tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71303154740927501062024-03-12T23:52:16.855-07:00Abby's Writing AppealA blog for the faithful fans of an author in the making...my appeal to the masses and writing's appeal to me.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-42417718396567576822012-09-04T10:11:00.003-07:002012-09-04T10:11:41.620-07:00The Door<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
There once was a
wooden door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door was created to
welcome those who passed through it, and therefore was quite beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With little time it became a symbol,
the distinct attribute to which people recognized the building it graced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
As most things
change with time so did the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Paint was splashed and spread upon its surface to brighten the façade
and draw the hectic crowds outside to the business within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a long while the method
worked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The vivid color caught the
attention of its patrons, and when the paint faded or chipped more paint was simply
applied to keep the door looking fresh and new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
Still the day came
when the door’s appearance could no longer be helped by paint. Instead the
layers of paint actually hindered the appearance of the door and less people
passed through it. The door was soon discarded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its original design had long been forgotten, trapped beneath
layers of faded paint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And though
the paint had once served the door, its owners, and the patrons well,
eventually the paint only distorted the door and covered the reason why it had
been placed there in the beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
It was fortunate
for the door that a carpenter happened upon it in the trash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instantly, the carpenter recognized
what might lie beneath the layers and decided to take it home and see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The process was not easy. The chemicals
and tools used in stripping years and years of old identities away from the
door were difficult. The carpenter cut away portions of the door’s frayed
edges, and as the carpenter exposed more wood, the door realized how much it
had come to rely on the paint covering it to define and hide what it really
looked like. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
When the last bit
of paint was removed, the door felt naked and ugly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dry, exposed, and dull all it wanted was the comfort of the
concealing paint. But with a satisfied grin, the carpenter looked on and
continued to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the
rigors of removing the paint, trimming, and sanding the splinters and worn
edges, the carpenter’s touch softened as he massaged oil into the grain of the
wood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door soaked in the
restoring fluid and began to remember its original design.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the last of the oil rubbed in
place, the carpenter stood back with another smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door looked better than ever before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
The next day the
carpenter took the door to a smaller building and hung it up. There the door
realized just how much the carpenter had done for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only had the carpenter taken it from the trash, he had
made it new, recognizing the potential it held when stripped, reshaped and
covered in nourishing oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
door also found a freedom in its new frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No longer did it feel pressured to bring people to the
building. Instead, every week the faithful patrons of the building entered by
way of the door, happy to see it hanging there. The door in turn welcomed each
one joyfully and was especially delighted when the carpenter passed by and
smiled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
...wrote this to work out and express my take on a recent experience...hope it offers something to every reader. With gratitude, Abby. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-5196404015011323602012-06-05T13:18:00.000-07:002012-06-05T13:18:00.710-07:00The Top StairI grew up in a two story home. And because of the second floor, I have a particular attachment to one place - the top stair. I know...strange place to have an affection. It's not a favorite couch or porch swing, or even something like a nice soothing bathtub where stress drains away. Instead it's small and not particularly forgiving on the rear, but it's a special place to me.<br />
<br />
It's funny how, until yesterday, I never realized my attachment to this common yet unique niche. But I found myself seeking solace there as I coped with some things going on in my life. Something about it made it easier to release...to open up and let whatever came come. When I realized how much being at this pinnacle, this threshold before entering the seclusion and privacy of bedrooms or the first step before venturing back down to the world below, felt so safe, it made be think. And thus I write.<br />
<br />
The top stair. What a dynamic place to be. In many ways it the summit of a home. It's a place anything can happen. It's where you change from one state to the next...am I upstairs or down? It's a place where, if only for a moment, we commit to taking that next step, whether up or down. It's where two worlds merge, even collide, and combine to make something. To change something. To understand something. <br />
<br />
<br />
Yesterday, as I cried, prayed, thought, reflected on some important matters, it was my place. <br />
<br />
