Our New Cat
Category: Pets and Animals

The hubby and I took in an abandoned cat last Sunday.  This is our first pet in sixteen years of marriage.  We named her Habibati, an Arabic term of endearment.  We’ve had the occasional cat or dog take up residence on our porch and two cats at different homes who attempted to live with us.  One ended up going to a shelter.  We weren’t allowed pets in our apartment and she was pregnant. Another stayed with us in our home in Boise for several days until I located its owner in the neighborhood.

I grew up with pets.  I always had cats and dogs.  For a while we had a rabbit.  Another time we had a goat.  My border collie, TJ, was especially important to me.  He was a puppy when he came to live with us.  I was eight or nine.  He danced with me by putting his front paws on my forearms and rocking on his back ones, would eat suckers by holding the stick between his paws while he licked and bit and the sucker.  Then he would drop the stick at our feet.  Once this guy who liked me came to the house when I was around fourteen.  TJ took an instant dislike to the guy.  He placed himself in front of the door with his back up high to block the door from opening.  I had to coax him away from the door to let the guy in.  He paced in front of the door the whole time the guy was in the house.  When he left, TJ came over and sniffed me all over.  Once contented I was okay, he settled down.  Needless to say, that guy never came back to my house!  TJ died while I was in college, and I still tear up when I think about him.  I miss him. 

I grew up on a farm, so they were always outdoor pets.  Having a housecat is a whole new experience for me.

The good news is Habibati got a clean bill of health from the vet this week and was already spayed.  We won’t have to deal with that.  She’s between two and three years old.  She uses the litterbox like a dream.  The vets and their assistants at Albany Animal Hospital were wonderful to both Habibati and to me.

Finally, today she started to play.  Most of the week, she’s slept, ate, pottied, and occasionally let us pet her.  Today though she chased a ping pong ball around for quite a while and then attacked the tiny stuffed opossum I bought her earlier this week.  She loves to jump up on our bed and snuggle with us, but she doesn’t stay for long.

She’s content to occupy herself with looking outside, watching the hallway from the steps, or just lying near one of us when we’re occupied with other things.

I bought two books on cats this week just to make sure I don’t make any mistakes.  Even I find that a little odd since I grew up around animals, and we never had any books to guide us.

We’re having fun with her so far!

Friendship
Category: Life

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about friendship and what friendship really means.  I look at my contact list and my holiday card list and wonder how many of those people really are my friends.  Then I think about the casual way we add friends to our social networking pages.  I’ve invited people to be friends that I’m sure didn’t particularly like me in high school or whenever, but that’s all in the past.  There’s a past similar memory of place and time that creates a connection, but I think friend is too strong a word for it.  I’ve befriended people through my “friends” list that I’ve never met and am unlikely to ever meet.

            The Random House Webster’s College Dictionary © 2000 defines a friend as “a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard” and an acquaintance as “a person known to one, but usually not a close friend.”  By that definition, a lot of the people I call friend are probably better defined as acquaintances.  Personally, I think of a friend as someone with whom I’ve shared secrets, fun times, trying times, and memorial events as well as someone I can count on in a crisis.  Maybe my definition of friend is too stringent.  Perhaps the world’s is too loose.

Perhaps our need to assign labels to all things and people leads us to misuse the word.  I hate labels.  Grouping people like that seems to imply one person is liked better or is actually better than another.  We’ve all met someone with whom we just didn’t mesh.  And, we’ve all met people where we feel an immediate connection.  This doesn’t mean anyone is better than the other.  It’s important to recognize our friends as special but to remember everyone is special to someone.

One thing I’ve learned over the years is friends come and go.  Some friendships endure through anything.  Some end for no discernable reason.  Some are interrupted and pick back up with ease.  Others become awkward and require someone to make a decision to walk away.  At other times a friendship simply isn’t what we thought it was.  Other times friends grow apart.  And, then, there’s the friend who betrays.

Sometimes a friendship is built around a mutual goal and once that goal is met the friendship dissolves like sugar in water.  Other times the friendship matures beyond the goal.

I’ve experienced all these friendship types at some point in my life.  No matter which path a friendship has taken in my life, the friendship brought something important and special whether for a few moments or a lifetime.

Every year as I sit down to write the poem for our holiday card and compile our list of people to send cards, I contemplate what each person’s role is in my life.  I wonder if they think about me any time other than when they receive our holiday card.  I wonder if they would notice if they didn’t get a card from us.  And, lastly, I wonder how many of the people I send a card I could truly call “friend” and if those I would will disappoint me if the day ever comes that I have to test that friendship.  Or maybe someone I think of as a mere acquaintance will prove to be my friend in a time of need.

To every friend I’ve ever had, please know you hold a special place in that part of me that makes up who I am.  You touched my life in some way, and even though you may not hear from me very often, I do think of you – some whose names I no longer remember but who has become “the girl who…” or “the guy that…”  Still, your presence in my life was important, and I hope mine in yours was.  Because isn’t the way we touch each other’s lives all we’ve really got on this earth?  Thank you…

What’s In a Name?
Category: Writing and Poetry

The following article first appeared in The Crime Report, the Partners in Crime newsletter in 2004. I was speaking with a friend today when the topic of names came up and it reminded me of this article.  Enjoy!

Recently while reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I began contemplating the role the names we assign characters plays.  Marquez uses the same two names for the male descendents in the family who make up the main characters in his book.  One of the two sons has seventeen sons all with the same name born to different mothers and raised in different towns. Reading the story was often confusing but the purpose becomes clear when Marquez demonstrates behaviors that characters with the same name have in common even though some of them have had almost no contact with one another.  A set of twins in the story confuses everyone by displaying behaviors that should go along with the other’s name.  There is speculation that they’ve switched names, which they often did as children as a joke.  The deliberate use of these two names helps define Marquez’s characters and to determine the behaviors of the characters and people’s reactions to the characters driving much of the storyline.

