M.J. Compton's Blog, page 52

Live Creative Day

It’s National Live Creative Day. Today is the day we’re supposed to let the world see how we live creatively.

Living creatively is not something I think about. I think about my stories and my characters.

When the Chromos were younger and I worked in a demanding Day Job, I had to be creative about making time to write. I purchased an Alpha Smart, which made the writing portable. It’s too bad this product is no longer made. It is still a lifesaver, even though I’m no longer schlepping children to and fro. Back then, I always made certain my purse d’jour was big enough to hold Alph. I could write during soccer practice or waiting for the young thespians to get out of rehearsal. I could write waiting for concerts to begin. And I didn’t need to retype anything, just upload to my computer.

Now the Chromos are grown and mostly gone. I still have a Day Job, but it’s one that stays in the day. Do I sometimes wish I could be off somewhere else writing instead of punching a clock? Sure. I’m a writer. But I can write before work, on my lunch hour, and after work. Getting up that extra hour in the morning when the Chromos were young has become not only a habit, but a gift.

When I was on a recent writing retreat, I was up early every morning. I was in the woods to write, so that’s what I did. I recall one moment when I sat on the deck, looked around, and thought. this is my dream. To be an author. To write for a publisher. To run off to the woods with other writing friends and work without distraction. I have realized my dream!

How many people are lucky enough to be able to say that?

So yeah, I live creative. How about you?

 

 

 

Memories

Everyone remembers where they were on “9/11”.

Fifteen years ago today, I sat in my office and watched (on TV) as a second plane flew into the World Trade Center in NYC. I watched in horror as the collective “we” realized our nation was under attack.

September 11, 2001 was primary day in New York State. I dashed out of work at noon and went to vote, then came back to the office. A few minutes later, the governor closed the polls. The primaries would be rescheduled.  (That was the year I voted for a certain candidate for mayor three times: twice in primaries and once in the general election.)

I worked in local TV at the time. You might think that local broadcasting had nothing to do on that awful day. But we did. People always call local newsrooms when there is a major breaking event. I didn’t work in the newsroom, although several of us took turns helping the news department answer the phones. I was in programming and was fielding my own share of viewer questions. The networks had suspended all programming for continuing coverage of breaking news. The behind-the-scenes non-news part of TV was a mess.

One phone call in particular has stuck with me. Memories of that phone call still have the power to infuriate me. I was polite to the caller, when the caller didn’t deserve politeness.

“So, are you going to air Big Brother or what?” (One of the things I love about my new Day Job is not having to answer phones.)

What are your memories of this horrific day?

 

The Organized Writer, Part 1

Last year, I tried to organize my Day Runner, leftover from my Important Day Job, into something that would work for me as a writer. (You can read about it here.)

The result: I’m not happy with the system. The Day Runner is just too bulky for my current life situation.

Last week, one of my publishers’ author loop started talking about systems for organizing. Several electronic versions were mentioned, as were some non-digital methods. I am intrigued and am investigating.

I have switched all of my electronic calendars to Google calendars. My iPhone wouldn’t play nice with the Kindle Fire, which wouldn’t play nice with whatever my laptop is using–the Chromos urged me to go to Google. And I do like it. Now I can enter an appointment on my phone and it shows up every else I need it to show up.

The next step is to think about what I really need from a planner.

Silly Decisions of the First World Kind

On the 4th of July, I decided to stop wearing make-up for the summer. I usually go all out for Day Job, but with the 80+ degree heat, putting foundation, powder, blush etc. on my face had the same effect as pouring the stuff down the drain.

I had no idea how freeing it would be.

I know. Silly, isn’t it? But that’s about 10 minutes in the morning  I get back. Ten minutes I can write.

That’s the ability to rub my eyes when I’m tired and not worry about the cosmetic outcome.

That’s me, re-emerging from the corporate me that ruled my life for so long.

So I have to make a decision about Tuesday morning, when my Day Job’s Summer Dress Code is no longer in effect. Putting on make-up isn’t the same things as the males having to put on ties again. Ties are part of the uniform. Make-up is for . . . enhancement, which is something about which I know longer care.

