tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-150497602024-03-13T14:36:41.721-07:00Southern Hat-titudeThoughts from a crazy Southern authormadhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-88964299037637071822019-07-03T06:26:00.000-07:002019-07-03T06:26:06.616-07:00Talking into the Void: One Writer's Take on Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: red;">Yep. That's me. Talking to the head. Oh, what the heck? Why not.</span><br />
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This is what marketing my books feels like to me. Tweet. Post on Facebook. Whine to my fellow author buddies.<br />
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The general consensus of opinion: we all feel as if we are shouting into a void. Better to find a stone head and whisper in its ear. Which I did.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">I talk to many of my fellow writers on this matter, and I hear the versions of the same comments:</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">"If I spend all my time on Facebook or Twitter or whatever, when do I write and revise? Annoying as it is, I have to sleep, eat, shower, brush my teeth, and spend time with the folks I love."</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">"The whole idea of <i>followers</i> is a bit creepy. Don't they arrest folks for that?"</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">"I don't have a cool fortune to spend for professional help--if I did, it probably would go to a mental health professional to help me understand why I stick to this writing business."</span><br />
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Real comments, all of them.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">Here's my take on things.</span><br />
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I love, love, love to write. If I spent all of my time watching, say, network news, I would have to pitch myself off a cliff (since there are few around my area, perhaps a tall building or a bridge).<br />
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I bring passion and YEARS of work to my writing.<br />
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I have developed the most amazing friendships imaginable, with people from all fields, levels of education, and social status.<br />
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<span style="color: blue;">When it comes down to it, writers are driven by a passion. We are miserable if we don't write.</span><br />
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So you'll find me busy at the laptop, creating characters and watching them take over. I am either writing or thinking about writing at least 90% of the time.<br />
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And talking into the ears of anyone and anything that might listen, even ones made of stone.<br />
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Rhett DeVane<br />
<a href="http://www.rhettdevane.com/" target="_blank">Rhett's website</a><br />
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<br />madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-19465285892953018762015-10-03T15:58:00.002-07:002015-10-03T15:58:58.238-07:00Why I love having birthdays...I have my reasons.<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I LOVE BIRTHDAYS.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Call me crazy--I wear that Southern-color title well--but I actually <i>like</i> celebrating my birthday.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Cake without guilt; cards that make me snort-laugh; scrolling through Facebook well-wishers to hit the LIKE button.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Every person deserves to feel sparkly, if even only for one day a year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">By the time I reached the "woman-of-a-certain-age" category, much of life's deep magic had evaporated. Santa zoomed off with his reindeer and sleigh before I hit age eight. The Easter bunny hopped away as soon as that ludicrous fable ceased to make even a dab of sense. Chickens should deliver eggs. Someone was on crack (or hitting the vino) when they came up with that blend of warped reality.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Kids will believe anything for a glittery present or chocolate egg.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The commercial, generated, Hallmark occasions morphed into overdone, forced routines. They keep the florists and jewelry stores busy, so they're not all bad, I suppose.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, a birthday? There's one personal throw-down no one can steal. Not unless I choose to sit the bench. And I don't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Why do people lie about age? Stay young at heart, yes. Keep the body and mind as fit as possible, sure. Cultivate cornrows of laugh lines and some shimmery silver hair, absolutely.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But <i>own</i> those years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My age is not "just a number." It is a badge of honor and, at times, courage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bring on the cake. Nix a few of the lighted candles, though. No need to be OCD and court the fire alarm. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Better idea: you should estimate how long you might live. Start off with that many candles, while you still have the breath and endurance to snuff them with one hard blow. It would grow easier each successive year, and serve as a reminder that your time is limited, not to take one moment for granted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have such <i>good</i> ideas. Really.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hand over the silly, corn-pone, snarky cards. I will relish and deeply appreciate every post, text, voicemail message, tweet, and freep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">'Cause it's my birthday and I have a perfectly good suit to go along with it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-36248670433890358182015-09-20T10:38:00.001-07:002015-09-20T10:43:51.671-07:00The story behind my novel "Secondhand Sister"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-45sVvVBlawo/Vf7j-0I__QI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/NcVkpTR4FFw/s1600/SHS_cover_front_Kindle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-45sVvVBlawo/Vf7j-0I__QI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/NcVkpTR4FFw/s200/SHS_cover_front_Kindle.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
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Writers know one basic truth: fiction is a blend of the author's experiences and a good portion of dreams and imagination. </div>
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The spark for <i>Secondhand Sister </i>flared as a result of a family discussion about my series of novels set in my hometown of Chattahoochee, Florida--a town with two stoplights and a state mental institution on its main thoroughfare.</div>
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I recently attended a reunion in Chattahoochee where I heard the same sentiment echoed: my birthplace was a truly unique and wonderful area to grow up. I agree.</div>
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In my first novel, <i>The Madhatter's Guide to Chocolate</i>, released over ten years ago, I introduced the Davis family of Bonnie Hill, three miles outside of Chattahoochee. The second novel, <i>Up the Devil's Belly,</i> carried them forward. Though I tried to make this family dissimilar from my own, everyone thought they were us anyway.</div>
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My brother Jimmy (some of you know him as Gabby) said, "I'm sure glad you got the brother in the books into AA and dried him up a little. People keep coming up to me on the street to say, 'we didn't know you had such a bad drinking problem until we read your sister's book.' "</div>
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We laughed. My brother, you see, is much like me in this respect: we rarely drink. One beer every now and then, when it is hot outside and the beer is really, really cold. You could probably count on one hand the number of alcoholic beverages we consume in a two-year period. But Jimmy is a good sport, and he likes to kid around as much as I do. My older sister Melody was no slacker in the humor department either. My entire family is this way. Thank goodness.</div>
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"Well," my sister Melody said, "at least she didn't kill you off at birth."</div>
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In my attempt to create pure fiction, I had deleted the middle child from the Davis family. Bless her heart.</div>
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Later, Jimmy and I discussed this. Hated to make Melody feel left out. Jimmy suggested that the middle child <i>could</i> have been switched at birth. It happened, back then, more often than folks wanted to admit.</div>
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That notion swirled around in my mind like the eddies in the Apalachicola River. What if....?</div>
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And the main character for <i>Secondhand Sister, </i>Mary-Esther Sloat, came to be. </div>
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Mary-Esther grew up and lived most of her patchwork life in New Orleans, found out she wasn't who she thought she was, then lost her home and everything she valued in Hurricane Katrina. Homeless, hopeless, and harried, she arrived in Chattahoochee in a beat-up Chevy van, intent on locating her real family. There, she hit more obstacles. But I won't give too many spoilers....</div>
