Thanksgiving

Hi Everyone,

It has been a while since my last post because 1) not much has happened, and 2) I haven't been, as they say, 'feeling it' lately.

Let me explain: Like most everyone else, hubby and I have been affected by the great recession of 2008. Not only did hubby lose his business and better than half our income, we lost about 35-40% of our savings, which was in the form of mutual funds. And, also like a lot of folks, we are upside down in our mortgage.

We've been trying to get refinanced since November 2009 when President Obama created the Making Home Affordable Program to help homeowners (like us) who are 'under water' with our mortgages. Although our loan is through ABN AMRO, it is serviced by CitiMortgage. Suffice it to say that we did everything we could to satisfy Citi's requirements, yet we were denied six months later because we put our tax return (the first one in 20 years!) in our savings account.

Okay... so then they put us in their "Workable Solutions" program. Although we were miffed about being disqualified for the HAMP, we were okay with filing for the in-house program. However, Citi is, apparently, inundated with refinance requests and just as inundated with incompetent people who lose or misplace documents, jump to conclusions concerning our interest (because they could not reach us via phone? In the middle of July?), and give us wrong phone or fax numbers causing a lot of confusion and misplaced documents (they have done all these things). Also, it seemed as though they were using a script when they spoke with us. They would put us off, patronize us, and apologize to us--all while being very polite, of course, but very effective in delaying the process.

We hired the Krup Law Gruop out of Newport Beach to help us. It cost us some money, but hey, they are attorneys, right? Surely they could work some miracles, or at least get someone's ear and help to make us a deal, right?

Wrong.

We were denied for the HAMP for a second time (this, although the folks at Citi said we were eligible in November 2009). So we again started in the "Workable Solutions" program on September 28. We are still waiting for a negotiator to be assigned, and it is December 8, 2010 as I write this.

Now I worry if we're being scammed by our attorneys who advertise that they specialize in home loan remodifications. They've been in business for 37 years with zero complaints--at least that's what their website says. I checked it through the California Bar Association, and they're legit. But still I wonder...

I'm bummed. This whole thing has put a real damper on my holiday spirit. But I do have a backup plan. I am not moving. I am not giving up ONE thing. Nothing. Nada.

However, since Thanksgiving, I have been doing a lot of reflecting on things in general.

There are a lot of folks who have lost their jobs, their homes, and/or their health. Fortunately, I am not one of them. Hubby was 'ready' for retirement when he lost his business--we just weren't fully prepared for that event. We are still in our home and we will remain here. And lately, I had a couple of health scares, but tests showed that I was, indeed, healthy. So even though it seems as though we've been paddling upstream, things are basically okay. I can't really complain.

Hubby is finally healthy again, after getting all his medications sorted out. He was having some trouble earlier this year, but he is doing everything he used to do--golf, walking the dog, puttering around the house, etc. So I am very thankful that he is doing so well. After he lost the business, his health started to spiral downward. Now two years later, after several procedures, a pacemaker, and some new medications, he's like 'new' again!

One thing I am enormously thankful for is the fact that my friend and sister, Raymona, has been blessed with a great new job. It is the kind of job one would hope for, with career opportunities, upward mobility, and benefits. Thank goodness for friends, because it was through a friend who was able to extend the opportunity to Raymona. She will start working as a laboratory technician trainee at the end of the month! Yay! Congrats, Raymona, you deserve it!

Then there's my wonderful mare, Beauty. Her proclivity to crippling laminitis has been controlled through her diet. She is taking a few supplements (5,000 units of Vitamin E, a pro-biotic, an anti-inflammatory, and thyroid medication). She eats a half flake of soaked hay every night, otherwise her diet consists of about 12 pounds of LMF Complete (a nonstructural carbohydrate for horses who cannot handle the carbs). She's also lost about 120 pounds. She looks like a lean, mean, equine machine.

That is, until a few days ago.

Somehow, her exuberance in the round pen resulted in an injury to her right front heel--probably an overreach after slipping in the mud. Poor baby. She's having trouble walking, but at least I know it will heal eventually.

And there are my kitties. Littlebit had a severe cough for over 3 weeks when I decided to take her to the vet. He reminded me that she has some kind of asthma (I forgot because it only happens around this time of the year) and so gave her both an antibiotic and cortisone. She's all better now. All my 'babies' are just fine, too. I am very thankful for that.

Then there's Cricket, the barn cat. I don't know if she'll ever fill out completely, but there's a bulge now where there were only ribs before. Jan and I took her to the vet for a check-up and he said she was in pretty good shape, except for the herpes virus in her eyes (not contagious to humans). She has a skin allergy (probably fleas), so he gave her a cortisone shot, a worm pill to get rid of any tapeworms, and an application of Frontline to control fleas. We started Project Cricket on October 21 and it has only been within the last few days that she has been eating only one can of Friskies in the morning and one in the evening. For a while, she was putting away twice that amount, and sometimes more! Maybe she is starting to level out. In any case, she's doing very well. And I am very thankful for that.

However, there are a lot of things going on in our world that I am truly unhappy about, especially the animal abuse... the destruction of habitat, killing of our wildlife, many of which are endangered, the treatment of our farm animals, etc. I used to be able to give something to the various humane groups and organizations, but this year we are counting our pennies and trying to hang on to what we have. This makes me sad. But I am thankful that there are others out there who also hold dear other, non-human creatures.

This is my last post for the year. See y'all next January!

Have a very Merry Christmas and a safe, happy, and prosperous New Year!

When I Grow Up . . .

Do you remember what you wanted to be when you grew up? Fireman? Spy? Nurse? Cowboy or Cowgirl? I’ll bet you wanted to be one or all of these things at one time or another. For some, it all depended on which TV program was most popular at the time. Maybe it was Ben Casey, Bonanza, The Man from UNCLE, or Emergency! you watched when you were younger. Me? I can’t remember what my favorite shows were. I was too busy reading.

There was a time when I wanted to know EVERYTHING. And to me, that included history, especially the early civilizations like Egypt, Greece, Rome, and the early formation of the European countries. I read everything. And I do mean everything—good and bad—even The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon (yes, I know it was inaccurate and fraught with bad info…but I read it back when it was accepted as the real thing). Charlemagne was one my all-important historical ‘heroes.’ So was Herodotus, Aeschylus, and Pericles (and many more). Each were different. Herodotus was the historian, Aeschylus a writer of plays, and Pericles, the builder of Athens. I had no real Roman ‘heroes’ except for Marcus Aurelius who was responsible for what is known as the golden age of Rome. I also studied the world religions. This was on my own, without urging from my teachers.

That explains why I wanted first to be a teacher of history.

Then I decided that I didn’t just want to be a historian, but a writer-historian, like Herodotus. Because my interests were history and writing, I turned to journalism, at my stepdad’s urging. He encouraged me to study French (the diplomatic language of the time) which I did. Together we laid out a plan for my life: After being a news journalist and foreign correspondent for a few years, I would then teach history. Yes! My future was ‘set.’ This was all decided in my Freshman year in high school—at the tender age of 15. I would major in history and minor in journalism. In my Junior year I began to research possible colleges. I considered Penn State, UCLA, and the University of the Pacific in Stockton. In my Senior year, however, I applied to the University of Beirut, Lebanon (because they spoke French and specialized in ancient civilizations) and was accepted. Unfortunately, my life took an unexpected turn.

I got married.

Pre-marriage, my life at home was pretty bad right around the time of my graduation from high school (but that’s a whole ‘nother story, however). Suffice it to say that my stepdad was in serious trouble with the law and my home life was chaotic, tenuous, and at times even hostile. That’s probably why I got married—as an escape—a mistake a lot of girls make when they could have changed their lives in other, better ways. It was a pretty stupid way of ditching my problems, but rationalization set in. It was 1967 and it was Israel’s Six-Day War. Not a good time to pursue one’s educational goals, albeit in the middle east! Other wars followed, so I put the whole educational thing on hold and took the 'easy' way out!

