My current novel in progress, Festival Madness, has the Burning Man Festival as the locale for the entire middle of the book. Two years ago, we went to Burning Man (my second trip) and I scoped out weather, craziness, Reno, and all the details, large and small which will take the reader to the festival. Even with photos and notes, I wanted to get that part of the book written before the immediacy of the Man had vanished, so I started writing the book smack in the middle.
I had the plot down in a vague sort of way, with characters, locations, motivations, all that good stuff, and I knew how Festival Madness would begin, so why not start in the middle? I wrote and wrote and the plot took some unusual twists and turns and surprised the hell out of me as it usually does, and finally I got the characters out of the desert and out of Reno (one murderee less, of course) and en route back to Boston.
My main worry was that the "Man" part would be so compelling that the rest of the book would be dull. So I concocted adultery and FBI raids and another murder to make the sure beginning had its own excitement. All year I've been writing like crazy to marry up the beginning and the middle, knowing there would be some retrofitting involved. Much of writing is craft, and tasks like adding more plot points and making sure that A is implied before B actually happens is not magical, just the nuts and bolts that hold the novel together. So this was expected and do-able.
What I found when I began the great joining was that the main character, who had been bogged down in job, marriage, and problems in the beginning, was in many ways a different person at the Festival, freer, crazier, more willing to take chances.
Now anyone who has been at Burning Man will probably agree, yes, this happens, those are some of the reasons we go to the man, to shed our old skins, so to speak. My concern as a novelist is to make this transformation believable. Characters do change, or course, that is what the reader wants to see, but the character needs a consistent "voice" throughout and I am seeing a few problems here, that art, not craft will have to overcome.
But the good news is that we have almost 60,000 words and an exciting conclusion planned during which the character solves the crimes, helps her friends and maybe ditches her husband. I may leave that open-ended. Will they/won't they is one is the ongoing questions.
Every novel is different and each presents its own challenges. I have learned about sail boats, white water rafting, bass fishing and all sorts of unlikely stuff in the process of creating exciting scenes for the read and also the author. Private aircraft is the obsession of the moment.
In the New York Times, this morning, John Updike talks about his research for his new novel about a terrorist. Even the master still has to drive around, interview folks and make sure the details are right.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Massachusetts Wildlife - III
Mr. Bullfrog that croaks in the slough. The frogs and the birds provide bass and soprano for the sylvan chorus.
Wildlife in Massachusetts -1
Spring Peeper. Little frog with a big high voice. We listen to the chorus every night from April well into summer.
The Enraged Otter
Life on the slough behind the house. The slough looks scummy now, like a prime mosquito breeding area. During the day, the bull frogs croak, big loud calls, and I don't know if this is a mating or a territorial thing or they just feel like giving voice. After dark the spring peepers start in, a shrill chorus.
I hadn't seen the pair of mallards since the Week of Rain, and worried that their nest might have been flooded or washed away.
Yesterday Significant Other was grilling burgers in the back yard, and I was, alas, in the shower. When I came downstairs he said, "you missed all the excitement."
He had seen an otter chasing a duck along the slough. Not once, but twice, The otter seemed very determined to "put the git" on the duck and finally the duck disappeared down the slough. Half an hour later, with dusk falling, I sat on the deck sipping a "Sea Breeze" when I saw a disturbance in the slough water. Lo, seven baby ducks paddled from the direction the duck had skedaddled. They swam into a backwater where there were hidden, and I didn't see otter or parents. They were small but not tiny, so obviously had so far survived storms, otter and other predators. Awfully cute. Where were the parents?
There is always a new thing to worry about. I looked on the web and saw no mention of otters eating ducks, but who knows? The slough is a wild place, and could be home to all manner of critters.
The poison ivy is leafed out all over. Beware beware. It's a damned ground cover. Now our walks will have to be circumspect. The lake is full of weeds and no turtles, ducks or geese were in sight.
More anon,
Grapeshot
I hadn't seen the pair of mallards since the Week of Rain, and worried that their nest might have been flooded or washed away.
Yesterday Significant Other was grilling burgers in the back yard, and I was, alas, in the shower. When I came downstairs he said, "you missed all the excitement."
He had seen an otter chasing a duck along the slough. Not once, but twice, The otter seemed very determined to "put the git" on the duck and finally the duck disappeared down the slough. Half an hour later, with dusk falling, I sat on the deck sipping a "Sea Breeze" when I saw a disturbance in the slough water. Lo, seven baby ducks paddled from the direction the duck had skedaddled. They swam into a backwater where there were hidden, and I didn't see otter or parents. They were small but not tiny, so obviously had so far survived storms, otter and other predators. Awfully cute. Where were the parents?
There is always a new thing to worry about. I looked on the web and saw no mention of otters eating ducks, but who knows? The slough is a wild place, and could be home to all manner of critters.
The poison ivy is leafed out all over. Beware beware. It's a damned ground cover. Now our walks will have to be circumspect. The lake is full of weeds and no turtles, ducks or geese were in sight.
More anon,
Grapeshot
Sunday, May 28, 2006
The summer I was fourteen
My uncle helped make Boeing Bombers during World War II. After the war he brought his Rosie the Riveter bride back to his home town, where he opened a small restaurant, just a counter in the beginning. A few years later, he built a new building, right on the highway to Newton (and Wichita) and the Hesston Variety Store and Restaurant was born. Hesston had a hardware and a grocery store, also a post office and a farm equipment manufacturer, and naturally a bank. The Santa Fe railroad ran through the middle of town.
My uncle and his wife worked hard and prospered. People came from miles around to eat at the restaurant which had developed quite a reputation. This is why: home cooking. Every morning two or three old ladies (to me they were old) showed up before the place opened and made pies. Real pies. Cherry, apple of course, custard pie, chocolate pie, apricot pie. Whatever fruit was in season. Flaky crust. Loaded with fruit. None of your canned peaches with cornstarch glop.
The noon meal was maybe pot roast, or chicken fried steak. Sometimes roast beef. Not the rare kind, but well done. Real potatoes in the kitchen that were made into French fries on the spot. Home made mashed potatoes. Gravy. Fried chicken. Kansas fried chicken. Ain’t nothing like it. Green beans with bacon in the summer. Even the burgers were good. They sold gallons of iced tea. And soda.
I worked at my uncle’s as a waitress the summer I was fourteen. Refused to wear those ugly white waitress shoes. My arches fell. I had crushes, but no dates. I learned to smoke and drink coffee. The tips were poor but life was interesting. I remember more of that long-ago summer than I recall of last summer. I can still see faces of the faces of the locals and the truck drivers, even the City Service (later Citgo) guys sitting at the counter. I still hear the gossip, and the juke box, see the baseball games in the evening. Tiny Hesston was the big wide world. Life uncensored.
With my own money, I thought a blue denim swimming suit and a white halter top. Grown up clothes. Fourteen going on twenty-one.
At work, I learned to make malts and milk shakes and sundaes and never did learn to carry huge loads of plates and dishes like the other waitresses. Phyllis, Mitzi and Doris. Phyllis and Mitzi fought over Forrest, a handsome man who worked for Cities Service. Phyllis won by becoming pregnant. Well, all is fair in love and war, I guess.
Everyone should have at least one interesting summer in her life. I had a few. But none of them replete with home made pie but that one.