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I dedicated this book in memory of my sister Melody DeVane-Kight. She never got to read it. She passed away at age 61, the result of a brain aneurysm. The manuscript idled for a number of years until I was ready to head into deep revisions. I wrote several others in the interim. Three of the books, <i>Mama's Comfort Food, Cathead Crazy, </i>and <i>Suicide Supper Club,</i> were also set in Chattahoochee, though they spotlighted different families.</div>
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Though Mary-Esther is unlike Melody in appearance and life history, she shares some important traits: a true kindness to others and unwavering optimism, even in the face of great odds. </div>
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This one's for Melody. Hope you can sense it, up there. You left too soon, hon. And we miss you. Terribly.</div>
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Tell Daddy and Mama and the rest of the gone-to-glory crew I send my love, and oh . . . you best save me some chocolate.</div>
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Love you.</div>
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Rhett</div>
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<i>Secondhand Sister </i>is slated for release end of October, 2015. The Kindle version is already available for preorder on Amazon.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B015KXO9OY/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_dp_0KT.vb1WH2A95">Secondhand Sister on Amazon</a></div>
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madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-29704103316162710412014-02-19T12:54:00.004-08:002014-02-19T13:00:32.778-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7zcyjzEMsLk/UwUWg1JZN2I/AAAAAAAAAs0/OwaRO_ThsNc/s1600/SSC_+final+high+res+front+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7zcyjzEMsLk/UwUWg1JZN2I/AAAAAAAAAs0/OwaRO_ThsNc/s1600/SSC_+final+high+res+front+cover.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Error on 99<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Like
my fellow writers, I understand one fundamental truth: words and characters are
unruly. I start each novel or short story with a spark of inspiration, perhaps
a rough plot outline. I settle down with the laptop, expecting to corral a
raging herd of ideas, scenes, and dialog into 90,000 brilliant, perfect words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">(Right.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Then
the muses seize the reins and shove aside my feeble attempts at control. Should
I try to pen them in, force them in directions they don’t prefer, they will
shut down my literary flow like Beethoven blared at a redneck round-up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">During
final editing and revisions, I have meager input. My latest Southern fiction
novel, <i>Suicide Supper Club</i>, provided
more than a handful of the muses’ “teachable moments.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Weeks
before the book went to print, I zeroed in on the final, marketable product. A
talented copy editor, three beta-readers, and my critique group members helped
to flush out the typos. For sure, the spelling and grammar computer-creatures
miss a lot. If it’s truly a word, it is okey dokey with them. Hey, I meant to
write <i>shut</i> and not <i>slut</i>—it’s only one small letter’s
difference. Why quibble?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Yet
no matter how many times I cull a manuscript, typos lurk. I know it. I hate it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Final
proof. I checked back one last time to make sure all of my changes stuck. I always suspect
the corrections switch to their former imperfection the moment I close the
file, a condition I label <i>writer-noia.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Then,
on page 99, the <i>word</i> popped out at me.
It had snugged itself next to a correction. All of the trained eyes missed
it. Even the <i>word </i>itself<i> </i>(the one I<i> thought</i> I had typed) was eerie: a
slang term meaning “let it go!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">At
first, I groused about having to redo the file. I couldn’t leave an obvious
error in place. Or could I?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
lesson provided: if I could <i>not</i> let
it pass on some level, I had missed the point. Missed life lessons have a way of repeating
themselves until the thick human ego catches the subtle drift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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To note: I did <b>not </b>correct the <b>Error on 99</b>
in the Kindle version. <b>Had </b>to correct it in the print version. I’m too much a stickler. And that book will be on file in the Library of Congress. Besides, there are other errors hiding in there. They appear in all books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">At
the same time—why let things ever be simple?—I was plowing through a difficult
life transition. Things beyond my control had shifted my settled world. I
struggled to find solid footing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
<b>Error on 99</b> appeared at the right
moment, the right time. It even fit into the underlying theme of <i>Suicide Supper Club.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Not
everything can be controlled. Most things can’t. And left to their own, situations
will work out exactly as they should.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">That
lesson, I understood. Thanks to the <b>Error
on 99</b>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-52890574541836576162014-01-01T11:08:00.001-08:002014-01-01T11:08:36.351-08:00Changes and New Year's Resolutions...HAH!<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes!<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PZ8RLsNkxuo/UsRnXiGY14I/AAAAAAAAAq0/Ag1GmdZfrcI/s1600/2013-11-05+08.25.09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PZ8RLsNkxuo/UsRnXiGY14I/AAAAAAAAAq0/Ag1GmdZfrcI/s200/2013-11-05+08.25.09.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I
had my druthers, I’d stay much the same. No new lifelines (otherwise known and
wrinkles), no serious drama, no changes in the family, or at work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But
would I prefer that, really?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve
learned a lot, being an author. Reaching the well-over-fifty mark hasn’t dented
the learning curve either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a
novel, no one wants to read about happy people living happy lives. Barbie and
her perfect self, driving the latest pink convertible, with her waspish waist and
high-riding bust. Ken with just-so rakish hair, cut muscles proclaiming an
overabundance of testosterone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Snooze fodder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happiness
is elusive, perhaps nearly attainable. There’s hope, but the reader isn’t sure
if the hero will win, or even survive. These are the stories we want to keep
reading, and miss when we flip the last page.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Show
me the <i>real</i> Barbie—she goes by “Babs”—schlepping
to the kitchen for coffee, her nappy over-processed hair sticking out like a
scared cat’s tail. Ken’s in the bathroom, doing that three-fart thing he does
every morning, humming to himself off-key and leaving whisker specks gummed in
toothpaste trails across the counters. The kids are grown. One’s a recovering alcoholic,
country-star wannabe in Memphis; the other sells manufactured homes in Lake
City. The dog has ear mites, and barfs up pieces of rubber bands and pantyhose
and anything else he can get his paws on. The cat shreds the furniture and has
sprayed the back door so often, the porch smells like <i>Wild Kingdom</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
toilet in the master bathroom sounds like a waterfall. When Barbie turns on the
ancient dishwasher, she has to step outside to talk on the phone. Better out
there anyway. Ken hates the mounds of cigarette butts she scatters like pixie
dust. Heck with him. Her smoke smells better than his gas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have
to use my imagination, when I think of Barbie and Ken. Keeps me from wanting
to, I don’t know, shave their heads and pull off a leg or an arm. Perfection is
annoying. Probably the reason my childhood dolls never made it to the “collectables”
stage. Even as a kid, I sniffed a load of marketing hoo-hah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One
thing for sure: change promotes growth—with characters, and in real life. Some
years, I face greater challenges. We all do. Death, taxes, jobs, relatives. A
few things you can see heading your way. Others come at you like a texting, drunken
reveler at a busy intersection. One minute you’re minding your own business,
thinking about how you’re going to reheat that frozen vegetable soup for dinner;
the next you’re steaming in the ditch with a 911 operator yammering in your ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This
year, in lieu of New Year’s Resolutions, I made a list of things I wanted to
manifest in the coming twelve months. A friend suggested this technique. Said
she did this every January and hid the page so she could pull it out later to
see what had come to fruition. Most things did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Beat
the heck out of swearing off sweets, or losing five pounds, or getting
organized. I have pounded those poor resolutions down until they are flat
enough to be a fetching wall hanging.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So
here’s to a year of change. To crawling from the ditch, should I end up there
