“What do you see?”

Billie was staring straight at me, as I had stopped mid-sentence to stare at this anomaly, and try to get my brain to decipher what it was. She said it with an almost breathless excitement, yet she didn’t bother to turn around. Right as she spoke, the light vanished.

“Uh, I, uh, it was, hmmmm…”

I didn’t want to say something and sound like a crazy person. Little did I know there was zero chance of that ever happening around her, as she had already taken the top crazy prize at the awards show that year.

“It’s okay,” she said soothingly, “Stuff happens here all the time.”

“Stuff?” Now I was becoming concerned. Or should I say, more concerned. The incarcerated animal display had already been rather concerning. “What kind of stuff?”

She had a sly smile on her face, as if she perhaps held the secrets to the lost treasures of Atlantis. Come to think of it, perhaps she did.

“This house is haunted. Bizarre things happen here all the time. So – what did you see?”

“It was a light floating across the yard, but it was high up…”

Suddenly we were interrupted by the dogs going completely berserk. Billie leaped up and flung the door open, racing outside to begin shrieking at them. I heard a wild crashing noise, as if someone were tearing through some bushes, a scream, and then mere seconds later, Billie ran back in, shut the kitchen lights off and yelled “HIDE!”

The Legendary Michigan Dogman - follow his movements here: http://michigan-dogman.com/wordpress/

She raced out of the kitchen, leaving me sitting in the dark with the back door wide open. I dove under the kitchen table – really, the refrigerator didn’t seem to be a good option – and huddled close to the wall listening to the utter melee going on outside. I expected some wild beast, man or dog, or possibly even mandog, to come in at any moment and rip me to pieces. I couldn’t believe this was even happening. I just wanted to make fifty bucks off some old jewelry for chrissakes.

Then I could hear voices. Someone – a man – was yelling for someone to get the dogs. Then there was a banging on the door from the front part of the house. Oh God. What the hell was going on? The kitchen light flew back on.

“Wren, are you in here?”

Suddenly feeling like a raging idiot, I crawled out from under the kitchen table. In my terror, I hadn’t even considered the consequences of the grimy animal-christened floor.

Billie looked at me, two uniformed police officers standing next to her.

“What on earth were you doing down there?”

As usual, I had an expert answer. “I, uh, well uh, you said…”

“Oh, never mind. The officers want to get your statement.”

My WHAT?!

“Statement?” I said, starting to get a little miffed. “About what? I have no idea what even just happened!”

“Calm down Miss,” replied one of the officers. “We just want to know what you saw.”

I sighed.

“Okay. There was a light floating in the backyard. It was about eight feet off the ground, if I were to guess. It was traveling at about this rate of speed…” I gestured helpfully with my hands. Billie stood behind them slowly shaking her head, eyes wide as if to indicate for me to shut up.

The officer who had questioned me turned to Billie. “Is she like the other one – the girl from another planet?”

“No officer,” said Billie, “She’s a business acquaintance, but I don’t think she saw anything, did you?”

I shook my head, giving up on this entire episode.

Finally, they all left. I sat in the kitchen in semi-shock, mulling what had just occurred over in my head and waiting for Billie to return and give me something resembling an explanation for what had just happened.

“That was close,” said Billie, plopping down on a kitchen chair. “I was terrified they were going to say something about the animals.”

“The animals? Are you kidding me? What the hell just happened back there? Why did the police show up?”

Billie looked at me, confused. “Oh! That. Well, there was this naked guy who got into a fight with another guy in the neighbor’s yard. He stabbed the guy he was fighting with, and then jumped over the wall into my yard to get away.”

“I see,” I said, trying to remain calm. “So naked stabby guy could’ve come bursting through the back door here when you left it open – would that be correct?”

“Did I leave the door open? Huh. Well, the police said another unit was close to tracking him down, so it should be fine now.”

“Right. I just remembered that I have to leave.”

I hustled out of there as quickly as I could, Billie back to wanting to haggle over rhinestone baubles, me telling her I’d call her later.

