What do you do when you receive blog awards?

Why, you smile and post them proudly knowing that someone else thought enough of you to nominate you.

Over the last couple of days, I received the Beautiful Blogger Award from the lovely Carrie Rubin and the lovely Butterfly Julz awarded me the Versatile Blogger Award.

Thank you very much, ladies.

I’m supposed to list seven things about me you may not know, so here goes:

I used to own a 1966 Ford Mustang. I should have never sold it.

I have seen the Rocky Horror Picture show in theaters 127 times.

My favorite wine is Martini and Rossi Asti Spumanti

I love anything Chenille.

If I could adopt and care for every stray animal in the world, I would.

I’ve read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix 11 times (my fave out of the HP books)

I prefer sundresses to shorts any day.

I’m supposed to pick bloggers to hand these awards to, but I’m in a very generous mood this week.  I had a really weird start to the week and all of you came out and rallied behind a friend and me when we were both feeling down and all of you deserve both awards in my opinion.  As writers, we are all versatile. We all have other activities we tend to every day.  Some of us are into scrapbooking, some write poetry, some have family and kids and others are going through their own health issues.  We all lean on each other for support and we all are there for each other through all the ups and downs.  I can’t thank you enough for being the individuals you are and for sharing a part of you with me every day. To me, that makes all of you beautiful.

Enjoy your rewards and show them proudly!  :)

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Go ahead, squeeze the corn

I was at the store the other day and was in the process of picking some fresh ears of corn (4/$1) when this gentleman from Nova Scotia (he told me that’s where he was from) approached and asked me how I cooked my corn.

I laughed because I love random conversations like this.  I told him I either grill it or boil it unless a recipe calls for the corn to come off the cob before cooking. He smiles and says, “So I don’t know you and you don’t know me, do you mind if I share a trick?”

“Of course not,” I reply, and of course, I don’t. I’m always looking for new ways to cook.

“Leave the corn in the husk,” he says, “and put it in the microwave for 4  minutes.  When done, take it out and use an oven mitt because it will be hot.  Cut a tad off the big end of the corn while still in the husk, and then squeeze the corn from the small end and push it out.  It will come out without any strings and it will be very juicy and tender.”

I gave him my thank you’s and we went our separate ways.  Last night, I looked at those ears of corn and thought, “Hmm, I wonder if the Nova Scotia way really works.”

I put the four ears of corn still in their husks in the microwave for 14 minutes and when they were done, I did as he said.  I cut about a 1/16 of an inch off the big end, just enough to slide the corn out of the husk, and then I squeezed.  To my amazement, the corn slid right out with not one string attached.  The corn was moist, and so, so sweet.

Thanks to a man from Nova Scotia, I will never strip my corn husks and boil my cobs ever again.

And on that note, I’m going to squeeze some more corn.  :)

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Am I meant to write?

I think all authors think this at some point in their writing career.  I know I certainly have, but not as much as I have today.  Today left me feeling hollow and sad to the point I’m not sure how to react.  It started two nights ago but today took the cake.

What happened a few nights ago?

I sat in on a very informative seminar on blogging.  What to do, what not to do.  Comes to find out, I’ve been blogging all wrong…at least in the context of collecting followers.  I found out that to be a successful blogger, I should be (1) an expert on a topic that affects millions, (2) driven to share that expertise, (3) willing to work my butt off, (4) capable of dedicating myself to growing a blog without earning anything from it for a few months, and (5) must be a passable writer and write to engage.

I apparently lack #1 and #5, at least according to a blogger who was following me and then left today, but not until after she sent me an e-mail that stabbed at my heart.

According to this person, I am not an expert at anything, my posts are boring and unengaging and I’m selfish when posting on other people’s blogs, especially hers.  She also said my writing was sub-par and perhaps I should consider several courses in creative writing.  I then needed to figure out who I’m writing for because it’s not her.  She withdrew her “follow” from my blog and asked I do the same for hers.  I don’t have the heart to do it because I really like her blog.  I guess I can still read but not post anything.

You know, when I embarked on my adventure into blogging, I wasn’t trying to land 1,000 followers in one day.  I set out to write and hopefully touch some people’s lives and expand my ‘friend’ base.  I wanted to make new friends around the world…talk to other writers who are experiencing all the same hopes and fears, highs and lows, all the doubts and joys of success on the road to publication as I am.  I never wanted to come off as selfish in my posts on other’s blogs.  If I was/am…I’m so sorry.

Please understand.  I’m not looking for pity or sympathy.  This is yet another bump in the road, another form of rejection I have to go through to make me strong and resilient, but her words hurt deeply and made me question myself and my writing, as most rejections do.  This, coupled with what I learned about myself in the seminar the other night, left me feeling like I’m floundering.  I see other bloggers who are just starting out and they’re collecting hundreds of followers.  I look at mine and I sit at below 150 after 2 years of blogging.  Those aren’t good stats.  Maybe I AM blogging wrong.  All I can do, though, is blog from my heart. That’s all I know how to do.