            Common writing wisdom tells us that using the same name for more than one character is a no-no because it takes the reader out of the story to figure out which character is which.  This is true and while reading One Hundred Years of Solitude, this happened many times yet it was essential to the tone of Marquez’s story to break this rule.  Naming multiple characters in the same book or story with names beginning with the same letter sometimes creates confusion for the reader more so if the names are similar in more ways than the first letter such as derivates of the same name or names that sound alike.  Paying attention to the names assigned characters may sometimes seem secondary, but those names can affect how the reader views each character’s personality and identifies with the character.

            As I thought about Marquez’s use of names, I remembered a time when I’d written an entire short story without ever naming the main character.  I agonized over the character’s lack of name until I ran out of options.  Then I bought a book of baby names to aid me in naming the character.  I’ve used the book many times since then.  In my frustration, I decided to close my eyes and blindly open the book and name the character the first name on the page to which I opened the book.  That didn’t work because the first time I opened the book it fell on a boy’s name which didn’t fit my female character at all.  I tried again but this time the name just didn’t fit the character’s personality.  I started going through the book page by page until finally the right name practically leaped off the page at me.  By the way, it’s a good idea to tell your spouse why you just bought a book of baby names just to avoid any confusion!

            There are times when a writer wants to leave a character nameless.  The character could be a minor player like the “woman in store” or “man with baby in park” we often see on movie credits.  Main characters usually need names though.  One reason to leave out a name might be to create confusion about sex, ethnicity, or other factors that could prejudice a reader about a character.  Another reason for a nameless character could be to mislead the reader to thicken the plot.

            When writing my first novel, All She Ever Wanted, my main character’s name came to me before anything else did.  I walked around for about two weeks wondering why the name Victoria and then the sentence “Elegance exuded from Victoria as she stepped into the room.” kept popping into my head.  (This sentence, however, did not survive my final edit.)  When I finally wrote it down, Victoria came alive to me and her story began to pour out of me so quickly I struggled to get it on paper.  Victoria is a strong, ambitious, modern woman from a traditional family.  She feels her nickname, Vic, fits her personality better than her beloved name.  Victoria gives her best friend, Daryn, the nickname Dare not only as a show of affection, but as a way for me to show a less rigid side of her to the reader.  Victoria’s parents are always Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell to show their formality while Daryn’s parents are Mama York and Papa York to create a feeling of intimacy.  Mama York begins calling Victoria “Child” as a way to draw her into the family, break through her reserved nature and encourage her to allow herself to relax and not be so hard on herself.  I used names and nicknames to create atmosphere and show relationship dynamics and growth throughout All She Ever Wanted.

            In my second novel, Red, (still being edited), I used the character’s names to create confusion about characters, to draw links to a character’s past, and to show changes in characters’ lives.  In the story, a female police detective, Azalea, overcompensates for feelings that people won’t take her seriously because her name is to flowery by working out too hard and working at her job too hard all the while resisting anything that she feels makes her look too feminine for her job.  Another character feels her identity both threatened and revealed by a name change.  A gender neutral name and the childhood teasing that came with it have left one character angry with the world and created yet another excuse for the character to strike out against others.

            So what’s in a name?  A name identifies a character, provides clues to ethnicity, gender, and what kind of family the character has.  When developing ethnic characters, it’s better to use less stereotypical names.  This reads like the author has a more intimate relationship with the character and put some thought into the character.  A name creates a relationship between the reader and the character.  When a character reacts to his or her name it provides the reader insight into how the character feels about himself or herself.  When a character receives a nickname from another character or gives a character a nickname, the reader gets an insight into the thought process and personality of both characters involved.  A nickname or lack of one can also establish the amount of intimacy or lack thereof between two characters.  While a character’s name rarely directly affects the plot as it does in my novel, Red, and in Marquez’s novel, One Hundred Years of Solitude, it can often allow the reader to understand motivation, see into a person’s past and personality, and to identify with the character.

            Name your characters carefully.  Your characters should wear their names comfortably.  Remember you’ll be seeing a lot of the names you choose as you write, edit, and publicize your book, so be sure to use names that won’t have you grinding your teeth after you use them for the millionth time.  Also, think of your reader when assigning names to characters because your reader will surely notice your characters’ names.  Throughout the history of literature, it’s a book’s characters that are most often quoted and remembered.  Make your characters memorable beginning with naming them perfectly!

Wordstock in Portland, Oregon
Category: Writing and Poetry

I will be selling copies of All She Ever Wanted at the Willamette Writers Booth at Wordstock in Portland, Oregon on Saturday, November 8, 2008 from 11am to 1pm.  If you’re there, stop by to say hi.  Oh, yeah, and buy a book.  Wordstock is an annual event for book lovers held in The Portland Convention Center at 777 NW MLK Jr. Blvd.

Description of All She Ever Wanted:

When Victoria, who is white, meets Daryn, who is African American, she has no idea the effect he and his family will have on her life.  As she struggles for the success she’s certain will make her parents proud, Daryn’s family introduces her to a new definition of love, family, acceptance, and success.  Victoria and Daryn struggle to keep their friendship intact as they are faced with the prejudices of family, friends, and lovers.  The empty place in Victoria’s heart forces her to face all she’s sacrificed in her quest for success including friendship, love, family, and grief.  Midwest Book Review calls All She Ever Wanted  “…A thoughtful, insightful look into the changing human mind and spirit evoked by an interracial friendship, All She Ever Wanted, is a superbly written, highly recommended novel showcasing a theme that is as historic and universal as interracial human experience, and contemporary as today’s newspaper headlines.”

Hope to see you there!

Voting
Category: Life

            Today is Election Day in the United States.  Everyone, myself included, feel this election is pivotal to the health and vitality of the United States which is currently suffering.  I won’t beleaguer the candidates’ positions.  They’ve made those as clear as politicians running for office ever do.

            My thoughts turned in recent days to my personal voting history.  Not the candidates I voted for but my attitude toward voting.

