Ramblings of An Auspicious, Articulate Mind


Big thanks to those wonderful high-heeled divas for hosting me today!

(Clears throat.)

(Okay. Now what do I say?)

I’m Anne Carter, author of paranormal romantic mysteries. First published in 1998, working on my 6th novel… (yawn) I’ve been blogging for a couple of years now. I vacillate between personal, newsy, gossipy stuff and eloquent, factual mini-biographies of people I find interesting (see The Word From Beacon Street.) But when asked to GUEST blog, I begin to obsess over what to write about. I mean, what if I disappoint? What if their last blogger was Ray Bradbury or Kirk Douglas?

Note to the curious: around the time my last book debuted, I very excitedly approached my local Bumpty-Bump Bookstore and squashed down my shrinking violet shyness by suggesting that, perhaps, just maybe, I could please do a wee little booksigning within their hallowed walls? It went something like this:

Me: “Here’s my press kit, there’s a copy of POINT SURRENDER in there too, it’s a great story about this abandoned lighthouse in northern California, and the people who own it now, who try to figure out what happened to the last keeper, he’s dead, you see, but they need to find out why, and there’s a ghost… it’s published by Echelon Press, and, um, I’m signing next weekend at the Bumpty-Bump Bookseller in Ventura, but I have a lot of people who want to come here to buy a book from me… er, you…my book that is…”

Young Bob Bitchen, CRM for Valencia Bumpty-Bump Booksellers: “Wow, that’s really cool. Yeah, uh, thanks. We do always like to support local authors. Let me look this over and I’ll get back to you.”

Note-within-a-Note: This would have been a very good time to have my good friend and fellow Echelon Press author, Jeff Sherratt, with me. Young Bob B. would’na had a chance.

Me: “Oh, great, thanks so much…”

Me, one month later, reading local newspaper: “Nice. Says here Ray Bradbury is coming here next month. And just after that, Kirk Douglas will be signing his new book.” Grumbling, deep frown. Aloud, to husband: “And who the h*ll is Trace Adkins?” So this is why I am particularly sensitive to [still very worthy] authors like Bradbury and Douglas. (Who is Adkins again?) (End of note.)

So I went to one of those prompt generator thing websites. Surely, here I’d find something to blog about. I clicked through about 50 of them before I shook my head. “Why would anyone want to know about my happiest, or worst, high school memories?” I said aloud to my laptop, I guess, since no one else was listening. Or how about, my ten favorite words. Hmm, let’s see… Serendipity. Auspicious. Articulate. Superfluous. Space-Time-Continuum. Oh wait. That’s three. Oh! Hypotenuse. (Okay, so I was helping my daughter with math last night.) How about Chocolate? (Sure, I’ll have some!) Tenth word: YUM.

What do you want to be remembered for? Sure, I’ll bite that one. Aside from the usual of being a good mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, I want to be remembered as someone who made others feel better at some point in their lives. Not like Florence Nightingale, but just someone who brings something to the day that makes someone else smile.

I want to be remembered as someone who wasn’t afraid to try to write a whole book and get it published. A person who loved lighthouses, dolls, photography and travel. Ice cream, Mexican food, classic rock and old Hollywood movies. Warm weather over cold, the window seat on the plane, and long, very hot bubble baths.

But I digress. I still haven’t found a good topic to write about. Can I come back when I think of something?

Anne

Anne Carter is the author of paranormal romantic mystery, POINT SURRENDER, from Echelon Press, Amazon and Fictionwise. Visit Anne at BeaconStreetBooks.com.

Endings

At the Love Is Murder conference earlier this month I listened to Guest of Honor Jeffery Deaver talk about his dislike of writing the wrap-up chapter of his books. You know the chapter – the one that finishes everything off; fills in any gaps; and lets the hero or heroine, if not ride off into the sunset, at least saddle their horses.

I’ve been thinking about endings a lot lately. One of my favorite television shows, Battlestar Galactica, is ending. In an unusual move for Hollywood, the producers/writers have been given time to craft a real ending to the show that’s lasted four seasons. After tomorrow night’s episode, there will only be three episodes left to tell the tale.

