Day 9 of NaNoWriMo

As of this moment, I’ve completed 21,691 words of my targeted 50,000 by the end of the month. That puts me way ahead of the 1,666 words per day if I did only what was required each day to finish on time. It’s a good thing, because yesterday I wrote a paltry 402 words – better than nothing, but pretty close to nothing.

Two things I’ve figured out about productivity. First, my brain doesn’t work as well with two cats napping in my lap and I’m trying to balance my laptop on the arm of my recliner. Second, I have a hard time typing with a cat on my desk sweeping her bushy tail across the keyboard. The things we writers suffer for our craft!

This year’s story is running more smoothly because I planned ahead and actually had an idea for a plot thread. Sometimes I deviate because it’s the right thing to do. The preacher was the one murdered, but my designated murderer may not be the one who did it. And if he did (oops! I gave it away – it’s a man) he may not have acted alone.

The police detective’s father just died after a heart attack and both of the detective’s ex-wives are interested in reconciliation. One of the ex-wives is on the rebound because her husband just died from a recurrence of cancer. If the story starts to drag, I may have to kill someone else. I have several possibilities, all with good reason.

Living in a land of make believe is something I like about writing fiction. It’s playing with imaginary friends and doing fun things, or sometimes naughty things, without repercussions. We fly helicopters, drive luxury automobiles, have fun jobs and unlimited piles of cash. And every day is a good hair day.

More later.

NaNoWriMo

No, the post title isn’t a relic left over from the days of Mork and Mindy. How many readers are old enough to remember that show? Robin Williams was young at the time. He was Mork from Ork.

NaNoWriMo is an abbreviation for NAtional NOvel WRiting MOnth. Participants write a 50,000 word novel in the 30 days of November to be a winner. The good part is that the novel doesn’t have to be good. Revision comes later, much later. My novel from last year is still a work-in-progress.

The difference between writing last year and writing this year is that I’m better prepared. Last year I had a good crime but had to make up the rest as I went along. You know how students have a tendency to add nonsense to essays and research papers to meet a word or page count? That was my novel. The first revision fell below the 50,000 words when I took out fluff.

This year I actually have a plan – not in every detail but enough to know that when it’s finished, the novel will have a much higher word count than required.

Fifty thousand words in thirty days works out to writing 1,666 words a day. The count doesn’t sound like much the first couple of days, but as the month progresses and resolve fades, it is formidable. Yet, I hang on to the mantra, “It doesn’t have to be good!”

Anne Lamott and some other published authors refer to to it as a “shitty first draft.” Considering that I’ve written two blog posts on dung, “shitty first draft” resonates with me. I can do this!

New Look

In honor of having reached 1,000 views, I’m changing the blog’s look. Things may appear and disappear as I tinker with fine-tuning.

For My Blogging Friends

I checked out the stats on my blog just now and found a referral through blogsurfer. The premise of this site mimics channel surfing with your remote control. The site shows blogs briefly and the surfer has the option of saving the blog for reading later.

The idea is to increase viewership of your blog. I registered mine but, of course, it’s too soon to see if it works as I understand it. Mentioning the site in your blog increases your blog’s frequency in the rotation. It’s worth a try. Stay tuned.

Address is www.blogsurfer.us.

The New Hairstylist

Next to her gynecologist, a woman’s hairstylist knows her most intimately. This stylist knows that the woman has a cowlick that must be gelled to stay down, knows her true hair color, and knows how many gray hairs she really has. As they become better acquainted, the stylist also knows the details of the woman’s last visit to her gynecologist.

When I moved to Nashville over four years ago, my most critical need was a haircut and highlights. I finally got up the nerve to call a recommended salon and ask about stylists and prices. Having lived in Florence, Alabama for twenty-two years, I didn’t know that some salons in the big city have price tiers depending on the level of experience of the stylist. After some negotiations, I got an appointment with someone who could meet my immediate needs without having to empty my IRA (services also cost more in the city). That relationship continued until the end of this summer when my stylist quit her job, moved to Germany, and now works in a brew/pub.