I meant to never call her again. Who needs this kind of drama? Well, maybe I didn’t need the drama, but I sure needed the cash. And in reality, she wasn’t that different from what I was used to. Like I said, I was bred on kooky, on functioning insanity and those who only dealt with reality as a last resort. The next couple years I spent with her lived up to those expectations splendidly. I even have a small one inch scar on my leg as a souvenir of those times.

More on the saga of crazy Billie next week….

As I said in my last post, I needed to find new and creative ways to sell my stuff. Fortunately, I had caught on fast and was able to find things such as an antique pen in a leather case at the bottom of a box at a yard sale for a quarter, and then sell it to an antique pen dealer for $85. But sometimes I just didn’t have a connection for some of my things. So when it got a little slow, I turned to my friend The Recycler.

Now, you could put in free ads as a private party, but dealers were supposed to pay for ads. That sort of didn’t work for my whole “I-have-no-budget” lifestyle. So, I was careful to only put in a few items every once in a while, and use my home number as a contact. Then I would meet the person at a coffee shop or something to see if we could strike a deal. I was only able to do this with things where I had such a huge margin (like the pen) that I could afford to let it go at a steal.

This is how Billie came into the picture. It seemed that Billie had the same strategy for using The Recycler. She was definitely a dealer, she just didn’t have a shop. She would buy and sell to various dealers, and made her living that way. I would find out later that she was a widow with a home in the somewhat tony area of Sherman Oaks, someone who believed she would marry Clint Eastwood one day because of one look they once shared, an alcoholic, an animal hoarder, and insane. But the night I met her, I learned something even more disturbing about her.

Typically, dealers have a specialty that they focus on. This way, you can know a lot about this one area, and spot a deal from a mile away. Billie’s first love and expertise was jewelry; I had a similar inclination. She answered my  for some signed rhinestone jewelry from the forties and fifties, and we met at a Mexican restaurant in the Valley to see if we could do business. She asked me up front if I was a dealer, and assured me that it was fine, she was too and did the same thing. The transaction was fantastic, and we both felt we could do business again.

She also gave me the impression of being a little kooky, but I had been bred on kooky. She was in her mid-forties, at least twenty years older than me, but still dressed in super tight jeans and these blousy tops to hide the giant midriff roll she had to yank up to fit in the jeans, that was then oozing out the top. She spoke in a sort of breathless Marilyn Monroe voice, but was far from looking the part. She also smoked constantly.

Once we did a few more deals at various restaurants, I was comfortable enough – and wanting to avoid anymore restaurant bills eating (haha) into my profits – to just meet her at her house. She had a nice little three bedroom bungalow that was where she and her late husband had lived. He died under somewhat mysterious circumstances. She said he went to sleep and just never woke up again. I hate to sound cruel, but once I got to know her, saw ( and smelled) all the animals, and found out about her weird house, well…I might have also just gone to sleep and never woken up. She claimed the doctors could never give an explanation as to what happened. In retrospect, this could have also been one of her dramatic stories – akin to the “Clint Eastwood glance” – that she liked to tell.

When I arrived that first evening, I was given the official animal instructions. The healthy cats (about a dozen) were kept in the bathroom off of the hall. I should never, ever open that door. It was imperative that she control where they went, so that they wouldn’t get mixed in with the ones that had distemper, or some other incurable kitty sickness. Those cats were kept in cages out on the patio where she had built a big area with rabbit hutches (with many rabbits), and were gated from the rest of the yard where the outdoor dogs were. Yes, there were indoor dogs. I forget exactly the difference between the outdoor dogs and indoor dogs, but it may have been a size thing. One exceptionally chosen and blessed dog – a whippet that shivered and shook constantly – was given the coveted spot on her bed. Maybe it sensed the dead husband vibes, who knows.

There was a continuous cycle of moving these animals around. She would corral the indoor dogs into a room with much chasing and yelling, then twice a day open the bathroom door for the cats and scream “OUT!”, and they would pour out to their bowls in the kitchen. They would then get about fifteen minutes of in-house freedom, and then she would scream “IN!”, and they would all race back to the bathroom. It was actually quite amazing. She would do a similar routine with the dogs, so that the indoor ones could at least shit outside occasionally.