It is on this stair where I find my mind can focus and clear. It is on this stair where anything can begin and end. It is on this stair where I started and finish this post. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-22620509460816060902012-03-10T19:27:00.005-08:002012-03-10T20:12:47.510-08:00Ode to the BackseatThink back to your youth all you adults and the thrill, or for those of you with siblings, the fight to call the front seat! Ahh the luxury and disillusioned feeling of maturity we felt when climbing into the passenger seat.<br /><br />"I'm sitting in the front of the car. I've arrived. I'm no longer at the bottom of the food chain. Winning!" <br /><br />If only I could go back to those days and really take in the moment, when I reveled to feel older and desired that false sense of adulthood. Now, as another notch of official yeardom approaches I find myself not caught by my yearly mortality reminder, but more in how I wish I could go back to the carefree days of the backseat.<br /><br />Ahh, free chauffeur service. Those were the days...but were they?<br /><br />Yes, I'd be lying to say no, but I'd also be lying to say yes. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the backseat will always feel dissatisfactory on some level. Why? Because the view is compromised. From the back you can only make out half of what lies ahead, and since most of us are creatures that like to be aware of our surroundings and know what we are about to face it's natural to revolt to only getting half the scene. Only grasping a portion of the world around us is, to say the least, frustrating.<br /><br />Then again, maybe that's why we have the backseat to begin with. Maybe there is a reason it's safer for us to sit in the back as we grow. It gives us time to process the world beyond the window. And even as we may squirm in our seat, tired of the constraints second to that of a straight jacket, we are safe. And after a few short years and many shoe sizes later, one day one of your parents asks you if you'd like to sit in the "front" today. Your eyes grow big, a smile conquers your face and it happens. You have reached the next level. But beware, it is just the beginning of the end. From this point things will only grow more complicated. There is no going back from this point on. Life's view will no longer be the same and the innocence of the back seat will never be the same. <br /><br />Oh backseat, may we ever appreciate all the worry free journeys and naps we enjoyed in your arms.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-34808088494619486592012-02-10T21:22:00.000-08:002012-02-10T22:25:48.998-08:00Nearly a year...And what a year has occurred. I can honestly say I've experienced more change smooshed in the last 12 months than ever before. Moving, family loss, job changes, culture changes, homeownership...ahhhhh! A girl can only take so much.<br /><br />And yet I know there is more. More of what...well I don't know. Good, bad, ugly, splendid, it could be any combination and yet when it's broken down it doesn't matter. Now I don't mean that to come off negative, just real. Real because life incorporates all of it. I'm not trying to sound existential but as I sit, waiting for the next step to reveal itself I realize just how small I am. And unlike many who might revolt against the idea of accepting my minimalism, I'm quite happy with it. Why? Simple. What happens to me is only part of an even bigger picture.<br /><br />Bigger picture...yet another broad term. Many have debated what the bigger picture might mean, and unfortunately adhere to a very subjective view of what that means. As for me, change has brought me closer to truth. Truth in the one thing that has sustained me through all the change, tears, frustration, etc. Truth in the one thing that doesn't change no matter how much change I see because I'm only a piece of a puzzle. A piece that hopefully demonstrates whom I belong to and how my life is hopefully a demonstration of the truth bigger than anything I could ever achieve on my own. And who could honestly complain about that?<br /> <br />And for those who, with great determination, continue to check this blog I won't promise consistency in my posts but quality of posts I will always try to deliver! Thanks for reading! Let's see what another year yields...Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-80606253702041634202011-03-21T08:59:00.000-07:002011-03-21T11:16:39.553-07:00Counting...Today I am older. Yeah, I'm older every day, but it's officially documented today on the record books. I have successfully added another coal to my fire of life, and I have once again reached the #-0 marker (I'll let you figure out what number that is as a lady never reveals her age ;)<br /><br />In my attempt to be introspective, this little post will catch a few of my mental blurbs about today...<br />1) A year ago today it was snowing! Yes snowing on the day following the first day of spring. Today, however, I am pleased to find the norm has returned to warmth and possibly some spring rain- which I adore!<br />2) Tulips are blooming- yay!<br />3) I've already experienced bliss in the simple form of Thin Mints, and I'd like to make a notion to add a Girl Scout calendar year, beginning when the first box is delivered and consumed in guiltless delight.<br />4) I think the reality of the added year will hit me when I fill out a questionnaire that includes checking an age box and find myself checking a different bracket...yikes!<br />5) One of my coworkers told me #-0 is the new 18. I agree...of course I will probably also agree when I hit my next decade too.<br />6) Ten years ago I wouldn't have placed myself here. But that's not to downplay any of what has happened in the last ten years. Gosh, ten years time has yielded a graduation, my first official leap into the "real world", my first full time job (currently working at #3), two engagements-and every relationship in between those, marriage to a wonderful man who has kept his promise that I will never be bored, my first trek over international waters, the loss of my first grandparent, the loss of my most beloved pet, family health scares which have furthered our faith and love, friends getting married and having babies, and of course the beginning of my writing journey. And those are just the most prominent moments coming to mind.