My uncle and his wife worked hard and prospered. People came from miles around to eat at the restaurant which had developed quite a reputation. This is why: home cooking. Every morning two or three old ladies (to me they were old) showed up before the place opened and made pies. Real pies. Cherry, apple of course, custard pie, chocolate pie, apricot pie. Whatever fruit was in season. Flaky crust. Loaded with fruit. None of your canned peaches with cornstarch glop.
The noon meal was maybe pot roast, or chicken fried steak. Sometimes roast beef. Not the rare kind, but well done. Real potatoes in the kitchen that were made into French fries on the spot. Home made mashed potatoes. Gravy. Fried chicken. Kansas fried chicken. Ain’t nothing like it. Green beans with bacon in the summer. Even the burgers were good. They sold gallons of iced tea. And soda.
I worked at my uncle’s as a waitress the summer I was fourteen. Refused to wear those ugly white waitress shoes. My arches fell. I had crushes, but no dates. I learned to smoke and drink coffee. The tips were poor but life was interesting. I remember more of that long-ago summer than I recall of last summer. I can still see faces of the faces of the locals and the truck drivers, even the City Service (later Citgo) guys sitting at the counter. I still hear the gossip, and the juke box, see the baseball games in the evening. Tiny Hesston was the big wide world. Life uncensored.
With my own money, I thought a blue denim swimming suit and a white halter top. Grown up clothes. Fourteen going on twenty-one.
At work, I learned to make malts and milk shakes and sundaes and never did learn to carry huge loads of plates and dishes like the other waitresses. Phyllis, Mitzi and Doris. Phyllis and Mitzi fought over Forrest, a handsome man who worked for Cities Service. Phyllis won by becoming pregnant. Well, all is fair in love and war, I guess.
Everyone should have at least one interesting summer in her life. I had a few. But none of them replete with home made pie but that one.
Food and Writing
The Sunday NY Times devoted the entire book review section to food books. Loved the article about various food writers' favorite out of print cookbooks. Jane and Michael Stern mentioned one of my favorites, Mary and Vincent Price's Treasury of Great Recipes. This book sells used for a godawful amount of money. My parents gave it to us one Christmas shortly after our marriage. Lots of food recipes and fun places and pictures. Who would have ever thunk that Price, of horror films was a foody?
One of my problems as a cook and a writer is that I tend to set too many scenes over meals in restaurants. Drama, conflict, information conveyed, a good meal: what's not to like. People who are not into restaurants and food don't like. I have to limit and curtail. Damn.
One of my favorite cook books is The Artist and Writer's Cookbook. Came out about the time of The Naked Lunch. Lots of people you never heard of and people who became very famous. Burl Ives had a cool recipe for barbeque sauce with chicken blood. I don't know. Never tried it.
Off to the shopping center to find River Shoes for Significant Other. We are going to North Georgia for some serious eating, talking, tubing and getting away from it all. Along the way we'll try a few road few restaurants. But not for another month.
Aloha,
Grapeshot
One of my problems as a cook and a writer is that I tend to set too many scenes over meals in restaurants. Drama, conflict, information conveyed, a good meal: what's not to like. People who are not into restaurants and food don't like. I have to limit and curtail. Damn.
One of my favorite cook books is The Artist and Writer's Cookbook. Came out about the time of The Naked Lunch. Lots of people you never heard of and people who became very famous. Burl Ives had a cool recipe for barbeque sauce with chicken blood. I don't know. Never tried it.
Off to the shopping center to find River Shoes for Significant Other. We are going to North Georgia for some serious eating, talking, tubing and getting away from it all. Along the way we'll try a few road few restaurants. But not for another month.
Aloha,
Grapeshot
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Decoration Day
Where I come from, Memorial Day was always referred to as Decoration Day, meaning everyone decorated the graves.
We live in an historical area where there are five of old cemeteries (Burying Grounds). On Monday, we will drive to several and walk around, looking at the graves with flags. Our area in New England has revolutionary war graves, Civil War, Spanish American, World Wars I and II, Korea, the Gulf War and now Iraq. Every year shortly before Memorial Day, a veterans organization provides fresh American flags for the veterans. Boston is the only city I know of that has lots of burying grounds occupying prime real estate in downtown areas.
In college, I had a history professor who gave a series of lectures about the art on the Puritan grave stones. Now when I see the deaths head, the weeping willow and "Memento Mori" I remember him, and how thankful I am to have had such a scholar teaching us this very rarified subject about New England. Little did I ever think that I would be able to walk in these graveyards at will. Life is full of surprises.
The orange rhododendrum has bloomed just in time for the weekend. Lots of exciting stuff going on in the garden, with everything planted, last years rock garden in bloom, and buds aplenty. The bullfrogs sing a bass chorus from the slough, and a young red squirrel scampers in the woods. The cat watched a song sparrow with great interest (from indoors) today. If April is the cruellest month, then May redeems April and the entire winter months.
In the vegetable patch, the spinach has sprouted (took it long enough) amidst great masses of dill and cilantro which reseeded themselves. I am using the thinnings in salads. Waste not, and all that jazz, plus they taste good. Some creeping thyme has also appeared. I have big sturdy oregano and sage plants. We bought a hummingbird feeder hoping that the little guy (or girl) who visited regularly last summer will come again this year. It loved the hot pink petunias.
Onward encore,
Let's hear it for hot pink petunias.
Grapeshot
We live in an historical area where there are five of old cemeteries (Burying Grounds). On Monday, we will drive to several and walk around, looking at the graves with flags. Our area in New England has revolutionary war graves, Civil War, Spanish American, World Wars I and II, Korea, the Gulf War and now Iraq. Every year shortly before Memorial Day, a veterans organization provides fresh American flags for the veterans. Boston is the only city I know of that has lots of burying grounds occupying prime real estate in downtown areas.
In college, I had a history professor who gave a series of lectures about the art on the Puritan grave stones. Now when I see the deaths head, the weeping willow and "Memento Mori" I remember him, and how thankful I am to have had such a scholar teaching us this very rarified subject about New England. Little did I ever think that I would be able to walk in these graveyards at will. Life is full of surprises.
The orange rhododendrum has bloomed just in time for the weekend. Lots of exciting stuff going on in the garden, with everything planted, last years rock garden in bloom, and buds aplenty. The bullfrogs sing a bass chorus from the slough, and a young red squirrel scampers in the woods. The cat watched a song sparrow with great interest (from indoors) today. If April is the cruellest month, then May redeems April and the entire winter months.
In the vegetable patch, the spinach has sprouted (took it long enough) amidst great masses of dill and cilantro which reseeded themselves. I am using the thinnings in salads. Waste not, and all that jazz, plus they taste good. Some creeping thyme has also appeared. I have big sturdy oregano and sage plants. We bought a hummingbird feeder hoping that the little guy (or girl) who visited regularly last summer will come again this year. It loved the hot pink petunias.
Onward encore,
Let's hear it for hot pink petunias.
Grapeshot
Friday, May 26, 2006
Where Are the Female Thriller Writers?
