Variety is no longer a Ham Sandwich...

It's my last day at work for the week today. There's nothing better than a Thursday masquerading as a Friday for the work week. Even the weekends where Monday is a holiday isn't quite the same because you have to go to work for four days afterwards. It's the weeks that give you Friday off because it's three days of pure non-work-related peace. In my case, I decided to splurge and give myself the full traditional Easter holiday. I'm looking forward to not having to leave my parent's mid-afternoon on Sunday as is usually my habit when I go home for a weekend visit.

This has been a good week; I'm not sure why. Nothing of significance has happened more that it's just felt...nice. We've had all the weather extremes to high 70's on Sunday where it was warm enough that it actually felt humid to freezing temperatures that actually provided snow flurries. We've had rain, we've had thunderstorms. Now we have sun. It's amazing to be able to live in a place where you look out the window and don't have to think..."Oh, look, it's sunny again."

I can hear you all thinking, "What's wrong with that?" Well, as I've blogged before about this, I'll just briefly reiterate my previous point. I enjoy sun yet I also like a little variety. For example, for several years when I worked at USC, I would make my lunch every night before bed. It would consist of either a ham, mustard and lettuce sandwich or a turkey, Branston Pickle and lettuce sandwich. I'd also have some carrots, an apple and usually an orange or other kind of fruit. I enjoyed this habit at first. Then, without realizing it, I suddenly found myself groaning at the concept of making another ham sandwich because it meant I'd have to eat it. For some people, they wouldn't have been able to eat them so often in the first place. For me, I liked the routine until, finally, I realized I didn't.

That's how I feel about the California sunshine. I enjoy it. Yet, like those ham sandwiches, I really have to be in the mood for it otherwise, I inwardly groan at the thought. I recently discovered that though my brain still thought it was a good idea, the actually eating of raw baby carrots for lunch was a no-go anymore. I simply had eaten too many.

Thus, I now live in Ohio and I now have variety for lunch. I think I've made an sandwich maybe twice. Instead, since we have a microwave, I bring in healthy foods to eat without having to spread mustard on that bread every night.

So, over the years, I've learned that though I am a creature of habit, I like a little variety. I'm trying to bring a little to my life at the moment by entertaining the idea of buying a house. Everyone I mention this to gets excited because it's a great time to buy, not a great time to sell which means there are great deals out there. It's not to say I don't love my apartment because I do. Yet our company is moving in the next few months and, once again, I'll be commuting in the mornings and evenings if I stay put. I'll be able to do it for a while; I've had enough practice in Los Angeles. Yet I don't want to do it forever and I also think that it'd be nice to have a place of my own. The beauty of Ohio is that, compared to California, it's very cheap.

I have to say, I'm both excited and terrified about the possibility of buying my own place. It's a huge commitment and, well, I do have a few commitment issues. Yet I also know that if I find the right place, I won't care. At least...that's what I think I'll think.

I'm still in the early stages of entertaining the idea. Until I actually move forward, it's going to remain an exciting possibilty rather than a scary reality. Yet I think moving forward might be nice. Apartment living hasn't quite reached the level of intolerance that I've reached with my ham sandwiches but every time I hear the frat boys across the hall with their not-so-bright girlfriends, every time I hear the stomp of my CEO's footsteps on my ceiling, every time my apartment office hassles me to renew my lease even though I have until August, I think how nice it would be to live in a house where I didn't share walls, where I didn't have to feel like I was under my landlady's tyranny because I'd dared think about hanging a picture on the wall. When I moved into this complex, I was handed a list of prices that every potential piece of damage to my apartment would cost me. So, every time I accidentally spill wine on my floor or I notice a scuff mark on the wall, I feel compelled to pull out that sheet and see how much it might cost me if I don't clean it up perfectly.

At least if I owned my own place, I could charge myself for my calamities. Yes, there'd be a lot more maintenance, yes I'd have to fix things myself but...the idea is new and exciting. I'm hoping that I follow it through. It'd be nice to move from my apartment building while I still had some fondness for apartment living. I don't want it become a ham sandwich in my life. I want it to be like the California sunshine: A fond memory, a nice treat to visit but something that I don't want every day, all day anymore.

We'll see how that goes.

Happy Thursday!

Passing "The Toast Test"....

It's a sunny Wednesday today; still cold, but sunny. For some reason, I'm feeling nice and positive today. I think it's because I had fun writing last night. That's always good for an energy boost. I'm hoping it lasts through the workday. There's nothing better than having a day at work where I don't want to hurl something at my computer screen or, occasionally, at a coworker.

