Another Day, Another Muni Ride, Another Tag

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   Ah…

One of my favorite things in the world is stepping off the down escalator at the Muni station and seeing an L train pull up to greet me. Yes, in my Danacentric world the L train is there just for me and the serendipitous timing occurs to make my day a happier one.  It always makes me smile, no matter how crabby I am.  Cheers me right up.  So my Monday workday has ended on a good note ’cause I just strolled onto my train (yes, MY train) and got my favorite seat without waiting or jockeying for position. If you think little old ladies in grocery stores are scary, wait till you’ve experienced a gaggle of Cantonese grandmas, all determined to board ahead of you even if you were the first in line. I’ll give up my seat to someone who needs it, but don’t shove me in line, fer crissake!

So. Monday so far is a good day. Several irritating financial issues have been resolved favorably. I made it through work on the first day of a detox program without attacking a co-worker for their food or snapping at anyone.  I’m going home to exercise, make a yummy detox approved dinner (tilapia, roasted potatoes and green beans) and then work on CHAMPAGNE.  What’s not to be happy about?

Tomorrow I start answering six writer/book related things about myself you might not know about.  Oh heck, I’ll give you one right now:

The first book I remember making an impression on me and started me on my path as an avid reader is THE SILVER CHAIR by C.S. Lewis.  I hadn’t a clue about the Christian subtext, btw.  I liked it ’cause it had the doorway to another world thing going for it and giants who wanted to eat the hero and heroine.  Evil witches, enchanted princes, and a giant lion.  I was totally into it.

I read the rest of the series in short order and then discovered Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain series (The Black Cauldron, for example), E. Nesbit’s works (5 Children and It and the Enchanted Castle, for example), the Oz books…the Point Loma public library was my favorite place in the world.

I was tagged, btw, by that Devil Woman Morgan Mandel!  I’m holding off tagging till tomorrow.  I am officially stymied on who to tag who won’t kill me.

And one more thing you don’t know about me…

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I’m legally blind.  Or at least I was until I had Lasik done Thursday evening.

Seriously, my left eye was 4.5 and my right 3.25.  Glasses off I could read up close.  Glasses on I could see far away, but anything too close was a blur.  Contact lenses at night, forget it.  I tried to read a map in the light of a dome light in the car and it was a big nothing.  That was five years ago and things deteriorated a bit every year.  My eye doctor told me Lasik was the best option, so…I finally bit the bullet (why does one bite a bullet, btw?) when I found out my insurance would cover part of it and I got to the point where I couldn’t see anything at night other than blurred images.

I went to Dr. Scott Hyver, who has made a name for himself in the Bay Area correcting the vision of the San Francisco 49ers.  The office staff and other doctors were courteous, friendly and efficient.  The procedure was explained in detail.  There were stuffed animals in the procedure room for those nervous patients needing something to hold.  I clutched a Beanie Tiger and a Beanie Rainbow bear to my chest during the entire thing.  It was weird, freaky and my eyes were held open with tape and metal holders that made me think of CLOCKWORK ORANGE during the procedure.  But it was also very quick and Dr. Hyver kept up a calm, running commentary during the entire procedure.  It was over in less than 10 minutes, possibly five.

I had to keep my eyes shut as much as possible for four hours after the surgery.  Dave set me up on the futon in the living room and put on A MIGHTY WIND and WAITING FOR GUFFMAN.  It hurt.  It felt like someone was going over my eyes with a cheesegrater for a couple of hours.  My eyes kept watering and my sinuses filled up.  I got a migraine.  But the next morning when I opened my eyes, I could see…well, I could see everything clearly.  I saw the trees outside the bedroom window, the leaves, a raven on one limb.  I could see which cat was perched on top of my jewelry box (bad cat!).  I had my follow up appointment that morning and could see distance with 20/20 vision.  I could read the smallest print closeup.  And my eyes are supposed to only improve for the next month.

Cool.

Number Three

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 I was a weird toddler.  When I was two or three, I would take pretzel sticks, dip them in the water running down the sidewalk gutters and eat them.  University City, where we were living at the time, was an upscale neighborhood, but still…eeuwww!!!  Back then I thought it was the gourmet snack of the century.

And after my pretzelicious repast, I would go inside and ride my rocking horse, Blaize, for hours on end.  Mom has a picture of me on Blaize, a fierce, determined look on my face.  A mini Paula Revere on a mission.

