Today the 13th query letter goes out. That will make 6 for World of Mirrors and 7 for Promiscuous Mode this week alone. One agent had the good sense to say NOT to send a SASE, that if she like the writing, she would get back to me. 100 queries at 39 cent is $39.00. Save a bit of money. I could take a nice vacation on what I've spent on queries over the years. That would include 3 full manuscuripts sent a $10 - $12 a pop for which I've received NO RESPONSE WHATSOEVER. Ah well, suck it up.
I've been re-reading the How to Write a Mystery book published by MWA. Sue Grafton was the editor. I do like her books. Lewis on PBS (the sequel to Morse) was not bad last night. Better than the weird glop they've been serving up as Miss Marple. I always liked Morse, too, with his hopeless luck with women and the classical music, the boozing, the brains. Flawed characters are so much more interesting, don't you think? No, you want St. Augustine solving mysteries? He was flawed, too, until he got religion. Ha ha! Take this idea for a new series. It's yours.
I am going to a) fix breakfast, b) work in the garden before it gets to hot, and c) come in and take a shower. It's nice to have simple goals. Maybe I'll even write a few pages today. The dog days of August are almost here.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Monday, July 31, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Syringes and Me
Last night, 13 hours after she entered her hidey hole, Thisbe emerged, ate a little, drank a little, freshened up, and sniffed her new catnip. While she was engrossed in the finest leaves and blossoms, I readied the syringe, approached the cat, disinfected the chosen area on her back, and stuck the syringe into my finger. Thank god I did not depress the plunger, or I would have given myself a small dose of insulin. Grabbed a piece of loose skin on kitty's back and gave her a shot. Wasn't too bad, and she didn't freak, I didn't freak, and S.O. didn't freak. She took a bath and had lovey time and everyone went to bed happy. I mixed the Dr. Atkins kitty diet with the regular food, and again, neither of the cats went on a hunger strike.
On the cow front, we walked to the cows this morning, hoping they would be there, toting past-prime apples and cheap supermarket bread. We saw Mama and baby. Baby's name is MaryLou and Mama's name is Iris. The farmer came out of the barn and we chatted for a while. Old Mama is also pregnant and will deliver in about a month. Her name is Maggie. Last year's baby (now two years old) is also with calf and is due to deliver anytime. The sweet-faced young bull has been a busy boy. It will be such fun to have calves together, romping, bleating and playing. Watch for calf picture. It is still on S.O.'s computer.
Grapeshot
On the cow front, we walked to the cows this morning, hoping they would be there, toting past-prime apples and cheap supermarket bread. We saw Mama and baby. Baby's name is MaryLou and Mama's name is Iris. The farmer came out of the barn and we chatted for a while. Old Mama is also pregnant and will deliver in about a month. Her name is Maggie. Last year's baby (now two years old) is also with calf and is due to deliver anytime. The sweet-faced young bull has been a busy boy. It will be such fun to have calves together, romping, bleating and playing. Watch for calf picture. It is still on S.O.'s computer.
Grapeshot
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Thisbe - Part 2
The vet called yesterday and confirmed that Thisbe is diabetic. We took her in late yesterday for an insulin shot, which was also a lesson on how to give them at home. Seems fairly simple, except that one will have to catch her. Significant Other let her into her furnace room hidey hole this a.m., and now it will be hell to get her out, as we have a small house guest that she would just as soon not encounter. The problem will be finding someone to do come in and give her the insulin if we take a weekend trip or a vacation. Wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't a 'fraidy cat.
We also have some new presciption cat food that I will begin mixing into the rest of the cat food. Both cats will be put on the high protein diet, kind of like Atkins For Cats, and they should loose weight (Annie is a little on the plump side, too). So we'll have sleek cats. Maybe I should eat it along with them. Three bowls on the kitchen floor. My hope is that if we get Thisbe slimmed down, the insulin might not be necessary. Time, as always, will tell.
I hope the insulin experience isn't like my first attempt at sterilizing baby bottles years ago. It was ugly.
The profession of nurse was always right below school bus driver on my career list. All the so-called "feminine" professions were. I was keen on civil engineering and quantum mechanics, but settled for computer programming. Machine, not people-oriented. Now there are choices.
Choices are good, as long as there aren't too many like women's clothing in a big department store. And most of them ugly. But I digress.
Onward,
Grapeshot
We also have some new presciption cat food that I will begin mixing into the rest of the cat food. Both cats will be put on the high protein diet, kind of like Atkins For Cats, and they should loose weight (Annie is a little on the plump side, too). So we'll have sleek cats. Maybe I should eat it along with them. Three bowls on the kitchen floor. My hope is that if we get Thisbe slimmed down, the insulin might not be necessary. Time, as always, will tell.
I hope the insulin experience isn't like my first attempt at sterilizing baby bottles years ago. It was ugly.
The profession of nurse was always right below school bus driver on my career list. All the so-called "feminine" professions were. I was keen on civil engineering and quantum mechanics, but settled for computer programming. Machine, not people-oriented. Now there are choices.
Choices are good, as long as there aren't too many like women's clothing in a big department store. And most of them ugly. But I digress.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Friday, July 28, 2006
Thisbe
Last week, Thisbe, the younger more sensitive cat celebrated in a low-key way, (no cats, no people, no fuss) her 6th birthday. Since she was spayed, Thisbe has packed on the pounds. She is a 16 lb. bundle of fur and neuroses, a "fraidy cat," or "scaredy cat" if you will. Doesn't like strangers. Zook! Up the stairs and under the bed or down the stairs and into her hidey hole in the furnace room. She likes to look out of the window, but she never ventures outside further than the front porch.
We're had a hot summer and Thisbe has been drinking a lot of water. Too much water, so yesterday we hauled out the dreaded cat carrier and took her to the vet, a trauma for both animal companian and owner. She was incredibly good, didn't growl or howl and scratch or claw or try to hide in the examing room. But he eyes were big and scared and I knew just how she felt.
The vet took some blood and we are waiting for news. If she has diabetes, we'll have to give her insulin twice a day. She doesn't seem like the kind of cat who will be cooperative and patient, not the kind of cat who will suck it up, if you will, but the kind of cat who will be permanently traumatized by shots and blood tests and trips to the vet. She is a sweet animal and deserves better.
Onward,
Grapeshot
We're had a hot summer and Thisbe has been drinking a lot of water. Too much water, so yesterday we hauled out the dreaded cat carrier and took her to the vet, a trauma for both animal companian and owner. She was incredibly good, didn't growl or howl and scratch or claw or try to hide in the examing room. But he eyes were big and scared and I knew just how she felt.
The vet took some blood and we are waiting for news. If she has diabetes, we'll have to give her insulin twice a day. She doesn't seem like the kind of cat who will be cooperative and patient, not the kind of cat who will suck it up, if you will, but the kind of cat who will be permanently traumatized by shots and blood tests and trips to the vet. She is a sweet animal and deserves better.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Link to a Really Cool Blog
If you like gardening and food and good writing, here's a great blog:
http://www.foodiefarmgirl.blogspot.com/
This is my garden a year ago when it was young and fresh. Looks good this year, too. The bag of impatiens was something new and looked stunning for a couple months until everything got all scraggly with a " seen better days" look. I have inspired the guys next door to plant stuff, but for some reason, last night they threw some HUGE cherry tomato plants (with green fruit) into the trash.