<br />7) My metabolism decided it was time to slow down about three years ago...I will remain bitter that it never thought to ask my opinion on the matter.<br />8) The number of grey hairs (aka wisdom steaks) on my head, if all gathered together, could successfully create a proper come-over for a balding man. But until it reaches enough to create a toupee, I'll refuse to dye them.<br />9) I'm still a t-shirt and jeans kind of gal...external age will only aid to rally the youth inside!<br />10) And finally I pray that the next #0 years will trump the first #0 in the things I learn, the people I love, the wisdom I grasp, and the lives impacted by the way I live my own.<br /><br />And with that I will hit "publish post" and wish everyone a Happy Abby's Birthday!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-45969920708518213942011-03-13T07:51:00.000-07:002011-03-13T13:18:49.916-07:00A Book in Eternal Progress...For the few who might chance to read this blog every now and then, I am updating you on the latest of my novel adventures. Nearly three and a half years after beginning my first writing project I find myself, once again, in a place of reverie. You see I have once again come to a place where "I think" I have finished the latest and greatest installment of the never-ending-book-revision.<br /><br />Now to the finality of this revision, I guess it will all depend on it's ability to catch some agent's eye and return a response such as "Wonderful!...Unputdownable...I'm getting this straight to an acquisition agent...Your characters, your plot, your writing voice, Bravo!" and so forth. So in my own attempts to make my page-people come to life over the last three years, I hope they have reached a level where their resume will be considered. A place where their literary maturity is worth consideration to be swept up in the world of publishing. Now of course I plan to accompany them wherever their journey may lead, but I won't lie and tell you that I'm partial to visiting, oh I don't know, New York or London if I had my druthers.<br /><br />That's all for now...stay tuned for, heck, I don't know what installment will come next but you can bet something is a com'n!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-80932703764830500602011-01-22T16:41:00.001-08:002011-01-22T17:42:22.079-08:00Note to Self:Hello? Self? Are you there?<br /><br />Hi Self. Of Course I am here.<br /><br />Where have you been?<br /><br />Where you have been, of course. Isn't that kind of obvious.<br /><br />I know but you haven't written me in a while and I was beginning to worry.<br /><br />Well you know we've been busy.<br /><br />Yes, I know. But why haven't you written me.<br /><br />I...uh...I'm not sure. I just haven't.<br /><br />Don't you like to share things anymore.<br /><br />Yes, but I'm selective.<br /><br />What like country club selective?<br /><br />No, more like bakery selective. So much to choose from and often too much to choose, so you walk out in fear of buying too much or you splurge and then later have to buy bigger jeans. It seems I've been walking out of the store, yet my jeans would say different.<br /><br />Yes, they were tighter this morning when you put them on.<br /><br />Back to the point, please.<br /><br />Sorry Self. It's just a new year and I thought I'd remind you of your indulgent online diary. How do you expect people to read about your writing if you aren't actually writing.<br /><br />You might have a point.<br /><br />You know I do.<br /><br />Yes, but I don't have to admit it.<br /><br />Not to others, but I'm you, you already have and you know I'm right.<br /><br />Yes, you usually are right.<br /><br />I know, but it's a responsibility I must bear. And that is why I got your attention. To deny me such intrigues as these is a crime.<br /><br />Well, at least I know I can entertain myself.<br /><br />Yes, it's a start but try not to get too caught up only in that. Blogger hermithood is not the most conducive to building a following.<br /><br />I submit. So Self what would you have me do?<br /><br />Just write. Most of the time it's to me anyway so journal, diary, chronicle...do whatever it takes and write.<br /><br />And if I don't?<br /><br />Then you will be hearing again from me sooner than anyone who just read this post would like. Don't put them through another blog like this. Besides that could lead to something else entirely as talking to yourself is not often characterized as functional, and you do have a book you want to sell.<br /><br />Ah yes, true. Thanks Self.<br /><br />You are welcome. And by the way I love the new background.<br /><br />Why thank you Self. It's very English chic.<br /><br />Thanks Self, that's exactly what I thought :)Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-46471497057565239562010-08-25T08:03:00.000-07:002010-09-02T09:05:51.074-07:00Memories that Make You Paws...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLN2D8XEoZ8H34sA9iiiQFbQvLGSFR1FJNt29hKJx_smxzgShq6qXjuuKYfVqx0wpLZGrC0dCOpBGg73lu_8jonPhYUcYBjDWQfGk4y7YU8gSndA-YHAqbvd2MFQwVEFpJYC1Fd-E6zu8/s1600/IMG_0390.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLN2D8XEoZ8H34sA9iiiQFbQvLGSFR1FJNt29hKJx_smxzgShq6qXjuuKYfVqx0wpLZGrC0dCOpBGg73lu_8jonPhYUcYBjDWQfGk4y7YU8gSndA-YHAqbvd2MFQwVEFpJYC1Fd-E6zu8/s320/IMG_0390.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512323706996040130" border="0" /></a>Yes, the pun is intended with gusto. Today marks a week since I had to say goodbye to a most beloved companion, my sweet dog Joshua. In his ripe age of nearly 19 (which he would have turned in November), his body was failing him and we knew it was time. I believe 100% he knew it was time too. So, I wanted to take just a few moments to remember him, as a great dog, who shared 2/3 of my life, deserves.