Alison DeLuca's Blog, page 12

Weird Workouts

Last summer I confidently climbed into a pair of waterskis and prepared to get towed. It had been fifteen years prior since I had skied, and back then I had popped right up. So I just knew I could do the same again.

Yeahhhhhh - that didn't happen. My aging arms simply could NOT hang on the rope. We tried again and again, and the darn thing slid out of my grasp. No waterskiing for me.

It's at times like these that I realise - I'm getting old. And it stinks. And, furthermore, I refuse to sit back and let it happen.

After that debacle, I began chest and arm press-ups to add muscle that had wasted away from - what, exactly? I thought writing novels gave you biceps? Hm.

This weekend we went snow skiing. I fared better than on the water; but I could feel that my quads were in need of work. I decided this, actually, after my legs gave out halfway down a hill and Momma took what is known as a Yard Sale.

Once I gathered up my skis, helmet, gloves, and poles, and got myself down the hill (a quivery, whimpering mess at that point, ready for comfy shoes and a long beer) I decided that I would add squats to the press-ups daily regimen.

And this gets thrown in with all the rest of the exercises, designed to keep me Hanging Grimly On: Kegels, double chin lifts, face wiggles (I really do wiggle my face daily; it's something to do with the ears) plus Brain Fizzes to keep THAT thing going. 

Age is an avalanche, and as the boulders and rubble crash down on me, I crawl back up the cliff, clinging on with my fingertips. Did I say crawl back up? No, I try not to get eroded too much. 

All this from someone who finds Age beautiful. It's just that if I accept that I can no longer ski, doesn't that sweep me further down the mountain in one fell swoop? Rage, rage against the dying of the light and muscle tone, but I wouldn't say no to a hot cup of tea while I'm doing that rage deal.

So, next year I'll hop back on my snow skis and go for it, hopefully with tighter legs and a smile on my face. Don't look for me on the double black diamonds, though - more likely that I'll be on slopes with "Puff" and "Marshmallow" in the titles.

New Car

We did it - we went and got a new automobile. This means that my ride no longer smells like moldy pretzels and bank lollipops; instead, we now sport that indefinable New Car odor. Sweet!

Our car is so smart that it freaks me out. It knows when my phone is ringing and broadcasts the call through the stereo system, the kids can watch DVD's in the back on long trips (no more "Are we therrrrrrre yet?") and when I throw it into reverse, mini cams come on automatically and show me the view from behind. 

All this for a child of the sixties. I used to ride in my mom's VW Beetle, the one that burst into flames spontaneously. We were riding along with Birghitta, my parent's friend from Sweden, who announced that she smelled smoke. I looked down at the space between the door and the seat: 

"Flames!" I shouted. 
Hell, I'd drive it. 
We all burst out of the car. My mom grabbed someone's sweater and beat the flames into submission. Eventually they went out and we stood by the side of the road in rural Pennsylvania, listening to the wind in the pines. No cell phones were at hand, of course, nor phone booths either. Finally my mother climbed back into the car and started it up. It roared to life, and we all, without any other option, climbed back in and drove off.

So those are the kinds of cars I'm used to. My first car was my beloved Rodge the Dodge, a 1970 Dart that cost one hundred dollars. My sister's car was called Diny, short for Dinosaur, and it was a huge finned monster that sucked down gas but kept on going. 

My friend drove a VW bus, complete with missing floorboards and heat that inexplicably only came on in the summer. We drove around Chester County, hugging a huge ghetto blaster that played any one of our mixed tapes (Bowie, Sinatra, Marley, Robert Gordon - we were an eclectic crew.) She used to park in front of Wawa with the door hanging open and the keys left in the ignition - daring someone to come and take the bus. 

There was the Ford Pinto that one of my dates drove - yes, the car with the exploding gas tank. It heads most of the "Worst Cars of the 70's" lists. That was luxury compared to the vehicles in Mexico; I was hot and heavy with a guy in Monterrey, and some of the forms of transport literally raised the hair on my head. I particularly remember one car with a cracked windshield that I wedged myself into along with about fifteen of his friends... Good times...