Moments ago two guys in pickups pulled up and rescued the tomatoes. I think they were from the gardening crew that came round this a.m. All I heard from "they just need some water." Made my heart feel good. I would have rescued except they would have surely noticed.
Aloha
Grape shot
Agents and More Agents
This week I got serious about contacting some more agents, and went through old Publishers Weekly mags, looked the AAR website, and perused some web sites, books, what have you. Looked just about everywhere but my navel. Found about 12. Divided them into possibilities for World of Mirrors and Promiscuous Mode. Wrote query letters to all the World of Mirrors agents. Today I will try to get queries out to the Promiscuous Mode people. Writing a personal letter to each. Googled everyone. Updated my "contacts" spread sheet with all. It can take an hour to get the query ready for each agent. Sigh. That's valuable writing time. My character could be dogding Molotov cocktails in Festival Madness.
One agent I queried by email shot back a "not for me" so fast I didn't have time to blink. At least it wasn't a canned response. At this point, I think something is definitely the matter with the query, but it's been vetted by an editor and my writing group and follows the advice of all the books and articles. I'm wondering if I should forget about marketing it as suspense and try the mainstream market. Well, that will be next, after 85 rejections. Arbitrary number. Should go for 115. What the hell?
So it's off to the post office. Swing by the cows with camera, and hope the new calf is visible. The natural world brings the joy into my daily life that the (so far) fultility of trying to get these novels a home takes away.
Sucking it up is not something one wants to do on a daily basis.
I found a really cool blog that combines gardening and food. I'll post a link soon.
I ain't down yet, as the Unsinkable Molly Brown (also from Colorado) said.
Grapeshot
One agent I queried by email shot back a "not for me" so fast I didn't have time to blink. At least it wasn't a canned response. At this point, I think something is definitely the matter with the query, but it's been vetted by an editor and my writing group and follows the advice of all the books and articles. I'm wondering if I should forget about marketing it as suspense and try the mainstream market. Well, that will be next, after 85 rejections. Arbitrary number. Should go for 115. What the hell?
So it's off to the post office. Swing by the cows with camera, and hope the new calf is visible. The natural world brings the joy into my daily life that the (so far) fultility of trying to get these novels a home takes away.
Sucking it up is not something one wants to do on a daily basis.
I found a really cool blog that combines gardening and food. I'll post a link soon.
I ain't down yet, as the Unsinkable Molly Brown (also from Colorado) said.
Grapeshot
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Last Year's Calf
This week's calf is a lighter brown, more milk than dark chocolate. This little guy (?) has grown and has small horns. He eats from my hand.
Maybe it's time for a Highland Scottish Cattle review--the whole gang. Each has a personality. Hoping Old Mama will produce a calf soon, and the two can frolic together.
The New Calf
The cows have been keeping their distance from the fence this week, protecting the newborn from strange eyes, I guess. We moseyed over today with cheap white bread and fresh apples and finally they got to their feet and came over. Over The Black Calf got close. Mama and the new one stayed in the tall grass. I could see the little tail wagging. So no pictures yet. So sorry. In a day or two, for sure. In the meantime, here's last year's calf who is already growing little horns. (See next blog).
NY Times Best Seller List
I continue to glom onto the best sellers every Sunday as if expecting to find my book there. It's really to see if anyone is writing anything remotely like mine that gives me hope of finding readership and getting published.
Don't write thrillers, although I am tempted to try my hand at one if I can come up with a convincing plot. Actually, I have done that. Takes place in Afghanistan. I may even have found the ultimate "source" if he comes back alive from Baghdad, which is something I don't allow myself to think about. He is what is known in the newspaper trade as a stringer. I don't know if he's even a good writer. He managed to get himself to Kabul for months where he hung out with spooks and G.I.s. He says, "I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you."
Ha ha.
This guy (whom I only know by hearsay) had a dotted line tatooed around his neck. In back it says, "cut here," in English and on the front in Arabic. He is now in Baghdad, totally on his own and unembedded. About the scariest thing I can think of.
He was looking for an agent, and I think that he finally got one. The stories he can tell.
Back to the best seller list. Grapeshot would never compare herself to Janet Evanovich, (#1 with Twelve Sharp), but our characters do share humor, promiscuity, and crazy situations. Janet is a nice lady who works hard and deserves all the success she has.
I haven't read Proof Positive, by Phillip Margolin, new on the list this week, but it sounds good, as does Water for Elephants. Everything else , from the tiny blurbs, sounds same-old, same-old, by which I mean scary as hell, sentimental, improbable, or predictable. I haven't ever read Luanne Rice, but the concept of Sandcastles is intriguing. I read stuff like "Captive of My Desires," in grade school and junior high.
Rumor: most best sellers are written at the 3rd grade level. I have never tested this out. My fiction zooms along at between 4th and 6th grade. I used to write at 12th grade level but that it way too dense.
No news from any agents whatsoever except the one who sends the automatic response. You know what that means?
Suck It Up. Keep writing. Keep sending out. Keep a stiff upper lip. Blog on.
Grapeshot, who is going to visit the lately invisible new calf this morning.
Don't write thrillers, although I am tempted to try my hand at one if I can come up with a convincing plot. Actually, I have done that. Takes place in Afghanistan. I may even have found the ultimate "source" if he comes back alive from Baghdad, which is something I don't allow myself to think about. He is what is known in the newspaper trade as a stringer. I don't know if he's even a good writer. He managed to get himself to Kabul for months where he hung out with spooks and G.I.s. He says, "I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you."
Ha ha.
This guy (whom I only know by hearsay) had a dotted line tatooed around his neck. In back it says, "cut here," in English and on the front in Arabic. He is now in Baghdad, totally on his own and unembedded. About the scariest thing I can think of.
He was looking for an agent, and I think that he finally got one. The stories he can tell.
Back to the best seller list. Grapeshot would never compare herself to Janet Evanovich, (#1 with Twelve Sharp), but our characters do share humor, promiscuity, and crazy situations. Janet is a nice lady who works hard and deserves all the success she has.
I haven't read Proof Positive, by Phillip Margolin, new on the list this week, but it sounds good, as does Water for Elephants. Everything else , from the tiny blurbs, sounds same-old, same-old, by which I mean scary as hell, sentimental, improbable, or predictable. I haven't ever read Luanne Rice, but the concept of Sandcastles is intriguing. I read stuff like "Captive of My Desires," in grade school and junior high.
Rumor: most best sellers are written at the 3rd grade level. I have never tested this out. My fiction zooms along at between 4th and 6th grade. I used to write at 12th grade level but that it way too dense.
No news from any agents whatsoever except the one who sends the automatic response. You know what that means?