Who do I blog and write for?  I suppose I blog and write for anyone who wants to listen.  Maybe I should refocus and blog about writing and reading young adult fiction. Maybe I should do what the host of the seminar said the other night and take down my blog, go through the process of getting 1,000 followers and then relaunch my blog.  Maybe I shouldn’t blog at all.

My brother told me once I excel at being a loser.  After five hours of soul-searching, all I have to say is “You’re wrong.”

Now I just need to convince myself.

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“Y” is for Youth

Ah, the essence of youth.  We are all obsessed with it.  When we were young adults, we wanted to be older.  Now that we’re older, we spend billions of dollars a year to look and feel younger.  We crave our youth and the flexibility in our bodies, the stamina we once had, the carefree ways we enjoyed.

When I was a teen, the world was different, but the problems were still the same as now. We  had the popular girls in school who got pregnant and had abortions.  We had the smokers in the bathrooms and the jocks that had all the girls.  There were evil teachers, fantastic teachers and those that couldn’t teach at all.  We had the jokesters and the druggies, the slackers and the bookworms.  The beautiful and the unattractive.  You were either popular or you weren’t.  Those were the two cliques.  Somehow, we muddled through the heartaches, the disappointments, the dates that went horribly wrong.  We clung to our achievements and moved on to college, jobs, marriages, and families.  Only after years of struggling for financial freedom, moving up in our jobs, placing careers before family, do we sit back and wonder why we didn’t hold onto our youth just a little longer.  Why were we in such a hurry to grow up?

I suppose that is the underlying reason I like to write YA.  It takes me back to a time I should have not been so anxious to leave.  Through writing, I can experience things I never experienced as a teen.  I can pretend to know what it feels like to be popular or pretty.  I wouldn’t trade the bookworm part because I think smart and pretty go really well together.  I could be more of a daredevil, a risk-taker.  I could be a bit rebellious, say “To hell with the world, I’m going to live!”  In writing YA, I can re-write any scenario to alter the tragedies of my youth.  I wouldn’t have to lose my father 2 weeks before my 12th birthday.  I wouldn’t have ‘Danny’ abandon me at the 10th grade dance to make out with and leave with a pretty cheerleader.  I wouldn’t be the ‘four-eyed geek’ of the school.

As a mom, I’ve lived and relived the trials and tribulations of youth with my four kids.  My oldest just graduated college, is a teacher and has a beautiful little girl.   My second will graduate in 2013 with her Master’s in costuming and plans to travel the world.  My third is floundering.  He’s 20.  He hasn’t found his niche’ and high school was a nightmare experience.  But he has a heart of gold and an amazing way of making people laugh and feel good. My fourth is seventeen and is so done with high school.  He has one more year to go.  He wants to join the Air Force and eventually get a job in computers.  He’s a video game junkie and an avid fantasy/dystopian reader who loves the military channel.

Each one of them has had their struggles as young adults and each one will tell you they’re glad it’s over or will be over.  They will each tell you they would never do it again, that being a teen was too hard and there were too many bad memories to outweigh the good ones.  I hope I’m around when they get to be my age and wish, for just a moment, they could go back to a simpler place in time where muscles didn’t ache, stamina was abundant, there was no illness and moms and dads were still around to kiss and hug the boo boo’s away.

To youth…I salute you.  I wish I hadn’t been so anxious to leave you behind.  Thanks for the memories, both good and bad.  They’re all fodder for future books.  Now to just write them all down.

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“W” is for…

Wishing upon Stars

Do you remember what it was like as a child, to look out on the world and see one big playground?  Life was full of possibilities.  Everything could be accomplished.  There were no limits, no timeframes, no impossible dreams.  And when times were bad, all you had to do was throw a coin in a fountain or find your favorite star and make a wish.

What happens to that innocence when we grow up?  Why must we lose that childish enthusiasm?  Who says we have to?  What’s wrong with wishing?

We all know what Jiminy Cricket said in Pinocchio:

What is that you say?  You’ve forgotten how to wish upon a star?  Well, it’s not that hard.  Just close your eyes and remember…

1.  Pick the first star you see, not the biggest or brightest.

2.  Stare at that star and repeat the lines from a long-lost poem:  ”Star light, Star bright, the first Star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish I wish tonight.”  (Go ahead.  Do it.  Let the magic from your youth fill your mind and soul).

3.  Now close your eyes and make your wish.  Say it aloud so the stars and heavens can hear it.  What good is a wish if it stays bottled up inside?  Release it to the universe.  Say it with love, with passion.  Don’t hold anything back.  You must believe in your wish.  If you don’t, how can the star believe in it either?

Does this sound childish?  To some…maybe.  To me…wishing is magic and magic is all around us and within us.  So go on, make a wish.  Dare your dreams to come true.     All you have to do is believe.

