Writers Notebook

Archived Messages from December 4, 2001 to December 18, 2001

Sorry Teekay!!! Oyster tomato red now! I didn't overlook it, I couldn't find it again! My eyes are so crossed from reading and the screen d'stairs, I looked for your post twice and ... sorry. So, I found out I can print blocks and printed your bit.

Where is Mary? Thanks Mary for letting everyone (who let me) know about Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul. I did catch that part.

And, Teekay, *S* I'm just about ready to take you up on that offer of the addresses. I have to get through Christmas Celebration Concert, the last of Christmas shopping and dinner with the out-laws, first!

Viv, I really enjoyed your description of modern Japanese Weddings. Wow, fake churches you say?

Gotta go, the food I made is tabled for consumption and I'm being paged!

Where is Mark? Where is Gariess? Are they having holidays?

Oyster 12-18-2001 20:24

Morning All,

Welcome ROB and BLUE TEAR!

OYSTER: Methinks you may have missed this from my last post to you, so am replanting it as is still relevant:
Yes, they do have a 'Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul' MARY put me onto it and it is one of the books to have found a home on my bookshelf.
And if you like I can send you addresses if you want to try and sell some of your work in Australia. Just give me a run down of what they are and I'll find the appropriate source, or, if you don't have them written yet, I'll pick out a few mags and send their details and you can work the story to fit them. Just let me know.

Have included eamil addy for you.

JERRY: Great story. I'm glad it ended well.

BLUE TEAR: I liked your story too. I think I liked it all the more because the language you used gave it a rather poetic feel.

EDDIE: Can't wait to read to read Jack Dooley at Christmas. Thought you were going to tell us how you typed it all out and then the computer chewed it up. What a relief.

ROSEMARY: My email addy is for you too. I'd love to read your story. I've time as i'm not stressing about doing too much of my own writing till after Christmas.

TINA: Please tell what gifts you make. I love that sort of thing.

VIV: Thanks :-). I've decided to put it all on hold until after Christmas, at least, not stress over it too much until then.

RHODA: Paid. Now there's a lovely thought. Did you read about the guy from somewhere in America, who had his manuscript rejected by multiple publishing houses and eventually somebody decided it was wonderful and then they all started fighting over it and now he's asking heaps for it when initially anybody probably could have had it for a song.
It's stories like that that give me such hope. :-).

MEL: Hmmm, well it sounds like your muse is in for a good time. I wouldn't mind accompanying her to the ocean, or LITTER's castle. sounds good to me.

LAURA: Hi :-) I was only thinking about you the other night, and then viola, there you were.

MARY: You're quiet, what's happening?

RACHEL? HOWARD? GARIESS? LITTER? MARK?, oh wait, it's okay, MARK's arguing with his dictionary. Who else, who else?

Teekay 12-18-2001 19:05

Hi Mary! I'm stuck for an idea to write about. Could you give me a one word idea. I want to get one more story out before vacation. Trouble is, my muse is sitting on her duff. Thank you! Your one word(s) always seem to do the trick.

To Everyone: (This will make absolutely no sense at all except to mothers) MY DAUGHTER PASSED HER PHYSICS EXAM! Whew! What a relief. It feels like I did it somehow! I certainly put in the worries for her.

Jerry: That was a beautiful story. It's well written and strong. I think you'd better invest some time into looking into marketing your work. You're ready now. Did you get yourself a writer's digest for Christmas? I hope so.
Can someone advise Jerry as to how and where to do the publication routine. I can read the guidelines but I've never submitted anything. I do want to start though so I'll read the post and when I have anything worth selling that absolutely will fill the bill, I'll go for it.

Heather: Thanks so much for my laugh about laundry!

Mel: Maybe the teacher had to become a writer since she lost her job over that bold move! I'm sorry, that's a rather cynical statement, but I grew up in the 70's. People actually went to the City & County buiding which was decorated for Christmas and PROTESTED the creche. They took the creche out of the Christmas decorations. I hate political correctness when it removes the good along with the bad. A religion that encourages positive behavior and sensible thinking should not be declared politically incorrect.

Oyster: Over in Japan a white kimono is worn for the wedding. Actually, the bride changes three times:
1. White Kimono
2. American style wedding dress
3. Pretty street wear

Weddings are a big deal and they have hotels with fake churches. I have a feeling the Japanese culture is very much in transition since World War II. I can't imagine why but most people get very excited over this kind of wedding and DO want one...despite the cost. I'd be interested in how weddings went BEFORE WWII. Did the bride wear white??? A good question.

Teekay: I got a Writer's Market and got sort of scared and overwhelmed by it two years ago. I felt like a fake. You are definitely the real thing. Maybe it's just an overwhelming book. Help! My goal for this year is to get published...or to get a spike full of rejection letters. I want to put together a decopage frame for my first dollar.

Viv 12-18-2001 18:07

Hi all!

Welcome Blue Tear, and don't be shy about coming here or calling yourself a writer. Writers write ... that's what they do, and as Jerry mentioned, writers can also find at least a 1000 ways a day to procrastinate on writing. Obviously, you haven't discovered that little glitch yet, Blue Tear. Thanks for the story!

Glad you had fun with your game, Jerry! Addictive little things, aren't they? Three hours only? Spouse can spend 5 playing cyber-golf no problem!

I first read Blue Tear's story from a 'Christian Perspective' since that's what I'm focusing on right now in Bwitch's story. Then, when I read your post to Mel, Blue Tear, I realized how my world view needed a bit of a tilt. I was seeing the white, which was an evocative symbol in your story as it is in the Christian perspective, purity, weddings (LOL), etc.

I tried to remember the significance of white in other cultures, other religions and the only one I could come up with was the Asian symbol of white for death. Which would be why some Asian women refuse to be married in white, right? Or is that white?

Prayer, particularly has figured prominently in my writing lately. Since the Bwitch was brought up by an ultra-conservative mother within a loose kind of Bible Belt community, young Bwitch spent hours on her knees praying for things her mother found lack of in her as a child. I can't imagine forcing my kids to their knees pray for anything, which is why when I read Blue Tear's story, I got a jolt. The old brain is working again, thanks to Blue Tear, but I still have miles to go before I can post a bit of Bwitch's story here.

I remember insisting to Bwitch that she embraced 'Wicca' in rebellion against her mother's excessive religiosity. To be fair and give Christianity another try. She admitted it did drive her mother nuts to have a 'non-Christian' daughter ... but Bwitch's mother didn't know she practised Wicca.

And right after my argument that Bwitch was still in rebellions with all this hocus-pocus stuff (a bit of a prig, wasn't I?) she took me to meet her grandmother. 'Gran' certainly tuned me in about the natural religion she'd guided her granddaughter into, one that had been in the family for almost 7 generations. oh.

And I discovered even more through reading a rather well-written book by a fellow named Robin Skelton about the new/old focus of Wicca than I thought I already knew. And pulled the Wiccan Rede of the internet.

A spooky coincidence arose when I went to the back jacket of the book where I discovered Robin Skelton (not related to Red Skelton of Comedy fame)was an initiated witch and taught at University of Victoria, where, in my errant youth, I spent time with friends who attended the Island's U.

So I checked U Vic's faculty listing and no Robin. Hmm, I thought, he's probably retired by now. I pictured him teaching something within the Relgious Studies department then gasped when an internet search confirmed the niggling feeling I had that this man was a gifted writer.

Uh-oh, not only was Robin Skelton a witch, he was also a creative writing instructor, renowned poet AND the editor of the esteemed Malahat Review, a publication I often puruse to see who's coming up the Literary Ladder. I believe I actually met the man ... but he's now dead, so I can't really confirm that.

And then Bwitch herself called and reminded me of my own family's past in certain 'non-conformist' spiritual practises. On both sides of our Heinz 57 family tree (my mother used to say we were like the ketchup, all different kinds of ingredients). Americo, I believe, referred to Vikingland in one post and I started to wonder. Bwitch's background is Germanic, mine is Scandinavian and Celtic. And family history whispers of witches on both sides.

I always thought they were probably just old solitary crones, like me, who were a bit odd. Now I'm starting to re-think that one! Bwitch thinks it's funny. I'm starting to get a bit spooked.

Skelton, the author I mentioned earlier writes of Celtic customs in Wiccan and honours (St.) Brigid and (St.) Celicia in celebration. Huh, The Spouse attended St. Ceclia's Catholic Church, run by a very tough group of priests steeped in a strict, but fairly musical Germanic Order. I never knew Cecelia was the Patron Saint of Music! Imagine that, a Witch taught me that, not the Catholic School my kids go to!

Another author talks of three kinds of 'runes' used by Witches over the years: Scandinavian, Celtic and Germanic. double uh-oh. Bwitch and I went to a psycho (oops, sorry) psychic faire one time. There was a woman there who claimed to have some ancient stone runes she was adept at reading. I picked them up to shuffle them for a reading and the woman, upon taking them back, immediately got sick. LOL, if Bwitch didn't mutter "Serves her right for not figuring you out. A real seer would have known." ???

So, when Bwitch jokingly referred to my acting-out daughter as a witch, I presumed she meant the secular kind. And if I were a cussing person, I'd substitute the first letter of the term Witch with a B, and be done with it. Then I read this:

The Practise of Witchcraft, Robin Skelton, Press Procepic (with assistance of The Canada Council), 1990.

pp. 17

"Although some writersthink the word 'Wicca' derives from teh Old English verb wittan, to know and therefore means 'wisdom', this is not the case. It derives from the Indo-European work weik, which produced, eventually the old English word wigle(sorcery), and the Old Norse word wihl (crafitness) andthence the Engliesh words guile and wile. Other related wordsare the Old High German wihen (to conscecrate) and the Middle German word wikken (to predict)."

Bwitch laughed when I read her this and admitted having met Robin Skelton. The words crafty and be-guiling certainly apply to my not-always-darling daughter. I happened to mention that it struck me only in reading the above paragraph, the Robin Skelton wrote like a writer. Bwitch laughed again and said "Of course, haven't you ever read any of his poetry?"

Did I blush red and say no? Of course I did.

In fact, Bwitch, having German as a cradle language always spells Wiccen with an 'e' rather than an 'a'. I was about to ask whether she might have 'suggested' to Mr. Skelton about the Germanic word use, when she asked me what else spooked me out.

I read The Bwitch this part:

"All human beings possess energy fields and therefore possess psychic power. Most of them use this power unconsciously or intuitively in their human relationships. A number, however, learn thow to use it consciously and develop their abilities. I am not suggesting because everyone has power, everyone can be a witch, any more than I suggest that everyone with feet can be a longdistance runner, or everyone with a larnynx can become an oper star. We all share the same faculties and obeyadn use the same laws of nature, but to each one of us, some faculties are more fully developed than others." (p.23)

I honestly believed I was a pretty tolerant person. And ready to write about Wicca as Skelton and a few others have done with a touch of history and understanding.

But I'm now facing prejudices I never even thought I had.

First being, what if my daughter decides to 'be' the other kind of Witch? *shudder*. That kid and magick? Bwitch pointed out some significant signs, including my daughter's portrait of "The Magick Land" (magick is the Wiccen spelling of the word) Daughter painted in 1st Grade. The picture is full of nature, butterflies and flowers, nature is the centerpoint in Wiccan practise.

The fact the kid does have an uncanny sixth sense and is interested in symbols over all else, Bwitch pointed out, are also signs that the 'Wiccan Gene' may have skipped a generation.

I closed my eyes and shuddered at the thought of it all, then decided to keep going with the book, anyway.

So, secular or religious little witch that she is, a daughter-like character is going in the book. Write what you know, right?