            I didn’t always appreciate my right to vote, and I certainly didn’t see it as my responsibility.  My Dad registered me to vote when I turned eighteen.  At least, I think he did.  I don’t remember signing a voter registration card or anything like that.  I was in college at the time living in a dormitory about two hours from my home residence.  If Daddy put a voter registration card in front of me and said to sign it, I did.  Adjusting to college life absorbed my every waking moment at the time.

            Little did it matter.  I didn’t vote that year for two reasons.  I didn’t feel like I knew enough to vote.  I also didn’t understand that I needed to request an absentee ballot since I attended college in a different county than my home address.  Thinking back, I expected someone – I don’t know who – to just send me an absentee ballot.  I don’t know why I thought this.  I never asked anyone about the process.  After all, that would’ve meant admitting I didn’t know.

            When I married at age twenty-one, my husband, who wasn’t a US citizen at the time, was appalled that I’d never voted.  I tried to fluff it off like I thought it didn’t matter.  He looked me straight in the eye and said.  “Don’t you know how lucky you are to have the right to vote?  Most people in the world don’t.  I wish I did.  You actually have a way to make your opinion heard.”

            My only response was something lame like.  “What difference will my one vote make?”

            For years I’d convinced myself that I didn’t know enough about the people, the system, the reasons behind the positions, or the issues to cast a vote.  I also convinced myself that people who had more life experience were better suited to make those decisions.  Better not to vote than to risk making a mistake.  Besides, what did it have to do with me and my life?

            I listened to my husband talk about voting almost like it was a treasure I was declining and a responsibility to participate in the country I called home and loved.  He paid attention to the politics and the issues.  He listened to the politicians and others.  He discussed the issues with his friends and with me.  I started to realize I had opinions that were grounded in facts and that my opinion mattered.  Maybe my voice could be heard.

            At the age of twenty-four, I voted for the first time.  I was still so afraid of making a mistake, I made my husband, who still couldn’t vote, drive me to the polling station.  No voting police monitored me to make sure I did it right.  As a matter of fact, beyond showing me the machine, no one seemed to care much about what I was doing.  I gave my name going so far as to show my driver’s license and voter registration card which the lady behind the registry waved away.  I stepped into the booth, read each word of the instructions twice, marked my ballot, double checked it, triple checked it, placed it in the enveloped provided, and handed it to the lady by the box.  All the while my hands shook.  She dropped it in the box and announced to the whole room I’d voted.  I looked at the floor, cheeks pink, and hurried out the door.

Was that all there was to voting?  Was this really what had intimidated me for so long?  What was with the announcement?

It became easier each year.  While there are times I’ve missed smaller elections, I always try to vote because those so called smaller elections have just as much effect on my everyday life as the national elections.  When my husband could finally vote six years later, I proudly showed him the ropes.  Actually, for his first vote we voted absentee because we were going to be out of the country on Election Day.  I had fits when I realized we’d planned our trip to be gone on Election Day, but a quick phone call answered all my questions to ensure we got to vote.

Now I make sure I know the issues though inevitably one I’ve never heard of pops up on the ballot and I’m left studying it trying to make sure my vote is for the position I want.  I study the candidates.  I read the measures.  I vote my conscience.  I no longer fear making a mistake.

In Oregon, we vote by mail.  They mail us two pamphlets with all the information we need to make informed decisions.  My husband and I sat down on a Saturday a couple of weeks ago and read the pamphlets.  We discussed our understanding of what the measures were and what implications they would have.  We looked up more information if we felt we needed it.  We vetted the candidates in the same way.  We marked our decisions right in the book including when my husband and I disagreed, so we’d know which way we wanted to vote when the ballots arrived.  The day we got the ballots from the mail box, I voted, placed my ballot in the “secret” envelope, sealed it, signed the other envelope and sealed it.  My ballot was ready to mail.  I looked around my office.  No one announced I had voted.  For a split second I missed that part of the process.  Surprising, because it was always my least favorite part.  I was proud to have voted but somehow the announcement seemed to take away from the very private moment I’d just had in the voting booth.  I was never quite ready for it.  By next year, I’m sure I won’t even notice it’s missing.

The important thing is I voted.  I let my voice be heard.  I exercised my right.  I exercised my responsibility.

Please, if you haven’t voted, get to the polls today.  It’s important that you let your voice be heard!

Words
Category: Writing and Poetry

Words are my life.  I’m a writer, so that’s not a surprise.  But what if I said words are your life?

            You may not see it or you may.  We use words for everything we do.  Basic communication.  Mending a broken relationship.  Breaking the relationship that needs mended.  We give words or we withhold them as we feel best benefits the moment.  We twist them to tell a truth that’s only partially true.  We use them to tell outright lies.  We tear down the world.  We build up the world.  Both using words.  We make our point and destroy another’s with words – and sometimes even destroy our own point.

            We terrorize, comfort, love, hate, disrespect, respect, convince, and confuse all with words.  We excuse, explain, confess, reveal, and hide all with words.  We entertain, teach, and command all with words.  We apologize with words for the words we used to hurt.  We explain our mistakes with words.  We celebrate our successes with words.

            Words fill the empty spaces and drown out the silences.  Words connect us and tear us apart.

            Words never stop running through my mind.  I hear them when I walk, when I listen to music, when I watch television, when I talk.  More importantly I hear them when I sit in dead silence, when I meditate, and even in my dreams.  I’m never without words even when I’m speechless.  Happy words, sad words, loving words, painful words.  They’re all there just waiting to be unleashed.

Words are my best friend and, at times, my worst enemy.

One of the most important decisions we make is how me use words.  We make the decision thousands times a day whether talking to others or in our internal dialogue.

As a writer, I use words to make money, but so do you.  Every time you share a new idea with a co-worker or your manager, every time you confirm information for someone, every time you critique your performance, every time you take an order for a product you use words.