Billie claimed that she had saved every one of these creatures from a horrible fate at the hands of some other horrid pet owner or pound, or that they were strays she had rescued. She used the word “rescued” a lot. It’s amazing to me that I didn’t fully grasp just how cruel she was being to these animals, but at the time, she was such an animal rights expounder, and constantly talking about how she had “saved” these animals, that I somehow thought she was doing a good deed. Plus, there weren’t reality shows about animal hoarders back then. Sometimes television just has to tell you what to do.

Okay, so the same night I met the menagerie, I also met Starchild. This wasn’t her real name, and what I mean is, she really wasn’t using her real name. She was using her alien name. Starchild was  renting a room from Billie, who was finding it harder and harder to make the mortgage payment. This young girl was about my age, and was some type of artist, but really, other than hide in her room for days without emerging, I’m not entirely sure what she did.

So after some awkward introductions and unintelligible comments from Starchild, we retreated to the kitchen to conduct our business. It was at the back of the house, with a door leading to the backyard where the outdoor critters were. Another door I should never, ever open. Every time one of the outside dogs would bark, she would freak-out and scream at them to “SHUT UP!”. She said she didn’t want the neighbors to complain about the noise. The only thing the neighbors were likely to complain about was the incessant screeching. For someone with such a quiet voice, she could really shred the decibel levels when she wanted to.

Yet none of this craziness prepared me for the next phase in my relationship with Billie. As I sat at the kitchen table that night, I was facing the window to the backyard. She was facing me, with her back to the window. It was pitch black out, and halfway through our negotiations, I saw it.

(To be continued next week)

I’ve always had my own businesses, in one form or the next. When I say “always”, there is very little in the way of exaggeration there. I figured out when I was a kid that random strangers would buy my old crappy stuff if I threw it on the lawn of my parents house, and hung up a few “Yard Sale” signs. And so it began. How can I get people to give me money for stuff? There really should have been an intervention for me somewhere along the way. Or possibly a complete college education. Taking unrelated college courses because they look interesting, doesn’t necessarily add up to the coveted  diploma.

When I was around 22 years old, I began my first real business. There were business licenses and sales tax filings; I even went to official city buildings that made you do official business-like things. This brick and mortar business was located in the city of Tujunga, in Southern California. I opened it  with a friend who had more of an “if they give us cash that’s ok, but I just think it’s cool we have a shop” sort of attitude, whereas I had more of the “I NEED MORE CASH” way of thinking. I soon spotted an opportunity.

Our landlords were two eccentric gay men who were more sexually turned on by antique furniture than they were each other. Possibly it was the way they dressed (70′s polyester brown plaid bell-bottoms with bright orange and pink Hawaiian shirts – or some variation thereof) that made broken up Victorian sideboards appear so much more appealing, but it’s hard to say. All I knew was that they had an amazing shop filled with all sorts of interesting and mysterious objects. However, said shop was hardly ever open.

“Why is the shop closed all the time?” I asked landlord one – let’s call him Larry.

“Oh, well, we have no one to run it. The girl that was supposed to be running it never shows up. We agreed to let her have the shop for no rent, all she had to do was open for regular business hours, and we would give her ten percent of whatever she sold. So we closed it when she stopped coming in.”

“I see,” I said, my mind threatening to explode from all the visions of entrepreneurial greatness that were sprouting up. ”What if I did that for you, and you also allowed me to sell my own stuff – no furniture, don’t fear.” (I could see his face pale at the mention of me hocking my wares.)

We came to an agreement. I would be the new proprietor of the Old Country Store. Now all I had to do was learn all about antiques and collectibles – of which I had zero knowledge – and tell my friend and partner at a Boutique Unique that I was abandoning her to loll around with the increasingly questionable merchandise she saw fit to bring in.

