Killer Smile

Heh. I don't have anything much to say today. My mind is on some dental work I have to have done this afternoon. And you know? I can't seem to get around that. Anyway, I thought I would talk about a discovery that came from having dental work done in the past.

Most people don't seem to have a problem with the dentist. Oh, it's not a pleasant experience, but it's not painful, either. Not so for me. For a long time I thought I was a wuss of the first order. And then I stumbled across the truth.

Novocaine (along with most of the other "caines") doesn't work for me. It's difficult to convince the medical establishment that this is true. Very difficult. But I've finally developed an explanation that at least they listen to before they drill.

It seems the anesthetic shots don't work on anyone in my family! My uncle, my siblings, my kids...my mother is gone now so I couldn't ask her, but her brother had to have general anesthesia for his dental work. The shots don't deaden the skin for stitches, either. Nope.

Now the grandkids are coming along. Our family has been working on compiling (and updating) a family medical history. And that is one of the things that is in it. Along with the severe nose bleeds and the kidney disease.

What about you? Does your family have something that runs through the generations? How do you make sure everyone is aware of it?

anny

Lost the Plot

A fellow writer sent me a wonderful jumpstart she is working on. For those who might be wondering, a jumpstart is when an idea/dream/notion is tickling your brain and you just sit down and write until it runs out. Sometimes it ends up as a book. And sometimes a promising idea just sort of dies with a dreadful thud and you move on.

Anyway, when I encouraged her to keep working on this little bit she had, she said, "But I don't have a plot..."

Now for me, plot has never been an issue. I know! That's the wrong way to do it, but sometimes that's just the way it works. I keep writing, meandering in the woods, and suddenly it all starts coming together.

My critique partner once asked me, "Where are you going with this story?"

And my reply? "I have no idea."

My current story just hit the coming together stage...at 12K. I ran back through it to see how much I would have to change now that I sort of have a plot. And except for a name change and two sentences, I'm in good shape.

Now another writer friend cannot conceive of working this way. She's very organized with index cards and outlines and color coding. I admire her tenacity very much. It would make me insane to write with all that paraphernalia in my mental space, but that doesn't mean it's not right for her.

So what am I blathering on about? Well, we all have different working styles. And some of us don't start with a plot!

What's your writing style?

anny

I Cannot Brain

For several months now, I've suffered from the brain fuzzies. Short attention span, difficulty concentrating, cognitive problems... And now, now the truth comes out. Two of the medications I'm taking can cause the brain fuzzies.

They're not exactly meds I can just stop taking.

I suppose what irritates me is the side-effects aren't a recent thing. Apparently, the pharmaceutical companies who make them have known about this for quite some time. But this side-effect isn't listed on the material you're given when you receive a prescription. 

So...if I seem inattentive, there you have it. Medication fuzzies.

anny

Romance Terror

I love romantic suspense. Really. And the book I'm reading right now is by one of my favorite authors. So you're probably asking what the problem is.

I'm scared to death.

I can only read so far and then I have to put the book down for a while. That's ridiculous, I know, but that's the way it is. My old heart is pitty-pattin' and I find it's hard to breath so time to put the book away until tomorrow...or the day after that.

I've tried to analyze exactly what's setting me off. And I believe it's because the author's done a fabulous job of blocking all the exits. You know what I mean? Where there's no way out? And the villain is relentless. Crazy relentless. Methodical relentless. Brrrrr.

So what's your take on terror in a romance? How much is too much? I suspect I must be a wimp when it comes to writing the scary parts. I know one of my last reviews for a fairly recent book indicated the reviewer was disappointed because I was too predictable on the action scenes. And I have to say I'm not one to drag any particularly scary parts out for long.

Now I'm wondering if that's because I'm not much for the scary bits myself. Cowardly Cook?

Is this something I'm going to have to get past if I'm going to write romantic suspense? And if so...how do I do that when I can't even read a scary book without leaving the lights on when I go to bed? Hmmmm.

Maybe I should write comedy instead.

anny

In the First Person

From the day I started writing (a very long time ago), I've struggled with this odd notion of POV (point of view). Frankly, I don't see what the hollering and bellyachin' is about, but editors and publishers and some writers and readers seem to think it's a big deal so I've struggled mightily to figure it out.

I believe there are some people who are just plain POV blind just like there are people who can't see the color blue. Just when I think I have it right, someone (usually a long-suffering editor or critique partner) will point out that--no--I don't have it right.

A couple months ago I embarked on a new venture. I started a story in first person. And for the very first time, I could actually "see" the difference. "I" as the narrator can only know certain information. And everyone else cannot know or see what I perceive or know. That might seem like a simple concept.

Not so.

I'm writing a love scene. Can I just say it's very odd to write such a scene from a personal viewpoint? For some reason it brings an immediacy to the actions and thoughts of my female character that I've never experienced before as a writer.

No matter how...out there...erotic romance writers might appear to be, there's still a barrier between them and their characters when they're writing in third person. (By the way, is there a second person POV? If so, how does that work?) Anyway, moving along. In first person you can freely describe--or not--all the feelings, emotions, surroundings your character is experiencing. Generally, this is pretty tame stuff.