<br /><br />Joshua, also known as Joshers, Joshman, puppy and many more, can't be captured fully in a few short paragraphs. His temperament was equally loving as it was stubborn, and he certainly preferred to be the center of attention. He was another family member, only hairier and with a tail. I can't say he was much shorter than I was, and like the old adage says "Owners look like their pets," Josh and I certainly did, down to the curly hair and our funny struts. Josh was a sibling of three, so am I. He was the runt, and considering I have two brothers who are now stronger and taller than me, I guess I'm kind of the runt too.<br /><br />There are a thousand memories flooding my mind as I think of him. He was my crying buddy when things went wrong. He made me laugh and was great at giving doggy kisses. He helped me learn responsibility and how to clean up messes, which I know will come in handy when I have kids :) He was a great listener- all loyal dogs are. He was my buddy, my baby, my friend. His tail always wagged and his butt always wiggled when I came home to visit after "growing up." I hated leaving him when college hit, but I think he understood- for that I'm thankful.<br /><br />He was forgiving when I hurt him, and patient when I didn't speak dog. I loved the way, after a bath, he would rub his nose and face all over the carpet in my dad's office. He had the puppy-dog-look down pat and could usually brown-eye his way into persuading you to spoil him. When my mom cooked dinner and beef was involved, he made sure to partake in taste testing it first. He was never much for walking, and whenever we did as soon as we lapped back and came to our street he would full sprint back home. Again just like me he was a homebody. Whenever people hugged, he would jump up and down until someone picked him up and hugged him too. He protected us and barked like a big dog when he sensed something was wrong. He hated the rain (unlike me), but only because he'd have to get wet to go out. He wasn't a big fan of snow either, for the same reason.<br /><br />He loved our family, that's an understatement. My older brother holding a special place in his heart as the giver of dinner scraps. And he inspired my youngest brother in many creative cartoon drawings. He knew my Dad was the alpha dog, and gave him the throne (most of the time). And mom, he followed her many days like a shadow, sitting beneath or beside her as she read or worked at her desk.<br /><br />19 years is hard to capture on a blog. I've already written more than I expected, but am not surprised. When you have experienced so much joy for so many years, it's hard not to share it all. But with that I will conclude my tribute to my sweet baby puppy- for he will always be a puppy in my eyes. Thank you Josh for the years you chose to live with us. It is true- he picked us from when he was a puppy- following me around at the breeder's house before we even took him home. Josh your life and impact on mine will never be forgotten. And for that I can say I am blessed, I will miss you, always love you and in your memory I take a moment to paws...<br /><br />Joshua Wiggles Waite<br />November 12, 1991- August 25, 2010Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-70552233373281337712010-08-16T11:55:00.000-07:002010-08-16T12:22:09.360-07:00Where art thou Fall?Now don't get me wrong, I love warm weather. The feeling of the sun on your face, arms and legs, even though mine currently look like they haven't seen the sun in years. Despite my pale complexion,however, I appreciate the time of year I'm not layered in 20 extra pounds of clothing just to walk from my front door to my car.<br /><br />But after nearly twenty something days of 100+ weather I think I could stand a light breeze. Something refreshing versus scorching. Something where the heat index isn't running a temperature.<br /><br />So since I can't change the outside thermostat, I decided to change something I have control over...my blog background. Yes it's a rather puny trade off but use your imagination. Pretend the leaves are changing color, and if you are in Texas look quick before they fall to the ground. <br /><br />I know Fall is on the horizon. I already hear my husband's nervous chatter about football and Game Day coming soon. Back to school signs and discounts are in abundance, and sometimes I wish I had a reason to purchase new pens and notepads. The line "a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils" from the movie You've Got Mail comes to mind and I smile.<br /><br />Well anyway, until it no longer feels like Masada I'll try and think cool thoughts. If only that would work on our electric bill too.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-34269161105261699632010-05-23T12:51:00.000-07:002010-05-23T13:49:06.739-07:00Shoo flyThere is a fly in our house. He's been buzzing around all weekend trying to find an exit with little luck. And if he tries what he just did again, he may be exiting our apartment in the belly of Mr. Hefty...<br /><br />As my previous post noted I am in the process of perfecting something that is never quite perfect, my query. I escaped to the bedroom to make a few more adjustments but didn't realize I was followed.<br /><br />In order for you to understand what happened next I need to tell you about my hair. If it was a perfect world I would permanently have my hair pulled back in the cutest darn ponytail you ever did see. But nothing is perfect, so today I'm wearing my hair down which means I'm sporting a nice mop-like style. I have a tendency like most girls to fiddle or adjust my hair while focused on something. At one point I reached up to adjust the hair falling against my right temple and that's when I heard it.<br /><br />Buzz.<br /><br />What the crap?<br /><br />I reach up and run my fingers through my hair.<br /><br />BUZZZ! <br /><br />No way! The stupid flying maggot has taken shelter in my hair. And I promise you it's not because it smells. Pantene was applied and rinsed with great care this morning. <br /><br />At this point I'm thinking, "Gross! A fly just landed in my hair and decided, 'This is nice. I think I'll stay.'" <br /><br />Seeing that this rest stop was not approved by me, I stand up and make my way to the mirror. I toss my hair again just to make sure and...<br /><br />BUZZZZZZZ!!<br /><br />Heck No!