I was sort of a bitch when I look back on it. I suppose if we had been more of the same mind-set, it would’ve helped. It’s just that she was happy to strip the thorns off of $5.00 a dozen baby roses at 4:00 in the morning, and  offer for sale weird old used plaster clown statues that she would mark at $2.00. Then we would sell a piece of restored (their real talent I believe) antique furniture that we had on consignment from the landlords for $500, and pocket $50; well it just made more economic sense to me to go the antique route.

There was a little bit of a Lucy/Ethel moment when for the first month we had a “Who has the best deal at their shop” war – since the shops were right across the street from one another – but we eventually went back to being buddies. Probably the fact that we also lived across the street from each other and our husbands and kids were friends, well, what can you do? We had to kiss and make up.

I absorbed all that I could about antiques and collectibles. I became a dealer. I was voracious at the weekly yard sale and estate sales. Other dealers began to recognize me and say “Let’s move on, Wren is here” if they saw me when they pulled up at a sale. They would assume all the good deals had already been snapped up by me.  They were right.

Something in my brain triggered into overdrive in these heady first few months. I have to succeed, I have to succeed, I have to succeed. It was like some sort of perverted mantra that I couldn’t control. It would be humiliating and unacceptable if I were to fail. If a day went by – and frequently did – when no one came in, I panicked.

To give you perspective, this was  – and primarily still is – a sleepy little town deep in the foothills of the San Fernando Valley of the Los Angeles area. When I had my shop on Commerce Ave., the freeway that connected the Valley to Pasadena - the 210 – had just been open only four or five years. Prior to that, you had to drive a little highway to even get there at all. It’s history was as a tubercular and asthmatic destination early on (“Mountains of Health”), and a resort hangout for some of Hollywood’s finest. Clark Gable and Carole Lombard had a ranch nearby in Shadow Hills.

Here is a great link to Old Towne – where my shop was located: http://commerceavenuetujunga.com/historic-olde-towne/

My shop was on the left, about where the car is parked. If you go to the above link, my shop would have been one of the meat markets - I used the old locker for storage.

As the years progressed, it lost its value as a resort.  In the sixties, the bikers and hippies took over. The famous stone houses that were built there from the local river rocks began to crumble – one was used as Dennis Hopper’s home in “The River”, and was destroyed after filming. Families tried to build year round homes on oddly misshapen lots, but it was years before subdivisions were put in. The first neatly parceled neighborhoods could only find room in the upper foothills overlooking the mish-mosh of residences below. One of those first subdivisions was home to E.T. Hollywood loved Tujunga, but antique buyers, not so much.

From the MCA/Universal Film E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial

This meant – with no advertising budget whatsoever as I was making up this whole business-owner thing as I went along – that I had to be creative. Fortunately, this was something I knew about. My acting lessons, singing, story writing and performing were more conducive to creative than practical thinking. I had to think outside of the box, since I couldn’t afford the damn box.

That was when I met her.

(To be continued next week)

As long as we’re on the subject of this film, I do want to point out that it is not a typical action thriller. Even though Liam Neeson is so bad-ass that he makes bad-ass cower in the corner, there is a heavy philosophical undertone that is not typically Hollywood. The film is based on the short story (ya’ see short story writers – it’s not just novels that rule the world!) ”Ghost Walker” that one of the screenwriters, Ian Mackenzie Jeffers wrote. The story truly makes you consider life, death, and how we choose to fight for our right to exist. Heavy man. Definitely not typical Hollywood. I worry about this film’s prospects though, as it was marketed to appeal more to the Action/Thriller crowd. ”Hey dudes, how about a nice exciting film about the underlying layers to the meaning of life with intense metaphysical takes on death? Then we can grab a couple brewskys and shoot some pool after.” Hmmm…

I am also currently reading the final installment of the Hunger Games trilogy, “Mockingjay”. Hey – we’ve been through this before – I get around to stuff when I’m ready, not necessarily when everyone else is obsessing over it. The fact that I made it to a film on opening night for the first time since “Return of the King” is about all I can handle in the being-up-to-date department. Which reminds me – less than 11 shopping months before The Hobbit opens!

