2009 Man Booker Prize Nominees

From Media Bistro:


A.S. Byatt "The Children's Book"
J.M. Coetzee "Summertime"
Adam Foulds "The Quickening Maze"
Sarah Hall "How to paint a dead man"
Samantha Harvey "The Wilderness"
James Lever "Me Cheeta"
Hilary Mantel "Wolf Hall"
Simon Mawer "The Glass Room"
Ed O'Loughlin "Not Untrue & Not Unkind"
James Scudamore "Heliopolis"
Colm Toibin "Brooklyn"
William Trevor "Love and Summer"
Sarah Waters "The Little Stranger"

Congratulations to all the nominees. A singular honor.

Technology is Weird

Yes, I know. Technology is supposed to be logical, esp. the computer which does whiat you tell it, no more, no less, and doesn't read your mind.

Except when it goes for a very strange walk on the wild side.

Long story. Current Dell is slower than molasses in Janary and won't live forever. S.O. lobbying for me to join the Apple folks. Last Christmas, a relative found a Powerbook on Craig's List for a good price, and I bought it.

The fun begins. My god, how the money goes out. First I got a box to switch back and forth between computers using my nice new monitor. All's well, except that we can't get the old printer to work with the old AB switch box. Remember AB switch boxes. Ye gods, we had three!

So we order a fancy new plug for the computer and the Apple doesn't like it either. I have to say the Apple people told us this wouldn't work, but we thought if we downloaded the right drivers, etc.

All for naught. It becomes obvious the Powerbook doesn't like my old faithful friend that uncomplainingly printed out six of my novels and countless other docs, the HP4 Laserjet. It has been a workhorse, but a sale at Staples, etc., and we bought a new Lexmark printer, although the printer will be hooked up to the old Dell until I decide what to do with Money, the software, which doesn't run on Apple.
I've heard horror stories of converting Money to Quicken and am wavering about what to do. Que faire? As we used to stay in French class.

Yesterday, a day when my writing group meets and I need seven (7) copies of my work, we decide to install the new Lexmark. Stupid idea. Really dumb.

So we couldn't make the Powerbook print, and then we couldn't make the Dell print. It simply would not put the Lexmark into the spot where the printers belong.

Grumbling and swearing, I put my work on a thumb drive and S.O. printed it. We decide to use a new cable to hook up the printer without the damn switch box.

So today, without doing anything, I pulled up a document and absent mindedly hit the print key, forgetting that the printer wasn't speaking to me.

Except it was. For whatever reason, the Dell thinks the Lexmark is the HP. Technology is weird. But that's O.K. with me. At least I have a printer. Now to figure out the Powerbook. Then we're golden.

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Mrs. Astor of Brush, Colorado

In days of yore, I had mixed emotions when I confessed I had grown up (mostly) in a little town in Northeastern Colorado named "Brush." The name was not felicitious, speaking as it did of Sagebrush (our yearbook name) brush fires, brush piles, isolation and down market living.

Then I became proud of coming (mostly) from Brush because in time I understood that the little place had a certain authenticity that many generic parts of suburbia did not, and that isolation is not all bad and television and the internet un-isolates these little hamlets and brings their residents into the mainstream. My prejudices, that maybe it was uncool to be raised so far from an urban center in a place of no particular culture, gleamed like fool's gold.

A long introduction to this blog photo, which showed up in my parent's slides. Instead of ho-hum, another view of whatever, the slides provided a treasure-trove of memories and this photo, of which I have no recollection whatsoever. Back in the day we dressed up, but not like this, and usually only for church. I don't think I wore this to church. No recollection whatsoever of the hat or the coat, and usually I remember my clothes. All my clothes. Not so, this outfit. And an "outfit" it is.

My dad's ancient Buick, a car I loved, is parked in the driveway. My parents new house was actually a prefab, with three bedrooms, two baths, and a gas fireplace. My mom, ever practical, turned the dining room into a laundry room. We still didn't have a dishwasher, which I continually carped about. I had a few wild parties (for then) and have fond memories of smoking, drinking, music and wearing some cool outfits. But not in the green coat. Whither the green coat? Where it came from and where it went and if I ever wore it outside this photo.

