tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26987514400040947032024-03-13T21:22:38.437-06:00Rebecca Bryan Author-ActressAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-44175551879125589762018-02-16T18:04:00.000-07:002018-02-16T18:08:44.536-07:00A NEW BOOK IS COMING!!!Wow! I can't believe it's been two years since I've written on this blog. It feels that a lot of this blog business is going out of style as there are so many other platforms, but I still feel a slight leaning towards having a place to share some writing thoughts. I put down my "pen" or rather, "computer" for a bit to follow another passion of mine. Acting. So my writing has come in bits and spurts. Right now it is spurting quite well, which is why I am here. I wanted to share a little about my next book, title still undecided. It has taken quite a while, but that is because I have had to do some research, soul-searching, and of course, I've also spent time on the stage instead of the office. Or living room couch, or kitchen table. All places I have spent today as I've written. I need a change of scenery often!<br />
<br />
I came to let you know that I am writing....drum roll please, a sequel to my first published novel, <i><b>The Sand Bar!</b></i> In this story we rejoin Marlo and Luke as they take on another challenge to help save an historic St. Anthony building, and save an unknown life. They travel back to 1927 to accomplish both these goals. I'm having such a blast writing this story that I thought I'd share a few photos of old time St. Anthony I have gathered on this journey. I better not say too much more about it, but I hope to have the story finished sometime in the next few months. Then it's on to editing for however long that takes. But hopefully it won't take more than a few months. So my goal is to have the book ready for publication by the end of the year. Sooner hopefully. Happy February or whatever month it might be when somebody actually reads this! :-) I'll keep writing so that you can keep reading! Talk soon!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjISm0LZBDSAYj_x7KHwZPGFROa9j4cfyXdfA0Xp-5obZMqhABfSHWXaKgTRJ9JRSaPvGSw-oBvCdadDP1radFj-5Yx1920VF-NZfnCbzhwVxb1TlLBt_uKTHOZ5jaC9neJS7Zce5tmg/s1600/6859995846_db2bba1703_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="1024" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjISm0LZBDSAYj_x7KHwZPGFROa9j4cfyXdfA0Xp-5obZMqhABfSHWXaKgTRJ9JRSaPvGSw-oBvCdadDP1radFj-5Yx1920VF-NZfnCbzhwVxb1TlLBt_uKTHOZ5jaC9neJS7Zce5tmg/s400/6859995846_db2bba1703_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4k5ggh51LnaifgPLNl5zrmK_PHfCOQkKxWuTrl4R2HeB5mexLZhqTDwfNKPfcbK0rY8sdVFWBOoONbMx16880AcmAgn0dn97IvSGkueS00ImpK734zz4P4yDsT3KW4MdYrUfyhZVco10/s1600/6860005630_e0e57a0253_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="1386" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4k5ggh51LnaifgPLNl5zrmK_PHfCOQkKxWuTrl4R2HeB5mexLZhqTDwfNKPfcbK0rY8sdVFWBOoONbMx16880AcmAgn0dn97IvSGkueS00ImpK734zz4P4yDsT3KW4MdYrUfyhZVco10/s400/6860005630_e0e57a0253_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-3216870027197296232016-03-29T14:46:00.001-06:002016-03-29T14:46:42.370-06:00Thank you for your support!As March comes to a close I'd like to say thanks to all those who have supported me during the blog tour, the book signing, and my week long sale blast on Amazon. It's been a very busy month, but also a lot of fun. I've added many friends on facebook, and splashed my blurb about my book all over the internet. I've met fellow writers at the book signing, along with Idaho Falls patrons who were willing to take a chance on an unknown writer. Thanks to all of you! I really had a great time.<br />
<br />
I'm excited about the future. I love writing and I hope that you enjoy reading my stories. And the best part is I have an idea for my next story. The wheels are turning! The best advice I heard this week was from new friend and fellow writer, Phillip Nolte. "The best ideas come from the crumbs you left in a previous book, little things you added to make the story more interesting. Go back and pick up those crumbs. They have the power to lead you in a whole new direction. "<br />
<br />
And that is just what I'm about to do! Thanks Phillip! Thanks everybody and happy spring cleaning to you all!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-35143151277171979382016-02-28T22:06:00.000-07:002016-02-28T22:06:34.132-07:00The Blog tour<span style="font-size: large;">March is almost here and that means it is time to celebrate my dear friend Constance's birthday.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDajxK9AsXzipXBFnREo8qXW1tL0Yp4h8lNe-D2_YV8z7NYtFNJN2nuBadwo_SE-5-AM4ml_Wdoogx0xc8vvqO06bQ1HsXHlHLFgXH6OMqh9wX0loY4edXbG3SL_reXUEPeWPrIreMG4/s1600/connie-and-clara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDajxK9AsXzipXBFnREo8qXW1tL0Yp4h8lNe-D2_YV8z7NYtFNJN2nuBadwo_SE-5-AM4ml_Wdoogx0xc8vvqO06bQ1HsXHlHLFgXH6OMqh9wX0loY4edXbG3SL_reXUEPeWPrIreMG4/s320/connie-and-clara.jpg" width="264" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Constance Fenimore Woolson was born March 5, 1840 in New Hampshire. Even though I've never met this wonderful writer, I've done enough research on her and read enough of her letters to feel that she is a kindred spirit. So in honor of her birth and her life, I've chosen to push my novel, <i>Becoming Fenimore</i>, in the month of March. And though my husband has suggested I simplify my life, I plan to officially celebrate her 176th birthday with cake and everything. Boy you say it like that it makes her seem kinda old. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">To start it off I'll be on a blog tour from the 29th of February to the 18th of March. the first stop on the tour is with Megan Morgan. Her link is here. <a href="https://meganmorganauthor.com/blog/" target="_blank">https://meganmorganauthor.com/blog/</a> Throughout the tour you can enter to win a 20 dollar gift certificate to Amazon. So please check out the blogs as the month moves along. I'd love it if a friend actually won.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One last thing. A big thank you to those who have read my book. And an enormous hug to those who have taken the time to write a review. That means so much to me, you have no idea!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Much love friends and happy March,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Becky</span></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-85348999755336285922016-01-27T10:56:00.001-07:002016-01-27T10:56:29.583-07:00Website, booksignings, and such<span style="font-size: large;">Hello friends!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have so many exciting things in the works! First, my website is finally up. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Here is the link.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://beckybryan1.wix.com/rebecca-bryan" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">http://beckybryan1.wix.com/rebecca-bryan</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">From here you can find out all about my books and order them! Pretty exciting to have it all in one location.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Secondly, I have a blog tour scheduled from the middle of February to the middle of March. During that time you can enter a drawing for a 20 dollar gift certificate to Amazon.com! Cool huh? So keep your eyes open for that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thirdly, I have a book signing scheduled for March 26 at the Barnes and Noble in Idaho Falls, Idaho. Inside the Grand Teton Mall. Please, if you know me at all be sure to stop by and say hi. I will have physical copies of all three of my books. I'll be the person at the table that everyone else is avoiding. :-)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Lastly, I am planning at least one author reading at the St. Anthony library. Date still pending. I will let you know as soon as that is scheduled. I need to schedule a few more of these things. Anyone have suggestions?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Have a great day and be sure to check out the website!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Becky</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-14970415572604730752016-01-11T11:53:00.000-07:002016-01-11T11:53:01.817-07:00And we are live!<br />
<br />
Becoming Fenimore is available on Amazon and other retailers. So excited to share this story with all my friends. Planning book signings and blog tours etc in the near future. It's hard when you are doing everything yourself. It's also fun. If you would like a book signing party in your area please contact me through email at becky.bryan1@gmail.com<br />
<br />
Have a great day!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Fenimore-Novel-Rebecca-Bryan/dp/0692581359/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1452537920&sr=8-1&keywords=becoming+fenimore" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Fenimore-Novel-Rebecca-Bryan/dp/0692581359/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1452537920&sr=8-1&keywords=becoming+fenimore</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtt81RVWIcIqQOxA9dnemiYNW86VVwEElcMEA-rRb58aSNXNuOm3JxefQrFQEHPe4xc6sYo7MOGTrZQV0Viqvu2Nka75KPJcdlCb_GQwRMiuxxtlBIr1EGZlXE2RpuGD7aagoK-wSucZQ/s1600/Fenimore+Cover+LowRes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtt81RVWIcIqQOxA9dnemiYNW86VVwEElcMEA-rRb58aSNXNuOm3JxefQrFQEHPe4xc6sYo7MOGTrZQV0Viqvu2Nka75KPJcdlCb_GQwRMiuxxtlBIr1EGZlXE2RpuGD7aagoK-wSucZQ/s400/Fenimore+Cover+LowRes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-70451354291835258582015-12-02T08:52:00.004-07:002015-12-02T08:55:45.242-07:00Drum roll please...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4QcC7x429vlZ-zJv5cZRhBNOZaeBEY4qCZjlka3e_u9noCBNVJFcZSRU-EzqixqejUNB8G421N1x0y79fFveVi3Psilka74B6J1Gu5_sZ9NU6vRtV8UM7KyAk2xGFfK5H08M7ekJtrU/s1600/cover2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4QcC7x429vlZ-zJv5cZRhBNOZaeBEY4qCZjlka3e_u9noCBNVJFcZSRU-EzqixqejUNB8G421N1x0y79fFveVi3Psilka74B6J1Gu5_sZ9NU6vRtV8UM7KyAk2xGFfK5H08M7ekJtrU/s320/cover2.jpg" width="221" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhls9Yqo4xfkdAigETRfu3Vx3y612IfApo9PMYcEgdoo7Nia24vGRPf3z9vVjjz1vnSyEScoTsOq50BNYKZr4nehPmImH43YaLi1iM0_CbEacs-z88JWHGdPRhsanRfnrkKaysbTQSxGQc/s1600/backcover300+DPI-2.jpeg+copy+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhls9Yqo4xfkdAigETRfu3Vx3y612IfApo9PMYcEgdoo7Nia24vGRPf3z9vVjjz1vnSyEScoTsOq50BNYKZr4nehPmImH43YaLi1iM0_CbEacs-z88JWHGdPRhsanRfnrkKaysbTQSxGQc/s320/backcover300+DPI-2.jpeg+copy+copy.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
