Ace High

/in /by

I have a sordid little confession to make.

I think I’m a closet gambler.

Can you be a gambler if you don’t spend money?

I’ve discovered online, free Texas Hold ‘Em poker games. Playing with somebody else’s fake money is incredibly liberating. I’ve gotten bold, fearless, willing to push the envelope, up the ante, even when I’ve got bupkus in my hand. Because some folks will just plain fold their hands because I’m daring them to take big risk with their cash.

On the other hand, I’ve also lost a couple of fortunes when the computer calls my bluff and discovers that I got nothing.

Maybe there’s some metaphor for my writing — even my life — in all this risk-free gambling.

Maybe the lessons I’m learning are:

* Fake it till you make it. Or as Anna in The King and I reminded us:

Make believe you’re brave
And the trick will take you far.
You may be as brave
As you make believe you are.

* Put on your game face, that may be good enough.

* Most people don’t know more than you do, they’re just better at selling cow manure as perfume.

Of course, the other lesson might be: a fool and his money are soon parted.

But I assume that it’s okay to be a fool and part with my money if there is no actual moola involved.

In the meantime, cut the cards and deal.

Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Atkins Editing: Thick Meat, No Bread

/in /by

Rachel Brady is celebrating the release of Final Approach this week with five days of freebies at her blog. Click through to Write It Anyway and enter to win your choice of prizes. Today’s the last day!

Lately I’ve been thinking about revisions, but more on that shortly. First I’d like to thank the Stiletto ladies for inviting me back. I feel like a lucky freshman invited to sit with the cool seniors in the school cafeteria. Our lunch conversation today has to do with how editorial comments are like food. Slide up your tray and have a seat.

Not long ago I found a post about critiques in which the sandwich technique was explained. The suggestion was to structure a critique the way you’d build a sandwich—in this case, with constructive criticism sandwiched between two positives.

For example: “I like the story idea, but your characters could be fleshed out more. Nice use of dialogue, though.”

Or maybe: “Nice hook. You might consider condensing the restaurant scene . . . it ran on a bit long. But I liked that paranoid waiter.”

You get the idea.

I favor this approach and promise everyone reading this that I will remember and apply it forever, now that I have experienced Atkins Editing.

Earlier this month, my editor looked over the early pages of Book 2 and served up an enormous, Dagwood style, meaty sandwich. Turkey! Ham! Pastrami! Salami! (For purposes of my story, let’s pretend these are bad things.) Only problem with the sandwich? No bread.

My first reaction was to eat cookies but finding none in my house, I self-medicated on pretzels instead. Calorically speaking, this was lucky. Where editorial feedback is concerned, I later decided, cookies should be treated like handguns. Let’s put a 24-hour waiting period between revision comments and cookies. At least in my house.

Enter irony.

The same day I got the pages back, an interview I’d done for Novel Journey ran. Upon learning of my writerly depression, my friend Cathy was quick to send back a quote from my own interview. She’s sassy that way:

NJ: What is your best advice on maintaining a good editor-author relationship?

Me: Trust your editor. Accept that writing and editing are different skills. A talented editor can make your work shine if you’re willing to step back and seriously consider her suggestions. You both want the same thing: the best story possible.

I read the words and wondered who in her right mind would say something thing like that. But that was the problem. I wasn’t in my right mind again yet. The high protein, zero carb non-sandwich was still too deli fresh for me to think straight.

There is a happy ending.

The next day I received an e-mail from my editor explaining that she’d jotted her notes on the manuscript hastily before leaving town, intending to use them as reminders to herself later when she wrote my revision letter. The marked manuscript went into the office mail before she elaborated on her notes. This misfortune resulted in my unwrapping all that ham.

Her letter was very reassuring, altogether kind, and gave me the same warm feeling as joining Maggie, the Evelyns, Marilyn, and Susan at the cool table. There was a sandwich afterall. It started with, “While there is much to like I am uneasy on several counts.” Bread.