Today's NY Times had an article of the pitfalls of bringing the thriller novel to the screen. Naturally this is fallout from the problems in bringing the Da Vinci Code (now abbreciated everywhere to DVC) to the screen. Brown's novel, and other thriller's are seen as "cinematic", but something gets lost in translation. In short, it don't work. Of all the novels listed for possible filming, nary a one was written by a woman. I guess the gentler sex still isn't into torture, gratuitious violence, improbable plots and all those good things. Still, a few females do write thrillers. Maybe they aren't cinematic enough? The Thriller Writer's conference will meet next month in Phoenix should you wish to go and pose the question. Ah yes, the Valley in June, hottest I ever was!
This week's New Yorker has an hilarious laugh-out-loud roll-on-the-floor review of the DVC movie. There must be an unannounced contest to produce the funniest, most scathing review. The NYTimes did a great pan, as did the Wall Street Journal, but the New Yorker bests them all. I start to feel a little sorry for Dan Brown, who of course, is laughing all the way to the bank as the old saying goes. Still, it must be mortifying to have one's novel panned so viciously.
Does anyone feel sorry, by the way, for Jeff Skilling and Ken Lay? In my years in corporate America, I saw a lot of ignorance, stupidity, avarice, and all the wonderful traits that made Enron great. Among the things I learned: an adjustment to the GL (general ledger) can fix most any financial problem and executives only hear what they want to hear and will deny that anyone told them "the bad news." The profits of one division will be eviscerated to make a pet division look good financially. In the interest of getting the systems to play nicely together (read: no one has to do any work), profitable parts of the business, parts actually bringing in income, may be casually jettisoned. But I digress.
I've honed a new query letter for WOM, (World of Mirrors) a new one page summary, and a new eight-page synopsis. Looking for likely agents. Discovered one of my prime candidates had already rejected book. So it goes.
Aloha,
Grapeshot
This week's New Yorker has an hilarious laugh-out-loud roll-on-the-floor review of the DVC movie. There must be an unannounced contest to produce the funniest, most scathing review. The NYTimes did a great pan, as did the Wall Street Journal, but the New Yorker bests them all. I start to feel a little sorry for Dan Brown, who of course, is laughing all the way to the bank as the old saying goes. Still, it must be mortifying to have one's novel panned so viciously.
Does anyone feel sorry, by the way, for Jeff Skilling and Ken Lay? In my years in corporate America, I saw a lot of ignorance, stupidity, avarice, and all the wonderful traits that made Enron great. Among the things I learned: an adjustment to the GL (general ledger) can fix most any financial problem and executives only hear what they want to hear and will deny that anyone told them "the bad news." The profits of one division will be eviscerated to make a pet division look good financially. In the interest of getting the systems to play nicely together (read: no one has to do any work), profitable parts of the business, parts actually bringing in income, may be casually jettisoned. But I digress.
I've honed a new query letter for WOM, (World of Mirrors) a new one page summary, and a new eight-page synopsis. Looking for likely agents. Discovered one of my prime candidates had already rejected book. So it goes.
Aloha,
Grapeshot
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Find A Publisher Blues
One of the most frustrating things is chasing down small publishers and presses that might, just might, be interested in taking a look at one of the two books I'm trying to flog. Whenever I get wind of one, I go to the web site and look for submissions. Guess what? Nine times out of ten they are closed for submissions. Try us again in 2007. Or something to the effect of "No more submissions, ever, keep writing but please go away." Sooooo depressing. Or they say it will take 6 months to take a look and don't you speak with anyone else about the book in the meantime. Groan.
World of Mirrors has a new protagonist, a new synopsis, a new ending (not as bleak) and only needs a new query, but I am in a kind of paralysis state. After 40+ rejections (if a rejection includes never hearing from the agent/publisher), it's hard to get going again. The book is interesting, with an unusual setting and a good premise. But I am having a hard time sucking it up and getting it out there to be rejected again. It is more fun to write Festival Madness and set scenes atChuck E. Cheese's and follow the inner muse.
Today we are going to visit the Peabody Museum in Salem and enjoy a seafood lunch somewhere on the harbor. Sun is out.
Onward,
Grapeshot
World of Mirrors has a new protagonist, a new synopsis, a new ending (not as bleak) and only needs a new query, but I am in a kind of paralysis state. After 40+ rejections (if a rejection includes never hearing from the agent/publisher), it's hard to get going again. The book is interesting, with an unusual setting and a good premise. But I am having a hard time sucking it up and getting it out there to be rejected again. It is more fun to write Festival Madness and set scenes atChuck E. Cheese's and follow the inner muse.
Today we are going to visit the Peabody Museum in Salem and enjoy a seafood lunch somewhere on the harbor. Sun is out.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Monday, May 22, 2006
Next Blog
One of the things I like about "Blogger" is the international flavor. A few clicks into "next blog" and I had Turkey, Taiwan, Hungary, Portugal, Spain, Brazil and Mexico. How cool is that?
Yesterday we had Significant Other's cousins here for a graduation party. South Americans (Columbia), Germans, Americans --a deliciously international crowd, and the language flowed from English to German to Spanish and back again. We got the inside view of South American politics from an uncle who is unbelievably knowledgable. One realizes how little there is in the papers (never mind TV which is hopeless) about what is happening with our neighbors to the South. He gave a crash course about what life is like in Columbia (crazy) and its neighbors (politically crazy).
As the world becomes smaller, we Americans become more ignorant. When I was a little kid (eight or so), I had a map puzzle of the U.S., and when that became too easy, I graduated to a map puzzle of South America. How many of you could fill in the South American countries? Could I, anymore? Some, I think, would be a challenge, but not Chile or Brazil.
When we become obsessed with Britney, Jessica and Nicole, our brains die a little. It's interesting how many of the foreign blogs are in English. What are the odds of any American blogs in Turkish or Portugese?
End of rant. You can do something on the web. Type Uruguay or Senegal or Sri Lanka into Google and read up on a single country. Now you know something. Hey, it's not Dancing With the Stars but it's knowledge. A mustard seed of knowledge. How cool is that?
Grapeshot
Yesterday we had Significant Other's cousins here for a graduation party. South Americans (Columbia), Germans, Americans --a deliciously international crowd, and the language flowed from English to German to Spanish and back again. We got the inside view of South American politics from an uncle who is unbelievably knowledgable. One realizes how little there is in the papers (never mind TV which is hopeless) about what is happening with our neighbors to the South. He gave a crash course about what life is like in Columbia (crazy) and its neighbors (politically crazy).
As the world becomes smaller, we Americans become more ignorant. When I was a little kid (eight or so), I had a map puzzle of the U.S., and when that became too easy, I graduated to a map puzzle of South America. How many of you could fill in the South American countries? Could I, anymore? Some, I think, would be a challenge, but not Chile or Brazil.
When we become obsessed with Britney, Jessica and Nicole, our brains die a little. It's interesting how many of the foreign blogs are in English. What are the odds of any American blogs in Turkish or Portugese?
End of rant. You can do something on the web. Type Uruguay or Senegal or Sri Lanka into Google and read up on a single country. Now you know something. Hey, it's not Dancing With the Stars but it's knowledge. A mustard seed of knowledge. How cool is that?
Grapeshot
Saturday, May 20, 2006
100 Best English-Language Novels since 1923
Sometimes we talk about writing, and this is a list of best novels. Thes lists are always interesting and personal and somewhat prejudiced. I'm thinking of reading through it. After a quick scan, looks like I have read about half of them, maybe more. Would the good writing rub off? Maybe.
http://www.time.com/time/2005/100books/the_complete_list.html
We should all read more. Write more. Cook more. Garden more. Walk more. Love more.