No one will ever know.

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Adieu, Adieu, Caribou Barbie

Caribou Barbie,
Bye! Bye! Bye!
Caribou Barbie,
Why? Why? Why?

Caribou Barbie off in a snit
Never been told that
Winners never quit
Hasn’t a clue that
Quitters never win

Caribou Barbie,
Gov no more.
Caribou Barbie,
Out the door.

Caribou Barbie,
Bye! Bye! Bye!
Caribou Barbie,
Why? Why? Why?

Fresh Peach Ice Cream

Basically, except for my workout, all I have accomplished today is to make fresh peach ice cream and clean off my desk. Get web space for an organization. Answer questions. Clean up the kitchen. Get the ingredients out for potato pancakes. Make David Eyer's Hawaiian Pancake for breakfast, download a printer driver for my MAC that didn't work, decide on a new printer, clean the bathroom, medicate the cat, make a shopping list, send a bunch of emails. Figured out (I think) how to migrate from Money (love it!) to Quicken.

Even on a day when you do nothing, you do lots. Now I have missed my favorite food network programs, but I'm drinking good rum, and both cats are curled up and asleep lending an air of quietude to the home office.

Poor Annie seems to be wearing out. No energy. Sleeps all the time. Can barely jump on her chair. Very sad.

I haven't seen the new calf and her mother and suspect their owner has sold them back to where the mother came from. Major bummer. Iris and Maryann are hanging out and the third cow is in the herd but everyone else is gone, baby gone.

The people from the condo association showed up today and dug a trench through the back yard, trying to find out where the sprinkling sysem stopped working. Always something. Many reasons to drink rum.

The potato pancakes will be wonderful. I love potato pancakes. My recipe is from the Wall Street Journal. Go figure.

The market went up on this day or rain and unproductiveness. A productive day is when you write at least a few pages or do major edits. Not today. Not yet.

Tonight we will watch Oliver (1968) and that will be much fun. Good movie, good cast, good plot, good writer. Thank you Charles Dickens.

Amen

Nature Notes from All Over the Yard

We have a young red squirrel who can leap from the front porch railing to the bird feeder, an unbelievable feat for such a little guy. He joins house finches, chicadees, sparrows (many varieties) baby cardinals, baby bluejays, mourning doves and other assorted birds who hang out at the feeder.

In the backyard, we have the not-seen-lately hummingbird, blackbirds, woodpeckers (3 kinds) and many of the same birds from the front yard as well as the suet robbing squirrels and chipmunks and the odd hawk on the lookout for prey (small birds and mammals). A visit to the yard by the hawk results in the birds going into hiding for as much as a week.

In the slough, the bullfrogs croak and there may be ducks, but we don't see or hear them. No otters, alas, this year.

The local deer have spared us, as has the bad rabbit who has perhaps fallen victim to the local fox or the occasional coyote. I have never seen the coyote, but the man around the corner swears that the neighbor keeping chickens leaves them out deliberately so the coyote will come into his yard and eat his grandchildren. Well, I don't think so, but into the wildlife mix you always have to throw a nutty neighbor. My mother used to say, "nutty as a peach orchard boar." Cool expression, yes?

What I love is to sit on the deck overlooking the slough and the wetlands with a drink of premium rum on ice and enjoy a late summer afternoon. Listen to the birds and the frog and the occasional drone of an airplane. The sunlight is just so, and the neighbor comes out to multitask: smoke, drink, talk on the phone and check his garden. We exchange waves and all is well with the world.

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How do you celebrate a cat's birthday?

Thisbe is nine years old today, a gift from a friend whose cat had a litter of kittens. S.O. brought her home in a cardboard box when she was eight weeks old and Annie, her housemate, has never forgiven me. We thought Annie needed a companion, but she said, "Big mistake! Take her back!" and wouldn't look at me for six months.

Now, they tolerate each other, although Thisbe was terribly upset when Annie had a seizure, and stopped eating for two days.

She has a new mouse and received an extra ration of catnip. We can't have a party because she hates anyone except the people she knew in her kittenhood. Workmen are the worst! A few growls and then zook! under the bed for the rest of the day.