Words are a constant across race, religion, and nationality.  While we may use different words, everyone in the world uses words constantly.  We take words for granted.  We grow tired of some words.  Right now I’m so sick of the word fundamental I want to scream every time I hear it.  I understand that it’s a necessary word to convey a particular point, but I beg people to find a thesaurus and mix it up a bit.

The way we string words together can mean so much.  When talking to my husband’s family whose first language is Arabic, I often find myself with the need to translate their English to an English I can understand.  The words are correct but are either too literal or have a different connation than the speaker realizes.  This can lead to hurt feelings if one isn’t careful.  Given context foreign words begin to make sense to us well before we can use them.

I love words.  I’ve had a love affair with words since I was a small child.  My parents used to say that I “talked just to hear myself talk.”  They may have been right, but I think it was more to hear the words.  I read to see the words.  Words transported me to different places, taught me to see the world outside of my small community, and opened my heart to people who were different than me.

Let us all appreciate the words we so often take for granted.  Let us remember to use our words wisely and to apologize sincerely when we don’t.  I’m eternally grateful for all that words have done for me.  I hope you can see what words have done for you and come to appreciate them!

Go words!

Times, They Are a Changing
Category: Life

            I grew up hearing people say “Times, They Are A Changing” to which I rolled my eyes.  I did a lot of that in my youth.  Today, though, I was reminded of my relatives saying that as I left my house.

            A couple of days ago we received a notice that the water in our neighborhood would be shut off from nine in the morning until two in the afternoon.  Five hours without water.  My first thought was “Oh, geez, where can I spend five hours?”

            When I was growing up such a notice would’ve prompted my mother to find all the pitchers, gallon jars, and thermal water jugs she could find and fill them with water.  Or at least send my sister and me searching for them.  We would’ve put as much as possible in the refrigerator, filled the coolers, and put several jars on the counter to use for cooking.  We likely would’ve put some by each of the toilets as well to take care of those necessities.  But me, oh no, that didn’t even occur to me. With the economy on this downturn, perhaps I need to spend a little more time remembering my upbringing and a little less doing what’s convenient.

            Instead this morning I rushed through my shower and made sure I left the house before I needed to use water for any other reason.  I didn’t waste my day.  I spent several hours running long-procrastinated errands - the small ones you always think “I’ll do that the next time I’m over that way.”  Then I went to the bookstore to look for books I need for research to write my next novel.  Of course, I didn’t limit myself to those books.  I love the bookstore, so I bought coffee and a scone before I sat down with stacks upon stacks of books on numerous topics of interest.

            Hours later as I started for home, it occurred to me that if something went wrong with the construction that caused the water shut off, we might not have water when I got home.  When I stopped to pick up a few groceries, I also bought a deli chicken for dinner.  Besides I planned to drive to Salem for a writer’s group meeting tonight.  I didn’t make it to the meeting.  I blamed it on lack of energy because I’d only had that scone and two cups of overpriced coffee today.

            Why was my first instinct to find someplace else to spend my day instead of how to make sure there was enough water in the house to meet our needs?  It just seemed like too much trouble.  Besides, why go to all that trouble with all the conveniences at my disposal?  Ah, now that doesn’t sound like a farmer’s daughter talking, does it?

Birthdays
Category: Life

            This week I celebrated my thirty-eighth birthday.  It got me to thinking as most things have a tendency to do.  Not about growing older or any of that stuff because I don’t mind aging.  I never have.  After I almost died at age nine, I tend to feel that having another birthday, aka aging, is much better than the alternative.  My thoughts instead turned to why we want people to recognize our birthdays.

            One reason is that we live in a society where most people seem to fear expressing emotion, especially genuine emotion, unless there’s a good excuse.  Someone has a birthday, so it doesn’t sound weird to say “I love you.” or “Hey, I know I don’t say this often enough but I’m really glad you’re a part of my life.”

            Growing up we never said “good-bye” as we left my grandparents’ house. We said “I love you.” to everyone there, and it was usually a large group of relatives and family friends.  It was given about the same weight as “goodbye” over time but we all knew it came from a genuine place.  My husband thought I was nuts when we first got married because I said “I love you.” every time he left the house.  He would probably say “the room” but I don’t think I was quite that bad.  He still thinks I sometimes overuse the phrase, but it’s a part of my nature that I seem to only express within the confines of our home.

            Recently I was on the phone with a college friend.  As we neared the end of our conversation, she said “I love you, TL.” (Quick aside, she used my first name, but this will work for here.)  It stopped me cold because she was so open about expressing her affection for me that I teared up.  I stumbled to reply because although my affection for her is genuine, I’m no longer used to expressing affection to friends.  Sure I sign an email, card or letter “Love” and I mean it, but to say it aloud at the end of a casual conversation?  I felt so ashamed of myself afterward.  I thought I’d gotten over this need to hold my feelings inside to protect myself.  When my birthday came up a few days later, and I received birthday wishes from friends who express their affection about as often as I do these days, I suddenly realized why I look so forward to receiving recognition of my birthday.

            It has nothing to do with the birthday.  I skip the “Happy birthday” and go right to personal sentiments, the ones that tell me my friends really do care about me.  I relish reading these sentiments even though I know on a gut level how my friends feel about me.  Reading it somehow makes it ever so much more real.

            Both this year and last, I told my husband in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want a birthday present.  At first, he seems to think this was a trap to get him in trouble.  The truth was we just had so much going on in our lives I couldn’t feel good about him spending money on a piece of jewelry I really don’t need.  Last year we were in the process of moving from Boise, Idaho to Corvallis, Oregon, we were planning a three week trip to the Middle East, and we’d driven to Kentucky during the summer to visit my family.  This year I opted to put my birthday present into the down payment of our new home.  My husband looked befuddled this year when I said all I wanted for my birthday was for him to fix a Middle Eastern dish called Makloubeh, loosely translated upside down, a rice dish with chicken and fried cauliflower so named because you turn it upside down to serve it, and a birthday cake.