But what happens when you start describing sex? Average humans can barely acknowledge they even participate in the activity, let alone discuss what they're actually feeling or any fantasy they might want to try out. In first person, the writer is liberated in a truly scary fashion. It's kind of like writing a diary you intend to burn.

Write anything down you want and figure out whether you'll delete it later. I don't know what I'll keep. But I've learned a lot about POV. I suspect when I finish this story, someone will tell me--no--I still don't have it right. Heh. How will they know?

After all, it's all my point of view.

anny

Clothes in the Women's Section

Clothes. I hate shopping for clothes. Whoever styles/ designs clothing for the Big Beautiful Woman is NOT a BBW. Otherwise, we wouldn't have the atrocities in the Women's section of the store (Women's=BBW).

I will not debate the issues surrounding obesity. Everyone knows obesity is bad for you. But let's face it, there are a bunch of us out here in the world, like it or not. I don't know a single person who is happy to be obese. But it's hard to keep a positive attitude regarding medical issues, regular exercise, and a healthy eating plan when you look like crap.

Clothing does make the woman--or man. At least it can give you a real boost when you know you look your best. And 90% of the bigger sizes in clothing on the market are incredibly ugly. It's no wonder women wear sweatpants and sloppy t-shirts. At least those items are comfortable. And don't even get me started about undergarments. No one wants to wear the horribly uncomfortable underwear that's available.

Here's my wish list...

a) Just because I'm a big girl doesn't mean I'm a tall girl. Why are all the sleeves and pant legs three inches too long? Chances are if I'm on the chunky side, I'm short. Having to roll up my hems makes me feel like I'm wearing my sister's hand-me-downs. And I don't even have a sister.

b) Why are all the tops too short and too wide? And once you wash them, they're shorter and wider? Com'on, now. Do I really need a top that exposes my belly? Really?

c) And on that same line, why are the sleeves so narrow they feel like sausage casing? Is there really such a shortage of fabric?

d) Or there's no sleeve at all. Listen up! There are very few obese women out there who are comfortable exposing their arms! What's with all the tops with no sleeves. Or such short sleeves they end up in a wad in my arm pits. Gross.

e) And finally...the worst fault. The fabrics and patterns are atrocious. Most of them remind one of tents and sofas. I have the vision of the clothing factory. The guy that chooses the fabrics has two bins. One for the smaller sizes (pretty colors and attractive small prints) and the other for the large sizes (burnt orange, hot pink, blinding blue and prints suitable for drapes or furniture).

I could go on. Why are all the large sized sports bras only in gray and white? The smaller ones are in blue, pink, yellow, red, turquoise, purple. Do you suppose the designers think obesity also means we're color blind?

Sigh.

The BBW just want to look as attractive as possible while we're battling to get down to a healthier size. It would be nice if the industry pitched in to help out.

anny

Dead Wrong

So. I went to the dentist yesterday for a procedure they call deep cleaning. What that means is they clean way down below the gum line. Since mine are receded, that is really waaaaay down. To minimize the discomfort (notice how they always call PAIN discomfort?) the hygienist shot me up with a bunch of numby stuff.

It didn't work.

Actually, it wore off before she poked her first instrument in my mouth. I kept waiting for it to kick in. Nope. No such luck.

Now, I had a discussion with the hygienist prior to the procedure and indicated at that time that most numbing products a) take a long time to start working on me and b) don't work very long. She nodded and said she would give me extra.

So after the procedure--mouth is still throbbing--I indicated the numbing part was not a success. And this is what she said. "This is the strongest meds I can use because of your high blood pressure and diabetes."

What? Why not say something before hand???

All my life I've struggled with this non-working numbing issue at the dentist. For me, dental work equates to extreme pain. When compiling some medical history from my older relatives, I discovered the numbing stuff doesn't work for anyone in a particular branch of my family. Nor does it work for my kids. None of them. Grandkids... same thing. Stitches for wounds are not fun.

Try convincing doctors and dentists this is so. It's like you're speaking Swahili or Vulcan. They nod and ignore you.

So. Anyone else out there have this problem? Or am I the only strange one in this universe?

anny

Power of Words

In my downtime I play a computer game that's basically a world-building premise. If you quit the game before you win, it flashes a statement across the screen.

You abandon your colony!

Abandon. That's such a...negative word. I just want to shut down the game because I need to cook supper, or I'm tired, or I have an appointment. But I don't want to abandon my little people! See how that works? Abandon as a word has power.

During my time as a writer, I've been continually struck by the words we have chosen as power words. Fuck. Penis. Nipples. Why? What about them makes them intrinsically powerful? They're everyday, ordinary words in the English language, yet we endow them with power far above what they're worth.

The youth of our country have devalued the word fuck to the point it basically has no meaning. There's no shock value anymore when you hear this word. It's not even useful as a swear word when you hit your hand with a hammer. They use it as a noun, verb, adverb, adjective, and heck, for all I know, even a preposition. Overuse of a word devalues it very quickly. Think about some of the other overused words you hear everyday.