So to move to a car that people actually seem to admire, with the DVD and the rear cameras, is very odd for me. At times, I miss the 8-track stereo and the cranked windows - surely they make more sense if you're going to fall off a bridge?

But I do love me some GPS. Since I have the homing instincts of a Dodo, not a pigeon, that thing comes in very, very handy.

Sacrifice Book Tour

Sacrifice is here!

When Mexican drug cartels fight for control along the border, Juarez becomes the murder capital of the world. In El Paso, Texas it's drug business as usual: a grifter sets out to buy her freedom, a car salesman runs drugs to make his fortune, a gang leader battles to rise among the ranks of the cartel, and a detective and his wife are ripped apart by a family secret. Everyone's fate lies in the hands of an old woman. Will she let the past die with her or take revenge the only way she knows how?
"Frankie entered the strip mall. Alicia had picked a bakery that served a casual dinner--sandwiches and soup for a casual dinner. When she waved him over, he saw his usual sitting on a plate across from her. At least he wouldn't have to wait for service. Frankie glanced up and blinked rapidly. A young man with a Mohawk had just done an about-face behind Alicia.
He passed right by Alicia's table and heard her ask, "Frankie?" His eyes locked on the white T-shirt in front of him. It can't be him. Manuel Ortega aka Rooster glanced over his shoulder in Frankie's direction.
How could he know they had Luis? As soon as he thought it, Rooster took off at a run. Frankie felt a tug on his arm. "Frankie, what's going on?"
He shrugged off Alicia and barked, "Stay here!" Frankie ran after the disappearing white T-shirt and  tried to dodge people in the strip mall, but a young woman stepped in front of him. Frankie sent them both skidding across the tiled floor.
"What the hell?" the young woman yelled at Frankie as she sat up.
Frankie held up his badge. "Police!" Scrambled to his feet and took off. He skidded to a stop at the intersection in front of him. A distant bang to his right caught his attention. He saw a tan, metal door swinging shut with a bright-red EXIT sign above it. Frankie sprinted down the short hallway, slammed through the door and found himself on the sidewalk outside the strip mall facing a large parking lot. He swung himself right and left, trying to determine which way Rooster had fled.
Movement on his left. He glimpsed a Mohawk disappearing into the night. Frankie ran after him, confident he could gain enough ground before Rooster got into his car. A figure slid over the top of a two-door sedan with a slight thud. The figure crouched on the driver's side.
Frankie drew his gun, holding it out in front. "Police! Rooster, stop right there." He almost reached the car when the door cracked open, allowing Frankie to see Rooster climb into the car. The car door slammed shut. "Rooster! Stop!" Frankie came running up to the passenger-side door as the car roared to life.
Rooster rolled down the passenger-side window, leaned over and yelled, "Fuck you, pendejo!"
Frankie didn't hesitate. He dove through the open window as the car backed out of the parking spot. He braced his hands on the inside of the door, trying to bring his gun up. The window tightened around his waist, pinning him.
"Rooster, stop, or I'll shoot!"
A grin slid over Rooster's face as he finished backing out and accelerated forward.
Frankie's feet skipped along the pavement as the car sped up. Losing his balance, he saw Rooster lean forward to reach behind his back. Screams flowed past as people dodged out of the way of the oncoming car. Frankie braced his right arm with the gun against the dash to right himself in the window while the tips of shoes dragged behind him.
When Frankie looked back, Rooster had a gun leveled at him. Time slowed as Frankie watched Rooster cock the gun. There was no way Frankie could swing his gun around in time.
The car hit something large with a heavy thunk, and it hurtled upward as both guns went off. When the car landed, the air from Frankie's lungs left him in a whoosh, but he kept pulling the trigger in the general direction of the driver's seat.
Frankie was thrown forward as the car veered to the right and crashed into several more parked cars, nearly pinning him between them. Click, click, click. Wet, gurgling noises were coming from the driver's side. Frankie's body strained for air.
He slammed his palm down on the window button. Lights did a jig in front of his eyes.  Frankie slumped to the ground and took two, long lungfuls of air before he could stand. Using the car for support, he made his way around and yanked the driver's side door open.
Rooster's eyes were wide, and his breath was coming in fast, shallow gasps. Blood was blossoming out from several places on his white shirt. Rooster's right hand swept along the car seat next to him. His gun was just out of reach.
Frankie pushed it to the passenger-side floorboard, grabbed Rooster by the front of his shirt until he was only a breath away from his face and said, "Don't you die on me, you son of a bitch!"