<br />
I am excited to announce Becoming Fenimore is now available on Kindle, and will soon be out in hard back form on Amazon, and other fine retailers. Get yours now! And Merry Christmas. And Thank you!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Fenimore-Rebecca-Bryan-ebook/dp/B018HOQLGM/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1449033751&sr=1-2" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Fenimore-Rebecca-Bryan-ebook/dp/B018HOQLGM/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1449033751&sr=1-2</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-87467242666691639742015-11-05T09:30:00.000-07:002015-11-05T09:38:02.050-07:00Major announcement forthcoming! But first, a little history lesson<span style="font-size: large;">Many people in literary circles have heard of Henry James, a famous nineteenth century writer with credits not limited to, <i>Turn of the Screw, Portrait of a</i> <i>Lady, Daisy Miller</i> and <i>The Wings of a Dove</i>. But few know one of his equals during his lifetime, a Miss Constance Fenimore Woolson, a writer with a list nearly as long of well-publicized novels in her time. In fact, many, including James himself, agreed that in the late nineteenth century Miss Woolson was a greater success than Henry. So what made her nearly obsolete while Henry went on to become one of America's most respected writers?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I first learned about Constance while researching on beautiful Mackinac Island in Michigan. She not only had lived on this island as a girl, but had based one of her first major successful novels, <i>Anne</i> there. I read it and thoroughly enjoyed it. I dug deeper into the history of Miss Woolson and learned of her close friendship with Henry James. I grew more curious as to why I'd never heard of her only to come across an article explaining her suicide in 1894 from a third story window in Venice. I went on to read that after her death Henry tried to drown her dresses, and I knew that I had to write about this person. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So that's what I did. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, my third novel, <b style="font-style: italic;">Becoming Fenimore, </b>a paranormal historical romance, will soon be published! I am so excited for you to read it. While not strictly about Woolson or James, their story is important to the main character so I wanted to give you a little history lesson and a couple pictures.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNnipRPRhwG3YzSU9ezdHmI7G-caUAY0U_XhGUygZ7Ho5azYpbdzE4u1jOjjXRmj9GLybkGIX8rkaUwq9gIEf9T5UD9vT3j1SHhy899nixqn4mDtVYtn_vdrJcZ28p14xhE_fxDFm8zY/s1600/Untitled_8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNnipRPRhwG3YzSU9ezdHmI7G-caUAY0U_XhGUygZ7Ho5azYpbdzE4u1jOjjXRmj9GLybkGIX8rkaUwq9gIEf9T5UD9vT3j1SHhy899nixqn4mDtVYtn_vdrJcZ28p14xhE_fxDFm8zY/s320/Untitled_8.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henry James</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5bcq-pT1xuRS58hZLGULMnLp8zT9yqXrbAZhLHGE5bm_al-z6Q5eUCnpX54CJ-FCWfJRvE5Aro6TTcWmwzT1P0ZkqM9wytOwdJH1AT8BHxtwkZeJ-SYSqhgqTvN5pi_uHNUP9IC_7cVA/s1600/constance-t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5bcq-pT1xuRS58hZLGULMnLp8zT9yqXrbAZhLHGE5bm_al-z6Q5eUCnpX54CJ-FCWfJRvE5Aro6TTcWmwzT1P0ZkqM9wytOwdJH1AT8BHxtwkZeJ-SYSqhgqTvN5pi_uHNUP9IC_7cVA/s1600/constance-t.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Constance Fenimore Woolson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Stay tuned for a cover reveal, and publishing date! I'm so excited!!!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-89020482474254580942015-02-18T16:09:00.002-07:002015-02-18T16:15:58.543-07:00If Life were a movie, what would yours be called?<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There are a few movies that I can watch over and over again and I caught a part of one of those today with my daughter who is home sick with a pretty nasty cold. We settled down on the bed and channel surfed until we fell upon one particular favorite. It was near the end, but I love it so much we stopped and watched it anyway.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The movie is all about this slightly dim, but lovable guy who discovers that his whole life has been a lie and that he is the subject of a TV reality show. We started watching where our protagonist, Truman, comes to the conclusion that there is no way to escape except by sail boat. (His biggest fear being water.) By now you've probably guessed that we were watching, <i>The Truman Show</i>. You're brilliant. Really.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Jim Carrey gives an amazing performance in this wonderfully written script, doesn't he? Anyway, as Truman attempts to escape in the boat, the director, or "father figure" above, whose watchful eyes are impossible to escape, turns the storm up to an insane level that would appear unsurvivable. At first, Truman taunts the powers that be to "pump up the juice" so to speak, which the man upstairs-- obsessed with the story and with Truman's hellbent desire to survive--obliges. The waves crash over Truman, sending him overboard while the whole world watches, glued to their television sets, cheering him on with tears, screams, and broken shower curtains. It's insane, but it makes for good TV and the director knows it. Just when it seems like Truman is done for, the director, with perfect timing, calms the storm, and Truman, soaked and shivering, but with a look of wonder on his face, </span><span style="font-size: large;">climbs back on board.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> The music rises, the camera cuts from Truman, to the director, to the people watching, to the sky and back to Truman who appears to be reborn. The clouds part, the sun begins to shine, Truman, realizing he made it through the storm, see's life differently now. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My daughter said, "I love this part." I agreed and felt tears sting the corners of my own eyes. Darn that Jim Carrey and the beautiful music of Phillip Glass! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then like a slap, or an abrupt slam on the brakes, what might be called the boom of the boat rips dramatically through an invisible wall, poking a huge hole in the illusion that is his life. The music stops, the crowd stares open mouthed. To finish out the story watch the clip below as everyone roots for him to find the stairs that will take him out to the real world. Anticlimactically, people turn off their TV's and look for something else to do. The end.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I watched, I was reminded of an interview on Charlie Rose recently with Ethan Hawke. He was talking about how difficult it can be as an actor to make things beautiful in a scene that would be particularly difficult in real life. He was talking about working with Robin Williams and with Phillip Seymour Hoffman and the toll it takes on real people to make something that looks real, but isn't. Great artists both of them, by the way. The difference between movies and real life is that real life is not pretty. It's rough and scratchy and regular. It doesn't always end well, and never with an award winning score tied to the dramatic scenes. The good guy dies early or worse, stops being the good guy for a bit. Families fall apart, people get fat and old, and seldom do we truly forgive and love others, much less ourselves. And rarely do miracles happen just at the right time. Real life lacks the grace of a movie. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Hawke remembers Williams doing a big scene in Dead Poets Society, (Another favorite of mine) and when the scene was over, everybody headed for the craft services table, but Robin sat on a chair, his head down, totally depleted. Hawke said, "It comes with a price, this ability to take the harshness of real life and make it pretty and inspiring." Wrapped up in a climatic bow. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You write a story. You take someone on a dramatic journey that will change their life and you need to do it in about 300 pages or so. There's a math equation to this. We see the same thing done over and over again, and if they follow the rules it should have all the marks of a good story. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This makes me think about my own life. Let's be real. I am definitely rough around the edges. Sometimes, I'm not the hero but the antagonist. Sometimes, I hate myself for the things I do or don't do. Sometimes, I doubt the miracles will come and want to quit trying. Sometimes, I am on top of the world with endless enthusiasm. Sometimes, I am proud of myself. Some days are boring. Some are stressful. Some are fun. Especially those where I get to dance! Some I'd be ashamed for anyone to see. But so far none of it has followed this 300 page screenplay rule of thumb. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And that's why I like stories, and movies in particular. I like to see a beginning, a middle, and an end. I like to see loose strings tied up neatly at just the right time. I like to see courageous people doing something well, courageous. I like to see the girl get the guy and vice versa. I like that everyone is beautiful and funny and they say the right thing at just the right time, not like me where I think of it two hours later and snap my fingers in frustration that I didn't say "that!" instead. I like that I can disappear from my own struggles for a couple of hours and live sympathetically in someone else's life for a bit. I like to cry at the sound of a violin piercing my heart with its haunting melody or the triumphant chords of an entire symphony pushing me forward to battle. Sometimes I want to cry, "Charge!" as I climb into my Suburban horse and roll down my window so the wind can whip through my hair as I march down the road to meet my foes. "Call me Joan of Ladyhawk Lane." I cry into the wind.