What if we quit worrying about the overused, shocking words and started focusing on words that really have power? Words like responsibility. Accountability. Honor. Dependability. Honesty. Generosity. Compassion. These words used to have value in our culture and society. A man or woman strived to live by these words. What if we went back to a time when these words had power?

anny

Laundry Hijinks

Regular readers of my blog know the dreaded Laundry Day rolls around every couple weeks. We have no washer/dryer in our apartment so that requires a trip to the local Laundromat. Yesterday was the day.

Now I have certain intimate items I don't dry in the dryer so the house hunk went out to the car to get me a plastic bag for my damp clothes once the washer was done. While he was gone, I started folding my dry clothes.

In a bit he returned, his wadded-up beige bandana hanky held to his forehead. Naturally, I asked, "What happened?"

He moved the hanky to show me two deep gouges (still bleeding) in his forehead, almost dead center. "Is it bad?" he demanded.

"Yes." I was blunt and to the point. "What happened?"

"I didn't move far enough from the car when I closed the back hatch."

Ouch. We have an SUV. Apparently, he slammed the corner of the door into his forehead. We had wet clothes in four dryers still running. So I told him to sit down. As soon as the dryers finished running, I bundled the clothes into our baskets, hauled them out to the car and drove him to our doctor's office.

There he acquired four stitches in each gouge.

I always say laundry day can be the most exciting day of the week...

anny

Dentalphobic

Today I have a dentist appointment. This is a new dentist. I have not had good experiences with the previous dentist and with a low, low, low pain threshold, I'm not looking forward to my consultation today, even though it will most likely consist of x-rays only.

Sigh. It's very lowering to admit you're afraid of going to the dentist when you're sixty-two years old, but there you have it. I suffer a lot of pain when they're messing with my mouth. And I'm not very tolerant with pain.

Ah, well. Guess I'll put on my big girl panties and get on with it.

In other news, my younger son and his girlfriend got married yesterday! When I pointed out it was Valentine's Day, he admitted that was part of the reason they picked the date so he wouldn't forget when their anniversary was. That's my boy! Felicitations to Tony and Frankie! I love y'all!

anny

My Hearts

Today is Valentine's Day. A lot has been written about how it's a corporate construct designed to generate spending. That's all true. But if people didn't buy into that, it wouldn't generate squat.

I'm always appalled at the women who ask (on Facebook and other media), "What do you want your lover/boyfriend/husband/significant other to get you for Valentine's Day?"

Hello! Why would I expect anything? What is this gimme, gimme thing we have going on? Do I need another chocolate bar or bunch of dying flowers or piece of jewelry I won't ever wear?

No.

Why not jointly donate money to your favorite charity? Or send those flowers to a lonely elder to brighten their day? Or bake some heart-shaped cookies for a neighbor?

Take your parents to breakfast or lunch. Mine are too far away so I sent them the money so they could afford to go out. They love to have breakfast before they do their weekly shopping. When I send them money in a card, they feel like they can enjoy their time out free of guilt.

Valentine's Day isn't about coupling. It's about sharing love with others. And it's about giving--not receiving. So, what are you ladies doing for your men? Really.

A card? A card??? Is that it?

What's his favorite pasttime? At the moment, mine enjoys playing computer games. So I got him a selection to entertain himself. No it wasn't expensive. And it was exactly what he wanted.

What did I get? He cooked me breakfast. He cooks breakfast everyday. And lunch. And usually dinner. I have plants throughout the apartment because he remembers to water them. The floors are vacuumed because he does that. And changes the sheets on the bed and the towels in the bathroom. Why does he do all of that?

So I can write...which is really what I want.

That's what I receive every day--not just for Valentine's Day.

anny

Plan B or...

I have a page or three of notes. I have a file with my editor's notes. I have a manuscript dotted with my editor's notes and corrections.

What I don't have is a sane brain. I have a case of the fuzzies where the ideas and notes are all racing around like hamsters on wheels or butterflies on speed. My mind can't seem to settle on one thing. You know that line, "Oh, shiny..." That's me.

I love my story. Shadows on Stone is one of my favorites. But the edits are turning into a nightmare--not because of my editor!!!--but because I have the attention span of a microsecond.

So I suppose you're wondering what Plan B is? Plan B is simple. I'll print out the manuscript (with notes and corrections), print out my editor's note sheet and take all the papers to the dining room table while the hunk goes for a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Then with my handy-dandy red pen, I'll write out my corrections in what we used to call longhand. Quite frankly, I really think better when writing stuff by hand rather than typing. I suppose that's a holdover from my school days.

When I first started writing (BC~Before Computer) I typed my stuff on a typewriter. Every single correction meant retyping the entire page or two or three. Corrections, revisions, and edits were really serious business. Typos could give you heartburn. Especially if you had to retype a page for one letter.

When I did revisions, it meant drawing neat little arrows to point to an inserted page where I wrote all the corrections with numbers and other arcane symbols that only meant something to me. When everything was corrected to my satisfaction, I sat down at the typewriter and typed. No thinking required.

If any of you have ever worked as a typist, you'll know exactly what I mean. I suspect my brain has reached the point where it refuses to do two things at once--think and type.

So. Plan B tomorrow! Onward!

anny (retired typist!)