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.
Happy Day
Lookee here, I won an award. Thank you to Tiana over at Spilled Ink for the much appreciated honor. I like the HAPPY. I’m all about the HAPPY. You’d never guess that I write mysteries from the way that I carry-on around here sometimes. But I’m glad that some of my enthusiasm spills out onto my blog and others take some measure of satisfaction from it.
This could be my last award though. For the uninitiated, most of these blog awards come with rules. These rules vary from award to award, but one of the most prevalent ones is the award winner should pass on the recognition to ten other bloggers he/she find deserving. I don’t know about you, but this feels too much like chain-mail to me. I’m not sure what happens if you break these rules, maybe the blogging gods become offended and block my site from others to see, but I don’t really care. I’m going to select just one HAPPY AWARD recipient I feel is deserving. I’ll let you know who that is … right after I fulfill my other award rule.
I’m supposed to list for you ten things that make me happy. Tiana and others inserted pictures into their lists, but I’m just a word guy and hopefully that’ll be enough for you to understand where I’m coming from. With no further adieu and in completely random order:
1. My family. My wife and I have been married for twenty-six years and we have three wonderful children. I truly love my in-laws, get along famously with everyone from my wife’s family, and my own family is terrific. What makes me the most happy…every bit of it is drama-free!
2. Coffee. There’s nothing like that first cup in the morning. I can drink it 24 hours a day (caffeine doesn’t affect me) and there’s some always close at hand when I’m writing
3. Speaking of Writing, that’s my number 3. There’s nothing like that feeling you get when you finish a passage, scene, or chapter and you can’t wait until somebody reads it.
4. LSU Sports. My wife and I both are LSU graduates, so this is almost a given. Football, Baseball, Soccer, Basketball, it doesn’t matter. If it’s on TV, we’re watching it. We return back to Baton Rouge every other year to see a game in Death Valley. GEAUX TIGERS!
5. Toys. What can I say…I’m a guy. Plasma TV, PS3, Xbox360, iPhone, iPod, expensive headsets, wireless routers, you name it, I probably got it.
6. Alaska. I’ve been cruising in Alaska twice and I would go back every week if I could. Laying on a deck chair at midnight, almost naked except for the thick blanket wrapped round you, absorbing the wilderness beauty as it slowly passes by as the ship sails up the inside passage. *Sigh*
7. Blog Comments. Every single one puts a smile on my face. It’s like a friend waving to you from across a crowded room.
8. Bruce Springsteen. I was going to say music in general here, because I truly do enjoy my music, but I decided to single out my number one.
9. Solitude. Most people don’t get this one, but there are times I quite like being alone. No pressure to be anything… to anyone.
10. Pizza. When I’m not dieting (like now), an awesome Chicago-style pizza is to die for!
Drum roll please…………………and the blogger I’ve selected to pass the torch to (are you cringing?)……is Karen Hooper. Karen is an old-hat at these awards, and the blog she writes is very entertaining. Have a look-see for yourself.
Hoofin’
How are those 2010 diets coming? Anybody slip up yet? Eat something you weren’t suppose to? A piece of chocolate, a slice of pie, a buffalo?
Part of my regiment to lose weight includes jogging 3 to 4 days a week. Not all that much, just a couple of miles at a pop, every stride taken in the carefully controlled environment offered by the local health club. I didn’t always run on a treadmill, preferring the winding roads of my neighborhood and the open sky above. That was until… the incident.
The last time I ran outdoors was maybe 18 months ago. On that day I prepared to run right after work like I always do. If I sit down to watch television, or check e-mail, I can never get myself re-motivated to get back up and exercise. So I immediately slipped out of my work clothes and into a pair of shorts, socks, running shoes, sleeveless T-shirt and a rolled up bandanna tied around my forehead to keep the sweat out of my eyes. I strapped on my iPod shuffle loaded with a 67 song play list I appropriately entitled NITRO, and I was ready to go. On the way out the door, like I did every time I ran, I yelled to my wife “I’m going hoofin.” Her dead-pan reply would always be, “Don’t die!”
On that particular day I was feeling inspired. I’d been recently admiring the way another blogger observed the world around them, noticing the littlest things, however insignificant. So I made a mental note to open my eyes during my run and really take in what goes on in our neighborhood. Typically I’d just run with my head down, listen to the music and focus on the next few feet in front of me. Not that day. That day I was going to be alert!