I’m a wash-and-go woman. I don’t fuss with my hair (gave that up years ago). I don’t even blow dry my hair. My stylist does a fabulous job with the cut and color. I just have to show up at her salon every 6 weeks or so.

I asked my friends, just for input. They don’t like the way they look without make-up, so they wear it. Which is fine.

I asked my husband what he thought. Non-issue for him. His opinion (besides my own) is the only one that matters to me.

There are a lot of things about getting older that suck. Reading glasses. Aches and pains. But being more comfortable and accepting of my body–which includes my face–isn’t one of them.

 

 

 

Summer Love

I love summer. I love the heat. I love the sun. I love the colors. I love the food.

There’s nothing like grabbing a perfectly ripe peach or plum. and sinking your teeth into it.

  I love sitting outside with a glass of iced tea and reading.

  I enjoy my flowers.

 

My happy Buddha plays hide & seek.

Summer: I am going to miss you.

Snarky Sunday

Back in June my mom took a bad spill and broke her ankle in three places. She was wheelchair-bound for several weeks. No weight at all on that ankle. She is not a young woman. My dad is not a young man, and while he could do a lot of caretaking she needed, he couldn’t do all.

So my brother called their house of worship and made arrangements for meals to be delivered twice a week. My folks eat like birds, so these meals lasted several days (and we froze portions, too). My sibs and I, along with my children, nieces, and nephew, started a Parent Patrol, and took turns going to my folks house every day to make sure they had a hot meal and everything was okay (my dad really can’t manage hot meals, but he can do cereal and sandwiches). One or more persons was on hand every single day to feed them and clean up afterward, plus deal with other stuff, if only to keep Mom company while Dad puttered around outdoors.

Whenever I was there and the meals were delivered, my parents’ friends continually commented on how wonderful it was that we were all taking care of our parents. Which confused me. I mean, what were we supposed to do? Put rocks in their pockets and toss them in the creek?

The Future Is Now

I was at a drive-thru window getting breakfast one morning and didn’t understand a word the cashier said to me. Not. One. Word. I periodically have this problem with my 20-something children and a couple of 30-something co-workers. They speak too quickly and don’t enunciate.

I couldn’t help but think of Linda Howard’s Killing Time, in which an FBI agent from the futures comes to the present to solve a crime. Part of the future world Howard created included people speaking much faster than they do now.

This past winter, I (re)read JD Robb‘s “In Death” series from beginning to newest release. Naked Death came out in 1995. Robb set her series in the not-terribly distant future-2058.

One thing that struck me with the re-reading was how of the technology she created for her books has come to pass. Palm Link anyone? Try your smart phone. We didn’t have those in 1995.

Can the Urban Wars be far behind?

The Purse Project: My Summer Edition

Yes, I am one of those women who carries a summer purse–i.e. a different purse in the summer than I carry the other three seasons.

I’ve had this purse for about 8 years. I absolutely love it. The sun hat (you can see the brim lower right) is made of the same material, which actually has a very high paper content.

One of the things I love about this bag is the detachable cross body strap, which comes in so handy when I’m grocery shopping.

It doesn’t “organize” internally as well as my other seasons bag. Oh, and my new glasses came with much larger cases, which I’m not sure I can correct.

The Urban Dictionary’s Downfall

I used to go to the Urban Dictionary all the time to make sure I was using modern/current language properly.

Until I looked up “mansplain.”

Nothing like mansplainers mainplaining mansplain. And getting it wrong to boot.

There are two things I will not tolerate on my social media:

Mansplaining
Sniping at me

 

Tantalizing Trivia: 74-Minute CDs

Do you know why a CD is 74 minutes long (instead of an even 60 or 75)?

Although this is unverified, the popular belief is because Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony was the CD inventor’s favorite piece of music and he wanted to be able to listen to the longest recording of it without a record change.

And the reason a CD is not longer than 74 minutes is to keep the disc size small enough to fit in a suit pocket.