Lacking the Decorating Sense

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This past Saturday night, my good friends (and former Stiletto Gang guest posters) Tina Jordan and Ted Hindenlang hosted the most fabulous book signing party for me at their home in our little Village. It was a fabulous night. Tina and Ted live in one of our Village gems—a 1918 Colonial that Tina has lovingly decorated with thrift store finds, tag sale treasures, some new stuff, and other things that came with the house, including a gorgeous baby grand piano that she has tried in vain to sell on Craigslist. One problem? Well, apparently nobody wants it . (Or maybe they don’t want to move it.) Other problem? Oldest daughter, M., has suddenly found a love for it and playing it. Tina got a mini-recital Saturday night prior to our arrival. But I have to describe to you this lovely home and all of the treasures inside. Because Tina’s got that decorating style that I just can’t pull off and everyone who came in marveled at. There was tremendous oohing and aahing over the finds that she has picked up over the years, knowing exactly where each and everyone was going to go in the house and what purpose it would serve.

Tina’s got the “eye”, as I call it. I don’t have it. And few do, I’ve decided.

My good friend and Village librarian, Mary, remarked that she picked up a antique milk crate at a tag sale. She loved it. Brought it home. And then wondered, “What in Sam Hill am I going to do with this?” But fortunately for Mary, like me, she watches a lot of the Food Network. She watched as Tyler Florence (one of our favorite chefs—maybe because he makes so much meat with such loving care?) took his old, antique milk crate, wadded up his dish towels and stashed them in the crate on his counter, never having to search through the elusive junk drawer for a towel to sop up whatever mess he had made while lovingly making that beef tenderloin. Mary was inspired. Her milk crate now sits on her counter, stuffed with a mélange of brightly-colored towels, always at her disposal.

I love the idea of tag sales and thrift stores and going up and down the streets of Cold Spring, a little Village a bit to the north of here with store after store of treasures and antiques. But I see things and I don’t know what to do with them. A beautiful gilt mirror with just a tiny crack in the corner? I would love it. Somewhere. Anywhere. But I know I’ll get it home, hang it somewhere and look at it and think, “why did I buy that? It’s a cracked mirror.” Then I’ll see something like it in someone else’s home where it will look like it was made exactly for the wall where it has been hung. I won’t notice the crack, but I will notice the beautiful gilt and how it fits the wall perfectly.

My mother and father recently gave us one of what is apparently part of a famous series of “toilet paper oil paintings.” Hey—the guy was on Oprah. He’s famous. Ours is a predominantly blue winter scene that was painted in five minutes in a Catskill lodge in the 1970’s by a man who has made a fortune from these paintings. I tried hanging it in our dining room, where we had a big expanse of wall that needed a big piece of art. Unfortunately, Jim and I lack the appropriate “kitsch” gene to pull off the hanging of this art and it is now hanging in my attic office, seen only by me and appreciated only by me. This was part of the 70’s décor of my youth and fit in perfectly with everything else—shag carpeting, plastic slipcovering, and the like. But today, I can’t pull it off. Mom has made me promise that before the toilet paper oil painting goes the way of many other things in my home (the Goodwill store), I’ll give her one last crack at finding a home for it. Good luck, Mom. And good luck to toilet paper oil painting. I can’t say I’ll miss you. The only person I know who could make the painting work is Tina. I may have her do an intervention before the painting goes back to Mom. Maybe it just needs a new frame?

And another thing about Tina and the book signing party: she works full time, has two children, two dogs, and a very busy life. And her tree was up, decorated, with other holiday decorations scattered throughout her house so that the whole effect was like being in a holiday wonderland, populated by many of my dear friends, all clutching copies of “Quick Study,” waiting to have them signed.

Who’s luckier than I am? You don’t have to answer that. I don’t know a luckier person alive right now.

But here’s my question and I welcome my Stiletto gals’ input on this (because I know they have some), what is it about some people that they see treasure when the rest of us just see junk? And do you have the gene to pull this off, or are you like me, queen of the “matchy-matchy”?

Maggie Barbieri

No Sanctuary

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Last night we attended our church’s Christmas party. What a great time. It was held at a gal’s house who lives farther up in the mountains, off the main road, over the river and round several curving roads. Nearly every adult who attends our church was there. As all good Baptists do, everyone brought tons of good food.