It helped to understand her intentions: “This second novel is always the hardest to write, and by far the hardest to sell. Everyone cuts the author a break with a first novel and comes out with knives sharpened for the second. You don’t want to give anyone grounds for disappointment or carving up the book.”

My favorite was, “I hope you don’t think I’m negative about your work, I like it. I’m trying to help you dodge the critical traps that beset most authors.” Bread with mayo—technical advice coupled with mentorship and foresight.

There are lessons here.

Trust your editor. Embrace carbs. Bon appétit.

Rachel Brady

Deal or No Deal?

/in /by

Deal or No Deal! I don’t know why I watch that television game show. I surf past it, intent on moving on, but invariably it sucks me in and spits me out with a nasty thump.

I’ve never managed to watch one of the episodes where there was a big winner and I always manage to feel bad for the contestant who “loses” even when they win decent money. When a million is on the table and you only walk away with $20,000, that $20,000 feels like a loss to them and to the audience. And that’s just crazy.

If you’ve been lucky enough to avoid the show and have no idea what I’m talking about – let me share the basics.

Howie Mandel hosts the show. Remember him from St. Elsewhere? Wonderful actor.

Contestants play for a top prize of $1 million dollars on the hour long version of the show, or $500,000 on the half-hour long version.

It’s a game of odds and chance. There are 26 “models” or sometimes “regular” people from the audience who stand on an elevated stage similar to bleachers. Each person is in charge of a numbered briefcase. The briefcase contains a sign with a certain about of money on it. The range is a penny to one million dollars. Once a suitcase is opened, the money amount in it is out of play.

The contestant is given a locked suitcase at the beginning of the game. He or she can choose to keep their case or exchange it for one of the others. Once that decision is made, the game begins.
The contestant must pick a pre-determined number of cases – trying to avoid the ones with the larger amounts of money in them. After each set of cases is opened (or taken out of play), the contestant is offered by a mysterious banker an amount of money to end the game. The amount is based on the number of remaining cases and the amount of money still in play. “The Banker’s” offer is usually about 1/3 of the amount that’s possible at that particular time. Howie Mandel asks, “Deal or No Deal?” The contestant takes the deal or continues playing; hoping the next offer is higher. Of course if in the next round, the contestant opens a case with the top amount in it, then the next offer will drop like a stone. The contestant keeps playing until he accepts a “deal” or there is only his case and one other left. Without a “deal,” the contestant will walk away with the contents of his case – the one given to him at the beginning of the game.

The interesting part of the game is always the contestants. They come from all walks of life, young, old, male, female, bold, timid, smart, not so smart – you name it they’ve all been on the show. You never really know who the risk takers are going to be until about mid-way through the show. And you never know who is going to win big or go home with a penny. The problem I have with the game is that those who deal out early, will probably regret what might have been if they’d held on for one more round. And they don’t have to guess what would have happened. Howie asks the contestant to play it out for fun, asking which would have been their next case, they open it, the banker makes an offer, etc. I’ve seen a few people win millions under the “what-if” scenario. Now those people really feel bad. They paste on fake smiles and say they are happy with the amount they cut a deal for, but it’s easy to see they are going to be kicking themselves or their spouses for months.

But then again, those who refuse a large offer (maybe twice their yearly salary) in the hunt for that million dollar payday can walk away with nothing. And that hurts too.

I think one of the reasons I don’t like this show’s premise is that there is no skill involved. The contestant randomly picks cases. The game really falls flat when the first case that’s opened holds the million dollars. And often increasing the odds doesn’t help anyone. I’ve seen shows where as a special event, they have five cases with a million dollars. I never saw anyone walk away with a million.

Last night a school teacher was offered $41,000. There were only a few cases left in play, one of them had $500,000 in it. The teacher turned the offer down, instead going for more money. The next case he opened had the $500,000 in it – meaning that amount was out of play. The next offer from the banker? $9,000.