Coral Russell runs the blog Alchemy of Scrawl where she reviews Indie books/authors. She says, "By the end of 2013, I will have read close to 300 Indie titles. I can vouch that the quality and diversity of Indie authors is worth investing in." She also spearheads a radio show for authors and other creative people.
Ms. Russell won the 2003 McCaleb Peace Initiative which produced the non-fiction articles Peace on the Peninsula.


Don't forget to visit the other tour partners here!

More Snow

My sister and I just returned from England, where we buried our father. It was a trip that began with a sad raison d'etre and morphed into a lovely, warm reunion with family and friends we hadn't seen in years.

Hang on - let me back up - did I say WARM? No. It was anything but warm. Somehow we managed to choose a few really cold days to arrive; not to mention - it snowed the entire time. Goodbye to my carefully planned hairdo and frilly little travel suit. Goodbye to our planned expedition to Hilltop, Beatrix Potter's farm.

Hello to massive cardigans and endless cups of tea. We turned up the radiators in our hotel room (inside an old farmhouse) and planted our bottoms on them - that was, when we didn't go to sit in an old stone church for services - and those churches, while lovely, are not known for their heating prowess.

We flew back, and what do I see this morning? More snow. As my fellow author Ross Kitson said, it looks like Narnia outside my window.

A few words about snow:

1. When my husband and I were trying to get pregnant, we froze some eggs and went on with IVF. Two tries and several disappointments in, I got the last batch implanted and went home. A few days later I dreamt of snow, and I woke up KNOWING I was pregnant. Nine months later.... along came a little girl who just happens to love ice and snow. 

2. When I was in my thirties, my husband taught me to ski. Like Hemingway, I took to it right away. I'll never be a good skier - much the opposite - but I love skimming down snow-covered hills (Blue hills, thank you, NOT Black Diamonds.)
image courtesy of benchandloom.com
3. The first chapter of Finn Family Moomintroll is about the Moomins all getting ready for a long winter's sleep. They eat their feast of pine needles, crawl into bed, and their house is slowly covered with white. I've always loved that chapter.

4. The snowflakes out my window are large and fast. The ground is covered already. I fully expect to get a call from the school sending the children home early - will check back in to let you know if Bub arrived back in the bus. Which means wet snow clothes and snow boots are in my future, instead of that desperately-needed grocery run. Ah, well.

5. No, seriously - it's turning into a thick blizzard. Hm.

My To Be Read Pile

Image courtesy of Aprettybook.comI finally finished The Night Circus - you can see my review here - so I'm heading back to The Sable City with a long sigh of relief. It's a wonderful book, and there are loads more in a series. So, yay!

I'm plop in the middle of Beautiful Creatures, and I think I'm going to have to call it DNF - Did Not Finish. I like the characters and the setting, but crazy things happen out of the blue - cough, family dinner and morphing characters, cough - and the locket flashbacks thing is getting old. If you loved it, let me know and I'll try again later on. Right now, though, I have to let it marinate.

Instead, I just picked up Wool by Hugh Howey. I cheated and started in last night, and it grabbed me right away. It's a post-apocalyptic story of humans who survive underground in a silo. Interesting!