I have exactly one week before I'm supposed to find out if I'm eliminated from the Amazon contest or I move on. The forums have been reduced to bickering and petitions about buttons- there are 'do you think this comment adds to the discussion- yes or no' buttons on each posting- and apparently some people have been saying 'no' and causing trouble with their negativity. The clique is back in full swing because the reviews that we all got were posted and there's an awful lot of sour grapes and bitterness going around. I'm sure that some of the review were a little harsh and probably inaccurate but having been booted out in the first round last year, there comes a point when moving on is wise. I hate criticism, I hate reading bad stuff about my novels but...one thing I've learned....listening is wise, even when it stings. I know it's easier to say since I did make the quarterfinals but I'm considering it my "get 50 rejections, get 1 piece of hope free" bonus.

So, needless to say, I finding other ways to entertain myself on the internet. Believe it or not, I get a lot of work done in the day but I have learned that since my job is working with computer software, documentation and testing, I cannot do it solidly all day without taking quick breaks. My concentration wavers after a while and so a quick surf of Facebook or Entertainment Weekly online puts me to rights and working is easy again. Or easier, at least.

Yesterday, my surfing 'break' was spent trying to find a recipe for dinner. I'm not much of a cook, and my dabbles in the kitchen, while sometimes succesful, often result in disasters. Yet sometimes, I get the urge. I've learned that I should stick to what I know and what I feel comfortable with. My favourite thing to cook is vegetable dishes. This is probably why I like making soup; I love veggies and soups allow me to feel like a cook without too many scary incidents. Last night, I decided to venture out. I had a ton of fresh vegetables in my fridge. I'm very susceptible to produce departments and farmer's markets. I can go into a store or market with the intention of buying some bananas and a loaf of bread and emerge with a cart full of fruits and vegetables. This happened this weekend because I went to Jungle Jim's again.

I knew in my fridge, I had asparagus, green pepper, tomatoes and other assorted goodies. So I thought I'd try something pasta-related. I looked for a recipe but didn't find anything that appealed. I found a couple of ones that made me realize that if I used the chicken stock I had left over from making soup this weekend, I could make something interesting. So I did what any occasionally-terrible-cook shouldn't do...I made something up.

Surprisingly enough, I accidentally made something edible, healthy and...tasty. I'm on a healthy kick because I'm trying to lose my winter weight. I ended up simmering asparagus, green peppers, cherry tomatoes, onions and garlic in chicken broth and white wine, grilling a chicken breast and putting that in just before the vegetables soften and tossing it with pasta. When everything was simmering, I tasted it and it was a wee bit bland so I though, "hmmm...wonder what would happen if I added a little fat-free cream cheese." I am a genius!

Well, not a genius, just lucky because the cream cheese didn't ruin the recipe, it just added the right amount of creaminess and flavour that the recipe needed. I like to toss in stuff from my spice rack so I chucked in a little bit of dill and oregano. I ended up enjoying a rather large bowl of pasta in front of the television with "MI-5" and the lovely, if slightly traumatized, Adam Carter. In case you hadn't figured it out, I'm slightly in shock that I cooked without a) setting a tea-towel on fire as often happens b) didn't accidentally turn the colander into which I drained my pasta upside down and accidentally lose my spaghetti down the sink (as has happened more times than I'd like to share) and, c) I actually ate the food I made and didn't have the thought that ordering a pizza would have been tastier and easier. I usually test my culinary efforts against what I like to refer to "The Toast Test".

I love toast. I've mentioned that many times in my blog, I'm sure. It's the perfect food. I like to put things on my toast like Marmite, baked beans, spaghetti o's, scrambled eggs, cheese...you get the idea. So, when I cook something that could be considered more culinary than, say, heating up a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli and putting it on toast, it's exciting. Thus, I created the toast test. If my recipe/cooking makes me wish I'd made toast for dinner instead, it fails. When I make soup, sometimes I make toast to go with it. If one of my soup recipes only tastes nice because I get to eat toast with it, it fails The Toast Test. If I'd rather make plain old toast and eat it with marmite than eat another bite of my recipe, it fails.

Last night, I can safely safely say I didn't want toast for dinner. I wanted my pasta. Needless to say, I was so excited I wrote the recipe down so that I could try it again. This is not to say I'm bragging about my culinary skills because, well, trust me, I'm not. If you want a real cook, you should look at the blog for Rad Linc Crafts: now that's cooking. I dabble. I try not to set things on fire. I try to make something edible. These are not lofty goals. So, when I make something that is not only edible but tasty, I consider that a victory. Score one for Captain Monkeypants.