My older sister Lisa and I used to play with this wooden block set.  We’d build these magnificent block edifices, homes for our collection of plastic animals.  The tiger was the ruler (I still have him, along with the blocks and the rest of the animals), harsh but just.  We would sacrifice my Barbie dolls to apease the animal gods.  Hey, their heads had to come off so easily for a reason!

For a short while I wanted to be a ballet dancer.  I would lock myself in my room, put on one of my mom’s old frothy chiffon nightgowns, play classical music and dance my little klutzy heart out.  For all the fact I grew into a mega ham bone, I never wanted anyone to see me dance.  It was my little secret fantasy.

My first crush was Roddy McDowell.  As Cornelius in PLANET OF THE APES.  I’ve come a long way since my fixation on gay chimps.

 

Second Thing You Might Not Know About Me.

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And you might not care, but I’ve been tagged (see yesterday’s post) and by thunder, I’m gonna do my part!

#2.

I once stole a dollar’s worth of dimes from the Brownie dues box when my mom was the Brownie leader in Lakeside, California.  My sister was a Brownie, I was just a bratty younger sister.  Why did I steal these shiny tempting dimes?  Simple.  When my mom went to get her hair done, there was a soda machine that dispensed Coke in ice cold bottles for a dime apiece.  I figured if I had a good supply of dimes, I would always be assured if my icy old Coca Cola. It was a bit of an obsession.  Something about putting the dime in the slot, pushing the button and then almost instant gratification of that bottle… Coke never tasted so good.  So every time there was a Brownie meeting at our house, I’d sneak a couple of dimes out of it, figuring no one would ever be the wiser.  Until the day my sister caught me.  “Mom, Dana’s stealing from the Brownie box!” was immediately clarioned through the house in the clear self-righteous tones that only an older sister could muster.  I was grounded for a good long time.

Oddly enough, during this same period I also stole a box of Milk Duds from a local market.  I didn’t get caught, but I felt so guilty that after I ate the candy, I buried the incriminating box under a pile of horse manure.

Go figure…

And today I tag… Dani!!!!

And we’re off!

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As mentioned in my last post, I have been tagged by Marvelous Marvin (henceforth known as MM) to spill the beans on six things my readers might not know about me.  Six unusual things.  This is kind of a toughie ‘cause most of the off the wall things about me are in my bios on whatever social network or blog I’ve joined or written. I actually spent some time thinking about this between 4 and 6am when I couldn’t sleep this morning, figuring it was a better way to entertain my brain than worry about finances.  But I’m still having trouble, so I’m gonna start with one and see where it leads me.  In fact, I’m going to cheat a bit and blog on one new and fascinating Dana factoid a day.  I’m also supposed to tag six people so in keeping with my one a day (just like a vitamin!) revelation, I’ll tag one person at a time. This will also give me a chance to figure out who Marvin has not already tagged.  J

 

Okay, number one:

 

 Sword fighting is unusual (at least it was when I started; it’s become a lot more common as more renaissance faires and live gaming groups have sprung up over the years. Most of you know that I do theatrical combat, but most people don’t know how I got started on this swashbuckling past, so I’ll make this number one:

 

My first sword fight was actually a short sword fight at the San Diego Renaissance Faire the very first year it was held in the Balboa Park Organ Pavilion. I dressed as a gypsy in a full circle red skirt, cinch belt and off the shoulder white blouse and sauntered around the faire with all the confidence of an 18 year old having a good skin day.  As I waited in line for some food (probably the ubiquitous turkey leg), I overheard a conversation between a two guys in breeches, puffy white shirts and boots.  One of the guys was complaining that his fight partner had backed out at the last minute and he wasn’t going to be able to do his swordfight.  The fellow talking was in his ‘20s, had a mane of thick black hair, shot with silver, smooth olive skin and nice features.  Dashing.  Cute.  Puffy white shirt. 

 

Without a second thought, I stepped forward and said, “I’ll do it!” 

And thus begun my checkered career in theatrical combat and my introduction to Chris Villa, my first combat teacher. Chris took me up on my offer with an equal lack of hesitation, taught me the basic parry/cut/thrust positions as taught by SAFD (Society of American Fight Directors) in an hour and we performed the fight, complete with appropriately cheesy and sexist dialogue shortly thereafter.  It went well and I soon became totally enamored with everything about sword fighting, including my teacher.  