I also got The Cloud Atlas. I have no expectations whatsoever for this one, except it looks very funky and different. We'll see. It's six interlinked stories that span the globe and go from the 1800's into the future, so I'm looking forward to seeing how the author, David Mitchell, does with it.

By the way, I splurged and got both of them in print. I'm flying to England this afternoon,* and I need something to read when you have to turn off the devices; heaven forbid I spend ten minutes without a book in my hand.

I also loaded up some new titles on my Kindle. Losing Hope is the second in a wonderful series by Johanna Garth about the Persephone myth and a modern retelling; I loved Losing Beauty, so I'm really looking forward to the next one. (I must admit that I cheated and started in, and Johanna hasn't let me down. Her writing is as compelling as ever. 

Forbidden Road is the next in the Tower of Bones series. Tower of Bones was a really exciting epic fantasy, so this will be a great read about a lifetime quest.

A lot of friends recommended Divergent, so I've loaded it as well. It's another dystopian book, and I see that it's written in present tense - first person. SIGH, not a fan of either. Still, it comes with such glowing reviews that I'll give it a whirl.

* Yes, I said Flying to England! I hope to get a few hours to go and tour Beatrix Potter's farm, so I'll return with pictures and a blogpost about that. In the meantime, look for a fantastic blog tour about Sacrifice by Coral Russell on March 24th, Sunday. 

A Tale of Two Books - The Night Circus

I may have spent a longer amount of time reading The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern than I did on the entire LOTR trilogy. The cover is gorgeous and I had read glowing reviews, so I excitedly picked it up in the bookstore. Alas, one glance showed me that it was written in present tense. I'm more of a past tense gal.

I put it back and later, when we were leaving for a journey, I loaded Night Circus on my Kindle. I began to read, and my eyes glazed over. This happened again and again.

It wasn't that Night is filled with bad writing - far from it. Morgenstern uses beautiful prose, words so lovely that some passages read like poetry. Look at this section:

“Someone needs to tell those tales. When the battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasures and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of Lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative. There's magic in that. It's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift. Your sister may be able to see the future, but you yourself can shape it, boy. Do not forget that... there are many kinds of magic, after all.” 

And this:

“Stories have changed, my dear boy,” the man in the grey suit says, his voice almost imperceptibly sad. “There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue. Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case....And is not the dragon the hero of his own story? Is not the wolf simply acting as a wolf should act?”

In the second selection, Morgenstern says, "Things keep overlapping and blur..." They do just that in this book, and luckily the chapter headings include dates to keep us on the right track. Both of the above selections are about story, however, and that's what kept tripping me up with the beginning 70% of Night Circus: there was no story. The language grew more and more gorgeous, so I was almost drunk with words, but at one point I had to stop and read The Stand just to have a book with a real villain, real body fluids, and characters who curse out each other. I needed a dose of filet steak after all that spun sugar.
image courtesy of deviant art
"Dessert consists mainly of a gargantuan tiered cake shaped to resemble circus tents and frosted in stripes, the filling within a bright shock of raspberry cream. There are also miniature chocolate leopards, and strawberries coated in looping patterns of dark and white chocolates." - The Night Circus


The characters all speak in the same, dreamy way, so I could hardly tell one from the other. What was the difference between Celia and Isobel, anyway? One does magic and the other reads cards and they both are attracted to Marco (who also speaks like both of them.)
At last I reached the final section of the book, and finally the story took hold. In the ending 30%, I wanted to keep reading of slogging on through bogs of caramel and popcorn, and the competition between Celia and Marco became real and important. Moreover, the characters Poppet and Bailey took center stage, and they were real enough to catch my imagination and care about what happened to them, very much. I could envision a sequel about those two, in fact.  image courtesy of guardian.co.uk
The Night Circus left me in a quandary. On one hand I loved Morgenstern's language and prowess with words - if the chapters had been presented as interwoven short stories, I might have enjoyed the first major portion of the novel more. On the other hand, the writing was so misty that I couldn't stand much more than a few pages at a time - even a scene where a woman walks in front of a train is told in the manner of a Degas painting. 
I have been told that Jim Dale narrates the audio version, and I think that might be the way to go with the book. Dale's own magic would instil the characters with their own voices, adding layers to the floating beauty of Morgenstern's poetry. Perhaps he could add a bit of irony to the conversations as well, so a comment like this: "I thought it might be easier if you doubted him. And I gave you a year to find a way for the circus to continue without you. You have not. I am stepping in..." might become more realistic, as well as the dreamy response (if only Celia reacted by saying, "You know what? Go to hell.")
So this review is a tale of two books: the long beginning that I struggled through and the ending that gripped my attention and wouldn't let go.