The teacher took it. I felt terrible for him. I’m sure when he gets home and thinks about it, that $41,000 is going to look much bigger than it did while staring at a possible half million. He turned down a year’s salary. I don’t think it was greed. I think he wanted to act boldly, to take a risk. Our society admire risk takers. But …

Sometimes taking a risk, is just… risky. It’s not admirable or bold or ambitious. Maybe it’s just me, but I scream at the television, “Don’t listen to the audience! Think what you could do with $41,000!. That amount could pay down your mortgage. Or buy you a new car. Or send you on a trip round the world. Take the deal!”

They never listen to me.

And the $9,000 the teacher did win? He probably feels bad about it.

$9,000! Wouldn’t you be thrilled to win that?

Or would you only remember what you lost?

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com/

New Year’s Resolutions

/in /by

Contrary to popular belief, THIS is the most wonderful time of year. It is reflected in the commercials we see on television (one even uses the wonderful Christmas song to illustrate this point) and in the faces of moms and dads around the country. What time is this, you ask?

It’s time for school.

This is the time of year, for me and many others like me, when it feels like we’re turning over a new leaf. New Year’s Eve and Day? They’ve got nothing on the beginning of a school year. New backpacks are purchased with promises extracted from their new owners that this year they will not, under any circumstances, lose them; new clothing is bought, with again, promises extracted that they won’t be worn until the first day of school (I’m looking at you, child #2, in your bright-white sneakers purchased from the Nike outlet by a very suggestible grandmother); school supplies are purchased with promises made to fill them only with intellectually-stimulating material generated by invigorated teachers.

All lies, I promise you.

But this is the time of year when people like myself (those who work in their attic and never see the sun and/or those sending a passel of kids back to school) decide to make some resolutions about how life is going to be different after a regulation-less, schedule-less summer. Here’s what I have planned:

1. I will go outside every day, even if it kills me. I live so close to the Hudson River that it would be a crime not to. I also have a good friend who has just quit her job, and has purchased two new kayaks. There is no reason, besides my incredibly dysfunctional work ethic which dictates that I should be in my office all day every day, to not enjoy the beauty that surrounds us here in the Hudson Valley.

2. I will get dressed every day. Now let’s not get the wrong idea. I’m not undressed every day, just dressed in a way that might suggest to you—if you happened to run into me at the grocery store—that I’m either between homes or don’t care about my appearance. Maybe it’s the “What Not to Wear” marathon that I watched that convinced me that even though I work at home, I should take some time with my appearance. Once everyone goes back to school and I’m on the hook for going out more in public (i.e. back-to-school nights, PTA meetings, church events, going into clients’ offices) I need to spruce up a bit. The summer of baggy, linen pants from Target (which are a dream come true, by the way), un-styled and un-dyed hair (no that gray can’t pass for sun streaks—everyone knows I haven’t been outside since the end of June), no make-up, and seen-better-days tee shirts are over. You heard it here first.

3. We, as a family, are going to eat healthier foods. Oh, why bother? It’s a lost cause. I’m really the only one interested in anything green that grows outside.

4. I will not worry. It’s worth a try.

5. I will work less. Won’t happen.

6. I will write at least 500 words every day. I’d better. The manuscript is due in four months.

So, there you go. What are your resolutions for the “new year,” loyal Stiletto readers? What do you have in store for school year 2009-2010, even if you don’t have kids going back into the classroom? Let’s all turn over a new leaf together.

Maggie Barbieri

Making Lemonade Out of Lemons

/in /by

Hubby and I were invited to spend the weekend with Lorna and Larry Collins to help them celebrate two events for the launch of their mystery, Murder…They Wrote. We met Lorna and Larry four years ago in San Antonio at an Epicon. (Conference for electronically published writers.)

We’ve since spent time together at subsequent Epicons and kept in touch through e-mail. They’ve invited us several time to come visit them at their home. It’s a long, long drive to where they live through L.A. traffic and we had never accepted their kind invitation before. This time they asked me to be part of a Fine Arts Festival being put on by the church; to have a table with my books and give a talk about How to Write A Mystery.

We also found out that we shared the same birthday which was yesterday. So of course we packed up what we needed for a weekend and headed down to San Juan Capistrano. Mrs. Magellan, as my husband calls our GPS, guided us right to the Collins’ front door.