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And then I go to the grocery store and pick up a frozen lasagne and a chocolate bar.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But in the end real life trumps movie life. Why? Because it's real. Because each one of us gets a piece of the action. We get to do the growing. It's so hard sometimes, but our rough edges are slowly smoothed out with each chapter of our story. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I hope my story is a long one. I hope it has a few miracles and surprises in store. I hope it has you in it. My family and friends far and near that have touched my life in so many different ways. I hope it's got some good comedy, but mostly, I hope it has a happy ending. I really love a good ending.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/-_zYn-HHcyA/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-_zYn-HHcyA?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">PS-- Book is on target. Publishing date to be announced very soon!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-35586815123370337872014-11-03T17:37:00.002-07:002014-11-03T17:42:33.604-07:00My completed manuscript! Now on to editing!<span style="font-size: large;">Hello, Welcome to my 101st post. Just thought I'd send a sneak peak look at my next novel called…oh wait. Maybe I shouldn't give that away yet. I'm so excited to polish this baby up, give it a name and a face. So now I'm looking for a possible reader. Someone who knows what to look for in a story as far as pacing, character development, dropped plot points, etc, etc, etc. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you are interested let me know.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Otherwise, just enjoy a sneak peak…My newest baby...</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5WU53ijHVohrjNNSPtxJFyCwZRpA6qToBGXHwkZxl1Xfajhaf-yWjUgmhnupObQ4Swf2O5TmOl5L6roZ3MMcarh7FCCwgSYn7er4vXD8_bejfvdJujTh0Ew7k4QOvj-RfQIGxIaeuqC0/s1600/Image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5WU53ijHVohrjNNSPtxJFyCwZRpA6qToBGXHwkZxl1Xfajhaf-yWjUgmhnupObQ4Swf2O5TmOl5L6roZ3MMcarh7FCCwgSYn7er4vXD8_bejfvdJujTh0Ew7k4QOvj-RfQIGxIaeuqC0/s1600/Image.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-31187203171869659182014-10-21T22:54:00.000-06:002014-10-21T22:55:40.691-06:00HAPPY 100 POST DAY!Hip Hip Hooray!!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-9HlxN8iTkx5SWVHhoGtgJb0AIkOkClECvpETQDjuS2qtBh8TB-vRAxhjAXocENCFljRCSXRtLDmaV0WDfXqL-nT8zdHD3Vg7x7zD5Nu6IZ1oM6z57lIi3GS9HJIgFVswpGFz6B-Rdg/s1600/100-things-image-576x313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-9HlxN8iTkx5SWVHhoGtgJb0AIkOkClECvpETQDjuS2qtBh8TB-vRAxhjAXocENCFljRCSXRtLDmaV0WDfXqL-nT8zdHD3Vg7x7zD5Nu6IZ1oM6z57lIi3GS9HJIgFVswpGFz6B-Rdg/s1600/100-things-image-576x313.jpg" height="173" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">CONGRATULATIONS</span><span style="font-size: large;"> BECKY!</span><br />
<br />
Why thank you.<br />
<br />
Why am I so excited? Two reasons, actually:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">This is my 100th post!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">And…I finished my novel today!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I was going to do a list of 100 books I loved, but that just seems long. Then I thought I would write about my favorite desserts, but that just has nothing to do with writing. So I bagged clever for just honestness. Today was great, but then it turned out kind of crappy for other reasons, but I am not going to dwell on the negative. I am going to rejoice, hip, hip hurray for me.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzyBSNDqJhgx7rOli6yZH5s-U5UP2uwEgJg4Q6JccV1fcQ3x7kmdjRACx2ynrMwJ_FTxbKRo5EMjQzHF16iEb2jjTXzBKkTH6Z_KWAln9KJz01h0CAZsHigl5GaWuvlN8ZMTg2mOwgN4/s1600/100Things_Birds&Berries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzyBSNDqJhgx7rOli6yZH5s-U5UP2uwEgJg4Q6JccV1fcQ3x7kmdjRACx2ynrMwJ_FTxbKRo5EMjQzHF16iEb2jjTXzBKkTH6Z_KWAln9KJz01h0CAZsHigl5GaWuvlN8ZMTg2mOwgN4/s1600/100Things_Birds&Berries.jpg" height="197" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Nobody is going to stomp on my party. Bring out the ice cream. I deserve it!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This novel was a long time coming. I restarted it three times, tearing it to pieces when it didn't do what I knew it should. So I studied, researched a ton and wrote till my hands ached. Yeah, my hands and fingers ache. I'm worried it might be something more serious, but when I take a break (which I desperately need to do,) we'll see if it gets better. Let's just say that my fingers hurt all day long. And trying to open anything is almost impossible. Good thing I have strong boys around to help me out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So here is my thought for today. I love to write. I may not be Margaret Mitchell, but I think I can tell a story. I'm grateful that my doubts and my weaknesses didn't hold me back from trying something scary. I am full of self-doubt. BUT, I also have this incredibly strong drive to do and go and try when anyone or anything (my own mind) tells me I can't. I'm like a bull, digging my hoofs and snorting, angrily, minus the nose ring. And the horns, and the ability to buck people to oblivion, and stomp on them and stuff. You get the point.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, I want to encourage you to do something scary. I know I've said this before, but I look around and see people stopping themselves all the time. So if that is you…STOP IT. No matter your age, try something new this week. Go for a run if it's been a long time or try a new recipe, or learn a new song, or look for a play to audition for. I am in the craziest fun play right now and I am sooo glad I am in it. I have met the best people and had such a good time. It's been a blast.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm pretty darn satisfied with my life right now…minus a few glitches. After all, life is crazy, sometimes right in the middle of some pretty awesome stuff. So happy 100th post day. If you have read them all, let's go out for ice cream. You deserve it!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-8150388410686032782014-10-07T15:54:00.001-06:002014-10-08T07:34:27.943-06:00The Browning Homestead<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-0WkRWkSPQl-jtpqHyH1rPgW40WMp3eysV0338qN-wXGrw6bKqc6YFYHFeDZS2rpQoTjrqXSarWdxy9lOX00On-pGvD4a0TInhVslhg6KtHQeMjDDrNEvYVzZ9koyffh7J6tX4EDsgs/s1600/photo+1-4.JPG" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original cabin shown under stucco<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5692YdQYQNw0SsXCpVrZ3jVQZRHFY3rsfbzGCgRqTYpBaCTAWxykNEWKnEY8xJrjytGQ4lwm-arEN0VKMp6-30J5-oNElc-l58MuT7xVCIp4yBwkUAT0-Aq4wPrzXfqe7FN2or6iqBgA/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5692YdQYQNw0SsXCpVrZ3jVQZRHFY3rsfbzGCgRqTYpBaCTAWxykNEWKnEY8xJrjytGQ4lwm-arEN0VKMp6-30J5-oNElc-l58MuT7xVCIp4yBwkUAT0-Aq4wPrzXfqe7FN2or6iqBgA/s1600/photo+3.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Th<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">e sto</span></span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">ry began over a century ago. A family on the edge of the frontier. Pioneers with hopes and dreams and a will to begin again. Five generations or more passed through these doors. Dinners were served, three wars were fought, babies were born, deaths and disease crept through the cracks like invisible demons. Multiple families shared a two bedroom cabin. The depression was evident in their stories.</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Today it comes down. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Someone's dreams of a better life. Someone's memory of a childhood, now long gone</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">: my father on his mother's back as she scrubbed her kitchen floors to a shine. The thousands of meals set at a simple table, prepared by the able and worn hands of a grandmother who could cook like no other. </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A gentle prayer offered. Cousins playing. Grandma's soft voice beaconing you close. Laughter. So much laughter. And singing. If I listen I can still hear it in the rustling of the apple trees in the grove.</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline;">
<div style="color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #141823; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgBFx0_p-glT8mXN0dkJ8X7ZqhO49UmVytvqCKFIaL8e6x3E_J_MPi8Al5me1_iFbiBEzBdWMN_zmiezOonJ_LyHRRE0OyOwr6dppsWQHnJ9nwsjiaDE9iIZULm-bpRHrrlkFe9ExWcI/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgBFx0_p-glT8mXN0dkJ8X7ZqhO49UmVytvqCKFIaL8e6x3E_J_MPi8Al5me1_iFbiBEzBdWMN_zmiezOonJ_LyHRRE0OyOwr6dppsWQHnJ9nwsjiaDE9iIZULm-bpRHrrlkFe9ExWcI/s1600/photo+5.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oCeK2l7sxW__szaFs_kmtlMoDuUEtaTBqA53XJSgYuLvnVH3RDAuigKH6YqTrXrxb0Jex_BoYUPPqDXKnjmH3sMum57rZpEws66ziD0tSbXCd2I-L_jAUr8wApkwY-5RlPeTqfM0864/s1600/photo+5-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oCeK2l7sxW__szaFs_kmtlMoDuUEtaTBqA53XJSgYuLvnVH3RDAuigKH6YqTrXrxb0Jex_BoYUPPqDXKnjmH3sMum57rZpEws66ziD0tSbXCd2I-L_jAUr8wApkwY-5RlPeTqfM0864/s1600/photo+5-3.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">We sift through the rubble for signs of this other life, another time, another world. Looking. Wanting a piece of their souls as only a mortal can. Wishing to know them like they know us. What were they like? Did they struggle like me? Did they rejoice like me? And we learn through the scraps and rubble: Seven layers of pink and blue flowered wallpaper, whitewashed walls against bare logs now rotted by time and<span style="color: #141823;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">termites. </span><br />
