Tempus Fugit

The other day I wrote about my drive to work and the little sightseeing excursion that resulted from another's misfortune. I wasn't really happy with the quality of the pictures I took. They weren't quite what I wanted, so I decided I'd take the same detour and take new pictures.

In just two days the landscape had changed.

As I drove up the narrow winding road to the ridge from the main highway, fog hung low and light across the hills, drifting down in a thinning veil almost to ground level. Coming around a curve, on the hillside above the road, was a herd of cows (probably steers, actually). The grass was shorn almost bare, the mist laid over their backs, and it was a great picture.

I found a turnout, grabbed the camera, got out of the car (it's so wonderfully quiet out there!) and saw that a manzanita bush was framing the head of one of the bovine critters in its branches. He was looking at me, no doubt wondering what I was doing. It was perfect! Up came the camera and... nothing. The bloody battery was dead.

Naturally, I would not accept the fact that I was in the middle of nowhere with a herd of cows, a dead camera and a great opportunity (which had, while I fiddled with the camera, calmly gone back to grazing, ruining my shot anyway). I kept messing with the power, the settings and got nowhere. Except, accompanied by a pique of frustration, back into my car.

Grumbling up and over, down the other side, a number of other great shots appeared - none of which could be captured. The narrow road sliding between trees dark with moisture, the mist drifting between their branches. Higher clouds at the bottom of the grade, held up by the trees and hills surrounding the valley.

When I got back to the stretches of broom, at least half of the flowers I had gotten pictures of just two days before were gone. One warm summer-like day in between the first and the second, and the flowers had become pods. Changed to seed holders that will dry and generate the next edition.

It's a reminder of how fleeting things are. Big things, little things, all things are swift and transitory. It serves as a reminder to me not to waste time, not to get so bogged down in the 'must dos' that I miss out on the 'want to dos'.

Last night I went to sleep with a long list of 'must dos'. When I woke up at six this morning, I got right to them, got them all out of the way. By nine o'clock all but one of the 'must dos' was done. I have the morning for my 'want to dos', including this and some other writing I want to take care of. Things to look forward to doing and then, this afternoon, I'll finish up the mixed up and blended must do/want to do of shopping (both a chore and a pleasure).

Hopefully, along the way, I'll find a herd of cows on a hillside in the mist and I can catch what I missed out on the other day. If not, perhaps something else serendipitous and fun.

Have a lovely day!

Best~
Philippa

Follow me on Twitter:  https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Where Did My Saturday Go?

I woke up at 7:00 this morning. Instead of getting up, I lay there, playing around on my iPad - games and such.

Finally, Sam forced my hand. His crying was piteous and I had things to do.

Got Sam taken care of. Got the bathroom cleaned, the bed made, etc., then I sat down and started to write. Next thing I know it's almost 3:00 in the afternoon and I still haven't done the dusting or the shopping - the things on my to-do list I need to do.

Sheesh! So now, instead of doing the 'must dos' I'm doing this - which is fine because this, too, is a commitment I've made to myself. I'll whip this out and then go on to the other, less fun stuff.

In fact, I'll compromise. Instead of beating my empty head against the bricks of creation, I'll just post a flash piece.  How's that?

A Man Named Jack

The scent of cherry smoke woke me; a sweetness that tickles the nose and hints at taste.  At first, I didn’t think it was there, really.  I thought it was still my dream.  Turning over, I slithered under the covers, hoping to slip back into the nest of sleep, but the scent wouldn’t let go.  I sat up, listening.  It was still there, heavier, but there were no sounds except snores from Jeremy’s room.  I got up, shivering, because Jeremy insisted on leaving the windows open, even in the dead of winter.

After donning my robe and slippers, I peeked into my brother’s room.  He was sound asleep, snoring heavily as usual after a late night of drinking.  In the hall, the cherries were stronger.  Following the trace, my slippers whispered on the hall runner.

The study door was ajar, showing golden in the gap.  Surprised that Jeremy had left the fire burning, I pushed the door wide.  Surprise became astonishment when I saw a dapperly dressed man I had never seen before sitting in the wingchair.  His fingers curled lovingly around the bowl of a pipe, from which arose the heavenly scent that had woken me.  He moved, withdrawing the pipe stem from between the neat mustache and trim beard.