Suck It Up. Keep writing. Keep sending out. Keep a stiff upper lip. Blog on.
Grapeshot, who is going to visit the lately invisible new calf this morning.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
A Writer's Sunday
I've advanced 21 pages this month, and by now my protagonist has been through the mill: an FBI raid, 2 murderders, a week at Burning Man, and now her colleague has disappeared. She also has a lover and a whole bunch of "stuff" going on in her life. The novel is coming down the home stretch, with leads for her to follow up and people to interview. One of the people she must pull information out of is a retired professor of computer science at MIT. We have already seen them lunching at Legal Seafood and walking by the Geary Center. So where to set the next scene with him? First I decided they would walk around the Charles from Longfellow Bridge to the Harvard Bridge and by the Hatch Shell and along both sides ofthe River. Lots of Boston local color. He is telling her something very important to the plot, and I need an interruption 2/3 of the way thru the story such that she learns a lot but not everything.
The really bad guy is now tailing her and he sure doesn't like to see her with the professor. At first, I was going to have him push the professor down the stairs at the MIT T stop. Didn't like that. Then I thought he could attack the professor during the walk, and that had its own problems. I spent (wasted) a lot of time yesterday researching poison dart guns and blow guns. Learned a lot, but decided that scenario was too far-fetched. In the meantime, I had found the "around the Charles" scene in my Forever On the Shelf Book. Pulled that out. Shoot, it was better than I remembered and I still kind of like that book, silly as the plot was. Anyway, S.O. and I finally decided the Professor would have a boat moored at the Charles Yacht Club, and the bad guy would throw a Molotov cocktail at the boat while my character and the professor were using it for a chinwag. This had really good dramatic possibilities, so this afternoon, S.O. and I drove into town and scoped out the marina. Thank heavens no one was nearby to her our conversation, because we were talking Molotov cocktail and how to get away and fire and the rescue boat and taking all kinds of photos. Being there, one saw exactly what could and could not occur, and the possibility for a really dramatic scene loomed large.
After the scoping out, we had a nice stroll over to Lechmere, popped into Paparazzi for wine and a snack and walked back. A good day's work.
Yesterday I went thru a list of agents that were going to a famous writer's conference. Now, presumably, agents going to a writer's conference are looking for new writers, right? Sorry, no. I had the sad experience to talk to one of these agents at a conference. He asked for the whole book (sayonara $10 in postage). That was 2.5 years ago, and I've yet to hear from him. Anyway, I email one of the agents with my query and got back a reply that she wasn't taking new clients. Thought about that for a while and decided to email her back with an apology for bothering her, but noting that I assumed she was taking new clients because she was going to the Writer's Conference. Now comes the good part. In answer to my second email, I got the same response as to the first email, in other words, a canned response and she had never read my query or my answer or anything thing else. I am tempted to send her my grocery list and see if I get the same response.
Don't be stupid. You never want to burn a bridge in this business. Besides, who am I to care if she just wants to fly off to a wonderful conference in a lovely location and have a good time. New writers? Who needs them? Not this gal. What are we doing?
We are sucking it up.
Big time. Always. Now and god, I hope not, but maybe forever. Anyway, I am ready to write the big scene with the Molotov cocktail, the boyfriend coming to town and all that good stuff. I went onto the AAR site and found 7 new agents to query. In theory, they are all open to new authors.
We shall see.
Grapeshot
The really bad guy is now tailing her and he sure doesn't like to see her with the professor. At first, I was going to have him push the professor down the stairs at the MIT T stop. Didn't like that. Then I thought he could attack the professor during the walk, and that had its own problems. I spent (wasted) a lot of time yesterday researching poison dart guns and blow guns. Learned a lot, but decided that scenario was too far-fetched. In the meantime, I had found the "around the Charles" scene in my Forever On the Shelf Book. Pulled that out. Shoot, it was better than I remembered and I still kind of like that book, silly as the plot was. Anyway, S.O. and I finally decided the Professor would have a boat moored at the Charles Yacht Club, and the bad guy would throw a Molotov cocktail at the boat while my character and the professor were using it for a chinwag. This had really good dramatic possibilities, so this afternoon, S.O. and I drove into town and scoped out the marina. Thank heavens no one was nearby to her our conversation, because we were talking Molotov cocktail and how to get away and fire and the rescue boat and taking all kinds of photos. Being there, one saw exactly what could and could not occur, and the possibility for a really dramatic scene loomed large.
After the scoping out, we had a nice stroll over to Lechmere, popped into Paparazzi for wine and a snack and walked back. A good day's work.
Yesterday I went thru a list of agents that were going to a famous writer's conference. Now, presumably, agents going to a writer's conference are looking for new writers, right? Sorry, no. I had the sad experience to talk to one of these agents at a conference. He asked for the whole book (sayonara $10 in postage). That was 2.5 years ago, and I've yet to hear from him. Anyway, I email one of the agents with my query and got back a reply that she wasn't taking new clients. Thought about that for a while and decided to email her back with an apology for bothering her, but noting that I assumed she was taking new clients because she was going to the Writer's Conference. Now comes the good part. In answer to my second email, I got the same response as to the first email, in other words, a canned response and she had never read my query or my answer or anything thing else. I am tempted to send her my grocery list and see if I get the same response.
Don't be stupid. You never want to burn a bridge in this business. Besides, who am I to care if she just wants to fly off to a wonderful conference in a lovely location and have a good time. New writers? Who needs them? Not this gal. What are we doing?
We are sucking it up.
Big time. Always. Now and god, I hope not, but maybe forever. Anyway, I am ready to write the big scene with the Molotov cocktail, the boyfriend coming to town and all that good stuff. I went onto the AAR site and found 7 new agents to query. In theory, they are all open to new authors.
We shall see.
Grapeshot
Did someone say Peach Pie?
A labor of love. Did it ever taste good! The lattice crust was made from both butter and Crisco, and the filling of course was big juicy peaches. The thickening was pulverized tapioca which was something new. We gobbled it down in two days. Didn't share.
The next dessert of note will be a plum tarte. Summer fruits are sublime. My grandma, who made a couple of pies from scratch pies every week without a recipe, would wonder what the big deal is.
Apple, pecan, strawberry-rhubarb. Who could ever have a favorite?
Me gustan todos.
Grapeshot
Scottish Highland Cattle news
Anyone who has read this blog knows that a small herd of Scottish Highland Cattle live around the corner, and that I feed them our fruit and vegetable scraps. The cows don't like the heat and are bothered by flies in the hot weather, so they have been sticking to the shade or standing in the creek, or just lying down in a cool (sort of) spot and chilling. Yesterday, we took our three bags of scraps and set off for the cow enclave, which is three pastures, a bit of woods and sometimes the farmer's fenced area by the barn.
They were in the woods of all places! Yesterday was rainy, but not too hot. The woods are the sole place I can't feed them. On the main road with no place to park. We drove on by, and promised to return. A few hours later, we made the trip back. They were out of the woods and in a small pasture by the road, not one of the normal hangouts, but accessible. I got out of the car and waved the plastic bags of scraps. Either they know me or the drill, because they headed for the fence. Except one held back. S.O. said, "there's a calf!"