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Smash – Katharine McPhee – “Run”

I normally don’t post twice in one day but this song has been playing in my head ever since Katharine McPhee performed it on Smash last night.  It’s titled “Run” and was originally recorded by Snow Patrol.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Sorry for the linky thing.  Hulu doesn’t allow embedding.

smash-run#s-p1-sr-i1

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O is for Oliver

Up until 1991, I always believed I was a ‘dog’ person.  Cats were too aloof.  Dogs played.  They were happy to see me.  They were funny and fun.  Cats just laid around all day and did nothing…until I met my first cat, Spooky.  He had a bump on his head from flinging himself into his reflection in the mirrored blinds we had on our slider door.  As a kitten, his motor was so loud I couldn’t believe it was coming from his tiny body.  He was an awesome cat and it broke our hearts when he passed away in 2008 at the age of 17.

Other kitties followed.  In 1994 we ended up with Tigger while at the pound looking for a dog.  She was a princess in every sense of the word and a tiny thing. You could usually find her in the same spot every day – sleeping on my modem.  She passed away last year at the age of 17.

Then came Casper.  I found him as a kitten 1n 1997, barely 3 weeks old, abandoned, thrown in a median on a very busy road.  The vet didn’t think he was going to make it, but make it he did.  He’s a love kitty.  He lives to be held and cuddled.  He’s not doing well right now and I expect he’ll cross the Rainbow Bridge soon.  He’s 15.

And then there’s Oliver.  We call him Ollie for short, and this cat is nothing but piss and vinegar.  He was named after Disney’s “Oliver and Co.” and he is my precocious wild child.  I mean, this cat climbs my door frames and hangs there.  Sometimes he gets zooming through the house with his tail all poofed up like a bottle brush.  He plays fetch with wads of paper and he’ll wake us up in the middle of the night with toys he finds (twist ties, play mice).  He lays on his back with his belly exposed all the time and when we had the cat tree in our room, he’d jump from the very top onto the bed while we were sleeping and then strut off like he’d accomplished some amazing feat.  He plays with my Aussie, Toby, and is a cuddle bug through and through.  He likes drinking water out of the faucet and sleeping in the bathroom sink.  I call him my sink dweller.  And every morning when I get up, he comes up on  my ‘desk’ and lays right next to the keyboard and printer, right in the middle of all my mess, and keeps me company.

I love my Ollie cat.  He makes me laugh and he’s always there for me when I’m sad.  My Ollie…he truly is a family cat and my kindred feline spirit.  Yes, this orange creature has wormed his way into my heart, and this ‘dog’ girl’s life will never be the same.

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J is for Jabberwocky

This is a continuation of the A-Z blog challenge.  Click here to see the list of all 1935 participants!

The scariest poem I ever read as a child was Jabberwocky, found in Lewis Carroll’s classic sequel, Alice Through the Looking Glass.  I was so terrified of the Jabberwock, and yet, night after night, I would pull my covers to my chin and read those terrifying words by flashlight:

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought –
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

‘And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

The words were so nonsensical.  I had no idea of their meaning, but for many nights, as I drifted off to sleep, the horrible monster with fiery eyes would enter my room!  Alas!  I would stand on my bed, a stick from the yard in my hand, my sheet tied to my neck like a cloak, and I would slay the Jabberwock with my ‘vorpal blade’ and galumph back to my bed.

I was seven years old.  The poem stuck with me the rest of my life.

In 1971, Donovan put the words to music and I had my own copy.

I never thought anyone could come close to competing with his version until a few months ago when I stumbled upon this version by an unknown woman with a beautiful celtic voice that makes the song come alive:

I don’t know which version I like more. Which one do you like?

P.S.

Don’t forget to check out the incomparable Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter. His version of the poem is not correct or complete, but he plays the part so darn well!

Breaking Dawn Part 2

If you saw The Hunger Games, then you saw the preview for Breaking Dawn – Part 2, the final installment in the Twilight saga.  Just in case you’re one of the few that hasn’t seen the trailer, you can find it below.

Now some of you may not understand the whole Twilight appeal, but if you’re a girl between the ages of 14 and 18, odds are you’re  grasping at every bit of information you can find to satiate your hunger for these films.

I’m a musical score kind of person and have been scouring the net for any info on possible artist contributions to the final film.  I know that Rob Pattinson is to perform a piano/singing duet with his on-screen daughter, Mackenzie Fox (“Renesmee”).  That news has been out for a while and you can read about it here.

What really got me excited, however, is the rumor of another song that may be part of Breaking Dawn Part 2 Soundtrack.  It’s called “Gone” by The New Velvet.  Now, I don’t know if the rumors are true, but I really like this band.  If you’re into Maroon 5, you’ll probably like them, too.  Even if the song isn’t in the movie, I still LOVE it!   Take a listen.  What do you think?

Doesn’t it have such a ‘Twilight” sound?  Are you looking forward to seeing Breaking Dawn Part 2 in November 2012?

H is for How Great Thou Art

This is my H entry for the A-Z Blog challenge.  No other explanation is needed.  Enjoy your Easter.  God bless.