After eating we played a crazy game that we play every Christmas. Everyone brings a wrapped tree ornament. Numbers are handed out. The first person picks a package to open and displays the ornament. The next person can steal that ornament or open another, and so it goes. Where the actions comes in is the stealing of the ornaments because there are always some that people like better than others.

We had a guest last night who doesn’t attend our church. Unfortunately for her, she kept unwrapping the most prized ornaments which were then promptly stolen. Her gem of a remark was, “Lutherans don’t act like this.” (She was kidding, of course.)

What does this have to do with the title of this blog? My next book coming out is from my other series, and it’s called No Sanctuary. It’s about two churches, two ministers and their wives and of course, murder. I thought having the book launch at my church would be perfect but wasn’t sure how the church council would feel about that because of the subject matter. My son-in-law, the pastor, had no problem, but I knew I needed to run it by those who decide such matters. Since I knew they’d all be at the party, this is where I approached them.

They all said it would be fine. Of course the event will be in the fellowship hall, not the sanctuary, and it won’t be on Sunday. I’ll serve food–anything Baptist needs to have food attached–and it certainly will be a pleasant affair.

Now, going back to holiday celebrations, the next celebrating my husband and I will be doing is dinner out with my critique group and whoever they want to bring, husbands or significant others. We also do this every year and I’m looking forward to merely socializing with my writer friends–who by the way are of several faiths.

Again, I wish all of you a wonderful holiday season, no matter how or what you are celebrating, just remember to connect with your friends and enjoy your family.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Let’s Make a Deal

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I don’t want to be the grinch who stole Chanukah, but holiday shopping this year, even on a limited scale, is frustrating at best, deadly at worst.

We’ve all heard the tragic news story of the security guard at a Long Island Wal-Mart, who was trampled to death by an out-of-control, bargain-hunting Black Friday crowd. The mob mentality ruled that ugly morning, as shoppers stepped over, around, and even on the victim, in their zeal to score good, nay fantastic, deals. Gunfire broke out in the parking lot of a toy store in California, when two shoppers continued their in-store arguments over merchandise.

Are these incidents the result of shoppers who are frustrated before they ever walk into a store because the economy is in the tank and the holidays are going to be spare, if at all? Is it the American competitive spirit now taken to the cash register, with shoppers determined to find the biggest bargain and get the most bang (literally at times) for the buck? And what, if any role, do the stores play in this madness?

I suspect there is more than enough blame to go around. Undoubtedly, there is an urgent need to switch the focus from the materialistic to the spiritual side of this holiday season. As thoughtfully discussed by Marilyn, Susan, and Maggie last week, this holiday season we need to give more of ourselves, and less of our pocketbooks.

But since many of us are still buying a few gifts this year, even if the number and cost have been drastically reduced, here’s a plea to the storeowners.

I understand that the holiday season is, for many of you, a make-or-break time. In the best of economic times, many retailers net half their profits from October through December. But these aren’t the best of times – not even close. I want you to stay in business, you want me to buy your products. It can be a win-win – but here’s what you need to do.

1. Cancel Black Friday and any other events that encourage a survival of the fittest, mob rule mentality. When you offer four free video systems – or frankly anything else – and you have a crowd of 200 who’ve been waiting out in the cold for hours, it’s a recipe for disaster.
2. No more gimmicks. I want to look at a price on an item and not wonder if I have brought the right coupon – or somebody else in line is getting a better deal. One price should fit all.
3. Hire sales help who know your merchandise. They should be able to do more than ring up the sale. You want a staff that understands how to “make” a sale as well: Suggest a tie to go with the shirt; discuss which books might be appropriate for a beginner reader; tell me what are the hottest new games in the Wie universe. And it would be nice if they did it with a smile and good grace. As the Southern half of Evelyn David nicely summarized: a salesperson should be a problem solver instead of just another problem for the customer.

In exchange, I promise:
1. To honor that this is a business and you need to make a profit. I won’t try to take advantage of honest mistakes in pricing or abuse your return policy.
2. To treat your merchandise carefully as I search for the perfect gift so that if I don’t buy it, someone else can.

3. To behave with good grace and a smile; to wait my turn; to follow the golden rule and treat you and your sales staff the way I hope to be treated.

Let’s put some fun and dignity back into holiday shopping. What else do you think businesses should do to make holiday shopping a better experience?