Nobody ever said, "Gee, I should really watch more television."
Aloha,
Grapeshot
http://www.time.com/time/2005/100books/the_complete_list.html
We should all read more. Write more. Cook more. Garden more. Walk more. Love more.
Nobody ever said, "Gee, I should really watch more television."
Aloha,
Grapeshot
Friday, May 19, 2006
Blogging Terminology
Fun link to scads of blogging terms.
http://whatis.techtarget.com/definition/0,289893,sid9_gci1186975,00.html?track=NL-37&ad=553834
Expand your vocabulary.
http://whatis.techtarget.com/definition/0,289893,sid9_gci1186975,00.html?track=NL-37&ad=553834
Expand your vocabulary.
Texas Baked Beans
The recipe is probably nutritionally incorrect--all that salt and fat, but I spent the morning making it, and the beans taste pretty good. A bit on the sweet side.
Texas Baked Beans: Serves 6 to 8
1 pound dried navy beans
6 ounces slab bacon (rind removed) cut into ½ inch dice
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
1 each red and green bell pepper, cored, seeded and cut into
¼ inch dice
1 can (28 oz) tomatoes, drained and coarsely chopped, juice reserved
½ pound honey-baked ham, cut into ¼ in dice
1 cup ketchup
¾ cup dark-brown sugar
¼ cup honey
¼ cup dark molasses
1 Tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 t. dry mustard
2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1 inch cubes.
Salt, to taste
Soak the beans overnight in water to cover. Drain and rinse in several changes of water.
Place the beans in large, heavy pot or Dutch oven and add water to cover by 2 inches. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium and simmer for 45 minutes or until beans are tender but not mushy. Skim any foam that rises to the top. Drain and reserve.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Place the bacon in a large heavy ovenproof pot. Cook over low heat until the fat is just rendered- do not brown. Removed bacon with a slotted spoon and set aside. Add the onion and cook over low heat for 10 minutes, or until wilted. Add the peppers and cook with the onion, stirring, for 5 minutes more. Add beans and reserved bacon. Add all remaining ingredients except for apples, tomatoes juice and salt. Gently mix together.
Cover and bake for 2 hours. Add the apples and ½ cup reserved tomato juices. Bake uncovered for 2 hours. Adjust seasonings and serve.
Texas Baked Beans: Serves 6 to 8
1 pound dried navy beans
6 ounces slab bacon (rind removed) cut into ½ inch dice
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
1 each red and green bell pepper, cored, seeded and cut into
¼ inch dice
1 can (28 oz) tomatoes, drained and coarsely chopped, juice reserved
½ pound honey-baked ham, cut into ¼ in dice
1 cup ketchup
¾ cup dark-brown sugar
¼ cup honey
¼ cup dark molasses
1 Tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 t. dry mustard
2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1 inch cubes.
Salt, to taste
Soak the beans overnight in water to cover. Drain and rinse in several changes of water.
Place the beans in large, heavy pot or Dutch oven and add water to cover by 2 inches. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium and simmer for 45 minutes or until beans are tender but not mushy. Skim any foam that rises to the top. Drain and reserve.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Place the bacon in a large heavy ovenproof pot. Cook over low heat until the fat is just rendered- do not brown. Removed bacon with a slotted spoon and set aside. Add the onion and cook over low heat for 10 minutes, or until wilted. Add the peppers and cook with the onion, stirring, for 5 minutes more. Add beans and reserved bacon. Add all remaining ingredients except for apples, tomatoes juice and salt. Gently mix together.
Cover and bake for 2 hours. Add the apples and ½ cup reserved tomato juices. Bake uncovered for 2 hours. Adjust seasonings and serve.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
NY Times Has A Field Day: Movie Review
A.O. Smith's review of the movie, The Da Vinci Code, trashes Dan Brown's prose, the actors, the gullible public up to and including the unclued religionistas. Yesterday's New Yorker had an interesting article on Opus Dei. If you don't know who they are, you have been living under a rock for two years and need to get out more, or else you have been out all the time and need to stay in and read more. There are always two possibilities: either/or. Did Kierkegaard say that or was it Danny Kaye in some movie? No, I think Franz Werfel. Or Danny Kaye. Whatever.
Link to the review: http://movies2.nytimes.com/2006/05/17/movies/17cnd-code.html
I love all the hype, the Cannes Film Festival, the bitchiness, the clamour/glamour of the whole thing. It's nice to have something besides rain and war and Medicare D to think about.
Sometimes Grapeshot wonders, if her wildest of fantasies, what she would do if the NY Times trashed her writing like they did Brown's today. Of course he is laughing all the way to the bank, the financial planner, the broker and the whatever the newly rich laugh all the way to. I wonder if he is buying his researcher wife $4000 handbags. Seems a little extreme for a New England writer, yes?
I do know someone who has had books both praised and trashed by the Times. She had a lot of aplomb and just mentioned trashing in passing, like it happened to everyone every day. Well, maybe it does.
No news from the agent, but I wrote 6 pages in the last two days and hope to do that many today also. The Chuckee Cheese scene is done. Not exactly the Louvre or the Priority of Sion, more of an American culture kind of thing.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Link to the review: http://movies2.nytimes.com/2006/05/17/movies/17cnd-code.html
I love all the hype, the Cannes Film Festival, the bitchiness, the clamour/glamour of the whole thing. It's nice to have something besides rain and war and Medicare D to think about.
Sometimes Grapeshot wonders, if her wildest of fantasies, what she would do if the NY Times trashed her writing like they did Brown's today. Of course he is laughing all the way to the bank, the financial planner, the broker and the whatever the newly rich laugh all the way to. I wonder if he is buying his researcher wife $4000 handbags. Seems a little extreme for a New England writer, yes?
I do know someone who has had books both praised and trashed by the Times. She had a lot of aplomb and just mentioned trashing in passing, like it happened to everyone every day. Well, maybe it does.
No news from the agent, but I wrote 6 pages in the last two days and hope to do that many today also. The Chuckee Cheese scene is done. Not exactly the Louvre or the Priority of Sion, more of an American culture kind of thing.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Chuck E. Cheese Pizza Photo
I am one of 1/2 of 1% of Americans who is neutral (take it or leave it) about pizza. If it's put in front of me, I eat it. Never go out of my way for it, except at Fig's or Al Forno in Providence. Al Forno redefines pizza, such that it transcends the genre as we writers say. I once knew a kid who would only eat pizza and French toast. Eeewwww.
Graduation Party Menu
This weekend, we are hosting a party celebrating a relative's graduation. Today I begin the cooking with the pound cake which will be frozen until Sunday. Shopping has been divided into two trips: non-perishable staples and last minute ingredients. I print out 3 copies of the menu: one to calculate the schedule, i.e. when to cook with notes, one to note which serving dishes will be used, and one for any last minute notes. I also make a copy of each recipe in order that the originals can be put back in place and won't get lost. Have you ever lost a favorite recipe? Bummer! I always ensure that we have a menu that vegetarians can enjoy.