I followed up my cooking with some quality writing time. I started a new novel with an existing character from another novel. I'm writing about his childhood at the moment. When I went back and reread what I'd written last night, I had one of those amazing, unreplicatable bursts of elation that only writing can bring me when I realized that I could hear the adult voice of my character in his words as an eight-year-old and I hadn't even planned it. That's the moment when I realize that I'm not just 'creating' a character but, rather, the character has found me and from then onwards, even if our relationship isn't always harmonious, a novel will come of it. It's one of the best feelings in the world, trust me.

So, I start this Wednesday in a great mood, a feeling of content that even a day full of software testing of a very buggy program can't take away. I hope your day starts just as well.

Happy Wednesday.

Easter and other Randomness...

It's freezing again today. Some of the daffodils look as though they're trying to hide from the cold; they're a little less yellow and a little lower to the ground. We had a frost last night and I have a sneaking suspicion that if the flowers had known that was coming, they might have waited to bloom. Hopefully, by the end of the week, it will have warmed up again and Spring can come out of hiding.

You'll be happy to know I only had two messages from the Derron lady when I got home last night. Both of them were her yelling at Derron to bring her food. I feel bad for her now. She must have been really hungry to leave him four messages between Sunday and Monday. If she'd have called back last night, I actually might have felt guilty enough to ask where she lived and, if she was local, offered to pick up some food for her. She didn't call though so I suspect Derron finally got in touch with her or, perhaps, she realized that I wasn't, in fact, Derron in disguise.

Last night I spent time with Jack Bauer on "24" again. I shouldn't watch that programme and then try to sleep; I always have weird dreams. Last night, I dreamed I was making a getaway in a deluxe motor boat after eating Clementine oranges in the tropics with Tony Almeida, one of the characters on "24". It makes for interesting dreams but not terribly restful sleep.

Still, it's a short week. We have Friday off which makes me terribly happy. Usually, I try to take Good Friday off anyway. Growing up in England, Easter Weekend was always a long one; we always had Good Friday and Easter Monday off. I'm willing to compromise on the Easter Monday but I do like having the Friday off. I think I might colour eggs this year. I like doing that. I'm not actually a fan of hardboiled eggs but it's quite fun to colour them though with those Paas die kits, they always end up turning some shade of blue, no matter if I've used orange or pink dye tablets. That's probably my fault. The eggs inevitably have fingerprints stained into the shells and I always emerge with purple fingers. Still, it has become easier over the years. When I was in college, my friends and I tried to dye eggs over Easter Break one year. We didn't have access to proper kitchen so we ended up trying to boil the eggs in the microwave. Needless to say, it was an unprecendented disaster. We lost a couple of eggs to explosions before we figured out that maybe we were supposed to prick a hole in the eggs before attempting to boil them in the microwave. We managed to do that losing only a few eggs to over avid hole-making. Unfortunately, we discovered that when you prick a hole in an egg and then try to boil it in the microwave, that hole provides an escape for some of the insides of an egg.

Thus, all of our microwaved eggs had tails. When you're attempting to boil eggs with a bunch of college-age boys, what was supposed to be an interesting egg experiment turns into a contest of who can come up with the most crudely creative comparison for how the egg looks.

I don't think we managed to colour eggs at all that year. I think we got points for trying though. One thing I did learn is that boiling eggs in the microwave is not ideal.

This year, I'll have access to a stove, a saucepan and a kitchen. Of course, I always say I'm going to colour Easter eggs but I usually only follow through every other time I plan on it.

I love Easter. When we were younger, our family had a tradition of making Easter nests. I think that's a British thing. Instead of baskets, we'd take a grocery bag or a box, shred newspaper and hide it. On Easter Sunday, my siblings and I would get up and have to hunt for our nest because it had been moved and rehidden by "The Easter Bunny". We'd have our Easter eggs and an assortment of loose chocolate in the bottom of the nest that we'd gorge ourselves on so that we weren't hungry for our Easter dinner.

Nowadays, I love the idea of Easter nests but I don't eat much chocolate. I find that odd, actually. I was a fiend for it once; now, I can eat a couple of pieces and I'm done. I usually end up keeping some Cadbury Creme Eggs in the freezer for a few months; it's nice to have them on hand when I do feel that need for chocolate. I like the Mini Eggs too but once I start eating those, I tend to keep going even when I feel like I've had enough.

