Monthly Archives: September 2008

The closest I’ve been to someone enduring chemotherapy was when a new neighbor went through it for breast cancer. She was an amazing example of strength during those months. She lived only with pets, worked full time, cared for them, shopped and cooked for herself – and often for me – and more than five years on is cancer-free.

Now I’ll experience chemo with a closer eye as my mom begins treatment for CLL – Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. Since she was first diagnosed, science has made remarkable advances toward treating this disease. There is still no cure but remission is possible and that is what we’re all looking for. A four or five year remission would give the scientific world a nice chunk of time to develop new and improved medications, treatments and possible cures. That, too, is what we’re all looking for.

I have to admit, I still don’t have a complete grasp on this disease, though I have been doing the research. The best part is that since my parents moved to Colorado, they’ve discovered doctors who are not only interested in treating the disease but in treating the patient. These doctors and assistants have been more than generous with their time as we come up with lists of questions, and they’ve offered information when we’ve been too naive about the disease to know what to ask.

They originally suggested four months of treatment but have since suggested six. “Like weeding the yard,” the doctor’s assistant said. “You can treat until the weeds die down to the root or you can treat until the root has died as well.”

We want to get to the root of this and so, six months it is.

This is week one. Only five ‘weeks’ to go – one a month for the next five months – and all with our eye on the prize. Remission.

Way back when I was first toying with this story, I was sitting on a blanket under a huge tree near the bank of the Hudson River. We’d spent the day touring the magnificent homes in Hyde Park, New York - the Vanderbilt and Mills Mansions – and took a few moments to soak up the beautiful and serene landscape. I whipped out my writer’s notebook and scribbled some thoughts as they came to me.

I had my heroine’s name and face clear. I knew her angst and her mission. And I felt her need to have her story told. My hero made an appearance that day, too. He told me his name but not much more since he was in a hurry. He was rushing to rescue a loved one from danger and on the way had bumped into my heroine.

I went to sleep that night with story ideas swirling in my head. I saw scenes play out, I heard my characters’ voices. I saw them struggle and I saw them sneak glances when each thought the other wasn’t looking. They were so real and excited – and in such a hurry – that I got right down to writing their story.

But first… I developed W’s for them from my W-Plot class. I soared from there, putting these two into terrible danger, pushing them ever closer to the edge, forcing them to push back.

And then I dropped them.

Why? What happened? All the forward motion and then BAM! A massive brick wall knocked us all down to the ground. Why?

Because I didn’t plan my W’s the way I should have. I cheated. Along the lines of the capital letter W are the various plot points each character must reach. Low points, high points, black moments and happily ever after. They have to travel, struggle from one to the other. They cannot simply step over one and onto the next. My mistake? The plot points were too connected, too close. There has to be time and space between them or the story ends before it gets going.

And so I’m forced to step back and review all I’ve done. I’ve already gone back one chapter and come up with a new plan, a new level of tension for my hero to work through. Now I need to go back to my W’s and see if I can shift a few plot points, sneak in a couple more and up the angst, torture these charactes just a tad more, make them earn their happily ever after without feeling guilty for putting them through such horror. 

Ah but that feeling of power can be all consuming at times.  

I might even storyboard the scenes from this point on, shifting them until they flow just the way I want them to.

When you hit the proverbial brick wall in your writing, what do you do to get things moving again?

I am an animal lover through and through. Taking in this abandoned kitten was inevitable from the moment I ripped open the box in which she’d been dumped at the shelter. I was going to foster her, socialize her so she could easy go into a loving home. There was no question.

Yes. My intention was to foster the last three kittens I took home from the shelter, and now, more than a year later, they are as much a part of my family as I am. It was no wonder, then, that everyone I spoke to about fostering this one laughed at me.

“It’s true,” I said. “I’m not keeping her, I’m just fostering her.”

“Uh-huh” was the standard chuckling reply.

In truth, I have considered keeping her. But that would mean FIVE cats in my house. One for each room.