So I’m starting my pre-run stretching and the first thing I notice is that my MP3 player is repeating the same song over and over. And it wasn’t one that was supposed to be on my play list. I tried to fidget with the controls to get a different song to play, to no avail. I had just recharged it that afternoon and must have screwed something up when I connected it to iTunes. I was faced with running for 30 minutes listening to the Eagles “Desperado”, or no tunes at all. Not exactly music to get your heart pumping, but I started the timer on my wristwatch and hit the road.
I had run for approximately 10 minutes and seen………absolutely nothing! I mean nothing that I would consider interesting. There was sprinklers watering lawns, dogs running along fences, some kids bouncing on a trampoline, but that’s it. I’m not sure what I expected to see, but I was starting to doubt my powers of perception. I was just about to give up and revert to concentrating on my running when I saw something just ahead of me. On the opposite side of the road in the driveway of a corner house was a couple having what appeared to be a heated argument. There were two cars parked in the driveway, a dark colored SUV and a little RX6, and the couple was situated between the two cars. They appeared young (high school junior/senior) and the girl was very animated. She was dressed in a cream color summer dress and her arms flailed around wildly, except when she was jabbing her finger in the boys face. The boy wore only a pair of bright orange swim trunks, and a sour look. As I approached I tried to hear their conversation, but with the Eagles blaring in my headphones I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The boy noticed me running by and gave me a sheepish look that said “Want to trade places?” The girl was too focused on vocally battering the young man to pay me any attention. I was reaching to pause my iPod, when I went down.
I had failed to notice the bags of grass that had been placed by the curb. My foot caught the first black bag, causing me to stumble and I did my best to keep myself upright, but the second and third bags did me in. I sprawled out in the street like a four year old girl learning to cartwheel for the first time. Luckily my fall was cushioned by the other half dozen bags piled there. I sat unmoving for a moment…taking in what had just happened…feeling the heat from the sun warmed pavement on my bottom…sweat running in my eyes because my bandana had come loose and was now cock-eyed on my head…listening to music in my headphones telling me “Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?” I looked up and the couple had stopped their arguing and was now staring at me. Not only were they staring at me, but it seemed like every resident on that block had suddenly appeared on their front lawn to see what the commotion was about. I gave the boy a sheepish look that said “Want to trade places?” Before you could say Glad Bag, I was up and running again.
When I returned home I went straight inside and into the shower, ignoring my wife’s questions about why I had apparently started raking leaves. Screw the post-stretch cool down!
Nowadays I do my running at an electronically determined pace while staring at ESPN sports highlights on the overhead television. It may not be “real” jogging, but at least it’s safe!
Part of my regiment to lose weight includes jogging 3 to 4 days a week. Not all that much, just a couple of miles at a pop, every stride taken in the carefully controlled environment offered by the local health club. I didn’t always run on a treadmill, preferring the winding roads of my neighborhood and the open sky above. That was until… the incident.
The last time I ran outdoors was maybe 18 months ago. On that day I prepared to run right after work like I always do. If I sit down to watch television, or check e-mail, I can never get myself re-motivated to get back up and exercise. So I immediately slipped out of my work clothes and into a pair of shorts, socks, running shoes, sleeveless T-shirt and a rolled up bandanna tied around my forehead to keep the sweat out of my eyes. I strapped on my iPod shuffle loaded with a 67 song play list I appropriately entitled NITRO, and I was ready to go. On the way out the door, like I did every time I ran, I yelled to my wife “I’m going hoofin.” Her dead-pan reply would always be, “Don’t die!”
On that particular day I was feeling inspired. I’d been recently admiring the way another blogger observed the world around them, noticing the littlest things, however insignificant. So I made a mental note to open my eyes during my run and really take in what goes on in our neighborhood. Typically I’d just run with my head down, listen to the music and focus on the next few feet in front of me. Not that day. That day I was going to be alert!
So I’m starting my pre-run stretching and the first thing I notice is that my MP3 player is repeating the same song over and over. And it wasn’t one that was supposed to be on my play list. I tried to fidget with the controls to get a different song to play, to no avail. I had just recharged it that afternoon and must have screwed something up when I connected it to iTunes. I was faced with running for 30 minutes listening to the Eagles “Desperado”, or no tunes at all. Not exactly music to get your heart pumping, but I started the timer on my wristwatch and hit the road.