“Hello, Jillian.”  His voice was soft, like warm honey, and, by the light of the fire, I saw the skin around his eyes crinkle when he smiled.

I leaned against the solidity of the doorframe, afraid, but not.  He was so calm, looked so easy and natural there, he didn’t seem to be a threat.  After a minute, when I didn’t move or speak, he shifted, crossing one leg over the other.

“You’re wondering who I am, what I’m doing here, aren’t you?”

Still I didn’t move, even to acknowledge him.

His eyes looked away, into the fire, then turned back.  “You look like her.  Like your mother, I mean.”  The lines in his face, caught by the light from the fireplace, deepened.  His expression became hurt.  “I shouldn’t be surprised she never told you about me.  I know she wanted to forget.  She said she did, but she never could.”

“How did you know her?”  My mother died when I was three, killed in an accident, and no one my father’s family had ever talked about her, shutting down questions almost before the asking.

Despite the oddity of having a complete stranger sitting in my brother’s study, smoking a pipe at two-thirty in the morning, I felt excited.  I stepped away from the solidity of wood, drifting to stand by the partner of the chair in which the man sat.  “Who are you?”

The lips curled, the eyes crinkled.  “My name is Jack.”  The smile faded, saddened.  “Yes, I knew her.  Long, long ago, before you were born.”

“Are you related?”

Another flash of humor.  “To her?  No.”

“Then to whom?  What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”  He gestured at the other chair, and I sank onto its cushion.  “I heard your … father died, and that you were here for the funeral, so I came to see you, to introduce myself.”

I waited, knowing he would tell me whether I asked or not.

“I met her when she was sixteen.  Friends invited her to a party, and that’s where we were introduced.  For her, it was instant love.  She said she never felt alive until I was there.  Years went by and she fell in and out of love.  When she was almost thirty, she met your father and, for a time, she gave him the devotion she had shown me.  But he traveled, made her feel neglected and she took back up with me.  Your father made her feel unloved, taken for granted.  Then Jeremy was born, and things got better.

“When she was thirty-four she met Matthew, a man your father hired to work around the house.  Lonely, unhappy, she was easy prey and Matthew took advantage.  Their affair ended when he left one morning, without a word.  She had confessed to him that she was pregnant, but that wasn’t something he had bargained for.

“She took back up with me.  For three years, she made any excuse she could think of to spend time in my company.  Even when your father begged her to stop, to think of you and Jeremy, she couldn’t.  It was too late.  Six months later, on her way home from shopping for your birthday dress, she ran into the tree, killing herself and nearly killing you and Jeremy.”

My throat was dry and I colder than the air around me.  All those years, nearly twenty-five of wondering why and how, and here, in my father’s study, this stranger had given some answers.  More, I had been given questions.

“How do you know all of this?”  I hadn’t meant to waste a question.  It just slipped out.

The man’s laugh was warm and smooth, like bourbon.  “Because I was there , through it all.  I helped her try to deal with her pain, her fear, her insecurity.  When she felt lonely or sad, she took me up.  I was with her when she died.

“You see, my dear, my name is Jack Daniel’s and I was your mother’s favorite crutch.”

 
* * * * *

Have a lovely weekend!

Best~
Philippa

Follow me on Twitter:  https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Beautiful Mornings

I'm lucky. I know it. There are many beautiful places in the world, many different kinds of beautiful places, and I happen to live in one of them. People come from everywhere to visit Sonoma County and the Napa Valley, and I get to live here.

Is it perfect? No, far from. We have traffic. We have malls and crowds and all the things any suburb anywhere has. We do, however, have little back roads, narrow and winding, quiet and not much more than a single lane where two cars have to inhale and tense inward in order to squeeze by without trading paint.

The other morning I was driving to work, off the freeway and on the two-lane highway that heads up over the hill to Calistoga where I work.  There was an accident. It was raining lightly, the road was slick, and someone had crashed into something. I found the tail end of the cars heading up into the upper canyon. They were stopped as far as I could see and I'm impatient.