Uh… no.

Put aside the fact that she fits inside every nook and cranny there is in my little house. Forget the fact we keep repeating one line all day and night, “Where’s the baby?” Forget the messy kitten coolie and baby-fine talons… um… nails… that slice through skin like a hot knife through butta (hey, I’m a New Yorker). Forget the endless heart-wrenching cries at 4am when baby is hungry… and forget the hissing and attitudes of the ‘elder’ cats in the house.

Forget all that because this kitten is precious. And yes, she’s already cozied up into my heart.

But I can’t keep her. I have four already and we have a neat little routine going. Besides, she’s here for one reason – to be taught what it means to be part of a family so that she can be part of one herself. And guess what? She has a home. Sight-unseen, someone has eagerly agreed to take her and so, come Monday, I’ll say goodbye to my fragile little calico and know, somewhere in my sad little heart, that she’ll be happy and very well cared for.

I’ll also know that I was the one lucky enough to receive her first ever head-butt. And I taught her to feel safe enough to love.

It’s tough enough to find homes for the cats we already have at the shelter but when kitten season comes around, we’re inundated with more of these babies. We do what we can to socialize the new ones as they come in so they’re ready to interact with other cats and with people. It’s good for us as animal lovers to bring a skittish kitten around but it’s even better for them because a happy cat is usually a cat who will be adopted.

Thing is, as a shelter, we can’t always control how the cats come to us. Some are from various neighborhoods and we’re called in to help trap, neuter and release. Sometimes, the ones we trap and neuter are so friendly or docile we simply can’t release them again and try to find adoptive parents for them. It’s a great feeling to know you’ve rescued a cat off the street and have found it a safe and loving home.

What’s not such a great feeling is finding animals dumped at our door.

Sure, people mean well. They think the cats they dump will be better off with us – and maybe they will. But it costs money to house and care for these cats. If someone wants to rescue a cat and decides to leave it with us, I wish they’d mail us a donation check, too. Instead, we’re left with the tab. As a shelter that gets it funds solely from donations, paying surprise bills like this is not the easiest thing to do.

Take this past Monday night… I’m driving to the shelter and I get a call from my co-volunteer. She’s scared. There’s a cardboard box precariously placed mid-way down the stairs to the shelter. It’s wrapped and wrapped with black electrical tape and the only ‘air holes’ are handle cutouts in the cardboard. There’s no sound from the box and no movement. There’s no indication of how long that box has been there. Hours, perhaps, in 78 degree weather? Imagine being alone and sealed in a box for hours.

I get there moments later, tear the tape from the box and peer inside. Two wide and frightened eyes stared up at me from way in the corner behind a small mound of ‘bedding’ (towels). It’s a kitten. A tiny calico, silent as can be.

That tiny seven-week-old calico, who we’ve named Lady and I call Lady Di, cost us an easy $100.00 right out of the box. Literally. She needed a flea bath, flea treatments, a fecal to test for worms, blood work to test for fatal and contagious diseases, and an overall exam. We want our kitties healthy. Now we have to house and feed her until she’s adopted and if that doesn’t happen before she’s 6 months old, we’re dolling out dough to pay for her to be spayed.

Don’t get me wrong, that’s what a shelter is for. But please, if you think a cat will be better off at a shelter and decide to leave that animal at the shelter door, be sure the animal is safe AND include a note stating your intention to send a donation… and then follow through.

Meanwhile, Lady Di is at my house being socialized. She’s still scared and hiding and my cats are not giving her an easy time of it, either. She’ll learn to hold her own and she’ll learn to play and trust. My job is to teach her while keeping her safe, fed, clean and secure.

I just hope I’m able to give her up when our ‘training’ period is over. She’s a precious little thing and easily wormed her way into our hearts. Take a look at her and tell me if she doesn’t do the same for you.
  

What wonderful weekend weather we had. Mid-70′s both days and just perfect for a fall harvest festival… and birthday party.