Lovely Age

After watching Driving Miss Daisy on a date years ago, I turned to the fellow who had brought me to the movies.  "You know," I said, "Jessica Tandy really is a stunning woman."

"What?" He was horrified. "But - she's old!"

Yeah, I broke up with him not long after that. 

I've been watching sucked into the world of Downton Abbey, and I must say that Maggie Smith looks better than ever. Her cheekbones are elegant, and she still exudes the air of old-world elegance.

Here, in no particular order, are some of the woman who, like Ms Smith and Ms Tandy, are truly gorgeous in spite of - nay, BECAUSE of - their age and experience.

1. Lena Horne: Killer smile.

courtesy Lena-Horne.com
2. Dame Helen Mirren: Simply not fair.

courtesy Huffington Post
3. Carmen Dell'Orifice - Making 80 glamorous

courtesy Huffington Post
4. Queen Elizabeth - Not a "beauty" (never was) but carrying her age splendidly and looking better than ever; in fact, she positively glows. Makes me want to wear hats, even though I probably never will.

[image error] courtesy royalgov.uk
5. Random lady I don't know: Love the scarf and the hair. She is beautiful.


6. Diane Keaton, wearing wrinkles with flair: SO much better than a facelift!

courtesy sodahead.com
7. Dame Judi Dench. Again, not classically beautiful, but DAYummmm:


8. I could never pull off the sari, but this lady is rocking it. Plus I love the look in her eyes:



Yo, dude who took me to the movies aeons ago - you are wrong. Age isn't something to fear or cut out with a scalpel, it is an accessory to wear with pride.

All Through the Night

Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loving vigil keeping
All through the night

While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O'er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night

Though I roam a minstrel lonely
All through the night
My true harp shall praise sing only
All through the night
Love's young dream, alas, is over
Yet my strains of love shall hover
Near the presence of my lover
All through the night

Hark, a solemn bell is ringing
Clear through the night
Thou, my love, art heavenward winging
Home through the night
Earthly dust from off thee shaken
Soul immortal shalt thou awaken
With thy last dim journey taken
Home through the night

New Book in an AMAZING Series!

One problem I hear from many parents of advanced readers is that the books their kids enjoy aren't right for their age level.

Enter Karen Pokras Toz and her Nate Rocks series. The new book in the series is Nate Rocks the School, and here is an excerpt:
*****