Okay, I’m back. For those of you woefully behind the bestseller times – such as myself – The Hunger Games is a YA dystopian trilogy that is going to emerge  in theatres soon. I think they may be trying to turn this franchise into the next Twilight phenomena. God help us – they’d better not ruin it. They have an excellent actress playing the lead (Jennifer Lawrence) and the author (Suzanne Collins) is contributing as a screenwriter. We may be safe.

The books are excellent. Suzanne Collins has said in several interviews that she doesn’t write about adolescents; she writes about what war does to adolescents. The central theme to these books is very much one of survival; again, fighting for one’s right to exist, to stave off death. The choices that each individual makes are not only the difference between you surviving, but another person dying.

The similarities in theme between both The Grey and The Hunger Games cannot be denied. Neither Hero/Heroine of these stories is magically endowed with awesomeness, they are not super heroes. They are everyday people with checkered, difficult pasts that exist in challenging and depressing circumstances that find themselves tested to their limits. Neither of these characters give in. They fight, not only against the odds thrust at them, but against their own personal doubts about the sanctity of their own lives. Can I hear another “heavy man” from the audience?

Yet, these are not depressing stories at all. Hard to believe, right? Yes, they do make you think because they are not cardboard stereotypical beautiful or magic people. They inspire because they are so relatable.  You feel if they can transcend these outrageous circumstances, than you can probably get it together enough to pay your utility bill on time this month. Because seriously, if Batman gets pummelled by Ra’s al Ghul, there’s no way that I can possibly be expected to achieve much with my limited skills. I told you Liam Neeson was bad-ass. 

I like that the characters in The Grey and The Hunger Games are real. It gives me hope.

The other part to this production plan was to limit my blog posts here to once a week. That means when I post, I really want to make it count. I’ve had to consider why I started to blog in the first place, and exactly what making it count might mean to me. One of the long-term goals I originally set for myself as a writer was to be a memoirist. That is actually what got me back into the serious writing fray, and continues to nag at me. The writers that pop into my head when I try to picture where I would like to be placed are Augusten Burroughs, David Sedaris, Phillip K. Dick, Suzanne Collins, Margaret Atwood and Stephen King.

I’m all over the map here, I know.

But things have become so cool and mellow for me these last few years, that the previous junkyard of my existence stands out in obvious relief. What used to be just a typical hodge-podge of psychodrama, nutjobs, bizarre occurrences and stupidity, has morphed into the daily life of someone who isn’t on the brink of either despair, serious meltdown or yet another asshole boyfriend. Never mind the music business. That was its own daily fresh hell. When you mixed all of that together, it made for a, shall we say, “challenging” lifestyle. It just isn’t like that anymore.

This has given me that fun little device known as perspective. I see things now how they really were – or at least – how I view they really were. It’s a whole other realization baby! Sometimes the memories hit me like a whack in the face or punch in the gut.  They range from dreadful to hilarious, but they are never mundane in emotion. I have wanted to lay these moments bare for a long time.

So, If  I’m only going to post here once a week, I intend to start taking the notebooks and journals I’ve been scribbling in for a while, and try to make some sense of what happened to me in the first 40 years of my life. Yeah, I know. Good luck with that. I’m not going to blog my memoir here, far from it, but I want to explore some of the different scenarios I’ve been through, even if it’s just in the form of reminiscing. The idea is that it would eventually lead me to that place down the line where I could actually make the memoir part of my production schedule.

On that note, my alter-ego needs to get back to work – and pay some more of the bills around here!

Now that I’ve actually got my foot – or perhaps just my big toe – in the publishing door, it would be the height of stupidity not to take the proverbial ball and run with it. This is exactly the type of stupidity I have been known for in the past, and am not at all anxious to repeat. Especially at this stage of the game – I don’t have forever here folks.

