Of Editors and Wrestling

Cheyenne here.

The Editor is still unplugged, as it were. To confound matters slightly, she had a nasty reaction to something she ate over the weekend, and spent much of yesterday sleeping or exceptionally groggy. She is, however, in fine spirits today – well, as fine as she can be while still unplugged, of course.

Along with the Internet service, they have also lost their cable TV. Which doesn't bother her a great deal, although there is one thing she misses very much – namely her wrestling. She is, as she has stated herself, a 'wrasslin' geek,' which is very much true.

I am not. I can appreciate the level of athletic ability on display, but the entire wrestling mileau, with the good guys and the bad guys and the side switching and the sensationalism and the hoopla never really caught my attention. I've seen it describes as a modern mythology, similar to the tales told in ancient Greece about Hercules and the Argonauts, and I can see that. At the same time, I can imagine there were one or two skeptics listening to tales about the labors of Hercules and saying things like, “Rigged, the lot of them. That lion was doubtless no larger than a small dog or a large rat, and the stables probably had been built in a lowland and the river flooded. One big fake.”

I don't think wrestling is fake, per se. Scripted, yes, much of the time, at least, but I will never call it fake – I mean, you can fake the hits all you want, but no matter how you control it, you're still dropping onto a hard surface supported by tractor springs (I believe) when you get body slammed.

So I don't follow wrestling, but The Editor loves it – she has her favorites, and her least favorites, and if you were to call on a night to talk to her while she's watching her wrestling, chances are she'll only be kind of listening to you. But we all get like that – I get like that watching anything to do with Spider-Man – so we can forgive her that. She's a fan, and fans of something get caught up in it, whether it's a particular TV show, a movie, a sports team, a painter, a book, a car race, looking for a particular bird – or wrestling. It's what makes us fans – the willingness to get swept up in something grand and magnificent and entertaining for a little while. Because sometimes, that little diversion is what we need to help us make sense of the rest of our life.

I helped her with her diversion a little today, by looking up the results of last night's matches and reading them to her earlier on. I imagine I'll do that again before she gets her cable TV back. I don't mind so much, really. That's what friends do, after all – and fans, for that matter.

I Am Dis-Connected.

I am dictating this to Cheyenne, who is typing it for you.

Internet service is spotchie. Forget splotty, forget spotty, it’s spotchie. However things are slowly in the works to righting themselves, so you will have the next installment of “The Sleepy Hollow Inn” relatively soon.

On the creative front, since there is a lack of Internet, though it vexes my soul sorely, it’s proving to be a good thing. Story A has at least 4 pages written on it, which is very good. I just wish I could type them, but I want to finish this chapter before I do that. Story B will be worked on today.

Since there are so many stories at the current point, I take one day for one story and another day for another story. It’s amazing how well this works out.

So, there will be updates. There will be stories. Just no specific day for anything – it’ll be catch as catch can. But, hopefully, the next thing that comes up will be the next part of “The Sleepy Hollow Inn.” No promises, but I will try. I will try my darndest.

-- The Editor

Cute as can be!

This made me laugh. I probably should go surfing on YouTube, but sometimes it is most fun. And, as soon as I get things organized a little more, all you'll have to do is click a play button!

An Interesting Twist of a Recipe

Let me know what you think.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-Vw8uQP3UE

I have fallen...

His name is Vitas and he is Russian. He does all of this himself. Yeah, I like.

The Sleepy Hollow Inn, Part IV

The Sleepy Hollow Inn
By M. Davenport

I sat beside her for perhaps almost a minute in our cooperative silence before my curiosity wrung the question that was burning on my mind, "May I ask why you asked me something so...metaphysical?"

I did not want to be rude, yet, at the same time, I was most curious. Of course I could have invaded her mind, but what fun would that have been? That always seemed to me like skipping to the back of a book to see what happens. It was cheating. Bad form, as my father would say.

"Sometimes I feel this...presence...very close to me. It is neither god nor devil, but a mixture of both, or none. It feels very close to me tonight. It has felt close to me since we arrived here." I watched as Veronica's gave swept out into the darkness to search for the presence she sensed. "I think I am going to turn in early tonight. My heart feels very heavy and sad," she said, smiling a sweet, apologetic smile.

"Would you like for me to get Mr. James for you?" I had to stop myself from saying fetch him as we used to do. Veronica smiled very kindly at me and shook her head.

"Thank you," she said, and vanished inside, leaving me alone on the front porch swing. It had been quite some time since I had run into a human so out of Time. It made me sad. She was so young and so beautiful, but this was not her Time.

Vampires are always bringing up references to time, I've noticed. The past is always present with us, just as much as the present. Many become historians because of it, or actors. Yes, it is a cover, but it goes much deeper than that. We keep the good parts of ourselves alive that way. If we're lucky we don't become the monsters of legend by remembering the good about our past life, or lives. Unlike humans, we are continually forced to reinvent ourselves.

I wish I could tell you the continuous reinvention was a good thing, but it isn't on a whole, not for us. Just when you are content with the person you have created, you have to change, give it all away so people don't discover your secret. It is difficult to keep going, keep changing and coming up with different people to become every fifty or sixty years or so. If you let yourself remain one person for longer, humans become suspicious. Humans age. Vampires don't.

The watch in my vest pocket chimed at the fifteen minutes of ten. Its sound startled me from my own deep, ponderous thoughts. While Veronica had been outside Time had seeming stopped.

Something tickled down my spine. I didn't enjoy it.

There was a taste of malice in the air. It was bold. New. Hungry.

Perhaps it was just a cat I was picking up, or a hungry dog? I knew it wasn't vampire or werewolf (yes, they really do exist). My body reacted to it calling forth the fangs and claws which rarely came out.

Was it something Veronica had, perhaps, brought with her? Edward perhaps?

I let my mind roll out toward it. It was intangibly tangible. Just as I almost touched its full mind, it vanished.

I Am SO Doomed

It feels like it - I am doomed. I am doomed to have wonderful ideas and start writing upon them and within two weeks I am sick. I don't mean a wee bit of ill that you can use as an excuse to keep from going into work for a day or from doing the dishes or cooking for a day. No. I get sick where I am laying in the bed and wondering quite seriously if I am going to make it out of bed EVER again. (Yes, the caps are quite necessary.)

Yesterday there was deep hope in this heart of mine that The Sickness had vanished, or was soon close to being so, and then, all of a sudden, today, The Sickness has turned into something that needs a different name. A name that makes you cringe at the thought of having it like "the black death" or "the plague" or something from the Medieval era where you aren't assured you are going to survive.

Verbose? Hyperbole? Too much? Over exaggeration? *sigh*

Maybe.

Tomorrow I am hoping things will be better, and, in turn, I will be better and life can proceed on a far more pleasant note.

-- The Editor

Maybe I'm Just Being Morbid, But This Interested Me and I Thought I Would Share

(You know how I get sometimes in September.)

Archaeologists find 2,500-year-old mummy in Mongolia, tattoos and all...from PhysOrg.com
An international group of archaeologists has unearthed a well-preserved, 2,500-year-old mummy frozen in the snowcapped mountains of Mongolia complete with blond hair, tattoos and a felt hat.
[...]

Poetry

XLVI

A death-blow is a life-blow to some
Who, till they died, did not alive become;
Who, had they lived, had died, but when
They died, vitality begun.

-- Emily Dickinson

Thinking about my friend

Hi all. Cheyenne here again.

The Editor asked me to make a post for today, since she has been laid up and a bit sick for the last little bit. She's over it now, aside from a sore throat, but she won't be at the house much today. So, you get me instead.

Which I know is a thrilling prospect for you.

The other day, while we were talking a bit, we hit upon one reason why we get along so well, a facet of our friendship that neither of us had ever considered before. Beyond being each other's shoulder to cry on, beyond being contemporaries, beyond being fellow Orthodox Christians, beyond considering ourselves siblings, we are writing buddies – and while that is something that could probably be argued that we should have already known, it only just dawned on us the other day.

As statements go it is exceedingly true. We talk about stories and poems we've written or that we are thinking about, we read pieces to each other, and we provide honest commentary on what we hear or read, beyond the simple 'like it / don't like it' reactions. We talk on occasion about writing itself, and we share thoughts that we find about writing made by other authors and writers on the Internet. We suggest books to read and music to write by, we shore up each other's confidence, and we point out things we are doing wrong.

Some of this we kind of take for granted in a way. When we write a new story or a particularly good poem – or one that we aren't sure works – we can just assume that the other will listen and comment on it. It's something of a given. I give her stories a quick editorial read, looking for odd word choices, weird spelling, strange grammar, and any sort of point in the overall plot that I think I could fit a decent sized truck through – and she does the same for me. We both bring different things to the picnic – The Editor, for instance, has more practice looking at things from a literature student's perspective than I do, and she can analyze and divine meaning better than I can (for now, at least) – but that's the beauty of the whole thing. We're two distinct people, of two distinct minds, with two distinct wells of experience to draw upon when we write and when we read, but somehow, when it comes right down to it – we're both on the same wavelength when it comes to words and writing.

And like good buddies of any stripe, we have a friendly competition or two going. So far, she has more raw submission attempts than I do, but I have more published work than she does. Who's winning?