So, as the week proceeds, we get closer to Easter. Obviously, it's not really about the chocolate or the eggs, really...it's about the holiday itself. Everyone celebrates in their own way whether they celebrate it as the beginning of Spring, hope or even life. I like to celebrate it as all three; the start of a new season, putting the winter days behind us and moving forward into a sunnier world. Now, if it would just warm up a little....

Happy Tuesday.

I am not Derron in Disguise...I Promise!

Happy Monday. True to form, it's a gloomy, cold day with a chance of snow. In fact, it was snowing a little when I came in this morning. I know that if it actually does snow, my coworkers and family will most likely blame me. Apparently the snow dance that I do with my dog, Sausage, has become infamous. I don't dance with him anymore, just saying the words "Snow, Sausage!" excitedly seems to bring snow. I accidentally did that last weekend without thinking. Don't tell anyone.

Aside from it being a Monday and thus it being a naturally sluggish day, I'm a little sleepy this morning. You see, I'm being stalked on the telephone.

It started last night. I was just watching an episode of "MI-5", one of my favourite BBC television shows, on DVD. I was enjoying it because it was an episode with a lot of Adam Carter in it. Confession time, I think Adam Carter might be my dream man. He's an MI-5 spy, a tortured soul but strong and confident and, also, he saves England quite a lot. Picture Jack Bauer, make him a lot more dashing, British and less breathless and you have something like Adam Carter. Not that Jack isn't a good hero because, well, I can't picture Adam saying "Get me a hacksaw!" in order to cut off someone's head. No, Adam would most likely try to stop the decapitation but then order someone else to do it instead. He's a good delegator, that Adam.

Yes, I digress. Anyway, so I was watching "MI-5" and my home phone rings. This is a rare event. I mostly use my cell phone. In fact, I only have a home phone number because I decided to keep my L.A. number for my cell and thought I should probably have a local phone number as well. Also, it was part of my Verizon Home Internet package. So, when my home phone rings, I usually answer it expecting it to be either my friend who lives in the same apartment complex or a salesman. Even though I'm on that "National Do Not Call Registry" thingy, there are still some solicitations that slip through the cracks. Very annoying but nowhere near as frequent as before I was on the registry.

When I answered the phone, a little old lady was there. She warbled, "Derron?" I said..."No, I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number." She said, "Sorry," and hung up.

Two minutes later, I'm watching Adam Carter have a fight with a terrorist and my phone rings again. "Hello?" I say. "Is Derron there?" the lady says. "No," I say. "This is the same number you called before. I'm afraid Derron doesn't live here."

She says, "Oh." We hang up. A minute later, my phone rings again. I don't want to tell the lady that Derron doesn't live at the number she's calling again. So I let my answer phone pick up. My answering machine (and yes, I still have one) says, "Hello, you've reached [Captain Monkeypants], I'm not available right now so please leave a message after the beep and I'll call you back." It says MY NAME and so you would assume that anyone calling would hear that and think, "Oh, oops, wrong number."

Not so with Ms. Persistance. She hangs up on the answering machine. Then she calls back. She hangs up. By now, as you can imagine, I'm a little fed up of momentarily getting engrossed in "MI-5" only to have it interrupted by the Derron-seeker.

Side note, I know someone named Derron. He lives in California. I wonder if for some reason, the world is so small the lady was trying to reach that Derron. I doubt it but stranger things have happened.

There is silence for a while. I finally relax, thinking she's given up. Nope. Five minutes of silence and then my phone rings again. I confess, I was irritated at this point. I had thought of turning my ringer off but I couldn't help thinking that since it isn't MY fault she keeps dialing the wrong number, I shouldn't be the one to have to take action. Silly me, being so logical.

So, this time, I pick up the phone and snap, "Hello." "Derron?" she says. "No!" I say. "Derron does NOT live here. You keep dialing the WRONG number. I've had this number for six months and Derron has not lived here." She bleats, "Derron [last name]?" By the way, it's not the Derron I know in California. Shocker, I know.

By this point, I'm annoyed but I realize that shouting at a little old lady isn't very nice. So I try to take the irritation out of my voice. "No," I said, as calmly as I can manage. "Derron does live here." "Is your phone number ***-****?" says the lady. "Yes," I respond. "That is my number. Perhaps Derron lives in another area code."