And indeed there was, a tiny newborn calf, all fuzzy and big eyed, lying in the tall grass. It took a moment to determine that The Shy Cow was a new mother, not Old Mama. The calf got up and galloped toward the fence. The mother, now christened Young Mama, bleated for the calf and let him nurse. This year's baby, now rechristened The Black Calf, ran and rubbed noses with the newcomer. Last Year's Baby can be rechristened The Blond Calf, and The Sweet-faced Young Bull can stay the same or maybe Daddy-O?
I had given up on a calf but now I have hopes that maybe Old Mama will produce one and we have enjoy two calves frolicing. Honestly, I had to restrain myself from climbing over the electric fence and doing a bit of a nose rubbing myself, the critter was so cute.
Photos will be forthcoming. Lots of photos. Grapeshot dotes on those cattle, esp. the young-uns.
Now it's off to the Charles River to look at some boats and try to figure out what would happen if someone very bad tossed a Molotov cocktail into the bow of one of them. Had to think and think about how to make a meeting of two characters turn into a big dramatic scene. Happy my life is not like my characters.
Onward,
Grapeshot
They were in the woods of all places! Yesterday was rainy, but not too hot. The woods are the sole place I can't feed them. On the main road with no place to park. We drove on by, and promised to return. A few hours later, we made the trip back. They were out of the woods and in a small pasture by the road, not one of the normal hangouts, but accessible. I got out of the car and waved the plastic bags of scraps. Either they know me or the drill, because they headed for the fence. Except one held back. S.O. said, "there's a calf!"
And indeed there was, a tiny newborn calf, all fuzzy and big eyed, lying in the tall grass. It took a moment to determine that The Shy Cow was a new mother, not Old Mama. The calf got up and galloped toward the fence. The mother, now christened Young Mama, bleated for the calf and let him nurse. This year's baby, now rechristened The Black Calf, ran and rubbed noses with the newcomer. Last Year's Baby can be rechristened The Blond Calf, and The Sweet-faced Young Bull can stay the same or maybe Daddy-O?
I had given up on a calf but now I have hopes that maybe Old Mama will produce one and we have enjoy two calves frolicing. Honestly, I had to restrain myself from climbing over the electric fence and doing a bit of a nose rubbing myself, the critter was so cute.
Photos will be forthcoming. Lots of photos. Grapeshot dotes on those cattle, esp. the young-uns.
Now it's off to the Charles River to look at some boats and try to figure out what would happen if someone very bad tossed a Molotov cocktail into the bow of one of them. Had to think and think about how to make a meeting of two characters turn into a big dramatic scene. Happy my life is not like my characters.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
In search of a song
Picture this: middle of the night flying over the Atlantic on Air France. Most of the passengers asleep. Grapeshot is wide awake and decides to listen to some "French Favorites." La Chanson Francaise. Love the selections. One is so riveting that I have to hear it again, so listen to the entire (long) tape a second time. Tomorrow I'll regret not sleeping. Rip out page 25 from the program to look for the music in Europe.
Record shops abound in the Sorbonne neighborhood where we are. Can't remember the name of the song.
Merde.
Back home I perform a web search on the one song, I really loved, Désenchantée, by a singer called Zazie. Someone else has recorded the song, but I want Zazie. Google her, don't find anything. Give up.
Cleaning off my desk. Find the Air France music listing. Another google search. Pay dirt. Someone has popular French music on his blog and he lists Zazie and also Obispo who is also associated with that song. Hopes rise. I do a search on the album title, which I can't translate, Le train des Enfoirés.
Click on a music site and yikes, I am on a Russian site that will give me the song free if I register. Now, the last time I was on a Russian music site, it planted malware on my computer that hijacked my browser, couldn't be deleted and caused a big mess. I click off the Russian site as fast as the mouse can move.
But wait! Here is Amazon with Le train des Enfoirés. Success! Oooops! What's this? $52.00! They have to be kidding. Two disks. Hmmm. I look elsewhere for the album, if indeed it is an album. No luck. Le train des Enfoirés seems to be a rare bird.
On another French site, with my really rusty French, I think I read that this is a fund raiser album, maybe from a live concert, which would explain why it's so pricey. And Amazon has to get it from France and is charging accordingly. Or maybe the dollar has REALLY fallen.
Significant Other is scheduled for a European trip, so maybe I will ask him to try to find the CD set. This leads to trying to figure out what the title, Le train des Enfoirés, actually means. Well, train is train, right? The other word looks like "enforcer," but that makes no sense. Perhaps to the French. Could this be a phrase or even slang? Better find out. Google into French/English dictionary. Whoa Nelly!
Enfoirés is a naughty word. Don't even want to translate, because Grapeshot runs a clean blog. Up until today. Dilemna! How can I ask S.O. to request the album without telling him what it means? Will he be too embarrassed to ask? Damn.
Zazie and her song remain out of arm's reach. How am I going to get that album? Will I sit here in the middle of the night listening? Will I find success as a writer? How many angels dance on the head of a pin?
Wondering,
Grapeshot
Record shops abound in the Sorbonne neighborhood where we are. Can't remember the name of the song.
Merde.
Back home I perform a web search on the one song, I really loved, Désenchantée, by a singer called Zazie. Someone else has recorded the song, but I want Zazie. Google her, don't find anything. Give up.
Cleaning off my desk. Find the Air France music listing. Another google search. Pay dirt. Someone has popular French music on his blog and he lists Zazie and also Obispo who is also associated with that song. Hopes rise. I do a search on the album title, which I can't translate, Le train des Enfoirés.
Click on a music site and yikes, I am on a Russian site that will give me the song free if I register. Now, the last time I was on a Russian music site, it planted malware on my computer that hijacked my browser, couldn't be deleted and caused a big mess. I click off the Russian site as fast as the mouse can move.
But wait! Here is Amazon with Le train des Enfoirés. Success! Oooops! What's this? $52.00! They have to be kidding. Two disks. Hmmm. I look elsewhere for the album, if indeed it is an album. No luck. Le train des Enfoirés seems to be a rare bird.
On another French site, with my really rusty French, I think I read that this is a fund raiser album, maybe from a live concert, which would explain why it's so pricey. And Amazon has to get it from France and is charging accordingly. Or maybe the dollar has REALLY fallen.
Significant Other is scheduled for a European trip, so maybe I will ask him to try to find the CD set. This leads to trying to figure out what the title, Le train des Enfoirés, actually means. Well, train is train, right? The other word looks like "enforcer," but that makes no sense. Perhaps to the French. Could this be a phrase or even slang? Better find out. Google into French/English dictionary. Whoa Nelly!
Enfoirés is a naughty word. Don't even want to translate, because Grapeshot runs a clean blog. Up until today. Dilemna! How can I ask S.O. to request the album without telling him what it means? Will he be too embarrassed to ask? Damn.