by no intention of my own. To loving and supporting friends, to eating some
chocolate, to writing some stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To
living. Messy as it can be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-8433606018031900192013-11-16T07:34:00.003-08:002013-11-16T07:34:46.217-08:00Things I learned from Sissy Kat. May she rest in a sunbeam.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hZnRHrk1IVM/UoePGlH-pFI/AAAAAAAAAnY/3j3OHXaG38I/s1600/2011-11-22+15.26.08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hZnRHrk1IVM/UoePGlH-pFI/AAAAAAAAAnY/3j3OHXaG38I/s200/2011-11-22+15.26.08.jpg" width="112" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Things
I learned from Sissy-cat</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anything is better after a nap.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If it doesn’t serve you, hack it up (hairball, food,
pieces of string). Purging your life of things that no longer serve you is a
good thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don’t settle for something you don’t find pleasing (dirty litter box, lumpy pillow, some people).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don’t hesitate to speak up (meow) if you have something
important to add.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can always go back to the bowl for seconds. You don’t
have to suck it all down in one bite.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A sunbeam is worth a million dollars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Learn to purr. And purr well and often.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love a human unconditionally, at least once in your
life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">---</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With love to my tuxedo kitty. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">May you find cans of tuna, feathers on string, a soft pillow, and all of your friends that have passed before you. And someone to scratch behind your ears until we meet again across the rainbow bridge.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of your humans,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rhett DeVane</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-84484593557681209912013-11-05T13:33:00.001-08:002013-11-05T13:39:59.509-08:00Ode to a Big Freakin' Can of Tuna<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ODE
TO A BIG FREAKIN’ CAN OF TUNA<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ivHo3tfm7lE/UnljPN0rB3I/AAAAAAAAAnI/AHdHpOAYuNk/s1600/2013-11-05+15.56.20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ivHo3tfm7lE/UnljPN0rB3I/AAAAAAAAAnI/AHdHpOAYuNk/s200/2013-11-05+15.56.20.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">From what I heard, the cashier at Sam’s Club even thought
this was </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">over-sized</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> Have to admit, it’s a monstrous amount of tuna: 4 pound,
2.5 ounces to be precise. Even I can’t consume that many “tiny-fish” sandwiches
and I like tuna. A lot.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> I’ll refer to this as the BFC from this point forward,
save myself some typing. Special thanks to Gina Edwards, our lovely hand model,
for her part in artfully displaying the BFC.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">The BFC held enough to make tuna salad for the gang at
the writers’ retreat on St. George Island, Florida, November of 2013. This is a
serious-minded group of scribes, a talented bunch that will work endless hours
pounding out a new rough draft, but still take time to yammer and drink coffee.
Gallons of coffee. And chocolate, did I mention chocolate?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I rescued the BFC from the trash. Washed it several
times, used some environment-friendly spray cleaner, yet it still reeks of
fish. Thing is a work of art, the hulk hero of aluminum cans. And it </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">doesn't</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> deserve some landfill as its final resting place. Heck no. I’m planting
something in the BFC, maybe catnip since the scent won’t disappear in this
century. My cat family will love it</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">The BFC illustrates something I have always known:
writers can take anything, anywhere and weave a fantastic tale around it. One
tidbit of overheard dialog in the line at Whole Foods, one flash of shared
angst with a stranger, one glimpse of a baby’s grin: there’s a story in there,
perhaps a novel. And we will find it and write it, in different voices, tenses,
and settings. Yet the shared humanity will echo in our words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Something as ordinary and benign (mostly, if you don’t
count the odor) as a BFC can inspire, make us ask questions, create the
answers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">It’s how we make sense of the world. Thank you, BFC, for
reminding me of this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Rhett DeVane<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<br /></div>
madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-85526312188706106082013-09-22T10:15:00.002-07:002013-09-22T10:15:20.552-07:00Cross-Purpose Revelation<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Cross-Purpose Revelation</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTxa4jaV7Ril7e7KgxTPA0Y_FnrgeOdI_0SKCOAqA6_LJ5bpzcb" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Seems I can’t spend time at the beach without having at least one epiphany…something about water rushing to shore and time to think without interruption. Add being a writer into the mix, and the revelations trip all over each other trying to be the most profound.<br /><br />This trip, the Cross-Purpose Revelation beat out the others. No worry. They’ll be back for seconds like redneck relatives at an all-you-can-eat potluck dinner.<br /><br />The wind raged the entire four days, flinging sand into the air. The late September sun beat down, oblivious to the fact the first day of fall loomed. Waves crashed to shore, beating the shells to pumice. A scattering of North Florida surfers—thrilled over the churning sea—fought the rip tide on their short boards.<br /><br />At one spot, a narrow sandbar confused the incoming surf. Primary waves combated secondary waves, sending fountains of spray into the air. <br /><br />Cross-purpose waves, like life, often came from opposite directions, buffeting me. Which way to go? What’s the most important? What crisis requires the majority of attention? The questions bombarded my brain. Meanwhile, the waves crashed, blended. Ultimately, they all made it to shore, licked a small mark on the sand, then sucked back into the whole.<br /><br />Where was the grand epiphany? Here goes.<br /><br />No matter what turmoil, what conflict, what indecision, what cross-purposes life flings your way, the outcome is the same. You make a small mark, then your spirit blends back into the common ocean. And you try not to let the waves pound you to mush.<br /><br /><br />I must get back to work. Stop all this thinking. Epiphanies are exhausting.</span>madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-6959277554861314282013-09-02T06:31:00.001-07:002013-09-02T06:31:15.177-07:00The Fun and Trials of Being a Writer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I often wonder what other people do--those not equally blessed and cursed with a need to write. Can they sit and have a meal without picking out details of their fellow diners' dress and gestures? Do they ignore the chit-chat around them? Can they<i> just</i> have a ice-cold beer and blackened grouper sandwich without imagining some story about the blond senior biker woman sitting two seats down?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well,<i> I </i>can't. And a trip to a local waterfront eatery/cantina yields so much material for future Southern fiction novels, I nearly hurt myself entering snippets on my smartphone's notepad. Why do I need to invent dialogue when I can borrow it for free?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here you go...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"We have only the finest Walmart wine. The kind with the screw-off cap."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"She's not listening. She's back on the crack again."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Hey, you're not the only woman in my life."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Sorry I was lookin' down your shirt."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I don't know how your liver still functions."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Gonna be a good day. Most of the staff's still sober."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You sure are hanging out here a lot. What, did you piss off your wife again?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Add to this: a rousing conversation about Duck Dynasty--with said biker lady and her, I think, granddaughter. Then, there were the signs...the "no pissin' off the dock" sign (above) and the one suggesting you not leave food unattended because of marauding seagulls. Lord help.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See, this is why I love the South. May hate the heat, the humidity, and some of the narrow attitudes...still...it is a breeding ground for my writing.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Plus, remember...I can poke fun. I'm<i> from </i>here.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-85937979508837297342013-07-21T05:47:00.001-07:002013-07-21T05:54:52.458-07:00Clean Feet and Good Sleep<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
have certain rituals—tiny procedures to tame life, force it to “do right.”