"Derron isn't there?" she says. This is when I feel my temper rise. I've tried to be nice. I've tried ignoring her. She's not listening. "NO!" I say. "I'm sorry, lady, but Derron DOES NOT LIVE HERE!" This time, my irritation must have been apparent. "I'm sorry," she says. Her voice starts quivering. I instantally feel like a horrible, horrible person. "It's ok," I say, trying to sound nice. "You just have the wrong number."

"I'm sorry," she says again. "But Derron isn't there?" I sigh. "No," I say. "You should try calling information." Sadly, she says, "Why would he give me this number if it's not his?" Naturally, because I'm not a nice, sweet Monkeypants all the time, my mind instantly thinks, "maybe because Derron knew you'd never get off the phone?" I don't say that though. I just let her ponder it for a moment.

She hangs up, finally. I hang up. I have ten minutes of lovely peace and uninterrupted "MI-5". Then, ten minutes later, she's back. I let my answering machine get it. I have no more energy. I feel really bad that she can't find Derron, that she clearly is desperate to reach him. On the fourth call back, I snatch up the phone, openly hostile now and say, "Sorry, Derron still doesn't live here." There's nothing but heavy breathing and the sound of a TV. Perhaps it was Derron. I'll never know.

Finally, the calls stop. I'm relieved to say the least. I go to bed and I sleep. As I mentioned on Friday, I haven't been sleeping well. While I was able to sleep better this weekend, I still woke up a couple of times. Last night, I slept solidly until about 6 a.m. when I was awoken by...you've guessed it, my home phone was ringing.

I keep my phone in my living room but I'm a light sleeper and while a distant phone shouldn't wake me up...it does and it did. Sleepily, I listen to see if the caller leaves a message. I might be awake but I'm not about to get out of bed unless it's an emergency. It wasn't. It was the little old lady. Even though my message clearly states MY name, she left a message somewhere along the lines of, "Derron, you need to call me. I want to talk to you."

I thought, "Oh, great, now she's leaving him messages." I started to get back to sleep when...she called back. Again. This time, she is very angry and she's actually shouting at Derron on my machine. This time, she said "Derron, I don't know why you're not calling me back but you gave me the wrong number. Call me. Now." She was furious.

Naturally, so was I because I couldn't get back to sleep. Even though I get up around 6:45 a.m. anyway, it was still 45 minutes of sleep that I lost. I don't know how many other ways to tell this lady to stop calling me. I'm wondering, exactly, how many messages Derron will have when I get home. I don't have caller ID so I can't even figure out where she's calling from.

So, Derron, whoever you are, if you live in Southwestern Ohio and you've got a little old lady friend who is looking for you, please call her. Seriously, PLEASE call her. I know you might be trying to avoid her and all, and, truthfully, I can see why. She is one persistant lady. Sometimes persistance does pay off but if you've dialed a number ten times and each time it does not belong to Derron, perhaps you should....stop calling. It's a thought, at least.

I'm hoping that tonight while I attempt to spend my Monday hour with Jack Bauer, Little Old Lady Persistance does not try to reach Derron. I'm hoping that perhaps Derron has reached her. If not, I'm hoping that somewhere between my first telling her that Derron does not, in fact, live at the number she keeps dialing and her angry recorded message to Derron on MY machine, she realizes that Captain Monkeypants is not, in fact, Derron in disguise and that I'm not deliberately lying to her about Derron's whereabouts. By now, trust me, if I knew where Derron is, I'd tell her. Oh yes, I'd tell her.

Sadly, I don't think she'd listen. C'est la vie.

Happy Monday.

Sleep Deprivation and the Joy of Socks

Today is the type of day in which getting out of bed is almost a crime. It's a rainy, dark, gloomy day, the type of day that lends itself to providing an excuse to do nothing. Naturally, I'm at work. I'm feeling very sluggish today; I haven't been sleeping well. I'm not even sure why. It's been going on for over two weeks now. I get to sleep just fine. I wake up....and then I'm awake.

This morning I woke up grinding my teeth. Usually, this is a sign that I'm stressed. The odd thing is that...I'm not, not really. I'm not sure what I would be stressed about. Granted, I haven't won the lottery recently, received a dream publishing deal or met the man of my dreams but there's nothing new about that. The problem with wondering if you're stressed is that you begin to stress about whether you're stressed and why you might be stressed which...makes you stressed. It's a vicious cycle.

But I'm not stressed and there's nothing on my mind that could be causing me not to sleep. I've even looked it up online to find out causes of waking up nightly and the diagnosis is overwhelmingly...stress. So....not so helpful.