Zazie and her song remain out of arm's reach. How am I going to get that album? Will I sit here in the middle of the night listening? Will I find success as a writer? How many angels dance on the head of a pin?
Wondering,
Grapeshot
Monday, July 17, 2006
Music Hath Charms
June was travel month. July is music month. At the American Repertory Theatre in Cambridge, we saw Monsieur Chopin, a one man production by Hershey Felder who plays Chopin, in more ways than one. Felder is talented and charming and the evening brought us not only drama, but many of Chopin's greatest hits. Wow! Afterward, wine and dessert at Harvest, always a treat. The bar was populated with women, not there for a pickup but having a drink and a snack together.
One of the Boston areas best kept secrets is the Buzzards Bay Musicfest at the Fireman Center for the Performing Arts in Marion. Delightful free concerts with both orchestral and chamber music. We attended the chamber music concert featuring Mozart, Poulenc, Doppler and Borodin. For some reason, I had Poulenc down as an early music composer. Au Contraire, he is very modern, but good modern, and the sextet for winds and piano was a riveting piece. Put this even on your calendar for next July.
Saturday morning we were lucky enough to hear the Tanglewood rehearsal for Sunday's performance, Sir Andrew Davis conduction Kodaly's Dances of Galanta, List's Piano Concerto No 2 in A, and Dvorak's 6th symphony. Jean-Yves Thibaudet played Liszt wonderfully, and gave the Steinway a good workout. Lizst must require such strong hands and wrists. The Dvorak symphony was wonderful, with the famous Scherzo and a great finale. Ole!
Wait! We heard more. Saturday night we schlepped chairs, booze, cookies and fruit salad up to Ancramdale in the Berkshire hills to the Grey Fox Bluegrass festival. The hills were alive with fiddles, guitars and voices, and the people watching wasn't bad either. I especially liked the dance tent with the Zydeco dancers. Git up and stomp music, for sure. Lots of families there, and a whole hillside of RVs. Quite an encampment. Looked like fun.
My current book starts at Music Mountain and moves to a folk festival, and I was pleased to confirm that everything in the book seemed authentic.
I should hear from an agent tomorrow! Still waiting and waiting and (ho hum) waiting for another one. Seasons pass, and still no word. In the meantime, I have the plot pretty much in place for the rest of Festival Madness. My Adirondack literature came today, and so one more research trip is in order along with another visit to the Chicken Bone Saloon in Framingham.
Did you ever play an instrument? Grapeshot played the piano and an ungodly squeaky clarinet. She thinks she still remembers the fingering for the Washington Post March.
Tres Vite,
Grapeshot
One of the Boston areas best kept secrets is the Buzzards Bay Musicfest at the Fireman Center for the Performing Arts in Marion. Delightful free concerts with both orchestral and chamber music. We attended the chamber music concert featuring Mozart, Poulenc, Doppler and Borodin. For some reason, I had Poulenc down as an early music composer. Au Contraire, he is very modern, but good modern, and the sextet for winds and piano was a riveting piece. Put this even on your calendar for next July.
Saturday morning we were lucky enough to hear the Tanglewood rehearsal for Sunday's performance, Sir Andrew Davis conduction Kodaly's Dances of Galanta, List's Piano Concerto No 2 in A, and Dvorak's 6th symphony. Jean-Yves Thibaudet played Liszt wonderfully, and gave the Steinway a good workout. Lizst must require such strong hands and wrists. The Dvorak symphony was wonderful, with the famous Scherzo and a great finale. Ole!
Wait! We heard more. Saturday night we schlepped chairs, booze, cookies and fruit salad up to Ancramdale in the Berkshire hills to the Grey Fox Bluegrass festival. The hills were alive with fiddles, guitars and voices, and the people watching wasn't bad either. I especially liked the dance tent with the Zydeco dancers. Git up and stomp music, for sure. Lots of families there, and a whole hillside of RVs. Quite an encampment. Looked like fun.
My current book starts at Music Mountain and moves to a folk festival, and I was pleased to confirm that everything in the book seemed authentic.
I should hear from an agent tomorrow! Still waiting and waiting and (ho hum) waiting for another one. Seasons pass, and still no word. In the meantime, I have the plot pretty much in place for the rest of Festival Madness. My Adirondack literature came today, and so one more research trip is in order along with another visit to the Chicken Bone Saloon in Framingham.
Did you ever play an instrument? Grapeshot played the piano and an ungodly squeaky clarinet. She thinks she still remembers the fingering for the Washington Post March.
Tres Vite,
Grapeshot
Thursday, July 13, 2006
When Ladies Travel
A sweet young thing (SYT) I know always forgets her toothbrush when she visits. We have also discussed some of the basics of travel, and the young lady seems dubious. I intend to send her Grapeshots Basic Rules for When Ladies Travel. In case you don't know them, here they are.
1) Basic Brushes. Pack your toothbrush and your hairbrush. You will need both.
2) Always bring a sweater or sweat shirt, no matter how hot the forecast.
3) Whenever you have the chance to use a clean ladies room, go. Whether you have to or not.
4) If food is offered while you are travelling, take it. Eat now or later, but at least you can eat.
One can develop a bearish hunger sitting on the runway waiting 5 1/2 hours for take off.
5) Never take more than you can easily carry.
I won't prevail upon the SYT, who is too young for coffee and spirits, but for you, and you know who are are: Ignore all twaddle about jet lag diets and abstaining from booze and caffein. We live in a truly wimp society. If you don't believe me, consider the soy latte decaf.
And why do people lug around suitcases that you could stuff a hippopatmus into? I mean big.
What is in them? I always watch at luggage carousels in hopes that one of those immense mothers will pop upon and All Will Be Revealed.
1) complete set of king size bedding with assorted throw pillows
2) works of Anthony Trollope
3) around the world wardrobe for the Arctic and the Tropics with Nanook of the North seal coat and pith helmets for safari
4) industrial size cans of hair spray and deoderant. A 100 oz. bottle of Tide to keep everything clean. Three hair dryers and extra large hot rollers.
5) a breadbox
6) mother-in-law
Travel light! Bon Voyage!
Grapeshot
1) Basic Brushes. Pack your toothbrush and your hairbrush. You will need both.
2) Always bring a sweater or sweat shirt, no matter how hot the forecast.
3) Whenever you have the chance to use a clean ladies room, go. Whether you have to or not.
4) If food is offered while you are travelling, take it. Eat now or later, but at least you can eat.
One can develop a bearish hunger sitting on the runway waiting 5 1/2 hours for take off.
5) Never take more than you can easily carry.
I won't prevail upon the SYT, who is too young for coffee and spirits, but for you, and you know who are are: Ignore all twaddle about jet lag diets and abstaining from booze and caffein. We live in a truly wimp society. If you don't believe me, consider the soy latte decaf.
And why do people lug around suitcases that you could stuff a hippopatmus into? I mean big.
What is in them? I always watch at luggage carousels in hopes that one of those immense mothers will pop upon and All Will Be Revealed.