Governments topple, wacked-out shooters gun down innocents, and tornadoes swipe
subdivisions off the map. But if I just cater to specific steps, my speck of
space makes sense. Most of the time, I don’t question the origins of the rites.
When I do, I uncover nostalgic wisps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You
will not sleep well if you don’t wash your feet.” My Grandma DeVane’s warning
pops into my mind as I lather a thick washcloth. Had I glanced up fast enough,
I might have seen her standing beside me with a bar of Ivory soap (<i>so pure it floats!</i>) in one hand and a
thin wet rag in the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Suppose
parents and grandparents tell children all sorts of well-intended lies for fun,
or necessity. Several years passed before I dropped the belief that North
Carolina cows had two legs shorter on one side so they wouldn’t topple on a
slope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My
dad, the jokester. Small wonder I’m a comedian.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
dropped the notion of an obese, jolly dude delivering presents by five or six
when my little friends started to laugh at my gullibility. That whole reindeer,
globetrotting deal was a stretch, even for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But
<i>clean feet equals good sleep</i> must
have made sense. I’m sure Grandma took one look at my rawhide soles and
thought, “oh, heck no,” especially during the summer when I ran around like a
yard dog until darkness and mosquitoes chased me inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
could’ve said, “You’ll not put those filthy feet on my white sheets.” Too
much like a put-down. We Southerners prefer to cushion criticism when possible—wrap
it in sugar, serve it with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now,
fifty years later, I sit on the vanity stool with the wet washcloth dripping on
the tile and think about other things <i>my</i>
adults told me. <i>Pretty is as pretty does</i>;
<i>A smile is your best make-up</i>; and <i>Can’t, never could.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
feel a rush of gratitude for them, those grown-ups that imparted positive—sometimes
funny or bizarre—wisdom. Adults that gave me rituals to tame life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Too
bad the rest of this sleep-deprived world doesn't know this secret. I lather
again, wash between my toes, then swipe up and over the ankles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-76030453437283354922013-06-28T15:39:00.000-07:002013-06-28T15:39:53.982-07:00Helping in a small way--the little flute that could.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xyQq6QTOi0s/Uc2HEu7lZlI/AAAAAAAAAiY/h7hDcXeABtg/s800/2013-06-19+17.15.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xyQq6QTOi0s/Uc2HEu7lZlI/AAAAAAAAAiY/h7hDcXeABtg/s320/2013-06-19+17.15.32.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
The Little Flute That Could</h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My middle room closet is a sucking black hole where once-loved stuff collects--a mini horde of nice things wishing for a useful place in the world. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week, one of those things raced to its new home, via the nice folks at UPS.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Should've known when I wiggled the case from the top shelf and both cats hid beneath the bed. My experiment with becoming a flute master--years past now--had been ill-advised. Yes, I managed the middle-tone notes, even some of those one octave down. But when I screeched out the high tones, the tectonic plates shifted, the Monarch butterflies changed course, and the animals headed for cover. Plus, I nearly passed out with the effort. Best, I stick with the guitar.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So there she rested in her blue velvet enclave, wishing she could meet someone, anyone, who might be able to produce silken sounds. Not me, clearly. Then I read a Facebook post from my friend Paula Kiger, about how she donated her flute to a band in Moore, Oklahoma. The devastating tornadoes took a huge toil there--lives, property, schools. Like so many folks, I watched the television coverage, wishing I could somehow help. Some small way...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Paula put me in touch with a gracious teacher who is spearheading the band instrument drive. A company there takes the donated instruments, gives them a tune-up, and a student that might not have a chance otherwise is provided with the means to make music. I love that!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a few dollars, the people at UPS secured, wrapped, and handled my little flute. I tracked her progress across the country, and Angie sent me a Facebook message when she made it to Oklahoma.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Guess what came in the mail today??!?!!" Angie messaged, "A very special flute! And a really</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nice card. Thank you so very much. It plays very well!"</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How many folks like me have perfectly good band instruments idling in their closets? The kids that once loved them, maybe even tormented the family while learning to play, are long gone to college and other lives. What if those instruments could make their way into the hands of deserving students? And all it cost was a few bucks to UPS...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you would like to contact Angie, she prefers to be reached via email: angietaylor@mooreschools.com.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.453125px;">Tell her Rhett DeVane sent you. Then mail off your flute, horn, whatever...and wait for that warm glow to start--you know, the one that cranks up when good flows from one person to the next. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.453125px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.453125px;">We're all in this together. Please share this with your friends!</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.453125px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.453125px;">Peace to the Little Flute That Could. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.453125px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.453125px;">Rhett</span></span></div>
madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-56594215070424211762013-01-13T11:16:00.001-08:002013-01-13T11:16:39.385-08:00Beauty isn't everthing: Lessons from Mom's kitchen<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><img alt="" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="194" data-width="259" height="194" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQahgRhCcbxlbKhD2Dn44UJ5iNPOFFWLMvgIbOOHnDArkUK-N2b" style="height: 194px; width: 259px;" width="259" /> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I enjoyed lunch at local bistro recently. Like most
of these small eateries, it was decorated to invoke an artsy feel: modern
paintings, welcoming color palate, intimate seating, and an outdoor patio for
those seasonal days when the Southern humidity stepped aside. Though I appreciated
the ambiance and, after sampling the food, would return, I couldn’t help but think
of the vast difference between the trendy art of food presentation and the
Southern down-home style of cooking from my mom’s kitchen.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">My mama didn’t worry about “pretty food.” I can’t
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or used a tiny rectangular plate to center a sandwich the size of a marshmallow.
No reduced sauces swirled around the roast like it had been attacked by a kid’s
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<br /></div>
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</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">She didn’t concern herself with the concepts of
complex tastes or textures. Just good food, and plenty of it. Pinch of this,
tad of that. Mix it till it looks right. Dig your hands into the dough and feel
if it needs more moisture. Shell the peas and cook them fresh from the garden.