I hate traffic. I will cheerfully drive an hour out of my way if I can avoid twenty minutes of traffic, sitting and looking at the bumper in front and lights ahead. Being impatient, I turned around and went back to the little side road on which you clench your backside cheeks around every blind curve and tight and narrow bend because if you meet an oncoming car at anything more than twenty miles per hour, it's a crap shoot which will win. And no one around here drives twenty miles an hour if there's an open stretch of pavement in front of them.

I made it safely and was rewarded. Down the other side, turning onto the still narrower road that would take me to my destination, I breathed a little easier. It's narrower, true, but not as steep and marginally straighter, without the blind curves, cliffs and drop-offs that make the first stretch so hairy.

Driving along I passed through archways of trees, deep green and matte-glossed in mist under the fog. Leaving them I reached a more open stretch and found banks of golden flowers, head-heavy and glorious in the mist.

I didn't have time to stop, but I promised I would yesterday, and I did.

We have broom. Scotch Broom and French Broom. They are non-native and a problem because their oil content makes them very dangerous during our hot summers. If they catch fire, it takes a lot of water to stop them burning. I don't care, though, because in spring they are glorious.



Along the road are bush after bush after bush of broom - nature's serendipitous hedgerow of gold interspersed with the white of blackberry, the pink of sweet peas and purple of morning glory. All the gold is waiting to explode into seeds once the pods are dry and split, as soon as the weather is hot enough.


In a break between them, while I was out of my car and walking, savoring that little bit of time before a day at work, I heard laughter, softened by distance, coming from some house down the valley.


I had been intent on the flowers, on getting my pictures so I could get to work on time, but that little echoing laugh made me look up and out.

Sometimes it's the pause, the moment of looking away from what we're doing, where we're going, that makes a day special.

I hope yours is, today and tomorrow and the next. Take a break, take a pause. Look up and out and savor a brief time out of time. It makes the rest of the day easier.

Best~
Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Simple Gifts

'Simple Gifts' from Aaron Copeland's 'Appalachian Spring' is one of my all-time favorite pieces of music.

Following yesterday's post, I kept thinking about it, about what generated it, what I said, what was said to me and blah, blah, blahdee blah-blah. The result of my musings is the conclusion that people are very lucky when others step up and say, 'hey, wait a minute!'

When someone has the courage to do that, it's a gift, a very great and powerful one because it takes courage, a great deal of courage to call someone out. Particularly when addressing someone you don't know, whom you've only met online.

It's a risk, potentially a big one because you don't know how the recipient will react - whether they'll accept or lash back. Even when your intentions are the best, perception is everything in the vacuum of the internet.

And it is a vacuum. Even though the words are sent out into the universe at large, I don't know where they'll land, who will see them, who will care or who they'll affect. Neither does anyone else have that knowledge. So having someone reach back and say, 'that was wrong' or 'that was great' or 'insightful' or anything else is a gift.

Another gift is the humanity and the humility to be able to say, 'you were right, I was wrong, thank you'. I say this in the purest of general terms - not because I was driven to apologize for having a momentary lapse, but because my situation made me think in a broader, all-inclusive perspective.

For someone to have the courage and the decency to look at oneself frankly, to admit when they're wrong is, as far as I know, a uniquely human characteristic. Not all humans have the ability or the willingness to do that - to accept that they're fallible and able to err. Some people I know don't, others do, and that is where the divide falls. That is where the gift is given.

Not long ago I was in a situation where a group in which I was participating was asked to do something and I was the one given the task of implementing it, which I did. A week later, after having done this, we got together again and the leader of our group said 'hey! what's up with this?' in a not particularly pleasant tone. Naturally, I felt as if I was to blame but no one among the larger group stood up for me and said, 'hey! wait a minute!' I was left hanging out to dry and I resented it.

In an ideal situation, one or another of the group who heard the first direction would have stepped forward right then and said, 'hey! wait a minute!' on their own. That would have encouraged another to join in and right the wrong being perpetrated. No one did, though. I bore the brunt of it and felt hurt and angry and resentful.

Afterward, after considering options and possible results, I sent a message back to the two people who I would have expected would be the ones to step forward and say the 'hey, wait a minute'. In my message, I expressed myself clearly and forcefully, I left nothing I wanted to say unsaid (except the swear words which wouldn't have added anything but spleen and rudeness).