            So even after the market dived and took my spirits with it Monday afternoon, my husband came home from work with a chocolate birthday cake, cooked the upside down, poured us both glasses of cava, and toasted me for being me!  And he said those all important words for a birthday.  “I’m glad you’re in my life.  I love you.”  What a birthday!

            Still, every year there’s a friend that I expect to acknowledge my birthday who doesn’t.  It’s never the same friend, strange as that may sound.  Usually, it is someone with whom communication has been scarce or virtually nonexistent due to life responsibilities.  I think in those cases there’s a need, or at least a desire, for reassurance our friendship is okay in spite of the lack of communication.

This sentiment inspired the opening scene in my first novel, All She Ever Wanted.  Victoria desires nothing more than to escape the trappings of celebration on her fortieth birthday to be alone with her thoughts about her life and the one friend whose wish for her to have a happy birthday would mean more to her than anything if only he could express it.

            I want to encourage everyone out there to be more expressive not just on your friend’s birthday, but every day of your life.  Tell people how you feel.  You never know when, or even if, you’ll get the chance again.  And, if you have a friend whose birthday is approaching, use it as an excuse to say “I love you.” or “I value your friendship.”  You never know you just might give someone a reason to smile or even lift someone up when they’re feeling low.

You made your bed, now you have to lie in it
Category: News and Politics

When I was a teenager, our church had a minister who used to say “You made your bed, you have to lie in it” whenever we tried to shirk responsibility for bad behavior.  I always found it a ridiculous statement.  Being someone who made my bed every morning, I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to lie in a bed that hadn’t been made.  Who wants to sleep in a messy bed?  I didn’t really get the meaning behind the statement.  Today, however, that phrase has been a chorus inside my head.

            I spent much of today listening to news coverage about the “Bailout Debate”.  First, I think the media is putting too much emphasis on the process and not enough on what the actual bailout would do or what it means.  I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt and assuming this lack of discussion about the actual terms of the bailout is coming from a lack of knowledge.  I listen to the senators and representatives speak and cringe as I’m reminded a large part of being a politician is being able to talk without saying anything, but that’s a different story.

            Back to the bailout.

            The financial institutions created their situation (made their bed), let them suffer the consequences (lie in it).

            I’m usually all for helping people, but these institutions don’t meet my criteria.  They didn’t make a mistake.  They didn’t fall on hard times.  They were greedy and took advantage of people.  They knew they were gambling but did it anyway.  Why should that be the taxpayers’ responsibility?

            If the government should help anyone, it’s the people hurt by the financial institutions greed.  Now, I’m not saying people are completely blameless because a few calculations could’ve shown them what they could really afford.  A few years back my husband went to a meeting with a loan officer because we were considering buying a new house.  As soon as the lender told him he could qualify for as much as he wanted, he thanked her for her time and left.  He came home and told me he didn’t want to buy a house under those circumstances, so we sat down, figured out what we could afford to pay per month, and how much house that would buy.  Still, people trust their lenders - or at least they used to - so they were taken in by the idea they could have as much house (or car or boat or whatever) as they wanted.  The government should start with setting standards and regulations for the financial institutions to help people find a way to stay in their homes rather than the banks foreclosing on the mortgages.  They should renegotiate the loans and find payment options as often as possible.  If this isn’t enough to cover the financial institutions’ expenses, they can sell their assets to the highest bidder.  They don’t need the government to do that for them.  Set up an auction and start selling.  If they still can’t cover their expenses, then declare bankruptcy and go out of business.  That’s called capitalism.

            It’s doubtful this proposed solution would be the “quick fix” to the economy politicians want in order to add to their win columns in time for the election or go home at the end of “session”.  Pouring money into the hands of financial institutions that have already proven themselves irresponsible to the brink of criminality won’t either.  There is no “quick fix” for the economy.  Sorry, folks, but that’s the way it is.  It will take time and a lot of work to recover.

            It’s not like the financial institutions are willing to provide a bailout to their customers.  Think about it.  You’re an hour late with your credit card payment, you pay a late fee and interest, at a minimum.  You may also experience an interest rate increase.  There are no exceptions.  Those are the rules.  We play by them even though we hate them.  If you can’t pay your mortgage, the bank forecloses on your house.  They don’t give you back the $100,000 or $200,000 worth of equity you already have in the house.  Again, those are the rules.  If we want to have a home, we abide by them.

            I want to be clear.  I struggle to balance my need to hold these financial institutions responsible with my need to protect my family’s position in the stock market as I listen to the Wall Street experts say the market will continue to slide downward if there’s no bailout.  Our stock accounts, retirement and active trading both, are taking hits I’d rather not be taking.  I want to cry when I think our new home may experience a rapid decrease in value that will take many years to recover because of this financial crisis.  When I think long term though, the bailout on the table is like putting a Band-Aid on an artery wound.

            Congress needs to slow down, take a deep breath, and work out a solution that will last long past the election.  This takes as long as it takes.  It must be done right.  That’s what we, the American people, hired them to do.

            Don’t forget, be careful how you make your bed because you have to lie in it.

I’m a Winner (and no that’s not a daily affirmation)
Category: Writing and Poetry

A month or so ago, I received a newsletter called Star Searcher’s Express from Be the Star You Are.  Nothing so unusual about that.  I get one each month.  I began receiving it when I donated a copy of my novel, All She Ever Wanted, to them several years ago.  Be the Star You Are is a nonprofit organization that uses literature to rais the skills and self esteem of youth at risk. 

Last month’s issue though mentioned they were running a contest to pick the essay topics for their next essay contest.  That stuck in my mind.  I was deep into unpacking our belongings as we settled into our new home.  Unpacking leaves the mind time to wander.  Ideas for essay topics kept going through my mind until finally I sat down, made a list, checked it twice, thrice.  Oh, that’s right, I’m not Santa.  Anyway, I submitted the topics via email. 