<br /><br />At this point I'm vigorously tossing and combing my hair, irritated as all get out that this stupid fly won't leave me alone. I reach the mirror and carefully inspect my locks looking for the intruder. I don't see or hear him anywhere else in the room so I wait. Did I kill him? Ugh, I hope his remains aren't still in my hair? Has he crawled to the other side of my head? Is this all a game to him? Then I hear him again.<br /><br />No, he's not still in my hair. Somehow he managed to make it safely behind the blinds, taunted by an outside he cannot reach. (He, he!) Satisfied at his dilemma, I returned to the couch where I'm now typing this post. My attacker is still at bay for now, but if he knows what's best for him he better keep on the move or his next landing might be his last. <br /><br />Now I'm going to pull my hair back.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-84874795887710248052010-05-22T13:48:00.000-07:002010-05-22T14:36:31.754-07:00Query BoundTo my fellow writers who are currently embarking on the mind numbing journey of writing a query: May the pithy force be with you! (Yes I'm watching Star Wars as I type. Part 5 The Empire Strikes Back.)<br /><br />By now, like the novel, my query has once again undergone reconstructive surgery. I spent most of yesterday and a good chunk of my morning preparing, yet again, a suitable summary of my 360 page book into two paragraphs. I know, piece of cake right? <br /><br />Wrong!<br /><br />A query is not only the concentrate to someone's hard pressed orange juice, it also needs to be this eye-catching, heart pumping prose an agent will never forget. Like when Jake Sully first experienced the world of the Na'vi in his Avatar body...he just couldn't get enough. (Gosh this blog is riddled with sci-fi references :)<br /><br />So with a few more updates and some cleverly placed flattery, my query will be ready to face a new round of Jedi agents. Hopefully this time around my "lightsaber" skills will catch someone's eye.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-59619703197436179992010-05-16T06:04:00.000-07:002010-05-16T06:35:35.278-07:00One of those strange things...How often does something happen to you that's just plain strange?<br /><br />My average is less than a percent, but I might have upped it to a whole number the other day. It was a casual afternoon. I was enjoying a baseball game, despite the intermittent allergy twinges, with my co-workers. It was early in the 9th and a gust of wind blew through our section. With it came an unexpected friend, a yellow butterfly. <br /><br />The wind's overpowering gust carried this little creature past the people in front of me until he landed on my seat. It was hard not to miss his arrival with his bright exterior. His landing was less than smooth as I watched him clumsily try to right himself. When I noticed his difficulty I offered him a hand, rather my thumb. And this is when it happened.<br /><br />Without any hesitancy he not only accepted my offer of assistance, he gratefully crawled all the way onto my thumb and stopped there, content. Now I don't know about you but butterflies don't willfully crawl onto my fingers everyday. Despite my desire to be someone like Mary Poppins who can sing along with birds in a conversation, nature has never latched onto me like my little friend did.<br /><br />I watched him in great shock, for not only did he seem happy to remain perched on my thumb but he also seemed to trust me. At one point another evil gust of wind blew through our section, and like a mom throwing my arm like an added seat belt towards the passengers seat, my other hand flew up to protect him from the gust. Now most rightfully skiddish creatures would retreat at this sudden movement, but not my little friend. He just sat on my thumb. And he did so for another 15-20 minutes without any sign of retreat. At one point his tongue even gave my skin a taste as he crawled further down my thumb toward my palm.<br /><br />Now if you recall I mentioned this all began at the beginning of the 9th inning, and all things must reach an end. Seeing that I couldn't very well take my little friend with me, I don't think the car ride would have suited him, I carefully encouraged him to take refuge behind a steal beam where the wind's dauntless pursuit could not reach his frail frame. <br /><br />I hope he's made it further than the ball park. Maybe found a nice little garden where he can settle, marry and make other yellow butterflies. But wherever he is today, I am grateful for the moment he gave me. One of those strange little things...Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-2728468540144089892010-05-01T14:49:00.000-07:002010-05-12T17:20:44.533-07:00Changes, Changes, Changes...I should have known it. I should have known my book would assume yet another transformation. And I officially understand why it takes so MANY years to "finish" a book. Writing is the easy part...editing on the other hand, well that's a whole different ball of wax :)<br /><br />After almost three years of development, my book is a seasoned patient of reconstructive surgery. Should I dare say I'm done? Never! Then it won't ever happen. Although at this point I'd like to hand it over to someone official who can tell me to stop (he, he). <br /><br />Just thought I'd share this simple update of my book's current state of fluid completion. The next couple of weeks I'll address things like punctuation and sentence flow and then...<br /><br />Anyone interested in taking a look???Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-13314124799737813242010-04-12T17:06:00.001-07:002010-04-12T18:05:25.942-07:00Ripple EffectOK I'm guilty. I have failed to post something on my blog as of recent (an old friend pointed out my delinquency.) Yes, I've been hitting my post snooze button. But I'm up now and here it goes.<br /><br />A thought for my faithful (and few): <br /><br />How can a post, such as this, change my life? Let's dissect this question. Simply my post is taking up a portion of your day. A few minutes at most or a couple more if you read slower. And it's certainly taking a few more to type it...