The Octopus Knows- Round Robin #8

The Octopus Knows – Part 8

And so here it is my turn to write an installment of the progressive story, The Octopus Knows, originally conceived and created by the always inventive, Laird Sapir. I admit it’s a wee bit intimidating to contemplate this increasingly sticky predicament that Ninja and Simon now find themselves in, and I can only hope my writing brain kicks in to nudge our conflicted heroes in the right direction.  After seven very creative installments to-date, the most recent by Ellen Gregory (links to all installments can be found on Laird’s round robin page) we find the heinously kidnapped Ninja being held hostage in a whirlpool tub, and Simon foolishly fishing in his unflushed toilet with his toothbrush in order to recover the card containing the address of  Braden–aka Ninja’s unscrupulous kidnapper.

As we left off:

A minute later, staring at the soggy card covered with illegible watery blue ink, Simon reflected this wasn’t his finest hour. The address couldn’t be read, his wand was in the toilet, Braden had Ninja and Mr Jones was on his way to claim him.

For the first time in over a year, Simon’s immediate inclination isn’t to eat something; although it’s possible that his reluctance to self medicate with a fistful of Oreos has less to do with any sense of renewed discipline, as it relates to the distasteful condition of the card he now held in his hand.

He dropped the paper to the floor and gently laid the wand in the sink before turning the handle on the faucet to the far left–watching as the water gushed warm, then hot, over the wand.

Okay,so maybe this was it.  This was what it felt like to hit the wall at full force. He’d spent the entire past year overeating in an attempt to forget, and yet an expanding waistline had done little to dim the pain. Nothing had changed, and now Jones was back in town, towing  Marguerite like a shipwreck that gravity should’ve sunk long ago.  No question, that dame was resilient. She had no qualms about baring her fangs when cornered, and yet, in a strange way, Simon thought he might even admire her tenacity.  He wished he could say the same about himself.  But instead he’d gone soft. Traded his soul for a Twinkie.

The truth was that whatever Braden had written on the card didn’t matter. Simon knew where to find Ninja–the very place he’d long promised himself to never return. What’s more, whether he liked it or not–and he sure as hell didn’t–he somehow had to stuff himself back into those damned pants or otherwise risk losing Ninga.

And the bag–he needed to grab the bag from where he’d stashed it at the back of the refrigerator behind the gracefully molding cheese, praying hard and fast that the meticulously wrapped package inside hadn’t expired.

Steam now billowed up from the sink and with a hard twist on the faucet handle, Simon shut off the water and grabbed the wand from the sink.  He didn’t have much time and every instant was crucial. His fingers quivered like jello on bone as he attempted to handle the wand with essential care–turning the still hot tip in his fingers as he unscrewed it from the shaft.  Separating the two sections, he slid the slender glass vile encased inside into his palm. And he didn’t stop to consider risk or consequence as he popped off the lid and upended the contents onto his tongue.

Far off,  on the other end of town, Ninja’s eyes blinked open as the water in the tub all at once began churning, rolling, sloshing wildly.  A high pitched girlish scream that could only be Braden, broke loose beyond the closed bathroom door.  

With all eight tentacles reaching to grasp the edge of the tub, Ninja held tight to keep from being pitched onto the tile floor.  And if he’d had a set of lips instead of a beak he would’ve smiled.  He almost couldn’t believe it.  At long last it looked like his boy Simon had grown a set.  High time to lock and load, baby …

To be continued…

And now I respectfully pass the keyboard to Carrie Dawes   Stay tuned!

Positively Peevish

Lest anyone assume I woke-up this morning  wearing my Grouchy Pants or have overindulged on a breakfast of Cranky Flakes, allow me to clarify that I am actually quite jolly and chipper as is most often the case in the AM hours–before the real world comes along to slap me in the face and wring-the-merry from my smiley face.

Nevertheless, there are those things that gnaw and grate.  Drive-by moments that come along to poke and  irritate, despite all good intentions. That rub against the conscience–sometimes in the background, other times in the forefront–but always there somewhere, ready to jump and churn at the first not so gentle nudge.

