Anny Cook's Blog, page 60

Glow in the Dark

The other day I was talking to a friend about a particularly dark time in my life. She asked, "How did you get through it?"

I'll tell you. My personal pinpoints of light in the darkness--friends, family, faith. Life has a lot of "valleys of the shadow of death". Often they're black, so black we can see no way out--except for the lights in the distance held up by those around us who care enough to illuminate the way. Their words of encouragement...their occasional push in a new direction...their helping hands in the midst of disaster, were the necessary boosts I needed to reach the end of the shadows.

Never take for granted the importance of encouragement. In the darkness, pinpoints of light shine so much brighter.

Reach out. Light a candle for someone. Let your light shine.

anny

Success Story

As I drifted about the Internet over the weekend I noticed there was a plethora of free advice--tips on how to be a success, whatever the endeavor. In my lifetime, I've discovered one truth. What will work for one person is usually an abysmal failure for the next individual. There's no particular reason, but that's pretty much how it works. My advice? Forge your own path.

Much of the time, it's a combination of being in the right place at exactly the right time--and seizing the opportunity when it passes. A long time ago I was laid off my warehouse job when the company closed down the facility. Everyone working there was offered training for new skills. Part of the training was how to write resumes, how to interview for a job, how to dress for the interview.

This was MY experience.

It was February. We had snow on the ground that morning our pipes broke. The hunk and I crawled under our mobile home to repair them. As we approached success with our repair job, I realized I was late for school. There was no time to clean up if I wanted to get there within time for my attendance to count. And if I didn't get there, I wouldn't receive my unemployment benefits for that day.

I brushed the mud and weeds off my sweatpants, washed my hands, combed my hair and zoomed off to school. When I arrived, my instructor informed me there was a position open in the office at the school and advised me to apply for it. Never one to allow grass to grow under my feet, I immediately went downstairs to ask for an application.

Perhaps I should pause here to explain my situation. The hunk had been home for nearly a year on disability. My sons were also laid off because they worked the same place I did, but they were ineligible for unemployment because they were full-time students. So we were supporting six people on two half-paychecks. I was anxious to get a job!

I filled out the application and returned it to the office. In spite of my appearance, I wanted to at least give the impression I was professional so I asked if I could make an appointment for an interview. The young woman who took my application was frankly skeptical but she went to inquire. When she came back, she said, "The Director will see you now."

I was aghast. "I'm not dressed for an interview!"

"She knows." Can't you imagine what she's told the Director?

Well, I followed her into the office. It was already clear to me I was not going to get this job. I resolved to use the interview as an opportunity to practice.

The next day as I was racing up the steps to my class, I heard a voice call my name. When I turned around to face the Director, she asked, "Do you want the job?"

Now, I could have refused that interview. But later--much later, when I'd worked there several years, I asked the Director why she hired me. And I've never forgotten her answer.

"I figured if you could get through that interview, you could handle anything else that came along with the job."

Do I recommend interviewing in muddy sweatpants? No. But that was my experience.

I've read many, many stories from authors who've been rejected multiple time, some as high as fifty or sixty before finally making their first sale. I was offered a contract six weeks after I submitted my first book. MY experience.

I'm pretty sure that doesn't mean I'm a better writer. It just means my manuscript arrived at the right time and had the attention of the right editor. Another time, another place and the editor might have read it and shrugged her shoulders. "Meh."

Sales are much the same way. They depend on so many things. Timing. Book cover. Blurb. Word of mouth. Every experience is different. Every book is different. One might be a raging success--the next a resounding failure.

Forge your own path.

anny

Stories Under the Bed

Every writer I know has a few stories stashed under the bed, in the computer, in a box, in the file cabinet...somewhere. Some of them are ideas gone bad. Some are ideas who were before their time. Others simply got lost in the helter-skelter of life.

I have jump-starts by the dozens in my computer files. Whenever I need a new story idea, I click through them in search of that certain something that sets off a glimmer of promise. Sometimes I don't find it. And then I go back and look at story ideas from long ago.

Because of events in my early life, I've always been moderately introverted, happy to lead an internal existence. That doesn't mean I've been bored. On the contrary, that internal life has been full of adventures and curiosity. Some of those adventures found their way to paper--usually via the pen. After all, computers appeared relatively late in my life. For most of my early attempts, pen and paper were the only way to share my thoughts.

Some of those thoughts are not the kind you share.