 

Chris started my predilection for men who swordfight.  Something about the musculature of swordsmen, all smooth, subtle ripples under the skin instead of big old bulky Ah-nold type guns.  And I’m sucker for the breeches and boots.  Oh heck, it’s all about the romance that goes with the entire package.  While I’ve met plenty of total assholes in the world of theatrical combat, I have never met one who lacked romance in his soul. 

 

Chris was my first real boyfriend and we eventually became engaged. Things didn’t work out – I was SO not emotionally mature enough to settle down, but Chris had a huge impact on my life and was responsible for giving me the gift of what became an integral part of my life.  He also got my cat high, but that’s another story.

 

Eventually I’m going to dig out my old photos and scan them so I can share a pictorial history as well.

 

And for my first tag, I tag Other Lisa! 

Tagged Again…

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…but too tired to tag along tonight.  I’m supposed to tell you all six things you might not know about me.  Six interesting and unusual things.  Tonight I feel about as unusual and interesting as a cardboard box.  A plain, boring cardboard box, with nothing written on the sides.  So I’m going to save the Tag challenge until tomorrow, by which time I will have recovered from a weekend writing binge to meet today’s deadline and will hopefully remember all those fascinating factoids that make me a unique and interesting person

In the meantime, go check out Free Spirit, my friend and fellow author, Marvin’s blog.  Marvin.  He who tagged  me and who has already spilled the beans on no less than 12 interesting factoids about himself.  And in the meantime, I will get a good night’s sleep, bask in the glow of having written almost 3,000 word today and having successfully met my latest deadline.

Short Stories

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We went to the September Sisters in Crime Nor Cal (henceforth known as SinC NC) meeting a couple Saturdays ago and, along with some most excellent food and beverage (this was a potluck at one of the Sister’s houses), we were treated to a talk by Sophie Littlefield on the subject of short stories.

Sophie is also a romance writer and recently signed a three book deal.  Unlike a lot of novelists, Sophie loves to write short stories. She’s one of the few I’ve met who actually thinks its easier to write a short story than a novel.  I personally cringe at the thought of having to wrap up a story in fewer than 12,000 words and this is only in the horror or fantasy genre.

I have written short stories.  My first published piece was actually a short story in Cat Fantastic IV, an anothology edited by the feline loving sci-fi and fantasy author Andre Norton. The story was co-written with afore-mentioned pal Brad.  I’ve published two other short stories, both with zombies as their central theme.  One hard-boiled zombie noir and the other black humor set in Hollywood.  I had fun writing all three, but never any calling to write more until I wrote a story for my boyfriend.  This story, CHAMPAGNE, is what got me my first introduction to Ravenous Romance (the name is just calling out for a romantic zombie story, I’m telling ya…) and now I have another short story due at the end of the week.   There’s a little bit of denial going on there… but I’ll get it done!

My friend Brad Linaweaver is another prolific short story writer.  He’s constantly writing something for this anthology or that magazine and while he’s primarily known for his science fiction, he happily surfs all genres.   If I recollect correctly, Sophie has written in every genre except for science fiction.  Maybe these two should get together and breed a race of short story writing super geniuses.  Hmm…

The beginning, middle and end part of short stories is difficult for me.  I recently went through a box of old writing from grade school up through high school and most of my short story assignments ended with a ‘to be continued’ cliffhanger rather than a definitive conclusion. I’m sure I must have driven my teachers crazy.  I did have a few completed stories in the bunch,including a forgotten series called Desert Horse I’d written about the adventures of Justin and his horse Thunderbolt…and a couple of rather horrific pieces with evil twins coming back from the dead and vampires (the teacher marked these with a large A and the admonition ‘try writing something less morbid next time.’  But mostly what I’d written were the beginning of novels. I was amazed how many half-started ideas I’d had when I was growing up.

So I am in much admiration of people with the ability to tell a complete story in a few pages or even less than 12,000 words.  No padding.  Nothing extra.

I’ve only succeeded at absolute bare bones once, back when I first took pencil to paper and wrote my very first story at the age of five or six.  It was called THE END OF THE SUN.
Ahem.

One day the sun came out.
The next day the sun did not come out.
It was the end of the sun.