<br /><br />So ponder this: If you weren't reading this innocent post what else would you be doing? Changing your socks, eating a Twinkie, or possibly reading a less important blog (I'll pretend not to think about that one). The possibilities are endless. That's just it. I am causing a time ripple effect with something as simple as a few paragraphs. Now, what are you thinking?<br /><br />I end with this. As I introspectively type, a particular movie comes to mind with just this topic. It's called Stranger Than Fiction. Rent it,buy it, Netflix it, Red or Green or Blue box it...whatever it takes watch it. (And as you watch it think how big a ripple an hour and a half movie creates :)Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-77978748920563845282010-01-26T10:02:00.000-08:002010-01-28T13:48:48.147-08:00Meat SnacksAs I drove to work this morning I pulled up behind a delivery truck advertising snack food brands. Within that white van held a cornucopia of sweet and salty snacks. Innocent it seems, but there was one particular treat advertised my mind and stomach just couldn't come to terms with. Two words - perfectly acceptable but when joined together...UGH...my taste buds revolt at the thought...MEAT SNACKS.<br /><br />Now I realize I may be the only person having issue with those two words sitting side by side, but just this once is it wrong for me to request segregation. I am aware it's referencing jerky - but then why not just say jerky. What marketing director gave the OK for "meat snacks" to accompany the brand name? I'm sorry but when I think of a snack - meat is not my default response. <br /><br />"Gee I'm really hungry. I think I'll have a meat snack." Sorry - no bait!<br /><br />Now my Q: Are there any word combinations you've seen that just don't work? Ones that should be band from ever joining forces? If you've experienced any travesties...share with caution.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-77895596633093396662009-11-29T13:33:00.000-08:002009-11-29T14:12:00.675-08:00Post Turkey IntrospectionThis is a slightly odd post but I felt like writing a bit post Turkeyday and well what else it your own personal blog for :) So Thanksgiving has officially passed...leftovers are spilling out of the fridge. Christmas lights are popping up every where. People look forward to the natural high of endorphin induced shopping. And a cold front has dropped into my neck of the woods. So why am I am I not sensing that "holly jolly" feeling?<br /><br />I sense a complicated answer and so not to bore you with the myriad of ideas I'll keep it minimal. I think I've been bitten by the "adult" bug. The wonder of this season has been eclipsed by the immediates of life: job, bills, house, car...etc. I think many of you may agree that "life" lacks the quiet we all desperately try to grasp, especially during a holiday. But how are we suppose to do that in a day in age where speed is king and we have to rush to get anything done. If it's not instant it's too slow. Tell me how are we suppose to think, enjoy, feel at the speed of light?<br /> <br />So as the end of 2009 seems to move at warp speed, I'm going to try and step back. I'm not going to let December push me into another year. Instead I hope this next month will be a baseline for months to come. It will be a measuring drumstick that will serve to remind me that life is short and no matter what holiday approaches, the fact that I get to enjoy another holiday is blessing enough.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-36126030279880481992009-11-23T07:02:00.000-08:002009-11-30T11:34:36.502-08:00The effects of a New Moon...for the lovers and the haters<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXmjD0gLQcKurOPMCSjD4eXJBlI-QmdZ9DGDWdhcI_iX4hyphenhyphenPAOsS5UqAVPpzEtQekVZhHnTxk01HKaFBCq3UC98dLYycxvEMm00QdfWKi43a81czApGYbmStdtZieMp2ua5RIdQoj-ao/s1600/jacob.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXmjD0gLQcKurOPMCSjD4eXJBlI-QmdZ9DGDWdhcI_iX4hyphenhyphenPAOsS5UqAVPpzEtQekVZhHnTxk01HKaFBCq3UC98dLYycxvEMm00QdfWKi43a81czApGYbmStdtZieMp2ua5RIdQoj-ao/s320/jacob.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407315010979421746" /></a><br /><br />This weekend I stepped back into my youth. I surrounded myself with teens giggling and oooing over a world which momentarily takes captive their minds and most assuredly their hormones. I also sat among ladies twice as old as I, also dabbling in the same state of euphoria as the 14 year old sitting next to them. Now let me ask you...what could bring so many women (and some guys) to this place of unrelenting anticipation?<br /><br />It's simple - New Moon.<br /><br />Yes of course I'm referring to the movie spin off from the Twilight Saga Series by Stephenie Meyer. Which by the way I enjoy. Yes I said it...the Twilight Saga is my dirty pleasure. <br /><br />Warning civilized rant to follow :)<br />For those of you who feel obliged to express your negative reaction to the books and movies...by all means do so. It's a free country enjoy your moment of solidarity. And now I will do the same but with a request for the strident haters. For those of you adimently opposed to anything "Twilight," that's cool, but please do me a favor. Try and compare apples to apples and not apples to wine or wine to french fries. It seems the hype which circles Twilight has become target practice for those opinioned enough to shoot at it. Really if it's so sub par then why even waste your time? <br /><br />I think anyone who claims to enjoy the series either in lit or video form (or both), if they were being truthful, would admit the series is an indulgence. Nothing more or less. And who doesn't allow themselves to indulge every once in a while. Everyone's tastes are different- thank goodness. So like it or hate it, but haters however you distasteful you find this series keep in mind its a YA (young adult) series written for fun and obviously geared to teenage girls (aka idealistic-imaginary-hormone-driven-adolescents)(which if you're not a gal I can understand how this storyline might offer a biological disadvantage to its enjoyment). <br /><br />O.k. now onto the movie for the Twi-lovers. I am declaring my bias up front, and I am happy to say I'm not a paid critique because I don't think I ever want to analyze a movie at that level...I think it can strip the fun from it like trying to edit a book vs. just reading it for pleasure. In my perspective it yields two very different experiences.