It started this morning with a Styrofoam coffee cup on my neighbors lawn. I spied it from my kitchen window.  A startling, heinously deposited object of stark, non-bio degradable  ugliness discarded on Mr. R’s hard-earned and carefully tended square of sod heaven.  The sight of which launched me directly into Peeve #1:

Littering boobs who seem to think trash cans were designed as unnecessary ornamentation.  Honestly, but I despise litter in all of its hideous forms. No excuses or attempts at rationalization accepted. It’s disgusting.

It is in fact the aforementioned despicable crime that leads me directly into this companion peeve to #1, which is Peeve #2:

Pet owners who walk their dogs (purposely steered their pooches beyond the bounds of their own neighborhood) with the deliberate intent of “Poop and Run.”  No doubt you’ve seen them, bag-less dog walkers who pick-up speed should they spy a previously unobserved witness to their dastardly deeds.

Of course thoughts of pooping naturally lead me to considerations of eating, thus Peeve #3:

Foods with healthy sounding names that are anything but healthy.  For example Nutri-Grain, or the uber appealing Nature Valley.  A wise choice for those in pursuit of  good health?  ACK!!!!  NO! NO! Lies, all lies!  Both contain Fructose (HIGH Fructose in some cases.)  Fructose, as many of you know, is the REIGNING DEVIL of bad horrifying  ingredients. To quote Dr. Mercola of #1 Natural Health Website, “Fructose is the NUMBER ONE source of calories in the US.  An ingredient that is found in virtually all processed foods cannot be considered “moderate.” Even most infant formulas contain the sugar equivalent of one can of Coca-Cola, which helps explain how six-month old babies can be obese.”  I realize that not everyone cares to be known as the Food Nazi, as my own wiseacre family has titled moi, but Jeezaloo, how about food manufactures ease-up on the blatant trickery toward consumers who really do care to improve their diets and chose wisely. If it says NATURE or NUTRI on the label it should be a rule that, yeah,  it really is. (BTW, a good rule to keep in mind when scanning the ingredient panel–beware the “toses,” they’re all stinkers. Aka, Fructose, Maltose, Sucrotose, etc.)

Needless to say, such talk of devious deception leads me straight into  Peeve#4:

People who lecture against talking Religion and Politics and then do so themselves. You know the type. They make a grandiose point of their peacekeeping rule of excluding those potentially one thousand percent quarenteed heat producing topics from all social conversation, but then proceed to poke sharpened and poisonous barbs into aforementioned gentle and purposely civil conversation.  I think it’s safe to say that the majority of us have very strong opinions of Religion & Politics, thus there are generally no allowances for slip-in, snide references, or drop and run deliveries (see Peeve #2) of said topics.

Okay,okay, simmer down, I hear ya. Enough of the cyber whining– I get it.  Still, I know you have plenty of peeves yourself.  I can hear them knocking around in your head, so  here’s your chance to pass them along (and maybe even get a soothing touch of sympathy). Large, small, or passionately festering, the floor is now open. Let er rip  :-D

Caution: Exploding Brain

I’m not whining.  Really I’m not.   Well, sorta, kind’ve. Maybe just a little.  You see I get these ideas–neat, tidy, messy, disruptive, genius, life-changing, soul-shaking, ideas.  And I somehow assume that’s the hard part–the figuring stuff out part. The mind at work process.  The finger in the light socket wake-up call.

In reality, that’s just the half of it. The hard part is turning all the cogs and gears and moving all those brilliant plans into motion without my head exploding, because in the process of creation I’ve somehow forgotten to squirt some oil on the mechanism to keep it rolling smoothly.

Procrastinator vs. Overachiever

I very rarely procrastinate, although I sometimes like to take a few days weeks to think about a task or problem at hand.  Better to weigh and consider than it is to leap and regret.  For example, why rush the the doctor the minute you  notice the arrival of that strange spot festering volcano  on the tip of your nose, when it might very well disappear in 6 months?  Who want’s to be labeled a hypochondriac, for Pete’s sake. Far better to wait a while and see if anything falls off.