From one I got an apology, which was nice. From the other, a step farther.

My message, originally directed only to the two, was sent to the individual who had stirred my pot. I genuinely do not know what the motivation for forwarding my words to this person were - whether they were a genuine admission of having screwed up, or if there was another motive (to cause me trouble).

But no matter because the end result was a gift.

I received, addressed to the entire group who was present, an apology. That took courage. A great deal of courage and of decency, and it's a lesson well learned.

Never be above admitting when you're wrong. Never be above saying 'I'm sorry' because you do not know, you cannot know how what you did or said affects the other person. It might be a little, it might be a lot.

Saying 'I'm sorry' doesn't undo the wrong or remove the sting or cure the embarrassment. It doesn't change the fundamental, but it is a gift and a great one to bestow because it takes both humanity and humility.

I thank, with a full and open heart, the person who pointed out to me my error and I again sincerely apologize for causing offense. I will try to do better. I will certainly do no worse.

Best~
Philippa

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Through the Glass Darkly - An Apology

One of my favorite books from the King James Bible is Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, the phrase which I used as the title of this post.

Now I promise, I am not going to go off on some religious diatribe, but the line is fitting because I recently got caught in a case of looking through the glass and not seeing what was on the other side. I became so involved in something, too close to something, too bothered by it that, without thinking of the potential broader ramifications, I wrote about it here.

It was wrong of me, as was pointed out very nicely by a sweet lady (thank you!).

Looking at it a couple of days afterward, following receipt of a message from this online acquaintance, the fundamental meaning of what I wrote still holds true - you must pay attention to the little things. However, the larger picture must be considered as well - it wasn't right that I chose to use what I did as an example here, or anywhere else.

As a result, I apologize for saying what I did, for stepping too close to the glass so that my vision was occluded. I have deleted the offending post, even though it's too late. It's a case of had I not posted the same day I wrote it, I probably wouldn't have posted it at all because I would have seen the fundamental flaw.

This goes back to blogging in general. I'm new to this and am prone to mistakes, like the one I made. I knew that you don't post about friends, family, or work. What I didn't consider is how my side of the glass can affect people on the other side, that what I say here will be seen and read and processed by others (hopefully many others, but that's a different subject). It is incumbent on me, then, to be careful and considerate, to think about how my words will be or could be perceived.

Lessons come in many ways, large and small. Some are life changing, some are character changing, and some just smack you upside the head with a 'hey, stupid! Think!'

Today's lesson in consideration and thoughtfulness isn't going to change my life. It affects my character, but more than that, it will make me stop and think about what I am going to say, how what I write about might affect someone else.

My apologies to everyone who read that post and was tweaked, pissed off or moderately bothered by it. I was wrong and I am sorry.

Philippa

In Memorium and a Great Day for Comebacks!

This may seem more than a little insensitive or callous because yesterday was Memorial Day and I'm not writing about that. My view is that it's been better covered than I could ever hope to do from my relatively sheltered place in the world. I did spend time thinking of my Uncle Peter who died in the Pacific in WWII. My grandmother grieved for him three times because twice the Navy department sent a condolence telegram when he was still alive - they just didn't know it. Sadly, the third time was the evil charm and Peter had been killed. I offer my thoughts and prayers for everyone who has lost family members or who is suffering the after-effects of war.

On the flip side, Monday was a great day in my little sports world.  The Giants pulled out a miracle, and the Chicago Blackhawks almost did the same.

In the Giants' game against the Milwaukee Brewers, they were down 4 to 0 early on. It was depressing because it looked like the last two games in Colorado all over again in which they lost 3 to 5 and 2 to 11.  Then, in the sixth inning, their bats came to life. They scored seven runs in the one inning, and held the Brewers to their four runs through the end of the game - really great after getting their collective clock cleaned Sunday in Denver.

In hockey the Stanley Cup playoffs are looming and it's really exciting. I highly recommend that you take a look - for just one period - even if you're not a sports fan. Ice hockey is easily the fastest most exciting sport on two feet. Even when they fight, which isn't as often as I used to think, it's rare for anyone to get hurt because they all have helmets, padding and heavy sweaters (that's what hockey jerseys are called) and thick gloves.