And I won.  I’m not sure which topic(s) won, but I won.  Anyway, I guess the topic(s) will be announced next month when the contest opens.  For this month, I’m mentioned in the newsletter.  Check it out at Be the Star You Are.

Thanks, Be the Star You Are!  Wishing you continued success!

To read more about me, visit me at www.tlcooper.com.

Attending a Restaurant Pre-Opening Party
Category: Food and Restaurants

Sunday evening my husband and I attended a per-opening party for a new restaurant, Izumi Sushi and Grill, in Eugene, Oregon.  We were guests of the owner’s sister, who is one of my husband’s coworkers.

            We stepped into a restaurant filled with people and were directed to a seating area where our hostess sat.  As we crossed the room, I took in the sushi bar where food was being arranged on platters, the rust and taupe color on the walls. the walls of windows, and the contemporary design.  A hanging screen covered the entrance to the kitchen.

            For the test run, dinner was served buffet style, though I understand this won’t be the case when the restaurant opens.  The idea was to all everyone to try a variety of the items to be offered while giving the kitchen staff the opportunity to work out any kinks in the system.  Any kinks were invisible to the diners.

            Being asked to participate in a test run of a restaurant presented a strange dilemma for me.  I’m a picky eater – very picky.  I’d rather cook than eat.  I don’t try new foods easily.  To be honest, I had concerns I would be asked to eat something I wasn’t willing to try.  That didn’t happen.  I ate what I wanted to eat and left behind what I didn’t.  And, hey, I even managed to use the chopsticks for the entire meal!  I was so proud I didn’t have to ask for a fork.

            I expected to be handed a form to fill out or something to give feedback.  I’m not sure why.  Instead the process was much less formal.  Observation by the owner, staff, and the “hosts” was part of the feedback gathering.  Now, for someone like me who is self conscious about people watching you eat, this can create a few moments of self-consciousness.  The observation wasn’t intrusive though and I’m sure most people didn’t even notice.  Also, a part of the feedback was questions our host posed about what we ate, what we didn’t eat, and what we liked.

            I filled my plate with tempura –vegetable and later shrimp – and the fried chicken strips as well as got a bowl of miso soup.  I also tried the fried fish from my husband’s plate.  The tempura was perfectly cooked and delicious.  The fried chicken and fish were both tasty.  The sauces that accompanied the meal were wonderful.  The miso soup was fabulous.  I liked everything I tried.

            I’m not a sushi fan, so I can’t say how it tasted.  My husband is and he said he liked everything he ate – enough so he went back for not just seconds but thirds.

            While my husband and our host went for more food, I stared at a mural of branches with red flowers set against a white background.  Combined with the rust walls and wall of windows, the overall effect of the restaurant exuded an atmosphere at one energizing and relaxing.

            I would gladly participate in another restaurant test run based on this experience.  It was fun!  If you get the opportunity, go for it.  Leaving without paying may feel a little strange, but that’s okay.  Think of it as helping the restaurant perfect their process and menu before the public opening.

            I look forward o returning to Izumi soon for a fun, relaxing dinner.

            If you’d like to give it a try, it’s located at 2773  Shadow View Drive, Eugene, Oregon.  The grand opening is tonight, September 17, 2008.  Enjoy!

Power in a 3-Inch Heel
Category: Life

Here’s an essay I wrote several months ago.  I thought someone might get a kick out of it.

Cherry candy red patent leather 3.5-inch stilettos.  Some see pain.  I see power, confidence, and strength.

Feminine and powerful all at once a high heel gives a woman a power few can understand.  The flex of the calf muscle and lengthening of the ankle result in a straighter, taller posture pumping up a woman’s confidence – or at least it does mine.

            When I left the traditional workforce to write fiction full-time, I got out of the habit of wearing heels.  I didn’t realize the effect that had on me.  Working at home in pajamas and sweats was so appealing – less laundry, less effort – it never occurred to me my confidence, my self-esteem, was suffering.  I’d slipped into a slump, feeling negative and stagnant in life.

One evening I watched an episode of What Not to Wear where the discussion was around dressing for the job you want and the benefits of a high heel.  I rolled my eyes, but a few nights later as I prepared to go out for dinner, I put on a pair of high heels.  Suddenly, I felt more confident, positive, and ready for what awaited me.  And, I also felt pretty again – something else that had been lacking in my life without my conscious realization.  I had forgotten the surge of power I feel every time I put on a pair of heels – the higher the better.

            Surprised?  So was I!

            As I slid on first one shoe and then the other, the memory of wearing my aunt’s pumps as a child brought a smile to my face.  That first taste of womanhood.  As my foot arched to the incline of the shoe, I experienced my first glimpse into femininity that wasn’t frilly and little girly.  It took strength and skill to walk in those shoes, so I emulated my aunt who made it look easy.  Besides I loved that she worked in an office.  I had no idea what she did, but she didn’t get dirt under her fingernails.  On top of that, she got to wear these fabulous heels.  I owned my first pair of high heels by the age of thirteen, which, at least in those days in Tollesboro, Kentucky, was quite young.  Little did I recognize that feeling as power then, yet here I stood as an adult experiencing the same sensation.  And, this time I knew exactly what it was.

            A few weeks later as I dressed for a writer’s group meeting, I changed my flats for a pair of pumps.  Suddenly, I felt different – stronger, more alert, professional.  I carried myself with more confidence than I had at previous meetings.  I walked taller and sat straighter.  I spoke up with confidence instead of hesitancy.  People listened.

            Slowly, over the next few months, I began to wear high heels and pumps more often.  My confidence heightened.  I couldn’t explain it.  I still can’t, but it was, and is, true.  People started treating me with more respect.  I received better service in restaurants and stores.  Friends and strangers alike asked my opinion more often.  My husband and I received more social invitations than we had in quite a while.

            Could wearing high heels really have that much effect?  I doubt it’s the shoes themselves, but probably has more to do with the way I carry myself when I wear them.