I say we both are.

No, You Have NOT Been Forgotten!

Things have just been C-R-A-Z-Y of late so nothing has been on schedule here, or elsewhere in my life. Luckily, it is looking as if things are going to be far more on track than they otherwise would have because my dear hubby has secured a wonderful new job! I am so excited with and for him! He deserves this and I know he is going to do a wonderful job!

"The Sleepy Hollow Inn" should be up on Monday, at the very latest. I have been swamped with emails about it, and I must admit I can't wait to get the next two installments up myself!

OK, back to the hecticness of life.

Preparing for Mayhem

The Rifts game is tonight and, I must admit, I am a little stoked. I have had two weeks to plot and plan for tonight's campaign, and I have planned well. My GM Mentor has given two thumbs up and a gree light!

Poetry

Beyond
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2006 by H.A. Handy

Life moves forward
Snails pace
Rockets force
Always pushing forward
Sometimes ghosts hold us back
Yet through it all we keep moving
Not here, never here
Never one place for a while
Always
Beyond

Diary Dear

Things are up in the air and falling all around like brittle fall leaves piled high and then letting a four year old have at it. Don't know how long it is going to take me...us...to get the leaves piled up again and back in order, but we'll do it.

This has been very much a quiet weekend compared to a hectic and very confusing week. What all has happened?

-- We over-drafted at the bank. This is quite easy to do when you have a husband who simply refuses to stub a check or report his spending, and you still have to pay bills and buy groceries and keep life going.
-- Became full-fledged volunteers for the local chapter of the Arthritis Foundation. This is something I have really wanted to do for a very long time. Now I just need to finish my first project, which is going to be somewhat difficult in a way because I am going to have to go to the library almost every day for use of a computer and internet service. But this will let me get the current Writing Project back on track.
-- Hubby sprained his ankle and is being extremely macho about it. Not much to explain there.
-- Internet service going to be almost impossible for a while because of financial difficulties. This does NOT make me happy, but there is little else I can do about it. However, I am bound and determined to keep the installments for "The Sleepy Hollow Inn" up and everything else. This may require some assistance from Cheyenne though.

All in all I am settling in for the next section of fighting to just keep having a life. Do you know what this means? Life moves on and you just have to roll with it.

Time to Duck and Cover

Financial troubles are hitting. Internet connectivity is going to be spotty for a while. More as Internet service permits.

Tidbits

It seems Thursdays are turning into "Tidbit Thursdays" with everything that is beginning to happen these days, there is a lot to keep everyone in the local area and otherwise informed of things; Thursdays are sometimes just an extra day to read the story usually posted on Wednesdays. Either way, things are really beginning to jump here and it feels good, even though I sometimes get a little nervous about it all. See for yourselves: ...

Fiction - Sleepy Hollow Inn
Yes, the installment is almost ready to go. M. Davenport required some time to re-work a section because Davenport, not I, were dissatisfied with. It feels wonderful to work with someone so professional. We both seem to be learning a great deal from each other. You will have the next installment of "The Sleepy Hollow Inn" tomorrow, barring anything bad happening or my arthritis acting up horribly as it has been acting up of late.

The Lexington Chapter of the Arthritis Foundation
I am now working with the local chapter of the Arthritis Foundation. Lexington's chapter has only been around for two years. Now hubby and I have volunteered for whatever and anything we can do. It feels good, and I wrote about it in my LJ, which I will probably cross-post here. It is important to keep taking the fight to the disease and keep researchers funded to help end this thing.

It feels strange, Dear Readers, to tell you the truth. I've been fighting this disease since I was 2 1/2 officially, and now, well, now I'm 45. That's all of my life really. I've fought it on a personal basis, here in my body, and now am fighting it in extra ways which has helped to give me the new breath, the new wind I've needed for quite a long time to keep fighting it.

Looking for Arthritics
It doesn't matter what type of arthritis you have. It can be osteoarthritis to gout to rheumatoid to many of the other forms out there. As soon as I can I will provide a list of the types. Don't want to forget or leave out anyone with this stuff. Even fibromialgia is considered part of the arthritic core!

I know there are more arthritics here in Lexington. If you want a friendly face, voice or person you almost know to contact, feel free to reach me at hahwriter@yahoo.com so you can get involved too. Being a part of a unified front does make a difference in how you feel. I can attest to that first hand. The more we are together, the more we can stand stronger, and besides, Wouldn't it be really super just to have a place where people understood where you are coming from? I know I really feel less stressed than I have for quite a while. There IS something you can do. We'll figure something out for you to do, on the good days, through the bad days and any other day in-between.

Even if you don't want to be involved deeply, there are support meetings here in Lexington. The next one is going to be on September 11th. Come and join us there because we know what you're going through which helps to let you know you are not alone.

Bull Riding in Lexington, KY Area
The Arthritis Foundation, Lexington Chapter, is having a bull riding! Can you believe it? It even has the approval of PBR (Professional Bull Riders) and it is said that a lot of the riders who will be appearing in Las Vegas for the finals and championships will also be appearing in the local event. It is being held in Harrodsburg at the Harrodsburg Fair Grounds. I will provide more information as it is discovered.

St. Andrew's Heritage Festival
St. Andrew Antiochian Orthodox Church is having its annual heritage festival. It will be September 30th thru October 1st. There will be traditional foods from Mediterranean to Serbian and Russian. Traditional sweets from all over, and entertainment! Want tickets? Contact me at hahwriter@yahoo.com and I'll hook you up with some!

A Quick Note

"The Sleepy Hollow Inn" by M. Davenport is here, but, unfortunately I don't have enough time, at present to post it because there is a small bit of editing that needs to be done per M. Davenport's request. So, it will appear later today.

My Take on the Three Bean Soup

There are a lot of recipes out there for Three Bean Soup and some of them are really good, but not one of them hit my palette the way this one did of my own creation, combining several recipes I already had.

2 cans black beans
2 cans pinto beans
1 can white/navy beans
Onion
Garlic
Salt & Pepper to taste
Cumin
Chili powder
Noodles
1/3 cup of water
Corn starch
Warm water

In a nice cooking pot, soup pot, put 1 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil in the bottom of the pan. Put pan on medium heat. Chop up 1/2 to a 1/4 of an onion depending on size and drop into the heating pan. Chop 1-2 cloves of garlic, depending on how much you like the taste of garlic. Cook until tender. Add the beans, including as much of the liquid as you would like and 1/3 cup of water. Raise the heat to medium high. As the beans begin to heat, salt and pepper them and if you think there isn't enough liquid, just add some more, but only in small increments because if you have too much it is very difficult to get the water cooked out of them.

As the beans begin to bubble add cumin to taste and chili powder. The cumin I begin adding in about 1/4 teaspoon increments until I get the flavor I want; and adding the chili powder in about the same amounts. I have never reached a Tablespoon yet of either I don't believe. Stir through thoroughly.

Open your favorite box of noodles and put them in, letting them cook directly in the beans. If the soup is not thick enough for you put 1/2 tsp. corn starch in some warm water, whisk it through good and pour this into the soup. If you don't put it in some warm water first you have a big chance of having some lumps in your soup.

Cooking time, about 30 minutes total. Makes 4-6 servings.

For more recipes check out The Ox and Hare Inn.

Yes, there should be poetry here...but...

My dear hubby has been under the weather this weekend, so no poetry for today, but it will make an appearance soon, you just can never tell when.

-- The Editor

I live?

Sitting very quietly today. Have had a migraine for two and a half days. It feels good to be able to sit up and not feel as if my head is going to roll off my shoulders and on to the floor and used as a ball by my dogs.

The Sleepy Hollow Inn, Part III

The Sleepy Hollow Inn
By M. Davenport



There are some things I do in my day-to-day living that would amuse or horrify the die hard Dracula worshippers. I enjoy "New Age" music a great deal, for example. It is the modern equivalent of what is known now as classical music, although classicists shudder at such a thought. (I am sure it is there somewhere inside and they are fighting it tooth and nail to keep from admitting it.) Kitaro is my favorite modern composer. For some vampire enthusiasts they create the image of a vampire rising at sunset with Bach playing in the background before they go out into the night accompanied by techno rhythms and blood. These people frighten me.

I enjoy movies and television as well as true theater. Again, there are some who argue that if vampires really did exist they would prefer their known form of entertainment, i.e. plays and classical music. It is not the vampire who is stuck in time (although there are a few who change slowly), but the people who want to keep a certain time alive in their imaginations I believe.

My views upon the Internet are much the same as anyone else's: I adore it! There is so much information there at your fingertips! And to be able to communicate with someone in Japan in real time and not have to wait months for a written reply by ship simply boggles my mind a little, even now. It is a wonderful, mind-expanding tool. As with everything else, it can be abused and I have known several, vampire and human alike, who have become addicted to it. This addiction saddens me whereas many other addictions do not because this addiction lets people avoid living life instead of attempting it. They hide behind a computer screen and have their relationships never knowing truly if the other person is indeed what they say they are, or even who. It is a cocoon they create for themselves and dare not let themselves change into something, someone grander.

All of this ran through my head as I did a quick search of my guest's writing endeavors.