Ah, but overachiever! Not a title I necessarily rush to print on the front page, but okay, between you and me, I think that might be something of an issue for me.  Not because I am a TRUE overachiever, but rather, an A-Z organized, Pulitzer winning, Martha Stewart, chairman-of- the-board, Wonder Woman … wannabe.  Yes, I absolutely have all of my ducks standing nearly in a row– but as it is in real life, where I’ve NEVER EVER seen actual living ducks standing in a row–my ducks are more or less aligned in my head under the column labeled: MY PERFECT WORLD.

Perfect vs. Reality

It’s true I aspire to greatness, but my definition of such doesn’t necessarily fall into the category of Cesar or Ming the Merciless. I figure if I can just get the day-to-day requirements sorted out and orderly,  there will then be time to take it up to the next level where I conquer and build empires.

What’s more, I continue to hold to the hope that while plodding along the road to victory I might actually find myself becoming far more accomplished and in control–aka,  a lot less crazy. All I really need, as assures the quavering remnants of my logical self, is to master some simple basics.

And so, as it is with all great intentions and resolutions (hey people, they’re not just for New Years!) I will begin with a mighty list:

1. Return phone calls (Mom, even when it’s not her birthday. Also, the receptionist at the dentist’s office who is persistently calling to reschedule my 6 month cleaning, since the Dr has apparently decided to go on a cruise that week. Alas, the time has come to face the truth and cease the standoff, since only a crazed buffoon would seriously hold to the determination that by refusing to acknowledge a scheduling change, they might successfully force their health care professionals into sheepishly folding and rescheduling personal plans .)

2. Send Birthday cards on time and correctly addressed to the intended recipient. (Ex: The birthday card I recently sent to my nephew with his first name and MY last name printed on the envelope. Thank God I at least had his address correct so it did arrive. Humiliation and embarrassment of Auntie Barbara:Priceless.)

3. Morning workout accomplished without mental promises of cookies for lunch if I just do ten more push-ups and forty sumo squats.

4. Daily writing goals pursued and accomplished without being sidetracked by laundry (which will patiently wait) and cat naps because I’M NOT ACTUALLY A CAT.

5. Bills & monthly expenses paid before looming due dates have me writing checks in the middle of the night (and because I voluntarily assumed this task after telling berating hubby that he’s too much of a PROCRASTINATOR.)

6. Saying NO (nicely if possible) when I don’t have time or inclination to fulfill a request. (Beware the “Disease to Please.” It’s life stiffling!)

7. Stop making lists when I really should be doing all of those things I’m currently listing. (Although my son did just offer me one of the M&M’s he’s eating for breakfast and I did staunchly decline, so # 3 is nearly accomplished. Yeah Me )

So, how about opening the valve and releasing some of that pressure from your own overtaxed-on-the-cusp-of-exploding-brain–what’s on your list?

Liebster Love & Comrades of the Pen

Last week I had the great pleasure of learning that I’d been tapped for some Major Blog Love by Ellen Gregory, when she awarded me with the Liebster Blog Award.  (Yes, that is me you hear hootin’ and hollerin’ just because winning stuff is fun and festive!) So my sincere thanks to Ellen

To explain, I’m going to quote Ellen who quoted Laird, who quoted Mike Schulenberg:

According to legends that come to us from antiquity, the Liebster is meant for blogs that motivate, inspire, and have 200 followers or less.  Its apparent purpose is to summon new followers like some sort of mystical talisman, increasing the power of those of us who are just beginning. — Mike Schulenberg

The Liebster Blog rules:

1. Thank the person who nominated you on your blog and link back to them.
2. Nominate up to 5 others for the award.
3. Let them know by commenting on your blog.
4. Post the award on your blog.