Part of my struggle in writing this story, folks is the difficulty I have in facing my own prejudices. And given the plethora of mis-information and sensationalism I've encountered lately about olden daze witch trials and what was done to women who were 'suspected' of practising anything non-Christian, my nightmare now makes sense.

The hard part is, that my nightmare came BEFORE I started researching. It was only after I began to research, looking for clues to the history of Wicca, I began to realize that it's a bloomin' miracle Bwitch's matriarchal heritage got to her at all!

Hah, have I penned my longest post ever? Probably. Back to the old grindstone, Suzy reminds me that doing the donut on the ice-slick street that leads me into our crescent does not get me off the hook for Driving Mr. and Ms. Crazy on the drier major roads. Groan. I want to stay home and write some more!

Thanks to Mel and Taylor for the answers to my questions. And belatedly to Carol for the commiseration on Mess-Piles and supportive families.

Yours in the rite of writing,

Oyster 12-18-2001 16:23

Paid to write? Did someone say "paid." That is definitely out of the realm of my experience.

Welcome, BLUE TEAR. Are you a good enough poet? I don't think the question need come up at sixteen. Judging by the way you write here on the Notebook, you seem to have plenty of talent, but at sixteen or sixty a writer still has a lot to learn. Let's put it this way: With practice and effort and sensitivity, you will probably be a better poet at 21 than you are now.

Writing endeavors are always worth the effort if you enjoy the process and are proud of your work. You know you are getting somewhere when others appreciate what you write and create.

AND, if you are really good, you might even get PAID!

Rhoda 12-18-2001 15:48

Eddie

Welcome to the Notebook Blue Tear. By the way, that is a strange name to use. Do you have a real name?

I was just a little bad today. I logged onto the Notebook at work, not that I do it all of the time mind you.
You see, I was alone in the office, sitting at my PC. I have just about completed things up to the start of the Holiday so it seemed a little slack.......Well, to be honest it was really slow. I was twiddling my thumbs......making coffee.........twiddling my thumbs.....making another coffee. You know how it goes.
Suddenly, it came to me....... Jack Dooley at Christmas. I went at it with a vengence. I almost got it finished. Then I had to go pick a cheque up at the last minute and never got to put it on disk to bring home with me tonight.
I will get it tomorrow though. I'll finish it up and post it for you before Christmas.
I have missed the cheeky little bugger. Writing for him today was just like meeting an old chum. I really enjoyed going down to Mr Jollys' with him. I re-introduced myself to Father Clancy too.
Then the bloody guilt set in. I was being paid to write and I was enjoying myself. That's not supposed to happen is it? We're not supposed to get paid are we?
Ahh well...... If you all don't say anything then neither will I.
Later,
Ed

Eddie 12-18-2001 15:37

WELCOME ROB AND BLUE TEAR!

Heather 12-18-2001 14:09

Hello, everybody!

Okay, so my email still needs tweaking, or I'm stuck using outlook express again. I suppose that's no problem, since I found out a while ago (from Howard?) that I had never officially opened my emails - I was merely previewing them. Anyhow, it's just the case of getting accustomed to another email program again. Things are not in the same spot!
My email does work, just to let everyone know. :oD

Mary - I have been up too late to get up early so far this week! Sorry! Have I missed you when you were online?
I hope not, though it's so close to Christmas I don't expect to get much writing done this week at all; and I wouldn't be too surprised to hear that no one else has been up to much writing with all the holiday preparations under way. Next week looks a little on the slow side as well, but by the end of the week I should be back 'at it' with feverish renewal. I actually miss my book when I haven't been 'into it' for a few days. I'm going to take a leap and assume that's either normal, or terribly self-absorbed of me.
(((HUGS))) Hope your foot and your lungs are much improved in health! And your hands, as well!

I've got to get my rear in gear and get the dishwasher loaded! Eeek!

Heather 12-18-2001 14:08

Mel: My native language is Arabic. I've learned French and Arabic since I was a kid. Only few years ago I started learning English.( I am only 16 )Since last year I started writing poems in English. Sometimes I fear that I am not good enough for being a writer. What if I am not talented enough? what if my writings are boring? Would my writings ever be valued?... Did you ever felt so? How long have you been writing?

Blue Tear 12-18-2001 12:54

blue Tear: I think you speak/write English VERY WELL for a second language. It's not perfect, but it's well on its way with some more practice. :-) Keep writing! What's your native language?

Mel 12-18-2001 10:21

Thanks a lot Mel for what you said. It's only that calling myself a writer is too much for me. My main problem is that I am not an English native speaker. I am fond of writing, especially in English,but still I feel I am not doing well. what do u think?

Blue Tear 12-18-2001 10:18

tired typos...sigh.

TK: "bot" meant to be "not"...even typos can rhyme. What a world of words! 8-}

Mel 12-18-2001 9:18

*Mel*

The clouds weep in passing, and still I dream of snow...but thankful for no ice! Good day/eve to everyone!

OYSTER: "Chicken Soup For The Writer's Soul" was published in July 2000 - should still be order-able from the bookstores or online from Amazon.com or chickensoup.com.

VIV: Sorry I can't send that little "Christmas Love" story anywhere; it was written by a lady named Candy Chand and already published by the "Chicken Soup For The Soul" folks. It was a nice little story, I thought! :-)

TEEKAY: Thanks. Meanwhile...That's it! My muse has now headed for the ocean (Pacific, I think; so, she'll have much farther to go and bot be able to return so quickly...). She better come back with the proper phrases or I'll have to send her over the Atlantic to LITTER's castle for some proper inspiration. :-) re: "Christmas looms, an unforeseen presence blocking my path to creativity" -- so, move the bloody weaving supplies out of your way, heh heh! :-]

HEATHER: Blinders work well. Suzy HM has no defense when you're wearing them, heh heh! Pop-in ear plugs to drown out her sighs and Presto! Writing Turf...at least until the kids explode in front of you.

Hi, LAURA! :-)

JERRY: Nice little story. Make a New Year's Writing Resolution: don't let ANY story idea slip through your memory habits. Write the ideas ON THE SPOT as they come. You pick the spot but WRITE down those ideas quickly. Couldn't we all use such a great resolution? Especially procrastinators like me! :-]

blue TEAR: Even beginners are writers. I sense a deep-something you have to say in your piece. It needs more flesh, more clarity. Suggestion: turn on a spellchecker and a grammar-checker to help you learn a smoother writing format. Then, concentrate on expanding your scene setting a bit, reveal more of the characters' situations, listen to their dialogue (Speak it aloud - does it sound real?), and show more character actions...One piece at a time, your story will grow and blossom, your writer's voice will be heard. Good luck! :-)

EVERYBODY: Write a few phrases of your heart's desire today, for me who may not get to it (sigh!).

Mel 12-18-2001 9:13

Hey all, how are you all. I am not a writer, I am only a beginner. I wish you would read the following and tell me your opnion.
By the way. Jerry A.G. Ericsson I really liked "love or Lust"

I knocked at her door but no one answered. My heart sank in fear...Last time I saw her she had so much pain, and she looked very tired, what if she is dead? A voice coming from inside put an end to my questions. " God is the greatest". I opened the door and stood choqued ...She was dressed all in white, covering her hair, and praying. I watched her...She didn't notice me coming in: she wasn't conscious of anything around.Like a bourgeon sprouting in the hands of god.She was,these moments,living in a different world. As she genuflected tears streamed down her face like a fload.It was the first time I see her crying. First time, I felt her weekness in front of god's power blowing into her soul. The whole scene caught my breath. For no reason, I cried, yes...I did. Maybe there was a reason, maybe I felt the beauty of this relation between Yara and her creator, the holy thing about it. God's hands were touching the deepest parts of Yara's heart, healing it from pain and sadness. As soon as she finished her prayer, she realised I was there gazing at her.
- Since when have you been here? she asked.
- Few minutes. How often do you do that?
- Do what? you mean pray?
- yup, and why?
There was silence for few seconds. She turned her face away, as if the question I asked helped her recalling old scenes, hidden inside, as if it opened the darkest locked rooms in her memory. Then, she stood up, opened her closet, searched for something,and then came back with a notebook in her hand. She opened it and gave it to me, pointing at something written on it. " Pray when you are thankfull.Pray when you are sad.Pray When you need me, because if I weren't there, God will always be." As I read it, I looked at her soulfull face and realised, that tears were being locked inside though they were looking for freedom.Then I found myself hugging her so strong,whispering in her ear that it was okey to cry.And As if it was exactly what she needed to hear,she sobbed in my arms so tenderly so weekly that I couldn't stop myself from crying too.

blue Tear 12-18-2001 6:58

The weatherman reported that it hit FIFTY degrees today. This is unheard of, we just don't get warm weather this time of the year, but that's OK, so long as it snows again before Christmas.

My muse has been beating me about the head and shoulder region now for a couple of hours, or maybe it was just me beating myself up for not doing more writing.

At any rate, I sat down and wrote this little bit, and since I have nothing else to do with it, thought I would just post it here.

Anyhoo, here it is:

Love or Lust
By Jerry A.G. Ericsson

He could smell her. She sat next to him on the steel folding chair, much the way she sat beside him a hundred times before, as they searched the books in the law library, the way she did a hundred times before, as they sat in law classes, in the cafeteria, in his dorm room.

Those times, he never noticed her smell, he never noticed the way she lay her hands in her lap, as she listened to the speaker, the attentive look on her face, the shine in her hair, the redness of her full lips.

Suddenly he was in lust, or was it love, he could never decide but he knew he was in something. There was nothing he could do about it; after all, he was married to Samantha who waited for him back at home, keeping his house clean, feeding their two children; working so very hard in that little restaurant up town, slinging hash for the old men and farmers who gathered each day to discuss politics, religion, the price of feed, and the low price on their wares.

The feeling was overwhelming, it occupied his entire body; the speaker at the podium rambled on something about their future as lawyers, the same message the previous three speakers had given. Maybe, he considered, it wasn’t love, nor lust, maybe it was simple boredom, in the guise of emotion.

He leaned back and stretched, bringing his hand against her silken hair as he straightened out. She turned and smiled at him; a smile of friendship and nothing more. For a second he thought he saw the hint of emotion in those deep brown eyes, but it was probably wishful thinking.

The speaker was done now, all that was left was the coffee that followed then the celebration of Law Day would be over. Then just weeks away would be their graduation, and the end of their friendship. For a minute, he wondered how he could go on without her. But wait, there was nothing between them, nothing whatsoever besides friendship.

They had never kissed, touched, whispered sweet nothings in each others ears. They had been friends, study buddies that’s all. Nothing more and he knew that but that feeling that he had told his heart that there was more there; more that needed to be explored; he had to take some action, do something before she was gone forever and his chance for true happiness would be gone.

He thought about that thought again. “True happiness” wasn’t he happy with his wife and kids. Until today he was sure he was. But then the emotion of the moment took over again; he almost whispered in her lovely ear that he loved her. He thought about it, no, if she rebuked him he would be devastated.

He considered all this while the coffee was served, while he made small talk with the guests, while he shook the hand of the Attorney General of their state, a Justice of the State Supreme Court. He thought about it as he discussed the upcoming graduation with his buddy Ralph. He thought about it as he left the golf club house and made his way to his old beat up Chevy, as he drove back to the Universality.

He almost told her that next day as they were going over the Rules of Perpatuaty, but chickened out.

Then came Graduation day, as they sat side by side, listening to the same drone of the very same speakers saying the very same things they had said to them all that day at the golf clubhouse. He was excited, just today and then the bar exam, and he would be a lawyer. He envisioned his life, the home he could afford when the money began to roll in, he could see himself walking hand in hand with his lovely wife. His lovely wife? His lovely wife! Not Beth, no he recognized that feeling for what it was, lust. Yes it was lust, not love.