            I shopped for outfits to justify my heels – dresses, skirts, dress pants.  My wardrobe became another way for me to project confidence.  I sought power clothes just like I did years earlier while I was in college and cared what people thought of me.  Only now I was buying clothes to make me feel good not to impress other people.

            I got a sharp reminder that heels aren’t always appropriate a few days ago when I visited the construction site of the home my husband and I are building.  My relatively low 1-inch heels interfered with walking in the rock backfill, climbing over piles of dirt, and balancing my way up a board angled from the ground to allow entrance into the home.  Even at that, I must say, the crew on site immediately stepped forward to answer my questions and show me their progress, so I don’t regret showing up in heels.  With that respect in place, the next time I will be just as confident in a pair of the flats, sneakers, and sandals in my closet.  Still when I want to feel my own power, I reach for the heels – 1, 2, or 3 inches.  The higher the better!

            I’ve served as the Master of Ceremonies at Murder in the Grove for the past two years (three by the time this goes to print), and I’ve worn high heels every time.  The first year I wore 3.5-inch red patent leather stilettos.  Attendees and speakers teased me about both the height of the heels and my “ruby red shoes”.  Everyone wanted to know if the should transport me home when I clicked my heels three times.  To this joke, I stopped, clicked my heels together three times, shrugged, and said “They must be broken.  I’m still here.”  Tilting my head, I finished with “Must be where I want to be.” 

The next year, I wore gray snakeskin sling-backs with a 3-inch heel.  Again, people commented on my shoes.  The most important thing was I felt alive and in charge.  Nothing could stand in my way.

With the conference a couple of weeks away at the time of this writing, I’m already considering what to wear for this year’s power heel.  And, I’m looking forward to the way I will feel when I slide my feet into those high heels.

Does it really have anything to do with the heels?  Or have I psyched myself into believing those shoes hold girl power in those thin 3-inch heels?  All I know is it works for me, so I keep wearing my heels!  And loving them!

Inspiration in Organization
Current mood:   creative
Category: Writing and Poetry

Attendee to Committee Chair: My Journey
Category: Writing and Poetry

    Recently, I was asked to describe my experience with Murder in the Grove by someone working on a paper on conferences. I decided to share the end results here as well.
    In 2000, I heard about a conference called Murder in the Grove. It was described as a conference for mystery readers and writers. I was hesitant to attend because I didn’t consider myself a mystery writer. Still, it was a writer’s conference in Boise, Idaho where I live, so I decided to do a little research. The Guest of Honor was Sue Grafton. Lending weight to my decision was discovering Sue Grafton grew up in Kentucky, my birth state. I decided to attend. What could I lose? Besides I was writing a book that fit in the mystery genre – well, sort of.
    The presentations I attended were informative and Sue’s Keynote Address inspired me. Chatting with Sue, Martha C. Lawrence, and Ridley Pearson as well as other local writers was interesting. Still I wasn’t convinced the conference was the right fit for me.
    While I’d enjoyed the earlier conference, I didn’t attend another Murder in the Grove until 2003 when Michael Connelly was the Guest of Honor. This time, I talked to even more interesting people including Michael Connelly, Phillip Margolin, and Joanne Pence. The workshops and panels were again interesting and informative. It didn’t seem to matter so much that my main focus wasn’t on mystery writing. Whether this was a shift in my thinking or a shift in the conference, I can’t be sure.
    By the end of the 2003 conference, I wondered how the conference was organized. Even though I had recently joined Partners in Crime, the organizers of the conference at that time, I didn’t really know who to ask.
    When the organization began recruiting volunteers for the 2005 planning committee, I volunteered. I didn’t quite know what to expect and planned to spend my first conference mostly observing and doing minor chores while learning the process. I didn’t even attend the initial meetings, and then feared I’d lost my spot on the committee. Then the committee asked for volunteers again. This time I began attending meetings still with the plan to mostly observe and do minor chores since I felt I mostly needed to learn; however, truth be told, I’m not very good at keeping my opinions or knowledge to myself. Very quickly all the committee planning I’d done in high school and college started coming back to me. Before long I was freely offering my opinion and was fully immersed in the planning of Murder in the Grove 2005 with Carolyn Hart as Guest of Honor.
    The conference was now being organized by Popular Fiction Association of Idaho, Inc., a nonprofit organization created by the committee to aid in the conference’s growth by getting sponsorships and donations as well as to expand the literary community in Boise.
    Shortly after Murder in the Grove 2005, I began to truly enjoy the planning process as we began planning Murder in the Grove 2006. I began to get to know the other committee members’ strengths, weaknesses, ideologies, and knowledge bases. I started trying to work with their personality attributes and quirks to both fit in and help improve the conference.
    In 2006, our Guest of Honor was slated to be Sara Paretsky, but due to an automobile accident, she was unable to attend. Anne Perry was slated to attend as a Special Guest and graciously took over the speaking duties. I ended up working with both these ladies as the conference neared and found them both incredibly wonderful and inspiring women.
    By the time the election came around for new Popular Fiction Association of Idaho, Inc., Chair, I was interested in the position and the committee was interested in having me fill the position. Suddenly, I found myself Chairing Murder in the Grove. So far, I’m enjoying the position. I’ve learned a lot more about what it takes to organize a conference by being Committee Chair.
    As Committee Chair, I spend a lot of my time working with the speakers slated to present at Murder in the Grove as well as doing publicity, overseeing the details, serving as backup for problems that need escalated, and generally being there to answer questions for committee members, attendees, the public, media, and speakers. This can be extremely rewarding, interesting, and, yes, on occasion exasperating.
    Now, I’ll tell you a little about my fabulous fellow committee members. All the committee members strive to put on the best conference possible while adhering to a strict budget. Dianne Anderson, our Treasurer, handles all things budget related including keeping detailed financial records as well as registrations and providing well thought out input on the issues at hand. Peggy Staggs, our Secretary, takes our meeting notes, maintains our records, coordinates planning with our venues, helps create publicity items, and is always ready with creative input and ideas. Cheryl Maude, Member-at-Large, serves as an excellent Contest Coordinator as well as contacting a multitude of publishers to request book donations. The grace and efficiency with which she handled taking over the Contest at the last minute is admirable. Joanne Pence, Member-at-Large, maintains our website, helps with publicity, provides intelligent and practical feedback on all areas of the conference, and generally steps in to do whatever is needed. Valerie Robertson, Member-at-Large, is always ready to do research and help out in any way needed. The entire committee is filled with creative and practical ideas to continue making the conference the best it can be.
    We begin organizing Murder in the Grove approximately fifteen months before the conference by asking our favorite group of mystery readers, Partners in Crime, for nominations for a Guest of Honor. Popular Fiction Association of Idaho, Inc. then arranges the venue and dates for Murder in the Grove. After narrowing down the list of nominees, Popular Fiction Association of Idaho, Inc., secures the Guest of Honor. Meanwhile, we compile a list of agents and editors to invite as well as determining who we’d like to teach the Master Class. We are then ready to send invitations.
    Over the next several months, we secure other venues if necessary, accept proposals for workshops and panels, plan menus, meet to discuss progress and obstacles, and work on getting publicity. Through it all, we continually discuss ways to keep improving the conference for the attendees.
    Our goal is to grow the conference while maintaining its intimate feel. This can be a delicate balance. We strive to create a conference where everyone who attends, paid registrants and speakers alike, will leave feeling enriched, enlightened, and inspired.
    Personally, speaking for the conference as a whole, I was surprised at just how much someone who isn’t a “mystery” writer can benefit from the conference. The workshops and panels, while geared toward mystery writers, contain techniques any writer can incorporate into his/her writing to improve it with the possible exception of some of the criminology workshops. Many of the agents who attend also represent genres other than mystery. I’ve always walked away with something to enrich my writing and inspire me to continue from each and every Murder in the Grove I’ve attended.
    Murder in the Grove 2007 will be held June 8-9, 2007 in Boise, Idaho. Robert Crais, author of the bestselling Elvis Cole series, several stand alone novels and an Emmy nominated screenwriter, will serve as Guest of Honor. Margie Lawson, psychologist and acclaimed instructor, will present a full-day Master Class entitled “Empowering Characters’ Emotions.” Agents Katharine Sands and Ken Sherman, and Editor Shawn Reilly will conduct one-on-one and group pitch sessions. Over thirty authors, including Rhys Bowen, Ken Kuhlken, Sharan Newman, L. C. Hayden, and Catherine Mulvany will present workshops and serve on panels. A book signing at Barnes & Noble in Boise on June 8, 2007 will provide the community the opportunity to meet all the authors participating in Murder in the Grove. If you make it to Murder in the Grove, say “hi”. I’ll be the one officiating the events, so I’ll be easy to spot!