So without further ado, I select the following five to spread the Liebster love:

Janet Lawler: The New York Screenwriting Life

Kathryn Magendie: Writing From My Mountain Cove

Heather Webb: Between the Sheets

Sherry Issac: Psychological Sizzle

Jodi Lea Stewart: Walking on Sunshine

And really this is merely the tip of the Island of Beautiful Blogs. But it does bring to  mind the fact that it isn’t merely about being entertained, informed, and having a friendly chit-chat across cyberspace. There is also the absolute joy or connection with like minds — or even not so like minds.

The following post seems a good fit with Liebster Love. It’s a repost from my long ago, far away blog, but remains a favorite for it’s close proximity to my heart.

COMRADES OF THE PEN

Do you recall your very first best friend?  How about your first writing  friend? The one you excitedly shared your aspirations with, secure in knowing your heart’s desire was completely safe and theft proof in the vault, because your best writing friend shared the inherent angst, struggle, and unsurpassed joy of putting words on paper.
Hugh Hefner, The Early Years
I started writing my “little stories’ in grade school, keeping everything in various notebooks that I’ve long lost track of. My first foray into writing with a friend was in third grade and it nearly landed me in the hot seat down at the principal’s office. My friend and I (also named Barbara), had somehow came up with the then thrilling idea to co-author a weekly newspaper, the name of which was THE NAKED CITY. We’d heard the title on a television program and been shocked, titillated, and immediately tempted to be naughty. I don’t recall much story-telling in this joint venture, but the main feature of our newspaper were naked stick-figures adventuring in a big city.  It was all great fun for a week or two, and my co-writer, Barbara, was most generous in offering to keep our back-list publications safely tucked away in her classroom desk. We were wildly enthusiastic to share our newspaper with classmates, and the brief surge of popularity was heady stuff. Or at least up until the moment when one dissatisfied reader tattled to our teacher and Barbara was forced to hand over our complete inventory of THE NAKED CITY on the spot. Barbara was prompt in implicating me as her trusty co-writer, and I was equally prompt in responding with a vehement denial.

All these years later, I am left wondering if  Barbara still holds a grudge…

Seventh Grade, The Bronx Bomber Comes To Town
I grew up in a small town in New York.  Postcard pretty: farms, rolling hills, mostly quiet, and generally peaceful. A new family moving in was immediately noted and carefully watched as they blended in. Maybe it was the leather jacket, the movie magazine tucked under her arm (when the rest of us were still reading Archie comics), or a combination of both, but from the first day when the new kid swaggered onto the school bus, my attentions were immediately captured and have held steady for over 35 years.

Unlike myself, who kept my writerly aspirations safely tucked away for my eyes only, waiting for my confidence to kick in, Janet made no secret of the fact that she was an aspiring screenwriter. Born and raised in the Bronx, she was an all out enigma in our small town and quickly became known as “The Star.” Whenever she arrived in English class toting a newly finished script, our teacher was enthusiastic in allowing the class to read and perform her masterpieces. Needless to say I was thoroughly enthralled with this leather clad epitome of all things cool. Our friendship came on fast and furious in such a way that has held on strong for the duration. We’ve come a long way from the days of skipping school to sit at Janet’s kitchen table drinking tea and typing her scripts, and despite time and distance, she remains my top-tier writing champion. It’s been a thrilling ride, supported each other from rock bottom rejections to the exhilaration of standing on the summit.  While my debut novel currently makes its way in the world, Janet, too, has had a myriad of writerly accomplishments: writing award wining plays, a movie script optioned by a renowned Hollywood director, and writer of a popular blog, THE NEW YORK SCREENWRITING LIFE: 

Writing Friends From Afar, Yet Close As A Key Stroke
Social Media. Blessing or curse?  I’ll be honest and admit that my first foray into social media was in consideration of what I assumed was a necessary evil for authors with stuff to promote. I didn’t get it — until I did. Certainly promotion is essential on some level in some places, but the true treasure to be gathered from those favorite Facebook groups, blogs, websites, etc, is the connection to REAL people traveling the same road, carrying a familiar cargo, and pressing on to similar destinations. Sort’ve like one REALLY BIG road trip.