Last week’s episode was disappointing to me. One of the supporting cast was lying (maybe dying) in a hospital bed. Besides the normal hand-wringing and emotional angst displayed by his ex-wife and comrades in arms, the dramatic scene was used to relay a great deal of backstory. Without going into a lot of explanation for you poor souls who’ve missed one of the best television series ever, here are the basics.

Caprica (an earth-like planet inhabited by humans) was destroyed by the Cylons. Cylons are an artificial lifeform created by humans to serve humans. The Cylons rebelled and fought a war with the humans, lost, and were banished to space for decades. The first episode of the show begins with the Cylons returning with a bang and killing off all the humans except for a small number of refugees who escaped the nuclear explosions. Among the refugees were; humans aboard a ragtag band of spaceships; retiring, Captain William Adama and his crew of Galactica – a aging combat ship that was being decommissioned and turned into a museum; and Laura Roslin, a midlevel official from the Department of Education. Ms. Roslin, a former school teacher, was on Galactica the day of the attack. She’d been sent to Galactica to give a speech at the museum dedication. She was also trying to deal with the news that she had advanced breast cancer. After the attack, a quick headcount of the government was conducted and guess what? Laura Roslin was next in line for the Presidency. For the next four seasons the survivors have been on the run from the Cylons, who’ve been determined to wipe out the last of the human race. Oh, and one more thing – the Cylons, except for the Centurions (a soldier subspecies called affectionately Toasters), have evolved into creatures that look, talk, and act like humans. So you can’t tell most Cylons from humans and a good number of them have infiltrated the fleet for more than a lifetime – kind of “sleeper” Cylons. But the humans eventually figure out that although Cylons look like humans, there are only a limited number of models. Once you can identify the models, you know the Cylons on sight. That is except for the Final Five Cylons that no one, including the other Cylons, can identify.

So back to my writing related point – you probably thought I didn’t have one – the guy in the hospital bed has recently discovered that he’s one of the Final Five Cylon models. Poor guy always thought he was human. As a result of his combat injury many suppressed memories are coming back; important memories about the Final Five and the history of the Cylon race. In between medical procedures and during brief periods of lucidity, he related these memories to the ones around his bedside and to the viewing audience. This moment was where I found myself losing interest in the episode. If the deathbed dialogue had been in a manuscript for a novel, my editor would have red-penned most of it with the note, “too much telling and not enough showing.” It was as if the writers decided to make up a huge, elaborate backstory at the last minute and dump it on the audience in exposition form. In my book, pun intended, that’s cheating. It might be easier for the writers and save oodles of time, but it invariably disappoints the viewers/readers. Just as my description of 80 some odd episodes of Battlestar Galactica were condensed to a paragraph or two above, telling instead of showing should always be the last resort. (i.e. You should watch the show! Rent or buy the dvds.)

When you write or read the last chapter of a book, do you want a full recap? Should one be necessary if the rest of the book is well-written? I absolutely know that very little “new” information should be revealed in the last chapter. As with the Battlestar Galactica episode, too much new information at the end of the story makes the reader feel cheated. Why pay attention to all the details throughout the story, if at the end, none of it gave you an opportunity to figure out the mystery for yourself?

So to recap – yes, I’m smiling here but note that I’m not going to give you any new information – your final chapter should be one that ties up the loose strings, makes sense of the clues, and gives the reader a view to the future lives of the characters. Build the backstory into middle of the book – don’t “tell” it in the reveal at the end. In fact try to “tell” very little of it at all. “Show” it!

Evelyn
http:www.evelyndavid.com

More on Stuff

In no way, shape, or form could I be considered a neat freak. I’d like to think I am, but when dust bunnies come rolling out from behind my bedroom door as I walk by, I’d say that aspiring to be one is not a realistic goal. However, in following up with Evelyn’s Monday post about “stuff,” I have some definite opinions. And they do not gibe with the rest of my family’s take on the subject.

I’m a “dumper” married to—and the mother of—“hoarders.”