However, being that it's Friday, I'm determined not to worry about it. I can sleep in tomorrow which is always a lovely treat. I might even change my sheets. I love fresh sheets; they make me feel so cosy and safe. It's the same thing as a good pair of socks. I love socks. I know, that's probably an odd thing to admit but I know for a fact I'm not the only one.

I recently bought new socks. They're coloured ones with flowers on them. I'd show you a picture of my lovely socks since I'm wearing them today but that would probably be a bit strange. However, I will say that whenever I wear a pair of these socks, I get a happy feeling because even though no one can see them, I know I'm wearing them and when I wiggle my toes in my shoes I can feel them snuggle my feet. When I was in college, I also had socks that I enjoyed. I would sit on my bed and look at my toes. Sometimes, I'd sing songs about them. At one point, I think I pretended my toes were singing back. That's fun, you should try it sometime. It makes life much more interesting if you imagine your toes singing to you.

Of course, were my toes truly to sing to me, they'd probably sing a rather angry song...something probably entitled "The Pain of Being Captain Monkeypants' toes". You see...I stub my toes. A lot. Usually at least once a week. I can't help it, things just get in the way of my feet and before I know it, I've slammed my toes into it. It's a singularly painful sensation. First, there's the slight shock of feeling that you've broken your entire foot. That wears off and you realize it's not your foot but your toes. Usually, the searing pain wears off after a fairly short while and is replaced by a feeling of extreme heat and throbbing and, in which, you feel like you can't even wear a sock no matter how much comfort that would normally give you. Usually, the throbbing subsides and eventually turns into a simple fear of putting weight on your foot. Contrary to how it might sound, it's a fairly quick cycle of extreme pain to simple fear.

Eventually, you can walk on your foot. Unless you do what I did last year which is stub your toe so badly it turns into a couple of months of limping. I had to go to the doctor for that one. I felt like a twit.

However, lately, I've been trying to be nice to my toes. Then, of course, it could be that I enjoy looking at my cute socks so much that I'm actually watching where I'm walking. This is not because I mean to look where I'm going, naturally. No, it's more of a side-benefit of liking to look at my socks so much.

You're probably wondering how I went from talking about sleep deprivation to talking about the Joy of Socks. My only defense is that...I'm sleep deprived. Sleep deprived people are allowed to talk about things like socks. Even if that's not true, I'm going to believe it is. Let's not even mention the fact that I told you all that I imagine my toes singing to me sometimes. They dance too but it's very easy to make your toes dance, it's not hidden talent. You should try it. It's quite fun.

I just wiggled my toes again in my shoes. It's amazing how much better life seems with the right pair of socks. Even though it's rainy and I'm tired, I know I will be able to make it through the day because I'm wearing my green socks with the flowers. Simple pleasures...

Happy Friday. Have a great weekend.

Two weeks to go...

It's very nearly the end of the week already. It's been a fast week, it seems. I'm still trying to get a grip on this Ohio weather; one minute, it's 75 degrees out there, the next, it's 38 degrees and I'm shivering. It snowed on Sunday, actually; it was only a brief flurry but it was still bizarre to see it falling on the daffodils and hyacinths. It's such a contrast, the sunny warm flowers and the icy cold precipitation. Naturally, it's a contrast I love.

Aside from the weird weather, it's been an odd week. I've still been going onto the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award message boards just to see if there is any news or interesting posts. At the moment, the conversation is all a little blah. It's still an amazing feeling to be in the quarterfinals; I've been getting some awesome reviews on my excerpt. I have a few from friends and family but there's also some rather generous reviews from complete strangers. When I see that I have another review, my heart always skips a beat as I wonder if it'll be a good one. So far...it's all good. It's a little alarming and yet also feels amazing.

This round in the contest is suppose to be about the reviewers from Publishers' Weekly reading our entire manuscript. That alone gives me a teeny bit of confidence because while the beginning of my novel, the excerpt that is posted, is a good beginning, the action and story takes place right after that introduction. One reviewer said that they felt like I didn't show enough of how my main character was reacting to what was happening to him....the hard part about that is that while it's constructive criticism, that reviewer really needed to read the book to figure out why, exactly, I couldn't let the reader see things from his point of view. He's an interesting character, that's all I'd say and he's not actually what he seems. That becomes clear as the book goes on....I hope.