It’s Daughter’s annual plan – and her friends wait for it, asking every August if “we’re still on for the party”. There’s a corn maze – that took the girls an hour and 14 minutes to get through, lol – hay rides, colonial cooking demonstrations, arcade games, carnival rides, live music, cotton candy, funnel cakes, greasy bratwurst, sausages and hamburgers, butter-drenched roasted corn, face painting, scarecrow-making and empty pockets by day’s end. But… it was such fun and we’ll do it again next year as every year.

During the colonial cooking demonstration, they churned butter, made bread, corn chowder soup, and cinnamon water.  For $2.00 you could have a taste of everything and everything was delicious.

The corn maze is different every year and, honestly, even if it were the same I doubt the girls would find their way out. They have way too much fun getting lost inside of it.

After rides galore and lots of laughs, we closed up the festival and trekked over to the boulevard for a Hibachi dinner. What a fun way to end the day. The girls loved the show the chef put on for them and, surprisingly, tried a little bit of everything he made – including scallops! How’s that for adventurous young ladies?

Of course, afterward, we headed to my house and I took out the cake. I was a little upset with it because, for some reason, it seemed to tilt left. Ah well. I’m not an expert cake-maker. Still… the best part for me was when I took it out and all the girls whipped out their cameras to take pictures of it. lol. What fun.

All in all it was a wonderful day and I know all of those blossoming young ladies will remember the simple fun at the fair each year for Daughter’s birthday.

Here’s just a short taste of our day with photos of the cake at the end.

(I don’t know how to embed video without first uploading it to youtube. Any ideas?)

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And because I must be getting older along with my daughter, I now realize, I’ve already posted the recipe for this cake. And here, I thought I was going to share it with y’all for the first time. Well… this cake is so good, it’s worth sharing again, so check it out – Chocolate Decadence.

Every September, the Queens Farm Museum holds their annual Harvest Festival. I have taken Daughter to this festival every year since she was able to walk. For the past four years, she’s invited friends along. Since her birthday is around the same time this is her party.  Her friends look forward to it almost as much as she does. And to be honest, I look forward to it, too.

This year, the festival will have a double meaning for us. Not only will it be a celebration for Deanna’s birthday with friends she adores, but it will also be a special day for some of our precious shelter cats.

Today, at the Queens Farm Museum, volunteers from A.C.T. (animals can’t talk) animal shelter will be there hosting an adoptathon. (Daughter designed and set up the shelter’s website, btw) It’s a wonderful idea one of our dedicated volunteers came up with and a whole crew of volunteers have offered to help. I cannot wait to see people gravitate toward the adoption table. Our kittens and older cats are so adorable and loving, I don’t know how anyone will be able to resist them.

Of course, there’s a tight screening process potential adoptive parents must endure, but that’s to ensure the safety of our cats. No one will carry a cat away from the farm except the volunteers – back to the shelter. Hopefully, we’ll have names and references and before the week is out, some of these furry babies will pack their belongings and arrive in a happy and loving new home.

What a wonderful birthday gift that would be for Daughter.

That… and a cell phone.

I see it this way… Daughter is now a full fledged teen. A TEEN!!!! She’s been asking for a cell phone for about two years. She’s homeschooled. Hmm. That means she’s around me much of the time. Why on earth would she need a phone? I’m still not clear on the answer to that, but this is a big leap of a birthday and so I relented. It’s time. My little girl is growing up.

She wanted an iPod and a phone, so I got her the Juke phone – music and phone in one.

She’s going to love it. LOVE. It.

Talk about growing up… her cake is no longer shaped like a teddy bear, a princess or a powerpuff girl. Nope. Instead, this year, her cake will be the same as her gift – a cell phone. I shape and decorate a cake each year according to her interests. Harry Potter was one year, a pirate another. It’s fun to look back on her birthdays, see the cake and be reminded of what occupied her mind during those years. I suppose soon she’ll outgrow the need for a ‘theme’ cake but I’ve a feeling I never will.