Veronica James was not in the running for a Pulitzer, nor was she considered an up-and-coming Stephen King. She was, however, considered to be quite prolific and had managed a novel each year for the past five years and had even won several prestigious writing awards, as well as a Hugo for her latest science fiction piece. Veronica James had been compared to Isaac Asimov and Gene Roddenberry for the modern times. Her latest work was a book of poetry which was really quite good from what I read in excerpt. I love poetry but find a lot of modern poetry to be lacking in content and filled with foul language which is a feeble attempt to shock you into not noticing there isn't an image present throughout. This was different and I ordered myself a copy through Amazon.

So armed with this information, I went in search of Mrs. Veronica James in order to greet her properly. She would receive the celebrity treatment of one Jonas nickels. That being me.

Veronica James was outside in the nippy September air. She had on dark rimmed glasses and held herself quite regal and poised on the porch swing. The notebook I had seen earlier was lying in her lap while she tapped the end of her pen on her lower lip. Her eyes were looking far away. Was she seeing a new world or just re-creating this one? How often, I wondered, did she re-create Edward James?

I started to go back inside when she heaved such a heavy sigh my heart, if I had one, went out to her. It was filled with thousands of words that had no meaning, or perhaps too much.

"Am I disturbing your ruminations?" I inquired with a slight bow. Women still like that despite Women's Liberation.

"No, please, come and sit by me." Veronica James' voice was soft and accented slightly with an almost Southern hue.

I took my place beside her on the freshly painted porch swing. It creaked slightly with my added weight as porch swings often do in complaint. This was a sound that never changed through the centuries. As long as there were porch swings, there would be that sound, and, for a brief moment, I was tempted to recall my own childhood and the long flowing skirts of my mother. It was difficult not to wander into my own past, but I managed and wa glad. Some memories should be relished like good expensive chocolate or a lover's impassioned kisses.

"Are you hard at work on a new adventure?"

"No," she said, "just collecting notes for a possible one." I smiled and she smiled back. She was really quite a beautiful creature with long flowing hair and gentle eyes that always held a hint of sadness in them. How had Edward James landed her? This was one of Life's great mysteries I was sure and hoped my curiosity would not ask the one question of how they had met and gotten together. Luckily I was saved by a question she asked me.

"Tell me, Mr. nickels, do you believe in God and the Devil?" Mrs. Veronica James turned and faced me then. It was plain upon looking in her eyes that this wasn't a writer's ploy, but a genuine question, and one she hoped I would answer. But, what I wanted to know was, why?

"Yes, yes I do." How could I not being what I am! "I don't believe the Devil is in red pajamas with horns and a tail, but I am pretty sure he exists."

"And God?"

"Again, I believe He exists. And I don't think He is an old god out of touch with time and humanity. He is waiting, I think, giving people, as a whole, time to grow up. But people are regressing instead of moving forward spiritually," I said.

"So, you believe miracles still happen?" I nodded. "I do too," she said, and relaxed visibly.

Writing Related

Writer's Digest is having a short story contest. Just follow the link for all of the necessary information to it.

Elizabeth Bear, a prolific writer of modern fiction, including science fiction, has a wonderful LiveJournal you should check out. She talks about writing and the art of writing. I find her most amusing. Check her out at matociquala at LiveJournal. Her main website is at Elizabeth Bear.com.

And also at LiveJournal alg is an editor at Tor Books and gives some good advice on submitting works and writing pieces to her as well as elsewhere. She also has Anna's Red Pen where she talks more about writing, but usually her LJ is the place to be. It is more real and you can also see an editor as a real person, not someone in a tower far away with a pen filled with never-ending red ink.

I have been sitting here in my house going over all of the things I need to do. The list is relatively short and goes something like this:

(1) Kitchen - Dishes, clean off table, get garbage out, org for more room

(2) Writing - Go over #29, find places to sub, work on Trai, LJ, Blog

(3) Me - call doc, yoga, prayers, Bible reading, work on game, decide on lib day.

(4) Other - fix a good supper, hubby to class

Not a bad list really. It just happens that today my arthritis is acting up which means a good lot of stuff isn't going to get done, at least not as I would like for it to. Still, some things on my list have been marked off and later, perhaps, I can get even more of it off so I can look back and say I did something good today, other than writing. Of course, writing will usually be close to the top of the list.

Monday Poetry

#29
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2006 by H.A. Handy

The desert surrounds
Filled with lush green things growing
People moving about their lives
Continuing on.

The desert surrounds
Voices raised in greetings
Smiles upon strangers' faces
Time advancing and retreating on tides.

The desert surrounds
Alone amid the bustle
Satisfied with something most
Dare not understand.

The desert surrounds
I see the way out
The path lined with daisies
Golden bricks upon the ground.

The desert surrounds
A table amid the gluttony
Strewn with papers, pens, and inks -
An oasis in the very center of insanity.

Mary of Chocolate

Mary of Chocolate,
originally uploaded by hahwriter.

I find this wonderful and oddly frightening. I can see the Virgin in this. Do I believe it is a miracle? It may be this woman's miracle because she needed something to help her get through something very difficult. The Divine does give us little reminders we are not alone when we really need them, and I believe this one may jave just been for this woman. If this is the case, I am thoroughly glad she has this sign to help her get through....

Sometimes I truly believe the Divine, God, works in quiet ways just so we will have to slow down and look at things a little more in order to take stock of a lot of great, miraculous things He is doing for us, and with us.

As long as the chocolate image itself is not worshipped I see nothing wrong with this. I believe it is a good thing all in all.

Diary Dear

Today is Saturday, and, like most Saturdays, there were plans made for today. Good plans involving friends and an out-of-doors-fair and goggling wonderful pretty shinies. Alas, it was not to be. Rain came. And thunder. And lightning creased the sky here and there with brightness. It looked so far away and was just so calm in its power I found myself unafraid and just watching it. Watching it flash and dart. I let myself go into the roll of the thunder and felt...lighter, as if it was washing away much of the sorrows that have been fighting to accumulate somewhere inside of me while Life and friends and Love itself was struggling to keep the sorrows at bay. I believe the Life, Love and Friends won to be honest in retrospect.

Now the sun is shining outside my window. It dances on the grass and bamboo of the back yard and causes me to smile. I smile because, well, the rain has ended and we have survived it, even though Winter is nearing with each passing day. It is so easy to forget Winter even exists when the sun is so bright and warm upon your skin. Without Winter would those of us who adore Summer adore it so much?

There are still a number of good warm days to love and adore yet. The rainy days will also increase, but maybe, just maybe this year the Bleak will not over-whelm me and my household. Maybe there will be good things to think and admire and the bleak, cold days that are to come will turn into something different. Something happier. Something good.

JonBenet Ramsey Suspect Finally Arrested

JonBenet Ramsey, the little six year old beauty queen who was found murdered in her parents' home may finally get to rest in peace, because someone has finally been arrested in the case. He wrote letters to JonBenet's mother telling her how sorry he was for what happened. Yes, I know there is going to be a book out of this sad story, and I am going to read it. From what I have been able to glean from the Internet, he was a teacher in other countries and has confessed to killing the little girl. He was hiding in Thailand and is currently being extradite back to the United States. Will he make it to the court room? I hope so. I really do. There is still a large part of me that wonders if her parents still may have had something to do with it all. Did they know? And why did the man write Patsy Ramsey letters? Yes, this is complicated.

Celebrations Continue

Sorry Dear Readers, but currently have company. I promise I will bust the buttocks I possess to get everything caught up so you can read the next installment of "The Sleepy Hollow Inn" story.

Recipes and goodness

Yesterday was my birthday, sorry there wasn't a poem.

Today is post-birthday, so, due to the headache and still almost-full stomach no recipe.

Tomorrow, things will be back to normal I hope.

Saving Fish

My husband has a large 55 gallon fresh-water fish tank. He has about eight koi of various types and all of them are different. Earlier one of them became ill and it was my job to sit with a bowl of treated water while my husband ran to the store to pick up a few things he needed for the tank. Along with holding the fish I had to make sure and keep prodding the fish (gently I assure you) so it would keep breathing and not die.

All of our fish have names and this one's name is Dart because he is one of the ones who go running around the tank at high rates of speed and then, usually, will jump his head out of the water or rise up like a dolphin and make as big a splash as possible. Dart is about six inches long now and he is a nice looking fish. I didn't mind baby-sitting him.

Now my husband is finishing up cleaning the tank just to make sure that none of the other fish get sick. As for Dart, well his condition is still undetermined at this time. He is still alive. He is swimming on his own. But he seems to be blind or unable to see very well.

Dart is one of the larger fish my husband has, but, to be honest, he is one of my favorites. I have three of them - Dart, DirtyNose, and JJ. They actually seem to have personalities. Maybe I am just projecting personalities on to them, but they are some of the larger fish we have had for a while and since I am the one home most of the time I get to benefit from watching them more than my husband gets to.

Sometimes, when I'm really stuck on a story, really in pain, or sometimes just have the blahs, I go sit quietly in the living room and watch the fish. Sometimes, a lot of the time, I will mute the TV just to have the quiet and the sound of the water splashing in the tank. And I sit there and watch the fish. Usually the dogs will come close and lay beside me. It makes for a pretty content scene and setting.