A Google search and agonizing debatelanded me in a salon close to home. I made an appointment with a new stylist to meet my most pressing needs: a haircut and highlights.

This stylist must be all of twenty-two, has a nose loop, and a tattoo on the inner part of her lower arm. As much as I tried to read it without acting like the snooty old woman that I am, I couldn’t make it out. But I do know that it’s in script.

Things went well with the cut. And things went well when she put the foils in my hair for highlights. Things turned bad when she left me alone for my hair to process. The salon area is floor-to-ceiling mirrors with lots of natural light.

I looked in the mirror and first thought, I don’t look bad for someone my age. Then, I saw it – the undeniable mark of a ventriloquist’s dummy. Just like the dummy, my chin is flanked by deep depressions that start from the corners of my mouth and fade out of sight into my other chin. That’s the part that moves when the dummy speaks during the ventriloquist’s act. I could sit on Edgar Bergen’s lap and play Charlie McCarthy or Mortimer Snerd. Or I could be Howdy Doody, if you can mistake age spots for freckles.

I looked around the salon and didn’t see anyone else that had the dummy chin. “Let’s Make a Deal” was on the television behind me, and I didn’t see anyone on that show with a dummy chin.

And you know those “parentheses” that one of the skincare advertisements warn you against? Mine sag enough so that the total picture from the bridge of my nose to my other chin looks like the branches of the Christmas tree Parisian used in its ads several years ago.

Maybe I should keep looking for a new hairstylist – one whose mirrors and lights are more flattering.

Adam and Eve

This story won an honorable mention in the 78th Annual Writers Digest short story contest.

Adam and Eve

A boisterous blue jay outside her window awakened Eve early. Adam wasn’t bothered by the noise and he continued to snore softly as Eve eased out of bed. She stood and looked down at him. The way he curled into a tight ball while he slept looked so sweet that Eve couldn’t help but feel happy.

Eve pulled aside the door curtain to the outside, tiptoed into the sunshine, and breathed in the garden’s fragrant scent. Orange blossoms, roses, lilacs, and jasmine lightly stroked her nose with each shift of the breeze. She loved the morning solitude — no conversation intruding on her thoughts, no activity pulling her attention from the tranquility of the garden.

Eve crept back into the grass hut, scribbled a note for the still-sleeping Adam, grabbed a basket, and returned to the outdoors. Several paths ran from the hut and into the garden; this morning she chose the one that wound through an orchard filled with ripened fruit. Fresh fruit would be just the thing for breakfast.

Eve wended her way across the orchard. She stopped to examine the fruit on one tree and then another, deciding that neither tree had what she wanted today day. What do I want? My taste buds are fussy this morning.

While she considered what food she wanted, Eve stopped to pet a mother rabbit and her three babies. Every time Eve was in the orchard, the rabbit family came out to greet her.

Next, she threw pieces of bread that she kept in the bottom of her basket to the ducks swimming in a small pond between the orchard and a vegetable patch. Seeing the vegetables, Eve decided she would send Adam to the patch later to pick some tomatoes and cucumbers for lunch.

Eve smiled when she thought of Adam. He was cheerful, affectionate, and an excellent kisser. Not that she had previous experience with kissing. She tried to recall another man in her life but not even one came to mind. She and Adam often visited with Boreh, but Boreh was such a different being, she couldn’t imagine having the kind of relationship with him that she had with Adam. Eve shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to think about it too much.

Eve looked around the orchard and finally saw the fruit she wanted: peaches and pears. As she headed toward those trees, stranger approached her. Eve saw that this person had the same build and body features she did – but there was more. The stranger was as tall as Adam, willowy, and beautiful, with long, wavy blonde hair and deep brown eyes. Eve’s hair was short and brown. In spite of the differences, Eve decided the stranger must be a woman.

“Well, hi there,” the stranger said. “You must be one of the new people in Eden Acres. Welcome. I’m Lucy – Lucy Furr.” Although initially frightened, as soon as the woman spoke, Eve felt at ease.