I could have been a veterinarian, too. I love animals—all kinds. Once it was suggest that I should be a vet. I kind of liked the idea. I always took in the strays—the weak, the sick, the starving. I always nursed them back to health and found them homes. I’m doing that now: Project Cricket—a skinny, worm infested, barn kitty. She also has the dreaded feline herpes virus clouding eyes that drain constantly. There is long-suffering in her background, which makes me want to help her more. So far, so good. She’s starting to put on a little weight, but she has a long way to go.

I thought about being a vet…I just couldn’t deal with euthanizing a perfectly good animal, which I would have to do from time to time. Euthanasia is appropriate and necessary under some circumstances, and I agree with it when an animal has no hope of living a normal life. I just don’t want to have to do it.

So what did I end up doing? Ha! I went to work to support my family, especially after the kids came along. Although I went to American River College in Sacramento, I never really got a 4-year degree. Instead, I went to work for the State of California. I was a data entry operator, a government analyst, a personnel specialist, an upward mobility counselor, EEO Analyst, a disaster medical specialist, and of late, a resume writer (a side job I have done for the last 30 years or so). I’ve been pretty good at all of those things, but they weren’t what I set out to do.

I wanted to write fiction.

Nowadays I do write. I published my first book last year (Desperado Moon) and am working on another (The Last Conquistador). I don’t know when it will be finished—probably not for a couple of years. In the meantime, I still read a lot of history and provide aid and comfort to the local kitty population, especially Cricket. I’m doing what I can for her. And you know what? That gives me absolute and total pleasure—to be able to help and rehabilitate her. I’ve done it many times before and it never ceases to amaze me, how resilient our animal friends can be, especially if one applies lots of love along with food and medicine. However, this little kitty is going to be a major challenge.

When asked what my most fulfilling role has been (other than as the mother of my two fantastic sons and grandmother to my equally fantastic and amazing granddaughter, Samantha) I have to say finishing my first book and providing aid and comfort to helpless animals. I love them all: dogs, cats, horses, goats, geese, birds…you name it. I’m just a sucker, I guess. But that’s me—a mother, grandmother, wife, writer, and an animal lover of the 1st degree.

So what is the point of this particular blog, you ask?

It’s all about making choices in life—choices that ultimately affect the future. It’s about making the right decisions that help to determine who you are… choices that help you to be true to yourself.

To the younger set reading this blog: If life throws you a curve, it doesn’t mean you have to duck, jump, or otherwise let go of your dreams. Stay strong. Stay on the path. Follow your dreams no matter what happens or what anybody says to deter you (it’s mostly jealousy, anyway). Your time is now (before you get married, start a family, etc.) Finish school. Be the best you that you can be. The future becons, but it can be lost with a snap of the fingers or a decision made in haste.

Look at it this way: Your life is a box. The contents (you) are fragile and should be handled with care.

When someone says “Don’t worry, you can always go back to school,” don’t fall for it. Stay in school, learn, and put the polish on your own apple. Love, marriage, and kids will follow when you are ready. There is plenty of time to settle down.

Then, when somebody asks you what you want to be when you grow up, you don’t have to spew a list of regrets and rationalizations, work in a field you didn't want, or never make the money you could have made had you finished school.

Think of these precautions when you are about to make a life changing choice:

“Contents fragile.”

“Handle with care.”

And above all, keep “This [your] end up” and finish what you start.

Super Brother

Yesterday I drove into Sacramento to have lunch with my younger brother, Alex. He’s ten years younger than me and plagued with bad health. I don’t know how much longer he’ll be around, and I love him. In a way, we are ‘soul mates,’ if one could say that about one’s sibling. (Photo: Alex on the left and his father on the right).

He had cancer in his mouth about five years ago, on his tongue. The surgeon removed it and advised chemotherapy. Alex opted for the laetrile treatments in Mexico. And natural foods. Our mother bought him one of those mega-fantastic sooper-dooper juicing machines, and he basically juiced himself back to health. He’s been cancer free ever since.

You see, Alex is a majorly self-educated person. He reads constantly. He is also somewhat of a layperson when it comes to cancer. Just ask him a question—any question—and he can answer it.

Then, about three years ago, he had a stroke. According to his doctor, it should have been fatal. He spent several days in the hospital. His speech was slurred and stumbling. His hands were shaky. He tired easily. We all wondered what would become of him, but several months later he was his old self again.

He’d dodged another bullet.

Throughout this whole ordeal, however, Alex was also dealing with another major health issue, heart disease. He’d been cursed with bad genes—we all knew that. Almost every one of the men in his father’s family died of heart attacks at early ages. His dad (my step-dad) had triple bypass surgery back in the mid ‘80s and died 14 years later of a massive coronary. He was 72, the longest living man in his family, thanks to modern medicine.

I didn’t count (and only my brother knows for sure) how many heart attacks he’s had. He has been in and out of hospitals for the last 10 years. One time, he was driving home from his job and felt pain in his chest—instead of turning left to go home, he detoured to the right and drove himself directly to the hospital.

A couple of years ago, he had another major incident. His cardiologist conferred with other doctors on the feasibility of performing bypass surgery on one so young. The doctor had once told Alex that he needed one, but warned that the procedure was best put off until the last possible moment. At that time, the plan was to wait a few years. Nevertheless, my brother's condition was so grave that they decided to go ahead, even at the tender age of 49. To date, he is the youngest person ever to have bypass surgery—and a quintuple bypass surgery, to boot.

My younger brother and I share a lot of the same interests. We love theater and often went to the Curran Theater in San Francisco to see broadway shows. Although we don't do that now, instead we talk about books, ideas, ideologies, psychology, history, religion, God, and more. He’s very esoteric, but also very well read and can talk on just about any subject. For instance, he read two books recently on the Ba’hai faith, maybe because my best friend and ‘li’l sister’ Raymona is Ba’hai. I don’t know.

Alex also plays the piano. He’s very good, but for some reason gave it up a few years ago. My granddaughter, Samantha, plays too. Maybe she’ll take it beyond high school. I hope so.

But for now, I am happy to have shared some time with my little brother. We went to the Cheesecake Factory. He had spaghetti and meatballs and I had a salad (I’m watching my cholesterol). Then afterwards, we blew all our good intentions on an old fashioned piece of cheesecake which we split between us. Fabulosity!

I hope he’s around for a good long time…although he said to me he didn’t want to grow old and feeble like some senior ladies he’d seen on the bus. He talked about 55 being a good age to ‘go.’ I hope he’s around for a lot longer than that. He’s only 51. I’m selfish. I want him to be around for a long, long time. I would miss my little brother, my ‘soul mate.’

A Productive Summer

I read a few books this summer on the craft of novel writing. I guess I was anticipating my mini writing retreat in Palm Springs and wanted to be prepared to make some headway.

Here are the books and a short summary of each. If you're a writer or aspiring writer, you might find some of these very useful.

At the top of my list is The Fire in Fiction by Donald Maass, a veteran literary agent, creative writing instructor, conference speaker, etc. You name it and he’s done it. This is an excellent book if you really want to get the attention of an agent or editor. In short, it provides amazing insight as to why a book works or doesn’t work. He pulls key paragraphs out of several books and explains why the writing is memorable. He also wrote The Breakout Novel and the Breakout Novel Workbook. I have both, but The Fire in Fiction gets to the heart and soul of great writing. All aspiring novelists should get this book because it will definitely help elevate their writing to the next level. (I almost destroyed his book in reading it—it was that good!)