The result is that I have had to take a hard look at the relatively small amounts of time that I actually get to write. In between the writing I need to stay in touch with my alter-ego’s blog, facebook, twitter, promo and review opportunities. There’s also the matter of my family and this 40 hour-plus job I show up at every week. We discussed what stories/novels I’m working on and want to work on this year. It soon became way too obvious that I have too much on my plate. So we made a list. We checked it more than twice, and we drew a red line through the things that needed to be let go for now.

I’d quit my job, but I’m too fond of food and shelter. I know, so greedy. I need to spend time with my family – they are the only thing that keeps my tenuous hold on sanity. I also need to continue to produce material in the genre that I’m currently successful in. With all of that in mind, I’ve let go of some things that I had planned on doing in 2012.

The first would be that I’m not submitting anything to Rain Magazine, a literary journal that has published me the last couple years. That was tough – but I don’t have anything ready to submit, and I would have to start from scratch, or work on something I already have going. In other words, not generate any content under my pseudonym while working on that - and she has some hard deadlines that John and I agreed on. I also have a couple other contests that I typically enter in, such as Writer’s Digest, Women on Writing Flash Fiction, Glimmer Train, and I had an invitation to submit to the Glass Woman Prize for being a first reader in their last contest. I will not be doing any of those things for this year. I will also likely be only blogging once a week here so that I can stick to my schedule.

But I do have plans to finish my NaNo novel and submit it to my publisher. Finish my series that I currently have up on Amazon. Submit to my editor for at least two submission calls the publishing company has out. And finish at least one short/novella a month, using the already-begun material that is festering in my computer. This along with all of the other afore-mentioned stuff. The reality is that I had to make hard choices. The other reality is that I will forever be a shirt-folder unless I make it happen as a writer. If my alter-ego rescues me from retail hell, then I bet she’ll let me put a chunk of time into my Wren Andre projects. I know her pretty well, and she’s cool like that.

Finally, I couldn’t do it without my family’s support – especially John – he is so amazing. I know he realizes that already, and I run the risk of making his head explode with his awesomeness, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. My daughters – and fellow artists – are a continuous source of inspiration to me. I also have to say that it’s been an unbelievably wonderful experience commiserating and meeting so many other writers and book-lovers online. You guys rule! Every one of you makes me want to keep pushing through when I’m so exhausted all I want to do is watch something stupid on T.V. and pass out when I come home. Thank you. I really couldn’t do it without you.

http://sherry-roberts.com/2012/01/meet-spider-whisperer-and-writer-wren-andre/

And while you’re there, you really should check out her blog, and look into getting your very own copy of “Book of Mercy”. It is available from Amazon in print and Kindle versions:

http://www.amazon.com/Book-Mercy-Sherry-Roberts/dp/0963888048/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1325914907&sr=1-1

The story centers on a woman in the small North Carolina town of Mercy, who has no idea she is about to disrupt the plans of a group of ladies who are intent on ridding the school library of “undesirable” (in their eyes) books. Sherry tackles the very serious subject of book banning with a great dose of humor. This is a recommended read!

I also recommend that I get some sleep tonight. But first – I must go and save my spider friends from certain annihilation at the hands of John’s slipper!

Resolutions remind me of giant fail opportunities. A list of over-the-top goals that I will never reach this year, or any other year, and will be broken one by one within the first 72 hours of the first glow of 2012. Probably people who are more mature and grounded than I am, have the opposite view; they likely see resolutions as their moment to shine in the new year, to get a head start on being as fabulous as ever. I might feel more fabulous once the family and I go out and eat a large platter of Mexican food at El Mariachi Loco today. Or perhaps not.

What I do like to do at the start of the new year however, is to reflect. To take a moment and look back at the good, bad and atrocious of how last year went. To remember who I am and what I’m about, and where I was last year at this time. Then there’s how I did, or didn’t, make the last year one that I feel helped me to move forward in my goals as a writer. In doing this today, I realized that many of my goals ( not resolutions!) for myself as a writer came about. There were those that I really nailed, some that didn’t even get my attention until half the year was over, and others I never even considered at the beginning of last year, but came about because I had set other writer goals that lead me to them.