But others--well others show possibilities. Every couple years I'll go through journals or dig through boxes of papers and occasionally I'll find a hidden treasure. Some writers leave their stories under the bed, never taking a second or third look. But I think some ideas need to wait, need for us to mature a bit before we're ready to write them.

Who knows what could happen when we finally share the stories we hide under the bed?

anny  

Calling Noah...

And the rain continues to fall. Isacc is making an indelible impression on the Gulf Coast. Homes and towns in Mississippi and Alabama are washing away. Thousands in Louisiana are evacuating as a dam threatens to give way.

And the thing I'm noticing on the news clips is one phrase repeated over and over. "It came so fast."

No, it didn't. Isacc was moving particularly slow. Multiple repeated warnings forecasted heavy rain and wind. People had over twenty-four hours to prepare and either evacuate or be ready to do so.

And yet...

Over and over you see pictures of folks who say they've lost everything. One woman escaped without even grabbing her purse. That's how fast the end came.

I admit I don't understand. Every time I've been under a weather threat, I prepared ahead of time. The car was packed. I was ready to go with the personal possessions I would need to survive. And when the authorities said, "Go!" we did.

Did I like it? Heck, no. Who wants to leave their home? But for crying out loud! Aren't lives more important than a bit of wood and brick? The people plucked from roofs and attics still don't have their homes AND they almost lost their lives. How does that make sense?

Some will say I'm unsympathetic. I only have one thing to say to that. Every single storm places the rescuers in danger--usually because someone was somewhere they shouldn't have been.

anny

Pillow Talk

Sigh. Moan. Whimper. Groan. Yawn. Scream. And that's just getting out of bed in the morning.

I've done quite a bit of reading in the last few months. Action adventure. Romance. Romantic Suspense. Erotic Romance. Westerns. All of them have one thing in common. Lousy pillow talk.

The hunk and I have been married a long time--nearly forty-five years--and I have to confess our pillow talk does not, nor ever has resembled the dialogue in books. Not even close. To tell the truth, most pillow talk in books just makes me want to laugh. Or throw the book at the wall.

Partly, I think it's because there just isn't any graceful way to disrobe. Unless you're doing a burlesque show. And most guys aren't much interested in the how-you-get-naked part. They're happy to speed up the process, if you take too long, but as long as you get to the good stuff, you'll have their undivided attention. As the hunk says, "Take off your clothes." Ah, the romance.

Really. I'm nearly as wide as I am tall. Yet, he still wants me to take off my clothes with amazing frequency.

Now, the pillow talk. Our conversations tend to go something like this.

"Do you want the light on?"

"Yeah. Did you lock the front door?"

"It's locked. Did you see that post on the Internet about the bank robbery? That was just stupid."

"Takes all kinds... Damn, my knees hurt."

"You want me to rub them?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll take a hot shower first."

"Okay. I'll check out Facebook while you do that."

"Where are the towels?"

"In the laundry basket."

"Never mind. Let's just go to bed. I'll shower later."

See? No sighing. No whimpering. Maybe some moaning later on... Or groaning. *Smile*

anny

Crying Wolf

Like a lot of people, I've been watching the Weather Channel coverage of Tropical Storm Isacc. It might turn into a hurricane. It might not. It might strike...somewhere. Maybe.

Now I admit, I don't have cable television so the Weather Channel's coverage on there might be more balanced. But I doubt it. I've watched the channel since it's inception way back when. It used to be the coverage was wide-spread--until the last day before landfall. Up to that point, you heard about the weather all over the country.

In the last few years? Not so much.

I don't blame the reporters/meteorologists. They're working stiffs who do what they're told. Same for the other so-called media. And it must be tough to make the piddly news story sound important when they know they're not really covering the stuff they should.

No...instead we get the stories about Prince Harry's vacation. Or the latest school fashions. Or some other namby-pamby issues while our country merrily dances it's way to destruction while the politicians fiddle-fumble and drum their way to the polls.

There's no real conversation about the issues. No hard-hitting report about the candidates. We're basing our votes on sound bytes orchestrated by faceless propagandists. I'm constantly, continually amaze by the people who declare, "If that was true, it would be on the news..." 

Wrong.

Money controls media. If you don't believe this is true, then I challenge you to do your own research on the following stories:

Monsanto and GMO foods. You think you know what you're eating? Not likely. Most of the food crops have been so manipulated, they bear no resemblance to the original. And our meats/dairy? Full of hormones. I submit it's no accident that our young girls are hitting puberty earlier and our women are suffering a higher incidence of cancers. The war on women began in the fields.

