Chicken, Criswell, All Sorts of Good Stuff

I am so glad the weekend is here. Even though it was a short, four-day week because of the Labor Day holiday, it felt long.

Too many days of temps around 100 or so, too many too warm nights that kept me from sleep. I like between six-and-a-half and seven hours. Four doesn't do it for me and I don't think I got more than three hours straight at any given time this past week. The other four were split between trying to get comfortable and thinking "I have got to get some sleep" and just lying there in defeat while I waited to get drowsy. On hot nights it's a whole lot like doing the hokey-pokey all night long.

Put your left foot out, put your left foot in
Put your right arm out, put your right arm in
Turn it all about
Put the blanket on, put the blanket off
Put the sheet and blanket on, put the... You get the picture.

All while tossing and turning, adjusting the covers - too many, too few, they slipped, they fell.  Annoying. Even with the ceiling fan and the table fan running.

I got so desperate this week that I Googled the best way to cool a room with a table fan. Not sure I believe the result. "They" (Gary Larson's guys in the basement) say that you're supposed to point the fan out - so it draws the hot air from the room and vents it outside.

Tried that for two nights. Didn't feel any cooler. If it does make a difference, it's probably no more than one or two degrees, and I can feel that much cooler with the air drawn in from outside wafting over me. I dunno. All I do know is that it's affecting me.

I put the missing coffee canister lid (which was found, by my hubby, on the counter - where I would stake my life I had looked about eighty-eight dozen times the other morning), the fact that I nearly slept through my alarm yesterday, the fact that I forgot my chicken in the microwave yesterday morning, etc. down to sleep deprivation.

Well, I am looking forward to October and the cooler weather. No doubt, as we usually do, we'll get more warm days and nights between now and then, but with shorter days already starting, the cooler nights are worth waiting for.

Oh, and about that chicken. Just in case you're worried about my dietary habits (probably not, but oh well), I don't microwave chicken except to reheat it. I'm not into eating rubber - even though it probably would provide weight loss benefits from the chewing and attempts at digestion.

No, what happened was that we had those steaks on Monday night. I had some chicken defrosting that afternoon and hubby suggested that he toss it on the grill after cooking the steaks. Great idea! Nothing I like better than BBQ chicken, so we did.

Unfortunately, even though the grill was still hot, the chicken didn't cook all the way through. The outside looked perfect but when I got a piece to work for lunch on Tuesday, it was just about raw inside. Thank goodness for my penchant for using knives and forks! If I had bit into it I probably would have had an unfortunate consequence.

So, I cut, it "bled" (not really, but it was really red inside). To make that edible, I nuked the heck out of it and thought I would shoot him an e-mail: 'please take the chicken out of the fridge, I have to recook it'.

Didn't. Tired, lazy, sleep deprived, whatever the reason, I didn't do it. Or on Wednesday, or Thursday. Just carefully nuked the next piece of chicken each day - probably more than needed, but safe / sorry, etc.

Finally, yesterday morning, I got off my lazy drowsy sleep deprived backside and nuked the four pieces that are left for three minutes. Then I promptly forgot the casserole dish in the microwave.

I had thought I'd let the heat work all the way through while I set up the coffee for hubby, and then move it to the fridge. Didn't. I forgot about it, ran around, left for work and it sat there until hubby came downstairs an hour later. He discovered it and nuked it for another three minutes. Then he sent me an e-mail about it.

Well, one thing's for sure, that chicken's dead. And somebody's responsible.

And that, my friends, is an almost blatant plagiarism from Plan 9 from Outer Space by Ed Wood, Jr. - one of the stupidest and unintentionally funniest movies ever made.

If you want to see the original (and I highly recommend you do) - I promise your jaw will drop in disbelief if you pay close attention, listen to and think about what's said in these clips from the movie. It's five minutes long so grab a favorite beverage, your bestest buddy, and spend a few minutes. You (probably) won't be disappointed. Just be prepared for mind-bendingly stupid...

My friends....

Oh! And one other bit of trivia about that opener: Criswell did exist - he's not a made up dude from an over-fevered imagination. He was real and even wrote a book called 'Criswell Predicts' (long story for another time).

Have a lovely weekend!

Best~
Philippa

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

Monday Morning Catch-up

So much stuff. Just all sorts of odds and ends, loose flappers hanging out there after the culinary exercise of yesterday.

I got to bed later than I should have last night - nearly 10:30 - so I'm just on the narrow edge of being tired. Not really tired, just almost, aware of it.

There's no good reason for that, but hubby seemed a bit testy when I was thinking of going upstairs. Our cat, Sam, got restless at about nine o'clock and started crawling all over me. It's his normal, 'Mom, I'm tired. Can you put me to bed now?' routine so I got up to put him to bed.

'Where are you going?'