Lorna met us with this greeting, “The books haven’t arrived.”

Oh, my, I’ve been in this predicament myself before and I knew exactly how she felt–and I told her so. After a consoling hug and learning about her frantic calls to her publisher and the post office, neither giving her any encouraging information, we brought our suitcases inside and sat down to talk about the situation.

She did have other books to sell at the festival and I suggested she make out some forms for people to use to buy the books and when the time came she could either mail or deliver them to the ones who lived close by. She quickly made an order form with a copy of the book cover in the corner.

Doing all that could be done for then, we all went to dinner, still hoping the books might show up the next day. They didn’t.

Because Lorna was in charge of the festival, my husband helped Larry do all the set up. We both sold some books and I met a lot of interesting people, and had fun giving my talk. After it was over and everything was back in order, we took the Collins’ to dinner this time as a celebration of our birthdays.

After church on Sunday, was the launch of the book. Of course the invitations had all been sent out so the party went on despite the lack of books to sell. The Collins back yard is gorgeous with a beautiful waterfall so tables with umbrellas and chairs were set up in the lovely beach weather. Lorna decorated each table with a Bird of Paradise and sea shells. (The book is set in Hawaii and has a Bird of Paradise on the Cover.)

Many guests arrived to be told there was no book as yet, but nearly everyone pre-paid for a book and filled out one of the order forms. (Taking care of all that was my job and I was glad to do it.)

Wonderful refreshments were served and the conversation was lively. I don’t think anyone felt deprived because the books weren’t there–except for Lorna and Larry, of course.

That evening, Lorna used the left-over meatballs and made pasta for our last meal together, and we talked about what a wonderful time we had together despite the lack of the new books.

We certainly got to know this lovely couple much better and enjoyed their hospitality, and I feel that we helped make the weekend go a bit smoother.

When “Murder…They Wrote” finally arrives, I’m sure they’ll have many more venues to introduce it to mystery lovers.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Proverbs 17:22 A merry heart doeth good like a medicine

/in /by

For the last six weeks, I’ve been on an unexpected medical journey, but with the help of phenomenal doctors, a fantastic family including my saintly husband, John, and the support of incredible friends, especially the remarkable women of the Stiletto Gang, I am on the road to recovery (poo, poo).

I’d like to include in that pantheon of appreciation, a toast to Anne George. I fell in love with her Southern Sisters mysteries back in the 1990s. They feature Mary Alice Tate Sullivan Nachman Crane, “Aunt Sister,” six feet tall and admitting to 250 pounds, the wealthy three-time widowed older sister (although she decided to start counting her birthdays backward when she hit 66), and Patricia Anne Hollowell, “Mouse,” retired school teacher, five-feet one, 105 pounds, and still perfectly happy with her first husband, her real age of 61, and her naturally gray hair. If their parents hadn’t sworn that both girls had been born at home, Patricia Anne was convinced that one of them had been switched at birth.

There are eight books in the series, which ended prematurely with the author’s death in 2001. The warmth, humor (sometimes gentle, sometimes laugh-out-loud), and clever plots have been a soothing balm in choppy waters. Ms. George, who was also a Pulitzer-prize nominated poet, creates complex main characters that drive the action, but also a finely-honed supporting cast that has the reader anxious to learn more about them as well.

These wonderful stories allowed me to escape to a sweet, soft, albeit deadly community, with cornsticks and egg custard pie, and expressions like “common like pig tracks,” which, I’ve decided,is the perfect description of some of what I see on reality TV.

In an interview with mysterynet.com, Ms. George was asked:
Do you see humor as a means of coping with these sorts of problems?

She answered: I have been blessed with a family who uses humor as a means of dealing with problems. It’s a “might as well laugh” attitude and it works.

She’s right. Humor, even in the darkest of moments, can sometimes be the perfect medicine.

I also loved her description of her mysteries. “Let’s face it, these are definitely not hardcore mysteries. My son explains them as “nobody gets autopsied.”