2012 NDAA, HR347, CISPA, the Patriot ACT and Obamacare. No. Don't babble the party line. Don't pass on the line your friends/facebook/twitter is spreading. Go look them up and READ them. It will take time. Do your own research. You and your family are worth it...right?

The candidates. Not just the presidential candidates, but the locals and states. What do you really know about them? Look up their voting records. Find out about the real people behind the media babble and party line. Who's backing them? How did they get to be at the level they currently occupy? Whose agenda are they really backing?

The banking industry. Do you know where your money is? Do you know how it works? You say, "What money?" Exactly. 

The media propaganda machine. Media has always been manipulated for the purposes of those in control. Always. That's why the notion of a free press was so important. Here's the thing. A free press is only free if they can cover stories without being muffled by the money guys. And that's what is happening right now. 

I find it interesting that every time an important issue comes to light, there are a spate of sensational stories hyped that totally distract the public. When a new sensational story hits the Internet, I start looking for a story that quietly faded into the background. And there always is one. We're being manipulated by masters. And by the time we see the full pattern, it will be too late. 

The wolf will be at our door.

anny

Nutrition Information?

As I've mentioned, the hunk and I are working on tracking what we're actually ingesting. Ingesting. I like that word. It sounds like we're swallowing a bunch of chemicals...and apparently, that's exactly what we've been doing. If you don't believe me, check out any nutrition label. You'll see. Chemicals.

Calorie counts are pretty weird, too. Most things (like drinks) have multiple servings in the container. And let's face it--most people don't drink just one serving.

People vastly overestimate portion sizing. Take coffee creamer for instance. A serving size is 2 tablespoons. Measure it. It's amazing how much darker my coffee is with a measured portion. And peanut butter? Try covering a piece of bread with the "portion" listed on the nutrition label. And why is there sugar in the peanut butter?

Corn syrup is in almost everything in the country--whether or not it's supposed to taste sweet. Corn syrup. You know that sickeningly sweet syrup you use to make pecan pie? In everything. Why?

Then there are all the chemicals and colors and flavors that aren't even listed. They're just called natural flavors. What does natural mean, anyway? A rock is natural. So is a dog turd. That doesn't mean I want it in my food. If I did, I could go out and scoop up some fresh in the front yard.

Do you know what you're eating? Really?

anny

Bean Bread and Pumpkins

 Went for my quarterly doctor's visit and normal donation to the daytime vampires. And of course, I had to get on the scale. To my deep shock and amazement, I actually lost a pound. However...a pound is not enough when the sugar hovers high and the blood pressure is creeping up. 
So, once again, I'm tweaking the food plan, hoping to hit on the magic solution that allows me to eat without tramping on my pancreas and liver. After much research, I'm aiming at reducing the gluten in my diet and upping the protein. It's a fine, narrow bridge I trod. So much of the gluten free products available are not soy free.
Soy is considered the magic bean by many people who go the vegan way. The problem is if an individual is taking thyroid meds, soy screws around with the way the meds work. So soy is out. 
Corn syrup derivatives are out. Try looking at the contents on any pre-packaged food. The producers use a lot of different names for the corn syrup family, but it's all the same thing--and much worse for most diabetics than plain old sugar cane. For me? Whoa, Nellie. Corn products shoot my sugar through the roof.
Chemicals. Check your labels, folks. We're walking chemical factories. If you didn't grow it yourself from heirloom seeds, then likely it's been fiddled with by the GMO folks. That's genetically modified and your meat products (unless it's free range) has been stuffed with hormones.
So the house hunk and I went "shopping". Mostly, we were checking prices so we could make adjustments in the grocery budget. The three items we actually found were three-to-four times the price of the "regular" food. The rest of the stuff on our list was unavailable in our area. 
So. Food recommendations are swell. But if it's unavailable or priced so high you can't afford to buy it, then effectively those particular changes are not possible. 
I'm in the process of modifying the food list. A bit of this. A tad of that. And we'll see what happens. First on the list. Adding a lot of veggies to my diet. We'll see how it goes. Pumpkin Stone Age Bread and Carrot/Bean Bread. Stir-fries. Limited red meat. (And that's a problem as I'm allergic to chicken.)
Onward.