'I'm putting Sam to bed.'

'No you're not. You're going upstairs to go play on that damned computer.'

Apparently he didn't see that 'damned computer' was closed and sitting on the coffee table while I had a cat and his blanket in my arms.

'No, I'm putting the cat to bed and I'll be back.'

'Why now? It's only nine-fifteen.'

'I have a cat crawling all over me, sticking his nose in my face. He wants to go to bed. I'll be back when I'm done.'

'Good night.' in snotty tone.

Given that, it was easier to stay up than have our evening devolve into any more of a stupid argument so, despite the fact that I would have preferred to go to bed, I got Sam set up and went back downstairs.

An hour later, when I think it's safe, I get up to go to bed and he says, 'I didn't expect you to stay up this late. Nine-thirty would have been okay.'

Uh... Cat-to-bed took fifteen minutes so I would have come back downstairs, said 'good night' and had an argument if I had gone to bed at nine-thirty. Sometimes I just can't win for losing.

So I went up to bed. Got to sleep and woke up a little later because I was too hot. Blankets off, overhead fan on, reposition and fall asleep again. Then, at 12:38, some idiot in the condo complex across the parkway decided it was a brilliant time to light off left-over fireworks. Not firecrackers. Fireworks. The kind that fly up into the sky and burst, like a child's version of the real grup fireworks that go off after baseball games, for Fourth of July, etc.

Hubby came in to make sure that the fireworks hadn't woken me by saying, 'I hope they didn't wake you up.'

So many answers to that, but I bit my tongue and muttered something. I'm not even sure what, but he left and I got back to sleep. For a little while, before I got too hot (I had pulled the blankets back over me at some point).

Hot - cold - hot - cold all night.

Needless to say, the past eight hours haven't been ideal and I'm starting my Monday off a little tired. It'll be okay, but I could do with more sleep. Maybe tonight? Maybe not. It's supposed to warm up this week, into the 90's tomorrow through Friday. Oh yay. Hot days and warm nights and not a lot of good sleep.

Geez. What a whiner I am this morning!

Oh, and here's another one for you. You know that story I've been talking about for the past few days? The one with all the adverbs that's in need of a good edit?

Well, I've gotten up to chapter seven and have been taking out almost all the adverbs that I've found. I also took out all that excess back-story that isn't relevant to this one except as set-up. Now, instead of being at 119,059 words, I'm up to 119,700 something. I'm not even sure how that happened but there  I am and, at this point, I've boxed myself into a corner.

See, my MC is married and miserable in it. She's written a book about which her husband sneers and basically says 'it's crap'. Still, the book is good enough that it's gotten attention. First, on local morning programs, then L.A. and New York and, from there, she's invited to an interview in London. What she doesn't know is that the host of the London program has a trick up her sleeve.

Along with my MC, this morning show host has invited the man upon whom my MC has modeled the main male character in her book. It's the kind of prank this woman likes to play on her guests. Because the man is successful, high-profile, wealthy and famous, there's going to be traction around the viewers' breakfast tables, and friction when the trick is played, and great ratings.

My MC is introduced and the interview starts. They're in the middle of it when, from the wings, comes this man. Of course, my MC is stunned, shocked, humiliated and all the horrible sick sinking feelings anyone normal would have in a situation like that. Imagine it. You've been talking about this person, saying how attractive you think they are, that you've fantasized about them and taken your impressions of them and used them in a story. Then boom, without warning, you're confronted by them.

You can't run away. You're standing in the middle of a television studio with the cameras rolling, publicly humiliated, and you have to just suck it up and stick it out. First, you just stare at him, like Bambi in the high-beams. Then your brain kicks in - you've opened yourself up, made yourself vulnerable by speaking as you have, even though nothing bad was said. It's just that inner you who's standing naked on the stage.

This person sees that you're all screwed up and takes pity.

So that's the set-up. From there, they get to talking. She shows she has spunk and character, sticks the moment out and turns it around.

The interview ends and this man invites my MC to breakfast. He doesn't have anything on schedule that morning, he hates being bored, and he's interested in hearing more about her.

Nothing untoward, nothing too far fetched. They have breakfast and spend the morning together. While they're talking, he becomes more intrigued by her and about the stories she's written. When they get back to her hotel where he'll drop her off, he invites her to dinner. She accepts. That evening, he flys her to his villa in France - the one with the lovely swimming pool, deck and lawn. (Trust me, it's integral to the story thus far.) They have dinner, still talking like good friends.

During dinner she talks about some erotic art she included in the story that got her to where she is. There's nothing described in either story, nothing explicit, but he's curious about them, asks to see them. After dinner they go inside, she gets on the internet and shows him.

