Pink?

When did pink become a feminine color? I recently read a book set in the Georgian period, back during the time of powdered wigs, lavishly embroidered clothing in rich purples and reds, and high heeled shoes decorated with jewels. And that was the men's clothing. They carried beautifully painted fans, engraved and jeweled snuff boxes, had lace ruffled cuffs and carried beribboned canes. Oh, yes. They fought duels with real swords, rode horses, and er, gambled.

While I'm not advocating their lifestyle, I do find it curious that real men are only now daring to wear pastel colored shirts with their suits and it's still not acceptable for a boy to play with any thing that could remotely be called a doll. Why?

How can masculinity be determined by the color of clothing or a toy? My children grew up playing with dolls, trucks, Lincoln logs, and all sorts of sports equipment. They rode bikes, played baseball, went swimming, and climbed trees. Two boys. Two girls. Toys were share and share alike.

When we stop determining masculinity by clothing colors and toy types, then perhaps we'll have boys who grow up to be nurturing fathers and real men.

anny

Dark Stormy Night

We've had quite a few of those lately. As I write this it is lightning and thundering overhead. Rain is rain is rain, but a thunderstorm is completely different. The wind, the rolling rumble of thunder, the flashing and crashing of lightning. That's God's own light show.

When I was a kid about nine or ten years old, we lived outside the small town of Globe, Arizona. Our house was a cement block building that sat on a hillside. Further up the hill, a similar house sat on a lot that was level with our roof. Our yard on the other side fell away on a sharp drop-off so that our yard was above the roofs of the houses below us.

Arizona thunderstorms in the desert are abrupt and violent. One particular storm howled and crashed overhead while dumping an incredible amount of rain in a very short time. The water rolled down the hill like a series of waterfalls...so much water that it rolled through the house in an inexorable wave.

I remember my mom piling all of us kids on top of the bed and yelling over the growl of thunder for us to stay put. We huddled in the center of the bed with blankets and pillows piled all around us. And then, as suddenly as the storm arrived, it moved on leaving a ringing silence behind.

And the storm was over.

anny

Midnight Hour

It's called a mixed up biological clock. I've always been a night person. Inevitably, the house hunk is a morning person. And never the twain shall meet.

If I watched television, I suppose it would be understandable, but since I don't, then there are other things to occupy me. Reading. Beading. Writing. Even internet chatting is I find someone else awake. If all else fails, there is always Solitaire.

But when midnight rolls around, the eyes get heavy and I can tell it's time to turn off the lights, shut down the computer and hit the hay. I start to yawn. My eyes blur. And the cat starts nudging me to get out of "her" chair so she can curl up and go to sleep.

In the morning I stagger around for the first hour, wondering what type of truck hit me. It doesn't matter whether I sleep five hours or ten hours. That's just who I am in the morning. Occasionally, there's sufficient reason for me to get up "early". I'm cranky for hours when that happens so I really try to arrange things so I don't have to get up early.

And food? Don't talk to me about food for the first hour. You can probably tell that I'm not a gracious hostess in the morning, huh? Coffee is my speed for the early morning.

So how about you? Are you a morning or a night person?

anny

Playing in the dirt

An important part of my grandchildrens visits to Baltimore is the time they spend with my neighbor Jane. Their first words (as they came in the door and gave me perfunctory hugs) were, "Can we go down to see Jane and the doggies?"

Since it was 2:30 AM I regretfully declined after pointing out that Jane was sleeping--and so should they. The next morning bright and early they stumbled out of bed, yawning and half-awake. "Can we go down to see Jane and the doggies now?"

"No. Jane is not up yet. You can go later."

After a full day of bowling, shopping and eating out, we arrived home dead tired and ready to flop on the beds. Not so with the kids. "Can we go down to see Jane?"

Just then the phone rang. It was Jane asking if the kids could come down to visit. Yawning, their mom gave permission and they were out the door like a shot. It was late so their visit was relatively short, but it included them hauling the doggies, one at a time up the stairs so everyone could meet them.

The next day we spent at the zoo. By the time we stumbled through the door, the adults were ready for a nap, but the kids wanted to go visit Jane. She was potting her herbs and flowers on the patio downstairs. All excited the girls raced down around the building to the patio.