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<br /></div>
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</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Small wonder I was leery of trying my hand at cooking
until I reached my late teens. My gravy turned out lumpy. The cake suffered “sad
spots.” And none of my initial efforts were much to look at.</span></span></span></div>
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</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Here’s where the life lesson came in. “Don’t worry,
sugar, if your cake has a crack clean through. We can heal that with icing, and
besides, if it tastes good, that’s what really matters. Beauty isn’t
everything.”</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Beauty isn’t everything. Imagine that.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“You will get better and better, the more you
practice. You can do anything you set your mind to.”</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Profound truths uncovered. Thanks, Mom.</span></span></span></div>
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</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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</span></span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-39403510837481543542012-12-26T11:29:00.001-08:002012-12-26T11:29:27.833-08:00Thoughts on Random Things<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="168" id="il_fi" src="http://bunnyhillblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/Old-Silverware.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Have you ever--and I know you have--opened your silverware drawer and wondered <em>what's up with this random butter knife?</em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Or maybe it's a spoon matching no pattern you've ever owned. Seldom, a fork. And why is that, do you suppose? Forks must have a hard time repositioning themselves.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The strange knife with the floral pattern embellished on its handle spurred me to ponder about random possessions. They flow through my life like river flotsam: scarves, socks, serving utensils, plates, even at times, animals. They show up for a time, then move with the space/time continuum. Beamed in to help me make a sandwich or to lick my hand, then gone when I think to chase them down.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Random things intrigue me, especially in my writing life. What is the story of that knife? Did it coast in with a shared loaf of banana bread and leave as easily with a tin of cookies? Do ghosts appear and make themselves sandwiches, leaving their favorite knives behind? That would explain the fact I seem to never run even with the sliced turkey/cheese count. Maybe they're the ones leaving the pickle jars in the refrigerator, with just one lonely dill bobbing in a gallon of brine.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Do these same entities move my car keys and the novel I was reading? Hm...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">See what comes of me having time off to think?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">My best to you for a Happy New Year. It will, no doubt, be filled with degrees of emotion. Good and bad. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Random and predictable.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">May you always find random things to bring a little wonder into your life.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Rhett DeVane</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-35545154592475958742012-09-14T12:17:00.000-07:002012-09-14T12:17:59.856-07:00The Muses Return...and bring their joy.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9XcNRzWjetg/UFOBc8odw6I/AAAAAAAAAWM/Zjlx1iI4Jv8/s1600/jump+for+joy+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9XcNRzWjetg/UFOBc8odw6I/AAAAAAAAAWM/Zjlx1iI4Jv8/s200/jump+for+joy+pic.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><strong>THE MUSES RETURN</strong> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The universe has sneaky ways to remind me of things
I’ve conveniently forgotten. Kudos to the universe. It’s light-years ahead of
me in the smarts’ department ( like that’s news).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The
first tap</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"> came last weekend when I spotted and purchased a
framed quote in a gift shop—more of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">slap
</i>than a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tap</i>. Here’s the quote:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Promise me you will not spend so much time treading
water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly
forget, how much you have always loved to swim.” –Tyler Knot Gregson<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The quote hangs in my bathroom, where I will read it
every morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The
second</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">El Kabong</i></b> came as I replanted a clump
of volunteer clover. A small grey rock with the word JOY etched on one side
fell from its hidey-hole in a stack of planters. This rock, a gift from a
friend many years ago, had vanished amidst the garden rubble. Add to this:
clover is associated with luck. Double whack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The word JOY is one letter away from being the word JOB.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">How many times recently have I transformed writing
into a job rather than a joy? Too many. Many seminars I’ve attended in the past
few years have focused on the “work” of writing. The phrase wormed into my
heart and my joyful creative life turned into a toil, a struggle, a JOB. Shame
on me for insulting the muses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Third
knock on the noodle</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"> came via author Cheryl Strayed. I devoured
her creative nonfiction “Wild”, then moved on to order “Tiny Beautiful Things,”
a book filled with questions and answers once published as an advice column.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">One selection reminded me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to simply write</i>…that it is my joy, my calling, my purpose. To quit
worrying about whether this book or that one will land in the hands of some New
York publisher: that is not my concern. So many things in this life are clearly
chance, fate… My mission is to WRITE THE BEST BOOK I CAN.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The importance of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>perfecting the craft can’t be downplayed. And
it gets both easier and harder, the longer I do it. The necessity of
approaching agents, yammering on Facebook and Twitter, and networking still
exists. No one is going to show up at my door, contract in hand, and sweep me
away in a limo. It’s up to me to do my part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Yet…<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">I pledge to allow joy to overshadow jabber. My
clutch of muses—a temperamental inbred bunch who hate Southern humidity and
flee for Canada in late May—are back. Glad to see y’all. Missed you. Hope you’re
ready to dance, because this writer is ready to lead, or follow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">I don’t need a fourth clobber to get it. I’m smart
that way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com0 Tallahassee, FL 32301, USA30.4382559 -84.280732930.0010394 -84.9124469 30.875472400000003 -83.6490189tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-81473861588256165582012-08-18T12:54:00.000-07:002012-08-18T12:55:28.401-07:00Does God laugh?<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="251" data-width="201" height="251" id="rg_hi" sb_id="ms__id873" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQFdrf53bK4LOYIl02og4jEaEtNyWP8_js9TjCJnbuZtnyqShxY" style="height: 251px; width: 201px;" width="201" /></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Does God laugh?</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One sure-fire way to eject yourself from a bad case of election year doldrums (when you want to puncture your eardrums with an icepick if you hear<strong> even one more session</strong> of muck-raking): think of someone you like and allow their laughter to ring in your memory. This works for both folks "on this side" and others who have "made their transitions." You will instantly feel uplifted. It works. Amazing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My father's laughter boomed, like his voice. He opened his mouth wide and let the mirth whoosh out. My mother's was more timid, a little chortle at first, then full-on belly laughter if she was really tickled. My sister's sounded a lot like my mother's, with a little wind chime quality that made everyone around her smile. And my brother? He's still on the earth, so I can ring him up and hear his laughter. Or I can call its gentle rumble from memory. Either way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I can call to mind the laughter of coworkers, life-long friends, family members, and sometimes casual acquaintances. Some snort, some titter, some guffaw. And they never cease to make me smile when their mirth--as individual as their fingerprints--calls to me from its file in my mental storage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Taking this one step further--as I tend to do--I wondered if God laughs. Plenty of spots in the Bible refer to joy. To peace. One place in Ecclesiastes (3:4) speaks of a "time to laugh." But nowhere do I find tales of God or Jesus laughing. Hm...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One fellow, well-versed in biblical knowledge, commented that we might not want a jester as the ultimate leader. Imagine your surgeon with your life in his/her hands, yukking it up. Okay, I get that. But...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I like to think God, the universe, the ultimate power (however one perceives it), as taking time to listen to both our laments and cries for help/mercy/compassion <strong>and </strong>to hear our laughter. Seems everything is about balance, and why should this be any different? The sound of human suffering, the pounding of the war machines, the heartbreak of everyday living must somehow, in my humble estimation, seek the flip-side music of chortles, guffaws, and giggles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The job would be intolerable otherwise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I hope God laughs. </span></div>
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madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com1Tallahassee, FL 32301, USA30.4382559 -84.280732930.001018400000003 -84.9124469 30.8754934 -83.6490189tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-9654417903650712662012-07-29T07:52:00.000-07:002012-07-29T07:52:00.352-07:00Swimming lessons, Southern-style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o8e25pVOF2U/UBVLrczHooI/AAAAAAAAASA/DeI0wQPYXho/s1600/$(KGrHqVHJDEE-Pd2NeuRBPlYjC7hZg~~60_35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o8e25pVOF2U/UBVLrczHooI/AAAAAAAAASA/DeI0wQPYXho/s200/$(KGrHqVHJDEE-Pd2NeuRBPlYjC7hZg~~60_35.jpg" width="158" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(note: this is nothing like the life preserver mentioned in this piece.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I could find no samples to match. I think the company burned all evidence.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I lounged by the Trousdell public pool and experienced an
epiphany. As a writer, I live for a good epiphany. As soon as I grab one by the
short hairs, I slam it to the ground and wrestle it onto paper. My characters
depend on me to supply these profound thoughts. I like to share.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><em>Epiphany. Epiphany. Epiphany.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">If I repeat it enough, the word sounds absurd, a silly
term some frat boy invented after knocking back a fifth of Jack Daniels Black
while watching a babe curl her body around a dance floor pole. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Must’ve been the endorphins behind this particular
epiphany. I had completed ten laps (ten!) and felt fairly righteous. For once,
I wasn’t parked at home in front of the laptop. I had actually expended energy.
