ThinkGeek contest

So, Kathy from Kindle-aholic and Stellar Four, posted links to a ThinkGeek donation contest this morning. (Yes, I know that line was link-insane -- sorry about that!) If you're willing to give ThinkGeek your email address, you can pick a classroom at DonorsChoose.org. to possibly get a donation.

I'm pretty sure that ThinkGeek is donating $1000 no matter what, so it's not as if giving them your address has any intrinsic advantage to the outcome -- someone's getting that money -- but I picked a classroom anyway, Mrs. DeVille's ESL elementary in Seattle. If you're willing to let ThinkGeek have an address, her number is 1627207291, if you'd like to vote for her, too.

Why did I pick her? Um, mostly, because I looked for a Seattle ESL teacher thinking I might find a classroom taught by a friend, and then found this one and really liked her name. Well, or had sympathy for her name, anyway. I wonder how many Cruella jokes she's heard in her life? And yet she's listed as a "Mrs." which probably means that she changed her name, so I wonder what it was originally? Was changing it a hard decision or an easy one? Yep, questions like this are the kinds of thing I can ponder for hours. Anyway, it's a minor thing, but it only takes a minute to vote, and she, poor teacher, posted her request in November and is almost out of time, with the entire amount to go. And a printer is really a pretty nice thing to have.

I can't decide whether this is mean of me or not. If you're from the northern US and in the midst of a major blizzard, you probably want to stop reading now. But I rearranged my bedroom and this is now the view from my bed.

It makes me think that possibly I should be working a little harder toward finding a job that would let me stay in Florida. I've mostly been thinking that when R graduates from high school, I'd head off to someplace where I'm more employable. But I should stop taking my palm tree for granted.

On February 7th, Ghosts reached a milestone on Amazon -- 100 reviews. I don't know why 100 is any different than 99, really, but it was somehow a thrilling moment in a pretty rocky week. Onward, upward, back to Time!

Happy New Year!

My resolution of last year was pretty simple: be kinder to myself and others.

I'd say I didn't really do so well at it. Not that I was unkind to anyone else, but then I'm generally not--it was more of a mental change I was looking for rather than an actual behavioral change. And mentally, wow, was I hard on myself last year. C'est la vie. I should probably keep trying, but it's not going to be my resolution again.

No, this year, my mental goal is to try to appreciate the moment. I started with "remember to appreciate the moment," but that's very in-your-head. I don't want to be thinking, "Enjoy this, this day will never come again." Instead, I want to be enjoying it. So that's the goal. Appreciate where I am. (At the moment, the dog is licking my foot with deep concentration. It tickles.)

On a few more practical goals, I'm going to start tracking word count. I made myself a little Excel spreadsheet. I've never done this before: I've never liked the focus. What good is it write 1000 words if the words go nowhere and do nothing? But in the interests of seriously cultivating better writing habits, I'm going to give it a try. (Resolution failure waiting to happen is when you say you'll "give it a try!" So maybe I'll be a little more specific--for the next two months, I will track my word count and if it's helpful to me, I'll continue.)

I'm also going to try to do a 20/10 every day. (If you're not a #UFYH follower, that means 20 minutes of cleaning, followed by 10 minutes of rest.) Every single day. There's always plenty to do--there are some deep goals, like cleaning out closets and the spare room and the garage that I never get to because they seem so overwhelming. So this year, when things are in shape, I'm not going to say, "well, it looks pretty good, I think I'll skip today." That way lies the descent into "ugh, how did this place become such a disaster area?" Instead I'll use my 20 minutes to tackle one of those seemingly irretrievable areas and/or to drive to Goodwill and donate.

Last, but not least, I'm going to really teach myself how to format ebooks. I've trusted in the software process so far, but I'm tired of never really feeling certain what's going on behind the scenes. I want to feel safe that my books are as perfect as I can make them and--okay, it's a little obsessive of me--I'll feel that way not by paying someone else but by knowing how to do it myself.

Do I have writing goals? Probably. Finish A Gift of Time for March release, finish A Gift of Grace with less pain and suffering than Time has already caused. Maybe write a couple more Akira short stories for the fun of it. I have to think that their wedding ought to have some associated drama. But I'm not going to stress too hard on those.