<ol><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></ol>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">A desire to make their place beautiful. A place of warmth, a refuge from the elements. A place of love and acceptance. A place of God.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-AaJoDnFIjTyTpsYeoLQpuWrwwNSNF9n_o4DXlGKQxGtygBrr94bjdLf4kYVHwdDNqbIKQGzvyp09D9eNiiI7yciitOrXqIsc8Cu7JiUJr-OKY1Np28uGRx3zIztD3CLKuiefS1KPGw/s1600/photo+2-6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-AaJoDnFIjTyTpsYeoLQpuWrwwNSNF9n_o4DXlGKQxGtygBrr94bjdLf4kYVHwdDNqbIKQGzvyp09D9eNiiI7yciitOrXqIsc8Cu7JiUJr-OKY1Np28uGRx3zIztD3CLKuiefS1KPGw/s1600/photo+2-6.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXTyhiGjTW-qN0oLGae01d3Rew23eKN-aXd0DxDXy6DnK7CaKpkEVsdOXA6d_dpDQt2Mq2D3jdsA47RAdbuqL4M2s5B2HNfe2RxTc23NK7McfYyjOq-8NRvV_uu6oRSix2l4pvs6pTlo/s1600/photo+2-5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXTyhiGjTW-qN0oLGae01d3Rew23eKN-aXd0DxDXy6DnK7CaKpkEVsdOXA6d_dpDQt2Mq2D3jdsA47RAdbuqL4M2s5B2HNfe2RxTc23NK7McfYyjOq-8NRvV_uu6oRSix2l4pvs6pTlo/s1600/photo+2-5.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">interior with drapes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Some things are familiar. Others I've never seen before.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFrodGg278QxfPplf_oVAxQrW3-TBDPM2DkppQ61NjvR5t9mvi_UdP0vCJ1e4SaAKYhRgh0Ua0C3s9sYza3Wk9ZQZfyAShPygS7yllrQ6sWzeAuvo77jU7fXp6wQbKd6CTEIEHnRq7eyw/s1600/photo+5-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFrodGg278QxfPplf_oVAxQrW3-TBDPM2DkppQ61NjvR5t9mvi_UdP0vCJ1e4SaAKYhRgh0Ua0C3s9sYza3Wk9ZQZfyAShPygS7yllrQ6sWzeAuvo77jU7fXp6wQbKd6CTEIEHnRq7eyw/s1600/photo+5-3.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKQpINbTIFP-X0yG01VYrBsmktTEAK4Xk06l4Z3vYOJ2xBvPF0IqOag2IUwu7bLrATlmyiFhX1LwogwFEyNz762HglgA5SjhPfMihR7zMyIEHma7fCdMGMACSz7KEekzOLSZLv895GY4/s1600/photo+3-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKQpINbTIFP-X0yG01VYrBsmktTEAK4Xk06l4Z3vYOJ2xBvPF0IqOag2IUwu7bLrATlmyiFhX1LwogwFEyNz762HglgA5SjhPfMihR7zMyIEHma7fCdMGMACSz7KEekzOLSZLv895GY4/s1600/photo+3-2.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMC6bQ6kzT6hTCwaHy0sSfmgvamceMH13XBF3jzawjgwBrf3_4FkxzgXkrpCVWoAEAPXNr_WjKg70_R-eXpsi0Cwx8Gi75J1OnsQ42DKy_0r0rRPKhtpGrjh_K1nuuD8uxIvTiKkFmAHY/s1600/photo+4-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMC6bQ6kzT6hTCwaHy0sSfmgvamceMH13XBF3jzawjgwBrf3_4FkxzgXkrpCVWoAEAPXNr_WjKg70_R-eXpsi0Cwx8Gi75J1OnsQ42DKy_0r0rRPKhtpGrjh_K1nuuD8uxIvTiKkFmAHY/s1600/photo+4-2.JPG" height="320" style="color: #141823;" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfyMQXQrLEeLHLzBnagoSkltcB2H1MLixI5HJF5os4iyjUwsfsiU9VkQuX-GhcSNZeCJElFNQ3p4j9xS1VQktbB4cv3Tx0UQVUv_igRZdaKBgXoiS-AL2OwF7QXfEiw7VbGmTo826eLWU/s1600/photo+2-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfyMQXQrLEeLHLzBnagoSkltcB2H1MLixI5HJF5os4iyjUwsfsiU9VkQuX-GhcSNZeCJElFNQ3p4j9xS1VQktbB4cv3Tx0UQVUv_igRZdaKBgXoiS-AL2OwF7QXfEiw7VbGmTo826eLWU/s1600/photo+2-4.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">original floor (sometime before the thirties they rebuilt the floor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">Linoleum floors that look like fancy carpet. Dainty trim.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">They are gone. All but one. </span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">My dad. </span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">But they remain in our hearts and in our memories. </span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">I can hear her voice. The hum of the fridge.</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;"> The smell of rolls cooking in the oven. My grandma singing. We are connected forever. </span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">We are family. And I know, we are not so different after all.</span><br />
<ol><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></ol>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">
</div>
<div style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
</div>
</div>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-BG9yGHMRI2M%2FVDRgZ6myrTI%2FAAAAAAAAA2A%2FloYw9TRsseM%2Fs1600%2Fphoto%252B4-2.JPG&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMC6bQ6kzT6hTCwaHy0sSfmgvamceMH13XBF3jzawjgwBrf3_4FkxzgXkrpCVWoAEAPXNr_WjKg70_R-eXpsi0Cwx8Gi75J1OnsQ42DKy_0r0rRPKhtpGrjh_K1nuuD8uxIvTiKkFmAHY/s1600/photo+4-2.JPG" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oCeK2l7sxW__szaFs_kmtlMoDuUEtaTBqA53XJSgYuLvnVH3RDAuigKH6YqTrXrxb0Jex_BoYUPPqDXKnjmH3sMum57rZpEws66ziD0tSbXCd2I-L_jAUr8wApkwY-5RlPeTqfM0864/s1600/photo+5-3.JPG" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oCeK2l7sxW__szaFs_kmtlMoDuUEtaTBqA53XJSgYuLvnVH3RDAuigKH6YqTrXrxb0Jex_BoYUPPqDXKnjmH3sMum57rZpEws66ziD0tSbXCd2I-L_jAUr8wApkwY-5RlPeTqfM0864/s1600/photo+5-3.JPG" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgBFx0_p-glT8mXN0dkJ8X7ZqhO49UmVytvqCKFIaL8e6x3E_J_MPi8Al5me1_iFbiBEzBdWMN_zmiezOonJ_LyHRRE0OyOwr6dppsWQHnJ9nwsjiaDE9iIZULm-bpRHrrlkFe9ExWcI/s1600/photo+5.JPG" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgBFx0_p-glT8mXN0dkJ8X7ZqhO49UmVytvqCKFIaL8e6x3E_J_MPi8Al5me1_iFbiBEzBdWMN_zmiezOonJ_LyHRRE0OyOwr6dppsWQHnJ9nwsjiaDE9iIZULm-bpRHrrlkFe9ExWcI/s1600/photo+5.JPG" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMC6bQ6kzT6hTCwaHy0sSfmgvamceMH13XBF3jzawjgwBrf3_4FkxzgXkrpCVWoAEAPXNr_WjKg70_R-eXpsi0Cwx8Gi75J1OnsQ42DKy_0r0rRPKhtpGrjh_K1nuuD8uxIvTiKkFmAHY/s1600/photo+4-2.JPG" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMC6bQ6kzT6hTCwaHy0sSfmgvamceMH13XBF3jzawjgwBrf3_4FkxzgXkrpCVWoAEAPXNr_WjKg70_R-eXpsi0Cwx8Gi75J1OnsQ42DKy_0r0rRPKhtpGrjh_K1nuuD8uxIvTiKkFmAHY/s1600/photo+4-2.JPG" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-3omUy0Xm_GE%2FVDRVk9sAR6I%2FAAAAAAAAA04%2FCSCeDoUxJaA%2Fs1600%2Fphoto%252B5-3.JPG&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oCeK2l7sxW__szaFs_kmtlMoDuUEtaTBqA53XJSgYuLvnVH3RDAuigKH6YqTrXrxb0Jex_BoYUPPqDXKnjmH3sMum57rZpEws66ziD0tSbXCd2I-L_jAUr8wApkwY-5RlPeTqfM0864/s1600/photo+5-3.JPG" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-Qn9wk1dMcu8%2FVDRVmBEJutI%2FAAAAAAAAA1A%2FJ3yQ8dGExUc%2Fs1600%2Fphoto%252B5.JPG&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgBFx0_p-glT8mXN0dkJ8X7ZqhO49UmVytvqCKFIaL8e6x3E_J_MPi8Al5me1_iFbiBEzBdWMN_zmiezOonJ_LyHRRE0OyOwr6dppsWQHnJ9nwsjiaDE9iIZULm-bpRHrrlkFe9ExWcI/s1600/photo+5.JPG" -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-10162576935514042682014-09-10T23:40:00.001-06:002014-09-10T23:44:22.554-06:00Surprise<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/7XliUw9gITQ" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
My first national commercial. It was a fun day and believe it or not, it was a long day considering the commercial is only 30 seconds. We had rain, sun, clouds, and then more rain. The little girl in the commercial is the real star in this. I am pretty happy with the way it turned out.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-89696140098617732762014-06-23T11:31:00.003-06:002014-06-23T11:32:48.994-06:00Our little film<span style="font-size: large;">I taught a childrens acting class this past winter and had a blast doing it. I'd never taught kids or anyone before so I didn't know how well it would work, but I found out two things: kids love games, and kids love games. So we played a lot of improv games, I taught them how to speak in front of a camera, gave them some tips on acting and auditioning, and then made a little movie for them to learn from and hopefully also have fun with.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This was my first time directing as well, unless you count my Madonna La Isla Bonita video of 1988, but I'm not counting that. I can tell you that technology has come a LONG way since the days of a VCR and a video recorder. I had to get really creative cutting and splicing using those two devices. Making movies is way cooler these days with all the apps and great computers we have.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So here it is, my kids acting debut titled, <i><b>Lemonade Stand</b></i>. Enjoy!</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/K9NGuRxd9Yk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-39468434259411833572014-06-19T00:03:00.000-06:002014-06-19T00:03:06.639-06:00Hello Flo's Hilarious New Tampon Ad, 'First Moon Party'<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/_mzLhgl9YDE" width="480"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-11496604595285998022014-06-19T00:02:00.003-06:002014-06-19T12:02:50.858-06:00Confessions of a Hopeless Pre-pubescent<span style="font-size: large;">First off, this post has nothing to do with writing or anything except my sister-in-law sent me the funniest commercial! *Men and boys will not want to read this. Trust me. Stop here.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She sent it to me because I did something similar when I was young. Here's the story:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I was in fourth grade, ( nine years old) I walked into my room one day and found a medium sized box sitting on my bed. It had a picture of a girl on a beach looking out into the vast ocean, all dreamy-like. Remember this? Anyone? I opened my new gift and found all these boxes with little packages of large sized band aides I assumed were to be used if you ever fell on your head and broke it in half. I was super curious, but I wasn't sure what to do with this new gift. Lucky for me my older--much older--sister was schooled in these things, so when she got home I asked her about it. Now you may be wondering why my mom didn't tell me, but that's the way it was at our house. The box was sitting there and I was left to read the pamphlet. Plus I was number three girl and number five child and I think she didn't want to have 'The talk' again or yet or something. So she gave the job to my sister, who was more than happy to tell me a very short, vague story about some long word called MENSTRUATION. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Apparently, my sister had "started" and my mom decided to get a 'two for one deal' and get me a box for the future. It sounded pretty cool and grown up. I couldn't wait till it was my turn, which I was sure was going to happen any day since I now had all those huge band-aids tucked under my bed. A few weeks later I went to the bathroom. (now we are getting personal, sorry.) I probably wiped a little too hard and there was a little bit of blood on the tissue. (sorry again, but what the heck.) So I told my sister, who squealed and screamed and called her friends, my other sister, my mom, my dad,(Seriously!) my brothers, (gross!) my best friend, my cousins, the old neighbor next door and anyone else she could think of. "Becky started her period!