I find it remarkable and exhilarating. These are not simply avatars passing on the internet, they are shoulder to shoulder, pen stroke to keyboard, comrades of the written word. Yep, right here with me, generous, sympathetic, and just as enthusiastic to accept the invitation to my party as I am to accept theirs.

A recent glowing example of newly discovered writer love came to me with the discovery of a most fabulous novel and it’s equally fabulous author. Several weeks ago I found myself reading “Tender Graces” by Kathryn Magendie. Now when I say fabulous, what I mean specifically is that I LOVE everything about this book .  I’m talking Triple Crown: story, characters, writing style.  Now, in my pre-social media life, I would have loved this book, studied the author bio on the back cover, and wondered all sorts of things about this mysterious creature who could write so beautifully. Not so in the here and now where we can find books, love them, and “meet” their authors, as I myself did with Kathryn Magendie, an incredibly gracious writer who has much to share and does so most generously. Comrade of the pen? You betcha! (And a crazy cool aside, she was reading my novel, The Secret of Lies, at the same time I was falling in love with her book. A situation guaranteed to kick-up the thrill of reading several notches.)

Writer love is a most wonderful thing and I gladly trade my promotional aspirations for the far more durable gift of pen-to-pen friendships.  How about it, have you been thoughtful in passing around some of your own writer love?  Would love to hear how you discovered your comrades of the Pen

Free — But At What Cost?

 

My Dad has always been fond of sharing the caveat that “Nobody ever gave away anything worth having for free.”

(Dad is not a writer, store manger, or Mary Kay Consultant.)

Really? Are high price tags an accurate assessment of quality?  Is FREE really just another name for junk?

Okay, then, what’s the deal with FREE?

No question, there’s plenty of free crap stuff being offered around these days, but it’s good to remember that when it comes to free, it is definitely not a case of ONSIZE FITS All.  For instance, a well intentioned  assessment of FREE would be to consider it as something of a birth announcement– “Lookie lookie, see my newborn pride and joy, isn’t she a beauty?”

There are of course certain degrees of free, but in order for FREE to serve it’s intended purpose of “Try it, you’ll like it,” the object in question needs to be compatible with the hype, or at least good enough to keep everyone from whispering that you have an absolutely hideous baby.

The extender of FREE has to keep in mind that they are in fact aiming a spotlight that will show all the seams and dangling threads in their garment.  So while you may be offering something for FREE, you as the giver, must wholeheartedly believe it’s actually worth a million bucks. Thus, in order for FREE to translate into true love and future sales where dollars are exchanged and bank accounts padded, this FREE something must ideally translate into being delicious, memorable, or decidedly unforgettable.

For instance, those FREE food samples many of us are so fond of, I ask you, is that friendly food sample server at  Trader Joe’s serving up bottom-of-the-freezer-ignored-to-death items that otherwise haven’t sold?  Does the store manager think that offering free samples is a genius plan for cleaning out the soy cocktail weenies wrapped in seaweed that nobody is buying? ” (Note, that such reasoning as they apply to our at home food stuffs do not in any way relate to the discussion at hand, and such methods are not necessarily wrong or otherwise discouraged.)  Or, is it actually that someone in the Trader Joe’s empire is banking on a hunch that one miniature taste of Asiago or Sundried Tomato Chicken Sausage will lead to true and forever love? (Btw, YES, YES it will!)

At their best, FREE samples allow us to taste the new foodie treats coming on the scene before making the commitment to buy; slather on the coconut oil lotion to see if it really does  make us look ten years younger; read an unknown author’s work to determine if their words nest comfortably in our brains.  All this without ever having to make a commitment!

And yet, why then, all the hostility and distrust toward some FREE items, eBooks being a prime example. There have been more than a few scathing comments made in regard to free book promotions and ongoing rants about crappy books crowding the market and causing enormous literary jams when crossing the street contrare to traditionally sold books.  Is it really true that if something is free there must be something wrong with it?  That anything of value warrents a price tag?