Appetizers:
Cheese Twists *
Spinach Dip with Triscuits * (an updated Cook's Illustrated version of the old favorite)
Entrée and side dishes:
Baked Ham
Farfalle with Asparagus, Mascarpone and Hazelnuts *
Texas Baked Beans
Potato & Pea Salad with Chive Aioli *
Devilled Cauliflower *
Coleslaw *
Dessert:
Eva Bone’s Sour Cream Pound Cake with Sliced Strawberries *
Beverages:
Wine: White and Rose
Beer
Soft Drinks
Water
Coffee
* Vegetarian
Now to cook up a storm. While writing the Chuckee Cheeses scene. Hmmm. Chuckees was not exactly a gastronical paradise.
Bon Appetite!
Grapeshot
Appetizers:
Cheese Twists *
Spinach Dip with Triscuits * (an updated Cook's Illustrated version of the old favorite)
Entrée and side dishes:
Baked Ham
Farfalle with Asparagus, Mascarpone and Hazelnuts *
Texas Baked Beans
Potato & Pea Salad with Chive Aioli *
Devilled Cauliflower *
Coleslaw *
Dessert:
Eva Bone’s Sour Cream Pound Cake with Sliced Strawberries *
Beverages:
Wine: White and Rose
Beer
Soft Drinks
Water
Coffee
* Vegetarian
Now to cook up a storm. While writing the Chuckee Cheeses scene. Hmmm. Chuckees was not exactly a gastronical paradise.
Bon Appetite!
Grapeshot
Monday, May 15, 2006
A Scary Moment
The rain decreases to a misty drizzle and we decide to take a walk rather than go to the health club. Significant Other has a bum knee and takes a cane when he walks. We are 1/3 way down our standard route, the sidewalk through the neighborhood and see a runner with a dog. They get closer and its a man with a German shepherd, a big healthy looking specimen. Dog is on a leash. When we meet we say hello and move to the edge of the sidewalk to let them by. Dog snarl and lunges. I emit little scream. Owner controls (barely) dog who seems to want to tear us into little pieces. Scared the hell out of me. Away from us, owner gives dog a talking to. Hope it works. This kind of ruins nice walk in rain. Try to decide what would we actually do if attached by big vicious dog. Don't know.
We take the first path off the sidewalk and walk toward the little lake. When we get down there, we discover lake has overflowed banks and is running over the road, feeding the slough that runs behind our house. No ducks in sight. Turn around and walk back. Now the rain is coming down again. When we get to the sidewalk, we take a long cautious look both directions. No dog. I am of the opinion that the beast took exception to S.O.'s cane, but that is no excuse, really. Maybe someone had whacked the dog with a stick. Still, a very scary experience.
I am very careful where I walk alone, due to having come within a hair's breath of walking into a murder scene years ago.
When we got home, I made a tour of the garden. Wild orchids ready to bloom, trillium blooming, bleeding heart blooming, Solomon's seal blooming, columbine's ready to bloom as is lilac. Tulips looking sodden.
In the vegetable plot where the spinach should be growing, we are going to have a bumper crop of dill and cilantro. I think I've identified a few small spinach plants. They should be much larger by now. Lettuce has, for some reason, tanked. Poppy assumed dead shows signs of life. You just can't ever tell.
Speak softly and don't carry any stick.
Grapeshot
We take the first path off the sidewalk and walk toward the little lake. When we get down there, we discover lake has overflowed banks and is running over the road, feeding the slough that runs behind our house. No ducks in sight. Turn around and walk back. Now the rain is coming down again. When we get to the sidewalk, we take a long cautious look both directions. No dog. I am of the opinion that the beast took exception to S.O.'s cane, but that is no excuse, really. Maybe someone had whacked the dog with a stick. Still, a very scary experience.
I am very careful where I walk alone, due to having come within a hair's breath of walking into a murder scene years ago.
When we got home, I made a tour of the garden. Wild orchids ready to bloom, trillium blooming, bleeding heart blooming, Solomon's seal blooming, columbine's ready to bloom as is lilac. Tulips looking sodden.
In the vegetable plot where the spinach should be growing, we are going to have a bumper crop of dill and cilantro. I think I've identified a few small spinach plants. They should be much larger by now. Lettuce has, for some reason, tanked. Poppy assumed dead shows signs of life. You just can't ever tell.
Speak softly and don't carry any stick.
Grapeshot
The rains came
The rains came and still haven't left. The Boston area is one soggy mass of wet squishy shoes, overflowing rivers and streams, sodden gardens, and a cat who looks out the kitchen window with absolute amazement. It's depressing when it just never stops raining. We went out Saturday with a full day planned. I was perpetually wet in spite of umbrella and rain coat. Started wishing for one of the ugly-as-sin rain bonnets my mom used to wear. She was of the generation when about the worst thing that could happen was that one's hair got wet. The set melted and the perm frizzed. I don't know, but wet hair created a major grooming crisis.
She wouldn't have liked Saturday.
The rain didn't keep the writers and fans from Kate's Mystery Books on Mass Ave in Cambridge where conversation was brisk and no one seemed to mind the weather. Well, mystery writers are odd ducks, to be sure.
Yesterday, I did not stick my nose out of doors. No exercise, no groceries. A nice leisurely read of the New York Times and the Globe which can take all day. Watched the Jericho series on PBS at nine. Not bad. We watched Capote on cable Saturday night. Good movie. Lots of smoking and drinking. The fifties must have been a lot of fun, except for wearing high heels all the time and dresses (the women, natch).
I managed to avoid writing all day yesterday. Rain was too demoralizing. My next scene is a top secret meeting at Chuckee Cheese's in Natick. This is probably the only crime novel anywhere that has a big scene at Chuckee Cheese's. We went there last summer and took a gazillion photos with a small guest who enjoyed herself. I remembered skee ball from my youth. My parents and I used to play at Elitches Gardens in Denver, lo, many years ago.
The first photo shows our booth and in the next booth is a woman of size exhibiting a large white bra strap. Will that go into the book? What do you think? Love these grubby little details. Another photo is of a half cheese/half pepperoni pizza.
Speaking of pizza, two weeks ago I attended an event where lunch was pizza. The evening before I had over-indulged in raw vegetables and had a belly ache. Guess which pizza I inadvertendly took? Ham, bacon and sausage! Grease to the max. I never even knew there was such a topping. My stomach survived. No permanent damage. Zowee. Bet they don't serve that in Hollywood. Lettuce pizza with non-fat cheese is more like it.
Article in NY Times today about the food wars. You read it here first.
Bon appetit!
Grapeshot
She wouldn't have liked Saturday.
The rain didn't keep the writers and fans from Kate's Mystery Books on Mass Ave in Cambridge where conversation was brisk and no one seemed to mind the weather. Well, mystery writers are odd ducks, to be sure.
Yesterday, I did not stick my nose out of doors. No exercise, no groceries. A nice leisurely read of the New York Times and the Globe which can take all day. Watched the Jericho series on PBS at nine. Not bad. We watched Capote on cable Saturday night. Good movie. Lots of smoking and drinking. The fifties must have been a lot of fun, except for wearing high heels all the time and dresses (the women, natch).
I managed to avoid writing all day yesterday. Rain was too demoralizing. My next scene is a top secret meeting at Chuckee Cheese's in Natick. This is probably the only crime novel anywhere that has a big scene at Chuckee Cheese's. We went there last summer and took a gazillion photos with a small guest who enjoyed herself. I remembered skee ball from my youth. My parents and I used to play at Elitches Gardens in Denver, lo, many years ago.