He was so very glad he hadn’t taken action, over this infatuation, this urge to stray.

After Graduation, as they were making their way down to meet their families, she stepped beside him and whispered in his ear, “I will miss you so very much.” Then she hurried on to meet her parents.

He stopped for a second, then moved on to meet his lovely wife, his two wonderful children.

Jerry Ericsson 12-18-2001 0:46

On Dream Diaries: I include nightmares especially... But I wont share my last nightmare, seems silly.
Mine it includes, date, a made up title, any notes about the particular dream... What happended in the dream. And sometimes little sketches of things that stick out.
Though it also seemed to help improve my dream quality as well.

taylor 12-18-2001 0:23

Another warm day, way above freezing, all the snow we had has melted, and was sucked down by the ever thirsty soil. Sad the middle of December and the ground has yet to freeze hard. Dog came in this afternoon and tracked mud all through the house, what a welcome for the wife when she and my daughter came home from a shopping mission in Dickinson, (the nearest K-mart - Walmart only 98 miles away)

The only thing I don't like about our little eleven thousand dollar mansion is the fact that the little old lady who lived here before we bought it had chronically cold feet, so she had every inch of every floor covered with carpet. That done probably ten years ago, or thereabouts. We have already replaced the heavily worn carpet in the living room (last years Xmas present to ourselves). The fellow who layed the carpet told us that the carpet in the dining room, kitchen and bath were layed only a year before she went to the nursing home, so they have plenty of wear left in them. If we had the funds, I would tear them all out and put down some other hard floor covering, that wouldn't be such a problem for the dog when his feet are muddy.

I must go shopping one more time before the fellow in the big red coat comes down our steel chimney, must find one more thing for the wife.

I worked most of the day preparing the computer that I am giving our grand daughter for Christmas, have it almost ready, just tweaking the monitor.

I got a bit bored. In my little work shop in the back room sits the box containing the Sega Saturn game system that was shipped to me by mistake, and has yet to be claimed by the fellow who shipped. I wrote him several emails over the past three months since it's arrival, and he has yet to send the postage to send it back.

Sooooo, I took it down from the shelf, and unpacked it, hooked it to my television, and powered it up. Spent over three hours playing games, well one game that was packaged with the machine. I may send the fellow another email and see what he wants for the dang machine, it was fun. My last game machine was an Atari 2600, so this was a wonderful surprise, hell I haven't even played one of those arcade games in the game rooms since Pac man was a kid. This was great fun. Now I have emulators for Sega Genesis, Super Nintendo, even Nintendo 64 but they just aren't the same as a real machine.

If I buy the stupid thing, then I will have to buy more games I guess, but they are going for a song now on Ebay, so that shouldn't be too much problem.

Another reason "not to write" I guess, there are millions of them, then when I go to bed, I mentally kick myself for not writing down that fantastic idea I had for a short story, and I don't know about you, but those ideas dissolve like sugar in a can of gas, never to surface the same way again.

See, I had nothing to say again, and I sure took up a bunch of space not saying it.

Write ON!

Jerry 12-17-2001 22:34

Teek! You're such a cutie. :oD

Heather 12-17-2001 21:51

I may have a little bit of (biting tongue) 'fun' getting all of my settings running smoothly - my old server doesn't seem to want to let us go just yet!
If anyone has a really important email that they would like to get to me a.s.a.p., please mail it to:
Orchestrina@hotmail.com
That's another email I have.

Thanks, friends!

Heather 12-17-2001 21:50

I put up my new email addy; I'll also send everyone on my email list my new email address just in case you have been delinquent in visiting the NB! Shame on you! :oD

Heather 12-17-2001 21:10

just wanted you to know I'm still alive.

Laura Writer's Lounge 12-17-2001 19:41

**Teekay**

HEATHER: Mighty dust mite HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA of course, but who else could it have been.
Brilliant example on the concept of brainstorming :-D

Teekay 12-17-2001 19:30

Hey guys! Just got my cable modem plugged and perusin'.
And I thought my 56K was fast!
Sorry, Jerry, I'm making you jealous, so I'll only go on a little longer... :oD

Teek! I have no clue as to how Suzy extracted herself from said cupboard. Could it have been Mighty Dust Mite? He's not much of a favourite, as far as super-heroes go. He could have been sabotaging our wonderful efforts.
I'm still trying to come up with a formula for eradication of all dust and dirt particles within a specified infrastructure, but no far I've merely managed to eradicate the structures. Dang.
The premise being that if we eradicate dust and dirt, we have no need of Suzy, and Suzy has no need to nag. Guess we won't need Suzy if we don't have a house to muss up, either. :o)

Must go and see how fast I can download music from Morpheus!

ZZzzzzzip!

Heather 12-17-2001 19:23

**Teekay**

Hi All,

:-D well that was lot's of fun. I too love a bit of mystery and a riddle or three.

EDDIE: Good job figuring it out. It's easier to design a riddle than to figure it out. Mainly because the designer already has the answers.

I think that must be how you write a mystery, backwards. I might give it a try one day, when I've finished with the one I'm working on. Which is definitely not looking to be before Christmas.

OYSTER: Thanks for the wonderful praise. Though I tend to think you saw my words dressed up pretty and hanging about with other pretty words and mistook them for something better than they actually were :-). I should just shut up though and lap up the compliments :-D

Yes, they do have a 'Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul' MARY put me onto it and it is one of the books to have found a home on my bookshelf.
And if you like I can send you addresses if you want to try and sell some of your work in Australia. Just give me a run down of what they are and I'll find the appropriate source, or, if you don't have them written yet, I'll pick out a few mags and send their details and you can work the story to fit them. Just let me know.

HEATHER: Loved the third instalment of Suzie Homemaker. Damn well like to know how she got out of the laundry cupboard :-).
That bloody woman is capable of anything. Should be called Suzie troublemaker.

MEL: Great poem. (And I should know) (HAHAHHAHAHHAHA, only joking - about the I should know bit I mean, not about the real nice poem,) Great atmosphere and I think you did a wonderful job of portraying how elusive the words for that story you really want to write can be.

Mine are usually hidden in the breeze of salty seas, or crouched within the stillness of the air before a storm.
I sometimes glimpse them in red sandy desert track and in the silver light on a full moon night. They are every where and they are no where. Elusive as woodland nymphs. I try to catch them though, to pin them down for eternity with the nib of my pen, but I can only ever get their shadow.

DEBRA: Thanks :-D

Am feeling overwhelmed. Christmas looms, an unforseen presence blocking my path to creativity.
I'm also a bit overwhelmed with the AWMP book. it's like giving a kid a huge bag of mixed lollies. I just keep gazing at it and drooling, and not doing much else.

A Country Practise beckons
Ciao.

Teekay 12-17-2001 18:58

Oh Mel: What a wonderful story of courage! That little act could result in that teacher being fired. Good for her. Real wisdom in action. IE: When you are laughing at someone who made a mistake...what are you doing?
Christ was love....there aren't mistakes. Whew! Good message, great moral. Send it off to a magazine because the world's ready for it...especially if that teacher does not get fired!

And for those out there who belong to religions outside of Christianity. It's possible to represent many religions without throwing away the Christian belief! Just add a few more ideas to the mix.

Viv 12-17-2001 18:36

Rosemary, s'okay not to have read my whole post! I have to find them and then arrow-up to remember what I said and to whom.

As for The Christmas Story, I'm serious when I say I could lose your story. But I have a New Year's Resolution to 'get organized' (if not neat) in the New Year! So I warned everyone ... nothing until mid-January. LOL, I couldn't even find my glasses this morning!

Next to my desk, the messiest room in the house is Daughter's. And her room is nothing compared to the two brimming storerooms below in the basement. Huge piles of stuff from school that lurk in our store room drive Suzy to distraction. I found last year's recorder in one pile and a half-eaten fruit snack. Ick!

Mel, I saw Chicken Soup for a Parent's Soul the other day. Anyone know if they came out with Chicken Soup for a Writer's Soul, yet?

SYL, *grin*

Oyster 12-17-2001 16:58

Sorry, that post didn't format for easy reading as I had it.

Mel 12-17-2001 15:59

Sharing a little Christmas story I received from my sister, who received it from Daily Chicken Soup for the Soul e-mail.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
CHICKEN SOUP DAILY SERVING:
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Christmas Love
By Candy Chand

Every year, I promised it would be different. Each
December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful
experience. But, once again, in spite of my plans, chaos
prevailed. I had cut back on what I deemed nonessential
obligations: extensive card writing, endless baking, Martha
Stewart decorating, and, yes, even the all-American
pastime, overspending. Yet still I found myself exhausted,
unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and, of
course, the true meaning of Christmas.
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It
was an exciting season for a six-year-old, filled with
hopes, dreams and laughter. For weeks, he'd been
memorizing songs for his school's upcoming Winter Pageant.
I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the
night of the production. Not willing to miss his shining
moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there'd
be a dress rehearsal in the morning, and that all parents
unable to attend the evening presentation were welcome to
enjoy it then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the
compromise.
So, just as I promised, I filed in ten minutes early,
found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. When I
looked around the room, I saw a handful of parents quietly
scampering to their seats. I began to wonder why they,
too, were attending a dress rehearsal, but chalked it up to
the chaotic schedules of modern family life.
As I waited, the students were led into the building.
Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat crossed-
legged on the floor. The children would become members of
the audience as each group, one by one, rose to perform
their song. Because the public school system had long
stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas," I didn't
expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment.
The Winter Pageant was filled with songs of reindeer, Santa
Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. The melodies were fun,
cute and lighthearted. But nowhere to be found was even
the hint of an innocent babe, a manger, or Christ's
precious, sacred gifts of life, hope and joy.
When my son's class rose to sing "Christmas Love," I
was slightly taken aback by its bold title. However,
within moments, I settled in to watch them proudly begin
their number. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his
classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters and
bright snowcaps upon their heads. Those in the front row,
center stage, held up large letters, one by one, to spell
out the title of the song. As the class would sing "C is
for Christmas," a child would hold up the letter C. Then,
"H is for Happy," and on and on, until each child holding
up his or her portion had presented the complete message,
"Christmas Love."
The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we
noticed her, a small, quiet girl in the front row holding
the letter M, upside-down! She was entirely unaware that
reversed, her letter M appeared as a W. She fidgeted from
side to side, until she had moved away from her mark
entirely. The audience of children snickered at this
little one's mistake. In her innocence, she had no idea
they were laughing at her and stood tall, proudly holding
her W.
You can only imagine the difficulty in calming an
audience of young, giggling children. Although many
teachers tried to shush them, the laughter continued. It
continued that is, until the moment the last letter was
raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came over the
audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we
finally understood the reason we were there, why we
celebrated in the first place, why even in the chaos, there
was a purpose for our festivities. For, when the last
letter was held high, the message read loud and clear,
"CHRIST WAS LOVE." And, I believe, He still is.
______________________________

Mel Link 12-17-2001 15:58

Well,
Now we all know I posted without reading Oyster's whole post.

I've sent the story to a few people. Maybe I'll post a bit after they've had time to digest it.

So long for now. Again.

Rosemary again 12-17-2001 12:40

Greetings All :)

Oyster - you are most welcome. I also discovered that having something published in hard copy helped add weight to my stance. I can't get something published if I don't have the time to write -- and edit -- and edit some more. A small check helped too. :)

One thing I discovered about nightmares, a lot of times they come back. I took to writing about them in my journal. The pain and fear was there in the writing, but once completed, it no longer had me in its grip. It also helps to have these emotions recorded for future use. I get to a scene where I need that intensity and I can go back and pull back into my memory much easier.