And no paramedics got involved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Bears hibernate in winter; I hibernate in summer. I
should’ve been dropped off in Canada as a wiggling infant. Stupid stork with a
faulty GPS landed me in the Deep South. Dixie has its good points: sweet tea,
chicken ’n’ dumplings, extra syllables in every spoken word. The stifling heat
and humidity aren’t on the short list.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Back to that epiphany. I have focus issues from late May
until mid-October.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A scene popped to mind as I watched one of the lifeguards
work with a group of children. The “sink or swim” school: my father’s version a
swimming lesson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The year: 1961. July. Air hotter than a three-peckered
billy-goat. Me, at four and a half, in an aqua and lime one-piece swimsuit.
Wispy blond hair. Knock knees. A dimpled smile—until my daddy lashed me into a
Day-Glo orange marshmallow and tossed me (yes, tossed) into the middle of the
family pool. Let me add here: we weren’t wealthy. My daddy built that in-ground
pool. If he wanted something, he made it himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The screams could be heard all the way into town, and we
lived three and a half miles from Chattahoochee. Nowadays, it would’ve been
enough to summon a team of child welfare agents with their official notepads
set on stun. Back then, the nearest neighbor probably paused for a moment, then
shrugged. Just another snot-nosed kid learning to dog-paddle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Non-swimmers didn’t survive long in my neck of the
Florida panhandle. Everywhere I turned, a body of water loomed: Lake Seminole,
the Apalachicola River, numerous ponds, springs, pools, and deep mud holes. I
had to learn to swim. Or die. Or fall prey to one of the gators/snakes/snapping
turtles/river monsters that lurked in wait for floundering children and small
yippy dogs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><strong>What I know now:<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Daddy
was only a step away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">That
’60s-era flotation device could’ve bobbed a mature manatee three feet above the
water’s surface.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was in more danger from choking from that vest than drowning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">My
daddy taught me a valuable life lesson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Here’s the epiphany:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Everything important I have ever done, I’ve
learned by jumping in (or being tossed in), and figuring out how to survive.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Education
was crucial. Teachers guided me. Mentors praised and scolded. But learning by
doing, swallowing the blinding fear and a good amount of pride, was, and still
is, the best way. The only way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I’ve
found this true in my writing. When I started out years ago, I knew little
about point of view, plotting, character development, original language, or
effective dialogue. I simply wished to tell a story. And I did. Just not well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I
kept dog-paddling, barely keeping the vital airways clear. Each time I failed,
I’d cough and sputter, curl up for a bit, get ticked off, and dive in once
more. Soon, I lengthened my strokes, creativity flowed, and I improved. And I’m
still working on it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A hybrid,
I’m not. Nothing fancy. I require no special pampering, no expensive
fertilizer, no designer pot, no private gardener. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I’m
as tenacious as a ditch weed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But that’s
an epiphany for another day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-53092027370022322712012-06-30T11:32:00.002-07:002012-06-30T11:32:12.740-07:00Some funny thoughts on a stinky subject...<br />
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<img alt="" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="215" data-width="235" height="182" id="rg_hi" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR9mV64WhoPmY6wc0kcYcCfXYKWU1AA0Msl-5SVpHIpaCUuxVj8Kg" style="height: 215px; width: 235px;" width="200" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some may say writing a blog isn’t REALLY writing—I differ
on that opinion—but I’m taking a break from novel revisions and have some dumb
stuff to say. Blogging, the perfect junk food.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have amazing friends. Truly. The kind of folks
that I can talk to about anything, anytime, and at great length until we’re
just sitting and breathing into the phone headset like we did when we were
teens and didn’t want to hang up long enough to do anything else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m referring to the kind of folks that will discuss
bodily functions at ease, pouring over solutions to basic human issues. The
huge one for the weekend, especially given our Deep South humidity and
mind-killing heat: sweat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a quick count of the half-used antiperspirants
languishing in my bathroom cabinet. Languish is a perfect word right now. Any
action above the languish level might bring on a stroke. Yes, I realize a toiletry
is not capable of languishing. I know it’s wrong to lavish human qualities on
inanimate objects, but I do. I worry about my poor little Honda Claudia sitting
out there in the full-on sun. Worry she might come down with an automotive
version of melanoma, a curling paint carcinoma curable only by a visit to a
body shop. Yikes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where was I? Oh yeah. The official household antiperspirant
tally.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seven. If you don’t count the line-up of powders.
Seven! And I’m not some weirdo cosmetic hoarder. Anyone from “down here” knows
you have to rotate them, like tires (geez, back to the automotive thing again.)