A couple hours later, I noticed the time! Jane usually is serving dinner at her place at seven and it was five til seven. So I called to see what was up. They were still planting flowers. Seems that the younger granddaughter D (she's five) was "helping" put dirt in the pots. One scoop for the pot. One scoop for Jane's feet. One scoop for the pot. One scoop for T's (her older sister) feet. One scoop for the pot... and most of those scoops also ended up on D's feet. Nice black dirt.

Then they watered all the plants. See how that could be fun?

Yesterday when I was talking to Jane on the phone she said that every time she looked out at the plants on the patio she smiled, remembering the great time she had with the girls.

Playing in the dirt can be wonderful.

anny

Croc Hunting

I haven't quite figured out why Crocs stir up so much fury. I find mine incredibly comfortable. And the bonus is that my podiatrist informed me that they were the perfect shoe for diabetics.

But I've noticed that some people despise them with a passion. I just can't think of a reason for that. They're shoes. They're comfortable. And if someone doesn't want to wear them, then that's their loss.

The house hunk was looking for a pair of slippers. After a while he decided to try a pair of Crocs. Black, of course, because he's not really into colors. He's a pretty conservative guy. And his are Mammoths--Crocs with a furry lining. Well, he loves them.

So love 'em. Or hate 'em. Just don't tell me about how they're not really shoes. Because according to my doctor, they're the real deal.

Besides. Where else can you get shoes in frog green, grape purple, and bubblegum pink?

anny

View from the chair...

Physically I've reached the point that I can no longer traipse along on long hikes. This weekend my daughter and her family came to visit. While here they took a notion to visit the Maryland Zoo. When I regretfully pointed out that I wouldn't be able to walk that far and suggested that I would stay home, they proposed renting a wheelchair at the zoo.

After some discussion, that's what we all agreed would work. We left pretty early for the zoo, but it was already hot and muggy when we arrived. On the drive, I had second thoughts about the wheelchair solution, mostly because I felt like a fraud. But the quarter-mile walk from the parking lot to the main entrance quickly disabused me of the false notion that I would be able to spend the day at the zoo on foot.

So, without further reservations we rented the wheelchair and began the day. Immediately, it became apparent that there was more to spending the day in a wheelchair than just renting one. First of all, the zoo is one hill after another. Someone had to push the bloody thing!

Fortunately the zoo is laid out with the idea of being stroller and wheelchair friendly. There were very few steps and all of those had an "alternate route" planned. Fellow travelers were gracious and friendly. I had a lovely time, though I'm not so sure that my son could say the same since he was the main pusher.
Here's a picture of my two granddaughters and my step great grandson in the heron's nest in the Children's Wilderness Park. There was a bog complete with giant lily pads for the children to use as stepping stones across a brook, giant tortoise shell for them to crawl inside and a couple other "nests" for them to try on for size.

What I discovered spending a day in a wheelchair was that most people were unfailingly polite. But there were a few that pretended that I didn't exist. It was difficult to give up my autonomy, my right to go where I wanted to, when I wanted to. And as much as the zoo really worked hard to make the paths "accessible", they obviously forgot to test them out with someone who was actually seated in a wheel chair. Every single one of the heavy railings that lined the path had a broad cap that was exactly at my eye level! It made it tough to see the animals and impossible to take pictures.

It definitely wasn't a chair with a view!

anny

Surpassing Pleasures

Look at my pretty cover! Surpassing Pleasures is scheduled for release on July 3, 2009. It's the second book in the Ardent Angels series about a family of angel shifters.

Want a little taste???

Blurb: Special Agent Sebastian Spade, has worked hard since he met Zipporah Jericho to convince her that he’s her man. But every encounter ends with Zip dancing out of reach to protect a family secret. When they are brought together by a murder, Seb determines this time he will never let her go.

In the bedroom, on the road, in a secret cabin in the woods, he masters her body by daring to satisfy her deepest desires. Together as they explore the forbidden pleasures that await them with every touch they discover trust is another word for love.

Excerpt:
Four days later a small gray-brown dog sat patiently on Seb’s porch waiting for him to come home. After a while, the little Yorkie curled up in front of the door, resting her head on her front paws. In a dog’s life it seemed like there was a lot of waiting.