Anyway, in their game against the Anaheim Ducks, the Blackhawks almost pulled a miracle similar to the Giants.

At the end of the first period they were down two goals to zip with only three, just three shots on goal. It was embarrassing. In the second period they came back and tied it, then Anaheim went ahead four to two. We thought the 'hawks were dead, but in the last two minutes they pulled out two goals to tie the game 4 to 4, forcing it into overtime.  Man! It was exciting.

The one thing that I came to realize in watching the game, is the criticality of geometry in the sport. Yep, believe it or not, math is a crucial element in ice hockey.

Now this is gonna get real boring but I find it interesting because it's a matter of different approaches and how they can affect the outcome of a game - even one as important as a playoff game.

Because I noticed the different methods the two goalies have for defending their nets, I checked the NHL regulations online and learned stuff I didn't know, which I'll share in a minute. First, though, the goalies.

Andersen, the goalie for Anaheim, is like a trapdoor spider - he almost always lurks inside the frame of the net, minimizing the clear area for the puck to pass through.

Crawford, the Blackhawks' goalie, almost always comes out into the blue area in front of the net (called the crease which is six feet wide by six feet deep).

So there's the difference and here's the problem:  A regulation hockey net is six-feet wide by four-feet high. The opening, then, is twenty-four square feet.

If Andersen stays inside the frame of the net opening, and he is squatting down to a height of four feet with a width of his shoulders plus sweater, plus pads, etc. of two feet, he is filling - without his stick, arms, gloves and legs - eight square feet or one-third of the area of the net opening. Moving back and forth, he has a much smaller area to defend, and a much greater chance of defending successfully.

When Crawford comes out into the crease (and frequently to the front of it), he leaves the net wide open for the opposing team to score. Each foot he moves away from the frame of the net is the equivalent of twenty-four cubic feet. If he's all the way at the front edge of the blue area - six-feet in front of the net, there is 144 cubic feet of space that he has to defend. Now, allowing his height (which, for the sake of the exercise here we'll say is 6'-6" [I think he's 6'-7" but the math is too hard with that]) and equivalent width (two feet), we're looking at a coverage space of fifteen square feet. But even with rounding that is 1/10th of defensible area - much, much less than Andersen's 1/3 coverage.

So credit where credit is due: with all that potential space, Crawford is incredible. He's a highly effective defense-man and quite possibly, because of his effectiveness, the best in the biz. I mean, if he can defend 144-cubic feet of space well enough that they've gotten this far through their season and the playoffs, he's nothing less than amazing!

Now, though, does anyone have the e-mail address for the Blackhawks?  This is huge in terms of potential for winning the series and going onto the final round. With his incredible abilities in front of the net, what if Crawford stayed home - within two-feet of the opening? Could anyone get around him to score?

Stay tuned - next game between these two teams is Wednesday...

Best~
Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Still Climbing

It's Sunday and I'm back where I was the other day. No idea what to write, but that's okay. It's the exercise, right?

How about I introduce you to my stories and characters? That's as good as anything else, right?  Here goes.

I've retitled 'Lothario & the New Girl' to 'Laurentina's Lessons' for two reasons. First, 'Lothario' isn't widely recognized anymore. People don't get the association or implication. Second, because it's kind of 'too nice', not really what I want. For those reasons, I've changed it to 'Laurentina's Lessons'. Or, to be more accurate, I will after I get the rejection from HC-Oz I'm anticipating.

In sum, this is an erotic romance with a goodly dollop of humor in which the characters have character.

Lacy is smart as a whip and is her own woman, ready to go toe-to-toe with anyone.

Willis is both jaded and naive when it comes to women. He doesn't realize that they are more than a collection of orifices for a man's pleasure.

Sonya is Willis's regular bedmate when he's between lovers. She's a high-end call girl but is always available to Willis because he was the one who helped her get started in her 'profession'.

Laurentina is Lacy's father's mistress and Lacy's surrogate mother. She is the one who teaches Lacy everything she needs to know about men and women. It is her lessons that are scattered through the story. A woman should never wear a watch. A woman is responsible for finding the balance point in her relationships, and managing her man. Women have power, and so on.