I think the answer resides within the actual purpose of FREE.  With food it’s about engaging taste-buds, while with personal products, winners are those that deliver visible results (or that smell really really good.).  And when it comes to books, well maybe it’s not as convoluted or diabolical as it might appear to some.

First the disclaimer, YES, there are some hideous, ghastly, and retch worthy books turning up in the FREE zone, but lets keep in mind that there are plenty of the same with a price tag on the cover.  Consider that an author offering a book for FREE is most often doing so because their name is not Stephen King, thus having their moniker on the spine of a book means diddly-doo to the book buying public, and they might as well be the invisible man peddling face cream. But that’s not even the most important thing, because first and foremost is an author’s passionate faith fingers crossed prayerful hope that once experienced, their books will no longer simply be a love story waiting to happen, but rather a lifetime commitment.

And if it doesn’t? If the sparks fail to ignite and an a reader feels compelled to break-off the engagement and return to taking out other blind dates?  No problem!  It’s painless and easy to DELETE what doesn’t entice or appeal, because, hey, it was FREE to begin with.

What do you think of FREE? Love, hate,  or distrust it?

Lucky 7

HIGH ROLLING LUCKY  SEVEN

The always fabulous Tami Clayton has tagged me in the writing game, “The Lucky 7 Meme.”

Thanks Tami!

These are the rules–because of course there are rules:

1. Go to page 77 of your current MS/WIP
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines, sentences, or paragraphs, and post them as they’re written.
4. Tag 7 authors, and let them know.

So this is my pg.77, line 7 — next 7 lines, from the bajillionth draft of my current work in progress, a Mainstream Literary novel with some really long sentences:

Incredible!  There it is.  Right in front of her.

Her legs peddle fast and furious, twin beaters churning the air, ancient rubber tires slapping the uneven pavement in complaint, her insides rolling and crashing like waves as she closes the distance.  Someone is shouting—then a woman’s high-pitched wail—the hysterical squall going on and on until all at once obliterated by the approaching fire engines careened across town from the station several blocks away.  The steady bleat of sirens cracking open the night and swallowing every other sound.

Willa drops the bicycle on its side, not caring where it falls; her feet dragging lead as she moves closer, eyes wide and staring in an attempt to fully absorb this terrible thing she sees.

 

And now, quick, while they’re not looking, this is me tagging the next Lucky 7:

DB Smith

Sheri De Grom

Catherine Margaret Johnson

Richard Monro

Marian Pearson Stevens

SJ Driscoll

Helen McMullin

Okay, fellow scribes, show us your 77, 7, 7  (Keep in mind, if your not up to page 77 and you still want to play, you can use page 7 for your 7 lines.)

My Man Rocky

Have you ever considered what character, fictional or real, would most fit the role of a movie about your life?

No doubt it’s not an especially easy choice to make, and it would likely require a casting call of thousands to find a persona close enough to fit the gazillion nuances of quirk and personality that make you, you. But lets say we do manage to narrow it down just enough to produce your life on movie screen.  Who are you?

So yeah, I am Rocky, but of course you easily saw that coming.  It’s not like I didn’t give you any clues

I’m crazy about Rocky.  The battered, bloody, but nevertheless triumphant Rocky, to be precise.  I love his story, yes, but even more so, I am Rocky

Am I suggesting that I don’t clearly enunciate when I speak, or that I have pecs of steel?  Um, well no, not exactly.  My love of Rocky goes far deeper than those super-pumped, stand-up-and-cheer, fight scenes.

For me, this valiant underdog best personifies my own knock-down, drag-out travails as a writer. High drama? Exaggeration? Not so much, because for anyone who has undertaken a similar journey of the heart, you know where this is coming from. It’s rough, sometimes hostile, often frustrating, and downright mean.  Yet, even then, stronger and far superior to the pummeling afforded by these exterior obstacles, are the true and far more durable strengths of hope, faith, belief, and yes absolutely, perseverance.Rocky’s story appeals on multiple levels. While nearly everyone who looks at him might see an ordinary, uninspiring, nondescript nobody, he nevertheless holds to his dream and keeps on standing tough when the blows of life – and later Apollo Creed – continue raining down.  It isn’t just that Rocky is a dreamer (dreamers after all are as common as fleas on a dog), it’s that he’s a dreamer with unshakable purpose, dedication, and a persistence strong enough to allow him to gulp down a daily tonic of raw eggs, pummel frozen beef carcases, and keep on standing when the blows come the hardest.