Beginning, middle, end.  Nothing extra.  You’d think I’d have been a natural at this short story stuff by now…

Back from the Cat House

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Sigh…It’s been a long time since I was at EFBC/FCC. For those of you who haven’t been with me for the last couple years and seen all the tiger/ocelot/leopard/jaguar pictures, this is the Exotic Feline Breeding Compound/Feline Conservation Center in Rosamond, California.  If you know where Palmdale and Lancaster are, just keep going east on the 14 until you hit the Rosamond Boulevard/Edwards Airforce Base exit and hang a left.  Go a few miles and look for the big green sign with the leaping leopard on it.

I am physically wiped out from the drive, so I’m gonna keep this short…also, I have a very detailed essay about my experiences working at EFBC on my website here.

And even better, here are photos by Nancy Vandermey, rocket scientist, EFBC docent and board member, and photographer extraordinaire, of four new felines: Kali, fishing cat (born at EFBC); OBI, serval (one of our few rescues; Rocco, jaguar (born at EFBC); and Thumper, Canadian lynx.  Both Kali and Rocco are being hand-raised.  Could they be any cuter?  I don’t THINK so…

Mid-Week Brain Freeze

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Or brain meltdown.  When I hear stories about authors like J.K. Rowling writing the first draft of Harry Potter on napkins on her breaks during her job as a waitress…well, first of all I wonder if it’s true or one of those apocryphal stories that makes those of us balancing full time jobs with our creative pursuits feel like there’s hope.  Plus it makes great copy for publicity.

But seriously.  I have been busting my ass at work the last week and a half and am just so wiped out when I get home in the evenings, it’s been a real challenge meeting my word count on Champagne.  Heck, it’s been a real challenge doing more than pouring myself a glass of wine and collapsing on the couch in a heap.  This week has been particularly brutal, with a big two day meeting Thursday (jeez louise, that’s tomorrow!) and Friday.  Add to that some particularly annoying and random crisis’ involving corporate cars, tickets, police stations and a hellish drive this morning through rush hour traffic during which all the short cuts I tried got me lost…well, it’s been a trial.  A Salem witch type trial in which the choice is drowning and being proclaimed innocent or surviving and getting burned as a witch.

Okay.  NOT that bad.  I’m just feeling especially dramatic here. Did I mention I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep all week either?  Us sleep deprived people are drama queens.

My question here to all of you writers who either have full time jobs or kids (same thing) is how do you balance it all out and save energy for your writing?  What do you do when you’re so exhausted that changing out of your work clothes into pajamas feels like an hour of tae-bo?  ‘Cause I could really use some good ideas or inspirational speeches about now.  Y’know, like playing EYE OF THE TIGER except lacking the ’80s power chords.

I’ll tell you what I did last night.  I visited Brad and Aldyth, plopped myself down on their kitchen floor, accepted a glass of wine and let myself get covered with kittens.

I was still tired, but extremely content.

Just one of those moments…

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I was playing Muni Roulette Thursday and ended up on a two hour hike.  I went up and down hills, finding hidden staircases and secret gardens.  I saw amazing architecture, beautiful landscaping and unique decorating touches, like a mosaic mural of a seascape made from bits of tile, glass and stones, depicting fish, sharks, jellyfish, waves, and mermaids.  This was on the side of a stone wall bordering someone’s house.  Next to it was an urn with a serene looking Indian goddess carved on the side.

I loved this particular walk, even as I started up a hill so steep I had to lean forward immediately upon my first step upward or risk rolling back down the hill like Sisyphus’s boulder.  It was cool, fog and clouds rolling in from the ocean, a brisk exhilarating breeze blowing the whole time.

The best part, however, was a very brief encounter when I stopped at Andronico’s Market on Funston and Irving to use their restroom (and buy a tea biscuit as a treat) before setting off on the second half of my walk, which would take me up into Golden Gate Heights and into West Portal.  Andronico’s just finished a big remodeling and their women’s bathroom, instead of being one room where sink and toilet were together, now held two stalls.  I went in, pushed open one of the stalls…and found myself face to face with a round faced dumpling of a little boy, about four years old tops.  He wasn’t doing anything…just standing there in the stall.  I looked at him, he looked at me.  He said, “I was in da bafroom.”  I replied, “I guess you were, sweetie.”  He gave me this heartbreakingly adorable smile and toddled out of the room, content with the world.

I’m not even a kid person, but something about this little guy made my day.  I just hope he doesn’t grow up with the habit of hanging out in women’s restrooms.