I’ve been accused of possessing no sentiment, but my defense is simple: If it wasn’t for me and my big, black plastic garbage bags making a sweep of the house every now and again (usually when no one is home), we’d be overrun by stuff. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

They’re wise to me, though. They have taken to sifting through the garbage bags when I’m not around and retrieving stuff they know they cannot live without. For example, the book of stickers that my daughter got for her fifth birthday (she’s now fifteen). Or, the forty pairs of ice skates—in various sizes—that my husband’s colleague at work gave him because he was throwing out his own stuff. Or one of those goofy “family information” posters that tell you fake information about your family based on your surname. News flash: They all have the same information on them. We also have vhs versions of every Disney movie, every plastic super hero ever made, bills and checks from before we had children, and a hodgepodge of furniture from various points in our lives.

I fear that if I don’t take serious action soon, we may be overtaken by our stuff.

My husband’s answer is “we need more storage.” My answer is “we need to throw more stuff out.” Tell me, how do a hoarder and a dumper meet halfway? Do any of you have the answers out there? (And I’m looking at you, Marilyn, because you’ve been married the longest.) I’m wondering, if like Evelyn, we decided to downsize if that would encourage the disposal of all of the things I don’t think we need, yet everyone else considers essential? Is moving the only way to get rid of your stuff?

I took it upon myself to get rid of a bunch of 45s—remember those? Small records with a weird cut out in the middle?—a few years back. I thought the coast was clear and that nobody would miss them until my husband decided to buy a turntable. He searched for his 45s and finally asked me if I had seen them. Busted. I had to admit that I had thrown them out.

But I’ve found that I’ve become the scapegoat for all missing objects. Can’t find your homework? Mom must have recycled it. Missing a shoe? We bet Mommy threw it out! Looking for that crucial bit of paper that had all of our 2008 tax information on it? Well, there’s a big black plastic bag in the closet…look in there. We bet she tossed it with the rest of the garbage.

I have to admit that after the 45s affair, I’m less inclined to throw people’s stuff out without asking their permission first. But I’ve found that asking permission to throw something out is met with hurled invective and recriminations. So, I’m putting you, our faithful Stiletto Gang readers, on notice: if for some reason I don’t post next week, send someone to my house and up to my office. You may just find me under a mountain of stuff.

Maggie Barbieri

The Academy Awards

I’m a big movie fan and have been since I was a kid. Big influence was my dad who worked at Paramount as the head plumber. He had some interesting anecdotes about movie stars and how movies were made. In fact, he was the one who figured out how to part the Red Sea in Exodus. Much harder back in the days before computers, he did it with glass, piping and hydraulics. He also spoiled a lot of movies by telling us secrets about how they were made: toy trains instead of real ones, painted scenery in the basement instead of really outdoors, a big tank on the back lot for ocean scenes.

We went to the movies every Friday night and always listened to the Oscars on radio and after they were on TV, of course TV. While I was a kid, dad always told us which of the stars were nice and which weren’t complete with anecdotes.

The best thing about this year’s awards was Hugh Jackman. Who knew the man could sing and dance? The production itself was grand. But, I must admit, I haven’t seen hardly any of the movies. Nowadays the movies that seem to win are about horrible people with angst and unhappy endings. I did enjoy Benjamin Buttons because it was a fairy tale. I saw Changeling too, and it was okay. I loved the L.A. scenes. I was once a phone operator, but the scenes in the movie were before my time, though we had to dress up and wear nylons, no one roller skated. I did ride on the streetcar to get to work though.

The movies I liked best didn’t win anything. Australia was great–like an old time epic film, like Gone With the Wind but with a happy ending. Mama Mia was great fun, saw it with my two grown daughters who danced and sang in the aisles.

It’s time Hollywood made more happy movies to raise our spirits during this difficult economic time.

Marilyn
I have a new interview here: http://tinyurl.com/chudrp

Too Much Stuff

With a tip of the hat to the brilliant, much-missed comedian, George Carlin, lately I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about “stuff.” We’re planning to down-size and move to a smaller house, and my biggest fear is what to do with all this stuff.