A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Back in the dark ages when I first started reading "grown up" books, a kiss was the climax of the hero/heroine relationship. It often was the last scene in the book. Everything else in the book--plot, description, bad guy, good guy--led to that one climatic moment. The kiss.

This was true for lot of books that weren't even classified as romances. Quite a few of Louis L'Amour's books end with that kiss. Mary Stewart's romantic suspense books often end with that kiss. Helen MacInnes' suspense books usually had the climatic kiss.

Now, a book with only one kiss is considered a YA--Young Adult book. A kiss isn't exciting. It's more like a get-acquainted handshake.

I think we've lost something along the way.

Does anyone remember the anticipation, the belly flutters, the breathless will-he-or-won't-he finally kiss the girl? Heck, the hero/heroine didn't even hold hands for weeks. Accidental touches were exciting. Then maybe he would take her hand in his, signaling his interest. Weeks later he might kiss her goodnight when he took her home. Maybe.

I miss the leisurely build up, the tip-toeing anticipation, the delayed gratification in those old stories. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that won't fly anymore in the grown-up world. Frankly, I don't want to go quite that far back. It's unrealistic and not very satisfying. There's some expression about putting the genie back in the bottle...

In the clamor created by that book--you know the Gray book--women are coming out of the closet, admitting they're curious and interested. And just a little scandalized, maybe.

There's always been a certain segment of the female readers that were willing, nay, enthusiastic about reading erotic romance with all that implies. That's what I write. And yep, I have fans who write to me demanding more. The difference now, is what I call the fence perchers. They feel a tad guilty about reading books with *sex* in them.

Surprisingly, this group is not the baby boomers. They know about sex. They know there's frequently a huge difference between fictional romance and real life. They're the original bra burners.

No, as far as I can tell from my observations, the most scandalized group is firmly in the thirty/forties. They're too young to remember the "old" days when there were no women's rights. They think they've always had the right to own property or have sex before marriage or buy birth control. And kissing? Phft.

They're stuck buying books about secret babies, gazillionaire CEOs, and SEALS. Their children are almost young adults and the middle-agers have suddenly been confronted with the sex lives and unplanned pregnancies of their children. I think they're also suffering a bit of guilt at their own secret, naughty desires. They're women, dammit, often caught between the wild, no holds barred lives of the young and what they perceive as the hopeless, dreary lives of the old. Too many are coping with the difficulties of single parenthood, careers they no longer want, but are stuck with, and a crashing economy. Where is that man who's going to sweep them away in a Calgon moment?

Is it any surprise they gravitate toward the romance of the climatic kiss? Or the implied promise of a strong, well-to-do man who will shoulder their burdens without presenting his own demands?

The publishing revolution is about more than just a new way to share the written word. I think it's about the clash of needs and desires. Women (and maybe even men) may want romantic fantasy in their books, but they want realistic fantasy. They want portrayals of real, caring men. Sexy men who can cook. Or braid their daughter's hair. Or, heck, even do a load of laundry. Plus, he finds them desirable and sexy.

I have one of those at my house. I call him the house hunk. And he even knows how to kiss...

anny

Brave New Worlds

So. Finished, edited, revised, and submitted Spear of Retribution. Now it's on to something else. Another story, another world...or maybe just a new story in one of the worlds I've already created.

I was thinking earlier today about how I used to spend hours as a teenager planning what kind of house I wanted when I grew up. I'd draw floor plans and decide exactly where the furniture would be placed. As I recall, one house had seventy rooms. Good thing I grew up and acquired some sense. What woman in her right mind wants seventy rooms in her house?

Do you ever think the Queen of England might wish she has a cottage by the sea? I figure the reason she's in such good shape is because she has to walk so far to get from one side of the castle to the other. Just think, she never has to worry about exercising in the rain or snow.

The real reason I write is because I'm a frustrated creator. I can't change huge parts of my current world, but I can totally control any world I create. I could make it a beach world full of sand. Or a world filled with mountains. Lots of water. No water. Purple trees. Green sky. Strange animals. No snakes. Or bugs. Pink clouds. Two men to every woman. Or visa versa.

The sky's the limit.

Or I could decide to have flying mountains or floating continents.

The thing is, once you decide what your new world will look like, then you have to decide how that world affects how your characters will act and live. Do they live underground? Or in the sea? Or on one of the flying mountains?

Ah, yes. Time to write a new story. Where will it be?

anny