The first photo shows our booth and in the next booth is a woman of size exhibiting a large white bra strap. Will that go into the book? What do you think? Love these grubby little details. Another photo is of a half cheese/half pepperoni pizza.
Speaking of pizza, two weeks ago I attended an event where lunch was pizza. The evening before I had over-indulged in raw vegetables and had a belly ache. Guess which pizza I inadvertendly took? Ham, bacon and sausage! Grease to the max. I never even knew there was such a topping. My stomach survived. No permanent damage. Zowee. Bet they don't serve that in Hollywood. Lettuce pizza with non-fat cheese is more like it.
Article in NY Times today about the food wars. You read it here first.
Bon appetit!
Grapeshot
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Stepford Underwear Wives
Wow! The first few inside pages of the NY Times has lots of bling advertised: jewelry, watches, and Jimmy Choo shoes (just what Grandma needs to pitch headfirst into the baked ham). But I digress.
There was a big ad for lingerie, too, a model in lacy bra and panties. (Also what Grandma needs). The underwear models look like they are all in some weird zombie state. Totally motionless. Like statues. I used to notice this in the Victoria's Secret catalog, too. You never get an ad of someone running to answer the phone in her filmy finery, or tidying up the kitchen or heading for the shower, petting the cat, making the bed, some of the things one might actually do in one's underwear. These woman are standing stock still like they've been stunned. They don't even look like they're having erotic thoughts. Well, maybe some of the VS girls, do. Sort of. But mostly they just look really weird. They aren't smiling, but I wouldn't either if I had to pose in my underwear. They are phoney-baloney and you want to sneak up behind them and yell "boo!" Or turn a big snake loose in the room. Have a peeping Tom crash through the window. Something. Anything.
Couldn't they at least have a cocktail and a cigarette?
Grapeshot, who has a long ugly "to do" list and is procrastinating like mad.
There was a big ad for lingerie, too, a model in lacy bra and panties. (Also what Grandma needs). The underwear models look like they are all in some weird zombie state. Totally motionless. Like statues. I used to notice this in the Victoria's Secret catalog, too. You never get an ad of someone running to answer the phone in her filmy finery, or tidying up the kitchen or heading for the shower, petting the cat, making the bed, some of the things one might actually do in one's underwear. These woman are standing stock still like they've been stunned. They don't even look like they're having erotic thoughts. Well, maybe some of the VS girls, do. Sort of. But mostly they just look really weird. They aren't smiling, but I wouldn't either if I had to pose in my underwear. They are phoney-baloney and you want to sneak up behind them and yell "boo!" Or turn a big snake loose in the room. Have a peeping Tom crash through the window. Something. Anything.
Couldn't they at least have a cocktail and a cigarette?
Grapeshot, who has a long ugly "to do" list and is procrastinating like mad.
You Get What You Pay For
A couple weeks ago there was a full page add in the Boston Globe that said they would teach you to sell on EBAY. It was a big ad, and also a vague ad, but there was a web address where one could sign up for this class. Oh, oh, I thought. They will want my credit card. But no, the two hour class was free, and one of the locations was nearby, so I signed up and onTuesday morning we took note-taking pads and pens and drove to a local motel to learn how to sell on EBAY. Or so we thought.
There's lots of stuff that we didn't sell before the last move. Kids leave home and leave stuff. Parents die and leave stuff. You save old photos and girl scout badges and books and you end up with, well, lots of stuff. It takes up space and no one is using it or looking at it or half the time even remembering where and what it is. Significant Other and I decided we should really turn all the stuff into cash for a nice vacation fund. Big important stuff can be hauled off to an auction house and little stuff can be sold at garage sales, and pretty soon the time comes when you have stuff stuff. It could be valuable: old postcards, old marbles, old photographs. The thing is, it has to be sorted through, researched, catalogued and then, finally sold. Like on EBAY. We've been cataloging like crazy and doing lots of research on the Internet. Now, for that great final step, the selling of the stuff.
The big meeting room at the motel was stuffed (ha ha ) with people. Women and retired folks are what you see during the day time hours. A pleasant looking young man got up and talked and talked and talked and he was obviously someone who could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Finally, he talked about the EBAY workshop that we could sign up for during this meeting. Hmmm. Grapeshot had kind of hoped this was like a workshop, but what we got was about three-quarters sales yammer and a few (damn few) minutes of actual EBAY selling advice. The thing about the workshop was that I could already detect that the purpose of the workshop was to sell software and web sites and all kind of other stuff. We don't want an EBAY business; we just want to get rid of our stuff.
I found someone on the net who is looking for old postcards of New Orleans. No special software, no credit cards, no web site needed. Hmmmm.
Grapeshot
There's lots of stuff that we didn't sell before the last move. Kids leave home and leave stuff. Parents die and leave stuff. You save old photos and girl scout badges and books and you end up with, well, lots of stuff. It takes up space and no one is using it or looking at it or half the time even remembering where and what it is. Significant Other and I decided we should really turn all the stuff into cash for a nice vacation fund. Big important stuff can be hauled off to an auction house and little stuff can be sold at garage sales, and pretty soon the time comes when you have stuff stuff. It could be valuable: old postcards, old marbles, old photographs. The thing is, it has to be sorted through, researched, catalogued and then, finally sold. Like on EBAY. We've been cataloging like crazy and doing lots of research on the Internet. Now, for that great final step, the selling of the stuff.
The big meeting room at the motel was stuffed (ha ha ) with people. Women and retired folks are what you see during the day time hours. A pleasant looking young man got up and talked and talked and talked and he was obviously someone who could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Finally, he talked about the EBAY workshop that we could sign up for during this meeting. Hmmm. Grapeshot had kind of hoped this was like a workshop, but what we got was about three-quarters sales yammer and a few (damn few) minutes of actual EBAY selling advice. The thing about the workshop was that I could already detect that the purpose of the workshop was to sell software and web sites and all kind of other stuff. We don't want an EBAY business; we just want to get rid of our stuff.
I found someone on the net who is looking for old postcards of New Orleans. No special software, no credit cards, no web site needed. Hmmmm.
Grapeshot
Monday, May 08, 2006
The Food Wars
Today the New York Times had an article about a best-selling cookbook, a spiral bound affair with no pictures and many recipes sent in by ordinary cooks. The book is edited by a Mrs. Good, a Mennonite from Lancaster, PA, where many of my ancestors came from. Apparently these are ordinary recipes for ordinary people who don't eat out 5 times a week, probably don't do cilantro and tomatillos, and think of food as food. Eat to live, not live to eat. Short cuts o.k., canned soups o.k. Hell, they probably even do margarine or yuk, urp, whipped topping. Please tell me you don't go that far.
Someone pointed out that this is a far cry from food as style, cooking as hobby, the occasional competitive cooking with minute attention to every little parsley sprig that some magazines and newspapers promote. The kind of food where you have to visit 4 or 5 ethnic markets to put together a meal.
The first shot has been fired across the bow. Maybe it will heat up like the Mommy wars. I love it. With a foot in each camp and no great ego invested in either, it's going to be fun.
With knives pointed and forks at the ready, en garde!
Grapeshot, who is punchy from writing this hideous synopsis that makes her novel sound very silly.
Onward!