1) complete set of king size bedding with assorted throw pillows
2) works of Anthony Trollope
3) around the world wardrobe for the Arctic and the Tropics with Nanook of the North seal coat and pith helmets for safari
4) industrial size cans of hair spray and deoderant. A 100 oz. bottle of Tide to keep everything clean. Three hair dryers and extra large hot rollers.
5) a breadbox
6) mother-in-law
Travel light! Bon Voyage!
Grapeshot
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Pavanne for a Peach Pie
One of my non-literary goals this month was to make a from-scratch peach pie. A modest goal, right? Well, maybe if you are one of those people who "don't cook," a far-reaching one.
A million years ago when I started working in Cambridge's Kendall Square, when the new T station was a hole in the ground, and the the pile drivers for the Marriott hotel were making the next door building where I worked jump and shudder, the lunch-bunch gang explored the various neighborhood places to eat. Nearby was Vinnie's sub shop and Alexander's Cafeteria, along with the infamous F + T, both a diner and a restaurant. Then further afield we discovered Michaela's which had a carryout place and a restaurant. Michaela later opened Rialto and became famous, but I'll never forget how she combined odd ingredients and brought if off to riff off one's tastebuds in the most amazing way. Think of chucks of beef filet, sweet potatoes, red onions and corn, together with excellent seasonings. The cafe with it's glass ceiling was sunny in the summer and sometimes Edward Land or a Kennedy popped in.
Another spot a bit further afield, at the One Kendall complex was the Woven Hose, now the Blue Room. The Woven Hose was a kind of high class cafeteria during the lunch hour, and one day they had a home made peach pie that defined the genre, so to speak. God, was it good, and I am speaking as the granddaughter of a Kansas cook who understood pie in her bones. The Woven Hose Peach Pie was the Platonic Form of Peach Pie. The next time I returned and asked about it, was told that cook had left. No more peach pie.
A few years later, during peach season, at a truck stop in Newton Kansas that had a good reputation locally, I bought a piece of peach pie out of the case. Ye Gods and Little Fishes was it awful. Canned peaches and half a box of cornstarch and we don't even want to talk about the crust. I took a couple bites and left.
Then came the great peach pie drought, and then one day a few summers ago a recipe in Cook's Illustrated. Looked awfully good. Cut it out. I worked a zillion hours a week and tried to write, to put a decent dinner on the table, garden, do family and friend stuff, and there was never time to bake that pie.
Now "retired," this was the season. Bought some big lucious peaches on sale, and checked the ingredients list. Everything else in the pantry or fridge. Yesterday was the day. Recipe was long and called for a few techniques I had never used, such as freezing the cubes of butter, and adding the water and mashing with a spatula. Detailed instructions on the lattice crust. Read the recipe a couple times first so as not to commit a "Dummheit." Peaches perfectly ripe.
Got to work. Crust malleable and everything went off without a hitch. Into the oven. Out of the oven. Perfection. We had to wait two hours before eating. Anticipation.
Was it as good as I remembered? Well, maybe not quite but it was damned good, and the crust was truly excellent. We checked around the neighborhood for another couple to share with, but everyone was out on Saturday night. Their loss.
For me this was kind of a big deal as I don't make a lot of pies and sometimes take a short cut with store bought crust. My grandma made pies every week in the summer, without a recipe, her plump deft hands rolling the dough, and the fruit, sugar and seasonings going into the crust and in and out of the oven and pie for lunch, leftover for dinner. Personally, I like pie for breakfast but held off this morning out of deference to my waistline.
If you have leftover crust, make a little extra dessert with butter, sugar and cinnamon and it will taste really good. You really shouldn't eat all that raw dough anyhow. Here's to Peach Pie in the summer and Blueberry Pie and Strawberry Rhubarb Pie and all things delicious.
Onward,
Grapeshot
A million years ago when I started working in Cambridge's Kendall Square, when the new T station was a hole in the ground, and the the pile drivers for the Marriott hotel were making the next door building where I worked jump and shudder, the lunch-bunch gang explored the various neighborhood places to eat. Nearby was Vinnie's sub shop and Alexander's Cafeteria, along with the infamous F + T, both a diner and a restaurant. Then further afield we discovered Michaela's which had a carryout place and a restaurant. Michaela later opened Rialto and became famous, but I'll never forget how she combined odd ingredients and brought if off to riff off one's tastebuds in the most amazing way. Think of chucks of beef filet, sweet potatoes, red onions and corn, together with excellent seasonings. The cafe with it's glass ceiling was sunny in the summer and sometimes Edward Land or a Kennedy popped in.
Another spot a bit further afield, at the One Kendall complex was the Woven Hose, now the Blue Room. The Woven Hose was a kind of high class cafeteria during the lunch hour, and one day they had a home made peach pie that defined the genre, so to speak. God, was it good, and I am speaking as the granddaughter of a Kansas cook who understood pie in her bones. The Woven Hose Peach Pie was the Platonic Form of Peach Pie. The next time I returned and asked about it, was told that cook had left. No more peach pie.
A few years later, during peach season, at a truck stop in Newton Kansas that had a good reputation locally, I bought a piece of peach pie out of the case. Ye Gods and Little Fishes was it awful. Canned peaches and half a box of cornstarch and we don't even want to talk about the crust. I took a couple bites and left.
Then came the great peach pie drought, and then one day a few summers ago a recipe in Cook's Illustrated. Looked awfully good. Cut it out. I worked a zillion hours a week and tried to write, to put a decent dinner on the table, garden, do family and friend stuff, and there was never time to bake that pie.
Now "retired," this was the season. Bought some big lucious peaches on sale, and checked the ingredients list. Everything else in the pantry or fridge. Yesterday was the day. Recipe was long and called for a few techniques I had never used, such as freezing the cubes of butter, and adding the water and mashing with a spatula. Detailed instructions on the lattice crust. Read the recipe a couple times first so as not to commit a "Dummheit." Peaches perfectly ripe.
Got to work. Crust malleable and everything went off without a hitch. Into the oven. Out of the oven. Perfection. We had to wait two hours before eating. Anticipation.
Was it as good as I remembered? Well, maybe not quite but it was damned good, and the crust was truly excellent. We checked around the neighborhood for another couple to share with, but everyone was out on Saturday night. Their loss.
For me this was kind of a big deal as I don't make a lot of pies and sometimes take a short cut with store bought crust. My grandma made pies every week in the summer, without a recipe, her plump deft hands rolling the dough, and the fruit, sugar and seasonings going into the crust and in and out of the oven and pie for lunch, leftover for dinner. Personally, I like pie for breakfast but held off this morning out of deference to my waistline.
If you have leftover crust, make a little extra dessert with butter, sugar and cinnamon and it will taste really good. You really shouldn't eat all that raw dough anyhow. Here's to Peach Pie in the summer and Blueberry Pie and Strawberry Rhubarb Pie and all things delicious.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Friday, July 07, 2006
The Adirondacks
Sometime in the early writing of Festival Madness, I decided that the exciting climax would take place in the Adirondacks on a lake that is accessible only by float planes. My protaganist and her French pilot lover (with an ex-gang member from Chicago as muscle) will chase down the murderer. Oh what a tangled web we weave! The story demands such an ending, never mind that I know less than nothing about float planes, the Adirondacks, or anything else related to those closing scenes. So how does one go about creating believable scenes out of pure imagination?