I’ll bounce along, perfectly ladylike for a couple of weeks, then suddenly
whatever brand — and generally layers of powder and
Secret/Dove/Dial/Degree/Stink-Away — fails to live up to its label. One minute
I’m a flowery dewdrop. The next, redneck road kill festering on the asphalt. I
can almost hear those folks in marketing snickering. “Make up a new brand name
Phil. She’ll buy it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My friend told me about a foolproof product, a “clinical-strength”
waterproof deodorant that kicks the caps off the others and leaves their waxy
little domes cracking in it’s wake. A <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">water</i>proof
deodorant! Imagine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We pushed the discussion one step beyond absurdity. No
small surprise. To a new product we’d like to see: underarm shellac. A spray-on
product kin to polyurethane, beautiful in its simplicity, a cure for underarm
moisture and the hordes of foul bacteria building homes and schools in their
dark hovels. You could market two versions: satin finish for everyday and
high-gloss for those evenings out. Perhaps add a shimmer of disco glitter for
that special event.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I had to break the creative magic spell. “How
would you let it dry? I mean, if you have your arms raised, then you wouldn’t
be able to lower them. And if you sprayed and clamped them shut, you couldn’t
drive or brush your teeth.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to the drawing board.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For now, I will venture out in my poor, beleaguered little
Honda, in search of that atomic strength stuff that probably sells for<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>half a paycheck. And if if works, I plan on
buying my friend lunch soon. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rhett DeVane</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fiction with a Southern Twist</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://www.rhettdevane.com/">Rhett's author website</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://www.writers4higher.blogspot.com/">The Writers4Higher Blog</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://www.cafepress.com/thewriters4highermarket">The Writers4Higher Market</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-2075811245821561502012-06-10T08:02:00.000-07:002012-06-10T08:02:03.327-07:00A Good Cleaning Out<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="192" data-width="144" height="192" id="rg_hi" sb_id="ms__id706" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRJBgXs9JB41MUfvWUNG4hQG6lqRgsDx88XYxM6N-Pu3iatE8KH" style="height: 192px; width: 144px;" width="144" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You look like you could use a Good Cleaning Out.”
My Grandma DeVane looked at me with appraising eyes, seeing through muscle,
connective tissue, and blood, straight to my guts. How did she do that? Must’ve
been with the same “eyes in the back of her head” she called to action when I
misbehaved out of her direct line of vision. Mama had the same talent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A Good Cleaning Out entailed a supersized serving
spoon of something slick and vile, in Grandma DeVane’s case, mineral oil.
Others in my age group, and from the Deep South, have reported similar
experiences, but with castor oil. Heaven help that any of our generation lived
past twenty, what with drinking from the water hose, riding in the back of
speeding pick-ups without safety restraints, and biking without helmets. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The cure for a bad cough was a drop of kerosene on a
sugar cube. But that’s another story. No small wonder I would not have been the
best choice as a taste-tester after the BP Gulf oil spill. My body’s acclimated
to petroleum products. Shrimp and Grits with pure sweet crude might bring misty
reminiscences of Grandma’s home remedies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Strange, I recall feeling better after the Good
Cleaning Out. Purified. Near holy. Crapping like a crippled goose had to bring
some rewards.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cleaning out “stuff” brings the same sense of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ahhhh</i> with less intestinal agony.
Closets, the garage, my piles of writing tablets and author flotsam. Amazing
how purging my work space will often summon the muses. They don’t abide
clutter. It makes them pack their little literary duffle bags and check out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nature abhors a vacuum. As soon as a clean space
announces itself, paper, books and stuff rush to fill it. The cycle renews.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But for one second, I sense the importance of a Good
Cleaning Out. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks, Grandma.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rhett DeVane</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Fiction with a Southern Twist</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://www.rhettdevane.com/">Rhett's Website</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://www.writers4higher.blogspot.com/">The Writers4Higher Blog</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://www.cafepress.com/thewriters4highermarket">Shop at the Writers4Higher Market</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com3Tallahassee, FL , USA30.4382559 -84.280732926.8970789 -89.3344439 33.9794329 -79.227021900000011tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-3383155684987078802012-05-28T07:57:00.002-07:002012-05-28T08:00:31.829-07:00The Best Gifts are Free.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ehxJFnTmrYM/T8OQM9mAiNI/AAAAAAAAALY/GJq9ncXSDiQ/s1600/Jimmy's+Birthday+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ehxJFnTmrYM/T8OQM9mAiNI/AAAAAAAAALY/GJq9ncXSDiQ/s320/Jimmy's+Birthday+sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of attending a little fish fry for my brother Jimmy’s birthday. Jimmy—Gabby—is my only living sibling. Our sister Melody passed away at the young age of 61, a few years back. Jimmy was golden before that—the older, wiser, and goofier sibling—but he became more dear to me after we lost our sister. Jimmy shares the DeVane family sense of humor and gift of gab. He and I can talk to just about any<em>one</em> about any<em>thing</em>, for hours. Makes running to the grocery store for just milk and bread an all-morning affair, at times.<br /><br /><br />Back when none of us had any money for presents, we would fashion heartfelt gifts from whatever we had on hand. Cards were drawn in ink, permanent markers, or crayon. For a few years, holiday gifts had to be handmade. And those were the ones we most valued.<br /><br /><br />Keeping with this Southern cracker-ingenuity tradition, I decided to make Jimmy’s gift. But what? Then the perfect solution appeared: a sign for his new recording studio. See, my brother, in addition to many other hats he has donned over the years, holds great love and respect for classic country music. For years, he co-owned a little private radio station in Quincy, Florida—WGWD. People knew they could depend on the station to air music not heard on mainstream, prerecorded formats. The DJs even made their own commercials for their advertisers, and often threw in tidbits about the recording artists. Imagine that.<br /><br /><br />When the station sold last year, the cries flew to the heavens! Where did y’all go? Where will we find anyone like you? So Jimmy and his cohorts launched a station onto the Internet, and it took off like a scalded dog. Soon, they had to change to a commercial status because of the high listener volume.<br /><br /><br />All this, to share why I made this sign. And how. I found a cruddy piece of sawed-off cedar. Brushed the dirt and cobwebs away. One end hadn’t been cut evenly, but that was perfect. I don’t generally use tools with the capacity to saw off digits, as I work as a dental hygienist, and write my novels with those fingers.<br /><br /><br />I searched for black paint for the lettering, but all of my art supplies had long since dried to cracked plastic. Run to Lowes? Nope. I blew out three black markers and two colored markers on that rough wood.<br /><br /> <br />Next, how to hang it. I drilled two small holes (drills don’t generally maim) and ran a piece of wire through. I added a little flair with packing jute wrapped around the wire, using a knot I recalled from my macramé days. Then I added a little bow at either end.<br /><br /><br />Finally, to preserve the precious sign. No problem. I had spray polyurethane. I dragged the sign to a cement block outside. The spray container was useless—not empty, but clogged beyond hope and no pressure. Go to Lowes? Nope. I found a can of waterproofing—the kind you use on tents and hiking boots—and hosed down the sign. It sat outside to dry and get over the stench.<br /><br /><br />The next morning, I wrapped the handcrafted treasure in the gift paper I had on hand—luckily, birthday—and left for the party. My brother took one look at the sign and hammered a nail over one window in his little Internet studio for it to hang.<br /><br /><br />Whoever said the best things in life are free must’ve made gifts too. My brother's smile proved it.<br /><br /><br />Listen to Gabby’s show Monday through Friday, 8 till 10 p.m. EST. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here’s the link: <a href="http://www.xmrbradio.com/">XMRB Internet Radio Station</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Love you, bro!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Your "other sister," the one who writes novels and is near'bout as cathead crazy as you are,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />Rhett DeVane<br />