Break Into Fiction by Mary Buckham and Dianna Love (both are award-winning novelists) is another must-have book. Follow this method and you can’t lose! Instead of books, however, they use popular movies as examples like The Bourne Identity, Pretty Woman, and Finding Nemo. There are others, but these stand out in my mind. This book has templates for each main element in fiction writing. Just answer the questions in the templates, learn from the examples, and voilà, you have the beginnings of a novel!

The Anatomy of Story by John Truby, screenwriter extraordinaire and a story consultant for the film industry, is another one. This one really helped me work through my plot points and character motivations for The Last Conquistador, my novel in progress. I have to confess, however, that I only got to page 107 (it’s 420 pages total). The first few chapters were so powerful, I could only digest a few pages at a time. It really poked, prodded, and made me think—really think--about my story. I would alternately read, then write, then read some more. This was the only book I took with me to Palm Springs. My suggestion: If you are having trouble with your story, read this book. But be forewarned, it is not an easy read. It covers a lot of ground and must be digested before moving from one chapter to the next.

One of these days I will write a mystery. It seems that my good friend and fellow writer, Patricia Canterbury, has a lot of fun with these. (She’s published a lot of children’s books but recently published Every Thursday, one of her Nancy Noire mysteries). In writing my current novel, I needed a resource book that could help me with ONE scene (I know, I know… I could have gone to the library, but it may come in handy later!) It’s called Police Procedure and Investigation by Lee Lofland, a former police detective with over 20 years of service. It discusses just about everything: Police academy, arrest, warrants, homicide (and a bunch of other crimes), crime scene investigation, evidence, DNA, the court system, jails and prisons, and even the codes police officers use when speaking to each other. This is just one in a series of resource books for writers. I have one other, Book of Poisons, by Stevens and Bannon. I read that one just for curiosity.

Yesterday I bought another book that looks very promising. I was a little low on cash at the time, but I was afraid that I wouldn’t find it again. Novel Shortcuts, by Laura Whitcomb, another award-winning novelist, is well organized, easy to read, and discusses a number of things: Scene construction, dialog, emotion, plot and plot webs, and so on. I’ll weigh in on it after I finish reading it.

Other books I read this summer: Maximum Ride, the Final Warning, and Daniel X, both by James Patterson, and Louis L’Amour's book of short stories (Volume 1). I wanted to read more, but I just couldn’t. I was too busy reading my other books. When I’m in the process of writing, I rarely read fiction because I don’t want to affect that particular writer's style. I want to invoke my own. (BTW, Daniel X was AWFUL, but I am committed to reading the genre because I write for teens and mid-graders).

If you look on my website, you’ll see that I’ve posted some Tips for Writers. I wrote this for my writers organization, Writers Resource Center, but I thought, hey, this could be something to help those in my fan base (I think I have one!) who aspire to be writers. One of my tips for beginners is to start a resource library. If you love to read and think that maybe—just maybe—you would like to try your hand at novel writing, you might want to think about starting with the basics of writing. There are a lot of books out there, but only a few are really worth buying.

The books I mentioned above are mostly geared for novel writing. There are books I can recommend for other aspects of writing, too, on topics such as the publishing business, marketing, the query letter, writing for teens and children, journalistic writing, etc. I have a broad resource library and have read many 'how-to' books. I can probably help guide you in your quest to find the right book.

So, if you have comments or questions, you know where to find me!

Driving Lessons

When was the last time you were afraid--really afraid and you were forced to deal with a desperate situation? I'm talking about something that is life-threatening, to either you or a loved one? How would you react?

Most of us haven't really been tested all that much (and I'm speaking of us regular folks, not our military, law enforcement, or fire personnel who face life and death situations as part of their jobs). Well, this thought occurred to me when I took Beauty out for a morning drive this past week.

Working with horses can be dangerous. All of us who work around horses have, at some point in time, come to terms with the fact that we could be injured--seriously injured--or even die because of our love for these beautiful but sometimes unpredictable beasts. The average riding horse weighs between 900 and 1200 pounds, give or take a few. As prey animals, they have inherited the ancient instincts of survival--one being to run when they are being hunted by predators (man included). This means they run when they fear something they don't understand. Just imagine being in their way when they are trying to flee from something. I have and I have felt their power after being thrown into the broad side of a barn when six-month-old Beauty was trying to get out of the boss mare's way!

I took Beauty for a drive this past Wednesday morning. It was a beautiful summer's day. She seemed fine to me, although Brenda mentioned that Beauty was a little 'pissy.' I didn't notice anything more than Beauty's ardent and animated interest in whether or not I had a treat for her hidden somewhere in my shirt (I didn't).

Oh well. I harnessed her up (it took a while since it had been a month since our last outing). I'm still a bit new at this, so I took my time. Beauty fidgeted. She loves pulling the cart and gets anxious when she knows we're going out for a drive. Finally, after I put my helmet on and got everything buckled, wrapped, strapped, and adjusted, we started off. We were moving along just fine, only she wanted to go a little faster than I wanted to let her. I mean she really wanted to move out, but the ruts and holes along Kozy Lane are a bit too bumpy. I reined her in.

I'm not sure if she just got 'pissy' and decided to revolt or if she became legitimately scared of something (there was nothing unusual going on), but she bolted and started to take off down the lane toward Clark Road (our usual route). I reined her in tightly and she stopped, sort of, only to start backing up madly in the opposite direction. Pretty soon we were rolling backward to the right and off to the side, then off the road and into the open ditch. Thank goodness it wasn't full of water. She kept backing up until the cart was perpendicular to the pasture fence on the other side of the ditch. We could go no further as the wheels were jammed against it.

Not knowing what would happen next, I tried frantically to gather my thoughts. I was frightened to say the least. And I was on the road alone and too far from the ranch for anyone to hear my cries for help. Beauty was fidgeting and clearly uncomfortable with the situation. She was fighting the harness and the cart. I know she felt trapped, as did I.

"It's okay, Beauty. You're okay," I kept saying to her, hoping she would stop prancing nervously in place. She acted like she didn't know what to do and the thought occurred to me that maybe she was working herself up into a full-blown panic (not good!). She pulled me forward a little and then backed me back into the ditch. We rolled back and forth. We were stuck--and she was afraid, but her ears flicked back and forth at the sound of my voice. At least she was listening to me.

"Easy, girl" I said over and over, for both her and me.

She was trying to go forward but we were stuck, wedged against a long wood plank that traversed the ditch.

I thought about getting out of the cart but immediately heard Roger Cleverly's voice saying "Don't get out of the cart if you want to maintain control."

So I stayed in the cart. I held the reins as I dipped my left foot over the side, pushing at the plank. It was hard to move because Beauty had stepped on the end nearest the road, splitting it and wedging it into the still damp bank.

Panic began to well up inside. I didn't know what to do. I called for help but I knew no one could hear me. I feared that something bad would happen. What if Beauty succumbed to panic and hurt herself? I wasn't so worried about me as I could jump clear if I had to, but the harness and cart were strapped to her--a surefire means of injury if she panicked and took off. Some of the worst accidents are cart accidents.

'Stay in the cart. Trust your horse. She's smart, she can figure it out. Trust the horse ... trust Beauty ...'

These words kept playing in my head and I calmed down. I centered myself. I kept talking to Beauty, but I knew it was up to me to take control of the situation. I hoped Beauty would comply.

I kept toeing at the plank until I managed to move it over enough for the wheel to clear.

Beauty calmed a little--not completely, but her ears twitched at the sound of my voice. I tried to soothe her, making sure my voice stayed calm and even. I called to her again and patted her gently on the rump.

"C'mon, Butt," I called to her. ('Butt' is her pet name, as in Beauty-Butt; she answers to it, usually with a nicker.)

She responded almost immediately. She stopped moving and held her head in a way reminiscent of someone who is in the process of thinking about something. Okay. I was beginning to feel a bit better.

I moved her over to the right and slapped the reins on her back.

"Okay, Butt, let's get out of here!"