This year might be the very last year that R lives at home (or it might not, life is long and strange) and I want to be sure that my focus is on having a healthy life/family/work balance. I don't get these days back again. If I've spent them all grinding away trying to become a successful writer...well, honestly, I still think it seems really unlikely. Most writers can't earn enough to live on by writing except by making the 18-hour day commitment that JA Konrath and Bella Andre talk about. And for me, making that kind of commitment now means giving up something that matters more to me. Maybe it's worth it if being a professional writer is the only job you've ever wanted, but I've had plenty of other jobs I've enjoyed. Every job has trade-offs. The writer trade-off tends to be that it has to be the only thing you care about and for me, right now, that's just not how it is. Maybe in 2014--especially if R is living elsewhere--it will be.

So! 2013, here we are! May it be a joyful and lucky year for all of us.

Rewind

On 9/11, I was in California. By the time my alarm went off, the first tower had already collapsed. I heard at most ninety seconds of radio news before my five-year-old said, "What's a terrorist? What happened?" and I shut the radio off.

For most people, the next few days were non-stop televised tragedy. For me, it was the completely surreal attempt to shield my boy from the entire thing. My most vivid memory is of watching his kindergarten class play on the playground while adults stole away to listen to radio reports in the school director's office as furtively as if we were shooting up in the bathroom.

I asked him yesterday what he remembered. He thought about it then slowly shook his head. "Nothing. Not from when it happened. I remember a ceremony, some kind of memorial service, but I think that was later." Success!

I didn't realize this at the time, but by shielding him, I shielded me, too. It was years before I saw and heard the sights and sounds of that day. I wish I had done the same this weekend. I know that whether or not I put up the Christmas tree has nothing to do with anything that's happening in CT, but it feels so wrong.

Ironically, on Thursday, I was really happy. I'm working on a very fun secret project (not to be secret for long!), and I got my hot water heater fixed. It's been semi-broken for months, which is not that big a deal in Florida, really--cold showers are not usually a problem when it's 80 degrees--but oh, it was fun to have hot water again. I think I shall pretend to go backward in time to Thursday and work on being happy about hot water and being entertained by my secret project. Wouldn't it be nice if time could rewind like that?

Sherlock

I walked into R's room and said, "I know you hate it when I rant about television. I know. But do you mind if I do it anyway?"

He said, "What show?"

I said, "Sherlock."

He said, "Yeah, I don't like that one anyway. Go ahead."

I said, "Forget the sexism. Take it for granted that Steven Moffat is completely insanely sexist, doesn't understand that women are human beings, whatever. Assume that and let it go. The show is still completely maddening."

He wrote something on a note card. I think he was prepping for his drama class.*

"It's like World of Warcraft, really. Irene Adler is a rogue. So, whatever, she's an evil female character, yeah, so what? Really, she's a rogue. Everyone hates rogues. They're annoying. But they are what they are and when they're played well, they kick butt."

He says, "What are you talking about?"

"I don't care whether Irene Adler is sexist. Yes, women tend to be rogues. They learn how to manipulate and back stab and stealth, because what the hell, those are useful skills when you're small and weak and somewhat defenseless. And they're really annoying skills when you're PVPing against them."

He blinks.

"I'm serious. Irene Adler is a rogue. Which is fine. Rogues suck, but it's a legitimate character class. But then -- then -- then he turns her into a pally. What the hell is up with that? Rogues don't act like pallies. Rogues don't do front-on confrontations. Rogues don't call people 'junior' and get all triumphant about defeating them. Rogues that do that kind of thing get their butts kicked."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying that the ending of episode one of season two of Sherlock isn't annoying because it's sexist -- although god knows it's sexist -- it's annoying because it violates character class rules. It's annoying because it is absolutely crappy characterization. It's annoying because turning a rogue into a pally for ten minutes because it helps your script is lazy, lazy, lazy screenwriting."

He writes something on his notecard. "Done?"

"Yep. And I feel much better. Thank you."

"No problem."

I will probably have to give up watching television when my boy leaves home.