Fans well remember Carlin’s famous riff:
That’s all your house is: a place to keep your stuff. If you didn’t have so much stuff, you wouldn’t need a house. A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it.

I’m going to skip any of the sentimental attachments that develop when you’ve lived in a house for 20 years. The memories come with you, I keep telling myself.

But OY, the stuff. Consider:

I have my stuff in several boxes marked memorabilia, and includes every drawing made by son number one because after all, he was first born. A few scribbles from son number two, because kids drawings were still a novelty. Apparently son number three and daughter never picked up a pencil because there is nada from them. Plus all their report cards, mother’s day cards, letters from my parents and sister, and probably my high school yearbook, although I haven’t seen it since the last move. There are also cartons of photographs which include duplicates because the drugstore gave you two prints of each photo when they printed them out for you. (Note the archaic concepts in that one sentence: that you didn’t have the photos on a digital memory card, that there was someplace called a drugstore, and that someone other than yourself was printing them out). See, getting rid of stuff means getting rid of the old ways of thinking too.

There are separate boxes of my husband’s memorabilia, although he’s not quite the sniveling ball of sentiment that I am.

There is memorabilia accumulated by each of the kid. For example, I have playbills from the sixth grade production of My Fair Lady. Keep in mind that I sat through all six performances, plus two dress rehearsals, of this musical. Son number one had exactly one line (which I can still repeat): “Mr. Doolittle to see you, sir.” How many copies of that playbill does he need? Also in these boxes are complete collections of all soccer, baseball, hockey, baseketball, “you didn’t win, but you still get a tiny trophy because everyone’s a winner in our town,” fake brass awards times four.

But let’s move beyond my stuff, hubby’s stuff, kids stuff. When parents downsize their homes, you inherit their stuff. When my mother-in-law moved from her home of 40 years to an apartment, she couldn’t bear to donate her late husband’s fishing equipment. There probably isn’t a charity dedicated to underprivileged fly fishermen. On the other hand, these ancient rods and reels have now taken on mythic proportions in my not so-sentimental husband’s memories, so we could move to a studio apartment and in one corner would be three fishing rods and a tackle box. This from the man who hasn’t gone fishing in 10 years – and didn’t use his Dad’s stuff then.

And sadly, when your parents die, and you have to break up their homes, you make snap decisions on their “stuff,” that you then have to live with. For example, consumed by grief when our mother died, my sister took Mom’s pink hairnet. Three months later, with a little clearer perspective, she asked me what the heck she should do with it. It certainly wasn’t the essence of our mother, but it now seemed tacky to discard it. As my sister pointed out, “now that I’ve taken it, I’ve got it,” followed by a heavy sigh.

I admire those who can pare down their belongings to two sets of clean underwear and a change of shirts. I understand their world view that they can more clearly see what’s important and what’s not without stuff weighing them down. I can’t pare it down that much for a weekend trip, let alone a move. I know the concept of dumping all this “stuff” might be liberating, but it’s also exhausting.

What are you doing with your stuff?

Evelyn David

The Village Mystery

Valley of the Lost, the second in the Constable Molly Smith series by Vicki Delany, has just been released by Poisoned Pen Press. For a sneak peek visit Vicki’s web page at www.vickidelany.com, to read the first chapter and watch the exciting book trailer.

“The lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.” Sherlock Holmes, Adventure of the Copper Beeches.

Since the time of Conan-Doyle and Agatha Christie the village setting has been a staple of a certain type of mystery novel. A novel that is as much about the personal and family life of the protagonists as their jobs, that is more about human relationships and love and loss than international terrorism or guns-for-hire, thrives in the small town environment.

And, as Sherlock Holmes pointed out, countryside does not always mean peaceful. After writing two standalone novels I wanted to begin a series. There was never much doubt in my mind as to where the series would be set – it needed to be someplace I wanted to spend a lot of time in, even if only metaphysically speaking. In real life, the town of Nelson (pop 9,000) is nestled in the mountains of the British Columbia Interior. Using Nelson as a guide, I created the town of Trafalgar.