Thisbe likes moist cat food, dry cat food, her special brand (Kookamonga) catnip, furry gray mouse toys, fresh water, cat grass, Mommy, Daddy and sleeping in the linen closet and luxurious relaxed baths on the living room rug, lying on her back and washing her paws and her chest. Bathing to classical music is best.

The life of a cat in this household is the life of Riley. Remember. Dogs have masters. Cats have staff.

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Sucking It Up Again

Last week, in a query frenzy, I sent out queries for World of Mirrors, Promiscuous Mode and Festival Madness.

Today, the rejections started coming in like kamikazes after a battleship. Poor old World of Mirrors, which I rewrote numerous times, has ninety-three (count 'em) rejections. I need to get 114 before I throw in the towel. Harry Hunsicker who went on to publish several well-received books and become an officer in MWA got 113 rejections before he found an agent. Persistence wins the day. I guess. This is really a cool novel--an honest-to-god original story , with fun (read bad) characters, a suspenseful plot and a slice of history on a beautiful island. So whatchagotta do? Dunno. It's hard to let this book die.

I'm having trouble finding agents who might like Promiscuous Mode with its funky locale, business setting and lighthearted adultery. Cripes, it even has a cat and casinos. BTW, a relative reports the sleazy casino I wrote about has been gussied up and has a fancy hotel across the street instead of El Sleazo Motel. I like the lowlife locale better. My writing group loved this book; even Significant Other says it's his favorite, but so far fifty-eight rejections.

Festival Madness is coming up on the rail, rejection-wise. forty-nine to date. If the agent never responds, I count that as a reject. And with Burning Man next month I should query a bunch more agents.

Have you been doing the math? That's 200 rejections, a universe of sucking it up. And still, I'm writing another novel and have one on the horizon after that. Maybe yet another. Crazy Grapeshot, must be the world's biggest masochist. Not.

So. I made pizza tonight for us and the two guests. We always do a lot of toppings, with fresh veggies ascendant, and beaucoup cheese. Always tasty. I can control what comes out of my kitchen. Actually, I can control my writing but not its acceptance.

I'm going up to watch the Red Sox in the All Star game. Tomorrow we're trekking to Plimouth Plantation and the Mayflower.

Thisbe is curled up by my feet and having a cat nuzzle your toes makes up for a world of pain.

Two hundred rejections! OMG.

Anyone for Tennis?

Yesterday after breakfast we drove down to Newport, R.I. to take in the finals of the Campbell's Tennis tournament (on grass) at the Newport International Tennis Hall of Fame
http://www.tennisfame.com/ithof.aspx?pgID=966

The weather was summer-balmy and we had a great view from the cheap seats, nosebleed section. The grounds with their gardens and old-fashioned ambience were delightful, as was the tennis. The final match was between two Americans, Sam Querry and Rajeev Ram. They played awesome tennis with Ram finally triumphing in their closely fought battle. His serve and volley game was inspiring, as was Querry's serve. One doesn't see serve and volley that often anymore.

We had shrimp curry waiting for us at home, but walking back into Newport from the Hall of Fame we passed any number of lovely-looking restaurants with temping food and drink with sidewalk or garden dining. La-di-dah to the max. The good life lived on the water in the summer in an old New England town with history. Can't get any better than that.

Green Chile-Chicken Casserole

This would be a good casserole for a pot luck supper. Are those coming back with the economy in tatters?

Notes: I made my own chicken broth and used full-fat sour cream. Certainly a reduced fat could be used, also for the cheddar if you like. I don't use non-fat anything except for celery.

I cut the recipe in half but added the small can of green chilis AND part of a pepper in adobo sauce (very hot)--used just a tablespoon. I also used a whole clove of garlic for half the recipe. My casserole was 7 x 11, and I could only get 8 - 10 as opposed to 12 tortillas in it. This is an economical recipe if you shop the supermarket sales. It's also fast. Tortillas don't have to be cooked. I heated the first nine ingredients in the microwave, thereby saving getting a pot dirty. Might be enhanced with a little chopped chives or cilantro after baking.