Evelyn David

Meet Duffy Dombrowski: The Man of Female Protagonists’ Dreams

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Tom Schreck was the director of an inner city drug clinic; he’s a black belt and a world championship boxing official. As an author he created the Duffy Dombrowski Mysteries, a series Publishers Weekly called “A Knockout!” Follow Duffy, the not-so-social-worker, as he moonlights as a bad professional boxer, drinks with his collection of lovable loser friends and somehow tries to exert a measure of control over his adopted Black Muslim basset hound Al. All this while trying to right the wrongs forced upon his vulnerable caseload.

“On the Ropes” was a Lovey and Crimespree Magazine nominee for “Best First Mystery” and an IMBA Bestseller. Tom is featured in the Echelon anthology “Missing” and his next Duffy Mystery is due out sometime in 2009.

First of all I’m honored to be a guest of The Stiletto Gang.

Any assemblage of women under that banner has to be a fun group.

And here’s a dirty little secret about me—my wife likes me to pick out her heels for her. She finds it only somewhat disturbing that I know more about women’s shoes than she does, but she does like my taste: at least 3.5 inches, (preferably sling backs), patent leather, black or animal print and with an obnoxiously pointed toe. Something tells me that’s all I should say on this topic.

I write the Duffy Dombrowski Mystery series. Duffy is a low level social worker whose caseload includes crack whores, addicts, small-time crooks and various other members of society that you’d find if you looked under enough rocks. At night he moonlights as a bad professional boxer, taking any fight he can for the extra cash. He beats the really bad fighters and loses to the good ones.

He’s also been saddled with a rescued basset hound named Al who flunked out of the Nation of Islam’s security force due to his personal hygiene challenges. Al has raised disobedience to a new level, prefers to have Duffy wait on him, and has a tendency to make the surrounding air unbreathable. He also has an uncanny knack of showing up at the exact right time and has saved Duffy’s ass on more than one occasion.

So a counselor with a repulsive caseload whose main hobby is a sport that involves assaultive behavior and a pet whose main traits involve flatulence, drooling, and the destruction of household furniture…

Just what today’s female readership is longing for, right?

Well, I think they should for several key reasons.

Reason One: Duffy is sensitive without being all Phil Donohue about it. He’s a Robin Hood for the little guy but he’s no bleeding heart limousine liberal—he lives it everyday. He also knows a manipulative con artist exploiting the system when he sees one.

Reason Two: Duffy can kick ass and think. He isn’t violent for the fun of it — except in the gym — but when someone is abusing the vulnerable, Duffy knows it’s going to take more than reasoning to get it to stop. Sure, he usually takes time to think things through before he throws a punch…usually, depending on how the rest of his day went.

Reason Three: Duffy isn’t a cliché. Sure, he can fight but he gets beat, he can’t cook, he lives in a trailer, not a 52-foot houseboat, he’s a counselor not a shrink, and he knows nothing about the law, forensics or science. He’s real and he’s genuine.

In other words I think Duffy would make a great boyfriend to all those frustrated female protagonists out there. All the loser men who fear commitment and intimacy and all the limp wristed wimps that our favorite female sleuths have to put up with would be refreshed with Duff’s company.

That is, if they could stand the trailer, the drooling, farting hound and Duff’s penchant for Schlitz.

Well… maybe.

Tom Schreck
http://www.tomschreck.com/

For an in-depth review of On the Ropes check out the following blog –
http://acmeauthorslink.blogspot.com/

Slippery Things

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Sometimes you lose them forever. Sometimes you just misplace them. Sometimes they aren’t real.

Memories are slippery, amorphous creatures that wiggle through our fingers and disappear under the bed with all the glowing eyed monsters, single rogue socks, and books that are never where you left them.

Unlike other people who profess to remember early life experiences, I’ve never been convinced that I have “real” memories of my life before age four. I have photographs implanted in my mind of events – images that come from actual photographs, home movies, or relatives’ retelling of events. But real memories at ages two or three? I don’t think so. Not me.

Drive-in movie theaters populated the landscape when I was a preschooler. I have a distinct memory of a long car trip from California to Oklahoma. My family was moving home, back to Oklahoma, pulling a trailer, with only enough money for gas and not much else. My dad drove straight through. I lay on a mattress in the packed backseat (remember when cars were big enough you could put mattresses in the backseat?). Level with the windows, I had a 360 degree view of the sky. I remember a string of drive-in movie screens that I could see from my makeshift bed.