Someone pointed out that this is a far cry from food as style, cooking as hobby, the occasional competitive cooking with minute attention to every little parsley sprig that some magazines and newspapers promote. The kind of food where you have to visit 4 or 5 ethnic markets to put together a meal.
The first shot has been fired across the bow. Maybe it will heat up like the Mommy wars. I love it. With a foot in each camp and no great ego invested in either, it's going to be fun.
With knives pointed and forks at the ready, en garde!
Grapeshot, who is punchy from writing this hideous synopsis that makes her novel sound very silly.
Onward!
Sunday, May 07, 2006
The Dreaded Synopsis
The agent has not read my novel yet, a good-news bad-news scenario. Take the optimistic view that she is going to love it. I should be happier that two shorts stories will be published. Maybe after slogging along for so long every good thing will be anticlimactic. God, I hope not. Success, even small success, should be savored.
Speaking of slogging, I am doing that through a synopsis of World of Mirrors. I found some pretty good advice. Here are the links:
http://www.fictionwriters.com/tips-synopsis.html
http://www.writing-world.com/publish/synopsis.shtml
Hope I didn't fat-finger anything.
Grapeshot
Speaking of slogging, I am doing that through a synopsis of World of Mirrors. I found some pretty good advice. Here are the links:
http://www.fictionwriters.com/tips-synopsis.html
http://www.writing-world.com/publish/synopsis.shtml
Hope I didn't fat-finger anything.
Grapeshot
Clipping Coupons
I've been through both lean and fat times, wallet-wise, and early on I learned to cut grocery coupons out of the Sunday paper. Sometimes they went unused, and then there were supermarket trips, like Saturday, where I handed in $6.00 worth. I used to work with a guy with 6 kids and his best coupon day ever was $53.60.
I am not a whole foods fanatic, (love fried spam!) but I do cook mostly from scratch and buy lots of produce and unprocessed meats. Bake from scratch, too, not a package mix. Call me a food dinosaur.
When we moved to a smaller place we kissed the cleaning help goodbye (sadly) and discovered that generations of cleaning products had evolved since we had stopped noticing. Wipes! Swiffers! Even robots. A product existed for everyone household problem except I haven't found anything yet to get the waterspots off the shower door, but that's another topic.
It's getting harder and harded to find coupons to clip. No need for slim-fast, or Fresh-Pouch Chunk Light Tuna. What 's the problem with the can? I buy my spices from Penzey's (www.Penzeys.com) not Salad Supreme or Montreal Steak from McCormicks. Do not intend to enter Brigham's "Fluffernutter" jingle contest. Never did try Weetabix although they (it?) has been around for a while. Don't need Pink Eye Relief, at least not this week. DeliShaved Honey Turkey makes me say "eeeeww" and "yech" and "gross." Miracle therapy gloves? The Calming, Soothing,m Inspiration of Air Wick? Air Wick?
Every Sunday the task of weeding thru the chaf to clip the wheat is becoming more onerous.
What's a committed cook to do?
The other side of weird is always the New York Times Style magazine. Now Grapeshot considers herself reasonably stylish for someone living in Boston who will never see thirtysomething again, but a glance thru the NYTSM educates her about how totally out of style she really is, from her kitchen to her furniture, clothes and even what she cooks. Her bank balance is also hopelessly out of date to afford any true Style. Is there an alternate universe out there? What lies between the cheap and tacky yuck of the coupons and Style? Something authentic, I hope, something far removed from Cinnamon Swirl or Hazelnut Decaf and $4000. dresses and $800 shoes.
Onward,
Grapeshot
I am not a whole foods fanatic, (love fried spam!) but I do cook mostly from scratch and buy lots of produce and unprocessed meats. Bake from scratch, too, not a package mix. Call me a food dinosaur.
When we moved to a smaller place we kissed the cleaning help goodbye (sadly) and discovered that generations of cleaning products had evolved since we had stopped noticing. Wipes! Swiffers! Even robots. A product existed for everyone household problem except I haven't found anything yet to get the waterspots off the shower door, but that's another topic.
It's getting harder and harded to find coupons to clip. No need for slim-fast, or Fresh-Pouch Chunk Light Tuna. What 's the problem with the can? I buy my spices from Penzey's (www.Penzeys.com) not Salad Supreme or Montreal Steak from McCormicks. Do not intend to enter Brigham's "Fluffernutter" jingle contest. Never did try Weetabix although they (it?) has been around for a while. Don't need Pink Eye Relief, at least not this week. DeliShaved Honey Turkey makes me say "eeeeww" and "yech" and "gross." Miracle therapy gloves? The Calming, Soothing,m Inspiration of Air Wick? Air Wick?
Every Sunday the task of weeding thru the chaf to clip the wheat is becoming more onerous.
What's a committed cook to do?
The other side of weird is always the New York Times Style magazine. Now Grapeshot considers herself reasonably stylish for someone living in Boston who will never see thirtysomething again, but a glance thru the NYTSM educates her about how totally out of style she really is, from her kitchen to her furniture, clothes and even what she cooks. Her bank balance is also hopelessly out of date to afford any true Style. Is there an alternate universe out there? What lies between the cheap and tacky yuck of the coupons and Style? Something authentic, I hope, something far removed from Cinnamon Swirl or Hazelnut Decaf and $4000. dresses and $800 shoes.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
More on Opal Mehta
This is a clear account on the Byzantine relationships between Alloy, agents, authors and publishers.
http://www.observer.com/20060508/20060508_Sheelah_Kolhatkar_pageone_newsstory3-2.asp
Grapeshot comes up with her own ideas, writes her own books and sucks it up a lot, but not nearly as much as some.
Good news on the literary front: 2 stories found homes this week, one at a crime and suspense e-zine, and the other in a literary journal (next winter). Now if only one of the books would find a nice home, just a little brick ranch or a cozy cape, no McMansions or drafty old Victorians.
GS
http://www.observer.com/20060508/20060508_Sheelah_Kolhatkar_pageone_newsstory3-2.asp
Grapeshot comes up with her own ideas, writes her own books and sucks it up a lot, but not nearly as much as some.
Good news on the literary front: 2 stories found homes this week, one at a crime and suspense e-zine, and the other in a literary journal (next winter). Now if only one of the books would find a nice home, just a little brick ranch or a cozy cape, no McMansions or drafty old Victorians.
GS
Healthy Breakfast
Here is a breakfast we eat almost every day and never tire of. On weekends we do bacon and eggs or waffles, pancakes or French toast. But for the daily grind, here is:
Grapeshot's Way to Start the Day
Pour a generous helping of Shredded Wheat and Bran into a nice bowl. I use an old Burslem soup bowl, the shallow kind, with drawings of Sitka, Alaska on it.
Onto the shredded wheat put some fresh or frozen (defrosted) berries. Add half a banana if you have one (small banana). Put three generous tablespoons of Yoplait berry yogurt (any flavor) over the fruit. Sprinkle a few nuts over all. (Your choice).
Top with whatever kind of milk you drink. We use 2%, a compromise between whole (Significant Other) and 1% (moi). On days when you are feeling unruly and decadent, a tablespoon of heavy cream makes the medicine go down.
The nice thing about this breakfast is that it keeps you full until lunch time, and you get fruit, fiber and calcium, along with some protein. It also tastes good. And because you can vary berries, yogurt, fruit and nuts, it contains enough variety to please over the long haul.