Green Chile-Chicken Casserole: looked just like the photo Don't even think of substituting flour tortillas, which belong on the West Coast with Astroturf and "the wave." Think of the word "Californication." Got it? Good!

http://find.myrecipes.com/recipes/recipefinder.dyn?action=displayRecipe&recipe_id=550015

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Barking at the Thunder

The coleus doesn't mind the rain. The petunias like it UP TO A POINT.

This afternoon, I took care of our neighbor's little dog. As usual, we had a thunderstorm. Instead of going outside to do her "business," doggie barked at the thunder, running from one side of the deck to another and to the stairs, yapping the whole time.

We had to go back later when the storm was over. This time she went out for real. Maybe it was a ploy to get another treat. I had felt like barking at the thunder, too, for all the good it will do.

We had a stellar Mexican casserole (tortilla casserole) tonight. I had never eaten a tortilla casserole until we were in Houston and one was served at lunch at a fancy buffet. Thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Nothing fancy about the casserole, but it's very tasty and quite rich, one of those dishes that low fat sour cream and cheddar would not greatly diminish. I'll print the recipe tomorrow.

Today's mail brought some good news. One of my short stories will be published in an anthology this fall. Very excited, naturally. I will have to update my query letter with this info. Three queries out so far today, two more to do. Then I can watch the Red Sox and finish my James Lee Burke book. Goodbye computer, until morning.





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What A Writer Does Besides Write

Sometimes a writer cooks or even bakes.

Otherwise?

Oh yes! Lots of "stuff." Yesterday, I tailored my robot fish story for a submission to Esquire. Then I submitted another story to a journal I found in Poets & Writers. Yet another poem went to a Poets & Writers poetry journal. Sent an email to another journal asking about how they want a submission. I could turn a Toastmaster's Speech into a humorous essay. Might be fun.

Spent a lot of time looking at my "finished" poetry and trying to decide if there's enough to enter for a Chapbook. Yeah, but. Maybe a couple more poems would flesh it out a little. Forgot my Sonora desert poems were so good. For a while, I wrote poetry regularly.

Made a list of the details I noted coming into New Haven for one line I need for the new novel.

Now I am sorting through the huge Thrillerfest listing of literary agents looking for agents to query. I have to make sure I haven't queried them before, as least not for the book I'm pitching now. Trying to read between the lines. Looking at their web sites to see what kind of work they publish. This is a time suck of the first order. I could be getting mosquito bites in the garden. Could be fixing lunch. Now there's an idea.

Need to get back to my novel. Need to do a lot of things, like my neck exercises because I sit at the g.d. computer all day and my neck gets to stiff I can't turn my head. Makes backing up

the car a little dicey.

We seem to have a pet mosquito here in the office. He didn't bite last night when he had a chance, so I won't swat him. Live and let live.

I'll send out 5 more queries for various novels using the agents identified so far. Querying three novels at this point. When I finish In Flight, that will make four. This is a full time job. One hundred twenty queries per book before I throw in the towel. That makes three hundred sixty in all. Oh god, can I see it through?

Discovered how to make my twitters show up on Face book. Not technically dead yet after my retirement from IT.

The photo is the last of the blueberry tart. Make your pie dough in the food processor. It only takes the time to measure the ingredients. I mix a little sugar and seasoning and instant tapioca into the fruit. Any kind of fruit. Almost an instant dessert, as the tart is free form.

Some cooking is really easy. Experience counts. Too bad that doesn't seem to hold in submitting work to agents. Ah me!

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Rain

Sodden tuberous begonias on the deck, weary of rain.

I never read Somerset Maugham's short story titled, Rain, but wherever it was raining, the South Pacific no doubt, could not have held a candle to Boston last month. My poor tomatoes, that just want some nice water and also some SUN. Remember sunshine?

The nasturtiums I am growing from seed aren't very happy either. We had a few days of sun (today is dreary again), and the astilbe decided to bloom. Beets are growing. Lettuce is gone except for the really weird lettuce. Herbs need a new start, (dill and cilantro) but my others are strong and healthy.

Gardens are a labor of love. I am cross posting a link from my Proust blog.

http://travelinagarden.blogspot.com/2009/07/du-cote-de-chez-swann-combray-marcel.html

Let there be color. Let there be (sun) light. Another dreary day. On the bright side (!) dreary days are good for writing.

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