Stan is Willis's boss. He likes Willis, but also has some reservations. He knows Willis's reputation with women but doesn't condemn it because Willis is very good at his job and, so long as his peccadilloes don't interfere with business, he overlooks them.

This is primarily the story of Willis and Lacy, his schooling and coming to realize that he has found a woman who is worthy of his tears.


Another book I'm prepping for publication is 'Matters of Friendship'. This is a straightforward Women's Fiction story about a recently divorced woman who is attracted to a male friend who just happens to be married.

NOTE: I do have a name for the main female protag but I am considering changing it. When I began writing this, I wasn't sure I could develop it into something commercially viable so I used my own name as a placeholder. Now, it's coming together and I need to decide on a name - even though I do like aspects of this character's name. In the meantime, though, Name TBD is the female protag.

Name TBD and Peter meet when they work together for a time. They become friends and then, after nearly a year, Name TBD gets terminated because of workforce reductions at their company.

They lose track of one another for a few years. In the meantime, she divorces her husband, buys and renovates a house, and stays in touch with former colleagues from the company where she worked with Peter.

When Karen, Name TBD's friend plans a 'resurrection party' to mark the onset of Name TBD's new single life, Peter is invited but doesn't come. Name TBD learns that Peter's wife has been diagnosed with cancer.

That's where things would remain if Peter didn't show up on Name TBD's doorstep one afternoon. He had learned of Name TBD's divorce and where she lives when Karen dropped by the bike shop Peter and his wife, Lara, own and operate. He was out for a ride and, on a whim, decides to drop in and say hello.

They get to talking and things develop from there. Through various circumstances Name TBD becomes more involved with Peter's family. It's rocky and uncomfortable because of Lara's cancer, Peter's trying to hold things together while being attracted to Name TBD.

One night, about a year after they meet again, her house is broken into. There's a police investigation and all sorts of bad things happen, up to and including the near demolition of Name TBD's house (sorry, no spoilers beyond that).

So that's where my energies are going these days. I also have several others nibbling around the back of my brain.  The sequel to 'Laurentina's Lessons', 'Genevieve's Piano', 'Elizabeth's Braid', 'Downlander', 'Weight of Air' and 'Moments' all have different things perking so I'll see where I end up next.

Have a lovely day!

Best~
Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Treading the Dark Side of the Moon

After yesterday’s post I’ve decided to keep going with this exercise. At the very worst, I’m at least writing – which is what is important to me. At best, I’m getting some reads and, perhaps, some interest.

It’s rather like walking on the dark side of the moon. There’s no light, no detail. I can’t see where I’m going or where I’ve been – it’s a blank because there’s no feedback. It's like being a bat in a soundproof chamber - I can't tell where the walls are, which is up and which is down. All of which is fine because I’ve worked through it and have decided it’s the exercise that matters more than affirmation.

One thing that I have concluded is what has led me to my current state of insecurity.  I’ve just stretched myself too thin. Between commute and work and family and the blog and Flash Fiction Friday (FFF) on Authonomy along with trying to squeeze time from my day to write and edit, it’s just too much. That’s part of my incipient ‘depression’ which led to my half-query / half-whine of yesterday.

I bowed myself out of the FFF this week. I’ll spend time with my coffee cup and computer tomorrow and read and vote, but for today, except for this, I’m taking the day off. I stayed in bed until 9:00 – which is unheard of for me. Even on weekends up usually up and at ‘em by 6:30 or 7:00 at the latest. I puttered around, got my coffee, had my breakfast and now it’s 10:30 and I’ve just started this. I’ll get this posted and then spend my day playing Farm Heroes Saga, Bubble Witch 2 and Papa Pear Saga. Brain on freeze and body on relax.

This afternoon we have a double-header between the Giants and Rockies (Giants won last night!), and there’s hockey.

In the Stanley Cup hockey playoffs we’re rooting for Chicago (Blackhawks) and New York (Rangers). Last night the Rangers won their game against Tampa Bay, tonight the Blackhawks go up against the Anaheim Ducks – a really strong team with a great offense. So, we’ll watch sports and I’ll just veg out.  At least we have sports! Otherwise we would be stuck watching the talking heads on Fox News (pronounced foksnooze – you know exactly what they’re going to say on any given subject, before they say it).