Fiction with a Southern twist</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.rhettdevane.com/">Rhett's author website</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.writers4higher.blogspot.com/">Rhett's writer's blog: Writers4Higher</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> </span>madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-32213420462950561282012-05-25T08:22:00.000-07:002012-05-25T08:24:06.436-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bkLWVu44cxw/T7-CSw1Mx3I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/TwFonJT7EB8/s1600/smokey+mt+asters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bkLWVu44cxw/T7-CSw1Mx3I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/TwFonJT7EB8/s200/smokey+mt+asters.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday, I attended a memorial service for a wonderful man I knew only through snippets of conversation shared 50 minutes at a time, every 6 months, for over 25 years. I cherished him, as I do his family.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've never been a fan of the extreme professional distance school of thought. My patients are much more than random people with "the same set of teeth."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Often, I wonder how medical and dental professionals can push aside attachments to their patients. I refuse to do that. Over my 34 years as a dental hygienist, I've treated the rich and the poor, the famous and the not-so, the angels and the curmudgeons. I've seen pictures of children, grandchildren, pets, gardens, travels, and homes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My patients--this deep well of friends--listen in turn to my ramblings: plot lines, characters, all things unreal. They've cheered me on and stood in endless lines at book launches. To see those cherished smiles--ones I help to maintain--grinning at me: priceless!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They've also comforted me after the loss of my sister and both parents. Sent cards and flowers when I suddenly fell ill and required serious surgery. Lifted me up on days I didn't feel worth a "plug nickel."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Most know I'm an author, and often share some tale I might include in a novel. One volunteered to pose as a character model for "Hot Mama Jean in her high-healed boots and jeans," a woman I <em>will</em> include somewhere.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We've laughed often, cried a few times, and shared news of births, weddings, graduations, and deaths. Somewhere in there, I managed to do my work, making sure I contributed to their dental health.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When I lose one of my people to The Other Side, I grieve. Then I recall his or her smile, some story we shared, some way we reached across the void to link our humanity. And I feel honored to have been even a 50-minute, 6-month part of their lives.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Godspeed to you, my friend. May we meet again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Rhett DeVane</span><br />
<em><span style="font-size: large;">Fiction with a Southern Twist</span></em><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.rhettdevane.com/">Rhett's website</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.writers4higher.blogspot.com/">Writers4Higher Blog</a>madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-28958332031311455302012-05-19T11:21:00.000-07:002012-05-19T11:21:07.146-07:00The Crazy Southern author is back!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pa1W9BVTx0g/T7fa-JFfjAI/AAAAAAAAAG0/DmM3LlY5H7Q/s1600/DSC_0315--.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pa1W9BVTx0g/T7fa-JFfjAI/AAAAAAAAAG0/DmM3LlY5H7Q/s200/DSC_0315--.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
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<br />
It's been way too long since I posted to this blog. Life has happened: deaths, births, laughter, tears.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I have published four books. Written thousands of words. Traveled. Met new friends.<br />
<br />
From this point, I plan to sign on and blather from time to time. Join me if you wish.<br />
<br />
Also visit my new blog dedicated to authors who give back: <a href="http://www.writers4higher.blogspot.com/">Writers4Higher</a><br />
<br />
If you'd like a fresh look at my books and vision: <a href="http://www.rhettdevane.com/">Rhett's author website</a><br />
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<br />madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-51736568263704376042007-06-10T16:17:00.000-07:002007-06-10T16:20:01.778-07:00Eight things about meAs a part of a tag-team game, I am supposed to list eight unique things about myself…oh, only eight?!<br /><br />1. I am from a town with a state mental institution on the main drag. This fact used to horrify me. Now, my novels are set in the same town.<br /><br />2. My skull has a divot. It is solid; not like my brain will ooze out. It is just not smooth and rounded. I was quite the rage in my college anatomy classes. I’ve always maintained that my brain was so huge; it caused my skull to become malformed.<br /><br />3. I can do a killer chicken imitation. When I graduated from high school, my classmates made me cackle during the ceremony. They threatened to tie me to my chair if I didn’t.<br /><br />4. I have deep twin dimples; one of the reasons I like to smile so often.<br /><br />5. When I was a child, I had an imaginary friend who lived in a skate.<br /><br />6. I loved cats so much when I was little (still do), I would crawl under houses, cars, or anyplace to play with one. I tamed more than one wild kitten, too.<br /><br />7. I love to fish, but I don’t like to either touch the bait or the fish. As long as someone is sucker enough to do these tasks for me, I will fish until the cows come home.<br /><br />8. I love animals, but horses seem to know I fear them. They take one look at me and scrub me off on the nearest tree on the way home to the barn. Cowgirl, I am not.<br /><br /><br />I have more, of course…<br /><br />Madhattermadhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-51698860605861212802007-01-03T13:51:00.000-08:002007-01-03T13:55:47.092-08:00Tired of the cholesterol issue? Me, too.I have to be the stupidest human on earth. I had my annual check-up with blood work around the holidays. Is it a surprise that my cholesterol is high? um...no. Did I eat everything bad in sight? Um...yes.<br /><br />Good thing I can write. Seems I have a problem with eating; at least, correctly.<br /><br />What if...<br /><br />one day, the medical community discovers that elevated cholesterol levels are some kind of protective device? Will we all be encouraged to eat a cheeseburger and biggie fries each day?<br /><br />Gee...hope I live to see the day...madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-1163818326506147342006-11-17T18:49:00.000-08:002006-11-17T18:52:06.520-08:00Being neurotic helps...I hit the 30 K mark in the NaNo competiton today. Only 20,000 more words to go!<br /><br />I find it helps to have an unnerving day. I came home and dashed off a cool three thousand in a flash. Love it.<br /><br />Must say, this quick way of getting words on paper is fun. My internal editor is so fed-up with me, she may never come back from Tahiti.<br /><br />Good riddance, perhaps?madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049760.post-1157936697844551332006-09-10T18:01:00.000-07:002006-09-10T18:04:57.860-07:00Trying something new!To jumpstart my next novel, I am signing up for NaNo, the national novel writing contest. The object is to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. A number of my writer buddies are doing it, too. Should be fun.<br /><br />My novels are usually longer -- from 80,000 to 90,000 words. I may not complete the first draft in the time allowed, but I can give it a heck of a try.<br /><br />The hard part will be turning off my internal editor. To get this many words down on paper, I can not stop to tweat and toil along the way.<br /><br />I have already started to work on some character sheets -- outlines of characters in the book. By the time I start to write, they will seem like flesh and blood. I suppose that's the point.madhatterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465722298999797659noreply@blogger.com0