When this cake is ready, I’ll post a photo – it’s baking as I type. And if you all behave… I might even post the recipe, which I must say is terribly rich and decadent.

Happy birthday my little one who is not so little anymore.  May you dream without limits and may your every dream come true. (just remember your mother when they do. )

So, no, I have not followed through where my WIP is concerned. However, I have been writing. In fact, I’ve written more during the last few days than during the entire summer (unless you count posts in this blog).

I entered the Black Diamond Synopsis Contest and learned just two days ago, that one of my three submissions made it to the finals.

The feedback for each of my submissions was incredible. And insightful. What amazed me was how I seemed to make the same error in each one and how all nine judges (three for each synopsis), mentioned it as a sticking point.

I focus on the heroine – her internal and external goals, emotional reactions and growth – but not on the hero. In each of the comments sections, the judges mentioned how they felt disconnected with my hero and would like to know more.

What’s interesting to me about that is my feeling/fear that my stories were too centered on the hero. I guess I tried harder to get the heroine’s story out there and so left my poor hero (each one of them) standing at the curb. Poor guys.

The good news is that finalists were permitted to revise and resubmit before the final round of judging. So, for the last couple of days, I’ve been revising. And revising. And then when I finally had what I thought was the best synopsis possible… my file disappeared.

Disappeared.

I searched and searched and cursed and cursed. All to no avail. That file was gone. I have no idea how or why it happened. I saved it. Repeatedly. The file info acknowledged modification at the precise time I’d saved it but not one of my changes were there. And so, though I was advised to walk away, I could not. I sat there, determined to get this done.

And I did.

I resubmitted my new and improved synopsis within one hour of the deadline to do so. I don’t know how it will do but I do know I gave it my all.

And now… I will get back to my regularly scheduled goal and write something, anything, in my WIP each and every day.

The summer has slipped by with nary a word from my in my work in progress.

I know… I’ve been busy. I’ve had a great time traveling and visiting family. I’ve solidified our newest homeschooling curriculum and I’ve entered three writing contests – that’s two more than I’ve entered since I started writing years ago. And so… my muse has taken a hiatus and now I must coax it back.

My new goals… to write something, anything, on my story each and every day. I don’t care if it’s one paragraph or one sentence. As long as it’s a NEW paragraph or sentence and not one I’ve decided to tweak, I will have accomplished my goal.

Of course, as you can see by some of my posts on this blog, one paragraph tends to grow quickly when I actually sit down and write. My only hope – not goal – is the same will happen for my story.

I’ve hit the proverbial brick wall. I need to back up, take my characters out of the situations I’ve left them in and rewrite them into new situations. Situations that will help me move my story forward. See, part of the reason I stopped writing in the first place was because I’d somehow veered off the track I’d set for this story. I allowed the characters to have their way and like unsupervised children, they’ve done some things I’m not happy about. And so, I’m going back in with sleeves rolled to the elbows and I’m going to straighten things up… with their desires in mind. A neat compromise should do the trick of getting us – myself, my muse and my characters – back on track.

So my new goals are to write each day no matter how little. To walk away and do something else when the words stop flowing – rather than sit and stare at the blinkin’ cursor. And to explore even the most far-fetched ideas my characters and muse introduce.

What is writing fiction if not playing with ideas and “what ifs”.

What if… I actually finish this story before this year is out. Now THAT’s a goal I’d like to reach.

No, I’m no longer there. I’ve been home for a few days now but I didn’t have the chance to tell you about the rest of my trip.

Colorado is a lovely state with unexpected works of art on corners or park benches.

It’s also a pet-friendly state, and it seems almost everyone has a dog. In fact, when you walk through various towns, local shops have filled water bowls outside their doors, and each corner has “doggy” bags and trash cans.

Unfortunately for me, the only animals I saw while there were… well… dogs. Now, I love dogs, don’t get me wrong, but I wanted to see deer, elk or big-horned sheep. However, the closest I got to any of those was while at the Museum.