The sky darkened as the air grew chillier. A fine sleet began to fall. Shivering, the small dog pressed closer to the door, keeping watch. Her eyes brightened and she came to quivering attention as a cab pulled up in front of the house. A man opened the back door and climbed out.

Slamming the door behind him, he hurried up the walk to the steps. The little Yorkie stood stiffly and yelped a sharp bark. The man halted, staring down in amazement at the dog that waited, waggling its tail in welcome.

“Well. What have we here?” Seb bent down to scoop up the little dog. “Where did you come from?” He mounted the stairs, unlocked the door and carried his visitor inside. “It’s kinda cold out there for you, isn’t it?” he crooned as he snatched the afghan from the back of his couch and wrapped it around the shivering dog. He settled her on the end of the couch. “You stay right there while I hang up my coat.”

She cocked her head to one side, regarding him with shining black eyes. Then she gave a short yip before curling up contentedly in the soft blanket.

“So you’ve decided that you’ve found a sucker, eh?” Seb grinned reluctantly. “We’ll have to see about that. Somebody’s probably missing you about now.” He sighed. “I suppose I better post some notices tomorrow and check with the vet.” He turned away and went into the kitchen to locate the box of doggie things he’d put away when he lost his own dog the year before.

The dog snuggled contentedly in the soft blanket while Seb puttered around in the kitchen. Tomorrow—or the day after that would be soon enough to reveal the truth, she thought. Seb wasn’t gonna like it. No, not at all, but the little dog knew that sometimes life didn’t go the way people thought it ought to happen.

Pa? I’m all set.

All right. Quill’s hopping mad at the moment. He thinks he should be there instead of you. She could hear the echo of laughter as Pentecost Jericho chuckled over Quill’s reaction. You be careful, Zip.

I will, Pa.

anny

In the night

So my kids came down to visit me this weekend. And basically drove three times further than they planned to because they uh, went on the tollway going the wrong direction.

I'm not sure exactly what it is about driving at night, but it sure is easy to get turned around when it's dark. If you're also tired because you've worked all day and you're getting a little punch drunk, well then it's no wonder that you end up going the wrong direction.

I'm old enough now that I realllly don't like driving any distance at all after dark. Perceptions change with limited light. Peripheral vision is hampered. And color cues are mostly missing. Pedestrians don't realize that drivers generally don't see them until they've already hit--or near missed them.

If you're on the road this weekend, travel safely. Take your time. Get plenty of rest. And try to travel in the day time.

anny

Mugging the writer

Take a good look. That's me. I'm an ordinary everyday kind of woman. No glamour. No high living. My office is in the living room squashed in with all the other odds and ends. The sole advantage I have over most other writers is that I'm retired with no children at home. It could be that you won't see me again. Why?

Google my name.

In the first page, you'll likely find that my books are listed on multiple piracy sites. Just like everyone else in the world, I work for money. Oh, you thought I wrote for love of the word? Well... not!

Writing is a difficult, thankless calling. In order to write well enough to be published, I must have a workable idea, write a story a publisher will contract and a reader will be willing to buy. For every story of say... fifty thousand words there is an initial time investment of approximately six hundred hours. Hmmm.

Current minimum wage in my state is $6.55. So my initial time investment is worth $3,930. That does not cover my taxes, supplies, or Social Security. In order to recoup my investment I must find a publisher willing to offer me a contract (for most e-pubs there is no advance!) Then I will spend additional hours on edits, final line edits, and promotion--again all without receiving a dime. So let's add in that additional time... That's another $786.

Eventually, approximately eight months after the initial contract, my book is released. Now I'll tell you a secret. The most that I've ever made on a book is $3, 260. That was for sales over a year. That's the only book I made that much money on. My average sales over a year for an individual book are about $1200.

For my best selling book I'm in the hole to the tune of $1456. For my average sales, I'm behind (in time invested) $3520--per book!

As the proliferation of piracy sites and theft have increased, my sales have steadily decreased. In the last six months alone my sales have dropped over 50%. A glance at the download numbers on the piracy sites make it clear where those sales are going.

In effect, I'm mugged by my readers every time I contract a book. I don't know a single person who would continue to work at a profession if they were robbed every time they were paid--if they knew that more than fifty percent of their wages would be stolen by thieves. Why should I?