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After my initial embarrassment wore off I went along with it, got all padded up, and waited for the magic to happen. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It didn't. Happen. At all. Now what was I supposed to do? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I waited some more. Still. nothing. What now? Tell them? No way! I didn't want to admit that it had been a false alarm. Everybody had seemed so excited and surprised, like I was probably the youngest girl to ever start her period, and I didn't want to relinquish that title as I rarely won anything. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And I kinda liked the attention. So I found a solution, because that's what I do.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I spied my sister's lipstick. It was a nice plum color. Just right, I decided, so I painted the pad with Cover Girl's continuous coverage in Passion Plum. My cousins offered me congratulations. My mom sighed, her little girl was all grown up. My sister was giddy. My stomach churned with guilt as I painstakingly covered my tracks just in case someone checked. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I played along for several days. Too long if you were the one using the passion plum on your lips-- unaware of its alternate function. Gross!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually, I couldn't keep up, nor did I want to and </span><span style="font-size: large;">the lie played out.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> I was in fourth grade. I didn't want to deal with that crap every month for the rest of my life. So I came clean and relinquished the title and the box back under my bed where it sat for several more years. And thankfully nobody threw me a 'new moon' party. Thank you Mom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I should have bought my sister new lipstick, but, well, I was nine and funds were scarce. So sue me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe I should send her some new Passion Plum Cover Girl lipstick. What is the statute of limitations on a thing like this, anyway?</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-40774913098644639802014-06-09T13:51:00.001-06:002014-06-09T13:55:48.784-06:00Ode to Research<span style="font-size: large;">Writing=Research=awesomeness</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm so busy writing my novel that I haven't had time to update my blog. Today I am forcing myself to say hi. So...Hi. How's your summer going? It's going great at our house. Have any fun plans? We have a few that are always subject to change, as life is never dull. Speaking of life, life has changed dramatically since I began writing five years ago. My kids are growing up, they are more independent and two of them have jobs! One will be leaving us in the fall and our number will diminish to four "full-time" children. These days they need me physically less, mentally more. It's a challenge. It's also wonderful. I may get this book finished by the end of the summer. That would be exciting! I'm on page 175, not that I'm counting.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Today I want to talk a bit about the importance of research. I have done more research on this book than on any other novel ever-put together! I find that when you have a prayer in your heart the Lord will bless you in your efforts, even when you are writing a love story. I have had some interesting experiences while writing this manuscript. I wish I could share them now, but I think I better hold on a bit longer. What I will say is that if you are writing a novel do not underestimate the importance of research. True life is often stranger than fiction, and if you dig deep enough there is a story or a certain item that will enliven your current w.i.p., leaving you with something far better than what you could come up with alone. Keep at it, dig until you find that nugget that is waiting for you. I've found a few wonderful gold pieces that not only make my story better, but also teach me something about myself, or life in general. I love writing! So don't forget about me. I'll have something really fun for you to read soon.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's the deal, I'll keep writing, and you keep doing what you're doing and we'll all meet later in the fall. Deal? Deal.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-12041910474273628942014-04-03T16:27:00.001-06:002014-04-03T16:59:01.185-06:00IT'S CELEBRATION DAY!<span style="font-size: large;">Two years ago I ventured out on my self-publishing journey with nothing more than determination and a will to dive in without worrying too much about the consequences. (That's the three in me, but we'll save that discussion for another day.)</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLN0sNNtA7Z0kTWndwJFSq8NWN4czbobXEAsbyhrDX-den9oid__HzkGNXAJMidp8z5OJfzKZrJqcjh0plM0fHrt0d04PtfleQdHiVIwecdYf-pRBvIA0f8QOz7rY9KCDxIMHWZfpPfM/s1600/472591_4164651881125_30076744_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLN0sNNtA7Z0kTWndwJFSq8NWN4czbobXEAsbyhrDX-den9oid__HzkGNXAJMidp8z5OJfzKZrJqcjh0plM0fHrt0d04PtfleQdHiVIwecdYf-pRBvIA0f8QOz7rY9KCDxIMHWZfpPfM/s1600/472591_4164651881125_30076744_o.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">First, The Sand Bar, came out in March of 2012 and then almost exactly a year later my second novel, Far From Perfect followed. I am really proud of these two books, and really proud of the fact that I pushed myself to do something difficult and uncomfortable. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I remember when I first started writing, I would write a page and then self-edit the heck out of it for fear of what others might think. "What if they think that's what I think or do or say? What if they realize that is something I struggle with, too?" Eventually I stopped doing that. I stopped because I looked at all the books I love and saw that the authors had to do the same thing (be honest,) and I loved them for it. And the ones that were too worried about what others thought usually fell a little flat for me. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">So today is a celebration of will, and guts, and the ability to learn, cause I've learned a ton, because if I'd really known how much I didn't know about writing I never would have ventured into the big bad world of fiction. But then again, with that attitude, I never would have had five kids or gotten married, or most anything else I've done that was hard. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVKj9kKsKDPIb8BC-ThRuGeAoi2JOmhR19B5t3zbCRvXRWH5-i76RphZhmaleY-r2PIQXGpI57pi5f-d-8T5YqpbIE_RGAY6SElBE-Y_E4ryCuttVob7k9aUp7xj4ttBSAYsiiZJPHoc/s1600/BK00011684.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVKj9kKsKDPIb8BC-ThRuGeAoi2JOmhR19B5t3zbCRvXRWH5-i76RphZhmaleY-r2PIQXGpI57pi5f-d-8T5YqpbIE_RGAY6SElBE-Y_E4ryCuttVob7k9aUp7xj4ttBSAYsiiZJPHoc/s1600/BK00011684.jpg" height="320" width="278" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">So the moral of the story is... Go FOR YOUR DREAMS! If you love something, DO IT! It doesn't matter how old you are or if you got your degree in it, If you love it enough you'll learn how to be successful in it. (Of course, if you want to be a brain surgeon, go to school first!) </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Forget about the doubters, the heavy-handers, the negative Nellies, the bottom feeders--those that think you should stick to the script that they have written for you-- they really don't matter. There will be enough supporters, fans, and people cheering you on that all of the other stuff will be simply irrelevant. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Mostly though, I want to thank YOU, my faithful, willing readers! Thanks for taking a chance on me, for ordering/downloading my books and then giving feedback on Goodreads, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon and anywhere else. I appreciate you all!!! I am still amazed how many hits my blog gets, and I'm pleasantly surprised to receive royalty checks for my books in the mail. Who knew!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">*As an update, I am busy writing my next novel and am having <i>such</i> a great time at it. I LOVE this story so much and I hope to get it out to the public by the end of the year, but then again, maybe I should just wait until February or March and stay consistent. It's all in my head, but it takes a while to get it written out.</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the mean time, enjoy the song I sing almost every day in my shower. I know you do too!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Happy spring faithful readers!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/moSFlvxnbgk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">xXoO</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Becky</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-40494684391961676772014-02-19T12:47:00.001-07:002014-02-19T18:12:22.001-07:00And Now you know... the rest of the story<span style="font-size: large;">Wrap up session</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have a few loose strings I'd like to take care of today. There is nothing more annoying than a story that leaves some important plot points undone like untied shoelaces. It's a recipe for disaster, especially if you're on a bike. Though for me it wasn't shoelaces that caused the unfortunate crash of 1980. It was my protruding bellbottoms that got stuck in the chain of my next door neighbor Mark's bike. I guess I didn't have a bike yet and I remember his sister Leann helping me learn to ride on the road. I believe it ended with severe road rash, but that isn't nearly as bad as what happened to said neighbor, Mark when I dared him to ride his tricycle down their front steps. The blood stain never did fully disappear from the sidewalk after that head injury. For years I cried in my head, "Out damn spot, Out!" But it just wouldn't go away. Poor Mark. I'm not sure if he or his family has ever forgiven me for that one. Wait a minute, I think, by the way Mark kissed me in the playhouse in 1981 that he forgave me after all. Sorry Mark for splashing our secret love affair all over the blogosphere. By the way, any kiss given before sixth grade does not count in my book. I was hot lips Hoolihan up until fifth grade. Then things turned pretty cold.