*He doesn't read my blog, but I was writing when he came into my room to say goodnight. It was government, not drama. Also, he doesn't think he said, "Done?" which he felt sounded pejorative. He thinks he said, "Feel better?" This could be true. But it would be unduly repetitive and he was willing to grant that it was okay as is.

Random Thoughts on a Random Monday

1) I'm a terrible manager of myself. If I was a good manager, I'd fire me for being a rotten employee.

1a) If I was my employee, I hope I'd fight my firing and try to get disability for depression instead.

1b) If I was a really good manager, I'd make my employee-self get treatment for depression.

I have a really long post half-written about depression. Not so much fighting it, because I'm not fighting it very successfully, but about the ironies of needing motivation to fight an illness when a symptom of the illness is lack of motivation. Actually, it's not really about that at all, but that's what it will get to eventually if I ever finish writing it. I promised a friend that I'd get medication in August. It's now December. Time moves very quickly when you sleep through it.

I suppose that counts as a random thought, but that wasn't where I was going with my randomness.

2) UFYH had a post about how doing one dish was better than doing none, although technically the person posting had done ten. For a brief moment in time, I found that motivating. Then yesterday I looked at the kitchen and did the math. If I wash one dish but use three, I am on a path of inevitable decline. My lackadaisical dishwashing simply staves off the moment when there are no clean dishes left and makes the misery of a mostly dirty kitchen last longer. Possibly much, much longer. So we did a 20/10 and Rory did the kitchen.

3) Walked the dog after dark yesterday. Not my usual habit. Instead of chasing lizards, she chased frogs, and instead of terrifying squirrels, she frightened a rabbit. My neighborhood has just as much animal life at night, but totally different. This morning I saw a hawk, sitting high up on a street light and I wondered whether an owl took its turn on the same post the previous night. I should walk the dog at night more often.

4) I was seriously considering skipping Christmas entirely this year. My entire gift budget disappeared last week in a -- wow, so I wish it had been an electrical problem, so I could write "crackle and pop", but no, it was more of a "thud" -- when R dropped his computer. Or dropped something on his computer. Or possibly both, I'm still not sure I understand the story. But the computer was dead and he needs a computer for school and thus, he has an awesome Christmas gift -- relatively, that is, it was the cheapest laptop we could get -- and there will be no other Christmas presents.

And Christmas was my mom's holiday. Last year I cried through decorating the tree and took it down the day after Christmas with relief. Why put myself through that? Then I read this post on Momastery. You know how sometimes you read something that doesn't really fit your circumstances but still strikes a chord? That's what happened. There's no line or sentence I can point to that was the meaningful one, but as I said there, "You’ve reminded me why I should care (about the holiday). We celebrate the light in the darkness. If it was just light in light, what would there be to be thankful for?"

I have a lot to be thankful for. (But I should probably still figure out how to get some anti-depression drugs.)

Presentations

I went and talked to my dad's computer club yesterday about self-publishing and how it works. Ahead of time, I was feeling as if I really hadn't prepared. I only had about 20 slides for a 45-minute presentation, and I hadn't bothered to run through what I was going to say, not even to check timing. I had a vague idea of what I'd talk about, more or less, and a little bit of structure prepared. Some talk about writing as a hobby -- since this was the computer club, I figured not everyone would be writers; some warnings about keeping expectations reasonable and avoiding scams; and then a walk through CreateSpace. Nice and simple. But still, driving over, I was feeling a little insecure.

It was great. I talked smoothly, my audience was attentive and appreciative, and I got lots of interesting questions at the end, plus plenty of positive feedback after we wrapped up (and not just from my dad and step-mom, who are sort of obligated to tell me I'm wonderful!)

I forget how much I truly enjoy presenting when I'm not doing it. I'm such an introvert that I mostly dread interactions with lots of people, but put me on a stage or in front of audience, and I...well, it's not relax, exactly, but sort of it is. It's the lovely combination of a little bit of adrenaline, pumping me up, plus a -- OH! It's a flow state!! How exciting to realize that. A flow state is when you're fully present in the moment you're in, focused and concentrating, but also energized. Wikipedia says "In flow, the emotions are not just contained and channeled, but positive, energized, and aligned with the task at hand."