I'm so glad you confessed to your piles of papers in your office! I don't feel so bad now. I'm not alone. "It's more common than you know dear. I promise to clean it up next week, just don't go in there now." hehehe

Jerry - we're also having a hard time keeping snow on the ground. We had twelve inches with the one storm but now its all gone. Today is above freezing again. While there is some snow in the forecast, none of it sounds like much more than a dusting.

Off to do some writing now. I have to get the rest of the Christmas shopping done today, gifts wrapped and a package ready for mailing. I'm pushing my time limits again. This lack of snow is really affecting my enthusiasm and sense of reality.

Have a great day everyone!

Carol 12-17-2001 12:34

OYSTER,
I would love to send you Gimpy's Rebellion. I'll need your e-mail address. Also what wordprocessor you use. I have WordPerfect 8 and Word 2000. We should be able to find a common area. Or, I'll just copy it into the e-message.
My address is below if you don't want to put yours on the board.

Later all and I really appreciate the interest.

Rosemary 12-17-2001 12:33

Teekay:

I have to say you never cease to amaze me, for that I have to thank you!

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Debra 12-17-2001 12:13

Hi Everyone!

Rob: Hello and welcome, it helps me feel less like a neophyte when someone new comes! The Rite of Writing seems to be contagious around here.

Carol: Oppression by Jealousy. I like that one. You gave me words to describe a pheonomenon many writing friends describe. My husband, kids and friends turned various shades of green as they all realized that what Rob called the 'solitude' of writing, was turning me into a major introvert. Not only jealous of the time, but the need to write, the process of writing, my family found little ways to sabotage my writing time. And my friends clamoured to 'help' while at the same time chastising me for my need for solitude.

Finally, because I could, I submitted a piece to a Mother's Anthology and it was published. Now when they're feeling a little like Mom writes too much, the kids have this published story about them to read. And they do. And they trot out the book with my piece in it to show their friends.
This also helped dispel the fact that I hadn't published anything under my own name for them to read.

Every once in a while, I will read aloud something I'm working on. I believe it's something about feeling 'included' that helps my loved ones feel a part of the process rather than excluded from it that's given me space.

And now, in anticipation of a good story, they leave me alone to write! For the time being, anyway.

Taylor: I love the idea of a Dream Diary! I have friends who keep them and this is their journey of writing. Last night I had a frightening dream, and even thinking about it, let alone writing it down, totally terrifies me. Does a Dream Diary have to include nightmares, too?

Teekay!: Eddie Got It? That brilliant poet is you? Wow! Wow! So, are you saving those polished pearls and putting them in a chapbook called, um, something? *sigh* Teekay, I want to write poetry like you do, but ...
Thanks for the mystery. A story has been bouncing around since you started posting those anonymous pearls. Kind of a Cyrano De B. think-thing. Hmmm.

Rosemary: I would love to read your story. I'm a big kid when it comes to Christmas Stories. My kids are little adults now, Daughter put on her Christmas list: Clothes, makeup, clothes, makeup ... and she's nine!

However, my piles of mess in my downstairs office are growing, and I'm afraid I'd lose your story! Last week I lost a whole chapter I'm supposed to be 'giving a read'. I did find it, under a pile of notes and some stuff the kids wrote and drew that ended up on my desk somehow. I have to print off stuff to really read it. Could you, would you, consider putting a paragraph from the Christmas story in the Notebook here? Just a tease-taste? Teekay got me going on mysteries, can you tell?

Tina What kind of gifts do you make for Christmas? I LOVE making Suzy green. Then she goes off in a huff while I go downstairs and write! Hee hee hee, I'm discovering more ways to send Suzy away than I thought possible!

LOTR - Lord of the Rings! That book (and I'm told Tolkien originally wrote it as one book) saved my life in High School. Serious Fantasy was not all that available in the local library, but the wait between each portion of Tolkien's treasure was almost unbearable at times! Escaping to a land far away was better than dealing with the reality of school.

Mel: Chocolate, Yum! Turtles (my fave, too, Jerry), Ferrari-Rockets, Moirs, Black Magic, Almond Roca, and the list goes on. My favourite part of the grocery store during Christmas is the long aisle where all the chocolates are displayed. Usually I get them for teachers at school as Christmas gifts, but this year I'm buying a box just for 'us' and hiding it! From me, even! I ate all the leftover Halloween chocolate bars this year and I'm afraid I'll turn into a big chocolate myself.

Mel, have you read "Chocolate is a Vegetable?" or any of the Dianne Mott books? I love those because there is chocolate and food in the mystery. And sometimes a few recipes I can even afford to make!

Alleycats scream ... Mel, that was a fabulous mind-picture! They do, they do! Fortunately our neighbourhood 'alleycats' stay indoors at night for the winter but I imagine with our current chinook, a few of the wandering cats of our neighbourhood will be out and screaming this evening.

In fact, Mel, those two words would inspire me to write poetry ... if I could.

Have I missed anyone?

Eddie: Congratulations on figuring out who Mysterious Poet is!

Off to write now. I will post a paragraph or two on the Bwitch after I do more research. Miles to go before I sleep, and today is two-fer day. Two kids for the price of one, and the price is I get to listen to two girls yammering excitedly on and on and on about playground politics.

But after last night's nightmare, I'm glad they're alive and well enough to yammer!

Oyster 12-17-2001 11:43

Morning people,

It's a beautiful bright day here for a change. While my nephew visited on Saturday, it rained all day. Planning is useless. We did get to go see the Harry Potter Movie. I loved it but we sat on the fifth row and everything was super big and loud!!! Now, I want an owl.

Mel,
you do the greatest poems. This latest one is sad but wonderful at the same time.
My Christmas story is on its way to you.

TINA,
It's flying toward you as we speak. Enjoy.

Gotta go do stuff,
Have a great day all,

Rosemary 12-17-2001 11:12

ROSEMARY: Send me your Christmas story! I'll share it with my kids and report back. :-)

Mel 12-17-2001 9:07

*Mel*

A dreary December day
and, still, my muse searches
for an elusive phrase.
Bundled in overcoat,
she trundles through alleyways,
upturning empty bottles with a toe.

Alleycats scream,
and the rain trickles down
lonely gutters; ramshackled
lean-to's amid garbage cans
yield priceless stories.

Yet the one phrase,
the only right words
lay hiding
in a rainbow mist
of automobile fuel
on sullen pavement.

And my muse sifts the dirt
through her fingers.

And she's taking too long!!! :-/

TEEKAY, you are such a troublemaker! Now you're inspiring strange prose. :-) (And I wonder how many more vertically-challenged muses are sipping your tea, heh heh!)

ROB: WELCOME! Pull up a pen and write us a few lines. Genre is your choice, ours to guess, if you don't want to reveal all. :-) Or just chat a bit - tell us about life with your muse.

TAYLOR: A dream diary is a good idea... I usually only make notes on the ones that immediately feel like a lurking story. Perhaps the bits and pieces of unreality might fit into a bigger story-puzzle? :-)

Here's a good one. Last night, I dreamed I was a MAN preparing to entertain a special LADY...heh heh! Whew! Was that weird! Woke up and had to check my body parts to make sure I hadn't had a sex change operation during the night!

Oh, I think I need an influx of large quantities of CHOCOLATE!

TINA & Other LOTR Fans: Rumors are there'll be sneak previews Tuesday night at select theaters...oh, to be in the right town at the right time! :-) "One ring to bring them all..." I'm coming, I'm coming! :-D

The very best of writing inspirations today to you all!!! :-]

Mel 12-17-2001 9:03

Rob, Hello and welcome! What do you write?

Rosemary, hello fellow lurker. :-D I'd love to read your story!

I wish I could say that I've been creating reams of words, oodles of sentences, a plethora of paragraphs, but alas I can not. Too much Christmas stuff to do. We make most of the gifts we give, and somehow despite the best of intentions and planning, it always comes down to the crunch.
We picked up a tree today, so tomorrow we decorate. Yay! I absolutely loving decorating the house and tree.

LOTR in 3 days! They're pre-selling the tickets, and Wednesday is already sold out at our local theatre. Guess I'm not going on Wednesday.

TTFN!

Tina 12-17-2001 2:42

E
D
D
I
E

G
O
T

I
T
!

Y
A
Y

E
D
D
I
E
!

In what could very easily be the words of the immortal Goofy:
"Gwarsh sakes Mickey are yer ears on too tight?"

12-17-2001 1:45

Jerry: I keep a dream diary now, into my second book

My dreams never seem to make sense, until it like fits into another dream or so... Or unless the dreams intertwine with whats going on in the world.
But sometimes my dreams are vivid... sometimes they are foggy.
I also use to dream in like kind of a greyish colour, but it wasnt what I would call a colour
Recently I have been dreaming in colour and much more vividness, and much more confusing.
I just love chatting about dreams

Mystery Poet, Mystery Poet... Step forth and own your own words, let not another person take your credit. Emerge from the dark shroud that cloaks the real you.

Welcome to this forum... Its always nice to set eyes on a new person... Have a look around enter our domain and sit down a spell

taylor 12-17-2001 0:51

Rob - always good to have some new blood, welcome.

The sun was bright today, cleaning all the snow from the streets yet again. There are still some white spots where the sun never reached, so if you look in the right direction, you might see a white Christmas.

Funny, up here we all curse the snow, yet if there isn't a white Christmas, it just doesn't seem right. This year has been so unseasonably warm, even today it was above freezing, unheard of in years past. The weatherman says we still may have a white Christmas, so we can hope.

Another great day of Pinochle, and family bonding. I knew there was a reason to move home.

I am so tired, I may just dash off to bed, seems I never get enough sleep anymore, probably the lack of those damn pills, but I refuse to give in, not yet anyhow.

The good thing is that my dreams are coming much more brilliant, living color again, and so realistic, yet they make little sense; I guess most dreams don't make sense, yet at times they are so linear, in fact many of my short stories are fresh from the dream world.

Spell checkers, at this site, I use an add-on program called Hot Lingo. It works with any site where there is a box like this one. It is share ware, but doesn't have a time limit, so you can use it forever, for free but it is nice to pay the folks, it is a great little program.

It works with most words, but I am having a hell of a time convincing it that Ericsson is not spelled Erickson. This has been a sore point with me for many a year.

I recall one day when I was young, still serving in the Army. My First Sergeant, who wrote the duty roster refused to spell my last name correctly, I called him on it the first time, and was told that he would spell my name any God Damn way he wanted. The next three weeks found my name on the roster much more regularly then it should have, in fact I was doing more damn guard duty then anyone in the Company.

Being young and dumb, I kept complaining, every time I complained, my name became much more regular then ever.

At long last it dawned on me that the more I complained the worse things got, so I stopped complaining, and my name became less published, the guard duty (all night after you worked the day before) became less and less, but the spelling never improved. At long last, I saw the First Sergeant in the orderly room one day, and told him that if my name appeared on the duty roster misspelled one more time, I would not show for Guard duty, at which time the First Sergeant explained in no uncertain terms what would become of me should I fail to show, the term "Permanent Arms Room Guard" was used sometime during the ass chewing, but the next time my name appeared, it was indeed spelled correctly.

Jerry 12-16-2001 23:49

Hello Rob -- pull up a chair and fill your heart with joy.

Mystery Poet - should we continue to call you a mystery? Use your real name? Or can we just call for more wonderful verse?

Carol 12-16-2001 22:57

Each
Doorway
Don’t
Instead
Each

Graces
Only
The

It
Though
!

You
And
You

Explore
Don’t
Don’t
I
Elucidates

!