With one big forward motion, Beauty pulled me and the cart up out of the ditch and back onto the road. She walked a ways and then I urged her into a slow trot down the lane. We had gotten 'stuck' about a third of the way down the lane toward Clark Road.

What else could I do except make her finish her journey? If not for her, then for me? It would have been wrong to turn her around and go home.

I was okay and Beauty was fine. So why were my hands shaking?

Beauty settled down into a nice easy trot. We went the rest of the way to Clark Road where we could turn around. Then we headed back to Little Wing and then followed the curve around to the right (also Kozy Lane) along the row of houses, turned around, and came back. All with no incident. I drove her around the ranch for at least another 20 minutes or so before we finally called it quits.

I learned a lot of things last Wednesday. First, always take my cell phone with me for emergencies (I had left it in the car). Second, always drive Beauty in the arena before hitting the road. Third, mares do indeed have their 'off' days--even the usually level-headed Beauty. And fourth, when Brenda says that Beauty is 'pissy,' take note! (We later determined that Beauty might have been in season--she has what is called a 'silent estrus.' You can't really tell with her.)

I felt good afterwards. We had experienced a bad situation and lived through it--together.

I don't know if she had been suddenly frightened by something or if she indeed was a little 'pissy'--wanting to go faster than I would let her. It's not that important. What is important is that she came through in a tight spot. She is intelligent, level-headed, and has a good heart, albeit she does get a little bit 'pissy' at times. Thank goodness those times are few and far between!

Most importantly, we both learned a lot about each other. I learned to trust her, and she learned to trust me. Who could ask for more?

Getting Goosed!

Hi Everyone,
Well, as you know, I've been gone on a mini writing retreat to Palm Springs where I pounded out some of the plot details for my new book, The Last Conquistador. I was having a few problems deciding on where to focus the storyline, as I had many ideas. Fortunately, I am happy to say, that I had a few surprises--some would call them "Ah-Ha!" moments. I learned a lot about my characters, their motivations, their desires, their psychological needs, etc. Now I am happy to report that I can move on and get the darn thing written. Don't look for it before next year, however.

On August 2, my friend Jan and I were walking our horses, Beauty and Sunshine (see my last post) off the property to better acquaint Beauty with the sites and sounds previously unfamiliar to her. This was to acclimate her to the area where I would later drive her. Unfortunately, the fields had recently been irrigated and it was muddy as all get out.

We had proceeded down the fenced-in 'lane' (a space between pastures that is about 12 feet wide) and ran into a muddy spot. We were being escorted all the way by four friendly family ranch dogs (Tiki the Boston or French Terrier, Sam the German Shepherd, Meggy the Golden Retriever, and Babe the Rottweiler. It was pandemonium, to say the least. (Think: Second Hand Lions minus the pig).

Well, all of a sudden, while Jan, I, and the horses were mired in the mud and contemplating a hasty retreat, a Canada goose came running from out of nowhere. Sam and Meggy were chasing it in our direction, straight into the mud. It was honking and flapping its large wings. And it was headed straight for Beauty.

Uh-oh! Beauty had never seen the likes of a large, frightened bird, wings outstretched and flapping wildly. I figured she would freak out as the bird dodged between her legs and under her belly with the dogs close behind. I just knew that goose was 'cooked.'

Fortunately, Beauty stood stock still, but you could see the puzzlement in her eyes. Such a good horse!

I yelled "No!" at the dogs several times as they chased the goose up the lane toward the barn. They stopped, turned around, and looked at me with their tongues out, panting, their eyes pleading as if to say, "Aw c'mon! We're just having a little fun!"

At that point, the goose was waddling along the fence line, making its way slowly toward the gate at the end of the lane. The dogs lost interest (thank Goodness!) and Jan and I decided it was time to turn around. We were all splattered and caked with mud and it suddenly seemed less important, this site-and-sound-familiarization mission on Beauty's behalf. So we slogged through the mud behind the goose who was still waddling petulantly, cautiously up the lane. It finally ducked under the fence and into the pasture.

When Jan and I reached the end of the lane, I put Beauty in an empty stall and hurried back out to the pasture. The goose was certainly exhausted. And it looked like it may have been injured. It should have flown away from the dogs, but it hadn't. There was something wrong and I just had to help it.

I followed it across the pasture while shooing the horses away from it. Horses love playthings, especially if they are small and move a lot. But running was the last thing I wanted it to do. Trying not to excite it, I continued to follow the goose, spreading my arms out and coaxing it where the fences meet in the corner of the pasture. Its movements became slower and slower. Honks came out as rasps. Finally, I grabbed it as quickly as I could, gathering the wings together so I wouldn't injure them any more than (I thought) they already were.

It had a somewhat pin-tail (pointy at the end) signifying a female. Males have rounded tails. I figured she was a young juvenile abandoned by her creche (flock), probably because she was injured. She looked smaller than other geese I've known, and she wasn't very heavy. Although I couldn't see any injuries, she couldn't fly, and I was determined to get some help for her.

I held her snugly in my arms and walked across the pasture, through the gate, and into the barn. She hissed at me several times, biting my exposed left arm. It smarted, but didn't hurt at the time. The next day, I had 4 big bruises on my forearm where she'd bit me!

Brenda, the barn manager, rounded up a large dog crate and we put her in it. We gave her water and grain, but I don't think she drank or ate any of it. We sequestered her in the tack room away from the boarders and the dogs. We covered the crate to make it dark and to calm her (the standard way to care for an injured bird). The next morning, I took her to the International Bird Rescue and Rehabilitation Center in Fairfield.

A few days later, the IBRRC called to let me know that the goose was fine, but they had tested her blood and found her to be anemic. She probably hadn't eaten for several days as she was also underweight. They couldn't find anything wrong with her wings, but she had a small hole in her chest, which they treated. They confirmed that she was indeed a young female.

Geese are highly social birds. They flock in creches--like dolphin's in pods--with their families. I understand that they recognize their own family even after several years absence. This posed a problem as I had no idea where her creche had gone. She was alone. This was a serious obstacle to her future release. Other creches do not accept 'outsiders' and usually drive them away. Not good.

Two weeks passed. The bright blue bruises on my arm, evidence of her frantic bites, had almost gone away. While at my Palm Springs retreat, the IBRRC called to tell me that she had made a full recovery and had even made a buddy with another Canada goose at the center. They asked if I wanted to release them both back into the wild and, unfortunately, I could not, since I wasn't due back home until the 21st. I left it up to them. When I finally returned home, I called to find out where they released her and her friend. So far they have not returned my call. I intend to find out, however, and will report in a later post.

The Canada goose is a magnificent bird. I was awed by her beauty, although not her grace. Like the big 747 airplanes, they are clumsy and lumbering on the ground but graceful in the air. That's because they are made for flight, not for walking or driving.

They are poisoning the Canada geese in parts of New York and other states. Shame. People don't like stepping in their scat, which I understand. But the scat is only digested grass and doesn't really have a smell--it's not harmful to the environment or to people. It carries no diseases. There are other ways to control wildlife. Poisoning is a horrible way to die.

Next time you see a flock of geese overhead, stop for a minute. Listen to their honks and watch their formation. Elegant and efficient, these birds are, in my opinion, one of the world's most beautiful.

I have taken at least 20-25 birds to the IBRRC over the years. Most have been injured in some way or another. Before the goose incident, I had taken in a blue jay fledgling that had been mauled by a cat. They immediately euthanized it as there was no way they could fix his injured wing.

I was sorry they couldn't help the baby, but I was glad to have known about this place, to be able to bring him in. They couldn't 'fix' him, but they released him from his misery.