I have never worked hard to save a fish before. It has made me feel quite good. I really hope Dart makes it. I really do.

Sleepy Hollow Inn, Part 2

Sleepy Hollow Inn
By M. Davenport

Part II

Veronica and Ed James contacted Mickey six months prior to their visit. As I said, we were booked for months in advance. It was mid September when they arrived. The weather was not quite so hot as it had been in the summer, and the nights were growing cooler than they had previously been. The visit was a treat for Veronica who was quite a lovely, though somewhat sad creature. Ed made it plain the evening I met them that he was indulging Veronica’s romantic side. Mickey informed me later he had done the same thing upon their arrival.

It wasn’t the couple’s wedding anniversary or one of their birthdays. It was just a treat. A treat for Veronica.

“She has always wanted to spend a couple of days in an old house like this,” Ed James informed me that first evening. He was a big man, square shouldered and barrel chested. Construction was his business and he was quite proud of the firm he ran. Although this Mr. Edward James wasn’t the one who had made it into a multi-national, multi-million dollar company. His father, Martin James had taken over from his father and went global. Ed James could not stop talking about the business prowess of his father.

“Dad saw the world as one big resource, as yet untapped at the time. He started making bids, and winning them, in Canada and Mexico first, and branched out from there. I brought in the computers and business boomed.” Ed James was such a modest fellow. He was the total contraposition to his wife.

Veronica James was a busty, petite red head with natural curls that fell down her back to bounce along as she walked. The eyes that looked out at the world were in intelligent hazel. She was quiet whereas her husband didn’t understand he could even be silent. Veronica moved quietly about the house that evening with a jade green book in hand and a thoughtful look on her face.

“She fancies herself a writer,” Ed said as she passed us to go outside to roam the sparse grounds. She had on a tattered brown sweater. “She’s had a few things published. Mostly in women’s magazines. And she won some writing thing. I don’t know what it was called, even though I went to the awards dinner. Some romantic thing,” he added with a heart-less laugh and snort. “It is seven o’clock. Mind if I make myself a drink?” I really didn’t believe it would have mattered if I had approved or disapproved because he had already reached the bar and when he was informed he could not “make his drink” but that Mickey would be happy to serve him, he ordered a Jack-and-coke.

Mickey smiled at Ed and went about making the requested drink. It was quite obvious to anyone who would take the time to notice that my dear Mickey found half of our current guests (we only had one couple) to be almost repulsive. Mickey had interesting senses about people in general. They were almost ferral in their depths, and quite accurate usually.

I had not seen anyone get under Mickey’s skin so deeply so quickly. It had been quite a while since I had seen disgust in Mickey about any of our guests.

With the husband safely tucked away at the bar, I decided it would be a good opportunity to speak with the wife, but not before doing a little research. Mr. James obviously knew very little about what Mrs. James did and cared little for her writing. I thought it prudent to see what she had had published. It would be a shame to be entertaining a potential Pulitzer Prize recipient or the up-and-coming new Stephen King and be totally ignorant of it.

I am sorry all for the delay in getting this out to you today, but Hubby has been playing on the computer ALL day and am just now able to post this for your reading enjoyment.

The Day, As It Ends

I could have sincerely done without today. It has been physically and emotionally painful and I really just want it to end and life to somehow miraculously get better. Yeah, I know, it isn't going to work that way.

Did manage to get down some words on NWP yesterday and not one single jot today.

I feel as if I am falling into a gigantic vat of black goo and it is going to try its best to eat me whole. The only ray of sunshine I have is the NWP, and books. Reading voraciously right now. Have even started keeping the old journal of "books read" and little notes about each one.

Does peace and security exist or is it just a fairy tale we adults are fed to keep us going, keep us moving in some semblance of a forward direction? Does it matter that the forward direction zig zags and backtracks upon itself just as much as it advances forward each with an agonizingly slow pace?

Don't worry, Dear Readers, tomorrow there is fiction (fingers crossed) from M. Davenport.

Recipe Tuesday

I am in love with cooking pockets. Here is one I came up with for fish.

tilapia, 2 per person
4 garlic cloves
1/2 Tbsp. butter or margarine
salt to taste
red pepper flakes, to taste

On a piece of aluminum foil sprinkle a little extra virgin olive oil. Salt and lightly pepper the fish with red pepper flakes (more if that is your taste). Peel two garlic cloves and give them a tap to smash them a little. Place one between the pieces of fish and one on top of the fish. Put the butter right on top and close the foil. Bake in a preheated oven at 375* oven until done. Usually takes no longer than 20 minutes.

Serve hot with rice, a salad and or some wonderful green beans. Tasty and healthy. I like that.

Poetry Monday

One of Those Days
By. H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2006 by H.A. Handy

Too hot outside
Too cold inside
No hot coffee
Too much stuff is in the floor
Life goes on
It whirls at you like
A propeller of chainsaws
Yeah
It's one of those days.

Drugged Thoughts

I am trying an experiment - I am going to attempt to make a contemplative post, or funny post, or just a post every day along with all of the other things appearing on The News.

In looking back at today I find myself being quite thoughtful. Today is the Feast of Transfiguration. This is when Christ went up onto the mountain with Peter, James, and John and was transfigured before them and Moses and Elijah appeared.

It is also the Blessing of the First Fruits. As its name suggests, it is the blessing given to farmers with their "first fruits" of the harvest. My husband took in a couple of peppers, his resume', and I took in my NWP saved to disk just for this purpose.

When the "first fruits" were blessed I felt relaxed and heavy. I knew this novel was getting done and would reach the October deadline set for it. I also knew this one has the best chance of them all at this point. It fills me with a sense of responsibility and creativity. It makes me feel like the writer I am supposed to be.

Had to take some of my stronger medications today when I got home. My right leg has hurt so much and so badly today I actually asked if we could go home. I don't do that, as in NEVER. Now, I am going to lay down and try and get my body back into some semblance of good.

A Married Saturday

Today has been one of those days where hubby and I have just sat and watched movies and things we had recorded for the week on the DVR. Exciting, I know. This was one of those "married" Saturdays you never plan or expect, but enjoy profusely when they arrive.

There were points today where we sat in the same room and chatted while a movie played in the background and I jotted things down in my journal. There were other times where neither of us said anything for several seconds, perhaps minutes, and we were both quite pleased and relaxed with the silence.

Neither of us wanted to cook so we ordered Chinese in and ate and watched movies on the TV and enjoyed the moment without worry of it repeating or if we were going to do anything later on.

Friends called and asked us to get out and go shopping late and we begged off this time because neither of us wanted to leave the confines of our nest.

Nest, that feels like a good word to use for today. It was a "nesting" day, a day where we were content to be only with each other. Happy to be sharing space together, and familiar enough with each other that we didn't need words all the time.

It wasn't one of those romantic, cuddling days where all we wanted to do was cuddle on the couch or in the bed and watch TV. It wasn't one of those days where we wanted to get out and have a date and do something nifty with each other, or anyone else for that matter. It was a day of being married and being happy with the person we are married to.

I thought about this some today. It surprised me how easily we were together, and how quiet we could be, and not feel separate. Feeling separate does come sometimes, but that is usually when one of us is dealing with an issue we haven't talked about with each other, and dread the moment when we do. Today was nice.

Not "nice" in the negative sort of way. You know what I mean, when someone says someone else is "nice" you know they are pretty much a bland person, or haven't really shown their character or personality yet. But, NICE...that "nice" where everything is just as it is supposed to be and everything is quiet. Nice. Like when a guy sees another guys car and says appreciatively "Nice." Today has been like that - a nice nesting day.

Yeah, a good day. A day you can sink your teeth into and enjoy fully and look back on with nothing but smiles and happiness.

Sometimes There Is No Pleasing The Man

Yesterday's News was a bit long. Sorry. To be honest, though, I thoroughly enjoyed writing that piece. Hopefully some of the good natured fun I was having shows through.

Today the News could be filled with many little entries. I am not at all sure quite yet.

Husbands are sometimes horribly hard to please or understand. I know they say the same things about us wives.

The Bad Guy Being Rescued

0811,
originally uploaded by hahwriter.

It just hit me a after reading my very lengthy post that I did not have a photo of the bad guy! How silly of me. So, here he is, Mr. Own Davien. Yeah, wouldn't want to meet him on a cold winter's night near an alley wearing a warm coat. I don't believe it would matter if he had a coat or not. Nasty fellow. Nasty.

The Migraine Scene

Last night I saw Mission Impossible III. I am not a big fan of the Mission Impossible movies, even though Tom Cruise is handsome and really has to be in good shape to play in these movies. The series I adored and still watch the re-runs of. The series was more of a team effort, not just one agent with everyone else supporting him alone. There was a lot of action and adventure, and even a pretty good story surrounding Ethan Hunt, Cruise's character. I enjoyed the movie. I did not love the movie and want to own it afterwards. I am even glad I was able to see it on the big screen. I guess you could say I am luke warm where this movie is concerned . . . except for one scene.