I had run for approximately 10 minutes and seen………absolutely nothing! I mean nothing that I would consider interesting. There was sprinklers watering lawns, dogs running along fences, some kids bouncing on a trampoline, but that’s it. I’m not sure what I expected to see, but I was starting to doubt my powers of perception. I was just about to give up and revert to concentrating on my running when I saw something just ahead of me. On the opposite side of the road in the driveway of a corner house was a couple having what appeared to be a heated argument. There were two cars parked in the driveway, a dark colored SUV and a little RX6, and the couple was situated between the two cars. They appeared young (high school junior/senior) and the girl was very animated. She was dressed in a cream color summer dress and her arms flailed around wildly, except when she was jabbing her finger in the boys face. The boy wore only a pair of bright orange swim trunks, and a sour look. As I approached I tried to hear their conversation, but with the Eagles blaring in my headphones I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The boy noticed me running by and gave me a sheepish look that said “Want to trade places?” The girl was too focused on vocally battering the young man to pay me any attention. I was reaching to pause my iPod, when I went down.
I had failed to notice the bags of grass that had been placed by the curb. My foot caught the first black bag, causing me to stumble and I did my best to keep myself upright, but the second and third bags did me in. I sprawled out in the street like a four year old girl learning to cartwheel for the first time. Luckily my fall was cushioned by the other half dozen bags piled there. I sat unmoving for a moment…taking in what had just happened…feeling the heat from the sun warmed pavement on my bottom…sweat running in my eyes because my bandana had come loose and was now cock-eyed on my head…listening to music in my headphones telling me “Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?” I looked up and the couple had stopped their arguing and was now staring at me. Not only were they staring at me, but it seemed like every resident on that block had suddenly appeared on their front lawn to see what the commotion was about. I gave the boy a sheepish look that said “Want to trade places?” Before you could say Glad Bag, I was up and running again.
When I returned home I went straight inside and into the shower, ignoring my wife’s questions about why I had apparently started raking leaves. Screw the post-stretch cool down!
Nowadays I do my running at an electronically determined pace while staring at ESPN sports highlights on the overhead television. It may not be “real” jogging, but at least it’s safe!
When should you holster your guns?
I’m going to speak here now like I know what I’m talking about, and I suppose I know just enough to be dangerous, but the point of this post is to put forth a question. When it comes to suggested revisions, how long do you stick to your guns . . . and when is it time to give in?
I’m discovering that revisions are a necessary evil for a writer. For me, it seems like I’m always nibbling away at my novel. Continually changing a word here, description there, or moving a paragraph to achieve a stronger impact. But those aren’t the type of revisions I want to discuss today. I want to focus on those significant alterations that substantially re-define the premise of your book. These types of recommended changes can come from numerous sources. They can be self-induced, brought on by your own re-imagining of a plot line, character motivation, or one of a hundred other reasons. Input from a critique group is another basis for making radical changes. Yet another, and one that is on my mind right now, are those suggested by a prospective agent.
I have read that it is not uncommon for agents to send back a manuscript, declining representation, but offering to reconsider their position if certain revisions are made. What do you do if this happens to you? Let’s make it even more difficult by saying you don’t really agree with the recommended changes, even though you can see where it might make the book more marketable. Do you move on to querying the next agent on your list, hopeful that he/she will like your book as it is? Or are you just thrilled that you received a response back at all, and dive head first into making the changes. If the agent still passes on your manuscript, even after making the requested changes, which version of the book do you query then?
How willing are you to compromise the integrity of your book in order to make it commercial?
Does that sound too cynical? After all, the goal is to be published, isn’t it? And publishers (and therefore agents) won’t touch a book unless they believe they can make money with it. I wonder though, how often does the aspiring author give-in and revise their books too soon.
So I’m curious. Would you consider making revisions to your manuscript you’re not 100% comfortable with?
I’m discovering that revisions are a necessary evil for a writer. For me, it seems like I’m always nibbling away at my novel. Continually changing a word here, description there, or moving a paragraph to achieve a stronger impact. But those aren’t the type of revisions I want to discuss today. I want to focus on those significant alterations that substantially re-define the premise of your book. These types of recommended changes can come from numerous sources. They can be self-induced, brought on by your own re-imagining of a plot line, character motivation, or one of a hundred other reasons. Input from a critique group is another basis for making radical changes. Yet another, and one that is on my mind right now, are those suggested by a prospective agent.
I have read that it is not uncommon for agents to send back a manuscript, declining representation, but offering to reconsider their position if certain revisions are made. What do you do if this happens to you? Let’s make it even more difficult by saying you don’t really agree with the recommended changes, even though you can see where it might make the book more marketable. Do you move on to querying the next agent on your list, hopeful that he/she will like your book as it is? Or are you just thrilled that you received a response back at all, and dive head first into making the changes. If the agent still passes on your manuscript, even after making the requested changes, which version of the book do you query then?
How willing are you to compromise the integrity of your book in order to make it commercial?