12-16-2001 20:47

Hello Rob,
Welcome, Write.....and you shall receive!

Ed

Eddie 12-16-2001 19:46

Hello there.
I am a newbie here. I would like to join this forum. As you all know, being a writer is a solitary thing so any chance I have of communicating with like-souled people brings my heart joy.
Nice to meet you all.

Rob Charron n/a 12-16-2001 19:22

Each and every
Doorway has it’s key to fit
Don’t think that you can,
Instead, use any in place of it.
Each piece of the puzzle

Graces it’s own space, and
Only when you know this will
The answer take its place

It isn’t very difficult, at least, it needn’t be,
Though ‘tis said there’s none so blind, as those who will not see.

!

You need to look within the words
And heed what it is they mean
You can’t take it at face value, but must

Explore the in between.
Don’t hazard guesses left and right
Don’t makes stabs in the dark
I know of one who reads within,
Elucidates this poetry lark

!

12-16-2001 18:00

Greetings All :)

Where to start? It's been so many days since I've posted, so many posts to comment on ... .

First, I should be thankful that I'm online at all. My computer went down. No explanation. Just no picture on the monitor and none of the troubleshooting tricks worked. Luckily, I never sold my old computer and I finally got it hooked up yesterday. What a pain though! The monitor is half the size and the mouse is so loose it scrambles from corner to corner without any help from me. I never realized before how dependent I've become on the computer. However, I did do my weekly buddy work the old-fashioned way -- pen and paper. And while I didn't get as many words written in one hour, I still had something to show.

Heather - Your oppresion story -- I had a lot of fun thinking it through. The loss of one's right hand would be oppresive (for those who are right handed at least) - especially for someone who uses their hands for a living in any way.

I sat for ten minutes, trying to make a list of the things that oppress me. I had a devil of a time. Hubby no longer oppresses me in my work. He used to be jealous of the time I spent on my writing, but a long, blunt, loving conversation finally helped.

It took a while, but I finally realized it is only myself who oppresses myself. In the past, I have allowed the expectations of others to control what I did or how I felt. One day I realized that not only was I being unfair to myself, but I was also being unfair to those who loved me. They loved me for myself but I was cheating them by not being myself. Nowadays I may be more blunt than they would like, and they may think I'm quite crazy at times. But they do still love me for who I am and they are happy knowing that I am happy.

Now, I'm going to sign off before this really gets too long.

Jerry - I wish you luck with the meds. I know how rough it can be.

Rosemary - I don't have any children living here, but if you'd like to send your Christmas story my way, I'd love to read it. I owe you. :)

Teekay - for whatever reason, you have been in the back of my mind for our mystery poet as well. :)

Carol 12-16-2001 17:58

Greetings all, (think rough scratchy croak of a voice)

We have a Cedar tree in this part of the world that polinates in the winter and half of the population of south Texas is sick for a couple of months.

I have written a Christmas story for the first time in about five years. It has Santa, elves, trolls and stuff like that. If any of you with young children would like to have it to read to them, give me a holler. Any one else interested, same. It's almost 2,000 words, too long to put on the Notebook. I would be interested in feedback, especially the ending. It seemed the moral of the story was a little off.

TINA,
Hi ya, I'm always around, just don't always have anything to say.

CAROL and Mary,
Good grief, if those different types of police were real, my house would be crowded all the time. With all of them. Would probably be an improvement if Suzy would move in. Don't think she's ever been here.

VIV,
The thought of all those poor old and sick people forced to watch horrible daytime and weekend programs made me really thankful for the battery charger my sister got for me.

Going to try to catch up on reading the posts now.
bye

Rosemary 12-16-2001 12:50

Jerry: We just got another 'dusting' of snow last night, but all the little birds and golden instruments I hung from the cluster of branches in the pot out front 'hung in'. They didn't blow away in the wind!

Well, one bird was hanging upside down looking rather stupid, but Suzy fixed that. Couldn't have the bird showing it's wires, Suzy said with a sniff.

Eddie: Ha! Ha! YOUR bold took over the board, too! Teekay as our mystery poet, you say? Hmmm. Interesting. And since you made bold the words, I'm back to bolding names!

Viv: Hope you're feeling better. Oprah-session you say?

I heard a bit of a kafuffle about an author who refused to go on Oprah's Book Club. Apparently he made some sarcastic comment about Oprah's show, and Oprah's show withdrew the offer of an appearance, and ... well, I'd say that was the end of that writer's opporunity for free publicity. Apparently, though, the book doesn't need it.

I believe his book is called "Corrections" and a trio of writers on CBC went at it hammer and tong reviewing both 'author' and book. However, all three admitted the book was excellent, a page turner and touched on the subject of humanity through a veil of pharmeceutical corrections.

I heard the author himself on the CBC for about 2 minutes then my car was filled with squealing children. Now I'm dying to see what all the fuss was about. After I'm done here, I'm going to search out the book. Probably won't get it until January or February, but by then I'll need a good read.

*shudder* I can't think of anything scarier than appearing on National Television to 'sell the book', unless perhaps it's getting 'reviewed' both personally and for my work by a group of slightly Kermit-coloured writers!

Howard: Thanks for the virus scam alert. Sometimes I wonder why virus makers and hoax makers play on the ignorance of the not-quite-computer-savvy of the world.

Heather: The Procrastination Police? LOL! I coud use a warning for "stalled in the slow lane story". Suzy doesn't set standards on my writing anymore. She used to, but I told her that if she wanted to look at MarthaStewart.com, she'd have to shut her face while I was writing and I'd let her oo and ahh (while I ewwwed and arghed) at all the 'good things' that we weren't going to do together any time soon.

Actually, this is where the Bwitch helped out. She, who loves spellcheck (the kind on the computer, not the Rede kind) and actually noted I tend to get "Paralyzed into Perfection" when I'm writing for my own self.

And working with Daughter and playing on-line poster did the rest. As I began to 'write spontaneously' I found it rather tedious to open the dictionary and correct my own, let alone everyone else's spelling gaffs. I began to read around the typos and unique spellings to get to the heart of the post.

I found it irritating and rude when other posters, in the heat of debate, picked on people's spelling rather than discussing or debating the point at hand.

Due to the fact that very few message boards or discussion groups (except CBC's) come with spellcheck options, people who actually do have post-secondary educations make little boo-boos in the heat of writing.

Interestingly my spelling sucks so badly lately I feel like feeding it a lollipop. Yet, the descriptions and colours flow. Bwitch likes to see my boo-boos. She says I can now put away my t-shirt that says "How do you spell Anal Retentive?"

Daughter, who has created her own unique phonetic-based language (which occasionally she cannot even read), actually writes exciting stories! I 'edited' her soon-to-be-submitted-for-marks short story for Language Arts (formerly known as English) and realized with a smile that spelling can be corrected in the 'good' draft. She's still struggling with printing out the 'good copy', and will be getting a ticket from the Procrastination Police soon.

Thanks Heather, now I have a whole image after that rather cool Grammar Police post Mary (?) made a while back.

Since we're going to dinner at a friend's who 'cooks creatively' in ways that, um fail to tantalize the palate, I promised the kids I'd make a veggie plate to go with dinner. Peppers to de-seed, carrots to peel and slice, Broccoli florettes to minimize and dip to fix. I ignored Suzy and bought dip. I took one taste and had to give Suzy credit ... it needs fixing that dip. Even low fat dip should not taste like ranch-flavoured s*it!

It's still 10 days until Christmas, isn't it? It better be, I still have some gifts to buy and wrap!

Oh, and it is officially 9:50 Cowtown-time, regardless of what the time on this post says!

Oyster 12-16-2001 11:49

I like that last typo. Definitely Oprah-ession. An afternoon sick in bed and only Oprah is on. Your remote won't work and you are too sick with a headache and flu to move. Yup, that's Oprah-ession. Worse...Judge Judy comes on after Oprah. That's enough to make me go volunteer to replace all batteries in remote controls in every nursing home in the nation!
Now bed.

Viv 12-16-2001 8:44

I am still guessing as to the name of our mystery poet. It could be Howard, but I haven't the time to pull out one of the poems and really give it a good going over with a prosedy book at my side.

If it's a newbie....WELCOME! You and Howard can astound us. Heather is a good hand at poetry as well. I'm planning to play with it if I end up not working.

Howard: Good luck with NYS schools. I've worked my kids up so they can teach me math as well. It's nice to have your own kids giving you help and support. Best wishes to your efforts. I'll be following your lead if I have the courage when I get back to the States. I have to get a teaching license as well! Never studied teaching...just fell into it by mistake and stayed. I think I really could use a lot of study but every time I teach I learn more that can help! It's fun but I'm not sure I like schools. I like the teaching but I don't think much of gradebooks and rules. They tend to drive off the creative kids. Think of the engineer they lost in your story about the car. Rebuilding a transmission is intricate and takes a lot of skill.

I'm more apt to be the type to pass, and drive a car at 40 mph into someone's bumper to get it "Jump started".

Bed. Early start tomorrow. Last week before vacation. Whew! I want to do a shortie. Oppression...Oppressive. Hummmmm. Bed. 5:30 wake up call. Opression.

Viv 12-16-2001 8:41

Virus hoax alert!
If you receive a warning from someone saying that they may have sent you a virus called SULFNBK.EXE, check here before deleting anything:

http://securityresponse.symantec.com/avcenter/venc/data/sulfnbk.exe.warning.html

According to the Norton folks, it's a hoax, and that file is a Microsoft Utility.

howard 12-16-2001 7:45

Eddie

***********************************

Dam!

So...Put me on the list!

This is what should have happened.

************************************

Here is how it goes.......To me anyway..

You'll find me in every city, town and country on this earth

but never find a whisper in the briny sea.

T

You'll find me twice in everything

and together they must be.

E x 2

You'll find a king without me

doesn't come to much at all

K

And if I left the angels

they would surely fall

A

You'll find me in yourselves, in each and every you

for our spirits are connected in the writing that we do.

Y

See..........TEEKAY

Later,

Ed

Eddie 12-16-2001 5:52

Eddie

Here is how it goes.......To me anyway..

You'll find me in every city, town and country on this earth

but never find a whisper in the briny sea.

T

You'll find me twice in everything

and together they must be.

E x 2

You'll find a king without me

doesn't come to much at all

K

And if I left the angels

they would surely fall

A

You'll find me in yourselves, in each and every you

for our spirits are connected in the writing that we do.

Y

See..........TEEKAY

Later,

Ed

Eddie 12-16-2001 5:48

To the mystery poster: That was a joke used in the movie "They Still Call me Bruce"

Oh I just love writing, I really, really do... its fun
Just had to say that.
I have decided to go all out with the story... No holding back, just not using real names and that

taylor 12-16-2001 5:41

That would be 'mouldy' rye. What wonders do typos reveal.

Heather 12-16-2001 4:07

Teekay - no need to apologize, I'm just glad you've got the book. All of those new markets - hurrah! *doing the 'I just got my new writer's market' dance for you*

jig jig shucka shucka leap leap tada!