And that’s okay too. All the CSI-gadgets in the world are no substitute for well-drawn characters, smart plotting, snappy dialogue, and a healthy sprinkle of humor.

If you’re looking for a delightful series, I recommend Anne George. She does the body good.

Evelyn David
Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

No Children Allowed

/in /by

Timothy Hallinan has written ten published novels under his own name and several others under pseudonyms. BREATHING WATER, which will be released by William Morrow on August 18, is the third in his new series of Bangkok thrillers that feature an American “rough-travel” writer named Poke (short for Philip) Rafferty and the family he has assembled in Bangkok — his wife, Rose a former bar girl in the notorious Patpong district, and their adopted daughter, Miaow, who was a street child until they took her in. In BREATHING WATER, she’s ten going on 28. The series has received excellent reviews, including some of the elusive trade review “stars,” and the first two books, A NAIL THROUGH THE HEART and THE FOURTH WATCHER, made Ten Best lists both here and abroad. Additionally, all three books have been singled out by the country’s independent bookstores as either monthly picks or notables. Hallinan, who also wrote a six-book series Los Angeles PI series in the 1990s, has lived part of each year in Bangkok since 1981.

It wasn’t until I came to Internet mystery discussion groups that I realized that a large percentage of readers want to read series in order. It had always been my assumption that one goal of writing a series should be to write individual volumes that can be picked up in any sequence. Book Number Three should be a terrific read even for someone who’s never opened Books One and Two.

My first series of novels, featuring the uselessly overeducated LA private eye Simeon Grist, could be read frontward, backward, or sideways. A reader could have picked up Number Four without even knowing there was a Number One.

There are good reasons for series books to work as stand-alones. Let’s say you’re browsing and you pick up a book by a new author. You flip through it and think it might be worth a few hours. And then you realize that it’s the fourth in a series, and you ask yourself, “Am I going to have to read three other books just to get to this one?” That’s enough all by itself to stop some people, but suppose it’s not suppose you look for the first three titles in the series and they’re . . . not . . . there. Guess which book, out of the four you’re toting, is going to wind up back on the shelf. (By the way, this is the main reason many booksellers don’t like series.)

I’m hoping the information that follows will help some poor writer who is thinking about creating a series and would like the books in his or her series to be true stand-alones. A series that booksellers will love.

If so, here is one thing you do not, under any circumstances, want to do.

Do NOT include a child among your primary continuing characters.

When I decided to write a series of Bangkok thrillers about an expatriate American rough-travel writer named Poke Rafferty, I thought it would give him a deeper relationship with Thailand if he’d created a family there. I also thought that doing that would get me away from the lone-wolf private eye stereotype. Within about 30 seconds of making that decision, I realized that Poke came from a broken family, that he had been scarred by his father’s abandonment, and that the family he has pulled together in Thailand is the most important thing in his life.

It’s an unorthodox family, to be sure. His wife, Rose, is a former dancer in Bangkok’s notorious Patpong red-light district. (Yes, “dancer” is a euphemism.) Their daughter, Miaow, was adopted off the Bangkok streets, where she’d been struggling for a living since she was three or four. She’s eight or nine (no one knows for sure) in the first book, A Nail Through the Heart, and she’s going on eleven in the third and newest one, Breathing Water.

And there’s the problem. Those particular years would be a huge amount of time in any kid’s life, but when she’s gone from being a semi-literate street child to being a desperately wanna-be middle class kid in a school where everyone is fancier, richer, and more sophisticated than she is, it’s a geological era. And because the family is at the heart of all the novels – I think of the thriller stories as rites of passage for the family – the installments in Miaow’s development comprise a continuing story, and it can really only be read in one order.

In fact, Miaow’s growth and development comprise the most important element in the family’s life. In the first book, she’s barely off the streets, still learning to read and trying to get used to living eight stories above the ground instead of in doorways and abandoned buildings. By the time of the current one, BREATHING WATER, she’s at the top of her class in international school and vaguely ashamed of ever having lived on the street. In the one I’m writing now, THE ROCKS, she’s playing Ariel in a school production of Shakespeare’s “The Tempest.” And Rose and Poke, as her adoptive mother and father, are deeply involved in all of it.