“Hi,” answered Eve, warming to the friendly smile.

“All these paths, green spaces, and growing areas haven’t confused you?” asked Lucy with a raised eyebrow.

“No, it hasn’t been too hard. Boreh laid out the paths in a logical order,” replied Eve.

“That Boreh is really something, isn’t he?” said Lucy in a tone of voice with a hard edge Eve had never heard before. Moreover, Eve noticed Lucy’s mouth moving in a funny way, as if her tongue was out of control and it might pop out between her lips at any moment.

Lucy held up her own basket and asked, “Do you mind if I join you? I’m looking for breakfast.”

“Oh! Please do! The only people I know here are Adam and Boreh. It’s nice to meet someone new. Where do you live?”

“My place is just outside Eden Acres — in that direction.”

Eve looked toward where Lucy pointed but didn’t see anything that looked like the hut she shared with Adam. Perhaps it’s on the other side of the brambles that edge the orchard.

Eve and Lucy filled their baskets with peaches and pears. After picking a couple of hanging melons, Lucy headed for another tree and started to pull off a fruit. “Oh, no!” said Eve when she realized what Lucy was about to do. “We mustn’t pick from that tree.”

Lucy’s eyes brightened as she looked at Eve and said, “But it’s good. It’s an apple.” She pulled one off and bit into it. “See? There’s nothing wrong with it. Have one.” Lucy picked another apple and held it out to Eve. Eve reached for it but drew back her hand.

“No,” she said. “Boreh told us that it isn’t good for us. We can’t eat it.”

Lucy gave Eve a look of concern and put an arm around Eve’s shoulder. “Evie, sweetheart. There are some things you don’t know about Boreh. For one thing, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve been eating apples for ages and look at me. Do I look sickly?” Lucy made a model’s runway turn, and Eve had to admit that her new friend didn’t look as if she’d suffered harm by eating from the tree. Eve still hesitated but finally took the apple when Lucy offered it again.

When she bit into the red fruit, Lucy looked excited. Her eyes grew brighter and she bounced slightly on the balls of her feet. “What do you think?” Lucy asked, as bulges randomly popped out in her cheeks.

“It has a distinct taste but it’s better than any of the other fruit I’ve eaten,” said Eve. She finished eating the apple and smacked her lips loudly. “Lucy, that was delicious! I’m glad you talked me into trying it.” Eve marveled at how good the fruit tasted, especially because Boreh had told them to stay away from the tree. Lucy picked three more apples and put them into Eve’s basket.

“You and Adam each can have one for breakfast and give the other one to Boreh the next time you see him. I’ve known him a long time. Trust me. He’ll just laugh it off. I can’t wait to hear how Adam likes it.”

While Eve was thinking about that suggestion, she noticed Lucy’s cheeks puff again. It was an odd tic, one she had never seen on Adam or Boreh. She shrugged her shoulders and a thought came to her. “I have a great idea! Why don’t you come home with me and have breakfast with us. That way you can meet Adam and see his reaction yourself.”

“I’d like that,” said Lucy, picking up her basket. Eve picked up her own basket as well and they took the path back to her hut. Along the way, Eve noticed that the normally quite friendly animals fled. When she, Adam, and Boreh walked through here, the creatures always gathered around the trio. Eve wondered about that. Surely, their running away wasn’t because Lucy was with her! Eve decided that the animals must not know Lucy but would soon come to enjoy her company.

By the time they returned to Eve’s hut, Adam was awake and sitting outside. He got up as they neared him.

“Oh, Adam,” said Eve. “This is my new friend, Lucy. I met her on the way to the orchard and we had the best time. Look! I have some apples for you to try.” Eve’s enthusiasm appeared to frighten Adam slightly. His eyes darted from Eve, to Lucy, and then to the fruit. Finally, he offered his hand to Lucy, who held it in both of hers. Eve noticed that when Lucy gave it a squeeze before releasing it, Adam blushed, obviously discomfited. Lucy smiled at him.