<br /><br />So her's my take on NEW MOON- the movie: <br />Enjoyment level - 10 <br />Accuracy to book - 8.5 (I realize allowances must be made, but it was dead close)<br />Character portrayal - 8 (and may I add I'm most impressed with Taylor Lautner's take on Jacob- its perfect in my mind - he gets a 10 (thus his own character plug above- plus it looks cool)(also I spoke to someone who feels the development is weaker strictly based on watching the movie- which I could lend to agree on IF you haven't read the book first)<br />Special effects - 9.5 (compared to the first they were just plain fun) <br />Musical Score - 9 <br />Satisfaction level - 10<br />And finally will I see it again - YES<br /><br />I'll admit this blog was more a "get it out of my system" post - sorry for the length. But considering my how weekend was submerged in Twilight's cult following, I needed to post something with Stephanie and her works in mind. Thanks Stephenie. <br /><br />To conclude, in relation to my writing addiction, like Stephenie, I write for me with the purpose of ENTERTAINMENT- a get away. If a day comes I also find a fan following for my characters and their fantastical lives I would be thrilled if it reached even a percent of Twilight's success. The glory will never been mine, that's not something I can claim for myself nor want to, but I can enjoy the thrill of seeing an audience connect to my work as much as it connects to me.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-46785319332831061882009-10-27T13:24:00.000-07:002009-10-27T13:30:45.828-07:00Amazing "Football" HeroLeave it to the British...very awesome!<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0XjwoVqM_qE&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0XjwoVqM_qE&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-43344536014204128242009-10-22T07:06:00.000-07:002009-10-31T13:19:01.425-07:00Welcome Abby's blog pet...In keeping with me (and since my husband is making me wait to get a real pet- love you babe!) I've resorted to a lesser version of real to squelch my desire for a pet. This actually works out better for you as a reader because now you can interact with the little creature friend I've added to my blog...yes I know, I can feel your excitement through the screen.<br /><br />Anyway, my blogger patrons the new addition...(trumpets sound)...is a little tree frog who's faithful to anyone with a working mouse and especially enjoys those who have a tendency to left click alot...give it a try and you'll see why. Yum!<br /><br />I will announce this little guy's name shortly...let me know your ideas either as a comment or if you are so privileged as to be my friend on facebook ;) you can message me there too!<br /><br />***UPDATE: After several great suggestions for my new blog pet, a name has been chosen. Drum roll please......Frodo the Frog. I felt it only necessary to chose a lit. name seeing that my blog is primarily focused on my writing adventures. Thanks to all who participated. Now be kind and feed Frodo some flies.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-55534676835062343772009-10-13T07:23:00.000-07:002009-10-14T08:22:03.260-07:00Fall's EssenceIs there a time of year when your body experiences a natural high due to the weather? For me this feeling happens when it rains- LOVE the rain- and when the steamy summer days transition to the crisp fall air. I love the fall! <br /><br />And for this reason, I've realized why my mind dove head first into the invigorating waters of writing at the slightest hint of fall's arrival. The cooler weather has kick started my drive to sit in my cozy chair and think up plot lines and character actions. I think after breathing in the sultry summer air of Texas for however many months, my mind felt like it was running on fumes, sucking every last particle of creative energy from the heat waves burning them up.<br /><br />Ahh, but now, finally, the cooler weather is pushing out the heat and filling the air once again with its creative fall essence. Can't you smell it? Can you feel it soaking into your pores? I can! Wow, come to think it was this time two years ago when the first creative juices began to flow for my first book, and now I am working on book two!<br /><br />There is just something enticing about the fall- it's natural association to picking up a great book and getting lost in its pages as your body nestles into a blue snuggie (yes our household owns two of the fleece-armed blanket marketing wonders) and sipping on some hot chocolate with the sound of a fire imitating the rice crispy cereal sound- Snap-Crackle-Pop- in the background. Oh my, if my mind could salivate it would. <br /><br />So I challenge you to enjoy the change of season. Take in the wonder which is the essence of fall and dive into something that excites the creative part of your soul.<br /><br />Oh and let me know what season's essence does this for you and why? Who knows I may apply it to one of my characters...Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-15603832171500954252009-09-22T06:39:00.000-07:002009-09-22T06:46:25.755-07:00Kris to the Allen!I've been waiting to hear what Idol winner Kris Allen's debut single would be...well it's out so take a listen and enjoy.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3WnmNvbomQE&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3WnmNvbomQE&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-42609970402474619262009-09-10T08:33:00.001-07:002009-09-10T09:02:23.569-07:00In honor of the new season...And of course I mean the football season. Can't you smell pigskin in the air? Trust me there is no escaping its return in my household. I received this and was compelled to share it.