If I’d realized then the impact Miaow would have on the series, I would have gone ahead and written her anyway, because she’s more fun to write than anyone else in the books.

Tim Hallinan

Reason on Life-Support

/in /by

I’ve been listening to the health care bill “shake and shouts” this month and I’ve come away concerned about the status of “education” in the United States. Yes, I said education. Apparently the ability to think, to reason, and then to debate differences of opinion in a civil manner has been lost.

I would blame it on the past eight years of teaching to the “test,” but the individuals I see parroting conflicting statements in a loud and uncompromising manner at these town hall meetings can in no way be considered a product of the last ten years of the public education system. They are too old. Some of them are our elected representatives. Some are special interest group shills. Many are retired seniors who have been frightened into spouting gibberish.

No matter what your political leanings, reason shouldn’t be the first victim when times get tough. I think we can all agree that times are tough.

Death Panels? Nazis? How did end of life counseling done at the patient’s request become akin to forced euthanasia? Come on people! Think!

I don’t know if the “public option” insurance is a good thing or a bad thing. At this rate I never will. I get very suspicious when people don’t want me to hear what others have to say. I begin wonder if the people shouting down the others have a financial interest in things remaining the same.

I know that we already have government run health care – it’s called Medicare and Medicaid.

I know that we already pay for those who don’t have health insurance – it’s called Emergency Room treatment (much more expensive than any other kind of medical treatment) paid for with our tax dollars.

I know many people, through no fault of their own, can’t afford any health care insurance or are severely under-insured.

I know many businesses can’t afford to offer health care insurance to their employees. Even state governments, the provider of my health insurance benefits, find each year that they can afford less and less coverage for the funds available. When the costs of health benefits increases between 20% & 30% in a twelve-month period, we all have a problem. It’s easy to say, “Leave me alone, I’m happy with my insurance.” But if things continue as they have, you won’t be happy for much longer.

I know we have a problem that needs fixing. Regardless of your politics, you know we have one too. We just disagree on how to solve the problem.

A lot of people are involved in the “noise,” but I don’t know if there are any smart, well-informed people being heard.

I haven’t “heard” any. How about you?

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Don’t Miss This One!

/in /by

I had the pleasure of getting away on my birthday last week to see “Julie and Julia” with a friend, followed by dinner. I have to tell you, dear readers, if you haven’t seen it, run—don’t walk—to the theatre to see this delightful film. From the moment the credits came on until the lights went up at the end, I was smiling from ear to ear. It’s that good and it’s that uplifting.

I find as I get older—and have been through some stuff (that which we shall not name and all)—that I can’t take movies that have any kind of violence, but particularly violence against women, children, and animals; a focus on the end of the world and complete destruction; or anything in which a character develops, deals with, or god forbid, dies of, cancer. Any kind. If that makes me a wimp, well, so be it. (I still can’t look at the Statue of Liberty up close. Why? The last scene of “Planet of the Apes” where Charlton Heston escapes from the apes, runs down to the ocean, and finds the Statue of Liberty sticking out of the sand. He’s been in his own country all along, a country that’s been overtaken by apes. The visual has stuck with me all these years and is something of a joke in my family. But it’s not a joke to me. The memory of the final scene in that movie—seen when I was a young child—makes me sick to my stomach to this day. Heck, I’m getting a little queasy just writing about it!) So, with all of those requirements, it’s been well over a year since I’ve stepped foot in a movie theatre. When I saw the advertisements for “Julie and Julia” on television, I told my husband that I wasn’t going to miss it.

One of the most refreshing things about the movie is its positive depiction of marriage, particularly the marriage of Julia and Paul Child. These were two people who cared about each other, supported each other, loved each other, and had a very voracious and healthy sex life. What could be better? They had their hardships—many moves between Europe and the United States, infertility, Paul’s job insecurity and subsequent questioning by members of HUAC—but they seemed to get through everything with laughter, a good meal, and each other’s support. I know: it’s just a movie. I’m sure that they hit their bumps in the marital road. But isn’t this just a bit more refreshing than watching couples deal with infidelity and any one of a host of other problems in the movies that seem to come out weekly?