In the movie, Ethan Hunt is trying to get out of the IMF (the Impossible Missions Force) and wants a life with his fiance' who ends up being his wife (Julia Meade played by Michelle Monaghan). A superior informs him that the one person Hunt trained and even recommended for a job had been taken hostage. This one person is Lindsey Farris (Keri Russell). A pretty blond. Hunt's mission, if he chose to accept it, was to get her out and get her back to the states. She was being held in Germany by a really nasty man by the name of Owen Davien who was played by Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Davien is the kind of guy who tortures for fun. How do we know? Because he tells Hunt what he did to Agent Farris was "fun." Yeah, he's a bad, bad man. Perhaps it is needless to say, Ethan Hunt and his team (the only returning member is Ving Rhames as Luther) get the girl and after giving her a massive dose of adrenaline straight to the heart, get her to a helicopter just as she begins to go into serious pain where her head is concerned just as a pretty good helicopter chase ensues. Luckily for Lindsey Farris, Hunt tells her, "This is adrenaline. And you're going to feel it."

Hunt, using a gadget, discovers an electrical charge implanted in her head. It is priming and preparing to go off. The only way to save her? To shock her heart with a defibrillator and then shock her again to bring her back. Piece of cake. Or it would have been had it not been for the helicopter chasing them and shooting nasty missiles. Hunt gets the onboard defibrillator and has to wait for it to charge, as well as save a team member from falling out of the helicopter. Just as the charge is counting down at three seconds, the explosive charge goes off in Farris' pretty blond head and she is no more. There is angst in the helicopter and on the ground. Farris' death is covered by a car crash on I-95. The chewing out Hunt and his superior Musgrave (Billy Crudup) by Lawrence Fishburn as Theodore Brassel is not pleasant.

Hunt gets the bright idea of going and capturing Davien and without authorization plans on kidnapping the fellow while he is in the Vatican at a charity function of some kind. (We never know what the charity function is for and the Pope is never seen, which I found to be a little odd.) Of course Hunt and team do exactly as they have planned, capture Davien and on the transport plan back to the states Davien tells Hunt, "You know what I'm going to do don't you? I am going to get her, the woman, and I am going to make her cry, and bleed, and make her call out your name. Then I am going to kill you in front of her. Remember your friend in Germany? That was fun. Fun." For some reason I believed this character when he said it. He was cold. Scary cold.

When Hunt and team land and Davien is placed in a transport van the convoy begins easily. It doesn't last. There is a drone that begins shooting missiles. A helicopter filled with black clad, German speaking mercenaries who have only one agenda - free Davien. They do.

Once Davien is free, Hunt begins a mad race to the hospital where Julia works before Davien's henchmen can get to her. There is only seconds, perhaps minutes between the time when Davien is rescued and Julia goes missing. Davien has connections somewhere it seems.

Hunt is captured by Brassel because he, Hunt, is considered to be a rogue agent. Musgrave helps him escape and sends Hunt's team to him in China where Davien has said that he will spare Julia's life if he gets this thing code-named "The Rabbit's Foot." It is a biological agent.

Hunt and team succeed. Hunt takes "The Rabbit's Foot" to Davien who has him get into the back of a spiffy white limo and a vial of nasty brown liquid where Hunt is told, "Drink it. No questions." He does. Passes out. When he wakes, there is a nasty looking man there saying "Good morning" as he shoves something that looks like an ear-piercer up Hunt's nose and pulls a trigger. Hunt passes out again. When he wakes again, Julia is across from him with Davien beside her, and Davien has a gun. It does not look good.

Davien keeps asking where The Rabbit's Foot is and Hunt tells him, "I gave it to you." Davien keeps asking. Hunt keeps trying to buy Julia time. Davien shoots Julia in the leg. Hunt is racking his brain trying to come up with an answer. Davien says, quietly, almost placidly, "I am going to count to ten and if you have not told me what I want to know I am going to shoot her when I reach ten." Hunt has nothing else to tell Davien. He broke into a top-secret Chinese lab, stole the biological agent requested, nearly got killed in Shanghai traffic a dozen times over chasing the thing when it slipped out of his hands, had drank the icky brown stuff, and given, as far as he knew, Davien the correct thing!

Davien reaches ten. Julia dies. Hunt is more than devastated. More than shocked. Davien walks away and at the door begins whispering to a man we cannot see.

Enter...intrigue!

Before Davien is "removed" from IMF custody and Julia is taken, Hunt and Luther de-code a microchip Farris had sent to Hunt. It was a video message that said she thought Brassel had set her up! Yeah, the man top guy! The guy who wanted Davien caught so bad he couldn't hardly sleep at night!

It isn't Brassel who sits down across from Hunt. It is Musgrave. I thought that was a pretty good plot twist. He begins grilling Hunt on whether or not Farris bought his snow job that Brassel was trying to set her up. Did anyone else have a clue it was him or was everyone still buying that it was Brassel? Musgrave gets up and goes over to Julia. "Don't touch her!" Hunt roars. Musgrave rips the tape from off of Julia's mouth and part of a mask comes off too! It isn't Julia, it is Davien's assistant. The assistant he blamed for him getting caught in Rome!

Musgrave tells Hunt Julia is alive, but won't be for long, unless they get the information they need from Hunt. After talking to Julia to verify she is indeed Julia and is indeed alive Hunt escapes in a cool way. See the movie. It's cool. It isn't all that plausible, but it is Mission Impossible after all.

Big run through Shanghai. As I said, Tom Cruise really needs to be in shape for these movies. He flat out booked it through a good portion of this movie. I know there are tapings in movies, but he had to be in good shape none-the-less to do these things.

Hunt finds Julia! She is alive! She is tied and handcuffed and duct taped across the mouth. Hunt grabs his head. He looks like he is having a migraine. Now the movie becomes very interesting for me because I have been fighting migraines off and on for an entire week. The bad ones where all you can do is lay down and pray it goes away, or you die. There isn't much choice it feels like when they are that bad. Ethan Hunt/Tom Cruise looked like that. Davien tells Hunt, "I've activated the charge in your head. Remember what I said? She was going to bleed?" Shot of Julia. She has a few bruises and a few abrasions. So she has bled. "She was going to call your name?" Shot of Julia as Davien rips off the duct tape. She begins asking Ethan what's going on, and calling his name as Davien begins to beat the absolute crap out of Ethan hunt.

Hunt begins fighting back. Hunt gets more crap beat out of him. "Remember how I said I was going to kill you in front of her? Well, I'm going to kill her in front of you," Davien says and begins walking back toward the gun lying on the floor. Hunt looks at Julia. Julia looks at Hunt. There is calm trust in her eyes. Hunt charges Davien and the beatings are reversed.

However, as Hunt is giving Davien his beating, he is grabbing his head. He is using his elbows. He is fighting in a brutish, lethal fashion I can easily see a person with a migraine fighting with! I sat there and watched this scene and kept thinking, "Kill him for all of us who have those damnable things! He gave you yours on purpose! Get him! Get him!" I wanted to scream it out loud! I wanted to jump up and down and hoot and holler! But I didn't. I felt like it. But I didn't.

Hunt kills Davien.

Hunt frees Julia. Shows her how to take the safety off of the gun and reload it and gives her an extra clip. "Point and shoot. That's all it is. Point and shoot. Identify your target and point and shoot." All the while he is telling her this he is rigging a basin with water and turning on and off a power switch. When he has done all of this he explains he has a charge in his head and as he sits down on the floor he says, "I am going to die unless you kill me." I chuckled. Julia's response was, "What?" Yeah, I can see it. "Turn it on, then off. You can bring me back. Don't forget the off." As Julia begins to turn on the switch while Hunt is holding live wires (or soon to be live wires) he says, "Wait! Wait!....I love you. Don't forget the off."

Switch is thrown. Switch is off. Ethan Hunt is dead on the floor. Bad guys are coming. If Julia Meade had never held a gun before she did some mighty fine shooting and took out a miscellaneous mook and Musgrave to boot before beginning resuscitation procedures. It is looking as if Hunt may be no more. Then, voila! He is alive! Julia is in his arms! A gun is in his hand pointing at the dead Musgrave! "You did that?" he says, very bemused, quite proud.

Julia finds out Hunt is a member of the IMF. Hunt is given an interesting set of papers by Brassel. Hunt and Julia head off on their way to their honeymoon. Roll credits.

Yeah, the best part of the movie for me was the migraine scene. It was retribution. If someone purposely gave me a migraine, yeah, I'd go off on their ass too.

Catching Up on the Flip Side

Sorry about no recipe for yesterday all. It was dang hot here. In fact, it was SO hot (how hot was it) the Internet connection became quite wonky. Now that my friends, is hot.

Also because of heat, we do not have the next installment for "The Sleepy Hollow Inn" because M. Davenport's AC went out and Davenport is now recovering from heat exhaustion while trying to repair it and Davenport's computer is at the computer doctor trying to recover some of its files so we can indeed have the next installment of the story!

It appears heat is the topic for many blog subjects recently. I have visited my usual ones and I can say "heat" appeared quite a lot in the subject line. For myself I didn't think it was that hot and unbearable. The dogs needed to go outside so I just went out there and sat for a little while and some things came to my attention that made me quite grateful for the AC we have here at the house. Namely, the birds.