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Back to the subject at hand. I bet you want to know what happened this week when I went to my Jam class. Well, what happened is this. The Silver Sneakers showed up with headbands, warm up suits and sour looks on their faces. We met in the back alley way, circled for a bit while they called us ninimuggins and bumbusus and we danced circles around them while Pink sang out about wanting to start a fight in the background. "We're all gonna get in a fight!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Actually, it's pretty anti-climatic. My instructor got there way early and talked to the class before her and informed her of the pain and suffering we experience every time they are late, which is most of the time. So they wrapped it up in a timely fashion and got out of there by two after. During my class I watched for the "silver sneakers" to show up. Guess what time some of them show up to wait? Like fifteen minutes early! I am here to tell them that we will NEVER get out early. Not even one minute early. Ever. What are they doing standing out there so eagerly? They got a special chair they have their eye set on? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I must get the third one from the bottom! The legs are perfectly square to the floor. It doesn't </span><span style="font-size: large;">wabble, even a little. Perfectly square, I tell ya! It's a beautiful thing."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So...we still skipped cool down again, for fear of a second showing of <i>Pirañas of Kaysville,</i> but there were no words spoken between any of us. It was unusually quiet as we left and they came in. It's the Jets and the Sharks I tell ya and this story ain't over yet! Just a cool down period. <i>Stay cool boy, real cool.</i> I fear there is more to come...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Wrap up number dos: The musical of all musicals. It's going pretty well. Sorry, another anticlimactic ending. After consistently going up the wrong stairs, in the out and speaking lines to the wrong person, I think I have finally figured it all out. Now that doesn't mean I get my lines perfect every time, but I'm getting there. I'm finding my footing, and man does it feel good. I will add this. I LOVE, that's L-O-V-E being on stage. Something comes alive inside me that has been dormant for a long time. I love it. Did I mention that I love it already?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Wrap up number tres: I got a new computer!!! Due to my loving husband, I am the owner of a brand spankin' new computer. To pay him back I will be doing some accounting for his business. This is a joke. You don't want me to do your accounting. I'm a very good estimator, but I haven't balanced a checkbook in fifteen years. Oh who am I kidding. I never balanced a checkbook. Like ever. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Speaking of love, I was going to write a segment on a movie I saw recently for Valentines day, but the movie sucked too much to even bother. Like double digits stinkathon. Super disappointing. It had all the right ingredients and then fell flat as a pancake. I'm not going to tell you what the movie was, but I will tell you that it had an all star cast and still bombed. As the saying goes, you can have the best actors in the world, but a bad script is still a bad script! I mean it had everything going for it! Collin Ferrill people! Russell Crowe. Good heavens, they could have had Laurence Olivier and it would have still bombed in the theater. Very disappointing. So, happy Valentines Day to all of you that care about such things.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Enjoy a little jets and sharks on this snowy Wednesday. They make dancing look almost cool!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">P.S. Is it bad that I had my kids ride their bikes to school this morning and now it is snowing like crazy? Maybe I should have checked the weather, but I'm a hardcore mom like that. No snow on the ground and it's over twenty-five degrees?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> "It's almost spring, get on your bikes and ride like the wind!" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "But mom, it's supposed to..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "No buts! Get going or you'll be late. And you might want to</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> take an umbrella...and some snow boots...and don't forget your</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> mittens...mommy loves you!" Slam!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Happy day!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-49883451178362966732014-02-19T12:24:00.001-07:002014-02-19T12:24:33.687-07:00West Side Story - Cool (1961) HD<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/wugWGhItaQA" width="480"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-62726079634216679592014-02-10T14:25:00.002-07:002014-02-10T20:46:48.192-07:00Three Minutes won't Kill you...then again, you're old, maybe it will.<span style="font-size: large;">Dear Old people at the gym,</span><br />
<img alt="imgres.jpg" src="webkit-fake-url://7566FB89-727E-48C1-93AF-74187768EAF8/imgres.jpg" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I see you standing outside the room, pacing like old, feeble cheetahs. Your gold wristwatches scream <i>one minute to eleven,</i> and we're still doing our work out. The nerve! This is not the first time we've been a minute or two late, but this time your patience has warn as thin as your hair. You've been pushed around enough. This is the last time you will make it home for your daily chicken noodle soup ten minutes past noon. It's an outrage! Your sallow skin grows warm and almost turns flesh colored. Your breathing accelerates. Your anger mounts. "Let's swarm them!" Someone calls out. Probably the eighty year old woman that can hardly walk wearing her nicest chino slacks and polo blouse. And, are those earrings and pearls? This is a work out, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I recognize that your time is precious. Probably more precious than mine. After all, I only have five children that go to three different schools, two businesses, a husband, a dog, a fish, and a hamster and a house and three cars that need tending to. I totally understand your plight. You are nearly dead and there's only four more hours to get your workout in and to your early bird buffet before you call it a day. You're busy, I get it. There's lunch at noon and bingo at two. And who can skip lunch? I can't, can you? Especially when you've got medication to take and your bowels don't work after six pm. I'm nearly there myself, so believe me when I say, I get it. But in having empathy for your shortening time on earth and your OCD type desire to be punctual, can I offer a thought? Just something to consider? I know it may be a generations gap thing, but I might have something to offer you. My thought...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's only three minutes. Three minutes is all it is. Think about it. Three minutes is how long it takes you to buckle your seat belt, or walk up the stairs at the gym. I know because I usually get stuck behind you. Three minutes is how long it takes you to decide that it's finally safe to turn left. Again, I know because I'm usually behind you as you slowly creep onto the busy road and I have to slam on my brakes to wait for you. You seldom acknowledge me as you roll your giant Cadillac into oncoming traffic. I'm not sure if you even realize that you now have at least a half a dozen cars lined up behind you. And when I have to wait for you to cross the road and watch your little legs toddle to and fro when I'm in a hurry, I have to remind myself that it's only three minutes. And three minutes won't kill anybody. Then again...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One other thing. Perhaps, as wise as you are now that your nearly a centurion, you might realize that being rude will not help you get into heaven any faster, and at your age, I'd like to think that being kind and looking to understand that maybe there was a legitimate reason why we were late, would be your number one goal, seeing as how you will be meeting your maker any day. Swarming a class and yelling at it's participants is shallow and insulting. Unlike a fine wine, class is something that doesn't just come with age. I saw that today. I hope that you still have enough time to find you some. Because you were right about one thing. Time is precious, and yours is running out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You're welcome, and have a nice day.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-53282916687845849962014-02-06T14:58:00.003-07:002014-02-06T14:58:39.289-07:00Joshua Radin-Brand new day<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/97df0Q5qxa8" width="459"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-50486695101401395972014-02-06T14:58:00.001-07:002014-02-07T11:03:38.924-07:00Manure stinks and other Valentine stories<span style="font-size: large;">I'm going to delve into a topic that I rarely explore. Manure. So if you're not into that feel free to read one of my prior posts. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't let my Idaho accent fool you. I wasn't raised on a farm, but I've always felt like I could handle hard work-- for a girl who wasn't raised on a farm-- of course. Keep in mind that the idea of what hard work is, is all relative. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, last year I was researching for a potential story and I offered to help the local rancher neighbor give shots to their cows while the local vet checked to see if the cows were pregnant. It was an eye opening experience. It was rainy, muddy, cold, and poopy. Those cows, all two hundred of them had a synchronized case of diarrhea. They went when and where they wanted, including all over each other... and me! It was gross. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then came the needles. I am horribly afraid of needles, and cows, and manure, and blistery, cold, miserable weather. It was a challenge, but I was determined to stick it out. I did pretty well until I poked my thumb with the enormous needle while simultaneously having poop flung across my face and into my mouth by a disgruntled cow who wanted out of the stocks. Did you hear all that? Needle in thumb, poop in mouth, cold rain pouring down face--all for research. That kind of did me in. Weak in the knees, I resigned as shot giver and retracted to the nearest truck to recover from the shock and wash my mouth out with hydrogen chloride.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As more than a year has past since that experience I have had time to reflect on it and I can say, looking back, that I am really glad I did it. I learned more about ranching and I have a greater appreciation for what they do. It's a tough business and while I don't want to do it again, I do appreciate what I learned. I will also say I had a hard time eating meat for about three months after that. But I'm fine now, thanks. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Life can be like that too. You can feel stuck in the manure of life, barely holding on, needles pointed in our every direction while even more challenges and difficulties swirl like howling winds around your head. The beasts of trial and weakness inflict us at every turn, leaving some of us on our knees begging for mercy or help when it seems like no one hears our cries or really cares. Sometimes it seems we are judged harshly and not understood by even our most intimate of associates. Sometimes we don't understand why things happen. Sometimes there really is no answer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have friends who have lost spouses and children and have wondered why or what was the good to be learned from it all. I have no answer for them. Some things have no real answers or if they do it will only be had in the next life. Sometimes the answer is simply, "I don't know, but we are promised that everything that happens is for our good and learning." Easy to say, hard to swallow.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Philip Seymour-Hofman is one of those most recently hit by the fiery darts of life. He was an excellent actor and yet his demons must have tormented him endlessly. I am sorry for him and for his loved ones who have lost a father and friend. I hold no judgement against him and only pray he can feel the peace of God's love now. And I pray for anyone else out there who struggles with addiction by taking it day by day as they work to overcome their own challenges. You have my love, prayers, and understanding for such a difficult life-long struggle. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have a dear friend who was recently diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. She has already been through so much with a chronic bad back and know she's had at least two surgeries trying to alleviate the pain she has endured for several years. Now she is going through chemo with three small children at her side. Yet she doesn't complain. Through it all she is hopeful and optimistic. She is one of my best friends though she moved away several years ago. I don't have a lot of best friends. I'm too much of an introvert and too picky about who I want to hang out with. But what I love about her is she likes me for me. She laughs at my antics and keeps me grounded about what really matters in life. I know that no matter what I will always be her friend. I have my own trials. I wish I didn't have to go through the things I have to go through. But somehow, I know it is all part of the plan. The pain, the suffering, the sickness, all of it is for our growth, but man is that growth painful sometimes. It can be discouraging. It can feel hopeless. Yet, I know that through the mud and muck there is a sunset and warm arms to surround us like a blanket that offers hope for better days. There is help given by God's angels dressed up as our neighbors and friends, concerned for our well-being. I've had a few of those serve me recently. I am so grateful for their friendship that is honest and heartfelt because they do only one thing: they love me for me. What a wonderful gift.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So if your life feels like it's stuck in the mud. If you feel like you are covered in manure or that you are cold and wet from the elements, seek shelter in the nearest truck you can find. I am here for you if only by this association. I offer hope and love and absolutely no judgement. You can rest safely near by. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">...After we get you hosed off, of course.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Thanks Steve for reminding me that George Castanza always says it best.<br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/1buEtTy" target="_blank">http://bit.ly/1buEtTy</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-40265929151825970192014-02-06T13:16:00.002-07:002014-02-06T15:36:39.694-07:00Fear vs Panic<span style="font-size: large;">I heard a great quote today while I was watching a movie. I say <i>watching</i> because I was at the gym and the sound was muted. It was a surfer movie with Gerard Butler and the cutest curly haired boy I've ever seen. So adorable. Don't know his name or the name of the movie, but in a teaching moment Gerard's character reminds the boy that Fear and Panic are two different things. "Fear is healthy. It helps you recognize danger and to act accordingly. Panic will only kill you." I thought that was pretty good advice, especially for a surfer dude. So I thought I'd pass it on.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-51726271389533618662014-01-29T15:43:00.001-07:002014-01-29T15:47:34.108-07:00LIFE WITHOUT A COMPUTER<img alt="pearsbeforeswine.jpg" src="webkit-fake-url://4C9E7147-8838-4A4A-9098-E1E358B2D007/pearsbeforeswine.jpg" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's true. For two weeks I have been computer less, which means, having less than a computer. It's a long story...well, it's not really. First, my ten year old spilled lemonade on my keyboard and failed to tell me until it was too late. I remember saying something like, "Why is this computer going crazy and making a funny gurgling sound!" Dead. Then, a month later, while using the kids' computer I hurriedly picked it up to take into the other room and failed to notice that it was still plugged in. The plug and I played tugawar and the plug won. The computer fell out of my arms and onto the hardwood kitchen floor. I lay over it like a long beloved kitten that I accidentally might have run over, hoping that with love and the proper amount of CPR I could bring it back to life. The cat was an obvious goner, but the computer seemed to have some life in it as it sputtered and churned trying to come back to life. But in the end it too lay cold and lifeless like Shadow, the mouse killing champion.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Two computers down in one month. Their warranties have long since expired, as have their lives. Just to get the hard drive is going to cost 250. The computer is eight years old. I'll be lucky to get the hard drive copied off let alone have the repair guys bring it back to life for another two hundred to five hundred dollars. Might as well bury it next to Shadow in the backyard.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now I have no computer. I don't know what to do. I should go get a job because there is no way I am just going to clean all day long. No sir, not me. I keep the house tidy, but I am not a maid. (my family hears this quite often, usually with a raised voice and shoes and socks flying in different directions.)</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="webkit-fake-url://85D81200-D461-4656-A8B9-40242FCDF5F0/cleanhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="cleanhouse.jpg" border="0" src="webkit-fake-url://85D81200-D461-4656-A8B9-40242FCDF5F0/cleanhouse.jpg" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;" /></a> <span style="font-size: large;">Before I wrote, I took care of little babies. My own. Then I discovered writing and my kids grew older and I've never looked back. And my babies grew bigger and went off to school. But this new life of no computer and no babies is empty and wrong and boring. And I never get bored. I wander from room to room with no purpose. Of course, I could clean closets or under beds, or get on my hands and knees and scrub the kitchen floor, but then what? What's my reward? A clean house? I know that is what some people get off on, but me...not so much. I like a clean house, but I like to do other things as well. And as soon as the kids get home it will be dirty again and I'll be playing chauffeur and then where is my creative <i>me time</i>? I feel like falling on the floor and kicking and screaming and throwing a down right pity party. But I won't because I am a grown up. Instead, I will pull out the ice cream and have a spoonful...or three.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have a rule about the TV never being on during the day, but I've broken it at least three times in the last week as I find myself curled up in a blanket watching a movie at 11:30 in the morning. Okay, I don't just find myself there like I was knocked unconscious or something. Let's be honest, I purposefully put myself there, but sometimes I wonder how it happened. Maybe I'm sleep walking. And the ice cream! Heaven help me with the needless calories!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've come to the conclusion that no matter what the bank account says, and being January I can tell you it says, "Don't even think about it" I must get a computer. I was waiting until I could get the, you know, the big one, the <i>creme de la creme </i>of computers<i>,</i> but at this point I am ready to go down to the local electronics store and buy the cheapest version they have. I'll go back for the big guy later...when my ship comes in or I row out to it. I gotta do something and soon. I started watching the midwives series on Netflix. Now I'll never get anything done, except gather a second chin and cry my eyes out all day. Not productive. Not any way to live my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Any suggestions regarding a cheap good computer?</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698751440004094703.post-29470361110726812952014-01-13T00:54:00.000-07:002014-01-15T14:44:37.477-07:00My life is a comedy act waiting to be discovered.I promised to give you the comedy details of my first week at rehearsals and I always keep my promises so let's cut out the fat and get to the pudding.<br />