I know the trip was real. I know we drove at night. And I also know that no one took photographs and told me about the drive-in movie screens. The adults would have had no reason to talk to me about the flickering images seen from the highway. No one but a bored preschooler would have been fascinated by the quick peeks at scenes from movies as we passed by.

It’s strange to think that my first real memory might have been scenes from B movies. Images moving on a screen without sounds or endings.

That night I discovered the power – I could make up my own stories.

Other people claim to have memories of events at a much earlier age. Maybe they’re real memories. Maybe as a toddler I was just so self-absorbed that I didn’t pay much attention to what was going on around me. To some extent I’ve always lived in my head. From my enthrallment with my grandmother’s stories of talking mice families living in her house, to my discovery of entire worlds hidden in books, to the miraculous glory of movies, I had found a way to leave the here and now. I could be anyone, travel anywhere, and change anything that I wanted – whenever I wanted.

In my mind, I could rewrite the endings to those books, television shows, and movies so that the main characters not only rode off into the sunset together, but had lives afterward. I added scenes that happened after the credits rolled, after the last page was turned. In my mind I wrote the epilogue, the years after Shane came back, the rebuilding of Tara, and the marriage of Candy and Jeremy long after the cancellation of Here Comes the Brides.

About five years ago, with the encouragement of Marian, my co-author and friend, I began putting scenes on paper. The words I heard in my head became dialogue between people I created. The people did what I told them to do.

It was magic. It was powerful.

It was another form of what I’d always done.

Or at least that’s my memory of it.

Evelyn David

In Gratitude, Part I

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We at the Stiletto Gang have been in existence almost a year, by my accounting. It has been a lot of fun, blogging about this and that and learning about my fellow writers and all of you posters, who always let us know when we’re on the right track, and when we’ve ridden off the rails. We’ve prayed together, laughed together, and shared some excitement, like when new books come out. And we are all very grateful here that you take time out of your busy schedules to see what we have to say and how we have to say it and when you think we’re right on. Thank you for that.

I wanted to take the opportunity to acknowledge Marian, Marilyn, Rhonda, and Susan, who have become wonderful friends and sounding boards throughout the past year.

1. Marian, or the Northern Half of Evelyn David: Our Monday go-to girl, I remember back in January of this past year, we presented at a library in Vorhees, New Jersey, and had a fabulous time. Seeing her talk to some of the at-risk writers who came to hear our talk was inspirational, and although I already had met Marian once before, I was reminded of how special this woman was. It was at this event, as I shoveled pastry and coffee into my pie hole, that she asked me if I’d like to join the Stiletto Gang. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. Marian is a marketing force to be reckoned with. Me? Not so much. I was honored for the invite and I was not about to say no.

Marian has taught us the proper usage of “OY!” (my new favorite expression, peppered into ALL conversation), poo-poo-poo (correct my spelling, Marian…this is a catch-all and ward off for all bad things, I believe), and how to prepare Passover dinner correctly. (Not that I’ve done this yet. Maybe next year?) She has shared her thoughts on writing, family, and life and I for one, am extremely grateful for her insights.

2. Marilyn: Our friend to the Far West—thank you, too, for all of your marketing genius, but most of all for keeping us abreast of the goings on of your large, extended family. I don’t know how you keep them all straight! It has been a pleasure reading about your remembrances, hearing about your book signings and visits to writing conventions, and learning about the members of your family. I appreciate your “stop and take time to smell the roses” reminders every now and again; who of us don’t need those? And I enjoy learning from your vast experience. You are truly blessed, Marilyn, and we are lucky to have you with us on this venture and in the world.

3. Rhonda: Our Southern Evelyn. Someday, we’re going to sit at one of our kitchen counters and eat that apple cake, which I have yet to make (slacker that I am). Somehow, I just know, despite having never met, that we are kindred spirits. Rhonda is our techno-goddess—you’ve got a Stiletto problem, Rhonda’s got a solution. And her solution comes with patience, and I think a smile (I can only guess). Never in a bad mood, always willing to help, always looking for ways to keep our site fresh and vibrant. Rhonda doesn’t disappoint. She’s got a full-time job, a full-time writing gig, and a busy life (she actually takes care of her yard, from what I gather…something I can’t do for the life of me) and manages to do everything with aplomb. I look forward to the day, as I know Marian does, too, when we can meet.