Every time an animal dies, it seems a little piece of me dies too. I can't help it, but I think I like animals more than people. I don't feel much when I see or read about the plights of people. Why? Because people generally make their own beds, their own grief. But animals? I'm a sucker I guess, but I have my reasons. Animals are almost always the innocent victims. They are used, abused, and killed. Though we are to have 'dominance' over the animals (per the Bible), they are still living things that experience real emotions as well as form real relationships. Did you know that geese can differentiate faces--not only our human faces but those of their families? When in captivity, they not only recognize their owners, they bond with them.

Killing animals humanely is one thing, making them suffer is another. Animals are innocent. It is people that are--more often than you'd think--inhuman.

More next week on the outcome of the goose!

Reconnecting with Friends and Sisters

Several things happened this last week: First, the bad!

First off, the Durango is gonna cost about $4600 to fix it (read my last blog for a blow-by-blow [sorry for the pun] of our accident at Kaiser Pass). Because it was not our fault, the insurance companies are going to pick up the tab and waive our deductible. However, it will take 7-10 days to fix!

Then there's Beauty: She got a little testy during her 'season' and the Boss Mare came out in her. While being escorted into the barn, she walloped poor Sunshine who, because she is feeling LOTS better than she has in years, kicked her right back. Unfortunately, she made connection with Beauty's front cannon bone (the 'forearm' where there is no fat or padding of any kind) and put a small gash in it. It's not too bad, but bad enough to keep bandaged for a while. Beauty is normally a very well-behaved lady, but hormones must have gotten the best of her this time. Even she can get a little cranky!

But here's the best of the week:

The last three days I went out to lunch with three of my most special friends, shown above with Raymona & Beauty, Janie, and below, Jan & Sunshine.

Raymona and I have known each other for several years. We are both writers and connected immediately at a conference held in Delray Beach, Florida (I think it was either 2002 or 2003). At the time, she was living in Michigan, so when we went home to our respective states, we corresponded via email almost every day. I visited her twice, and she visited me twice, finally moving to Vacaville in the fall of 2007. Her schedule and mine do not coordinate that well, so getting together is sometimes difficult. So we made a date for Thursday (her day off) and went to the Virgin Sturgeon in Sacramento. It's a quaint little dive that barely hangs over the north bank of the Sacramento River. She and I ate and talked and got caught up with what's going on in our lives. We both have traumas and dramas that we are trying to deal with. We support each other. Indeed, we are very much like sisters. Everything was going along fine until a woman who had been eavesdropping, rudely interrupted our conversation.

"Are you writers?" she asked, which prompted a little awkward back-and-forth conversation and some comments on our dessert. We didn't really want to speak with her as it was 'our' time together. I guess she couldn't help herself. She was alone. But all the tattoos (on her fingers and arms), her rough and rude demeanor, and a comment about her time in a correctional center, made us feel very uncomfortable. Hey, it's okay if you've paid your debt to society and all, but PALEEZE, do NOT go around telling everyone, unless you WANT to make people uncomfortable.

We cut lunch a little short (it was time to go--we'd already consumed a rather large piece of chocolate cherry cheesecake) although we probably could have spent another half hour just taking in the river and the scenery.

The next day, Friday, I had lunch with

Janie Bess, a friend since 2003 when she founded the Writers Resource Center. I joined, of course, and promptly got very involved in the meetings and activities. Janie is a whirlwind of ideas. This lady is not only a human dynamo, she's an inspiration. She's not much bigger than your average 9-year-old, somewhere around 4' 10" or thereabouts. She always has a big smile, a ready laugh, and a HUGE hug ready every time you see her. When I first met her, she was in the process of starting WRC because she was writing her memoir, Visions, and wanted to surround herself with other writers and people who could assist her in her quest to get published. Since that time, WRC has grown lots, holding writing conferences and mini-conferences, and hosting publishers, editors, agents, and best selling authors at her meetings.

I met Janie at the Red Lobster where she gave me a card with "Thank You" in various font types and colors all over it. When I opened it, several bills fell out of it. I guess she felt compelled to pay me for some last-minute stuff I did for the youth writing class she gave at the Nelson Center. All I did was make up a certificate for the kids to hang on their wall. I would do this stuff for free for her, but Janie is conscientious about things. She said she didn't want to take advantage. Heck, I'd help her no matter what.

Anyway, we visited for well over an hour, she over a to-die-for talapia dish, and I over a shrimp salad. It was a wonderful day, a great lunch, and time well spent reconnecting with an old friend.

Then yesterday (Saturday), I took Jan out for an afternoon of shopping. Jan is the sister of my barn manager, Brenda. I've only known Jan since March, but she has grown to be quite a buddy. We both love horses and you can often see the four of us, Jan and Sunshine, and me and Beauty together. It's been a bit hectic for Brenda lately, and they both needed a break. Jan is going through some hard times, too, and has some difficult issues that she's having to deal with. Nonetheless, I needed some supplies for Beauty, so Jan and I went to the Tackhouse in Woodland (a great place where they stock just about everything). We walked through all the sections: Clothing (women's, men's, and children's), show clothing, boots, hats, belts; books; housewares; saddles and other tack (Eastern and Western); and all manner of horse supplies. I got a fly mask for Beauty and some fly spray (a summer staple!). Jan bought a bunch of grooming and fly spray/roll-on stuff for Sunshine.

We packed everything up in the Durango and headed on down Main Street. Wouldn't you know we'd run into an antique shop? We popped in for another 45 minutes or so. Jan found a couple of things: A framed print of "The Horse Fair" and a Breyer (Appaloosa) horse. We'd worked up quite an appetite, so we stopped at Paco's Mexican Restaurant (also on Main Street). It used to be an old fashioned brick and granite bank with columns out front and heavy walnut woodwork inside. The vault was a massive tomb of polished white and gray marble. Interesting digs for a Mexican restaurant. The food was excellent!

We got back to the ranch about 3:45, just in time to bring the horses in, spray them down with fly spray, and put them up. Beauty and Sunshine were glad to see us, almost trotting in from the pasture (well, Beauty was walking fast as she rarely works up a sweat on her own). Brenda spent some time shopping with her granddaughter and seemed to be in good spirits. Jan had a good time, too.

Today, Sunday, I am working at the computer and sprucing up the house. I'll go out in a couple of hours to change Beauty's bandage.

Connecting with friends was a major highlight of this week. I am blessed to know all of these people, Raymona, Janie, Jan, and Brenda. I have others I haven't seen for a long time. One of these days I'll see my good friend of over 30 years, Bill, and my friend from the Emergency Medical Services Authority, Karen, whom I've known for 20+ years. They both live in the foothills, and so it's hard to get together to see them. And then there is Fran, a woman I have known all my life, who lives in Arizona. I think about her often, too, as she is well into her eighties.

As I get older, my thoughts more frequently turn to my friends and old memories.

Friends are treasured gifts; they are the people who inhabit your life and you theirs. Friends support your efforts and cheer you on. They offer shoulders to cry on and give words of encouragement. They grease the wheels of life. They are the memory makers and memory keepers. Friends are the primroses along the path of life, the bench under the tree, the shelter from the hot sun, and the sugar in our tea. Are friends necessary? Some would say no, but most would say a resounding "Yes!" Life would be pretty lonely without them.

Annual Camping Trip 2010

Whew! We got home on Thursday, July 22, from our camping trip to Huntington Lake. We go every year over my husband's birthday (July 18). It is also the time when they hold the High Sierra Regatta Sail Boat Races. Colorful, fun, exciting, and festive!

Huntington Lake is at 7,000 ft. Its pristine, clear blue waters are inviting, but maybe a little cool for some. Nonetheless, the days are very, very warm, so the water feels good on the tootsies!