Does that sound too cynical? After all, the goal is to be published, isn’t it? And publishers (and therefore agents) won’t touch a book unless they believe they can make money with it. I wonder though, how often does the aspiring author give-in and revise their books too soon.
So I’m curious. Would you consider making revisions to your manuscript you’re not 100% comfortable with?
Tickle Me
I really wanted to think of a way that I could give back to this community I’ve become a part of these past six months. But I’m just an ordinary writer with tall aspirations. I can’t offer marketing advice like Shelli does at Market My Words. I’m unable to supply query guidance like Bethany & Suzette do over at Shooting Stars, or even absorbing author interviews like Sia McKye’s Thoughts…OVER COFFEE. What can I put forward? How can I help?
The answer I came up with is both perfect in its heartfelt offering, and its uncomplicated delivery.
We’ve all experienced one of those days. A day where anything that can go wrong…does. All of the negative energy in the cosmos has seemingly coalesced around you, spinning and swirling, causing you to get up from the wrong side of the bed. The vortex continues on to create a black hole that pulls in criticism, insults, sarcasm, rebukes, rejection, and even worse, anonymity. If we’re lucky it soon passes, moving on to the next unsuspecting soul. But there are rare cases where it last for days, weeks, even months. Its affect on our psyche, although temporary, is profound.
God knows I’ve experienced my share of those days. Unfortunately, I’ve seen a lot more since I made a commitment to becoming a published writer. But when I find myself in the throes of depression brought on by a ‘bad day’, I remember a conversation my wife had with our son Boo. She was working in her office, I was in the kitchen making a sandwich, when our son (age 7 at the time) came into the room and stood beside her. He remained there silently for a minute, watching her type at her keyboard, and then --
"Mom"
"Yes"
"Can you tickle me?"
She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. "What for?"
"I want to laugh"
The simplicity of his request brought a smile to my face. It was so straight-forward and innocent.
So I'm taking a hint from my son and offering the following to anyone reading this. Take a post-it-note and write this e-mail address on it (tbone.don@gmail.com), along with two other words. Take the note and stick it on your monitor or somewhere else close to where you write. If you ever find yourself in the midst of one of those days and you’re desperately searching for way to lighten things up… find that note and send an email to that address. In the subject line you’ll type the other two words from the note . . . TICKLE ME.
I’ll respond as quickly as I can with a joke, story, or maybe even an amusing limric (all PG-13). No probing questions. No meddlesome inquiries (although I’m a good listener/reader if you do want to spew). No strings attached.
Someday I hope to be able to provide more. Maybe it will be advice, counsel, guidance, or even inspiration.
For now all I can offer is … a giggle and a smile.
The answer I came up with is both perfect in its heartfelt offering, and its uncomplicated delivery.
We’ve all experienced one of those days. A day where anything that can go wrong…does. All of the negative energy in the cosmos has seemingly coalesced around you, spinning and swirling, causing you to get up from the wrong side of the bed. The vortex continues on to create a black hole that pulls in criticism, insults, sarcasm, rebukes, rejection, and even worse, anonymity. If we’re lucky it soon passes, moving on to the next unsuspecting soul. But there are rare cases where it last for days, weeks, even months. Its affect on our psyche, although temporary, is profound.
God knows I’ve experienced my share of those days. Unfortunately, I’ve seen a lot more since I made a commitment to becoming a published writer. But when I find myself in the throes of depression brought on by a ‘bad day’, I remember a conversation my wife had with our son Boo. She was working in her office, I was in the kitchen making a sandwich, when our son (age 7 at the time) came into the room and stood beside her. He remained there silently for a minute, watching her type at her keyboard, and then --
"Mom"
"Yes"
"Can you tickle me?"
She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. "What for?"
"I want to laugh"
The simplicity of his request brought a smile to my face. It was so straight-forward and innocent.
So I'm taking a hint from my son and offering the following to anyone reading this. Take a post-it-note and write this e-mail address on it (tbone.don@gmail.com), along with two other words. Take the note and stick it on your monitor or somewhere else close to where you write. If you ever find yourself in the midst of one of those days and you’re desperately searching for way to lighten things up… find that note and send an email to that address. In the subject line you’ll type the other two words from the note . . . TICKLE ME.
I’ll respond as quickly as I can with a joke, story, or maybe even an amusing limric (all PG-13). No probing questions. No meddlesome inquiries (although I’m a good listener/reader if you do want to spew). No strings attached.
Someday I hope to be able to provide more. Maybe it will be advice, counsel, guidance, or even inspiration.
For now all I can offer is … a giggle and a smile.