When I give a presentation, I go into flow. For that time, I'm just there, just trying to convey something to my audience, to connect with them and figure out what they need to learn and how to reach them. It's a lovely feeling.

I think I should be looking for a job that gives me an opportunity to talk in front of crowds a lot. Or maybe start a business? Except that I can't really travel. Oh, but in 14 months, the kid will be 18. So fairly soon, I really can travel all I like. Wow, that's such a strange thought. I could go places without worrying about who will take care of my boy. Hmm, so maybe I should start thinking about what kind of jobs involve presentations.

Malware and motivation

My computer has become infested with malware, making the internet essentially unusable. I've tried a variety of things to fix it, but every time, either I get frustrated after an hour or two and decide to try again later (fast-forward another week or ten days before I'm willing to tackle it again) or I think I have it fixed only to discover a day or two later that I'm wrong, wrong, wrong. By unusable, I mean that when I'm typing, it may take seconds between letters. When I'm browsing, clicking links takes me to random sites, not related to the sites I've clicked on. Filling out forms is simply impossible, and I'm not willing to go to any secure site (ie banking or business related) in case a keylogger is waiting to steal my password. In other words, unusable.

I have to fix it. I know I have to fix it. I know that I'm the only person who's going to fix it. But somehow, I'm just stuck. It's so much easier to turn the computer off and play Sudoku on my iPad. It's a problem at exactly the wrong level of serious annoyance but not quite completely incapacitating.

But there is hope. I've been following a site called Unfuck Your Habitat . . .

You know, I got exactly this far in writing this post, and then I heard the voice of Ms. UFYH in my head and it was saying, "Excuses are boring." It was a nice voice. Friendly, maybe a little tiny bit southern, in that way that some southerners can pull off of saying something mean in such a way that it sounds gentle, even though it's not. But firm, very firm. So away I went and now, four and half hours later, my computer is reformatted and I'm online again and my most important software (Word, so that I can keep writing) and my most important files (the Time files, of course!) are all back online.

Not only that, the two most recent boxes of stuff from my mom's house are unpacked and somewhat put away, and the kitchen cupboards are reorganized so that some of the china can fit into the kitchen, making it far more usable than if it were stuck in a box in a closet somewhere. And the coffee plus coffee supplies are actually next to the coffee maker. If the camera battery was charged, I'd go take pictures.

I've needed to fix my computer since July. It's October.

Typing at full speed. Checking my email in seconds instead of tedious minutes. Clicking on a link and having it go where I want it to go...It wasn't 20 minutes. But I'm so, so, so glad that I finally just stopped making excuses and got it done!

Thank you, #ufyh!

Bitter break up songs

We were in the car on the way to school when Katy Perry's Teenage Dream played on the radio, right after Taylor Swift's We Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together. I mentioned to Rory that the singers singing about infatuated romance two years ago have now moved on to bitter break-up songs and something about his expression -- first thoughtful, then mildly horrified -- made me laugh so hard I almost choked. I can't remember the last time I laughed like that. I'm sure whenever it was he was the one who made me do it and we were also in the car, because it felt like such a familiar experience, but wow, it felt rejuvenating. I think I've felt happier all morning long because of it.

I wrote yesterday for the first time in weeks. Literally, weeks. This morning, I expected--somewhat gloomily-- to hate everything I wrote last night, but  in fact, I quite liked it. Whee. I haven't yet written any more today, but I'm trying to make a pact with myself that I'll write 1000 words a day of something. If not Time, then a short story or a letter or a blog post. Anything that lets me get back into the habit of fingers moving across the keyboard. This counts as a couple hundred words, but there will be more to come later.

Birds

A year ago Saturday my mom went into the hospital. She never came home again. This year, my dad got married on Saturday. I suppose it was a better way to spend the day than the way we spent it last year. But...yeah. Anyway, my brother and his daughter came to visit for the wedding so there were many photo op events -- the wedding, the reception, dinner at my house, a picnic and inner-tubing at Kelly Park, the Science Museum, that kind of thing ... but that's not what I want to write about.