4. Susan: Our newest Stiletto girl but the one whom I’ve known the longest, despite having never met in person. Back when “Murder 101” was just a twinkle in my and St. Martin’s eye, my editor said we needed some blurbs. She told me that she was going to go to Susan McBride, who she proclaimed “one of the nicest people she knew” and who might be willing to read the manuscript and comment. Well, if you bought my first book in hardcover, you’ll see that not only did Susan read and comment, she gave me a rave. And I think that went a long way in getting the book noticed by a readership who loved Susan’s Debutante Dropout Mysteries (I’m a HUGE fan) and were looking for something similar. Thank you, Susan. I’ll always be grateful to you for taking the time to take a chance on a new writer and for lending your support. And I’m thrilled that we have you for the Stiletto Gang once a month. Your thoughts on life and living are in complete agreement with ours, but I always learn something new. We’re both survivors and we’re finding our way in that designation but together, I’m sure we’ll forge new paths. Best of luck with the new “Debs” series—I, for one, am loving the first one!

I have so much to be grateful for this year but only six hundred words (I’m over at almost 900). If you don’t mind, there will be more of these. In gratitude to all of you.

Maggie

Holiday Crunch

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Is everyone beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed like I am?

Some of what’s happening with me is my own fault. I say “yes” when I really ought to say “no.”

We did cut down on Christmas decorating this year because of our three cats. Last year they thought we’d brought them a new toy and they managed to completely denude the tree of all ornaments and broke a lot of them.

I’ve got a bunch of gifts on the bed in the spare room that need to be wrapped. Yes, I know, I said was giving everyone money, and I am, but for those who’ll be over here Christmas Eve, I want them to have a few presents to unwrap.

Saturday I was holed up in the back room of an antique store from 9 to 5 with my books, hoping for people to stop by, chat, have some cookies and hot cider, and maybe buy a book or two. That actually worked out better than you might think. A tour of homes decorated for Christmas was going on and many people stopped at the antique store between houses. There’d been a good article in the local paper about Kindred Spirits, my latest, and I also sent out some invitations.

Next Friday and Saturday I’ll be doing the same thing in the back of Porterville’s Art Gallery on Main St. Hopefully I’ll have some newspaper coverage for that too, I’ve taken the information to the reporter that I have a relationship with (she’s a friend) and a copy of the book. I’ve sent out invites to people who live down there, so we’ll see. But all day, from 10 to 5 is tiring and things pile up at home when I’m gone like that.

I just received an order via PayPal from a book that I just sold the last copies of on Saturday. I’ll have to go up to our local gift shop where I have my books on consignment and get one back so I can mail it since it’s for a Christmas present. (I have ordered more, but they won’t get here in time.) While I’m at the gift store, I’ll resupply what they are out of and give them copies of my latest.

I have a bunch of books I need to review for a writer’s organization I belong to. Truly, I don’t mind doing it, in fact I usually enjoy the books, but it’s going to be hard to squeeze it in with all that’s going on right now.

And guess what, hubby and I decided to play hooky this morning and go see Australia. We went to breakfast first then headed to the movie which started at 11:30 a.m. A warning, it lasts for three hours though I can assure you it doesn’t seem that long. It was a wonderful movie, like an old time epic Western. Watching Hugh Jackman take a shower was quite a highlight.

So now I’m home, trying to play catch-up while my chili-beans cook in the slow cooker. (Put them in early this a.m. before I left home.)

Seems like I don’t ever really get caught up.

Though I’m putting the finishing touches on another Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery–still reading it to my critique group–I really need to start putting together another Rocky Bluff P.D. novel. Have some ideas, but that’s about it right now.

So, I’ll try to finish up a few things before dinner. Hope you all are more organized than I am at this point. But do take time out and enjoy yourself like we did today.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Where’s Bullwinkle When You Need Him?

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Anyone remember the cartoon Rocky and His Friends? I’m certainly not talking about that turkey of a movie that came out in 2000 with Rene Russo and Jason Alexander. Seriously Hollywood, there are some stories that don’t need retelling.

Anyway, I’ve gotten up close and personal with Rocky J. Squirrel – or at least his direct descendents. My attic has been invaded by flying squirrels.

It began three weeks ago. I awoke in the middle of the night to something. You know the sensation — although at the time, I assumed that it was Clio, our dog, trying to tell me that she needed to go out. Wonderful woman that I am, I ignored my first inclination – to wake my husband and tell him to take care of the damn dog. I sleepily accompanied Clio down the steps when I saw this little black animal half-flying, half-scurrying up the wall.