Oyster - just for 'reference', your shortie can be late! No one will send out the procrastination police. (Or the held up from writing by Suzy policy) :oD

BTW, I actually didn't think of Suzy when I wrote my shortie - I was basically thinking that it would be truly horrible for me if I ever lost my right hand. I can deal with your interpretation, though!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How did it happen, Miss Homemaker?"
"Well, Dr. Rusenheim, first thing that morning I was over at Oyster's house, nagging in her ear again. She and Heather and Teekay must have been in cahoots, cause the minute I left Oyster's and walked into Heather's livingroom, she grabbed me, hauled me into the kitchen, and demanded I do her dishes!"
Suzy had this indignant look spread over her face, like sour jam on a piece of mouly rye. I was nonplussed just having her in my office. I already caught her eyeing the calcium deposit on the faucets when I first came into the room, and now she was holding a white glove in her teeth, trying to pull it down over her remaining hand.
"So, what happened?" I asked, not really giving a bull's bucketful what she answered. Suzy had possessed my mother, and also my wife on one too many occasions. You wouldn't say Suzy's much of a 'people person'.
"Well," Suzy says, running a white-gloved finger over the edge of the doorframe, "That wench expected me to actually DO the dishes, can you believe it? I mean, that's not MY job!"
"So?" I'm getting impatient, wishing Suzy would find it in her heart to get lost. And leave my dust intact where it lay.
"So, she does this wacko move on me, grabs me by the arm, and then WHACK!" Suzy's eyes are as narrow as the grey matter that lay pooled in the bottom of her skull.
"Whack?" Something in me was grinning, just thinking about what must have come next.
"She lopped it off with a goddamn meat cleaver!" Suzy yelled, waggling her stump in my face. "She said it was 'For Women and other people everywhere!'! That's all she said, over and over! 'For Women and other people everywhere.' And then she just shoved me out the door, and threw my poor bloody hand onto the lawn." Suzy had finished inspecting my doorframe, and was on to the windowsills.
"Oh, that's a shame. Does this hurt?" I ask, taking a good bit of the flesh at the stump and pinching...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Have a great Sunday, and a great Monday, for those of us ahead of schedule. :oD

Heather 12-16-2001 4:05

I think the mystery poet is a newbie.

Heather 12-16-2001 2:43

Greetings all!

Well it appears we will have a white Christmas. Today was warm, the snow all melted off the streets, which is a good thing. It began to snow about 7:00 PM, the wind began to blow around 7:40, and the streets were white again by 9:00. So is everything else. There will probably be some travel advisories by morning, but what the heck, it's nearly Christmas, and it can snow for Christmas; Right?

I honestly don't have a thing to say this night. But I wanted to drop in and see how everyone was anyhow.

Good night all.

Jerry 12-16-2001 0:45

Oytser:

I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe you can find a substitute for the substitute.

I mean it's possible. Right?

Debra 12-15-2001 21:22

A journalist had done a story on gender roles in Kuwait several years before the Gulf War, and she noted then that women customarily walked about 10 feet behind their husbands.

She returned to Kuwait recently and observed that the men now walked several yards behind their wives.

She approached one of the women for an explanation. "This is marvelous," said the journalist. "What enabled women here to achieve this reversal of roles?"

Replied the Kuwaiti woman: "Land mines"

12-15-2001 20:40

Mel,
It's not a guess. It's all revealed in the last poem.

Eddie 12-15-2001 14:38

MARY -- It's a work of fiction.

Bye-the-bye, my Christmas Trivia game tells me that in Ireland only someone named Mary can put out the church candles that were lit on Christmas eve. Since I'm not in church, I guess you needn't know if my wick is burning.

Mark 12-15-2001 12:18

Mary: did I miss Shortie Night? Did I sleep through it? It's been such a busy week, I couldn't stay up to look at the Notebook, besides, Spouse was zoning out on his computer golf game while I was snoring. Drat, I was planning to 'submit' a Bwitch Story! Next Thursday? Friday? When ARE shortie nights?

Debra: I can't make that eggnogg, even with the sugar-substitute because my grocery store doesn't carry the named egg-subsistutes. Just the real thing! So, I think I'll go with low fat Cranberry/Rasperry punch this year!

Teekay: I love those big books with all the possible publishers. I get so excited when I see new opportunities to 'query and submit'. Still, optomistic, I hit the library every February with pen and pad.

We have a huge Writer's Markets tome in the library I use, since the book is so expensive and thick only the library can afford to update it every year. It's in the reference section it can't be taken off premises and only the current year of publication, too. I wondered why this was ... then I found out!

One book, boasting "35" New Canadian Publishers attracted my attention, and I happily copied down the particulars for the publishers who interested me, about 10 of them.

LOL, so I sent queries to 5 of the 10, and guess what? The most interesting new magazines were already gone bye bye. *Groan*!

So I asked friend who is much better at market research than I am and she says "Check out the Oz magazines. They stick around longer."

So, Teekay, I'm surmising that Oz has much more staying-with-it-power than Canada. I won't 'whinge' about International Postage, because most of my stuff goes 'south' anyway. I be green like Kermit, thinking of Teekay and her big book of contacts in Oz all for her very own self.

Jerry, no matter how many boo-boos your story had, I liked it. I didn't even notice the inconsistencies. I just liked the idea that the woman didn't need another drunk in her life. And his reply that 'it's never too early for a good scotch'.

Randall, I loved the irony of Omar and Ismala; Aspirin and Carrier Pigeons indeed!

A friend who worked with the Int'l Red Cross went to Afghanistan after the Russians left.
He and a few others literally slept in the supply tent to insure that the bandages and generic acetominaphen (sp) cases weren't filched in the night.

I have to go now, the Aw(some)ful Children are awake and picking on each other. Perhaps if I feed them, they will shut up and let me get back to Bwitch's adventures as a child.

Ah, thud thud, Spouse is up. So much for an hour to myself! Chaos begins in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... blast off!

Oyster 12-15-2001 11:36

*Mel*

Hi all! Just a pop-sweet hello here (no time for a pop-tart).

Eddie, I too was going to guess, as my third guess, mystery poet TEEKAY...Is it YOU, TEEKAY? 'FEss Up!

No oppressive shorties in me, right now, folks. Gotta stir together some Early American Corn Chowder for our "Christmas Crosslights" dinner-theater at church tonight. Hope I don't trip on my half-hemmed long skirt!! :-{

Gotta run. Great day everyone!

Mel 12-15-2001 8:52

Eddie

T E E K A Y

Our mystery poet revealed?

Eddie 12-15-2001 5:05

Hey Mark! Who you callin' oppresive? ;-)

Mary 12-15-2001 2:23

I recall reading somewhere that the U.S. has in it's arsenal a device called the neutron bomb.

This device is capable of irradating a large area with intense radiation, killing every living thing within it's zone of destruction, yet not destroying the infrastructure.

Maybe we should consider using that in Torra Bora.

Just a thought, yes I am still mad as hell about 9/11.

Jerry 12-15-2001 0:32

Of course driving off into the sunset is a figurative term, much like the old cowboy movies where the good guy always rides his trusty steed off into the sunset after saving the ranch, getting the girl, turning down the girl, and solving the crime.

Jerry 12-15-2001 0:17

Ok, so that's what I get for writing my story in this little box.

Jerry 12-15-2001 0:16

Ok, so the sun sits very late in the morning around here in the winter, really it does. You believe me don't you? Have you ever been to the Dakota's?

Ok, well it goes down around 4 PM Mountain time here, so make it 3:30 PM and the story goes about right. Right?

Jerry 12-15-2001 0:15

Been a long day. Went to pay my internet bill, always a pleasure as I usually visit with my friend who runs the place, but today was different. He was still my friend, and we still visited, but I found that I could not think straight. I couldn't come up with simple things that I know well. Speaking of a 128 meg SDRAM, I simply couldn't think what it was, drew a blank. It continued to happen and my friend looked at me as if I were mad, or ill. Neither of which were true, or at least I don't think so.

I suspect it is some reaction to one of the many pills that I must take every day. I am attempting to get off a very addictive pain killer right now, and hopefully that is what is wrong, yet I can't be sure.

I am much better now, but it does concern me a bit. I did come up with a contributition for shorty night, and it seemed to come together fairly easy, so I haven't lost my ability to write as of yet, just a few names of a few items that's all. I hope it gets better soon, as it is embarassing to do such things, and it has never happend before. Must be the pills.

At any rate, here is my contribution, I hope you like it.

A Brief Encounter
By Jerry A G Ericsson

Wade was always a bit depressed, but nobody ever noticed. He walked through his life ignoring what was happening around him, all that he ever noticed were his feelings, his depression, his problems.

He walked into her life quite unexpectedly. She was sitting in her beat up Ford Escort, the engine running to keep the heater throwing out heat; the outside air was hovering around the zero mark. He was walking down the sidewalk, not watching where he was going, looking only at his feet. As he neared the street corner, he stepped down off the curb, intending to cross at the intersection, but her car was there. He didn’t look up, he was to concerned with what he was feeling, running over in his head, his long depression, where did it start, where will it stop. Could he stop it? He did not know. He walked on.

Then came the collision. It was not a large collision, and had she not been watching his approach, she may have missed it completely. He noticed it much the way a man notices the fly that circles his head, swatting at it unconcisously.

He stepped back and looked around. He noted the car, and then changed his angle of approach so as to go around the car, and continue his walk; all that was on his mind was his depression, and his destination, the Kokomo Inn just across the street.

If he made it to his destination, he could drown his depression in a glass of Scotch that was his way of self medicating. He didn’t believe in pills, and doctors were just for sick people, not for the depressed. He began to walk again, after setting course for the Kokomo, his head dropped, his eyes on the scuffed old loafers that protected his feet from the ice and snow of the street.

All would have continued uninterrupted, had she not opened the car door. Her intention to go inside the store and buy a pack of gum, she didn’t notice his path until he collided again with her car door.

“Excuse me.” She said, as she extended her hand to help him up off the ground.

He mumbled something undistinguishable and again started on his way.

“EXCUSE ME!” she shouted, as he walked on, watching his feet, thinking of himself and little else.

She ran after him, calling “Hey you, I am talking to you, did you hurt yourself, I am a nurse you know, I can help!”

Again he mumbled something she could not understand. She was beginning to believe that something was terribly wrong with him.

She ran after him, catching up as he was opening the door to the Kokomo Inn.

He stepped back, and bowed slightly as she approached, “After you pretty lady.” He said, and she stepped inside.

It had been years since she had entered a bar, but nothing seemed to change. There was still that distinctive smell of stale beer, and the subtle whiff of urine from the rest rooms. It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of the bar room, but when they had, she saw that he had already made his way to the bar, and was sitting on one of the tall shinny chrome legged bar stools.

As she sat beside him on one of the stools, she heard his first distinguishable words.

“Double scotch straight up!” he commanded the bartender in a strong authorative voice.

The bartender nodded, and turned to prepare his drink.

“A bit early to be imbibing in such a strong drink, it is only ten AM.” She said.

“Never to early for good scotch.” He replied, with a smile.

She liked his face when he smiled, and his eyes were soft, there was something there that stirred her deep down, stirred her as she hadn’t been stirred in a very long time.

The bartender returned with a tall glass filled over half way with an amber colored liquor.

He picked up the glass from the bar and drank it down in one gulp. His face didn’t change, it was as if he were drinking milk, or water.

She watched.

He turned to her, “So why did you follow me here?”

“Just wanted to be sure you didn’t hurt yourself when you fell.”

“Fell? I fell?”

“Why yes, just a few minutes ago, when you ran into my car.”

“I ran into your car?”

“Why do I get the feeling I am the only one in here that knows what is going on?” She said, a look of disgust fell upon her face. She stepped down from the stool and began to walk to the door.

“Sure, just go, leave, don’t keep me company, hell I didn’t want your company anyhow!”

She turned and looked into his eyes, gone was the look of softness, kindness, compassion. In its place was hatred, despair, evil.

She walked out the door, and as she returned to her car she thought “well enough of that, I don’t need another drunk in my life!”

He stayed in the bar and drank his sorrows away; she drove off into the sunset.

