’em…and I’ll weep.
1. Both of my brothers have broken one of their bones on my head.
2. I have no sense of smell. Never have.
3. I was raised a military brat. The day after my high school graduation, we moved away and I have never been back (regrettably).
4. My wife asked me out on our first date. If she hadn’t, we might not have ended up married for the last 27 years (I was that shy).
5. My first car was a 1966 Green Chevy Van. My dad let me put a mattress in the back so I could take naps between football two-a-days.
6. My English teacher in high school accused me of plagiarism for a play I wrote. She didn’t believe I could have written something so imaginative.
7. I ABSOLUTELY cannot stand to watch someone play with his or her belly button.
8. My iPod has 10,399 songs on it.
9. My children are the greatest compliment I could ever give to my parents. The three of them are true gifts, and all I did was follow the example my parents provided.
10. Although I realize she knew, I failed to tell my mother “I Love You” enough while she was still with us.
Phew…I’m glad that’s over with. I’m going to pass the award onto three awesome bloggers whom I’d be curious to hear they’re 10 truths. They are: Sharon at Random Thoughts, Michele at Southern City Mysteries, and Eva at Screaming Whispers.
Onto the next award. This one is from Chasing Empty Pavements and it’s the Silver Lining Award. It reminds us all to constantly search for the positive, in any situation, something that a writer couldn’t survive without. I’m going to pass this one along to Jamie-Kate at Jamie-Kate Writes. She is a relatively new blogger, but her optimism is catchy.
Although the Silver Lining award doesn’t come with a to do clause, I’m being bold and attaching one to it. Below I’ve listed 20 rules to live by that I’ve accumulated over the years. Future award winners will be obliged to list any number of their own rules. Let the fun begin.
DL’s Rules to Live By
1. Even though I’m not very religious, this still applies. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
2. Work before play, but a good break every now and then never hurts.
3. When you receive criticism, always consider the source. The same is true for praise.
4. Sometimes it’s easier to just agree to disagree.
5. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
6. Respect your elders, until they give you a reason to do otherwise.
7. If you’re paid a day’s wages, then work an honest day’s work. Sick time is for when you’re SICK.
8. Guys don’t hit girls. Period.
9. Too good to be true, usually is.
10. People who believe in Santa Clause receive more presents than people who don’t.
11. In for a penny, in for a pound. There are no part-time friends.
12. SELFISH is not a four letter word. It’s ok to think of yourself first sometimes.
13. If you’re going to do something, do it right the first time.
14. Never say never.
15. Relationships are HARD work! For better or worse isn’t just a catch phrase.
16. Pick your battles, then fight to the death.
17. If you can’t look at yourself in the mirror, then how do you think other people see you?
18. Making love and having sex is not the same thing.
19. Shit happens. Why spend so much time looking for someone to blame?
20. Your beliefs are your beliefs. Don’t try to make them somebody else’s.
1. Both of my brothers have broken one of their bones on my head.
2. I have no sense of smell. Never have.
3. I was raised a military brat. The day after my high school graduation, we moved away and I have never been back (regrettably).
4. My wife asked me out on our first date. If she hadn’t, we might not have ended up married for the last 27 years (I was that shy).
5. My first car was a 1966 Green Chevy Van. My dad let me put a mattress in the back so I could take naps between football two-a-days.
6. My English teacher in high school accused me of plagiarism for a play I wrote. She didn’t believe I could have written something so imaginative.
7. I ABSOLUTELY cannot stand to watch someone play with his or her belly button.
8. My iPod has 10,399 songs on it.
9. My children are the greatest compliment I could ever give to my parents. The three of them are true gifts, and all I did was follow the example my parents provided.
10. Although I realize she knew, I failed to tell my mother “I Love You” enough while she was still with us.
Phew…I’m glad that’s over with. I’m going to pass the award onto three awesome bloggers whom I’d be curious to hear they’re 10 truths. They are: Sharon at Random Thoughts, Michele at Southern City Mysteries, and Eva at Screaming Whispers.