What’s great about easing yourself into your goals, and paying attention to how they grow and evolve through the course of the year, is that it does leave you the opportunity to change to a better course. For example, I determined at the beginning of last year that I was going to finally give in and write under a pseudonym in a genre of fiction that I had a lot of ideas for, but was not the main genre I wanted to be known for as a writer. I had struggled with that for a long time, because I felt that I might be “cheating” my memoir writing or other writing I was doing as myself. There are only so many hours in the day after all. Especially when you’re living the non-stop thrill ride of retail management.

But it turned out to be a great decision. I’m a better writer for it. When I do turn my attention to my other writing, I will be more seasoned. I turned out more writing last year than I have since I was a teenager ( how scary is that? – that was a long flippin’ time ago!). And somewhere along the line as I grew more confident, I self-published, a goal that I had never even considered at the start of last year. That lead to me making money as a writer for the first time in years (and the first time ever as a fiction writer), and then I was signed to a book publishing company. Damn.  Most of those accomplishments never would have even made it onto any January 2011 list.

The bottom line here kids, is to not lock yourself into a static list of goals that you have to come up with on New Year’s day, and that you must stick with faithfully, or your whole year is a fail. Use this day, this week, this beginning - to reflect on what has been working for you as a writer, and what needs to be recharged. Then you can come up with a course that might work. If you need to list it, or outline it, or plan it out meticulously – do what you need to. But allow yourself to evolve with it, and don’t hold yourself hostage to “the list” if you veer into another direction. Life rarely allows us to adhere to a strict plan.  Go with the flow man, go with the flow.

But I do really love Christmas and the holidays. I wish I could have more of

Our first live tree here in Oregon

my family with me right now (certain pre-selected ones – to the others I would pretend I had to work. Even though the store is closed), but I’m loving it here in the Pacific Northwest. I feel that this, our third Christmas since moving here, will be the best one yet. It really feels like home this year.

Now the next thing to consider is 2012 looming just around the corner. It has been the best year of my life as a writer, and I have that urge in me to just take off like a rocket; as if there was no stopping me now. But let’s see – how much writing have I gotten done since I signed my contract a few weeks back? Well, I did finish a 5,000 word story, and post it at my other blog, so that was good. I’ve thought about some story ideas. I’ve even considered working on my NaNoWriMo novel that is only at 26,000 words. I suppose it would be easier to work on if I ever opened up my writing folder.

Yeah – I know. It’s the holidays and there’s just so much going on, what with work, and shopping and baking and wrapping and mailing and Christmas card writing  and Lord of the Rings marathons and so on. But it’s funny how I can remember back when I was in the music business how infuriated I would be every year right around Thanksgiving. It was because I knew the industry would start shutting down. No one would be wanting to do anything except get ready for the holidays. Budgets were spent, calendars already completed – you couldn’t get anyone to commit to anything. “I’d go to your show, but cousin Mathilda is coming to town for the first time in eight years, and she hates chick singers. She also can never ever be left alone. Especially on Tuesdays. When you’re doing your show.”

So maybe we all have some sort of holiday gene that has been imprinted in our DNA in modern times that prevents us from functioning on any sort of non-holiday level beginning the third week in November. No excuse is too lame of why you can’t accomplish this or that once you’ve taken that first mouthful of turkey. From that moment on you’ve got a hall pass, unless it’s trying to get out of some type of therapy-provoking Christmas get-together. That, my friend, you have to just deal with. Just remember though, there are many new prescription drugs available to help you survive the holidays. Or you could just hit the eggnog. Personally, I prefer Kahlua.

Anyway, I am going to allow myself to continue to wallow in carb overload and non-writer land for a few more days. Because as 2012 continues its “loom”, I know I’ll need to get down to business and figure out how I am going to balance a successful writing career (one hopes), full-time job, and happy family next year. Until we meet again – which will not be until the New Year – I do wish everyone else their own wallowing time to do what you want, enjoy your friends and family, and just revel in the feel of this time of the year.