(Of equal note is the actual story of how Rocky creator, writer, and actor, Sylvester Stallone, held on against the power and $$$ of Hollywood to get his movie made with his vision intact. Inspiring in a BIG way!)

Yes, we start with a dream, but at the dawn of each day it’s all about staying the course and going the distance.

So who are you? Give us your character

What? Me Worry?

 

 

When was the last time you worried over a situation so long and hard, that you succeeded in turning it around, changing the outcome, or banishing it into oblivion? Hopefully you’re being honest and said NEVER, otherwise I’d be forced to say you’re completely up-to-your-eyeballs-full-of-baloney s***.

I know this because I once carried a Masters Degree in worry and was well on my way to a PhD.  Not that I actually aspired to such honors — it was more a matter of accepting the award with a smile and a handshake since I’d worked so hard to earn it.  In retrospect I would’ve been wise to refuse it, but that’s the thing about hindsight, it’s always so much more defined when you’re looking back from a distance of time passed.

Don’t Worry, Be Happy … Ah, what a concept.  But where are the instructions? How exactly do we transfer the song lyrics over into real life, where angst and concern are so often the flavor of the day?

It starts in childhood, this penchant for worry, and it takes on strength with every growth spurt. By the time we reach adulthood, we’re full blown worrywarts and what-if-aholics; piling worry on top of worry, where they will subsequently mate and breed, producing enough crazy ideas to paper a padded cell.

It’s a fact that worry, left alone to mingle with imagination, will often conceive an abundance of worrisome thoughts masquerading as rational concerns. It becomes all to easy to convince ourselves that the school bus driver  is a recently paroled ax murderer, or that the real reason hubby’s plane hasn’t arrived on time is because it’s at the bottom of the North Altantic …

Yes, of course, all worry does not come from a place of irrational paranoia, and there are legitimate instances when logic and worry collide with the force of continents dislodged, all for good reason. But even in the midst of genuine crisis, it’s helpful to keep in mind that worry is not so much to be ignored as it is to be mastered.  After all, worry loses a good deal of it’s potency if you refuse to feed it kick it in the butt and run away.

It’s not always easy to let go of our human tendencies to worry, but I’ve learned a few absolutes:

*Worry will not dissolve the traffic jam and get you to your doctor’s appointment on time.

*Worry will not increase your test scores

*Worry will not help your child make the team

*Worry will not get your book, blog, or synopsis written

*Ditto, Worry will not make reviewers, readers, or editors stand-up and cheer once you do

*Worry will not remove cellulite, excess weight, or a bad hair day

*Worry will not end wars, pay the  mortgage, or get you to the church on time

The fact remains that worry doesn’t solve problems, in as much as it allows them to grow to stifling proportions.  The result of which does little more than cripple us from action, or in many cases, to expend abundant energies running in the wrong direction.  It’s not always easy, but the thing to do is grab this gremlin by the scruff of the neck, and wrestle it off it’s pedestal.  Troublesome little  monster never should’ve been up there anyway.

True confessions–Yes, I am a recovering worrier. How about you?

Me, Myself, and Amazon

Better Keep That to Yourself  They’re those taboo topics we know well enough to keep carefully removed from conversation if we harbor any intent of keeping things polite.  You know what I’m referring to, those subjects that incite the variety of passion likely to turn explosive homicidal dare anyone light the fuse. Yep, that’s right, Religion and Politics.  And, oh yeah, now there’s Amazon.

Word on the Street  Lately it seems they are popping up like dandelions on a lush lawn; magazine articles, blog posts, FB, Twitter, tales and opinions of impending collision.  Amazon against the Publishing Universe.  Depending on the source, Amazon is either under attack, or, ON the attack?