On Monday morning, I was sitting on the patio when suddenly, "thunk." A little dark blob whizzed across my line of sight, and hit the ground. The dog immediately investigated and her level of curiosity and excitement was so high that after a minute, I followed suit, despite thinking it was a big bug. It wasn't. It was a bird. Maybe a baby, maybe not. It had hit the spinning fan and it was sprawled on the ground, clearly hurt, its wings a mess, its feet curled oddly, but still breathing, still in distress.

What do you do with a hurt bird? I had no idea. It was the damn baby rabbits all over again. I picked it up and set it on the side of the grill, so that it was away from the dog. I watched it lying on its side, struggling to breathe, its heart beating fast, its eyes closing and going from dark beads to cloudy white orbs. The feathers were so soft, but I didn't touch it after I set it down, just talked to it and grieved as it died. I couldn't bear to bury it right away, so I took the dog for her walk and did my morning chores and then I went back out on the patio to deal with the body. I didn't look at it -- didn't want to see it -- until I'd found the trowel. I figured I'd bury it next to the two baby rabbit bodies -- my little garden is turning into quite the cemetery. But when I finally came back to it, it was in a different position. Eyes closed, it was huddled small, but on its feet, and as I watched, I could see its heartbeat.

Huh.

Great. So it was going to take a long time to die. Lovely. Just what I needed. But I bent over it and its eyelids fluttered and then closed again, so it was clearly not ready to be buried.

I went back into the house and found a little bowl and brought out some water and put it next to the bird and then we went off to the park and did our inner-tubing and our picnicking and the whole time, I kept wishing that I'd added some sugar to the water. I'd brought out some millet, too, but it was only after we were on our way that I realized that the shape of its beak meant that it was a nectar drinking bird, not a seed eater.

We drove home, and I came into the house and I dreaded looking out onto the porch. I knew there'd be a little brown shape huddled on the grill and I knew that I would feel helpless and indecisive and miserable, not knowing how to help it. But no. No shape. I went out with such trepidation -- had it fallen off? Had it tried to fly and landed on the hard ground? Why hadn't I put it someplace soft? But I went out and looked all around and it was gone. Just gone.

It lived. It must have. It must have recovered, and then flown away.

It was such a surprise. Such a delight. A little miracle. For the rest of the day, I could be happy knowing that the bird was out there somewhere, maybe bruised, maybe sore, but at the very least able to fly.

Then two days later, I was driving home from the vet -- $160 poorer but with a dog that I could stop worrying about -- when the car in front of me hit a baby sandhill crane. HIT IT. The car saw it, slowed, and then fucking drove into the bird and drove away. The bird crumpled to the ground, but it was still alive. It was struggling to move, spasmodic twitches of its wings and legs.

I was on Dodd Road, which is a crappy road. Two people died in just about that spot ten days ago. There's a curve and no place to easily stop on the right. The car next to me -- a minivan -- pulled over into the turn lane, but I couldn't. Plus, I had the dog in the car. So I drove home, crying all the way. I'd never seen anything so callous and cruel. The person who hit it -- they saw it. They slowed way down. And then they kept going. Who does that? What kind of sick person sees a two foot tall baby in the road and then just decides to run it over? (That's a picture swiped from wikipedia. Sandhill cranes are a protected species, only 5000 left in the wild according to wikipedia, and if I'd been smart enough to get the license plate of the car, the driver could have been fined.)

The moment I got home, I called the vet and asked if I went back and the bird was still alive, if I could bring it to them. She told me to call Birds of Prey, a bird rescue place in Maitland, so I found their phone number, grabbed a sheet to wrap the bird in, and headed back out. 

It was gone. Totally gone. But two adult sandhills and a baby stood in the grass on the side of the road.

I don't know whether the person in the minivan took the bird somewhere but if he or she did, it must have been alive. Or maybe that baby by the side of the road was the same baby and the car had knocked it over but not hurt it. But either way, I drove home with at least hope that the second bird of the week would survive.

Can I call it a weird week? Two birds that I thought were dead, not dead. It's . . . nice. Also a very odd set of coincidences. One bird is just a nice small miracle. Two? Feels like a sign, except I'm not at all sure of what.