His actions, moving closer, leaning over her, almost touching her, make her nervous (read 'aroused'). He backs off and offers her a chance to go for a swim. She takes him up on it, hoping the water is cold (you know, the cold shower routine). After her swim, she goes to lie on the lawn under the stars and watch the Milky Way float by. He joins her and that's where I am, in my corner.

I have two options with this. I can make her out to be an adulteress who no one will respect. Or I can take her right up to the edge of the abyss and deny her the jumping off. Which, the more I think about this, is the way I'm going to play it.

Hey! Thank you. That was a great help and my way is clear.

I'm off to get started on this and I hope you have a lovely day!

Best~
Philippa

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

Sleepless Nights and Other Musings

Sometimes my brain gets so cluttered with stuff I have trouble setting it aside for more than a couple of hours. Which is fine until I go to bed and try to sleep.

At two o'clock in the morning, though, it's not quite so peachy. Couple that with a really good dinner of which I ate more than I should have and I end up with a sleepless night.

Guess what! I'm at the tail end of one and I'm not pleased. I'm not displeased, just not pleased. Mildly bothered and mostly resigned are probably the best descriptions.

It's Monday. I have to go to work and pay attention. It'll be fine for the next few hours, but I know that by about two o'clock this afternoon my tail is gonna be draggin' and I'll probably want to go straight to sleep when I get home at six. Which, if I could follow my inclination, would then screw up my sleep patterns for the rest of the week. However, I have family commitments and obligations, so I'll stay up until my normal bedtime of about nine-thirty, fighting the urge to just go to sleep on the sofa.

It's just that there's just stuff going on. Big stuff, little stuff, all together too much stuff. There's work stuff, home stuff, life stuff - too much in everything and it's all piled in the middle of my life-room.

Compelled to dig through it and try to understand the whys, the implications - what does this mean to me? - and all the rest, my brain wouldn't quit.

Couple that with a really excellent dinner, a tad too much of everything and an unpleasant over-full feeling that's still with me this morning (yes, I did eat too much). Recipe for a sleepless night.

Change is hard. We've just had a major change at work at the same time that my position is undergoing a change.

The first wasn't that much of a surprise to me. I didn't see it coming, but when it came I wasn't terribly surprised and I recognized the reasons for it.

The second is exciting, but it's also confusing. The needs and expectations that I see are completely different from what the people directing my effort seem to see, and I don't know if I'm misunderstanding or if they're not seeing the same thing I am. It'll take a conversation, a clarification, and all will be right with the world. It's just that unsettling feeling of being adrift on a raft that's tipping around while I try to balance, to find that sweet middle spot.

Then there's the writing.

I get bored easily. When I spend too much time doing the same thing I get really bored, so when I spend a lot of time on one story or book it gets stale and I don't want to do it anymore. At least for a time.

That doesn't mean I won't finish it (and I don't believe anything a writer creates is ever really finished). It just means that once I start editing I'm never satisfied. Even when I think I am satisfied, that it's as good as it's going to get and I put it on the shelf, my mind will still riffle the pages and think, 'what if I do that?'

That's where I am with 'Laurentina's Lessons'. I've already decided to change the title, after the book was "finished". Now I'm thinking of eliminating the first chapter and capturing that detail later in the story. But that creates problems of its own.

If I do change it, I'm the one who will notice. No one else will care.

If I don't change it, no one else will care but it will still (probably) bother me.

Is it crucial? No! Not at all. So why am I thinking of changing it? Because I can, mostly, but also because while it sets the story up, introduces the characters, their place and relative situations, it doesn't really do anything to get the story started.

I'm also a little concerned about the length. The first book that I wrote was, literally, nearly one million words. Not individual characters in the text. I am speaking of individual words.

I have learned, since then, the beauty of brevity. How to separate wheat - the important stuff in the tale - from chaff - the stuff that can be blown away with no one else noticing. I have also learned to balance my inherent wordiness with pithiness to relate my stories in fewer and better chosen words.

'Laurentina's Lessons' is about 62,000 words - about 13,000 words shorter than it 'should' be by the measuring sticks I've found relating to 'ideal' book lengths.

13,000 words is a lot of words. It takes a lot of effort to generate that many words and make them flow logically, to make sense within the framework of the story, and to add something interesting that doesn't detract from something else. So, if I remove the current chapter one, which is about 1,500 words, I am then faced with creating a meaningful, interesting hodgepodge of engaging story that's almost 15,000 words long. A challenge, and not necessarily a good one.

'Matters of Friendship' is back on the shelf for the moment and I've picked up on my personal favorite of my stories, one that's never seen the light of day. I'm enjoying working on it, applying what I've learned since I last touched it and seeing it take on another layer.

So, with all of this flowing and drifting is it any wonder I didn't sleep? Nope. I didn't think so.

Have a lovely day! Take a nap for me, if you can...

Best~
Philippa

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