“Eve didn’t tell me you were so handsome,” Lucy said, as she touched Adam’s arm lightly. Adam’s blush deepened.

“I, um, I, didn’t know there was anyone else around here. Besides, um, Boreh, I mean.”

“Boreh likes to keep details to himself,” Lucy said, in the same tone she’d used in the orchard when Eve first mentioned Boreh. To Eve, Lucy sounded as if she didn’t like Boreh. Eve shuddered at that thought and decided her ears were playing tricks on her.

Eve’s previous enthusiasm returned. “She’s right about Boreh. I mean about hiding good things from us. Here. Try this fruit.”

Adam took it but looked puzzled. “I haven’t seen this before. What is it?”

Eve was very excited to tell Adam. “It’s an apple. It’s from the tree Boreh told us not to touch.”

“Eve! You didn’t!” Eve took his comment as a reprimand.

“Adam, it’s really good! I can’t believe Boreh told us not to touch it! Eat it,” she urged. Adam took a bite and then another.

“It has a different taste. But it’s good.” He continued to eat until it was gone. Then Lucy heard the sound of the gate latch at the entrance to Eden Acres. Her eyes opened wide. Eve realized it must be Boreh coming to visit.

“Hey, you two. I just remembered something I need to do. I’ll have to take a rain check on that breakfast.” Lucy hurried away.

Eve turned to Adam and suddenly saw him as if for the first time. “Adam! What’s that thing hanging down between your legs?” Her astonished tone must have carried all over Eden Acres.

It was at that moment that Boreh stepped onto the path in front of them. From somewhere down another path, the direction in which Lucy had gone, there came a sound like Eve and Adam had never heard before. It could have been a laugh but it sounded like the cackle of a raven mixed with the roar of a lion.

Eve saw Boreh’s face and knew immediately that the relationship she and Adam had with him was going to change. For a few minutes no one spoke. Finally, Boreh said, “I see you met Lucy,” and he stared at the apple core in Adam’s hand.

Adam opened his mouth as if to speak but Eve stepped between him and Boreh. “It was my fault,” she said. “The apples looked so good and Lucy said she had been eating them for a long time.” Big tears started to roll down her cheeks.

Adam asked Boreh, “Why is it raining from her eyes?”

“That isn’t rain,” Boreh replied. “Those are tears. Often, tears are an expression of sadness. Sadness is something I hoped you two would never experience because you lived in Eden Acres.”

Boreh’s soft tone made Eve sadder and she cried harder. Then Adam began to cry as well. After a while, they stopped crying. Eve still felt sad but had no more tears.

Adam took the two apples remaining in Eve’s basket and threw them away. They crashed in the brambles where Eve suspected Lucy’s hut was. “There,” said Adam. “We aren’t going to eat them any more!”

“It’s too late,” responded Boreh. “The damage has already been done. You’ll have to move to Worldly Downs. It’s a few miles past Eden Acres. Life there isn’t nearly so pleasant as it is here.”

Eve stomped her foot. “That’s not fair! We ate just one apple!”

Boreh explained. “I told you the homeowners’ association rules were strict. Not eating from the apple tree was the most important rule. Your contract says you have to move if you eat from it. Why do you think Lucy doesn’t live here?”

Eve considered that and thought of other things she wanted to say but decided it was no use. Boreh was right – they had broken the rules. She regretted having met Lucy in the first place. “What’s going to happen to our hut when we move?” she asked him, ready to cry again.

Boreh looked at the hut and said, “I’m going to close down Eden Acres. This place didn’t work the way I had hoped. There’s no point in letting anyone else live here. Lucy will just cause trouble for them as well.”

Eve sighed deeply thinking about how much she loved this place. The three of them looked at all the beauty of Eden Acres. Then Lucy went into the hut to start packing. Soon, Adam and Boreh came inside to help her. Adam looked resigned about the move, but Boreh looked disappointed.

THE END

So This Is My Life Now

Yesterday I just turned off the vacuum cleaner in my bedroom when I heard my husband shout, “Holy cow! Mary, come look at this!”