Forget wonder woman, I immediately headed back to the bedroom and screeched, “Get up.” I might point out that at this point, our faithful watchdog slid under the bed and was never heard from again that night.

My husband stumbled to his feet and headed for the door, when I, ever the Girl Scout leader, declared, “Put on your glasses.” No point in going into battle when you can’t see five feet in front of your face.

I resisted the urge to slide under the bed with Clio. After a few minutes, my husband returned and announced he had vanquished the intruder – or in this case, trapped what we thought was a baby squirrel in a paper bag and deposited him in the backyard.

Oh, would the story have ended happily right there.

Alas, over the next few days, we heard scurrying in the walls, although no more wildlife actually appeared where I could see them. A call to an exterminator informed me that squirrels were a protected species and couldn’t just be killed like rats. I wasn’t making such a fine distinction since my skin crawled at every sound. I needed a wildlife trapper. I had no idea that such a profession still existed. I thought trappers went the way of Daniel Boone and the beaver coat.

So now we have six traps installed in our attic, and the wildlife removal expert has promised to visit at least twice a week until the invasion has been definitively squelched. Then I need to hire a roofer to inspect our 18-month old roof to see where these squirrels are gaining entrance.

Cost? You don’t want to know, but let’s just say that Chanukah presents have been reduced to nuts for all.

I think I’ll move to Moosylvania.

Evelyn David

Shopping Can Be Murder

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Now that I’ve got a solid draft of the third Debs book done and to my agents who’ll use their eagle eyes to spot boo-boos, I can finally think of the holidays. Ed’s off today so we’re heading out to get our tree at some point, and I’ll dig out the Christmas decorations from the basement to make the house look semi-festive (I’m no Martha Stewart so “semi” is pretty much it). Then I’ve got to start pondering gifts; although with the tragic news of Black Friday incidents, I’m considering doing all my shopping online.

Um, might I ask what’s up with Black Friday and mayhem? A Wal-Mart worker was trampled to death in Long Island, two men shot each other at a Toys-R-Us in California, and two women were hit by a car in a parking lot in Kansas City all because of cheap electronics and talking Elmos?

Who thought of this Black Friday thing? I’d like to clobber them with a leftover turkey leg. Wouldn’t it be easier on everyone if they just had these super-duper deals starting at regular store hours on Friday and then extending through Christmas (or until supplies ran out)? Then people wouldn’t have to camp out in parking lots for 12 hours or more ahead of time, trying to be first in line. Instead, they could spend more time with their families, which is what the season’s supposed to be about after all. When did things get so crazy? Like worrying about nutball drivers (hello, hang up the cell, please!), the recession, terrorist attacks, pirates, and earthquakes (yes, St. Louis is on a fault line!) isn’t enough. Now I have to fear for my life when I’m Christmas shopping?

Oy! As I’ve said many times to my hubby, I think I’ll just stay home and never go out. It’s a good thing I’m a full-time writer so I could actually do that if I had someone else to do all my errands. Unfortunately, Stephanie Meyer’s assistant is really busy at the moment, and Mary Higgins Clark’s staff won’t work for free. Rats.

I’ve decided I’m going to develop a realistic shopping strategy, one that doesn’t place me in the middle of crazy-busy malls with shopping zealots who’d doubtless slit my gizzard in a fight over a Wii. Last year, I did plenty of on-line and catalogue shopping, but I missed Cyber Monday entirely because of the book and I’m probably a little late for ordering from catalogues. What I want to do is print some of my gift ideas from the manufacturers’ websites, visit local stores that carry those brands, and see if they can order for me. I’d much rather deal with local retailers anyway, particularly ones in my ‘hood. We’ll see if that pans out!

I’m also planning to do some shopping at the area Humane Society (no, not for a new kitty…this time!). They have a cool gift shop, and I’m supporting the organization by spending money there. I’ve got other donation-related presents on my list as well. Last year, I gifted my pig-loving aunt with a three month sponsorship of Snortin’ Norton at a rescue farm. Linda loved getting the card with Snortin’ Norton’s photo, saying “thank you for feeding me–oink!” So if any of my family is reading this, don’t be surprised if you get a card saying you’re the proud sponsor of Chuckles the Chicken or Gouda the Goat. And you’re welcome already.