The “Julie” portions of the story weren’t quite as uplifting, but charming nonetheless. Her marriage was on shakier ground than “Julia’s” due to her obsession with her blog and cooking her way through Julia’s cookbook, but things resolved nicely and left me with a positive feeling about her and her husband as well.

One piece of oft-recited advice: Do not go to the movie hungry. The cooking scenes are numerous, realistic, and intense. I have never wanted to eat boeuf bourguignon so badly in my life but that’s a tough dish to find in a sleepy suburban village in New York in the middle of August. So we settled for dinner at an Italian restaurant and the chicken special to take the edge of the hunger exacerbated by the movie.

This is one not to miss.

What movies would you recommend, now that you know my requirements for a good feature film? And please, make sure the Statue of Liberty doesn’t take up residence on a sandy beach far, far into the future. That’s rule number one for my viewing pleasure.

Maggie Barbieri

What Happened to Our Time?

/in /by

Or I could have said, where did our day go?

The older I get the shorter time seems to be. Now by the time I get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, do a few things on my list, it’s time for lunch. Same thing with the afternoon, it disappears and it’s time to make dinner. Evenings are much shorter too.

When I was kid a day lasted forever. Summers seemed like they went on forever. We had time to play, visit friends, ride our bicycles, zoom down the hill on skates lickety split and crash into the neighbor’s garage door to keep from killing ourselves. When we were teenagers, our group took turns hosting evening get-togethers at our homes and served homemade cookies and lemonade or Kool-Aid. We walked home in the dark. Not the least bit scary. I wrote and put on plays with the neighborhood kids. We had a girls’ club that met in the play house my dad built for me when I was younger, but was big enough for us to get-together and have secrets from the little kids.

And of course, I had plenty of time to read those ten books I got from the library each week. I was writing too. One summer I put out a magazine and charged five cents a copy.

We did chores too, but I have to admit, it was mostly doing dishes every night. I washed and my sister dried and we cleaned our rooms on Saturday.

We always went to Sunday School and Church on Sunday. Most Sunday’s we came home and had a big dinner. Afterwards we often visited with one of our relatives, my grandparents, or my aunts and uncles and all their kids.

We had wonderful birthday parties–usually two, one with our friends and then another with our cousins. With the cousins it was usually a picnic at one of the big parks.

Before TV we listened to the radio. I always listened to all the scary shows as well as Lux Radio Theater that had dramas with all the movie stars on them. Mom and I would go to the radio station to watch and then afterwards I’d get the stars autographs.

After my father built the first TV in our neighborhood, we had a lot of company in the evening who came to watch the magical box with us. Evenings lasted a long time too, I always had a project that I wanted to do.

Even after I had a family, once the children were all tucked into bed, I had my own private evening. Now, I’m the first one into bed.

Don’t get me wrong, I still cram as much as possible into every hour I’m awake, but those hours just don’t seem to last as long.

Maybe I’m just being nostalgic, but I don’t think so. I listen to what one of my married granddaughter does during her days, she’s a speech therapist at a public school and has two kids, a pre-schooler and a second grader. This summer, besides their vacation where they rode the rapids, yes, with their kids, camped, bicycled, rode an old fashioned train, the boy went to karate lessons and both kids took swimming lessons, the girl plays the violin and does that Irish dancing, and in the meantime, my granddaughter was taking a class for her profession. Her husband is a deputy sheriff and of course he helped with all this, but he also took a cake baking class and turns out he loves doing it and is now the official birthday cake baker for the family.

That’s the way my life used to be, jam packed with activity, now I can’t imagine even trying to do all that.

Now that I’ve written all that, I guess I’m just thankful that I can look back at all those great memories and be grateful that I still am able to do as much as I can.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com