So, it's a pleasure to read those comments and the feedback people have been kind enough to leave. It's helping me as a writer because I'm getting perspective on how people are reading what I've posted, what they're seeing as opposed to what I see.

I've even done a little reviewing on my own of some of my competition. I'm trying to read excerpts that don't seem to be receiving a lot of attention. As it was before the last round of eliminations, the forums have become something of a popularity contest again. While most of the 'clique' that I blogged about before have cut back on their postings if they even post at all, there's a new inner circle, all pimping their works, trying to get reviews. Some of the excerpts have up to 40 reviews. Mine has nine. Considering, at this point, the reviews are supposed to be for feedback only and votes won't count until the final round, I think that's a respectable amount. I thought I'd be lucky to get one review, to be honest. I'm happy with my nine. I'm really hoping that the rules are true, that Publishers Weekly is judging the works on their own merit, not on who is the best salesperson because some of those folks out there...they can SELL!

(As I side note, as I've read and been told before, I know that at some point, all writers have to be salesmen for their own work. I know marketing is as important as getting published these days. However, at this stage, in the contest, I'm still suffering the delusion that it's still about the writing. If it is a delusion, it's a delusion that helps me get through the day.)

As I've said, some of the excerpts I've read, I've greatly enjoyed. There are some really talented writers in the competition and reading their works is a bit daunting. Stiff competition, it's definitely out there.

I confess, I've checked out a couple of the excerpts with a high-volume of reviews and, well, I didn't leave a review on either. There's a reason for this; a couple of weeks ago, there was a discussion about why you shouldn't leave a 'bitter' review. Several people who were eliminated in the last round were accused of leaving negative reviews because they were bitter. Eventually, this turned into a discussion of whether it was better to leave constructive criticism or none at all. I don't know what the verdict was but I know I slunk away from the forum with the distinct impression that no one was going to say anything really negative because they were likely to be flogged in the forums for it. So rather than leaving a negative review on the popular excerpts, I left nothing. It's not that the popular excerpts are bad per se...they're just...average. Yet they have so many glowing reviews that I started to feel like perhaps I just wasn't getting it and that maybe I was already biased because of their forum postings. Thus, it wasn't right to leave a review that was likely to paint me as 'bitter'.

And I'm not bitter. I'm ecstatic to be included in this round of quarterfinalists. I'm revelling in the 'anniversary' of my notification every Tuesday with a glass of wine or, if I have it, even inexpensive champange. It's my way of toasting my success and reminding myself how blessed and lucky I am to have made it this far. I lurk in the forums but I don't post; I just like to keep up, make sure I'm not missing anything. We have two weeks left before the next round of cuts. I won't lie and say that I don't care if I make it. If I didn't care, I wouldn't be writing posts on my experience in the contest.

I do care. I've made it this far; to keep going...that would be unbelievable. Yet, I'm working myself up, conditioning myself to know that the chances are stronger that I won't make it and, if I don't, I will not wallow. I will not dwell. I got further than ever before and once you get to stand on a ladder, getting back off, even when you're only standing on the bottom rung, seems a little more difficult than before when you've had a brief, shiny look at the sky above

So thanks to anyone reading this if you did review my excerpt...this is not a blog to say "Thanks but it means nothing," it's a blog to say it does mean something...to me. It means that people took the time to read my work, give me feedback and note that they believe in me as a writer. If that's all I get out of being in the quarterfinals...then that is something to which it's worth toasting with a glass of wine.

It's always nice to have an excuse to drink, anyway.

Happy Thursday!

Bad Driving Blues....

As a former L.A. driver, I thought when I moved back to the midwest, it might be a little safer to drive on the roads, not to mention a lot faster to get from one place to another. I should have known from my earlier Midwestern days that while the latter might be mostly true, the former...is not.

My initial delusion is forgivable, I think. After all, L.A. drivers are...bad. There are certain things that I've seen in my days of driving in Los Angeles that are definitely the marks of driving in a city. For example, a friend emailed me yesterday to complain about drivers who think that because they use their turn signal, they have the right to change to whatever lane they choose to drive in, regardless of whether anyone is in their way. I had to sympathize with her; I've seen this many a time and it's always a little terrifying when the car next to you suddenly decides it wants to be where you are. And so the driver attempts to do so, ignoring the fact that...well...you're already there. Without some swift defensive driving, there is no way to avoid the inevitable collision if that driver decides he must, indeed, change lanes.

Though, I did remind her that the fact he actually used a turn signal was a privilege. So many new cars seem to come without turn signals these days, have you noticed? I wouldn't dare assume that so many drivers just don't know how to use one, it must be the car...right?