Over the years, the most exciting thing we've encountered (or should I say "encountered us") was Cubby, the two year old black bear cub who literally destroyed our camp, while his mother, "the Old Sow," terrorized the Boy Scout Camp. He ate all of hubby's 3-pound package of double-stuffed Oreos and all of our variety pack of Svenhard's Danish Pastries. He ate the apple danish, the cheese danish, the raspberry danish--all of them, except one. Ironically, he left one bearclaw! Was it his signature? We'd like to think so, but I don't think bears are that smart, even if they can smell out a peanut butter sandwich at 500 yards.

Every year we do a lot of the same things. We visit the Indian Pools, the Rancheria Falls, climb the long road up to Kaiser Pass, fish, explore, and finally, rent a fishing boat for the afternoon and cruise up and down this beautiful lake, peering at the osprey and golden eagle. Sometimes we rent horses and go into the back country--although we have not done that for the last couple of years.

And we always take Gus, our dog with us.

We've been fortunate to have seen some breathtaking sights: The osprey as they fish, soaring high up, in ever-tighter circles over the lake until finally dropping into a steep dive to catch a trout. Or watching them teach their fledglings to fly. Or the eagle as it swooshes overhead when you least expect it. Even watching them steal the osprey's catch in a somsersault attack (the scoundrels!) snatching the fish (upside down) right out of their talons.

I've seen deer, too, running alongside the road just within the tree line, watching us watch them. Squirrels, chipmunks, stellar jays, robins, and junkos visit the camp regularly. And then there are the marmots. We saw one this time who, I swear, acted like a contestant on America's Next Top Model, sashaying all over, swishing her big, sexy brown tail and striking a pose.

This year, my son and daughter-in-law came for the weekend. We had a great time, despite the Pavarotti wanna-be that camped next door. Can you believe this guy singing at the top of his lungs at 4:30 a.m.? I don't know what his trip was, but it was not only rude, it was comical at the same time. Especially when I heard my son's voice blurt out "SERIOUSLY?" from his tent. Voices carry at that altitude.

On Monday, the 19th, we decided to drive up to Kaiser Pass (9,000 ft) as per usual. It was a weekday and we thought that maybe the traffic would be light. It was and it wasn't. Just before we hit the Pass, we had to pull over so a full sized pickup truck could get by. These roads are paved and narrow, but still wide enough to accommodate two vehicles in most places.

"There's a guy coming with a bigger load than mine," the guy said into my husband's open window from the big green truck .

"There's plenty of room," said hubby. And there was. However, we noticed that the fellow approaching us was not just driving a pickup. He was pulling a 20-ft. travel trailer and behind it, pulling a 16-ft. boat. He obviously didn't think there was enough room. He was a little nervous about the 2,000 ft. drop on the other side. I would be, too, however in these instances one has to keep a cool head. Logic usually prevails.

Not with this guy. He kept coming, inching his vehicle(s) ever closer alongside us. His passenger mirror was an inch or two away from our SUV.

"Stop!" hubby and I yelled. Hubby slapped the trailer side through his open window.

"He's gonna hit us!" I yelled.

Screeeeeetch! Metal on metal. I cringed.

"Stop!! Stop!!"

He stopped. Thank God.

"You've got another 2-3 feet on the other side," said hubby with an edge in his voice. You really, really don't want to make my 6-foot, 250 pound, ex-football player husband mad.

I got out carefully (since we were lodged against the mountain side). I could barely open my door.

When I positioned myself in front of him, I told him he would have to back up several feet in order to disengage the vehicles and to move over. I realized this is NOT an easy thing to do when you are pulling two other vehicles, which incidentally is illegal.

He got out of the truck and came to the front to see just how much room he did have. It was then that I noticed (I couldn't help it) he was an Asian-American, very short, and well into his 70's. I was surprised he could even see over his steering wheel! He had this funny little brimmed hat on, like one might wear in a garden.

Anyway, with me in the front giving hand signals, he backed up carefully, put his rig in gear and edged forward. I am sure it was scary to him, but he was able to get by us.

The Durango will go into the shop tomorrow for an estimate. It most likely will need a rear panel and a new rear fender. Fortunately the guy's insurance accepted full responsibility and we don't have to come up with the $500 deductible. Yay!

After exchanging critical insurance information, we continued up the road to Kaiser Pass, stopped for some fishing at Portal Lake, and then headed further to Florence Lake. About 5 miles from Florence Lake, we saw two men walking briskly up the road. They were hikers stranded by the heavy, rain-swelled streams. Father (an airline pilot) and son (wearing his ROTC fatigues) chatted with us all the way to Florence Lake.

We picnicked there along he edges of a beautiful granite lake, eating our cold-cut sandwiches and chips. On the way out, however, we happened upon another father-son hiking team looking to get back to Huntington Lake in the fastest way possible. That's 25 miles of narrow road full of switchbacks. On a hot day. They, too, had been stranded by the higher than average waterways. Well, hubby and I said "Sure. Hop in" and made room for their overloaded backpacks in the rear of the Durango.

I had to assure our aging and cranky Shih-tsu, Gus, that it was okay for these strangers to come along and to make room for them in the back seat. Fortunately, he complied.

Everyone got back to Huntington Lake safe and sound and happy.

In the meantime, hubby caught a couple of fish, I had the camp stove blow up in my face (I still have my eyebrows, although my forearms got singed), and we rescued two Boy Scouts (one about 7 along with his 'buddy'--a 16-year old) on the lake. Their sailboat (a small sunfish) had overturned and they'd lost their rudder. Both were struggling to right the boat and regain control when hubby and I happened along in our fishing boat. Fortunately, after a lot of maneuvering, I fished the rudder out of the water (along with the 16-year-old) just as the younger boy managed to make it back on the sailboat. However, the wind picked up and the panicked look on the kid's face was one I'll never forget as the boat took off across the lake at high speed--without a rudder. We chased it and finally caught up. The older boy, rudder in hand, got aboard the sailboat. We left when a camp counselor motored up to tow them back to shore.

All in all it was a good trip. We went a full 7 nights this time, which I think is a bit much. I was a little bored and I didn't bring enough reading and writing material with me.

Still, camping makes you really appreciate the little things, like hot showers, air conditioning, and all the conveniences one takes for granted. I didn't miss the TV, but I did miss my computer, although even I need a break from it now and then.

Big Question: Is there a wireless laptop that will operate at 9,000 feet?

Congratulations, Shirley!

Today is Sunday, July 11. My 14-year-old granddaughter, Samantha (Sam), has now been visiting with me for 8 days. I will drive her back to her home in Madera on Tuesday, as her mother graduates from Heald College (from their paralegal program) that night in Fresno, and we are all going to celebrate.

It's a big deal, this graduating thing. For those teens who are fresh out of high school, going right into college can feel like a real drag. Unfortunately, many of these kids will 'take a break' from school and either spread their wings a bit or relax in front of their X-box. These kids probably feel like they deserve it. After all, they've worked so hard for 12 years. Ummm. Okay.

Now some of these fresh-faced kids will push on with a 'get in and get out' attitude and grab their education with an eye on making a difference--either in their own lives or someone else's. I applaud these kids (and their parents) for their stick-to-it-iveness.

But there are other things going on here. First of all, jobs, as we are all too well aware, just aren't there and aren't likely to be for some time. Even the 30-40-and-50 somethings are going back to school because they've been 'downsized.' Colleges have been flooded with people going back for their MBA or their PhD. But the majority have gone back to school to get their AA in something that is immediately employable--like computer science or cosmetology or car repair.

So what happens to those teens who decided to take a year or two or three off? The job market is vastly different from 5 or 10 years ago. Employers have discovered that they can indeed scale back and still be productive. The jobs they cut, well, they are GONE forever (at least the next 20 years or so). Also, these days an employer can pick and choose whomever they want to fill their jobs. Just because you're qualified doesn't make you employable. Employers can ask for, and get, the maximum skill set they desire, whether they need it or not.