Tetrachromats

Ooh, so cool! They have found a real tetrachromat!! Yes, two exclamation points, I know, but I'm excited. Tetrachromats are -- for those who haven't memorized Akira's speech about quirks and super-tasters -- people with four types of cone cells in their eyes. Theoretically, they would be able to see a range of colors enormously far beyond what ordinary people can see, but they would probably never know they were different, because how would they find out? Apparently, though, they are no longer theoretical: Humans-with-super-human-vision

To a tetrachromat, the rest of us are color-blind. But there's no way for them to explain the colors that they can see, because we have no shared language to use. It's a completely useless super-power. But very, very cool.

Darling dog -- non-dog lovers beware

I just wrote a cranky comment on a blog and actually posted it. I think that makes the second time in a week. I read a blog post recently in which a line said something like, "If you want people to take you seriously, you must..." and my immediate mental reaction was "Why would I want people to take me seriously? Why does that matter?" This is relevant to my cranky comments, because, wow, some of the commentary on self-publishing takes itself really, really, really seriously. And yeah, technically I should be blaming the people behind the commentary, but I think it's just group-think. People read advice and accept it and then articulate it themselves without ever really saying "Why?"

But I did not come here to rant about that. The dog has been amazing me recently -- truly amazing me -- with her cleverness, which is pretty impressive for an eight-year-old dog. I did a really good job of training her not to make noise to get what she wants as a puppy, so she's never whined to go out or barked much. Run-down: noisy dog gets isolated in bathroom. Noisy dog stays isolated until noisy dog has been silent for exactly one minute, at which time the door opens and companion appears, lavish with love and praise. The quick response to silence allows noisy dog to realize that noise is counter-productive and silence is rewarded. Dog becomes quiet dog, especially remarkable for a JRT. Except in the back yard, where dog is allowed to bark freely. So the dog doesn't make noise to get what she wants. Except now she's learned how to make mechanical noise.

She started with the bathtub. She doesn't like still water and never has, so for years, she's hopped in the tub to get a drink. I think she might have started that in a house where the faucet dripped. And she's got me well-trained now, because I usually hear the sound of her claws hitting the porcelain and come turn the water on trickle so she can drink. But I need to hear her when she hits the tub, because if I don't, she's quiet inside it. Lately, though, I've been listening to a lot more music so I don't always hear her. She's figured out how to make the drain plug rattle in the faucet and that's loud enough so that I do hear it.

So she's now learned that I respond to sound. Extension of that: she used to sit and wait patiently at the back door for as long as it took me to notice her and let her outside. Not anymore. The doors are French doors, and on one side, the unused side, there are blinds that reach to the ground. On the other side, the door we actually use to go in and out, no blinds. She sits at the door we use and if I don't pay attention quickly enough, she sticks her nose over, into the blinds, and lifts them up and down to make them rattle. Then she waits at the door again. If I don't respond, she gets more and more energetic with her rattle, making the sound louder and louder. I'm obviously letting her train me, but I'm so impressed by how smart she is to have figured this out after a lifetime of not using noise in this way, and to have managed to extend knowledge gained in one area, ie "if I rattle this metal thing, my person will come and fulfill my wishes" to another area, ie "if I rattle this plastic thing, maybe my person will come here?" 

One more story of Zelda cleverness: she has made a connection between the sound of the phone and my preparations to leave the house. Normally, if I am wandering around looking like I might be going somewhere -- hitting the bathroom, picking up my keys, looking for my glasses -- she watches me with interest and a little hope, but not eagerness. And she waits in the living room to see what I might be doing. But when the phone rings and in response I start making preparations to leave the house, she dashes to the back door and waits there. She's realized that those two signals connect to mean a ride in the car to go pick up R wherever he might be.

I think what amazes me about these things is that she's making connections. It's not just that she's learned one piece of information or signal, it's that she's putting signals together to make sense out of larger ideas. She's the only dog I've ever known well, but I think she must be a really smart member of her species.

Also gorgeous and maybe later I'll add a picture to this post to show off how cute she is. At the moment, though, we're sitting outside, and I've got no pictures handy.