I am a big fan of listening to the birds and providing them with as much seed and water as I can. Today, while sitting outside and being very grateful to be warm and happy I noticed the jar flies were quite lazy and not at all loud. Only a few hearty souls were there to make their summer song. A lone monarch butterfly came swooping in to the gardenias planted in the pots along my ramp and I was still caught by how they flew: it looks as if butterflies sometimes are tied to a string and someone is pulling it up and down in a jerky fashion to make the wings move and thus keep their adrift. The big thing though, was the absence of bird song. The trees were a droopy green and all around me was shade. I saw birds sitting quietly with their bills open and their wings dropping in the mulberry tree, but not one peep or warble was heard. A lone cardinal male came swooping in from a neighbor's tree looking for a possible hand out, or maybe just shade, because he looked to make sure me and the dogs were not a direct threat and then headed for the shade of the bamboo.

Me and the girls came inside, drank us a hearty amount of water and then settled down with the air conditioning. It felt good to be comfortable and I am going to try and make sure Hubby can put some water out there for the birds. I just don't know in what yet. I miss hearing them sing. That makes me happy. It means summer. Summer is indeed here, now we just need to help the little birds wet their pretty sounding whistles. For all of the heat though, and the current absence of bird song, I am still most thrilled it is summer.

Decisive Day and Giving the Rest to God

I hate making decisions sometimes. When you are married, the decisions you ultimately make do not just involve yourself, but those of your spouse also. Today I made a decision about myself and my life in the future and my spouse took it quite well, in fact he seemed pleased. I wish he had been just a little more nervous to go along with how I am really feeling.

What did I decide?

I decided I wasn't giving up on my writing no matter what, and I also decided I was going to go back to school to get a criminal justice degree. By the time this degree is done I will be fifty years old. Fifty. Who will want to hire me then? Being in a wheelchair and physically disabled will not be as much of a problem as my age. So why did I do it? Because something needs to change in my life, and I need it to be a positive change, something ultimately filled with hope. So, I am trying for this, and, because I am trying for it, I am pretty sure I will succeed, because I dearly love to learn and this intrigues me.

I am scared, though. I am scared down to the very tips of my toes to the utmost tops of my hair. Hubby is pleased and happy, proud, but I am afraid really, and I am going to have to hide this fear. Why then am I writing it here? Because he doesn't read it. There is always an excuse why he can't read anything I write. So, I may as well be honest somewhere in my life, especially with my life: I am going back to school and I am afraid. I am going for a job and I am afraid. I am not giving up my writing and I am afraid.

Yeah, I guess you could say I am a little on the uncertain side of things. All I can do now is just give it 110% and give the rest to God.

Poetry Monday

The Tiger
By William Blade

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

A lot has been said about this poem of late from Britney Spears to David Letterman. I thought it would be nice for everyone to actually have the full poem to enjoy and read.

"World Peace" is on my list of To-Do's This Week?

It's Sunday and I am sitting here looking down the road at the week approaching and feeling as if, all of a sudden, I have a life and things to do. Ever had one of those days where you just sit quietly and look ahead of you and see all of the things you need to do and are probably going to succeed at doing and then you know, without having been wanting to know or expecting to know you had a life? Yeah, that's where I am at the moment. It isn't spooky or anything, like it would have been a few years ago, but it is . . . strange.

For example, I have three writing projects that are very important for me to work on and complete this week. Two short stories and my newest novel. One short story actually has a conclusion and is waiting on the editorial and second-draft writing to begin the spit-and-polish it needs before sending out to a magazine somewhere. The other short story isn't finished, but does have a good possibility of being picked up by a magazine. The novel, well, the novel just needs words down on it and progress.

On the domestic front I want to clean my kitchen and re-organize it so that when the expected company arrives in two weeks time, there will be a place to sit and eat, have tea and coffee and there will be a place to relax. In country homes this is usually the kitchen. Just because I live in a moderate city doesn't mean my home isn't a country home, so it is very important to me the kitchen is in order.

Hubby needs help with finding a job, so I will be doing a lot of computer searching and applying so that I can be of some assistance.

Plus, there is the ever-present exercise to do. Thank the good Lord it is yoga! If I had to go to the gym this week I would fuss every single day and hate any moment spent there. With yoga I can go into our room, close the door, and let the day slip away or the morning organize itself silently depending on when I actually get to do it.

And then there is cooking and preparing for the Dormition Fast which begins on August 1st. Birthday cards to secure and send out. Bills to pay. Blog posts to plan. Budgets to balance and world peace to secure.

OK, I can't do anything about world peace, but sometimes it just seems like something that should just be on someone's weekly list somewhere. What if it was on everyone's list? Would world peace be found and kept that way? It is an interesting thought.

Computer Maintenance Update

Hubby did computer maintenance today so there was no posting. More later.

Thursdays Alter Ego

Yes, I am running away from all of the mundane things I should be doing. I am running away here, to the Internet and for entertainment and information because here is some place I would prefer not to be at the moment.

Have you ever had those moments when you just wanted to run away and be somewhere else, someone else? I am having one of those days.

Today, I believe, my alter ego would be...Marquessa, a beautiful Italian lady of great title and beauty who had servants to do her bidding and all she had to do was compose the sweet directives and mysteries her friends enjoyed to read. And, could it be possible? The queen wants to hear one in court?!

The Sleepy Hollow Inn, Part I

M. Davenport lives in Lexington, Kentucky and is a fledgling author. M. Davenport prefers gender to be unknown, but does wish it stated that the Davenport household is filled with the love of four cats and two dogs and six birds of various breeds. Personally, I am quite curious to see how the cats and the birds manage to get along, but according to Davenport, they do, quite well.

The house sitting on the outskirts of the sleepy little town of Richmond, Kentucky would make a perfect bed and breakfast. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on it. It was a massive Victorian era structure with a tower and enough land for wonderful, old fashioned garden parties. I could just see the evening garden parties with ladies and gentlemen in period costumes floating among the torch and candlelight on warm summer evenings. The majority of the land was screened from the road leading to Lexington proper and I-75 by a collection of pines, black cheery, and oak trees. An old iron fence did its best to keep things out and the trees in, although when I saw it, the thing had nearly fallen flat to the ground, yet defiant to the very end. Seeing it as I did in the moonlight, I could also see Halloween parties and me there on the expanse of front porch in my favorite costume of a vampire lord. It would not matter if people mistook me for the legendary Dracula: People just did not comprehend there were other vampiric lords besides him. The house would be a good investment, and just before dawn I made my requests known to my friend and protector, Micky Smith.

Despite having lived for 251 years, I needed income, just like everyone else. In order to remain hidden, and hidden well, you needed a cover whether you were a vampire or a human on the run. How many people would it surprise to know not all vampires were rich and had magnificent fortunes tucked away in unexpected places to fall back upon? Most of us of the vampiric kind, struggle to make ends meet just like those who work and toil during the day. True, I had enough money to purchase the house and enough left over to get it going fully, but I was no where near "comfortable" in means.

Besides that, I also had to pay homage to the elegant and beautiful Alison Reese who ruled over a good portion of the Small South as Kentucky, Tennessee and Georgia were known as in the make up of the vampire world of North America. I was coming into the Small South from the Northern Territory and I had to pay tribute to her before officially opening my establishment. It has been done this way for centuries, and, I suspect, it will continue on for centuries to come.

Alison Reese had set up court in a refurbished plantation in Tennessee just outside of Knoxville as the crow flies. I sat there in the ballroom of the mansion and waited like everyone else. Humans mingled with vampires of high and low rank. The humans received wine and water in classic crystal goblets, and we vampires were served small sherry glasses of blood mingled with just the right amount of wine. The blood was of the porcine variety, which made sense - part of Alison Reese's income came from the sale of pork and beef to the markets of the day walkers.

To be quite honest, I was very used to the Northern Territory which was run very much like a business. Here everything was run in Old Southern style where nothing was rushed and it mattered if Alison Reese approved of you or not.

A footman dressed in vintage livery tapped a long staff upon the floor and those who had been sitting rose. Alison Reese floated in dressed in an antebellum gown of lavender and black. Her blond curls were done up in royal fashion and she even wore a small diamond studded tiarra. Seeing her, feeling her presence even before she entered the room, you knew you had met pure royalty, vampiric or otherwise. Her lavender eyes scanned the room quickly and quietly, sizing us all up openly. She seemed to linger over a human male dressed in a three-piece suite of fine silk. As he bowed before her I could see the coldness of her gaze settle upon him and I was very glad I was not him.

The order of business was simple. There was an introduction, the presentation of gifts, and then other business that required her direct, personal attention. Hopefully I would not require anything of her personal attention. Upon seeing her I had a healthy respected fear of her. The less I had to do in her court the better.

There were four new comers ahead of me. They presented her with chests of coins, stocks, and beautiful clothes. The vampire ahead of me merely offered himself to her service which she accepted with the slightest of inclinations of her head. Standing there before her as I now was, I was actually sad at having to part with the little bauble I had kept with me for over 150 years. It was a necklace of the finest gold and sparkling rubies accented by too many diamonds to count. I had received it from Queen Victoria herself as a present and now I presented it to another queen. Everyone praised my gift and waited for Alison's approval.