Nope, the X-boxers will no doubt find it very difficult if/when they do go back to school, because all the (best) jobs will have gone to those who pushed on, elbowing books and hallways alongside the 30-40-50 somethings. And guess what? All these folks will be lightyears ahead of those kids who chose to take a vacation with their X-box.

For sure, there will be some X-boxers who've decided to give their thumbs a rest, or whose parents have given them an ultimatum to "get out and go to work," or who have just simply given up and are now working their way up the the career ladder at WalMart or McCheesey's. Most likely, they are married, have a child or two to support, and an income that isn't quite that super-sized, if you know what I mean.

If they are unhappy with their burger-flipping, minimum wage job, they can do little to change it now. They've exercised all their options. They've sealed their fate by closing every door between them and a successful, happy life. All they have to look forward to is rationing their little paychecks and paying bills, with no leftovers for extras. They'll have to work awfully hard to catch up.

Just try to work in a college education when you're already putting in 50-60 hour weeks and getting up for 2 o'clock feedings, or paying daycare or Grandma to babysit. Oh, and where's the 52" flat screen TV, the BMW, the grand vacations, and the personal life? THERE IS NONE.

Every society has a structure, a pecking order. Everyone will either be a worker or a leader, peck-ee or a peck-er. Education is the differentiator. It's not hard to tell who the leaders are: They went to school. The workers are ... well, they were the ones who chose to play while everyone else was off squirreling away the nuts for winter.

My daughter-in-law, Shirley, was one of those once-upon-a-time; a peck-ee. Unfortunately, life and family hardships redirected her away from her education. In the meantime, she married my son, helped him through school, raised my granddaughter, and grew a career in the court system. And she worked very, very hard to get to this day--her day.

She knows the value of education--especially one that has to be eked out in the evening hours after she'd already put in a 10-hour day job that included being there for her family. (The last 3 years have been fraught with several family emergencies, medical and otherwise. We thought she would never be able to finish!)

Even though it has been hard on everyone in the family, they've been mega-supportive. My son and granddaughter want her to take a break, too. And this time, she, if anyone, deserves it.

And you know what? Shirley's achievement has energized her to the extent that she's even thinking about getting her bachelor's degree. She said something about law ...

She's always been a leader, and she's set a great example for my granddaughter. Now she has wings, so watch out world. Here she comes!

Congratulations, Shirley!

Writing Accidentally-On-Purpose

When I set out to write my teen novel, Desperado Moon, I hired a writing coach. I recognized early on that I needed someone to help me with this humongous undertaking. Although I was the captain of my ship, so to speak, I needed a navigator to stay on course and steer me clear of rocks and shallows so my book would make it to port at publishing harbor. Nora Profit was my navigator. She gave me excellent advice and guidance, asked all the right questions, and gave me the confidence I needed to finish what I thought was a monumental task.

You see, there are two camps of writers: The folks who talk a lot about writing a book, and the few who finish. I wanted to be in the second group. I wanted to finish it and get it to market, which, I might add, proved to be a very fulfilling and satisfying process.

The ‘talk-a-lot’ writers never get around to finishing a book because they know how hard it is. It’s a little like having a baby: Starts out by having a lot of fun, then continues with months of preparation, care, and hard labor (especially toward the end when there seems no end to the editing!).

I learned a lot. Some stuff I learned from books and attending beaucoup writing classes, but no amount of book-learning can replace a writing coach. Nora helped me a LOT with plot and theme and other things. But what I learned most was that the process of writing is different for everyone.

Every fiction writer has to discover his/her own writing process. How a writer approaches a story is as individual as there are people. There are no ‘set’ procedures for writing a book. (I’m talking about fiction here, as non-fiction—the setting forth of facts in order to inform or teach—is different).

Not all rules are rules; and not all rules apply. I have issues with a few—okay, a lot of—“How-To” books, especially the ones that espouse—ugh!—outlining. Many books and well-meaning people out there told me I had to outline before I could write.

Hogwash.

As you might be able to tell, outlines do not go over well with me.

Outlining is for the “left brain” thinkers (the logical people: Bean counters, list makers, and detail oriented folks). I’m a “right brain” person. I don’t want to outline every scene before I write. That’s too much work!

I prefer the “big picture” approach to writing. That is, I like to sit down and write—plunk the keys on my keyboard and have wondrous and amazingly coherent sentences form on my computer screen. I don’t use a guide, other than some loose notes and the ideas in my head. I leave my creative consciousness open to new directions and possibilities as I write. The last thing I need is a road map.

You see, by the time I actually commit to a project (and put my hands to the keyboard), I already have my characters and story formed in mind. I do it all in my head. While driving, mostly (I drive a lot). The rest of the time, I work out my story via my morning shower and/or in the wee hours of the morning, while I’m still in bed.

Basically, I know how I want the last scene to unfold and I write to it. No rigid outline is going to tell me to cruise down the highway when my characters are telling me to shift into four-wheel-drive. Yes, I can always edit the outline as I write, but why bother with one at all? In the end, I know where I want to go, and I want to stay open and receptive to my characters and the inevitable epiphanies that follow (and they do!)

Do outlines have a purpose? Yes, you betcha. One of my acquaintances, author James Rollins, uses outlines. Yes, I can say I knew him before he hit “the big time.” (A good friend of mine knows him pretty well and is in his critique group in Sacramento). He also came to speak at our writers club meeting and even taught in our 2005 writers conference—a great, funny, and creative guy! Oh, he has some great books out there—Doomsday Key, Map of Bones, Sigma Force, Ice Hunt, and others. But then he suddenly exploded as a best selling author and started getting the seven figure advances and big book deals. Well, when pressed, he said he doesn’t always use outlines, only when he’s writing his more complex thrillers. That makes sense. But I don’t write big, complex thrillers.

Outlines are good for keeping track of timing and important details—things that must be interwoven into the plot at certain times. That’s why Jim uses them, and I don’t blame him, not when writing the heavy duty stuff he writes.

I’m not saying that outlining is bad. All I’m saying is that I prefer to write with less restriction. Outlines do have their place, and if it works for one author, it doesn’t always work for another.

Outlines stifle creativity—at least for me.

I don’t get bogged down in details. I write with my gut, my intuition, my creativity, and, yup, I let those pesky characters boss me around. And it’s fun when that happens. Ask any writer who writes like I do and they’ll tell you: When a writer knows—really knows—her characters inside and out, they speak to you, their voices literally tell you, “I wouldn’t do that, I’d do this …”

The last thing I want to do is jerk them around to fit the mechanics of a preconceived plot outline.

The other thing I like to do is get the first draft completed, then work out the kinks afterwards. I build my stories like one peels an onion: One layer at a time. After I've completed the first draft, I then mop up the overdone scenes, delete the wordiness and the unneeded passages (anything that doesn’t add to the story), and then make sure the dialog is consistent and distinct from character to character.

When the basic story is done, I add the spices—local color, nature, animals, little details, and so on.

That’s another thing. Write the first draft unencumbered, without a coach, if you can. Why? Because it’s important to get the story out first, even if you don’t entirely know what it’s about.

I’m doing that with my next story, too. This one is going to be rich with detail, history, and conflict. It’s about a teenage boy who comes face-to-face with his fears and lives to overcome them—barely. It has a bit of mystery, a bit of the paranormal, and a bit of romance. And it’s a bit more complex than Desperado Moon.

But I’m still not going to use an outline—too logical, too “left brain” for me. I like the surprises that come as a result, and it usually means a better story in the long run.

And that goes for theme, too. Nora wanted to know right off what my theme was. Geez. I didn’t know—exactly.

And that is my advice for writers: If you don’t know—just write. Theme will come later. However, if a writer has his/her theme nailed down before writing, it will be more focused, making subsequent drafts fewer and easier.

Basically, all a writer has to do is ask him/herself “What is this story about?” and the theme will often appear.

Is it about love, revenge, betrayal, justice? Is it a crime-doesn’t-pay story?