By the time I was within ten feet of the utility room, I smelled what he wanted me to see. It was a giant cat turd coiled like a snake ready to strike, in the litterbox, unburied. “I’ve never seen one that big,” he said.

Fighting nausea, I thought, this is what my life has become. I stepped a little closer and asked, “Is that blood?”

Jim looked down. “It sure looks like it. I wonder whose turd that is?”
With three cats in the house it was hard to be sure, but I suspected that it might belong to Charlie. He was the cat who went on vacation to parts unknown for most of the summer. The blood was probably some residual effect of his adventures.

“We should probably take it to the vet to see if there’s something wrong,” I said. While Jim double zip-lock bagged the “thing,” I called the vet’s office.

“I’m Mary Ingmire and I have three cats. One of them made a giant deposit in the litterbox and it looks like there is blood on it.” They must have thought I was a prank caller, because who opens a telephone conversation with the description of a turd?

Anyway, the nice lady told me to bring it in and not wait until tomorrow to do so. “What time can you be here?” It was close to rush hour traffic time, so a fifteen minute trip might take a half hour. “We close at 5:30, but you need to get it here before then so someone can examine it.”

Jim put the double zip-locked item into a Lowe’s shopping bag and I wanted to put the thing on the roof of my car. Since I didn’t have time to tie it down, I put it on the floor in the front and I hurried off.

They were somewhat surprised when I showed up at the vet’s office, but were glad to know my call was for real. The receptionist held out a chart, presumably mine, and said, “You can put that on this.” She didn’t want to touch it either.

Fifteen minutes later the vet came out carrying the chart without the turd in one hand, and a syringe and bottle of something in the other. He also assume Charlie was the culprit. “He has a bacterial infection and roundworms.” The syringe had stuff in it to cure roundworms. We were to give the pills twice a day for seven days. I wish he had come out with a gun and shot me there. Giving pills to a cat is like trying to shove a piece of boiled spaghetti up a soda straw. It ain’t going.

We’ve managed to get two pills into Charlie so far; only twelve to go. By the way, in the middle of writing this post, Jim came into the room. “I hate to interrupt you, but I think you need to see this.” He led me to the other litterbox and pointed out a turd that looked like an uncoiled snake. “I didn’t see any blood on it,” he said.

So this is my life.

Traveling Light

This morning’s msn.com page had an article on packing light for your summer vacation. Today is October 7. Okay, so some people may be headed for the southern hemisphere in the next few months. Or, I guess it applies if you plan a Caribbean getaway in January.

The premise for packing light is to plan layers and take multipurpose clothes. Now this assumes that you are not traveling with children. The only way the packing light plan will work is if you have no chance of being barfed or peed on, or touched with dirty little hands.

The first item to take is a short tunic. It serves as a top over a skirt or a bathing suit coverup. As a bathing suit cover, I think you would have to avoid sunscreen and getting said bathing suit wet. The sunscreen leaves oily rings and wet bathing suit leaves salty rings on the tunic.

The same goes for the summer dress. If it’s beach friendly during the day, those oil and salt spots aren’t going to look glamorous at night.

Another suggestion was to use your bathing suit as “another item in your interchangeable wardrobe.” It makes a nice tank top for those khaki pants or capris – if you don’t mind the aroma of sunscreen, assuming the bathing suit is dry. And remember, you must undress to go to the bathroom.

A jersey wrap dress takes you “to the beach, to visit churches and to dinner.” That wrap dress is getting a little funky by the time you wear it to dinner.

Another suggestion is packing three pairs of microfiber underpants. You can wash them out at night and they will be dry in the morning. Have you ever tried to dry clothes in the humidity of a beach?

All the jersey and filmy clothes are great for someone whose weight hasn’t changed since high school graduation. But some people need to remain standing if they wear jersey. Jersey clings and when you sit, you have all the rolls of the Michelin tire man.

The article didn’t suggest taking a bottle of Febreeze. It does wonders to alleviate funky aromas. The problem is that everyone within fifty feet knows by the scent that you’re covering up a funky aroma.