Like its inspiration, Trafalgar is surrounded by mountains, and very isolated. It is eight hours drive to Vancouver or to Calgary, and the nearest city is in another country – Spokane, Washington. It is a place of long-time residents, who were born and raised in the valleys and mountainsides. It is also a place of transients and newcomers, attracted by the beauty, the isolation, the artistic community, and the area’s reputation for independence. Neo-hippies – dreadlocks, girls with long colorful skirts, boys with wild beards – mix with the comfortably-early-retired, owners of big houses and expensive hiking equipment; with artists, who’ve moved there to paint or write; and with the spiritual, attracted by the ‘ley lines’ or ‘vibes’. All of these people come together in the village setting where they create a vibrant and active citizenship, full of strong opinions. And the potential for conflict, which is the key to any crime novel.

A reader in Arizona told me that Trafalgar reminded her a great deal of Sedona. It’s hard to imagine two places that look more different, but the sense of both places is the same – the supposedly mystic qualities attracting a variety of people, the conflict between the traditionalists, fighting to keep the town as it is, and new money, wanting more and more development, pushing up the cost of housing, sometimes beyond what locals can afford.

In practical terms, the small town setting allowed me to give the main protagonist of the series, a young, keen, probationary constable by the name of Molly Smith, a role in criminal investigation. In a big city she would be directing traffic, but a small town force does with what they have. In Valley of the Lost, Smith’s mother and Sergeant Winters’ wife become involved in the conflict in a way that is perfectly believable in a small, close town, but would be ridiculous coincidence in a big city. Being local, knowing everyone, is a key to Constable Smith’s character. In the first book in the series, In the Shadow of the Glacier, she thinks: It was hard, sometimes, to be a cop in a town where a substantial number of the residents had seen you performing as Number Two Wise Man in the Grade Three Christmas pageant.

Vicki Delany

Missing

During 2007, 814,967 missing person records were entered into the National Crime Information Center’s Database.

In 2009, a mysterious gathering of authors present MISSING.

Proceeds from all sales of this book to benefit the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. (Missing, Echelon Press LLC, 2009)

A little over a year ago Karen Syed of Echelon Press LLC asked if the collective Evelyn David would consider writing a short story for an anthology – the proceeds to benefit the search for missing children. Of course we agreed. This month Missing debuted at the Love Is Murder conference in Chicago.

17 mystery writers contributed to the book, edited by Amy Alessio, and published by Echelon Press LLC.

The role call of short stories and their authors include:

Missing Andy by Amy Alessio
Gemini by Barbara Annino
Dream Works by Regan Black
Harry’s Fall from Grace by Luisa Buehler
Coffee by Rebecca Cantrell
Cleaning up at the Franks by Gayle Carline
Mis-adventures of Guy by Norm Cowie
Riley Come Home by Evelyn David
Signature Required by Susan Gibberman
A Call from Rockford by Robert Goldsborough
An Art Fair in Chicago by Margot Justes
Floaters by J.A. Konrath and Henry Perez
The Cotton Candy Man by Susan Muira
The Right Choice by Tom Schreck
Dog Gone Dog by Michele Scott
Knight Child by J.R. Turner
Caroline Rhodes and the Case of the Fugitive Farmer by Mary Welk

From Riley Come Home by Evelyn David –

“You’re too big to get on my lap!”

Mac Sullivan, retired D.C. police detective and newly-minted private eye, pushed the 125-pound female away from him. “It’s just thunder.”

Big brown eyes gave him an accusing stare. He was getting used to disappointing the women in his life, but he wouldn’t put up with any whining from his partner.

“It’s just thunder! Go take a nap. Rachel is going to be here any minute and I’ve still got to finish up the paperwork on the Steele case.”

Thunder boomed again, causing Whiskey, his Irish wolfhound, to make another try for his lap, this time settling for a spot on his feet under his desk.

“Oh, for …Will you get out from under there?”

He tried to move his feet without much success. “I told you Rachel was going to be here any minute. We’re going out to dinner and I don’t want you getting drool all over my slacks.”

“Excuse me. Have we come at a bad time?” A woman and man stood in his office doorway. The woman did the speaking. “We’re sorry to interrupt ….” She looked pointedly at his desk, “But it’s a matter of life and death.”