Thanks for reading!
T. L. Cooper

Who am I?
Category: Writing and Poetry

I was planning this elaborate, insightful opener for my blog then I decided to toss it in the wind and just talk about a subject I know well, myself. Ahhh! My narcissistic side is rearing it’s ugly head!
I grew up on a farm, but my Daddy (yes, I’m a Southern girl.) called me his “city girl”. It never bothered me because it set me aside from everyone else, and I relished being just a little bit different - not a lot but a little. Now I live in the suburbs, and I can’t imagine living on a farm again. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate my Daddy’s love for the earth and what it produces - so much so I have a little garden most years. I still hate getting my hands dirty and wear gloves in the garden which never fails to give him a good laugh.
I’m very happily married and have been for 15 years ago. However, if you’d asked me 16 years ago I would’ve sworn marriage was not for me. Then I met my soulmate. I fought that feeling like it was Satan himself coming after me.
I didn’t even have roommates in college because I had no problem admitting that I didn’t live with people well. The few roommates I had didn’t stick around long after hearing that. I can’t blame them.
Life has a way of surprising people. Now I can’t imagine living alone.
In college I studied Corrections and Juvenile Services because I wanted to change the lives of children, so they would grow up to be happy. I used my degree long enough to get disheartened. Enough said on that.
I’ve been using words to try to save the world since I was a very small child. It started with trying to keep my Grandpa from killing a groundhog that had taken up residence in my Daddy’s barn. That groundhog got married, had children, bought cars and motorcycles, went on vacation, etc.,- probably long after he was dead truth be told. Grandpa would get the stories going by first saying he was going to shoot the groundhog. I would come up with a reason why he couldn’t, and he would ask me questions making me flesh out the reason into a full-fledged story. I miss my Grandpa. He and my Grandma both died shortly after I published my first book, All She Ever Wanted.
As I sit here thinking about what informs me as a writer, it’s life. Everything about life has a story in it. I see things I want to celebrate. I see things I want to change. I feel things I want to share. My heart breaks over something I see or hear. I hear words that destroy and words that uplift. I smell something that reminds me of another time, another place, another event. Or sometimes there’s just something so unfamiliar that comes up I have to explore it. All these things find their way into my writing.
I put words on paper to create stories because I have to. All you writers out there will understand that. I am a writer. Writing is not a job to me though making money at it is better than not. Mainly because making money at it means two things - people are reading my work and I can write more. I will elaborate on this topic in later entries.
Tact is not always my best friend though I can pull out the Southern charm and have you thanking me for telling you where you can spend eternity - and I don’t mean heaven - if the mood strikes.
In coming blogs, I will talk about writing inspiration, writing ethics, serving as chair of Murder in the Grove, a conference for mystery readers and writers, serving as President of Partners in Crime among various things from my life. From time to time, I will also post essays on my points of view and articles I hope you’ll find helpful. Possibly even an occasional review.
My hope is when you read my blog you’ll find something to inspire you in your own life whether it be writing or some other endeavor you care about deeply.