It’s War … Really?  Regardless of where any of us might hang on the chain–writer, agent, editor, publisher– we either have strong feelings regarding all this hoopla, or are currently developing them, because it’s a pretty big pot of stew that’s simmering to a boil.  And there’s every reason to believe that at some point, we’ll need to pick up our pages and take sides.

Amazon vs Traditional Publishers  Amazon has leveled the field and it’s exciting, yet worrisome — thrilling, yet spooky.  It’s Amazon vs the Big Six, and I’m not yet clear as to whether I should be buying ringside tickets or covering my eyes to protect them from the flying shrapnel of  Brick and Mortar bookstores being blown out of the future and into the distant past.

Proceed with Caution  I readily admit to being relatively cautious paranoid when it comes to change, and the native New Yorker inherent in my psyche makes me wary of anything that looks TOO GOOD.  I have been naive a clueless sucker a few times too many, so I’ve learned to proceed with baby steps, regardless of how delightfully wonderful the package might appear. Sure it might look and smell good, but that’s no guarantee it will taste good once you finally take a bite. The point being, that for many of us, Amazon has been the oasis in an otherwise harsh publishing desert–and yet, is it really?

A Courtship of Sorts  From the perspective of the part of me that is an “I LOVE AMAZON” book buyer, I’m sort’ve interested in the drama, but not as much as I love buying books at discounts with the potential of free shipping.  Yet on the flip side, is the author me with a book listed on Amazon, all of which means that I’m hanging on the edge of my seat, watching these two massive locomotives hurtling toward … well, toward something.  And regardless what happens, I’m pretty certain that someone’s getting hurt.

People have asked my opinion, and I do have one. But it’s an opinion that continues to waver  just enough to keep me from cementing it in place.  And not because my reasoning is especially deep or thoughtful.  In fact it might be something you’d hear on any Kindergarten playground, because the truth, quite frankly, is that my loyalties currently reside with the one who’s played nicest and been fairest from the time I first showed up on the playground.  Which is to say that Amazon has been kind to me. Very kind. Far more welcoming and supportive than the Indies, bookstore chains, or Big Six publishers.  And I take that personally.  It’s impossible not to. They not only invited me to the party, they even sent a limo to pick me up.

Deep, heavy-hitting,  thought provoking assessment? Nah, not really. But I can’t help myself.  When it comes to matters of the heart, I respond to care and feeding  just like any other zoo animal. Feed me, pat me on the head, offer me a cold drink on a hot day, and it’s pretty much certain I’m not about to bite in return.

Nevertheless, My Eyes are Open, and I Have an Ear Against the Door  Being appreciative doesn’t mean I don’t keep a watchful eye, read up on the latest, and stay awake to avoid potential injury. Good today, doesn’t guarantee good tomorrow. I’m optimistic, but not necessarily foolish a flaming idiot.

EXTRA, EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT IT  And for you, on the chance you missed any of these provocative posts, I pass along links, links, wonderful informative links, gathered here for your dining-on-Amazon pleasure. Read, enjoy, keep a heads up, on the chance you find yourself trapped in the crossfire.

Kristen Lamb has two recent posts well worth checking out: Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts and Bracing for Impact — The Future of Big Publishing in the New Paradigm

Sarah Lacy: Confessions of a Publisher: “We’re in Amazon’s Sights and They’re Going to Kill Us”

Julie Bosman, The New York Times: Worried Publishers put Hopes on Barnes & Noble

From Joe Konrath; Amazon Will Destroy You 

And you? Are you worried? Do you care? Much ado about nothing? Or are your thoughts leaning toward “Battle Stations Ready …?”

Visiting Day

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah! It’s a Road Trip!

Such a pretty February morning. Unseasonably warm and sunny, so I’m off to visit Brianna Soloski, over at her blog, Girl Seeks Place, where I’ll be discussing  whining about MY LIFE FOR SALE . I surely would love if you have a moment to come by and share your thoughts. (Although it’s also just fine if you only have time to stop over for a slice of cake and run.)