Please consider purchasing this book for your personal library. In addition to supporting an excellent charity, it’s an opportunity to get to know unfamiliar writers and find new favorites.

If you’d like an autographed copy from Evelyn David, contact us by email.

Title: Missing
Author: Anthology
ISBN: 978-1-59080-611-1
Genre: Mystery
Pages: 344
Price: $16.99 US, $22.99 CA
Distribution:
Echelon Press Direct 410-878-7113
Ingram Book Company
Partners Book Dist. 800-336-3137
Follett Corp. 800-435-6170
Amazon
Fictionwise
Kindle

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Raise Your Hand if You’re Not a Cheater

Today we have the delightful showing of Alex Rodriguez’s inaugural apology tour…starting at Spring Training! I was watching the news last night and they announced that regular programming would be cancelled (that means you, “All My Children”) to show Rodriguez’s press conference. If I were an “All My Children” fan—which I was, years ago when I had a lot of free time on my hands (in college)—I would be supremely annoyed. After all, I think it is generally accepted that most people would rather watch Erica Kane marry another man than watch A-Roid malign a writer. Am I right or am I right?

I am fascinated by this whole steroid culture, mostly because I just finished a round of steroids myself to combat the dreaded g-i disturbance. I can tell you that steroids (at least the ones I was on—which are legal in all fifty states) a) make you very irritable, b) make you want to gnaw off your own arm, and c) make you very irritable. (When Roger Clemens claimed before Congress that he had never knowingly taken steroids, my mind returned to the time when he threw a broken bat at Mike Piazza. In my opinion, that was a textbook example of “roid rage.”) My curve ball is wicked, but I also have a fat face and a pot belly from all of the eating I was doing. So the tradeoffs, as far as I’m concerned, do not outweigh the benefits. I suspect that the steroids most professional athletes take have different restorative powers, but I’m wondering what they do with all of the unpleasant side effects like those mentioned above. And, do they, like me, enjoy cleaning their house in fits of energized activity as much as I do? I suspect not. If so, they wouldn’t have time to play ball. After all, there are ceiling fan blades to remove and soak.

I, for one, am interested by what Mr. A-Roid has to say. After all, this is the man who employed the “shoot the messenger” approach by accusing the woman who wrote the story in the first place—Selena Roberts of Sports Illustrated—of being a “stalker,” a charge that he said he could prove, but then failed to when pressed. He may employ the old tried and true “but I didn’t know what I was taking” or “I thought it was an herbal supplement” which, to my mind, is as lame as excuse as any. If you made your living from using your body like a professional athlete does, wouldn’t you take the time to find out what you were ingesting or shooting up?

Our local paper had several articles in it today and one in particular that detailed the number of teammates who were going to attend the press conference in a show of support. Now I’m not saying that there doesn’t come a time when you “forgive and forget” but think about how you would feel about a co-worker whose cheating and off-site antics cast long shadows of negativity on your workplace? Would you be so quick to stand up for that person, particularly if you were a clean-living, hard-working employee? Or should I give into my suspicious nature and believe that all of these guys are on steroids and have to back each other up because their time is coming soon? I hope not.

I’m not a Yankee fan, but I’m not a Yankee hater either. I’m sure that the team I root for has its share of users; only time will tell. But I do have a fervent wish that my children were growing up in a time where they could admire their sports heroes, not be suspicious or disappointed by them on a regular basis. I will admit that it used to be exciting when a lot of these guys who we now know used steroids came to the plate. It’s exciting to see home runs be hit, and records be broken. It’s exciting to see athletes run faster, jump farther, and throw harder. But not when they’ve had help.

I’ll let you know what Mr. Rodriguez has to say. It better be worth missing Erica Kane and her hijinks.

Maggie Barbieri

Why Does Everything Happen At Once?

Just when it seems all is going well, the bottom falls out!

Our gas heater wouldn’t run–of course we’ve had the coldest weather this year. Gas man was called, he got it going but he and hubby thought it needed new pilot igniter. Couldn’t get one until the next day–but hubby did get it fixed.