I have contacts with several pilots and people who know the Adirondack region. The web is also helpful for locating lakes where bush pilots land and take off. In the fall, about the time that the denouement (love that word) takes place, S.O. and I will take off for the Adirondacks, to find the right lake, local color, and all the little details that will make the scenes believable.
In the meantime, I have been reading about the Adirondacks and am now absolutely keen to go there. In many years of living in the Boston area, we have never ventured to that vast wilderness, which now seems a shame. Trips to Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire and the Berkshires, even the area just north of NYC, but not to the upstate NY area of lakes and forests. And me a Colorado kid! So the excitement of actually going there is really building, and I am hoping I can do justice to capturing the killer in this setting.
Writing takes you down some strange paths, and life is always richer for having taken them, whether its a pub crawl through Goettingen, Germany or Cambridge's Central Square, slumming in Berlin's seedier districts, the North Woods of Wisconsin, or the Burning Man festival on Nevada's Black Rock Desert. Researching scenes for a book opens up new vistas, roads you would never travelled if the story, with a will of its own, had not taken you there. Where else would you find out that a "bad day of muskie fishing beats a good day at the office."
Onward,
Grapeshot
I have contacts with several pilots and people who know the Adirondack region. The web is also helpful for locating lakes where bush pilots land and take off. In the fall, about the time that the denouement (love that word) takes place, S.O. and I will take off for the Adirondacks, to find the right lake, local color, and all the little details that will make the scenes believable.
In the meantime, I have been reading about the Adirondacks and am now absolutely keen to go there. In many years of living in the Boston area, we have never ventured to that vast wilderness, which now seems a shame. Trips to Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire and the Berkshires, even the area just north of NYC, but not to the upstate NY area of lakes and forests. And me a Colorado kid! So the excitement of actually going there is really building, and I am hoping I can do justice to capturing the killer in this setting.
Writing takes you down some strange paths, and life is always richer for having taken them, whether its a pub crawl through Goettingen, Germany or Cambridge's Central Square, slumming in Berlin's seedier districts, the North Woods of Wisconsin, or the Burning Man festival on Nevada's Black Rock Desert. Researching scenes for a book opens up new vistas, roads you would never travelled if the story, with a will of its own, had not taken you there. Where else would you find out that a "bad day of muskie fishing beats a good day at the office."
Onward,
Grapeshot
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
The Best Seller List
Every week I read the NY Times best seller list, the Wall Street Journal's and the Boston Globe's. Frequently, these lists exhibit no signs of books in common. Boston is always more independent, and one frequently finds a literary novel or two. The WSJ must get its stats from airport book stores, and the Times is kind of a cross between the two.
As a writer who would really like to sell a novel or three, I peruse these lists with an analytical eye. Thriller, romance, a bit of fantasy, a soupcon of mystery, and the occasional "literary" novel, just to keep things honest. For example, John Updike has a genre bender in his new novel, The Terrorist, which was #5 on the times list on July 2nd.
Dean Koontz, Patricia Cornwell, Douglas Preston, Jeffery Deavy, John Sandford, Elizabeth Lowell, and Lee Child I am lumping together into thrillers. Updike is also a crossover here.
James Patterson (Beach Road) covers all bases with thrillers, romances and mysteries, and I'm not sure what Beach Road is. Maybe an excuse to write off a summer in Easthampton. God knows, I wouldn't mind that at all. This #2 is one of the many books he writes with a co-author, which seems to be a new trend.
Blue Screen, (Robert Parker # 6 is a mystery. Alan Furst writes literate historical thrillers, which I would not lump together with the other "thrillers." Not sure I'd even call them thrillers but he' s a good writer. Larry McMurtry, who in another lifetime graded my English papers, has a "romantic western." Not too many of those on the list.
The stand alone chick lit novel is Baby Proof.
I'm not sure what The Sabotuers is: historical adventure from the sound of it. Can this be the same category as Furst? Dunno.
Then there's The Rapture, which is fantasy, or time travel, or something or other.
Now a confession: of all the writers on the list, I've only read Updike, Parker, Child, Furst and McMurtry. And Cornwell off and on serialized in the Times. Tried to read Patterson once and people were hacking each other up with machetes in the first chapter and that was a very short relationship.
Months ago, women authors had the majority of the list, and now I notice they are a minority. Hope it's not a trend. There is no getting around that thrillers dominate the list and men mostly write thrillers and I don't want to scare the bejesus out of myself sitting down here in the home office and writing guts, gore and serial killers. Grapeshot is a wuss psychologically incapable of writing a thriller. Murder, sure, adventure yes, mystery yes, a little sex, mais oui, but torture and maiming and the world coming to an end? Not my style. I love to insert a little humor, a few puns, some romance, all the stuff anti-thetical to thrillers.
So you won't see my name of the Best Sellers any time anon.
Alas,
Grapeshot
As a writer who would really like to sell a novel or three, I peruse these lists with an analytical eye. Thriller, romance, a bit of fantasy, a soupcon of mystery, and the occasional "literary" novel, just to keep things honest. For example, John Updike has a genre bender in his new novel, The Terrorist, which was #5 on the times list on July 2nd.
Dean Koontz, Patricia Cornwell, Douglas Preston, Jeffery Deavy, John Sandford, Elizabeth Lowell, and Lee Child I am lumping together into thrillers. Updike is also a crossover here.
James Patterson (Beach Road) covers all bases with thrillers, romances and mysteries, and I'm not sure what Beach Road is. Maybe an excuse to write off a summer in Easthampton. God knows, I wouldn't mind that at all. This #2 is one of the many books he writes with a co-author, which seems to be a new trend.
Blue Screen, (Robert Parker # 6 is a mystery. Alan Furst writes literate historical thrillers, which I would not lump together with the other "thrillers." Not sure I'd even call them thrillers but he' s a good writer. Larry McMurtry, who in another lifetime graded my English papers, has a "romantic western." Not too many of those on the list.
The stand alone chick lit novel is Baby Proof.
I'm not sure what The Sabotuers is: historical adventure from the sound of it. Can this be the same category as Furst? Dunno.
Then there's The Rapture, which is fantasy, or time travel, or something or other.
Now a confession: of all the writers on the list, I've only read Updike, Parker, Child, Furst and McMurtry. And Cornwell off and on serialized in the Times. Tried to read Patterson once and people were hacking each other up with machetes in the first chapter and that was a very short relationship.
Months ago, women authors had the majority of the list, and now I notice they are a minority. Hope it's not a trend. There is no getting around that thrillers dominate the list and men mostly write thrillers and I don't want to scare the bejesus out of myself sitting down here in the home office and writing guts, gore and serial killers. Grapeshot is a wuss psychologically incapable of writing a thriller. Murder, sure, adventure yes, mystery yes, a little sex, mais oui, but torture and maiming and the world coming to an end? Not my style. I love to insert a little humor, a few puns, some romance, all the stuff anti-thetical to thrillers.