Some of us were destined to travel with everything but the kitchen sink.

Lula the Bear*

When we get to the cabin, it takes all of ten minutes or less for the chickadees to find newly filled birdfeeders hanging off the deck. Everything about birdfeeder construction screams, “For birds ONLY!” The perches are tiny, the feeding ports are tiny, the food is tiny. But often other animals think the feeders are meant for them as well.

A day or two after we saw the bear cub, Jim got up in the morning and opened the door to go outside. I was still in bed when I heard him say, “Omigod!”

Thinking something awful had happened, I jumped up. “Jim!”

“There’s a bear on the deck!” he said, as he ran back inside for the camera. “It was at the birdfeeder!”

We both ran outside in time to see it take off into the woods. “It must have gotten scared when it heard me open the door. I saw its black ass skitter down the front of the deck.”

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll name the bear Lula.”

“What?”

“You know, like Lula in the Stephanie Plum novels. That sounds like something she would say about herself.” Jim rolled his eyes.

Janet Evanovich’s Lula is a hooker turned wannabe bounty hunter. She is Black, large, and self-deprecating. The only thing the bear was missing was Lula’s spring apple green spandex capris and hot pink stilletto heels.

This summer I downloaded Plum Spooky from our library’s audiobooks collection and we listened to it on our first trip to the cabin. It was the first book I had “read” by Evanovich. I quickly learned that one should never try to drive and listen to one of her novels at the same time. I drive the speed limit on the interstate plus a little extra to make up for road construction delays. Keeping the car in my lane while laughing hysterically at Lula’s dialogue was like trying not to swerve on ice when you hit the brakes.

Lula the bear stayed around our place for much of the week. She cleaned out the suet feeder before she went for the sunflower seeds. Evanovich’s Lula loves high carb food. Can you see the similarity?

The day before we left to come home, we kept hearing car horns honk at our neighbor’s. He called to say that Lula was at their place and wouldn’t leave. The honking just put her into the edge of the woods that separate our properties. Jim told him to throw a slab of meat on our deck the next day and that should solve his problem. We were shutting our place down for the season and would be gone.

*Lula should not be confused with the bear cub from my previous post – the child with the thyroid problem.

Bear Cub

We arrived at the cabin about 10 pm on Friday night and were amazed at the moonless sky. There must have been a gazillion stars and the Milky Way was obvious. When you live in a city like Nashville, TN, you do well to see a few stars and the moon. The ambient light blocks out everything.

Saturday morning we sat on the deck for coffee. A squirrel came along, looking for peanuts. Since roasted or raw peanuts in the shell are not to be found in Kroger, he had to satisfy himself with the spilled sunflower seeds that remained after I filled bird feeders. We’ll get some peanuts when we go into town on Monday.

After the squirrel gave us a talking to and left, a bald eagle landed in a pine tree down front. Of course, it didn’t stay long enough to get its picture taken. Not long after the bald eagle left (by this time we had cameras outside) a bear cub wandered by, not far from the pine tree. It didn’t stay long enough to get its picture taken. We waited for the mother bear to show up, but she never came.

Everyone knows you don’t get between a mother bear and her cub, so we continued to drink our coffee. The other reason Jim didn’t want to look for the mother bear was that he was afraid the cub might be an orphan and I would want to take it home to be a playmate for the cats.

It was cute and it would be fun having a bear cub in the house. But getting it through US Customs might be a problem. First, I don’t think you can take live animals across the border. That means we would have to try to pass it off as our child who has severe thyroid problems. How else would we explain its excessive hairiness? But, a child needs a passport and we don’t have one for it.

Passing off a bear cub as a hairy child isn’t a problem. The last time our friend, Denny, was here, he left a fleece jacket. Denny weighs a little more than the 200 pounds I estimate the bear to weigh, and he’s much taller than the cub. We could put the jacket on the cub, zip it up, and pull up the hood. Add a pair of paint-covered sweatpants, some socks, and there you go – instant child. The sound you hear is Jim groaning at another one of my creative ideas.