She extended her pale hand and I placed it directly upon her palm. Her fingers glided over it adoringly. She looked to me and gave me a soft smile and a gentle nod of her head. It was done. I could open up my beautiful bed and breakfast now, which is what I directly returned to Kentucky to do.

That was in 1999.

The Sleepy Hollow Inn became a big success for little Richmond and even was placed in the tourism map. It was a great mystery how some of the men and women awoke with bite marks upon their necks. It just added to the mystery of the place. We were booked for months in advance.

Micky ran everything during the daylight hours, and I hosted in the evenings. I was the story teller, the one dressed in period costume to make all giggle nervously at the ghost stories and tales of lost love and sadness. We were a good team. Micky received good pay for his trouble and I was at peace and mostly ignored by the residents of Madison County until someone didn't wake up one morning because they didn't have any blood left in their body. The thing is - I didn't touch them. Not once.

Recipe Tuesday and the Tuesday Reminder

As the series of days-of-the-week posts progress, I would like to know what all of you think.

THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAIN GIRL NEWS is open for submissions. No payment is given, just a bi-line which helps all of us beginning writers to have our name and our work somewhere posted for the ever-growing portfolio that a lot of editors seem to be looking for these days. Send an email to hahwriter@yahoo.com for writer's guidelines.

Tomorrow we have new fiction from a new writer, M. Davenport. You'll like it. This will be the first serial I have accepted from outside, so to speak, and I believe you will find it very entertaining a little quirky.

Oven Pockets

This makes clean-up a breeze and the food wonderful. Quick and simple, which makes summer cooking a lot easier.

On a piece of tinfoil large enough to hold a good single-serving piece of chicken, drizzle a little extra virgin olive oil.

Season the chicken on both sides with a little salt and pepper.
Add 1 clove of garlic
Add I Tbsp of butter or margarine.
Close the tinfoil like a grannysmith apple turnover (tee-pee style, not tented)
Place in a pre-heated 400 degree oven
Bake until done all the way through.

This way you can make individual servings of garlic chicken and it won't be a mess to clean up and you don't have to stand over a hot stove. Serve with a nice fresh salad and some good iced tea or lemonade and you have a wonderful summer meal.

Poetry Monday

Teasing the Water
By H.A. Handy

Upon the sloping shore
Water laps like icy tongues
Licking and lapping
Hungry for what it can taste
To drag back into the depths.

My toes wriggle in the sand
Playing with the water-tongues
Coaxing them, teasing them
Waiting for the wave to come once
Twice more to cover my feet.

Above the sky turns bluer still
High noon done come and gone
Shade covering me at my spot
Birds diving and singing
I stand still, teasing the water with my toes.

Good News of the Writing and Posting Kind

Beginning this Wednesday we will be delighted with a wonderful serial by a new writer by the name of M. Davenport. Other than that I am afraid I can give you no more details.

Also, beginning next week there will actually be something close to an actual schedule for everyone to keep track of regarding what is going to appear on The News and when such as poetry and ponderings, as well as fiction and other pieces of note.

The NWP is also beginning to be quite firmly moving forward. Here is to keeping fingers crossed and wonderful bottles of ink that may rarely go dry!

NWP is being done in a totally different fashion - I am using the dip pen and the bottle of ink I mentioned earlier. Every word is truly a labor of love and the words are much better. Yes, I am still using a thesaurus, what writer doesn't? However, the words I am choosing are different, better, or feel better. Sometimes the feeling is just as important as what goes down I am discovering.

Have a good day all.

New Writing Project

4,659 / 100,000 (4.0%)

Wordage

Yes, I know, today is supposed to be fiction day but have been typing like mad to get all of my words in and now I can say there is indeed progress.

New Writing Project

4,659 / 100,000 (4.0%)

A Tale of Two Imps - from Cheyenne

Cheyenne here folks.

I’m going to tell you a very quick tale. It’s not a tale of woe, not really, so there’s no need to fret about that. It is, however, a tale of two imps.

The first imp is Tempit. He’s a nasty little thing, full of sand and gears and numbers. His face is sealed behind a pane of glass that flashes 12:00 again and again and again, and his chest is round and elegantly embossed with vine-like filigree numbers, 1 through 12 evenly spaced around the edges. Spinning arms adorn his hands, whirling like helicopter blades on the back of his wrists, and more than one fat black moth has tried to get at the delicious silks wrapped tightly around him, at the silver threads gleaming against the golden numbers of years gone by, only to die screaming a quiet, terror filled shriek as the sweep hand on his back spins round and around.

Tempit, you may imagine, has a love of time. He steals it every chance he gets, from each and every person he comes across. He delights in hearing us go on and on about how “There just isn’t enough time in a day anymore!” His job performance is measured in seconds stolen and minutes wasted, and he is very good at his job.

Occasionally, however, he cant seem to steal enough time, or not from the right people. He has that problem with everyone now and then, and he accepts it, a little – one must be Zen about these things, after all. He can’t steal each and every minute, not unless he wants to be out of a job completely. But yesterday, The Editor – our own beloved Editor – made excellent use of her time, and Tempit was not able to steal even one brief second away from her.

So he called his buddy, Migrat.

Migrat is a pained thing, miserable and wretched. His skin is two and a half sizes too small, and his bones grind against each other instead of gliding. His eyes bulge and his ears bleed, and every nerve in his head is pressing against the inside of his skull. His chest barely has enough room for him to draw breath, and it is almost fortunate that, being an imp, Migrat doesn’t need to eat, for his belly would be hard pressed to hold a drop of water or a crumb of bread. It would be most fortunate, if he was not always beset by thins maddening hunger. Migrat is a creature that knows nothing but pain, and unlike most imps – Migrat loves to share.

Which is why I am here today, telling you all that the Editor has been abed most of the day with horrible migraines after having a most productive day yesterday. Fortunately, Migrat lacks patience, so she should be up and about – if not entirely right as rain – upon the morrow.

Kind thoughts, well wishes, and prayers are, as always, encouraged and appreciated.

Yoga and Suddenly Me

I have been doing yoga for about six weeks now. I confess I haven't done it every day as I know I should be doing, or the very minimum of once a week. Yesterday I did yoga, more as a desperate plea for movement and feeling better - just to feel better. I didn't do the complete routine I have, but it made me feel good. It wasn't the sort of "feeling good" I have been used to with exercise. It was a heart-warming, soul-filling good that I had just done something good for myself and that I had actually enjoyed every moment of it.

When it was all over, and after I had a few moments just to myself, I sat down on the foot of our bed and thought about it. In the past I have promised myself that I would do something to get in shape, start it, and then stop it. This is a point of contention between me and Hubby, especially in an argument (he loves to bring this up). Yesterday, sitting on the foot of the bed and feeling my back more relaxed and my shoulders less stressed - I looked up and saw myself looking back at me.

For the first time in a long time I sat there and looked at me. Did I like the person looking back at me? Yes, I decided. I like that person. Still, the person looking back at me was not in the best of physical condition, but that still didn't make her un-pretty. There was a real beauty underneath it all there, and, quite suddenly, I wanted to make that beauty come out. I wanted to see it. I wanted to experience it. I suddenly felt myself ready. Does that make sense at all? I'm not sure if it does to me or not, but I knew I was ready. It was time. No matter how much I would say it or had said it in the past, it really was time to let that beautiful person I saw just underneath my eyes come out and see the light of day.

In accepting this and knowing all of the work it was going to take, I also realized that I didn't need to hide any more. It was even more surprising to realize I had been hiding a big part of me for most of my life - the pretty side. It has always been more important for me to get the story down, to make a living, to help my parents, to help Hubby and my friends, but never did I fully give time to myself. I always kept time for myself to a minimum. Yesterday I felt important to myself. It was a surprisingly wonderful feeling. It was also in that moment I realized I didn't have to depend on make-up to make me feel pretty. It, the make-up, was just something to help me bring out my eyes and to accent the already full lips. The person looking at me, which was me, was actually very physically pleasing in appearance. I was pretty and there was no need to let it hide in my eyes.

Self-esteem is another word for all of this. I saw self-worth looking back at me from my own eyes. It was startling. It was good. And now I have the strength to go on - letting the prettiness out and letting myself be worthy of everything there is out there for me.

One of THOSE Moments

Sitting quietly before the computer screen with the TV going in the living room and the dogs either snoring or making yummy chew noises on something they probably shouldn't be chewing on, I realized today that there was a lot on my plate as far as life was concerned.

The writing and creativity has truly jumped a hundred leagues. The days of the week are filled with things for me to do. Yoga truly IS important to me. Despite some bad days, I am really quite happy now. It has taken a long time to reach this point and I am going to try my best and enjoy everything about it for as long as I possibly can.

mimibaron

mimibaron,
originally uploaded by hahwriter.

I am just trying out a few things with my new Flickr account.

It's Official

It is official - the new novel has begun.

Last night and today I read for research because the main character is a big fan of . . . Traci Lords. You know her, right, or have heard of her? The teenager who got caught up in the porn industry and has struggled out of it to be accepted (for the most part) as a legitimate actress?