Happy Holidays to all!

“I’ll wait until the price goes down.” “It’s better to get a later version, after they’ve worked the kinks out.” “How the hell am I supposed to afford an almost $200 gadget that is basically a vehicle for books the way that deep-fried appetizers are vehicles for ranch sauce?”

But, eventually, after drooling over other’s Kindle eReader ownership – some who had barely been adults for more than 5 minutes and were making minimum wage at part-time jobs – common sense took over. “Shit – what I really need in my life is more instant gratification. If I only had a Kindle, I could buy it now with one click, and be 60 seconds away from reading a book that might take (God forbid) two or more WHOLE DAYS to arrive.” So I strongly suggested that I should be gifted that for Christmas last year, and it has been one of my most favorite things ever. I have basically treated it like a newborn infant, and coddled it lovingly since its arrival. And yes – I have had lots of instant gratification, randomly bought books I probably never would have heard of under any other circumstances, discovered the joys and intrigues of the indie world, and been able to avoid purchasing additional bookshelves for my home, as I no longer need all that extra space. There are many fantastic things to say about the Kindle.

So why even bother with the Fire? For me, the fact that it was the latest thing on the market had zero appeal. What did catch my attention though, was the fact that I could do all of my social media stuff, email, and have my eReader. Then when you throw in the Cloud storage, movies, TV, music and a ridiculous low price of $199 - well – you had me at pre-order. My hubby’s first remark was that I should sell my Kindle. Why keep it? I can do everything on the Fire after all.

But it didn’t feel right to do that. My pretty white Kindle was My Precious, and I wasn’t ready to let it go. I’m very glad I didn’t.

The Fire arrived a few weeks ago, so I’ve had a chance to download Angry Birds, do a lot of swiping and tapping, go on Facebook and Twitter, add my email accounts and write notes, download more random apps, and fill my Netflix queue with all types of crap. I’ve also done a little bit of reading. Not a lot. I’ve actually played Jewels more than I’ve read anything on the Fire. However, I’ve finished two books on the Kindle in that same time period, and downloaded several samples.

Here are the main differences, as they relate to my personal preferences. The regular Kindle is much lighter. It’s not that the Fire weighs as much as a brick, but when you’re lying in bed reading, or holding up the eReader; it does make a difference after a period of time. The screen on the Fire is backlit in the same way as your computer screen, so for some people, that can strain your eyes for long periods of time. You also do notice the glare. Personally, I can do without seeing my frowny face staring back at me while I’m reading. The regular Kindle has that awesome non-glare screen and grayscale background that is easy on the eyes and works great in outdoor lighting.

On the other hand, the Fire is in COLOR. It is clear and books show up crisper on the larger screen. The ability to enjoy a graphic novel or magazine is an excellent reason to have the Fire. Then there are all of the other app and web abilities that the Fire provides that is not available on the regular Kindle. I should mention that any of the recent whining in reports about the Fire being a fail because some features are wonky, doesn’t bother me.

http://www.pcworld.com/article/246037/kindle_fire_customers_biggest_complaints.html

Probably the one thing I wish was different would be the external volume control, but seriously, did any of us even grasp ten years ago that such a thing as an electronic tablet connecting you to the web, with instant movies and books and TV and music, could even exist now and not just in a Phillip K. Dick novel? God, we are spoiled babies.

Waaaah, my amazing electronic tablet isn’t perfect – the power switch is in a funny spot! Waaaah, I want my $199 back.

Does anyone remember what you paid for your Compaq Presario, Gateway or Dell computer tower of death ten years ago? Do you remember how awesome and fast it was? Exactly.

My final assessment: I like both for the different reasons I stated above. I plan on keeping my regular Kindle, and using the Fire as my portable device. Basically like a smart phone that doesn’t make calls. I can check email, Facebook, Twitter, read if I’m waiting for someone or taking a break (since it would be fine for a short period of time), and maybe have music to listen to – which you can do simultaneously on the Fire.

I now have Precious One…and Precious Two.