Although the Silver Lining award doesn’t come with a to do clause, I’m being bold and attaching one to it. Below I’ve listed 20 rules to live by that I’ve accumulated over the years. Future award winners will be obliged to list any number of their own rules. Let the fun begin.
DL’s Rules to Live By
1. Even though I’m not very religious, this still applies. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
2. Work before play, but a good break every now and then never hurts.
3. When you receive criticism, always consider the source. The same is true for praise.
4. Sometimes it’s easier to just agree to disagree.
5. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
6. Respect your elders, until they give you a reason to do otherwise.
7. If you’re paid a day’s wages, then work an honest day’s work. Sick time is for when you’re SICK.
8. Guys don’t hit girls. Period.
9. Too good to be true, usually is.
10. People who believe in Santa Clause receive more presents than people who don’t.
11. In for a penny, in for a pound. There are no part-time friends.
12. SELFISH is not a four letter word. It’s ok to think of yourself first sometimes.
13. If you’re going to do something, do it right the first time.
14. Never say never.
15. Relationships are HARD work! For better or worse isn’t just a catch phrase.
16. Pick your battles, then fight to the death.
17. If you can’t look at yourself in the mirror, then how do you think other people see you?
18. Making love and having sex is not the same thing.
19. Shit happens. Why spend so much time looking for someone to blame?
20. Your beliefs are your beliefs. Don’t try to make them somebody else’s.
The Answer Room – Addendum
The responses I received to the Answer Room were very interesting indeed, and honestly a bit surprising. Many of you stated that you might not want answers at all, and after reading that it started me thinking. So much so I fell asleep that night contemplating unanswered questions and scenarios where I might turn my head away from the answer. The following morning I climbed in the shower and ended up staying there until the water ran cold. My thoughts from the night before had seeded an idea for a story and I couldn’t let it go until I had built a suitable framework around it. This is what I came up with and I think it’s the beginning to a really interesting story. It’s still real rough.
White. All around me. Nothing but snowy-white. But I wasn’t in the snow. I wasn’t sure where I was, if anywhere. The whiteness seemed endless, going on forever. There were no walls, no furniture, nothing had definition and there no way to orient myself. Just emptiness…and white. I think I was standing upright, but there was no way to tell.
Normally this was just the sort of situation where I’d get really nervous and begin hyperventilating, but instead I felt unusually calm. I had to be dreaming. That would explain everything. But this was unlike any dream I had ever experienced before. Then I remembered a sensation of floating, looking down on a roomful of people all wearing blue or green scrubs with matching skullcaps. They were huddled over somebody lying on a table and a nervous energy filled the room. When one of the women shifted her position, I caught a glimpse of the face that belonged to the body on the table. IT WAS ME.
Then I was here, wherever that is.
I began to feel a presence near me. I spun around, but there was only more white. I pivoted back and a searing bright light forced my eye lids shut. I tried to open them again, but the light was too intense. Instinctively I lowered my head, cupped my hand over my brow, and tried again. This time I could almost make out an image. There was somebody, or something, there in the light. I couldn’t tell who or what it was, but I wasn’t afraid. I felt…comforted.
“You may ask one question,” a voice said. But I didn’t really hear the voice. It was more like…I thought it.
“I’m guessing I’m dead, right?” I didn’t feel my lips move as I asked the question. It was like the voice…I just thought it.
“Is that your question?”
“No…no, it’s not. An explanation would be helpful.”
“Under normal circumstances the answers to all of your questions would be revealed to you now. But you will be returning to your mortal life soon, yet you may have one question answered before you go as a token of your time here,” the internal voice responded.
“Any question?”
There was no reply, but I perceived a positive vibe. The possibilities flooded my mind, but suddenly the question was in my head almost before I could finish formulating it.
“Who killed my brother?”
Although I couldn’t make out the person I was communicating with, I had the distinct impression a frown had appeared on his face.
“Are you sure that’s the question you want answered?”
“Positive.”
“Very well. It was you.”