It’s okay, actually, because I will be going back. I have family there, after all. And so, my chances of seeing Elk and such will increase with each visit. Of course, so will my chance of seeing a coyote, moutain lion or rattle snake.

Well, wild animals in their natural habitat or not, the land is stunning, the views magnificent and the weather glorious.

Still, there’s no place like home, as they say, and after arriving at the airport at 9:15AM for an 11:15AM flight that didn’t take off until 3:34PM, we were more than happy to see the clear Colorado sky fade to darkness as New York City lights came on below us.

Seven years ago this day, at about this hour, I had just dropped Daughter off to school – it was her fourth day of first grade in a brand new school. I came home and tried to get online but dial-up took even longer to connect that day than usual. I remember being angry at that. I also remember walking away to let it connect while I nonchalantly poured myself a cup of coffee.

Back at the computer, my front page had finally opened. There was a headline – “Plane crashes into World Trade Center”. Hmm. Another idiot flying low enough to hit a tower? Something like that had happened just a week prior – an accident. A stupid mistake. Of course, this was more of that. I clicked the link, poured a second cup before it fully loaded only to see the same headline without a story. There was nothing else on the page, just the headline “Plane crashes into World Trade Center”.

Annoyed with our Internet provider, I disconnected from the internet, and immediately, my phone rang. A friend, breathless and struggling, said, “Put on the TV.” And then I saw it. A plane had indeed crashed into the World Trade Center. Smoke billowed from the sides of the building and I couldn’t imagine how those people would get out… or how someone would get in to help them all the way up there at the top.

I called hubby in and we watched, somehow realizing there was more to this horror than what we saw. And suddenly, it happened again. We saw the plane, the impact, the resulting explosion of fuel, flames and debris. When the reporters said another plane was ‘lost’ or not responding, we ran from the house. We had no idea what was going on but whatever it was, we were all going to be together.

We weren’t the only ones with that idea. Parents were streaming in and out of the school when we arrived, all taking their children home to ‘safety’. We made it home just in time to see the first tower fall. The image was repeated and repeated. Planes crashing into the buildings, the antenna disappearing behind a rolling cloud of smoke as it plummeted to the ground clinging atop the building. People running, chased by clouds of smoke and debris. By the time the day had ended those image were seared in our brains. As were the images of first responders rushing to the madness. Hoping to help. Not thinking of their safety but the safety of others. New York’s Finest and New York’s Bravest. Never were we more proud. Never were we more saddened.

Smoke lingered for days. The stench in the air made it nearly impossible to breathe. How people braved ground zero, I can’t say, but I know their strength and determination to rescue those they knew and those they didn’t know was the beauty and humanity in an otherwise inhumane and disgusting day.

New Yorkers pulled together. The country stood behind us. We all cried for the victims – here in NY, in Pennsylvania and at the Pentagon – and we hoped. We watched the world come together in support of us. And we watched that support get squandered away. We heard our leader say we’d get the man responsible for this – dead or alive – and then we heard him say that man was no longer important. We watched world support turn to world disdain and we watched attention shift from the horrible truth of 9/11 to the disgusting lies of WMDs.

We lost lives. We lost pride. We lost our standing in the world. The NY skyline still waits to be rebuilt and the man responsible for it all still runs free. Are we any safer? Are we any more tolerant or understanding? Do we have each other’s back or will we be at each other’s throats? Will the next election bring change or more of the same? Will we ever see a true uniter in the White House or will dividers continue to divide and weaken?

Seven years on, we have more questions than answers. Seven years on, we wait for closure. Seven years on, thousands are still mourned and a lame duck president sits in the Oval Office. We are no closer to getting the 9/11 masterminds. We are no safer than we were on September 10th, 2001. Seven years on, gay rights and choice are more important to some than the effects – and inconclusiveness of 9/11, the war in Afghanistan and the war in Iraq. Seven years on, soldiers have died. Innocent civilians have been maimed and killed. Our first responders suffer damaged lungs and death. The smell lingered for days. The horror lingers till now as headlines of “Never Forget” are replaced by headlines of “Pigs with Lipstick”. 