Better Days Ahead

On May 28th last year, R and I were on the way to the grocery store, when I said, "Is that a dog?" It was a dog. A white Jack Russell terrier that had been so recently hit by a car that it was still in the middle of the road, still moving. I turned the car around, drove back, and sat with the dog for the seconds it had left before it died. It looked at me, saw me, then its eyes glazed over. I brought the body home and buried it in the back yard. We never made it to the grocery store.

The next day, I went back to that neighborhood, looked for signs. Every telephone pole had one. I called the owner. The dog was Hugo. 14 years old. And Jay, his owner, needed to see him. So I dug the dog back up and Jay came and took his body away.

Exactly two weeks later, Karen called with the news about a "suspicious nodule." Over the next nine months, Mom died, Malcolm died, Sharon died, Michelle died.

Yesterday, R and I were on the way to the store, when R said, "Is that a dog?" It was a dog. A Yorkie in the middle of a busy road. I stopped the car immediately, annoying the people behind me. R got out of the car, annoying the people ahead of us, and managed to scare the dog off the road. I pulled over and together the two of us herded the dog back into a safer place, and started trying doors. The owners were in the second house we tried and very happy to get their dog safely back. They hadn't even realized he was missing yet.

I think the best part is that I had made a wrong turn -- yes, on the way to the store, I made a wrong turn, this is why I get lost so easily -- and we should never have been on that street at all. I know that it's a meaningless coincidence, but it feels like a sign of better things to come.

And even if not, we get to know that a dog is safe at home tonight because this time, we were there in time.

The Versatile Blogger

JC Piech left a comment on my last post that she had nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award. I thought, pretty much simultaneously, 'cool' and 'um, what is that?'

Turns out it's basically a meme, the internet version of a chain letter, but an awfully nice one as these things go. The rules are:

•  Thank the person who gave you this award. That’s common courtesy.
•  Include a link to their blog. That’s also common courtesy — if you can figure out how to do it.
•  Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly. ( I would add, pick blogs or bloggers that are excellent!)
•  Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award — you might include a link to this site.
•  Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.

I marked that bullet list to quote, but it sure doesn't look any different than normal text to me. Well, note, please that the bulleted list is cut-and-pasted from the VBA website--I didn't write it.

So thank you, JC, it's very nice of you!

I use Google reader to follow blogs, so creating a list of links might be sort of arduous. We'll see if I can do fifteen. And I suppose it would be good to pick both versatile blogs, ones with a mix of content, and blogs that are less visited. But hmm, I'm not sure I can figure that out easily either. Well, I'll just start and see how it goes.

Bumblebee nation This is my friend Suzanne's blog and she is not going to be grateful that I gave her this award. But I'm doing it anyway because when she blogs (very rarely, alas) she almost always makes me smile and she should blog more often.

Problem Girl I've been following this blog for a really long time, although I hardly ever comment so she probably doesn't know that. But the blog owner is a surrogate mom and her stories open my eyes to a world I know nothing about.

Patricia C. Wrede's blog probably doesn't need such an award; she's a much-published author and I'm sure reaches plenty of people. But hands down, this is the best writing blog I've ever found. She's not blogging about the writing business, she's blogging about the craft of writing and it's wonderful, useful information.

I'm going to utterly fail at avoiding well-trafficked blogs, because honestly, I don't know who gets traffic and who doesn't. I read in Google reader and I don't usually check the comments. I suppose I could check all their most recent posts and rule out anyone who's received twenty or more comments, but that's starting to seem like a lot of work when I should be writing. And this versatility thing is killing me, too--most of the blogs I read are fairly focused on one thing or another. *sigh* It'd be nice if I wasn't so obsessive.

All right, I'm just going to quickly list a bunch of blogs that I like, and maybe you'll find something you like, too.

An Olive Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Yummy, yummy, yummy food.

Kindle-aholic's Book Pile. We don't share 100% taste in books (I am over vampires, just done, done, done with them) but she's definitely pointed out some titles that I've added to my wish list. 

Smitten Kitchen. Definitely tons of traffic, because everyone I know loves the recipes from this site. In fact, pretty often when someone I know has a recipe that's so good they have to share, it's come from Smitten Kitchen. If you like to cook, or even if you just like to eat, you should read this one.