Shock paralyzed me for a moment. “That can’t be. He was killed by a hit and run driver and I wasn’t even in the same state when it happened. I didn’t kill my brother.”
“Use the information wisely,” was the voices only response.
“Wait a minute!” I tried to open my eyes to look directly at my host, but my eyelids wouldn’t stay open. “You promised me an answer and I –“
Agonizing pain. Grogginess. Nausea.
“Sinus rhythm. He’s back,” I heard to my left. I sensed that I was back on the gurney in the emergency ward I had witnessed from up high. A fire was ablaze in my chest and I was seconds away from puking, but only one thought filled my head.
I didn’t kill my brother.
I’m thinking this is could be an interesting premise for a short story or novel, probably in the YA genre. Any opinions? No fair blowing flowers up my shorts…just the honest scoop please.
White. All around me. Nothing but snowy-white. But I wasn’t in the snow. I wasn’t sure where I was, if anywhere. The whiteness seemed endless, going on forever. There were no walls, no furniture, nothing had definition and there no way to orient myself. Just emptiness…and white. I think I was standing upright, but there was no way to tell.
Normally this was just the sort of situation where I’d get really nervous and begin hyperventilating, but instead I felt unusually calm. I had to be dreaming. That would explain everything. But this was unlike any dream I had ever experienced before. Then I remembered a sensation of floating, looking down on a roomful of people all wearing blue or green scrubs with matching skullcaps. They were huddled over somebody lying on a table and a nervous energy filled the room. When one of the women shifted her position, I caught a glimpse of the face that belonged to the body on the table. IT WAS ME.
Then I was here, wherever that is.
I began to feel a presence near me. I spun around, but there was only more white. I pivoted back and a searing bright light forced my eye lids shut. I tried to open them again, but the light was too intense. Instinctively I lowered my head, cupped my hand over my brow, and tried again. This time I could almost make out an image. There was somebody, or something, there in the light. I couldn’t tell who or what it was, but I wasn’t afraid. I felt…comforted.
“You may ask one question,” a voice said. But I didn’t really hear the voice. It was more like…I thought it.
“I’m guessing I’m dead, right?” I didn’t feel my lips move as I asked the question. It was like the voice…I just thought it.
“Is that your question?”
“No…no, it’s not. An explanation would be helpful.”
“Under normal circumstances the answers to all of your questions would be revealed to you now. But you will be returning to your mortal life soon, yet you may have one question answered before you go as a token of your time here,” the internal voice responded.
“Any question?”
There was no reply, but I perceived a positive vibe. The possibilities flooded my mind, but suddenly the question was in my head almost before I could finish formulating it.
“Who killed my brother?”
Although I couldn’t make out the person I was communicating with, I had the distinct impression a frown had appeared on his face.
“Are you sure that’s the question you want answered?”
“Positive.”
“Very well. It was you.”
Shock paralyzed me for a moment. “That can’t be. He was killed by a hit and run driver and I wasn’t even in the same state when it happened. I didn’t kill my brother.”
“Use the information wisely,” was the voices only response.
“Wait a minute!” I tried to open my eyes to look directly at my host, but my eyelids wouldn’t stay open. “You promised me an answer and I –“
Agonizing pain. Grogginess. Nausea.
“Sinus rhythm. He’s back,” I heard to my left. I sensed that I was back on the gurney in the emergency ward I had witnessed from up high. A fire was ablaze in my chest and I was seconds away from puking, but only one thought filled my head.
I didn’t kill my brother.
I’m thinking this is could be an interesting premise for a short story or novel, probably in the YA genre. Any opinions? No fair blowing flowers up my shorts…just the honest scoop please.
The Answer Room
Last week’s episode of BONES sparked a discussion between me and my wife, which ultimately led us back to one of her favorite subjects. The show revolved around the assignation of John F. Kennedy and speculation about what really happened on that fateful day. It’s one of those questions that fascinate so many, and despite the mountain of information that support the conclusions of the official report, doubt still lingers. We both understand that our desire to know the truth will probably never be realized during our lifetimes, but what about afterwards?