When I first hit upon the idea of making the person my main character admired an actress I actually did a lot of thinking about who would be a wonderful person to admire. I thought of all of the usual ones - Fay ray, Marlena Dietrich, Lauren Bacall and all of them would have been wonderful, but these people have been used a lot. I wanted someone different, someone people wouldn't expect and came up with Traci Lords, and, yes, I did so because of the "porn queen" image I had heard about.

Last night I sat reading Traci Lords: Underneath It All totally caught up in the frank manner the autobiography was written and finished it off today. I felt ashamed of myself for thinking of her initially as "a porn queen" and realized I had fallen into the age-old trap of thinking little about her, almost as if she herself were fiction, someone made up. By the end of the book I had an admiration of her and highly recommend this book to all to read.

Traci Elizabeth Lords (originally born Nora Kuzma) is frank and honest about her life. She speaks openly about her rape, how men molested, abused, and used her; as well as her struggle to over-come what had happened to her and regain control of a life that seemed shattered and fractured beyond repair to an outsider's eye. She was fifteen when she began in the industry under a false name, got hooked on drugs, and her last porn was the only one she had done legally at the age of eighteen.

She takes you through her recovery and lets you explore with her the trials and tribulations of over-coming all of the horrors that life can deliver and help you see a vibrant and tough woman who decided she was going to survive and actually did so and in the process secured happiness in her life, which was not easy at all, and success in her chosen field, which, again, was not easy.

A friend of mine and I once guessed that perhaps porns had been her "break," but I had not read her book at the time and I have to admit I was stunned to even admit I had thought like that before.

Yes, it is official that the novel has indeed begun, especially the research, but what is even more official is that my main character indeed chose a wonderful role model. It is also official that the fictional character in my head taught me a few lessons and I am most grateful to him for that. Truth really is stranger than fiction.

Poetry

Do We Ever Know?
By H.A. Handy
Copyright (c) 2006 by H.A. Handy

Prayers are answered
Battlefield to hospital
Classroom to end of life.

Are we ever too old to pray?
Do we ever truly stand aside,
Saying fully in our hearts -

I can do this alone,
There is no power out there to help me
There is nothing I can turn to?

Do we always not wonder?

Female Stars 1920-1958 and Polynesian Weapons

OK, it is time for me to begin the new novel. (The short story is finished and will be heading out to the whims of the world soon. Will keep you updated as to where it is going.) Since a new novel is beginning, so is the research. Here are a few questions that if anyone has any knowledge of or ideas, or even something they like, please leave me a comment so I can journey forth in blissful research.

What female movie star or starlett do you think of as being most elegant in the years 1920 to 1958?

What do you know of Polynesian weapons?

Finding a Little Control in the Middle of Chaos

It has always been hard for me to have any control in my life where I felt I was in control. Growing up in hospitals can do that to you. First your parents have control over you, and thus, in the middle of it, you know you have choices and can make decisions regarding little matters, but when the child is quite sickly and in and out of hospitals on a regular basis, can't move without excruciating pain, the control leaves. You have medicine forced upon you. You can't go running through the house because you're too sick and, well, it hurts too damn much to breathe, much less walk - so you are resigned to a room and that room depends on where your Mom or Dad puts you for the moment. In you are lucky, as I was, they would ask sometimes if you would like to be brought into a different room, or outside with them in the summer. Sometimes you even got to sit outside by yourself and play with your cat. Somehow you figure out how to feed the birds, and since you have to sit quietly to keep the pain away, you learn that by sitting quietly the birds come to light upon you and they are light and their feet and toes are very sharp because that is how the sit upon the limbs of trees, so they grip your toes in that same manner. You learn not to flinch, because that is a different pain and it is a magical one because something that flies through the skies actually came to sit on your foot and hop up your leg, turning its dark eye this way and that. But let the cat come or the door open, or your Mom call from inside the house to inquire how you are and the bird, sometimes several of them, flit away to land on a walnut tree limb and look back at your suspiciously, but if you're quiet and patient...they come back.

Then, when you're too sick to stay at home you end up in the hospital. There even your parents don't have a say over you. The nurses move your body and cause pain, or they stick you with needles and draw blood, or give you shots that make it feel like you're dying and floating away. There isn't any way to go outside. There aren't any cats to purr and comfort you. There isn't any television you can watch because your parents don't have the money for it, and you have to try and eat food you can't really put in your mouth. You go where someone else wants you to go, and heaven forbid if you have a book to escape from the pain. The light goes out at eight or nine o'clock in the evening. There isn't any more reading. There isn't any more escape. So you just lay there, and if you're lucky you can be by a window and look up at the stars and wonder if there could possibly be life out there, and, if so, what type of life would it be. If you're not so lucky, maybe you can imagine and make the imaginings come to life to help distract from the pain and help lull you into sleep.

Sometimes I don't feel very far away from that time in my life when there was constant chaos around me and no place or chance of escape or to have a chance to take some control over it. Recently that feeling, which I hadn't realized was always present before, actually has begun to fade. I look around me and see things I can change and correct; actions I can do to make things happen in favor of this or that.

When did this feeling start to change? When I began using a dip pen and a bottle of ink to tell stories. Suddenly there was control in the middle of chaos, and I was the one in control.

Slowly it is spreading to other areas of my life. My friends and family are quite happy about it all, but they can't understand how something so old fashioned can help you regain part of yourself, especially the important part that says you can make a difference in your environment, and especially in your own life.

Yes, I am finding a little control in the middle of chaos, and also discovering the chaos really isn't as chaotic as I thought it was. Imagine that.

Progressive in Being Peaceful Department

Today was one of those writing days that don't come by very often. I sat at the kitchen table and dipped pen into ink, literally, before applying the pen to the page. The scritch scratch of the pen was the only sound to be heard except for the occasional snore of the dogs or them shifting positions. The scenes were brisk in my mind and came out, I think, quite well onto the paper. The words kept collecting and collecting until, at last, the thing was finished. Two weeks of working on a short story and it was finally done. When I wrote the last night, punctuated it and leaned back into my chair more comfortably I felt as if I had just written a short story! Now begins the typing.

Holiday Blues

The Fourth has come and gone and now the normal week tries to impose itself back upon us. Today is the day when there should be some fiction isn't it. I don't want to work on fiction just yet, but it has been requested that "The Child's Voice" be continued - so, we will continue it come tomorrow or Friday. I'm just not ready for the holiday to be over y'all. I guess most of you understand that. I ask your forgiveness now and promise to try and do better.

Holiday Blues

The Fourth has come and gone and now the normal week tries to impose itself back upon us. Today is the day when there should be some fiction isn't it. I don't want to work on fiction just yet, but it has been requested that "The Child's Voice" be continued - so, we will continue it come tomorrow or Friday. I'm just not ready for the holiday to be over y'all. I guess most of you understand that. I ask your forgiveness now and promise to try and do better.

The Fourth of July, Independence Day

I have always been a patriotic person. Despite the problems this country has had to face or had to go through, I have been here pulling for her and doing my part by voting, even when I didn't believe voting actually made a difference any more.

Maybe it is because of the era and family I grew up in. My Daddy was a World War II veteran and a hero to me. He fought against one of the greatest evils I had ever read about - Hitler - and I admired him for that, even when he said he did not want my "admiration" because all he had done was been scared and had to kill people who were just like him, scared and young and just trying to do the right thing for their families. In everything he did, my Daddy was a very honest man, and he is still my hero.

Now, in looking at this country and where it is in relation to the world powers, I am still a patriot. I still admire the things we have accomplished as a nation and I am hopeful for the future of it. At the same time I admit it has problems. Big problems. But if the people stand firm and actually work for what is right and good for all citizens, then there is a good possibility things will work out just as it should.

Sometimes, when I look at the Independence Day holiday I still wonder if we are as independent as a people and a nation as we should, or could be. Still, I don't believe I would live any where else because I have the freedom to put my words onto a screen and share them with the world in relative peace and comfort that someone is not going to come and knock down my door and take me away because I said something the government didn't like.

Although I am not part of "the press" as a whole or as the world sees it, my own opinion is important to me and being able to express it is a privilege I will never take for granted. It is the independent, sometimes individual voice that rises in freedom and encourages others to be free, even in the same nation, or perhaps somewhere else. Having the ability to say what you like is important, far more important than most people of America would like to accept.

So, on behalf of all of those out there who do not say it enough: God bless America, and may our flag forever wave over the home of the brave and the land of the free.

A Writing Dream Come True

Yesterday I received something in the mail that has pretty much made my year: three vintage dip pens in splendid condition.

Sometimes when you are a writer, a story teller, you get an image in your head of what you would like to write with ultimately. For me it has always been a dip pen. I could see myself easily sitting at a desk dipping my pen into a bottle of ink and writing upon beautiful paper.

Last night, I not only got to write in this fashion, but I got to do so in my paper diary/journal.

The very sound of the pen scratching across the paper was beyond beautiful. The pen itself was light and easy to hold which kept my hand from becoming excessively tired, and the image I had of myself so long ago came full force into reality and caused me to catch my breath.

What lies ahead in this writing, story telling craft I do not know; however, I do know that writing has changed forever for me and creating poetry and short stories have also changed. My very life feels as if it has changed, and I am thankful for it.