Geek Mom This is actually lots of moms, not just one, but their chosen topics are probably obvious from the title. I actually can't keep up with this blog: it gets a folder of its own in my RSS feed so I can read it when I have time, because they post a lot. But when I have time to look at it, I often find something interesting.

Stellar Four is actually in that Geek Mom folder, too, and again, there's more than one blogger posting. For a while, they were kind of heavy on stuff posts--gadgets and crafts and objects to buy--which is mostly not my thing (unemployed graduate student = not spending money on anything non-essential, and my chosen craft is writing), but I've found some interesting links through their site.

Moody Muses is another group blog. I guess I notice these the most because group blogs are able to post more often than singular blogs. But this is a group of four writers, blogging about writing and about life, and I like reading what they have to say. 

Artisan Bread I bought their cookbook and then I created their Facebook fan group and then I stopped reading because somehow, overnight, I was ten pounds heavier. Eating bread every day, lots of bread, was not good for  me. But if you want to bake interesting kinds of bread, the recipes on this blog make it simple.

Cocktail Party Physics This is a Scientific American blog, so maybe it misses the point? But it's such well-written science and so entertaining.

Julia If you type Julia and hippo into Google, you wind up here, which I think probably means she's doing just fine on traffic. (I have not made much of an effort to find out how to measure this kind of thing. My blog has been happily invisible for all the years of its existence.) But I think this is the only mommy blog that I still read regularly because Julia is an incredibly talented writer who could probably make doing laundry seem like an adventure. Okay, maybe not laundry. But definitely cooking dinner.

Am I at fifteen yet? This is quite the time-consuming little project...Nope, three more to go.

Momastery is a brilliant blog. I only recently found her, so you're probably going to say um, slow on the uptake, aren't you? But I guess this means that I have two mommy blogs that I read. (I have nothing against mommy blogs, I used to read a lot of them. I just sort of stopped over time as I moved out of that stage of my life.)

You've read Hyperbole and a Half, right? I'm not counting her as one of my fifteen, although I'll certainly nominate her for any award that there is, but to the best of my knowledge, every single solitary person I know adores her blog, so it's not like I can introduce her to anyone. I'm just including the link in case...(and if you don't know her, click on the link, add her to your RSS feed, you won't see her again for weeks, maybe months, but when you do, it will be oh, so worth it.)

Aha, Glenn Bullion has a nice writerly blog.He's an indie writer, and doesn't post a lot, but when he does, it's interesting.(To me, at least. But he's got a good writing style, so you should at least give him a try.)

One more...you know, I think the hardest thing about writing this post was discovering how many blogs in my RSS feed haven't posted anything new in six months or more. I found one that hadn't posted anything new since 2009. I've been deleting them, but it feels sad. Okay, that's the wrong emotion, though -- one last blog for the Versatile Blogger Award, and I think I'll give it to:

Kristin Cashore, This Is My Secret. She is the author of Graceling and Fire and the upcoming Bitterblue. She's an award-winning author, so probably doesn't need me nominating her for any new awards, but her blog is as versatile as they come: she posts about trapezes and Indian musicals and writing and Bank of America and really, just about anything. And she's always fun to read. You should definitely check it out!

Whew...wow, that was exhausting.

So. Seven things about me:

1) I tend to be obsessive about doing things "right". I might have obsessive personality disorder, or I might just be the kind of hypochondriacal student who diagnoses herself with everything that comes along. Speaking of which...
2) I meet the clinical criteria for agoraphobia.
3) This annoys me and I think the clinical criteria are way too general and should be made more restrictive.
4) My favorite event of the year is Epcot's Food and Wine Festival. (<-See? Not really agoraphobic.)
5) If I win the lottery/become a best-selling author, I might like to live on a sailboat.
6) But only if I could bring my dog.

7) I don't actually believe in ghosts. But I wish I did.

I think this might be the longest post I've ever written. I might have to go take a nap. Except my poor heroine is in the police station, waiting to find out whether she's going to be charged with a crime. Probably I should get back to her and help out of her jam!