For as long as I’ve known my wife she’s held a conviction that when she departs this mortal plane and moves on to her next destination, that one of the stops along the way will be a place (appropriately tagged the answer room) where all of the answers to questions she longed to fathom are revealed. Any question that burdens your mind would be instantly known to you.
Did Lee Harvey Oswald really act alone when he shot President John F. Kennedy? What happened to Amelia Earhart? I have to admit, it’s an interesting concept. Looking at it a different way, the doorstep to this room is a place where you’ll find many a writers imagination. A truth unknown that resonates for so long is bound to be fruitful ground for seeding a premise. How many story ideas do you think gestate from iconic questions like what happened to DB Cooper… where is Jimmy Hoffa buried…is there something to the Bermuda Triangle or Easter Island mysteries…who built the pyramids? The simple association of ‘what if’ statements have fostered many a book or short story.
So tell me, what questions would you like to have divulged in your answer room?
For as long as I’ve known my wife she’s held a conviction that when she departs this mortal plane and moves on to her next destination, that one of the stops along the way will be a place (appropriately tagged the answer room) where all of the answers to questions she longed to fathom are revealed. Any question that burdens your mind would be instantly known to you.
Did Lee Harvey Oswald really act alone when he shot President John F. Kennedy? What happened to Amelia Earhart? I have to admit, it’s an interesting concept. Looking at it a different way, the doorstep to this room is a place where you’ll find many a writers imagination. A truth unknown that resonates for so long is bound to be fruitful ground for seeding a premise. How many story ideas do you think gestate from iconic questions like what happened to DB Cooper… where is Jimmy Hoffa buried…is there something to the Bermuda Triangle or Easter Island mysteries…who built the pyramids? The simple association of ‘what if’ statements have fostered many a book or short story.
So tell me, what questions would you like to have divulged in your answer room?
Little Pillows – R.I.P.
The siege has ended and order had been restored, but that doesn’t mean I can rest easy. Apparently, my work is just beginning.
I say that because of the comments some of you left on my previous post. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read things like…cute…wonderful things…homes should be filled with soft colorful pillows…and they were the lifeblood of good decorating. It became obvious to me that what I experienced in my home wasn’t an isolated incident, and that homes all across America were slowly being taken over by this fluffy menace. I can’t sit back and do nothing. I have to tell the rest of my story in hopes that others will come to their senses and take action.
I ended my first warning expressing my concern that the pillows had become aware of my suspicions. As always, it was in the subtle things. When the wife and I would sit down on the couch to watch television, a wall of pillows would form between us, attempting to cut me off from her and drive us apart. Anytime I picked up the phone to place a call, I could hear a mysterious click on the line, a sure sign that someone…or something…was listening in to my conversation. I even had to start making journal entries about what was going on from my computer at work because I found one of the little devils sitting in my desk chair and this blog was on the monitor.
I didn’t know what to do and I was at my wits end. The rest of the family wouldn’t listen to my concerns, oblivious to what was going on. Whenever I brought up the subject of pillows they looked at me as if I had just confessed my dislike of ‘American Idol’. I began staying later at work and finding other reasons for being away. The dread I felt in my own home was palatable. But my worry for what the conniving cushions were planning continued to fuel my search for a solution.
The answer came by way of accident, in more ways than one.
With the temperatures outside beginning to dip below freezing, we decided to let our two dogs spend the night in the garage. I opened the back door to let them in, started walking towards the door leading into the garage, then noticed that both of the dogs, which were always full of energy and rambunctious, had become very still. They were staring very intently at something inside the room. I opened my mouth to call to them when I detected a low growl coming from one or both of them. Instead of calling their names, urging them into the garage, I walked back to see what they were focused on. When I reached them I followed their gaze… to a black pillow perched on top of the chair back. Glancing back to the dogs I could now see the hair standing stiffly on both of their backs.
That became the seed for my plan.
I had to wait two weeks before I could set things in motion. The wife needed to go to Little Rock for a day of shopping, so I volunteered to accompany her. The house would be empty for hours. Just as we were pulling away, I remembered that I had forgotten my cell phone. I ran inside, grabbed the phone I purposely left behind, opened the door to the backyard, and left.