One of these days I will put a photo of the concoction up on my blog. Stay tuned.
Grapeshot
Grapeshot's Way to Start the Day
Pour a generous helping of Shredded Wheat and Bran into a nice bowl. I use an old Burslem soup bowl, the shallow kind, with drawings of Sitka, Alaska on it.
Onto the shredded wheat put some fresh or frozen (defrosted) berries. Add half a banana if you have one (small banana). Put three generous tablespoons of Yoplait berry yogurt (any flavor) over the fruit. Sprinkle a few nuts over all. (Your choice).
Top with whatever kind of milk you drink. We use 2%, a compromise between whole (Significant Other) and 1% (moi). On days when you are feeling unruly and decadent, a tablespoon of heavy cream makes the medicine go down.
The nice thing about this breakfast is that it keeps you full until lunch time, and you get fruit, fiber and calcium, along with some protein. It also tastes good. And because you can vary berries, yogurt, fruit and nuts, it contains enough variety to please over the long haul.
One of these days I will put a photo of the concoction up on my blog. Stay tuned.
Grapeshot
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
44 query letters; 44 rejections
I began sending out queries for World of Mirrors in August 2004 and threw in the towel May 2005 after 10 months. In the meantime, I have rewritten the book and am optimistic that its fate is not on the closet shelf.
Being a quasi-nerd computer type, I like numbers. Behold the stats from 44 queries.
Agents/Publishers wanting to see part/all of the book: 3 or 7%.
Agents/Publishers writing personal rejection letter/notes: 3 or 7%
A/P who said: “not right for us”: 9 or 20%
A/P who said: “no new clients: 4 or 9%
A/P who never ever responded in spite of an SASE: 9 or 20%
A/P who send an AHFL, an ass-hole form letter with arrogance: 6 or 14%
A/P who wrote an outright lie: 1 or 2%
A/P who said “no computers”: 1 or 2%
A/P who just plain said no, i. e. the AHFL was not arrogant: 8 or 18%.
What you can expect: about 44% will be receptive or at least kind and let you down nicely. The other 57% treat you, the customer, like, well, you know like what. And this, after a letter has been honed by the author, her writing group and an independent editor. This was not a stupid, ill-considered query.
Moral: Suck it up! Get that new query out there. Make the novel sound so exciting that that a lazy sloth would wake up and read it;that someone in some distant galaxy might turn off American Idol and read it. Well, maybe that’s asking for too much. Sorry.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Being a quasi-nerd computer type, I like numbers. Behold the stats from 44 queries.
Agents/Publishers wanting to see part/all of the book: 3 or 7%.
Agents/Publishers writing personal rejection letter/notes: 3 or 7%
A/P who said: “not right for us”: 9 or 20%
A/P who said: “no new clients: 4 or 9%
A/P who never ever responded in spite of an SASE: 9 or 20%
A/P who send an AHFL, an ass-hole form letter with arrogance: 6 or 14%
A/P who wrote an outright lie: 1 or 2%
A/P who said “no computers”: 1 or 2%
A/P who just plain said no, i. e. the AHFL was not arrogant: 8 or 18%.
What you can expect: about 44% will be receptive or at least kind and let you down nicely. The other 57% treat you, the customer, like, well, you know like what. And this, after a letter has been honed by the author, her writing group and an independent editor. This was not a stupid, ill-considered query.
Moral: Suck it up! Get that new query out there. Make the novel sound so exciting that that a lazy sloth would wake up and read it;that someone in some distant galaxy might turn off American Idol and read it. Well, maybe that’s asking for too much. Sorry.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Monday, May 01, 2006
I'll take Manhattan
One of the coolest experiences is to be glammed up, shooting from the Upper East Side to Midtown, ensconced in a taxi, passing all the big deal designer stores, the upscale hotels, the pedestrians, the absolute glitz of it all. It makes me feel as if I have arrived, esp. if the destination is a swank literary event like the Edgars Banquet.
Because this is so far from the little towns that I came from in Northeast Colorado, where the sugar beets and soy beans grow. You've no idea how far. We were so out of it and so poor we didn't even ski. We drove up and down Main Street in our parents cars, drank root beer at the A & W, went to the 4th of July Rodeo and the street dance in the next town. Hid in the trunk and sneaked into the drive in. Got drunk on beer we bought illegally at a package store on the outskirts of town. Went to Elitches Gardens in Denver and screamed when we rode on the roller coaster. New York City might have been the moon. I don't think I knew anyone who had even been there. St. Louis was the decadent East where they did a dance called the "dirty bop."
The thrill of a lifetime was to take a family summer vacation to the West Coast.
When I was thirteen, I travelled to the Sand Hills of Nebraska with my friend to stay with her cousins. The nearest town was Arthur, miles and miles away. We went to the rodeo, which opened each night with riders on horseback carrying American flags galloping around the stadium in a circle to the tune of the Washington Post March. I still see those riders when I hear that music. A few years ago, the New York Times travel section had an article on the Sand Hills. At the end of the article, they had to admit that there was really nowhere to stay. I thought that was instructive. Even in Gerlach, Nevada, you can stay at Bruno's Motel and Casino.
Yesterday, I roamed over Kendall Square and the MIT Campus researching scenes for my book. Everything has changed so much since I worked in the area. The old firehouse is now a boutique hotel and there is a plaque to the F & T diner which stood on the site for over 70 years. I remember when the steelworkers who built the Marriott had a shot and a beer there on Friday noon when the workweek was (almost) over. You can't go home again, even if you haven't been gone for long, but somehow a cab ride into the heart of Manhattan remains the same. But then, that's not home.
Because this is so far from the little towns that I came from in Northeast Colorado, where the sugar beets and soy beans grow. You've no idea how far. We were so out of it and so poor we didn't even ski. We drove up and down Main Street in our parents cars, drank root beer at the A & W, went to the 4th of July Rodeo and the street dance in the next town. Hid in the trunk and sneaked into the drive in. Got drunk on beer we bought illegally at a package store on the outskirts of town. Went to Elitches Gardens in Denver and screamed when we rode on the roller coaster. New York City might have been the moon. I don't think I knew anyone who had even been there. St. Louis was the decadent East where they did a dance called the "dirty bop."
The thrill of a lifetime was to take a family summer vacation to the West Coast.
When I was thirteen, I travelled to the Sand Hills of Nebraska with my friend to stay with her cousins. The nearest town was Arthur, miles and miles away. We went to the rodeo, which opened each night with riders on horseback carrying American flags galloping around the stadium in a circle to the tune of the Washington Post March. I still see those riders when I hear that music. A few years ago, the New York Times travel section had an article on the Sand Hills. At the end of the article, they had to admit that there was really nowhere to stay. I thought that was instructive. Even in Gerlach, Nevada, you can stay at Bruno's Motel and Casino.
Yesterday, I roamed over Kendall Square and the MIT Campus researching scenes for my book. Everything has changed so much since I worked in the area. The old firehouse is now a boutique hotel and there is a plaque to the F & T diner which stood on the site for over 70 years. I remember when the steelworkers who built the Marriott had a shot and a beer there on Friday noon when the workweek was (almost) over. You can't go home again, even if you haven't been gone for long, but somehow a cab ride into the heart of Manhattan remains the same. But then, that's not home.
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