Seven years on and it’s more of the same with, sadly, no real change in sight.

We only have a short time here in Colorado. My entire family lives out here and so it gives us the perfect excuse to pack up and head west. We’ve spent much of the last two days just catching up and planning this weekend. But we’ve also strolled through town to soak up the scenery. 

It’s beautiful here, open space and mountains so high and majestic they give a sense of strength and permanence. There’s a slower pace to the day here. I’m not sure why that is, but it seems people here actually make a conscious effort to slow down and enjoy their time. 

Many of the people take off early on Friday so they can make the most of their weekend. Traffic starts around 3. But you know what? Compared to traffic in New York, the traffic here is like a sneeze. A slight aside and then back to normal. I could get used to this. 

Wherever you look is a breathtaking view. My parents’ house is surrounded on three sides by mountains. Late in the afternoon, a pair of horses and a pair of cows come down from one of the mountains and graze practically in my parents’ backyard. In the wee hours of the morning, elk and deer stroll the gardens. Yes, they damage plants and leave… unwanted ‘gifts’ in unexpected places, but they’re magnificent animals and I’d rather that type of visitor than a raccoon taking over my attic crawl space. :-/

Before I leave here I WILL get a photo of some of these animals. I MUST. If I don’t see them before I leave, I will… just have to come back again.

Meanwhile, here is the everyday view my parents have from their lovely new home out here in the west - 

And, I have to say, the view from my own little abode in NY is quite different – neighbor’s laundry on the line, phone and electrical wires, etc. – there is nothing quite so unique as what we saw when we left our hotel…

We took a flight out of NYC yesterday evening around 8 – arriving at the airport by 5. With three different sitters caring for the kitties, we decided to pop out here to visit my family.

We were supposed to land last night at 10 but arrived at 11. Not too bad except we didn’t get to the hotel until after midnight Colorado time and so didn’t sleep until 1 – which was actually 3:00am New York time. 

We’re a little bleary-eyed this morning – ya think? -but with enough coffee and sunshine, we’ll be just fine. 

I’m not sure what sights we’ll be seeing but, as I’m sure you know, I will be posting photos. So stick around and I’ll share this short but sweet adventure with y’all.

I find traveling through the boroughs en route to Manhattan to be a test of endurance. 

There’s always traffic, obviously since we’re a big city, so I avoid weekday travel into the city as much as possible. However, when that weekday is a holiday, well, then it’s a wonderful time to be there. For me, one of the little perks of being in the city, is discovering yards and gardens even smaller than my own. Much smaller…

Some of the other perks are the general sights and sounds.

The chatter, the horns, the emergency sirens. It’s all part of the landscape. As are towering skyscrapers – skyscrappers so high they dwarf the trees.

Despite all this wonder and majesty, I normally find the city overwhelming. But yesterday, Labor Day, was quiet in comparison to the regular everyday hustle. And so, we enjoyed a blissful lunch in Bryant Park while the magnificent Frank Owen entertained us with his imcomparable piano playing.

  

Of course… this IS New York, and a tiny scuffle or run-in with the law is neither unexpected nor disruptive.

You see, despite the police presence, which grew slighty and steadily until this gentleman vacated the premises as requested, the show indeed went on.

In fact, it went on so wonderfully that during Frank’s phenomenal piano playing, a hand-written note was passed among the audience. The note stated that yesterday was Frank’s birthday and so, when he stood to thank us all for coming, we should all stand and sing, Happy Birthday. Say what you want about New Yorkers, but we are a pretty cool bunch, each of us poker-faced after reading the note and nonchalantly strolling to the next person with it in hand. And every one of us standing at the end and joining in to wish this accomplished musician a wonderfully happy birthday.

He said we made his day. I must correct him. He made ours. 

(Please excuse the camera shake – I took this video with a tiny digital camera)