Buildings collapse to the ground as the giant robot pushes its way through thedark city streets. The road crumbles underneath the massive beast’s every move.Frightened citizens have all been evacuated and are hiding inside City Hall’sbasement, normally a secure refuge during even the worst situations.
“Nate,” the mayor pleads with his hands on my shoulders, “you’ve got to dosomething! The robot will be here in just a matter of minutes. He is ruining our city!If you don’t do something, we will all be crushed! Please, Nate, please!”
“Me? Why me?” I ask, wondering why this powerful and strong leader would wantmy help. Isn’t he the one who is supposed to protect us?
The mayor bends down close and looks me in the eye. “Why because you’re NateRocks, of course! Now go! There is no time to waste.”
I look around to a sea of terrified eyes staring at me. Yes, I’ve got to do something.Everyone here is depending on me. I run up the basement steps and out of thebuilding. Debris is flying all around as the robot turns the corner, taking out themovie theater with a single swipe of its mechanical arm. He is still several blocksaway from City Hall, but moving closer by the second. The sound of his stepscombined with the destruction around me is deafening.
Halfway down the street I spot it ... the old train station that’s been closed for years.The city has been working to restore it into some kind of historical landmark. Thefront has been covered with metal scaffolding for months now. That’s it! I race downthe street, toward the train station and the robot, as fast as I can possibly run. I haveto time everything perfectly or my plan will fail.
As I reach the train station, I grab hold of the metal ladder and hoist myself up to thefirst landing on the scaffolding. Not high enough. I jump up to grab on to the next setof ladders and proceed to climb at a rapid pace until I am on the roof of the building.The robot is just steps away. I crouch behind a metal beam to stay out of sight. Asthe robot approaches, I leap from the roof onto the giant machine’s shoulder, justas he knocks the train station to the ground. I swiftly slide to the back of the robot,out of his line of vision, and lower myself carefully down until I find the square door.Just as I suspected! I open the door to the control panel on his back. Different coloredwires hum as they power the robot’s every move. With all my strength, I pull thewires, detaching them from the monster. I hold tight as he collapses to the groundin defeat just steps away from City Hall. Silence suddenly fills the air around me, butnot for long.
Everyone comes running out of the building cheering. The mayor swings methrough the air as the crowd chants:
“Nate!”
“Nate!”
“Nate!”
“Nathan! Are you listening?”
“Huh?” I look up to see Mom standing over my shoulder.
“Nathan, why are you drawing pictures all over that permission form? You knowyou have to return that to school today!” Mom takes the slip of paper out of myhands. “Honestly, Nathan, now where am I supposed to sign? You’ve drawn robotseverywhere. Don’t you want to go on this trip?”
Of course I want to go! One of the perks of moving up to fifth grade is the trip in thespring to New York City. Who wouldn’t want to go? Actually, now that I think aboutit, I kind of remember my older sister, Abby, complaining that she didn’t want togo back when she was in fifth grade ... something about not being able to bring hercurling iron. I guess she didn’t want anyone to see her without her hair done. Girls!Although, I can’t say I really blame her there. I shudder just thinking about it. Oooh ...maybe that annoying classmate of mine, Lisa Crane, won’t want to go either. All sheis going to do anyway is act like she knows everything about everything. That’s whatshe does. I have to admit; it was kind of nice getting away from her over the summerwhen I went to overnight camp with my best friend, Tommy. But now that we’reback, and school has started up again, I feel like Lisa is everywhere I turn.
*****
You can get the book here:


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Braces

Proving that braces CAN be cute...Oh, the pain of braces ...

First the cost. It's very difficult to sign over a check that would buy a luxurious vacation over to a doctor for a few wires.

Second, the prep. Getting your kid ready to wear something that shows up in movies and TV shows on the "nerd" characters is even more difficult than writing that check.

Third, the actual procedure. You sit by one side as your kid's mouth is forced open and glue smeared on her teeth. Brackets go on the glue, and wires are threaded through the brackets.  She stays still, poor little mite, because she simply doesn't know what else to do.

Fourth, a ray of hope - The braces are on, and she perks up when she gets to pick out rubber band colors. Of course she chooses purple and pink - what else?

Fifth, the realization sets in that braces are going to hurt. Wax is applied, ibuprofen offered, and the nagging fear arises that those sleepless teething nights are back. 

But that all changes, eventually, as teeth are forced into position and a new smile emerges. From one who lived with buck teeth all her life, I can't sympathize with the feeling of braces, but I do understand the difficulty involved - on many levels.
Sporting a cute gap...
My daughter will have straight teeth, and the twisted teeth will settle into new formations. I suppose that's a good thing, although I've always secretly loved irregular smiles: gapped teeth, long incisors, overlapping canines and all.

Not to be melodramatic, but I wonder if those mothers fitting their young girls for foot binding felt the same way?