Granddaughter came over to bake Valentine cake and our bottom oven burned out. Fortunately in the wonderful stove we purchased in 1981, there is a second oven, though it doesn’t work quite as well as the bottom one. Cakes got baked though came out a bit lopsided. Hubby found what needs to be replaced, had one, but will have to pull the stove from the wall to fix it.

We had a delightful Valentine Dinner at church Saturday night, great food, fun conversation–everyone told how they’d met, some revealing and surprising stories–all good. Everyone invited to a member’s 92nd birthday party after church on Sunday.

Right after service was over, my married granddaughter who had taken kids out for children’s church popped in exclaiming, “I need help. The boy’s bathroom toilet overflowed and water is everywhere!” Everyone in the Sunday best responded–mops used, water extractor pastor had, etc. Of course this particular bathroom just had a new tile floor put in and the water also soaked the carpet in the hall and seeped into the library.

Hubby and I went to Coffee Etc. for lunch–love the owners, put up poster for my upcoming book launch and ordered cookies for same. Good food, fun conversations with everyone who was there.

Came home, turned on faucet, no water. We are on a well. Always problematic if someone leaves water running. Found out a grandson had stopped by while we were out and washed his hands with outside hose that is on the well and left it running–emptied the well. Problem discovered, faucet turned off. Takes two hours for well to recharge and fill.

Needless to say hubby isn’t happy. He’d planned to spend the afternoon reading Sunday paper and watching TV.

But as my mom used to say, when you have troubles you can always find someone worse off than you are.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

It’s Not Hard to Read These Clues


Split lip, bloody nose, bite marks, facial bruising and swelling.

I confess I couldn’t name a single song by mega-stars Rihanna and Chris Brown, but sadly do recognize the signs of domestic abuse.

Chris Brown is 19; Rihanna just 20. He’s just been arrested for allegedly beating the c**p out of her.

Teen domestic abuse is a growing, but unfortunately under-reported crime. Consider:

* One in three high school students have been or will be involved in an abusive relationship
* Forty percent of teenage girls between 14 and 17 say they know someone their age who has been hit or beaten by a boyfriend
* Women ages 16 to 24 experience the highest per capita rates of intimate violence–nearly 20 per 1000 women.

Dating violence crosses all racial, social, economic, and educational lines. As Rihanna can attest, being professionally successful, even at a young age, doesn’t protect you. While domestic abuse is never acceptable, we face a special challenge in making sure that young women understand that abuse, physical and emotional, is never part of a loving relationship. We need to educate them to recognize and reject men who misuse or manipulate them.

Why are teens especially at risk for dating violence? According to the Alabama Coalition against Dating Violence (www.acadv.org), it is because adolescents often are inexperienced with dating relationships, are pressured by peers to act violently, want independence from parents, and have “romantic” views of love. Young men may believe that masculinity means aggressiveness. Young girls may think violence is normal because they see many of their friends are being abused.

What is especially sad, but again unsurprising about the domestic violence incident between two teen idols, is that Chris Brown has talked openly about how his childhood was marred by the violence of his stepfather. In an interview with GIANT magazine, he confessed that his stepfather “used to hit my mom … He made me terrified all the time, I remember one night he made her nose bleed. I was crying and thinking, ‘I’m just gonna go crazy on him one day,’ I hate him to this day.”

I make no excuses for the abuser – except to say how very sad that he has yet to escape the vicious cycle of violence that he loathes. Research confirms that victims of childhood abuse often become abusers themselves. It’s hard to change early-learned patterns of behavior. But not impossible.

I don’t know what will happen to Chris Brown. He’s hired a big Hollywood lawyer and I suspect that a plea bargain is in the works. The legal case against him is the least of his problems. Will he seize this opportunity to change – or simply hope that the next time the cops aren’t called? Will Rihanna forgive and reconcile – or perhaps forgive but move on, determined to find a man worthy of her?

If you or someone you know, old or young, is the victim of dating violence, step up and speak out. Go to the National Domestic Violence Hotline, www.ndvh.org, 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) for help.

Evelyn David