So you won't see my name of the Best Sellers any time anon.
Alas,
Grapeshot
On the Road
Something about being in a rider in a car, a cocoon tooling along at 70 mph, frees the mind, and one gets all sorts of ideas, remembers things to do, and perks up mentally. Take advantage of this by keeping a writing tool and some paper handy. You'll be amazed at what you can come up with. In my case, it was 17 plot points that need to be addressed to finish Festival Madness, and 5 plot points that need to be retrofitted into the first 1/3 of the book. So this is serious plotting. Now I need to decide on the rest of the scenes, and the remaining portion will practically write itself. Well, maybe. It is good to have a roadmap, and I think everything is finally down on paper. Until now, I've relied on memory and a few notes.
Last night and today I reread what I have so far. A few inconsistencies appeared, which have been duly noted and flagged. Overall, I am not unhappy with the results.
One more rejection for Promiscuous Mode. I will repeat 100 times: do not fall for agents who say they welcome "quirky" because whatever I have is NOT their definition of "quirky." I had an email from the agent I sent World of Mirrors to apologizing for not being able to read it before July 10th. Promiscuous Mode has been sitting patiently since April, waiting for a reading. I am seriously starting to wonder if I will grow old and die before I am published. I have even had fleeting thoughts of bagging it, but these obviously aren't serious since I'm doing research for the "California in the 20's" book. Between now and December finish the book I"m writing, put it aside and start the new book. Continue to flog the two, soon to be three existing books. Hey, if I get a three book contract, I'll already have three books.
Dreaming on, and of course, sucking it up,
Grapeshot
Last night and today I reread what I have so far. A few inconsistencies appeared, which have been duly noted and flagged. Overall, I am not unhappy with the results.
One more rejection for Promiscuous Mode. I will repeat 100 times: do not fall for agents who say they welcome "quirky" because whatever I have is NOT their definition of "quirky." I had an email from the agent I sent World of Mirrors to apologizing for not being able to read it before July 10th. Promiscuous Mode has been sitting patiently since April, waiting for a reading. I am seriously starting to wonder if I will grow old and die before I am published. I have even had fleeting thoughts of bagging it, but these obviously aren't serious since I'm doing research for the "California in the 20's" book. Between now and December finish the book I"m writing, put it aside and start the new book. Continue to flog the two, soon to be three existing books. Hey, if I get a three book contract, I'll already have three books.
Dreaming on, and of course, sucking it up,
Grapeshot
Saturday, July 01, 2006
The Cake and the Cooler
We travelled over 9,000 miles in June, and naturally there were a few adventures. For the family reunion in Georgia, I baked a mocha chocolate cake which would, according to the recipe, stay fresh for several days. While we were in San Francisco, we picked up the cooler on wheels that we brought to the Burning Man Festival in 2004. Cooler in excellent shape. We packed dirty laundry in it on the way home, and checked it as luggage. I saw it going up the ramp into the plane both in Reno and in Baltimore.
The cake was duly baked, cooled and removed successfully from the pan. Looked great, so big and chocolately. (14 oz. of chocolate in total). I wrapped it in Saran Wrap, then aluminum foil and put the whole business into a larg4e plastic bag which was then sealed. That was put into a sturdy box which was placed in the cooler. We made big hunks of ice for the cooler and put those in sealed plastic bags. Also into the cooler went lunch for 3 days (we were travelling cheap) smoked kielbasa, and assorted drinks for the road.
On Thursday night in Asheville, North Carolina, we drained some water out of the cooler, and I asked myself how could there be water when the ice was in plastic bags? Never mind, there was water, lots of water. I checked the box the cake was in, and it was soggy. The plastic bag was soggy and water dripped out of the aluminum foil and (eeek!) out of the saran wrap. I said many foul words and we went off to eat in a Mexican restaurant in a strip mall that AAA had recommended. Good choice. Came back and inspected the cake which had a soggy bottom. More foul words.
The next morning we drove to the nearest supermarket and purchased a set of knives, some big plastic bags, heavy duty tinfoil, and other assorted products to rescue the cake. $20.00 in total. On the bathroom counter in the motel room, I cut the soggy bottom off the cake, with Significant Other admonishing "I'll eat it! I'll eat it! Save the scraps!" The cake was rewrapped, minus the scraps, and put into another plastic bag. We loaded more ice into the cooler and hied ourselves into Georgia. The cake was saved. It looked lovely at the reunion, but with more desserts than people, it was mostly still uneaten. Little did they know what a gem they were missing.
We have enjoyed cake since Saturday, June 24th. We had 2 helpings this evening and there are two (small) slices left for tomorrow, July 2nd. This is a miracle cake. The rest of the ice did not leak again, and everything stayed cold. Fantastic cooler! Fantastic cake.
Tossing a home made chocolate mocha cake out would have been more sucking it up than even Grapeshot is capable of. But unnecesary. Whatta cake! Whatta cooler. Zowie!
Grapeshot
The cake was duly baked, cooled and removed successfully from the pan. Looked great, so big and chocolately. (14 oz. of chocolate in total). I wrapped it in Saran Wrap, then aluminum foil and put the whole business into a larg4e plastic bag which was then sealed. That was put into a sturdy box which was placed in the cooler. We made big hunks of ice for the cooler and put those in sealed plastic bags. Also into the cooler went lunch for 3 days (we were travelling cheap) smoked kielbasa, and assorted drinks for the road.
On Thursday night in Asheville, North Carolina, we drained some water out of the cooler, and I asked myself how could there be water when the ice was in plastic bags? Never mind, there was water, lots of water. I checked the box the cake was in, and it was soggy. The plastic bag was soggy and water dripped out of the aluminum foil and (eeek!) out of the saran wrap. I said many foul words and we went off to eat in a Mexican restaurant in a strip mall that AAA had recommended. Good choice. Came back and inspected the cake which had a soggy bottom. More foul words.
The next morning we drove to the nearest supermarket and purchased a set of knives, some big plastic bags, heavy duty tinfoil, and other assorted products to rescue the cake. $20.00 in total. On the bathroom counter in the motel room, I cut the soggy bottom off the cake, with Significant Other admonishing "I'll eat it! I'll eat it! Save the scraps!" The cake was rewrapped, minus the scraps, and put into another plastic bag. We loaded more ice into the cooler and hied ourselves into Georgia. The cake was saved. It looked lovely at the reunion, but with more desserts than people, it was mostly still uneaten. Little did they know what a gem they were missing.
We have enjoyed cake since Saturday, June 24th. We had 2 helpings this evening and there are two (small) slices left for tomorrow, July 2nd. This is a miracle cake. The rest of the ice did not leak again, and everything stayed cold. Fantastic cooler! Fantastic cake.
Tossing a home made chocolate mocha cake out would have been more sucking it up than even Grapeshot is capable of. But unnecesary. Whatta cake! Whatta cooler. Zowie!
Grapeshot
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