Quite frankly, the local McDonald's is hiring and I doubt that I would face the same kind of theft there. If I worked the same number of hours--at minimum wage--I would net at least $11,921. That's $2,500 more than I made last year from writing.

So...what would you do?

anny
www.annycook.com
www.annycook.blogspot.com

Long day

Loaded the dishwasher.
Put some laundry away.
Cleaned off the desk.
Went to the bank.
Went to the pharmacy to pick up prescription.
Read a book.
Read another book.
Fed the cat.
Cleaned the litter box.
Swept the floor.
Put away the groceries.

It's been a long day.

anny

Stuff

Posting my picture has netted me several inquiries. They mostly begin with, "Have you lost weight?" I wish. See that pic up there? That's pretty much what I look like. All I have to do is inhale the scent of a chocolate chip cookie and I automatically gain three pounds.

Enough of my troubles. Recently read an article about a study done in Australia. The study concluded that taller people are paid better than short people. Ahhhh. It all makes sense now. I'm only 5'1" so that's why I didn't get the big bucks.

On the other hand, the study concluded that obesity did NOT make any difference in pay. And why was that? Because the majority of workers are obese. Hmmm. That would make it tough to discriminate, wouldn't it?

I have a neighbor who was recently informed that he would be charged an extra fifteen dollars per pay period for his medical benefits because he smokes. I'm trying to figure out what would happen if the insurance companies started charging people extra for different things. What if they charged by the pound? Or charged you extra unless you could prove you never eat at McDonald's? Or... what if they charged you extra because you have blue eyes? So where does that stop?

I've been trying for three days to get my medicine refilled. Two months ago I went to the doctor because they wouldn't refill my meds without a visit. Then they were supposed to fax all my refills to my prescription plan which is a "90 days by mail" plan. All scrips are written for 90 days at a time and they're filled and sent through the mail.

So over the weekend I discovered that the spare bottle of my blood pressure meds was not in fact full, but nearly empty. Immediately, the house hunk went on the computer to re-order the meds only to find that there were no refills because the doctor's office never faxed them in.

Bright and early Monday morning I called the doctor's office. After some wrangling, the woman on the phone said to me, "We require twenty-four hour notice on prescription refills." I pointed out that they had two months notice! And she said??? "I don't know anything about that."

I think my blood pressure just went up.

anny

A boy named Sue

I'm working on stuff. You know, little story ideas. Had a couple stories where people have commented that they would use a different diminutive for the hero's name. The new suggestions are usually softer.

Diminutives (or nicknames) can really change how we perceive the hero. Consider the case of Daniel. Daniel is a fine Old Testament name that conjures up images of an older fire and brimstone rigid male. Maybe someone's grandfather or the head of an old established firm.

Danny is either a young boy or the bluff slightly overweight life of the party. He's a little to loud and a little too...everything. Just a little "too". He works in construction or maybe even for the Department of Works.

Dan on the other hand could be a cop. Or a private investigator. Or a teacher. He's steady, dependable, reasonably sexy and when he settles on the woman, he's determined.

So which one would I want for the hero?

I know that authors have successfully pulled off using a softer name for their hero, but why start at a minus position? I think that writers can do them the same type of disservice by using a name that's too hard.

My publisher has a list of "do not use" names. I'm certain that most publishers eventually compile a similar list. Some of them are eliminated because of overuse. Others because of negative connotations.

Let's exam "Jake". Generally, it's a diminutive of Jacob. Personally, I find Jacob a masculine name that's approachable and conveys a sense of dependability and capability. I would be comfortable with Jacob. I think he would be a good, patient, thorough lover. Jacob could handle my PMS with equanimity.

Jake on the other hand...well Jake is impatient. He's a love 'em and leave 'em bad boy. He rides a motor cycle and wears a black leather jacket. Maybe he smokes. He likes his women in short skirts and high heels. And if he was presented with the possibility of a permanent relationship, he'd run in a heartbeat.

When settling on a name for the hero, cutesy doesn't do it. At least it won't if it's a running joke. Maybe a one time one-liner would be okay. Especially if it's either at the beginning or the very end of the story. Otherwise it's just distracting. Try out all the variations. Because sure as shooting if there's one that's weird, that's what your other characters will call him. It never fails.

Just don't name him Anny.