When we returned that evening, we discovered a remnant of the first pillow just inside the front door, like a welcome home gift. Carnage was everywhere. Pillow guts covered everything. The smell of urine hung in the air. My wife was near tears and I did my best to feign shock and anger at the obvious culprits. I found them curled up near the back fence, pieces of pillow still dangling from their jaws, no doubt worn out from their pillaging. After walking through the entire house and seeing the full scope of the damage, it became clear.
Every single pillow had been torn to shreds.
But as I said, the battle is not over. I know I’ll have to find some way to prevent my wife from bringing the infestation back into our home. I also need to convince all of you about the peril that might be lying beneath your feet or behind your heads. I can’t be the first to have discovered this threat. Maybe there are others with dismembered bedding, unaware?
Please hear my plea! Colors are not the only thing they are coordinating. Be warned.
I say that because of the comments some of you left on my previous post. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read things like…cute…wonderful things…homes should be filled with soft colorful pillows…and they were the lifeblood of good decorating. It became obvious to me that what I experienced in my home wasn’t an isolated incident, and that homes all across America were slowly being taken over by this fluffy menace. I can’t sit back and do nothing. I have to tell the rest of my story in hopes that others will come to their senses and take action.
I ended my first warning expressing my concern that the pillows had become aware of my suspicions. As always, it was in the subtle things. When the wife and I would sit down on the couch to watch television, a wall of pillows would form between us, attempting to cut me off from her and drive us apart. Anytime I picked up the phone to place a call, I could hear a mysterious click on the line, a sure sign that someone…or something…was listening in to my conversation. I even had to start making journal entries about what was going on from my computer at work because I found one of the little devils sitting in my desk chair and this blog was on the monitor.
I didn’t know what to do and I was at my wits end. The rest of the family wouldn’t listen to my concerns, oblivious to what was going on. Whenever I brought up the subject of pillows they looked at me as if I had just confessed my dislike of ‘American Idol’. I began staying later at work and finding other reasons for being away. The dread I felt in my own home was palatable. But my worry for what the conniving cushions were planning continued to fuel my search for a solution.
The answer came by way of accident, in more ways than one.
With the temperatures outside beginning to dip below freezing, we decided to let our two dogs spend the night in the garage. I opened the back door to let them in, started walking towards the door leading into the garage, then noticed that both of the dogs, which were always full of energy and rambunctious, had become very still. They were staring very intently at something inside the room. I opened my mouth to call to them when I detected a low growl coming from one or both of them. Instead of calling their names, urging them into the garage, I walked back to see what they were focused on. When I reached them I followed their gaze… to a black pillow perched on top of the chair back. Glancing back to the dogs I could now see the hair standing stiffly on both of their backs.
That became the seed for my plan.
I had to wait two weeks before I could set things in motion. The wife needed to go to Little Rock for a day of shopping, so I volunteered to accompany her. The house would be empty for hours. Just as we were pulling away, I remembered that I had forgotten my cell phone. I ran inside, grabbed the phone I purposely left behind, opened the door to the backyard, and left.
When we returned that evening, we discovered a remnant of the first pillow just inside the front door, like a welcome home gift. Carnage was everywhere. Pillow guts covered everything. The smell of urine hung in the air. My wife was near tears and I did my best to feign shock and anger at the obvious culprits. I found them curled up near the back fence, pieces of pillow still dangling from their jaws, no doubt worn out from their pillaging. After walking through the entire house and seeing the full scope of the damage, it became clear.
Every single pillow had been torn to shreds.
But as I said, the battle is not over. I know I’ll have to find some way to prevent my wife from bringing the infestation back into our home. I also need to convince all of you about the peril that might be lying beneath your feet or behind your heads. I can’t be the first to have discovered this threat. Maybe there are others with dismembered bedding, unaware?
Please hear my plea! Colors are not the only thing they are coordinating. Be warned.