Jerry Ericsson 12-15-2001 0:08

** Oppression **
"Write a list." She didn't really say write a list, did she? Oppressive bitch. She might as well say, "Eat what's on the table or go to bed hungry." Lists. I've been stumbling over spike-pointed lists since I was 10 years old. My mother would give me a list when I'd go to the store to get one item.

The psychological issues of "List" came into play in Texas in the early days of my recovery. My sponsor told me one day to make a Gratitude List. All the happy alcoholics in Houston echoed the same refrain: "You can't be hateful and grateful at the same time." I knew I wanted something my sponsor had, and I knew all those happy people had something that had gone right for them, but I still couldn't get started. Sponsor said, "Here. Number your paper from 1 to 20. Now in Number 1 put, 'I'm grateful to have a pencil to write with.' In Number 2 put, 'I'm grateful to have paper.'"

I got that 20-item list made out. It put a lump in my throat to think I needed that much help. I nearly cried thinking how lucky I was to have someone around who cared enough to make me take such baby steps -- and pay attention to them. I did feel better. I got positive reinforcement from the experience. Somehow I also increased my disregard for list-makers. I learned to be grateful for everyday experiences and to value each one separately from the day's top-ten. A little distance from the experience and I also came to see the Gratitude List as a manipulative tool in the positive-reinforcer's bag of tricks.

It worked, and I'm grateful, but having worked once, I am wary of being manipulated again.

Mark 12-14-2001 21:52

**Teekay**

RANDALL: Absolutely delightful. Curled my toes in glee at another Omar edition. Hope you don't mind if I pass it along to a few friends, with your moniker attached of course.
Let me know if you don't want me to, but you'd better be quick.
Seems a shame to let it drift into the netherlands of the archives without sharing it around.

The flag one was brilliant too, one of my favourites. If anybody hasn't read RANDALL's post of where the Taliban get all their American flags to burn, do your self a favour and take a look.

((((((((((((((((HUGS)))))))))))))))) to all who need them.
*~**~*~**~**~***~**~**~*~**~*~**~*~*~ inspiration to all who desires it.
*smacks* to whoever deserves one.

I am feeling wonderful. At last, at last my long awaited 'Australian writer's marketplace' book has arrived, and by golly, isn't it thick.
So I was whinging in your ear for nought yesterday HEATHER :-)
Sowwy.

Never did I think there was such a wide range of markets and so many options.

Now, where's my trusty pen?

Teekay 12-14-2001 21:45

I'm sorry! :-))) Sometimes I crack myself up!!!

R

Randall 12-14-2001 20:59

Randall

To deduce the poet lurker, eliminate the inconsequential, whoever remains, however improbable...sans poet! (Sherlock Holmes) Eh? Tain't me! And with his permission...nor Americo. Probably female would be my guess. But then what do I know? I thought I was a writer...once.

Ring, ring.

"Omar's specialty store, you need it we got it."

"Hey Omar, what's happening dude. It's Islama."

"Islama? That Islama?"

"Yea bro, it's me."

"No way Jose! Islama is fighting the infidel invaders in Tora Bora land."

"No it's me Omar. Say I need to place an order...."

KABOOM! KABOOM!!

"Islama? Islama, it is you!"

Seconds pass..."Islama? Islama?"

Sounds of coughing. "Okay, by the grace of Allah, we're still here. Say my friend, we need a few items to help defeat the infidel American invaders."

"You just let me know Islama. We will all do our part to defeat the infidels. What do you need?"

"Omar we need..."

KABOOM! KABOOM!!

Heavy coughing...falling debris sounds. Gasping, wheezing. "Omar, got a pencil handy?"

"As sure as Allah is on our side. May the Americans burn in Allah's fire."

"Omar we need a case of aspirin, at least 2000, 500 milligram tablets. Capsules, as they are easer to swallow without water..."

KABOOM! KABOOM!! KABOOM!!!

Crashing sounds, men coughing. "And a thousand dust masks that filter down to 5 microns, several gallons of eye and mouth wash, a thousand sleeping pills, one bar of soap... (aside) What? What's that? Okay...and a bag of feed for Tulebom's camel. Stupid thing always underfoot...."

KABOOM! KABOOM!! KABOOM!!!

The sound of men coughing, debris falling. In the background someone is heard to say. "Jesus H. Christ that was close!!!"

Another voice. "Knocking on heavens door boys!"

"Oh yes Omar, better throw in a couple thousand ear plugs. Omar, do you have any carrier pigeons?"

"Pigeons, Islama? How will that help our holy soldiers defeat the infidel American and British war dogs?"

KABOOM! KABOOM!! KABOOM!!!

Loud coughing, men cursing, debris falling...Someone screams. "Get that stupid camel off my foot! Nothing is worth this! First we have to smell the cursed thing, then step in his you-know-what in the middle of the night, and now the 2 ton, 4-footed infidel is standing on my foot!"

"Ah, beats me Omar. Just as soon as we disconnect I'm throwing the frigging cell phone away. Something tells me the Americans are listening in on my calls! We'll let the pigeons relay our messages."

"Islama, that is truly inspirational thinking. With your guidance and Allah's might we will throw the infidels out of our land!"

"Omar, in Allah's name deliver that to cave complex, Allah's Breath in the heart of Tora Bora. You were here last year, remember?"

Looooooooooong pause. Dead silence............

"Who is this? And Omar's specialty store does not deliver. Good day!"

KABOOM! KABOOM!! KABOOM!!!

Night all

Randall

Randall 12-14-2001 20:48

You'll find me in every city, town and country on this earth
but never find a whisper in the briny sea.

You'll find me twice in everything
and together they must be.

You'll find a king without me
doesn't come to much at all

And if I left the angels
they would surely fall

You'll find me in yourselves, in each and every you
for our spirits are connected in the writing that we do.

12-14-2001 19:11

Heather, oppression
Echoes in your prose from every
Angle.
The shroud of death first closing in, the burden of
Her physical body and family and friends first physically, then vocally and at the
End, the
Realisation that her dream may be forever opressed.

12-14-2001 18:51

This mysterious poet is quite interesting. The poetry is great, and a little biting. I love it!

I have no clue who it is. I hesitate to hazard a guess. There are many of the named people among us who have great talent and ability, but none of you really comes to mind as I read. If it one of us, someone has long been hiding his or her light under a bushel.

Whoever you are, master poet, you have enriched the Notebook and made it far more interesting with your poetry and the mystery you have presented.

Could you be THE OLD MAN? And what has happened to T.O.M.?

TEEKAY,

Is it you? I have always suspected you were full of surprises.

The only others who come to mind are RACHEL and HEATHER (I don't know why I am convinced a woman wrote all of this).

Rhoda 12-14-2001 18:21

Oyster:

I'll tell you what, you could try it and let everyone know how it tasted.

I don't like sugar subsititutes. I really don't. I don't trust them.

There are plenty of people who do like them. So I say if you're one of those people you should try it.

Let me know.

It's not my recipe. I saw it on the Today Show and just had to have it. Two people on the show said they know good eggnog when they taste it. They tried it and loved it. So......!

I posted it here, because I wanted to share it with my NB friends.

Let me know, we'll all find out together.

Debra 12-14-2001 17:03

Debra,

I liked your eggnog recipe, and wondered if I could substitute 1/2 a box of Arf-it-icial Sweet(not)ner for Icing Sugar??? Then I could kill two no-longer-laying Birds with one ladle ... fat-free and reduced sugar!

Eddie:

Aw, too bad, no poetry?

Ho, ho, ho, Where is JackSquatch?

Oh, and Sasquatch? Even though Sasquatches don't wear pants, it might not be a bad idea to find something bright to wear in the winter. That way the hunters with guns will think you're one of them.

Anyone care to share the cost and and we can send Sasquatch a hunter's vest for Winter time in Yeti-land? They do come in X-X-X large now!

Oyster 12-14-2001 16:51

heavy

12-14-2001 16:51

For anyone who stopped drinking eggnog because it was too heave.

OUTRAGEOUS FAT-FREE EGGNOG
From: Elizabeth's kitchen

While traditional eggnogs pack in up to 19 grams of fat (that's almost 5 teaspoons of fat, and most of it is saturated!), this recipe is fat- and cholesterol-free. It also has less than half the calories. Besides that -- it is absolutely delicious! (You can make non-alcoholic version using brandy or rum extract in place of the liquor.)

Use the egg substitute listed, since this is the only egg substitute found where manufacturer guaranteed safety using their product uncooked.

INGREDIENTS
1 1/2 cups Pipette Foods Better'n Eggs substitute (1 1/2 small cartons)
1/2 box powdered sugar
1 cup dark rum
4 cups fat-free half and half
5 large egg whites
Freshly ground nutmeg

DIRECTIONS
In a large bowl, whip egg substitute for one minute. Gradually add sugar. Gradually add rum. Cover and refrigerate for one hour.

Add half & half, beating constantly with electric mixer. Cover and refrigerate for 3 hours.

In a medium bowl, whip egg whites until they form stiff peaks, but are not dry. Gently fold egg whites into egg mixture.

Serve eggnog sprinkled with nutmeg. Makes 20 servings (approximately 3 ounces)

Nutrition Information per serving: 122 calories, 5 percent fat (<1 gram), 56 percent carbohydrate, 16 percent protein, 23 percent alcohol, 47 mg sodium, 0 mg cholesterol.

Debra 12-14-2001 16:31

JACK

? ? ? ? ? ? ? WHERE IS OUR FATHER CHRISTMAS ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

12-14-2001 15:13

Eddie

Oyster,
Sorry, not me! Poet I am not. But I will answer the poets plea.
Just put all woes aside
and try to fly.

Eddie 12-14-2001 14:58

howard person thank to you for the explaining of jump starting but sasquatch never went in any car so i would not know about that. what i sasquatch do remember about is one time when i am careless and humans person sees sasquatch. humans person has what you call gun and there is a very loud noise and a sound near sasquatch ear like one bee is angry when sasquatch find sweet food in tree. sasquatch jump all right, and does what humans persons sometimes tell when frightened but sasquatch does not wear you call pants. i must go.

sasquatch 12-14-2001 11:53

Hi All,

I figured I'd 'drop in' before starting the myriad and sundry Suzy-inspired chores I must do. She's ba-ack. She took over the last bit of decorating the tree last night. I want her to go away because now she's nagging me to 'Remember when this home was really clean and neat?' I shot back 'Remember what I wrote like back then?'

Of course Suzy always has to have the last word.
'Yes, I do. But you can't eat a short story and a novel will not keep germs away.'

And on that ... Heather (hee-hee) would it, could it, be that your Oppression Character (beautifully and chillingly done, by the way) be some semblance of Suzy? Without a hand, how could Suzy survive?

So, if you didn't kill off Suzy, Heather, I'm reading it as you at least cut off one of her hands. Taking great vicarious pleasure in Suzy's near-death-experience, I feel no pity for her. Yet, Heather, having had a few those 'experiences' you described so deeply and with such colour and metaphor, myself, I can almost feel empathy of Oh Oppressed One.

However, Suzy is nagging again.

So Bwitch is stalled
and I'm appalled
by arresting in mid-muse.

But this is the way
my poetry goes,
in case others
are confused.

It sucks big time
to think in rhyme
poetry not a thing
Sublime.

Flunking verse,
it could have been
worse,
my name could be
A. A. Kline!

Mel: Okay, once upon a time I did 'writing analysis' as a part of an 'investigation' and Jerry will understand why I can't and won't elaborate. Suffice it to say, I've been doing 'deep reading' since I was a child. Catching the author's voice underneath the 'work'. So, as usual, my generous heart went out to a 'recipient' of a nasty type and I put my brain to work. Yes, the nasty-person was nabbed and I was sworn to secrecy.