Trust me. It will come. Either before or after the writing.

Desperado Moon is about a young girl and an outlaw horse finding a place where they truly belong. That’s the theme: Belonging. Oh, there are other, lesser themes going on in the book—taking responsibility, redemption, trust, etc.—but this was the primary theme. It is equally about how being misplaced creates conflict. The fear of not belonging is a common thread for teens. That’s why Desperado Moon speaks to young, insecure, and troubled girls.

I’m taking some time off. I’m going to spend a week at a writing retreat. No other writers, just me. Me and my laptop and my story, The Last Conquistador, holed up in a timeshare in Palm Springs. I want to move forward and work out the conflict between my characters. Basically, I want to get to know them better. I know them now, but I want to know more about what drives them, why Neil is such a bully, why Parker is so afraid of being a disappointment to his mother, why Dr. Santiago is so secretive, and so on. And I want to flesh out the conflict between Neil and Parker. There’s something going on there, and I’m thinking it has to do with a girl.

Ah, it’s a romance, you say.

Well, no, it’s a lot of things. It’s a western, a mystery, and a paranormal thriller. And it has a horse in it. It should appeal to just about everyone. To me—the die-hard horse lover—it’s just not a story unless there’s a horse in it.

Theme? Yes. Outline? Maybe. (We’ll see.) Since this one is a bit more complex, I may have to use one, but my gut tells me “No.” And you know what they say—“Go with your gut.”

Good advice. But, then again, I might wait and see what Parker and Dr. Santiago have to say about that.

Saving the animals

If you've been to my Facebook page, then you know how I feel about animals. It is littered throughout with posts and videos from the Humane Society (a great organization).

It has been said that older women tend to be the softhearted souls who to take in the strays, the unwanted, and the injured animals and give them comfort. As a former copywriter, I know that animal rescue groups tend to target these 'older women' in their fundraising campaigns because 1) they generally have extra $$$ lying around, and 2) they are the softhearted ones--read: 'easy touch.'

Well, that's me.

There is one caveat, of course. Money is definitely NOT lying around my house. The recent recession took care of that. Not only did hubby lose his contracting business of 33 years (and better than half of our income), he lost about 40 percent of his retirement, too--money that was set aside for when when we really, really needed it. We haven't touched it yet, but we've had to tighten our belts, just like everyone else.

That brings me to the animals. I've always supported the ASPCA and Defenders of Wildlife. These are both terrific organizations and do a lot for animals, wild and domestic. I also give to horse rescue organizations, largely because I love horses (I like TB Friends and Lifesavers, but there are many others). In these hard economic times, there have been so many people who have had to give up their beloved horse companions. They just didn't fit into their bottom line. So where do unwanted horses go? Unfortunately, too many end up being starved, abused, and neglected.

Not Beauty. No siree. I'm hanging on to her--not giving up my 'baby.' It's hard, but I know things will get better.

But it is bad for so many other horses, ponies, and donkeys, not to mention the mustangs that still struggle to run free in the high plains states like Nevada.

In April, I wrote a letter to our local newspaper to highlight what goes on in our community (Solano County) that few people know about--horse tripping. Oh, I know there is so much other stuff going on: Puppy mills, dog fighting, abused farm animals, oiled birds and wildlife, feral cats running and breeding amok, drowning polar bears, whaling, entire wolf families being mowed down just to leave the cubs parentless orphans, and just plain cruelty (Google "Buddy" the dog who was dragged to death or 'crush videos'). Sometimes it is just more than I can bear, and I mean that literally. Sometimes I cry at the fundraising letters I get. If I could, I would open my arms and hasten each and every animal inside, but I cannot. I want to protect them all, but I can't.

So what do I do? Well, I try to send $10 or $20 now and then. It's not always easy. But then I tell myself, if everyone only sent in $5, it would add up, and it would help--a lot. And I don't mean to send it to just ANY charity. Check them out. Send only to those charities that put their money where their mouth is. When in doubt, go to http://www.charitynavigator.com/.

In the meantime, here's the letter on horse tripping I published in the local paper. I hope it did some good, but it was published when the local political campaigns were running hot and heavy... and, hey, who cares when teachers and police officers and fire personnel are being laid off? Who cares about horses when the state is bankrupt...? Sometimes I think my letter was a mere squeak given all that was going on. Maybe a dozen people read it and paid attention, maybe more. I'm hoping the latter.

"Greed, frustration, anger, sexual thrills, whatever the ‘reason,’ defenseless animals are being tortured, starved, injured, and maimed in our community. Looking the other way when you know what is happening is not only inhumane, it adds to the violence in our society.

"Even now, men of a certain ethnicity are practicing for their upcoming ‘rodeos’ (these are not the sanctioned PRCC American rodeos, but non-sanctioned rodeos that abuse horses). One of the things they do is called ‘horse tripping.’ This is a barbaric ‘sport’ where people pay to watch as these cowboys chase an innocent, unsuspecting horse and when it reaches approximately 25 mph, they abruptly lasso the legs and yank viciously, causing the horse to fall head over heels. This usually results in broken teeth, broken legs, and all too frequently, broken necks. Unfortunately, pregnant mares are particularly singled out for this cruel practice. And this is supposed to be a show of bravery?

"There is a strong documented connection linking animal abuse and domestic violence. Studies have shown that 88 percent of families where there had been physical abuse of children, there were also records of animal abuse. In four out of five cases, battered women reported that their abusive partners had also been violent toward pets or livestock (Wisconsin). Other studies show that The Chicago Police Department’s Domestic Violence Program took a look at the criminal histories of animal abusers. Of these, 30 percent had domestic violence charges on their records. See the ASPCA website for more information.

"Please help by not attending these rodeos. If you see a horse that has been abused in any way, please call the authorities. This ‘sport’ is fueled by greed and perpetuated by blood-thirsty spectators. Horse tripping condones violence that all too often ends up on the domestic front. Watching horses crash head first into to the ground just to watch it break it’s neck is abhorrent and grotesquely inhumane. For those of you who subscribe to this brutal, sadistic practice, I sincerely hope that you truly get what’s coming to you on Judgment Day."

That's it. That's the best I could do given the word count they allowed.

But, come to think of it, if everyone wrote a letter and sent $5 to the ASPCA or Defenders of Wildlife or Humane Society, wouldn't that make a difference? To what cause, you ask. I don't care. Pick one. Horse rescue (there are hundreds), oiled birds (Audubon Society and others), Polar Bears (Defenders of Wildlife and many others), dogs and cats (ASPCA or HSUS), circus animal sanctuaries/rescues (again, there are so many to choose from).

That's it; just $5 to charity and a letter to the editor of the local paper. (I suggest doing it monthly). That adds up to maybe a half hour of your time and $5 + 44 cents for the stamp. It is still 44 cents, isn't it? (That's $65.28 per year--tax deductible, too!)

What is this world coming to? Where will the earth be when all its diversity is gone? When the whales are gone, when the mustangs are gone, when the wolves are gone, when people turn away from starving, abused, and neglected animals. Are we becoming less humane? Sometimes that's exactly what I think, and it upsets me--a lot.

I'm an 'older' woman--upside of 60, not yet succumbing to the 'old' tag just yet! But if it wasn't for us 'old' and 'older' women, who would look out for the animals? For sure there are a lot of us, but we can't do it all ourselves, ya know. I also know that there are many, many other people out there who do care, but who simply feel too overwhelmed to do anything about it; like whistling in the wind or crying in the rain. Who'll notice? What difference will it make?

Are you one of those people? If so, maybe you can help change the world with $5, a stamp, and a letter. Don't just sit on the sidelines. Don't turn away. Get involved. A $5, a stamp, and a letter to the editor. That's all. A pittance? Yes, but every journey begins with one step. Step up. Every little bit helps.