Tomorrow, I’ll take it easy, too. The plan is to wait for the internal well of imaginative thought to regenerate. I’m straining and am in something of a creative drought because I’ve over-done it.

In the meantime, I have a variety of things bubbling on the burner in the back of my head.

There are thoughts for changes for both ‘Matters of Friendship’ and for ‘Genevieve’s Piano’.

I also am debating changes to ‘Laurentina’s Lessons’ (formerly ‘Lothario & the New Girl’) but am resisting that because I am, generally, very happy with it.  It’s a good story as it stands. The changes seem to be changes for change’s sake and it’s my Muse who’s prodding. I just don’t know that they’re needed, so I’ll resist until things settle down and I’m back in my normal Happy Place which looks something like this:

So, now I'm going to have a lovely day and I hope you do, too!

Best~

Philippa

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To Blog, or Not To Blog, That is the Question.

It's a relevant question, and it's a question I have to answer, so I'm going to work through the problem, here, in public because this, writing it out, assessing and analyzing both sides - the cost / benefit of the equation - is the way I work.

A blog is an investment of time and creative energy. Some require intimate knowledge of their subjects and some don't. Mine is a little blog. Intended to divert and entertain, nothing more.

Most mornings I enjoy doing it. I wake up and I'm energized and interested. Other mornings it's a chore because on those mornings I haven't the first foggiest clue what to write about, and then I'm scratching and picking at anything, hoping for a miracle.

However, no matter if it's a pleasure or a chore, it is an investment of time and energy. Quite honestly, it's a sink for my creative juices because what I expend here is not available over there, in my other writings. By the time I finish this, I almost always have nothing left in the tank.

I have maintained this every morning since I began last month. It usually takes me between forty minutes and an hour between the writing, the editing / revising, the posting and the re-posting on Facebook and Twitter. It's a commitment but, most honestly, it seems to be one without return.

There are blogs of every stripe available. Pet blogs, travel blogs, investment blogs, hobby blogs, blogs about blogs and ones like mine so the two related and pertinent questions are:

With so many blogs available out there, why would anyone read mine?

Is expending the limited time I have on a blog that no one reads worth the investment of time and energy?

In answer to the first, beats the hell out of me. I don't generate controversy or promulgate argument or ire. You may not agree with some of the things that I say, but I apparently haven't risen to the level of giving offense because no one's left a comment telling me, in politest terms of course, where I can get off. In the past forty days I've received two comments - neither of which were anything more than a variant of 'good on you but don't let other things slide'. So why would anyone read mine, day after day?  I don't know.

Second, the reason I started this in the first place is that I am planning on self-publishing a book later this year and it's a widely held belief among writers that having a blog creates interest. You get your name out there. You create a following. Ergo, people will buy your book. Seeing the stats on this I'm not so sure.

I think I would have better luck creating interest by standing on a street corner for the forty minutes to an hour this blog usually takes, and engaging strangers in conversation. As it is now, I feel like I'm standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon shouting into the wind, hoping for someone to shout back. It's okay that they don't, but it is a lonely exercise.

Perhaps it's a chicken / egg thing. Perhaps, for some people who have large families and lots of friends who will spread the word and encourage others to drop by it's a good exercise that pays dividends at publication. Perhaps, for people like me with few friends (long story associated with that, but this is neither the time nor the place), whose family is scattered and out-of-touch, who can't build a following via a blog, it isn't the place to start. Perhaps for someone like me, getting the book out there and then creating the blog - the experience of publishing, of marketing and selling and pushing and all the rest - then the blog creates and maintains itself to a degree.

Or, could it be that I've said I would post certain things and I haven't and the few people who've peeked in are disappointed or disillusioned? It's possible. Not at all likely, I don't think, but it is within the realm of possibility. And I'll admit, I said I would but I've been spotty on those - that's my problem but it's not as if I committed to a date certain. Is it that? I don't know.

All I know is that in the past month I was averaging a whopping twelve to fifteen views a day (and I don't think they were mine because I told the hosting site to ignore my computer). The past couple of days it fell off that cliff at the Grand Canyon. Four views on the day before yesterday and two yesterday. It's discouraging and it's made me re-think this entire process.