Plus, I'm seriously thinking of doing unto others, as has been done unto to me, and swiping that poetry. I believe it is called plagarism, or stealing. If Anon-poet keeps printing that poetry, I can cut n' paste and probably have a chapbook ready for a couple of publishers ready in no time.

But ... it behooves me to actually steal. I am basically an honest person. Get thee behind me, you-know-who!

So, Anonymous Poet, since you will not 'out' yourself, here are my guesses.

You could be Eddie, because Eddie seems to have a deep insight to the dynamics and mechanics, personalities and peculiarities of the board and I suspect, a fine and wry, but also ironic sense of humour.

Almost every writer loves a mystery, and I'm no exception. However, after this post, I'm going to simply read and drool as Anon-poet, for whatever reasons, has chosen to post anonymously.

And there was that little confounding communique to Americo via Eddie recently! Hmm, that one made me wonder a bit, was Eddie talking to himself, I mused?

You, Anon-poet, could also be Americo because the polish on your poetry, spontaneously erudite and metaphorically eclectic as it is, is also hard as crystal and equally as brilliantly multi-faceted. There is absolutely no compromise, no whimsy in it, which lets out our more verbacious posters, myself included.

Each poem refracts and reflects at the same time, and the meter is highly intellectual, intelligent and the topic cynical. I'm reminded of a coldly beautiful blue-white diamond, that unless the setting softens it, will burn the eyes and absorb rather than twinkle with rainbows of colours.

Or Jon, whoever he/she is, since I've never heard his/her/it's voice, could be the Unknown Author.

What or whoever Anon-Poet is (and I'm not ruling out phantoms of the ethereal kind, either) he/she/they have been reading and taking bits and pieces from our words. Additionally, whoever you are, your poetry is 'up there' with several professional poets I've had the privilege of reading.

There is one more possibility, and I cringe to think of this ... Spouse writes poetry. But his style is lighter and certainly not as urbane as Anon-poet's. And Spouse would take credit ... yes, definitely take credit.

Thanks Heather, for understanding my conflummoxed state. Conflummoxed is not a real word. I like it because as I read recently, there are 'words for the lips' and conflummoxed is one of mine ... 'for the lips'.

Later, later, Suzy is pulling my arm and insisting all the good stuff will be gone if I don't get to the grocery store soon! As IF!

Oyster-no-poetry 12-14-2001 11:15

Taylor - that reminds me of the punishment I figured out many years ago when I was in my sophomore year of high school. You see, my cousin Kenny was living with us, as he had gotten in trouble in his school in Bison and was expelled. Now that should have told me to be careful, but Kenny and I were best of friends, we drank together, we chased the girls together, hell we did everything together and having him live in our house was great for me.

At any rate, one night we were out cruising for gals, when one of the guys we ran around with wanted to see how much rubber Kenny could lay with his black and white 59 Chevy Impale. Well Kenny punched it, and lay a patch of rubber about a half a block long. Then to make it even better, he spun the big car around and lay another patch in the other lane, well that was the plan, but when he punched it the torque converter let go in the automatic transmission, and we just sat there, the engine revving.

So this buddy of ours pushed the car up to my uncle's mechanic shop, the one he had closed when he went back to work for the John Deer implement dealer. That night, we went to the midnight auto supply (junk dealer in town) and requisitioned (stold) a torque converter out of a junk car. The next day being Monday, we cut school and went to that shop and began pulling the transmission. It was dirty work, and took all day just to get the blasted thing out, what with the two of us amateur mechanics working under that old boat of a car. Our lunch break we went up to the bakery and got a couple of pastry, then went to the laundry mat and with pennies we had filed down to the size of dimes, got a couple bottles of Mountain Dew. Then it was back to the shop and work. At the end of the day, we had the transmission out, and the torque converter in place. The next day we went back to the shop, again cutting school, and put the transmission back in. We took it for a test drive and all seemed well.

Kenney was good at forgery, and he forged my dad's signature on an excuse for school and we were in like Flint. We got our assignments and did the make up work.

Well it wasn't a week before he tore that torque converter out again, and we repeated the process one more time. This time, though the principal decided that we were just to sick to often, so he called my dad to ask about our illness. Well dad, not wanting to get us in trouble, said he would call back in a few minutes, then went out to look for us. We just happened to be taking our lunch break about that time, and were eating our pastry and drinking our Mountain Dew that we got with filed down pennies, when we saw my dad's car drive down the Main Street. He saw us at the same time, and we ran, dodging through alleys, cutting in-between buildings and such. Well dad got a bit pissed off, so he went back home and called the school, told them that we weren't sick, but skipping school. Then they asked him about the week before, and he told them we must have been skipping then too.

Now that night, all dad said was the Mr. Zimmer wanted us both in his office in the morning.

We were terrified, well I was terrified, Kenney, having been expelled from school before wasn't all that worried.

The next morning, we showed up in Mr. Zimmer's office. Now Mr. Zimmer was known as "Chrome Dome" due to the total lack of hair on his head, and he ran that school as if it were his Army Platoon. He was, in fact an officer in the National Guard. When we entered his office, we had to stand at attention, while he read us the riot act. Then came the punishment: We had a choice, we could 1) take detention study hall for the rest of the school year.( This was in September, that meant most of the school year!) or 2) Drop out of school for the year and come back next year to try again.

I took the detention, which meant I spent an extra hour after school in a highly supervised study hall.

Kenny dropped out, which was probably a good thing for me, as when he left, so did my urge to get into trouble.

At any rate, getting back to the punishment, no, I don't think he should be sentenced to detention study hall, but before Kenny moved home, we discussed the best punishment for the much hated Chrome Dome, and my plan won.

My plan was much like yours, we should hang the bastard by his heals, then feed him nothing but X-Lax for a couple of weeks. That would be a punishment now wouldn't it.

A side note, back in 1976, I ran into Chrome Dome, well Major Chrome Dome in DC. He was stationed at the Pentagon, and I met him in a hall one day when I was going to destroy classified documents at the Pentagon. He took me out for lunch, and we had a very nice visit. He didn't mention the little incident of skipping school, he was just happy to see another Lemmonite so far from home. He was serving as the National Guard liaison for the Pentagon, a cushy assignment if I ever saw one.

Jerry Ericsson 12-14-2001 10:27

Oh, fiddle-fish! Make that second "is" an "it" as in Is it you? 'Fess up! Mystery Poet...

Mel 12-14-2001 9:37

*Mel*

G'Morning, all...Am home today, awaiting--

Awaiting doctor appointment...
Awaiting holiday festivities at church tomorrow eve...
Awaiting noise of children returning from school, later...
Awaiting Ms. Musey to sort new ideas recently arriving as like Tolkienish dwarves to a hobbit's tea party, one by one by one...will they be the ideas to restart my novel? Will they strengthen the middle plot? Will they bring the ending smoothly crisp, as a tied shoelace or a jello mold, frozen?

Awaiting the unknown poet here to reveal a name...Is is you, MARY? OYSTER??? How I hate suspense!...

I think I will do some writing as I await all these things...

Good writing day/night to all! :-)

Mel 12-14-2001 9:36

SASQUATCH -- Jump-starting is slang for what we do to a car when the battery is drained and it won’t start. Most folks think that you need jumper cables to jump-start a vehicle, but cables weren’t always necessary.

According to the old-timers, the term really originated with the old stick shift cars. When the battery died, you pushed the car to get it rolling, then jumped in, put it in second gear, and popped the clutch. That would usually get the engine running, and the part where you jump in is where they got the term jump-start.

‘Course, things got complicated when they started making those automatic transmissions. There was no clutch to pop, and that made it more difficult, because you had to get the car up to about forty miles an hour in order for it to start, and that could lead to problems.

Like the time when Cousin Lester (for real, Cousin was his first name and Lester was his last). Anyway, Cousin Lester took his cousin Junie on a date, and his ’49 Oldsmobile wouldn’t start on account of he had left the radio on so they could listen to Elvis, and the battery died. There they were, out in the road in front of her house, and the car wouldn’t start.

Well, he told her that they would have to get another car to push the Olds, because it had to get up to forty before it would start.

She said she’d just get her father’s new Ford and jump-start the Olds. Cousin said okay, so Junie walked up the driveway, got in the Ford, and drove it down to the neighbor’s barnyard to turn it around so’s she could come up from behind.

Trouble was, she remembered that he’d said that it wouldn’t work unless she got it up to forty…

howard 12-14-2001 7:07

Make that 'succinct', with a side of coffee.

Heather 12-14-2001 6:27

Mornin' all, my rowdy and faithful writers,

Anonymous poet, I thought the latest poem was succint and stupendous. We are all pretending not to be curious about your identity.
There's not much point in leaving the name space blank, since writers know each other by voice. Of course, we are each part actor and actress, hiding in these fiction cloaks we dance beneath. There's not reason to continue doing so in the dark, but should you decide it, we'll know you by your writing, not your monogram.

In other words, since you've pulled up a seat, sign in.

Mary, missed you this morning by an hour and a half. Sorry!
Well, I did write about three pages, but I haven't sent it yet - it's a little rough around the edges. I'll continue it this morning, and send the whole shabang along.

Oyster - I still get people confused! Don't worry about it. The back and forward buttons do help, I use that method myself. Right into the box is most fun and spontaneous.

And now I will write my very early, bushy-tailed squirrel of a story, on the exciting, tantalizing topic of ....

Oppression

(That word just makes you think of the Berlin wall falling, or a giant Euclid-sized chain hitting you in the chest, doesn't it?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kindly leave your grip from me, cold dread, you icicle of a heart, glass ball of a gut. Let me go, she thought, drifting in and out of consciousness. She felt all her warmth oozing from the end of her hand, as if her life were passing away, out her fingertips. That way, she pointed without feeling, I want to go that way. Up.

Patches of black invaded the sides of her eyes, crowding out the lights. Blue, red, blue, red, and then merely the suggestion of light, pulsating through the weave of heavy black cloth. Nothingness.

There was no ending snap, no final sound of death; but humming. The kind of hum that seems to come from the ears themselves, when all other noise is gone. The little bastard in her third grade class bashing her in the head with a bat kind of humming.

After uncountable hours, thoughts begin to reattach themselves to the conscious sector of her mind. There
are places to line up the sums, to stretch out reason, a place to fill out blanks. There is light. And new sounds.

Eyelids are mobile again, she discovers. The light hits pupils long lazy from theta mode. Her lips are thick, like dried soup, and cake around her words. There is someone nearby, she can feel it.

"Caroline, you're awake," comes her sister's screech.

In a moment's time, a crowd is moving in, leaning like a casket lid over her body. "You've lost your hand, Caroline, and you've had some head injuries, but now that you're conscious, we'll better know what sort, if any permanent damage has been done. Welcome back."

She did not flinch outwardly at the words, but closed her eyes with a slow, sleepy motion. Role call! she cried deperately inside, pushing her will to the length of each arm, horrified to know which hand was missing. If it were her left, she could live - with a lot more velcro closures, but otherwise not too shabby. But should it be her right...

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And yes, it's ON topic. 100 points to the person who figures out the connection (if it's really obvious, points all around! And minus 100 for me)

Happy day to all:
Joy, joy,
with you I raise my glass

(Pillow, pillow, oh, how do I miss thee! Let me count the sides...)

Heather 12-14-2001 6:14

Yeah any punnishment is too good for a traitor, but yet they are fighting against the right that allows them to do that... Go figure.

I am a nice guy, but I say lets hang them upside down, and let people who want to have a shot them, beat him with a baseball bat...
Thats a good enough punnishment as any.

taylor 12-14-2001 2:52

Sorry to hear about the Australian who was on the wrong side too. This is one of the problems with a free