Ultimately, I think my friends complaint comes down to the overwhelming sense of entitlement that affects so many drivers in L.A. They get impatient because THEY have somewhere to be. You see this the most on the freeways. During morning rush hour, the only thing to do is to have patience. Traffic isn't going to move any more quickly if you get impatient. And yet, some people still haven't learned this and so you see what I call 'the lane shuffle' in which a car will attempt to outrun you by hopping, Frogger-style, from lane-to-lane. Most drivers watch this with amusement because they know that Mr. Frogger won't get there any more quickly than anyone else. This is usually proven moments later when Mr. Frogger realizes he wants to exit and is now stuck in the lane furthest away from the off ramp. Thus begins his game of 'reverse frogger'. Sometimes they make it, sometimes they don't. If he doesn't make it, often he'll honk and yell at everyone for making him miss his exit.

Drivers like Mr. Frogger seem to forget that they are not the only drivers on the road, nor are they the only ones with somewhere to be. When I first moved to L.A., I would get panicked in the mornings on the way to work if I got stuck in traffic. I hate being late, you see. Soon after, I learned that virtually everyone in the city has to commute from somewhere and being late is acceptable if it's due to traffic.

Moving back to the Midwest has given me a new perspective on driving, I have to say. I do love that sometimes, especially on the way to my parent's, I'm the only driver on the road. I can drive for up to ten minutes without seeing another driver. Yet, there are still bad drivers here.

Recently, I've noticed something that is fast becoming a pet-peeve of mine. It's usually concerning pick-up truck drivers or, sometimes, SUV drivers. You see, I get stuck behind them on the road. I'm not a Speedy-Gonzales driver by any means but I do like to at least go the speed limit. I usually go 60 or, at the fastest, 65 in a 55 zone. I know, technically, that's speeding but it just doesn't seem that fast. Anyway, when I get behind these drivers, they 're usually going about 45 or 50 mph in a 55 zone. I can deal with this a little better if they're old. It's probably a form of ageism or whatever but I tend to cut older drivers a little more slack.

It's the young couples I can't stand because what they're doing is having a conversation. I can hear you saying..."So?". Well, the thing is that they're trying to have it face to face while driving. Yes, you can actually see the driver constantly turning to face his partner as he tries to steer his truck. While I'm an advocate of manners, there's also such a thing as common sense and, call me crazy, but you'd think that while you were driving a big old pick-up truck, not crashing it might be the priority rather than staring at your lovely lass while you chat.

If it had only happened once, it would be ok. It's happened about six times in two weeks. It's usually on a busy two-lane highway so I can't pass. Instead, I get to watch John-Boy and Mary-Jane having a good old chat.

I should probably be more sympathetic because, after all, it is the Midwest and people take things slower here. I probably would be except that usually when I'm stuck behind one of these drivers, there is a parade of cars behind me all riding one another's bumper. Having been rear-ended during my first month in Ohio, I'm a wee bit weary of people being too close on my tail these days. I can still hear that crunch and feel the thud of being hit if I close my eyes. I don't want it to happen again. I usually leave at least a car length between me and the car in front of me these days, just in case I do get rear-ended again.

Yet I can't do anything about the parade of cars behind me. If John-Boy and Mary-Jane continue their conversation and he suddenly puts on his breaks, he's not getting hit, I am. Hence my dislike of getting stuck behind them.

There are other bad drivers here and they're not just limited to the roads. This morning, I almost got slammed in the carpark of my apartment building. Every morning, I pass by a driver that is speeding through, on her way to pick up someone. This morning, the sun was in her eyes. I know this because she was shielding them. She was still going at least 25 mph in a 5 mph zone. She didn't see me. I swerved, she just missed me. She barely slowed down.

I know, I'm probably guilty of bad driving at times, just as we all are. Sometimes, we just can't help it; we yawn at the wrong time, we forget to look both ways. We forget to look at our front end as well as our back end when pulling out of a parking space. There are all sorts of ways we can screw up. Yet there are bad drivers out there, drivers who forget that they have to share the road, drivers who are so worried about their own time that they forget that other people's is just as precious.

I suppose it's a comfort to know that even now I've left L.A., there is a little piece of the city here. Granted, it's one of my least favourite parts of the city but...I'm trying to look on the bright side. I suppose it just means I have to concentrate on being a better driver. Now...if only everyone could try that...

Happy Wednesday...