<br />
Let's start with day One:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTOHgtHwkSK5iGtGsUWmTb-JvhgJ6SVltLhLEANxV5jfTjEDd-d" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTOHgtHwkSK5iGtGsUWmTb-JvhgJ6SVltLhLEANxV5jfTjEDd-d" /></a><br />
<h3>
Let's title this, "You can call me Lucille Ball."</h3>
<br />
<br />
When I went to our initial meeting I was given a script, but no folder to put the loose papers in. The day of my first real practice I grabbed a used, but empty folder from the cupboard and stuffed the papers in the side pockets thinking that later (I'm always thinking later), I'll punch holes and put it in a better binder...or something. I'd also been advised to bring something to record with to the musical practices. I thought I would use my phone, though I don't actually know how to do that, so trying to think ahead I had a plan b. I asked my son to go find that tape recorder they play with sometimes. Yes, you heard right. I said TAPE RECORDER. Just in case you don't know what that is here is a definition, at least about the tape cassette.<br />
<br />
<table id="wn" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="font-size: 10pt;" valign="top"><b>Noun</b></td><td style="font-size: 10pt;" valign="top"><b>1.</b></td><td style="font-size: 10pt;"><img align="right" alt="cassette tape - a cassette that contains magnetic tape" src="http://img.tfd.com/wn/47/62357-cassette-tape.png" height="112" title="cassette tape - a cassette that contains magnetic tape" width="135" /><b>cassette tape</b> - a cassette that contains magnetic tape<br />
<div class="Rel" style="border-left-color: rgb(128, 128, 255); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 3px; margin-top: 3px; padding-left: 2px;">
<a href="http://www.thefreedictionary.com/cassette" style="color: #645e7d;">cassette</a> - a container that holds a magnetic tape used for recording or playing sound or video</div>
<div class="Rel" style="border-left-color: rgb(128, 128, 255); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 3px; margin-top: 3px; padding-left: 2px;">
</div>
<div class="Rel" style="border-left-color: rgb(128, 128, 255); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 3px; margin-top: 3px; padding-left: 2px;">
<a href="http://www.thefreedictionary.com/mag+tape" style="color: #645e7d;">mag tape</a>, <a href="http://www.thefreedictionary.com/magnetic+tape" style="color: #645e7d;">magnetic tape</a>, <a href="http://www.thefreedictionary.com/tape" style="color: #645e7d;">tape</a> - memory device consisting of a long thin plastic strip coated with iron oxide; used to record audio or video signals or to store computer information; "he took along a dozen tapes to record the interview"</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I don't know where this thing came from, but it has been floating around our house for at least a couple years. It doesn't work so well, but I am a tape recorder fix-a-lot-er so there was no worries. Back in the day I removed more jammed Madonna tapes from my car tape deck than you could La isla Bonita with the material girl herself in a year. <i>Rewind button broken? No problem. Turn it over to the other side and fast-forward a ways, then flip it back over and walla, your back to the beginning of Glenn Medeiros</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> </i><span style="background-color: #e5e5e5; line-height: 35px;"><i>Nothing's Gonna Change My Love for You<b>. </b></i></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 35px;"><i>Won't record? Hold the tape down half way.</i></span> <i>Or how about twisted ribbon on the wheel, or what to do when your little baby or brother has taken to the tape ribbon like it was some kind of pull string toy and left it in a heap like cow dung on the living room floor. Pencils come in handy then. And if you ever wondered why I had one of my moms kitchen knives in my car, well, they came in handy when I couldn't get that tape out of the deck.</i><br />
<br />
I'm getting off topic. Let me reign myself back in...but while I type I think I'll listen to Madonna's, <i>Like a prayer </i>to keep with the nun theme. Sort of.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQhQbOWMkL8IBagxTTB1Zgo4fKF69YjWW_mvx6mOY_zZ6k5XnKK" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQhQbOWMkL8IBagxTTB1Zgo4fKF69YjWW_mvx6mOY_zZ6k5XnKK" /></a></div>
<br />
So I get there. I look around and see that OTHER people have put a bit more thought into their folders. Several have had their scripts professionally bound. What a good idea. And those that didn't bind them had carefully placed them in sheet protectors and organized them by scene, tabbed and color coded in nice three ring binders.Perhaps it was just my pride that made it difficult to pull out my sons old folder with <i>Science</i> scribbled in seventh grade penmanship across the front, but this really set me back. I was quite embarrassed and wanted to hide all my stuff under my coat which was suddenly sitting on my lap.<br />
<br />
When the director asked us to go to scene two, I shifted through my papers and pulled them out only to have three or four extras grab hold and go floating all over the floor. While everyone else spoke their lines, I crawled on hands and knees after runaway scenes three and four that had scattered under chairs and under foot. When I caught those little naughty papers I spent the next little while trying to get them back in order. When pages are printed front and back I get easily confused. I was lost half the time. When she told me to counter cross and I looked at her blankly, it wasn't just because I wasn't sure what that meant, but also I was on the wrong page. Again. Still.<br />
<br />
Then it was time to go over the music. Wait a minute. Where was my music? Oh yeah. They sent it in an email and I hadn't printed it off yet as I was feeling lazy...I mean, I was thinking I would use my phone and just look at the music from the actual attachment. See how environmentally friendly I can be? I reached into my bag to pull my phone out. No phone. I searched my coat pockets. No phone. Crap! Where is my phone? I realized eventually that I'd left it at home. Something I never do, but in my haste had done.<br />
<br />
So I had no music and no phone. Everyone around me used their color coded tabs to find the right song. Wanting to look professional I shuffled some more papers around. Actually, I didn't have to pretend. My pages were so messed up I had Maria and the Captain professing their love on one page and on the next page he was blowing his whistle at her as he introduced her to the children. Finally I confessed to the girl next to me that I didn't have any music with me and could I share with her? She was nice enough to share, but I could tell that her binder felt too heavy for her to hold out to me, and she was sniffing and wiping her nose constantly which made me a little worried I would catch whatever she had, but I didn't want to seem ungrateful, so eventually, to spread the love, I began looking at another person's well-organized binder to give her a break.<br />
<br />
Now here comes the best part. The director instructed us to pull out our recording devices "now." Wanting to be obedient I complied quickly, pulling out my ancient looking tape recorder only one step up from my kids old Fisher Price Recorder, (man I had fun with that toy). I mean my kids had fun with that toy. I looked around and realized that EVERYONE else was using their fancy dancy iphones. And then there was Becky with her 1990 (maybe, could be older) big black monstrous looking tape recorder taking up her whole lap like a big black metal box of shame.<br />
<br />
"Record now!" She said. Just as I pushed on the record and play button the room became eerily silent. The tape made a sickening screechy sound that echoed throughout the room and caught too many peoples attention. It kind of sounded like the tape was being massacred. Almost as horrible as fingernails on a chalkboard.<br />
<br />
Side note. Did you know that there are kids out there that don't know what that sounds like? True story. They have white boards at schools nowadays. The idea of fingernails scraping a chalkboard doesn't leave my kids squirming. They just stare at me with blank faces, like, "Yeah? That's the best you got?"<br />
<br />
I'm getting old.<br />
<br />
I hid my giant recording device under my collection of loose papers. I didn't want anyone to see it. It refused to record of course, so I had to hold the play/record button down midway the whole time which left me with no free hands and a very red face. I got through it though and the minute we finished I shoved that black contraption into my very large handbag and swore that no amount of wanting to please the director would convince me to use that ever again.<br />
<br />
The rest of practice went quite well. I was surrounded by amazing singers. I left feeling so excited to be a part of such a talented cast and I was reminded how much I love this kind of thing and even told a lady as we exited the building how excited I was. She smiled politely at me. She probably remembered me as being the unprepared one. Then I went right to the store and bought a new binder and two packages of sheet protectors. Haven't tabbed it yet, but I think it's a good idea. Then I printed off all my music.<br />
<br />
I may not have made a great first impression, but I'm determined to be the black horse in this little production. Or maybe the blue horse, or red. I like red as well.<br />
<br />
*In case you are wondering, I tried to listen to the recording of the nuns songs on my recorder. It didn't work so well. It was too slow, too fast, muffled, (probably because I was hiding it under my papers), horrible and made my kids laugh. Made me laugh too. Then I had my son show me how to record on my phone. No more looking like a fool Mr. T. Or rather, Mrs. B.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15041803231123499606noreply@blogger.com2