I’d like to hear from y’all about how you’re changing your shopping habits this year, whether it be because of tight times or mega-mall-phobia. Are you buying on-line more? Making more donations? Doing hand-crafted gifts?

Sometimes it seems we forget entirely what the season is supposed to be about, and it’s certainly not nabbing the lowest price on a flat-screen TV or a new Wii. Have any of you ever scrapped the commercial aspect of the holidays altogether? Or had a truly “green” eco-friendly Christmas? Let me know. I’m game for suggestions on how to enjoy the time of year without the busted budget and all the stress!

Susan McBride’s YA series debut with Random House, THE DEBS, features four prep school seniors in Houston clawing their way through their debutante season. A Fall 2008 Kid’s Indie Next Pick, THE DEBS has been called “Gossip Girl on mint juleps.” The second DEBS book, LOVE, LIES, AND TEXAS DIPS, will be out in June of 2009; the third, GLOVES OFF, in March 2010. Susan has also penned five Debutante Dropout Mysteries for HarperCollins/Avon, including TOO PRETTY TO DIE, and has signed with HC/Avon to write a trade paperback beach book called THE COUGAR CLUB, about three forty-something women who date younger men. Visit her web site at http://www.SusanMcBride.com for more scoop.

Susan McBride

Computer Woes

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As I typed the title to this blog, I had to wait several beats for the letters to show up on the screen. My old laptop is not the fastest, but it’s all I have at the moment.

My desktop computer – a Dell Dimension E510 is up on blocks right now. About a month ago ….Okay I admit that several months ago I noticed a heavy fan noise that came and went. I figured it was just over heating. I’d open the door on my desk that houses the cpu and a few seconds later, the noise would go away. And yes, I’ve taken to leaving the door open to avoid that noise.

But back to my story – about a month ago I pushed the button to turn on my desktop computer and nothing happened. I thought perhaps the button was stuck, so I pushed it again. Nothing. I, of course, pushed it again, only harder. It started – the light on the button came on and the birds sang. No problem.

You’re saying something about heads buried in sand, aren’t you?

Yes, you are right, the same thing happened again a few days later. Then I unplugged the computer and replugged it. I also clicked my heels three times and spun in my computer chair. The cpu light came on.

At that point, I was unable to ignore it. I did have a problem. My computer with all my files, my writing, my emails, my life, was on borrowed time. So I did what everyone does now when trouble appears on their doorstep or desktop – I ran an Internet search.

“Dell computer won’t power on. Help.”

I found lots of advice and information. Who knew that the power light pulsed in different colors depending on status? An amber flashing light meant that power was reaching some parts of the computer but not all – I was advised to check for peripherals that might be sucking the life blood …uh power from my unit. I checked. Everything seemed to be plugged in properly.

I decided I’d better backup everything. I left my computer on for the next week while I purchased an external hard drive and used it to preserve all the details of my life.

More research yielded the information that I probably needed a new heart (new power supply unit) for my computer. I ordered one, plus a small battery that Dell recommended I purchase along with the power supply unit. I think it might be the pacemaker for the unit. Since I was going to be opening up my cpu for the heart transplant operation, I decided that I might as well add more memory and a larger hard drive.

The memory and hard drive arrived first. I was able to install them with a minimum of fuss with about a 90% confidence level.

While waiting for UPS to deliver the new heart, and feeling cocky with my recent success, I decided to clean the old power supply unit – just in case it was only dust causing the problem.

Taking out the power supply unit was fairly easy. But it involved a large number of wires being disconnected. After I had unplugged a half dozen or so, I realized I should have left bread crumbs so I could reconnect them later, but I had gone too far to stop so I didn’t.

I cleaned the power supply unit and then put it back in the cpu. Then I attempted to reconnect all the wires. I managed all but three. For some reason these three were now too short to reach anything. Not sure how that happened.

I stopped the operation, not willing to risk hooking up the heart incorrectly and killing the patient.

Today I got the new power supply unit in the mail.

Tomorrow I take the cpu and the new power supply to a trained heart surgeon. After all, my computer first aid skills only go so far.

And it is my life we’re talking about.

Evelyn David

p.s. Dell is having a sale. I might need a backup.

p.s.s. Anyone know why when I type on my laptop, sometimes the computer seems to lose its place and suddenly I’m typing on a previous line of text????