On the plus side, it is a good exercise. It's almost like writing letters to my Mom - I approach this in much the same way as in my letters to her. I used to type them up on the computer and print them to go into the mail because she didn't have a computer. We finally convinced her to get one about ten years ago (she passed in 2013), and it just wasn't the same. There was a feeling of satisfaction in sealing the envelope, addressing it and dropping it into the mail. But I digress.

On the negative side, it is a big investment of time and energy. Most mornings I sit here scrounging for things to write. It's almost painful - it's not pleasurable when it doesn't flow readily and easily. I put it down, edit and revise and re-edit and then send my 'baby' off into the world where, by and large, it's ignored. So is it worth it?

Not to the general world out there. That's patently obvious. If I stop, I know no one would miss it, but will I?  I'll have to think about that. I'll keep you...er... posted.

All the best~
Philippa

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Wrinkles and Twists and Adventures in Living...

If you’re alive I’m sure you’re like me in that you find somewhere in each new day a brand new adventure. It seems that there’s always something. The truck you get behind that makes you late or the cat puking on the floor just as you’re ready to walk out the door. Misplacing your car keys or something else that trips you up. Maybe it’s after you get to work. You have your day planned out, you know what’s on your list and then … wham! Straight out of left field comes a curveball and you have to flail at it.

Yesterday’s adventure was receiving a call at 11:05 am and being ‘asked’ to turn a project on which I have been working for over a year completely on its head. Just turn it 180° so that instead of driving toward a finite End Date, we have an open ended project.

Internal thought process:  Let's see... eight hundred tasks, one master chart, into which are linked eight subsidiary charts further connected by fifteen child charts...  

Oh, and by the way, can you have it done by nine o’clock tomorrow morning for our Director’s meeting?

What’s a good answer to that one? ‘I’ll get started but can’t promise it’ll be complete…’ That’s what I came up with. And, by focusing on it and coming in a little early it was about 98% done. A few tweaks, minor changes, nothing catastrophic and I will have finished.  Whew! In the meantime, it’s good enough to trot out and put up on the screen for the directors to see and pick at.

Today’s adventure was having the chance to sit in a room of execs – directors and above – and explaining ‘my’ gem to the CEO – a very smart, meticulous and inquisitive man.  He’s exactly the kind of person I like working with because you don’t have to explain things more than once – he gets it first time ‘round. Of course, there are times when he drills deeper than I’m prepared for, but that’s okay, too. It makes me think, to pay closer attention for the next time.

In the end, it was a good morning all around for me. The turning-over task is 98% done. I just have to finish the minor tweaks, which means I don’t have time or need to fret about what isn’t done. The meeting went well with some drilling and I think I tipped the ‘Respect-O-Meter’ to the green side.  It’s all good.

Of course all of this threw my timing off for everything else. My posting this, for instance, but in my part of the world, time is flexible. That’s a valuable lesson I learned early on, when I worked in the international department of a bank. My schedule was tipped on its head for two years when I worked nights – one o’clock in the morning until nine-thirty. That taught me that being caught by morning, noon, evening and night isn’t necessary. I have the power, to an extent, to bend time to my needs – like this morning.

Over the years I’ve also learned not to sweat the small stuff. I don’t always recognize the small stuff the first time it sniffs around, but I usually manage to figure it out. Sometimes before I sweat, sometimes after, but I do usually figure it out. Big stuff, though, yeah, that I can sweat. I can definitely sweat the big stuff right along with the best of ‘em. It takes practice but no one lives a life without practice in that, so I’m there, ready to sweat if and when needed.

One thing that I have trouble with though is learning not to challenge others. If someone tosses something in front of me with which I disagree, I have a heck of a time turning my back on it and just walking away. I don’t know if it’s a character flaw or not, but it does sometimes create unnecessary friction and trouble. It’s just a life lesson still to be learned and I am working on it. The one thing I do know is that we all have things to learn and improve on – it’s part of being alive, so I’ll keep working on it, hoping to achieve perfection (or as close to it as I can come) before my number is called.

So, I’m going to get started on the little tweaks to my project, then start in on the character flaw (there’s an open-ended discussion that’s becoming a circular argument on another website).

Have a lovely day!

Best~

Philippa

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