<br /><br /><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style=";font-family:Calibri;color:black;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >College Football Time</span></span></b><b><span style="font-family:Calibri;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">... The difference between Northern and Southern Football</span></span></b></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Planning for the fall football season in the South is radically different than up North. For those who are planning a football trip South, here are some helpful hints.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Women's Accessories:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Chap Stick in back pocket and a $20 bill in the front pocket.<br />SOUTH: Louis Vuitton duffel with two lipsticks, waterproof mascara, and a fifth of bourbon. Money not necessary - that's what dates are for.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Stadium Size:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_3">NORTH: College football stadiums</span> hold 20,000 people.<br /><span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_4">SOUTH: High school football stadiums</span> hold 20,000 people.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Fathers:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Expect their daughters to understand Sylvia Plath.<br />SOUTH: Expect their daughters to understand pass interference.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Campus Decor:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Statues of founding fathers.<br />SOUTH: Statues of Heisman trophy winners.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_5">Homecoming Queen</span>:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Also a physics major.<br />SOUTH: Also <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_6">Miss America</span>.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Heroes:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_7">Rudy Giuliani</span><br />SOUTH: Archie, Peyton & <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_8">Eli Manning</span><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Getting Tickets:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: 5 days before the game you walk into the ticket office on campus.<br />SOUTH: 5 months before the game you walk into the ticket office on campus, make a large financial contribution and put name on a waiting list for tickets.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Friday Classes After a <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_9">Thursday Night</span> Game:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Students and teachers not sure they're going to the game, because they have classes <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_10">on Friday</span>.<br />SOUTH: Teachers cancel Friday classes because they don't want to see the few hung over students that might actually make it to class.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Parking:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: An hour before game time, the University opens the campus for game parking.<br />SOUTH: RVs sporting their school flags begin arriving <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_11">on Wednesday</span> for the weekend festivities. The really faithful arrive <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_12">on Tuesday</span>.<br /></span></span></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br />Game Day:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: A few students party in the dorm and watch ESPN on TV.<br />SOUTH: Every student wakes up, has a beer for breakfast, and rushes over to where <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_13">ESPN</span> is broadcasting "Game Day Live" to get on camera and wave to the idiots up north who wonder why "Game Day Live" is never Broadcast from their campus.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Tailgating:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Raw meat on a grill, beer with lime in it, listening to <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_14">local radio station</span> with truck tailgate down.<br />SOUTH: 30-foot custom pig-shaped smoker fires up at dawn. Cooking accompanied by live performance from the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252596860_15">Dave Matthews Band</span>,... who come over during breaks and ask for a hit off bottle of bourbon.<br /></span></span></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br />Getting to the Stadium:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: You ask "Where's the stadium?" When you find it, you walk right in.<br />SOUTH: When you're near it, you'll hear it. On game day it is the state's<br />third largest city.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Concessions:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Drinks served in a paper cup, filled to the top with soda.<br />SOUTH: Drinks served in a plastic cup, with the home team's mascot on it, filled less than half way with soda, to ensure enough room for bourbon.<br /></span></span></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br />When National Anthem is Played:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH : Stands are less than half full, and less than half of them stand up.<br />SOUTH: 100,000 fans, all standing, sing along in perfect four-part harmony.<br /></span></span></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br />The Smell in the Air after the First Score:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Nothing changes.<br />SOUTH: Fireworks, with a touch of bourbon.<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >Commentary (Male):<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: "Nice play."<br />SOUTH: "Dangit, you slow idiot - tackle him and break his legs."</span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br />Commentary (Female):<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: "My, this certainly is a violent sport."<br />SOUTH: "Dangit, you slow idiot - tackle him and break his legs."<br /></span></span></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br />Announcers:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: Neutral and paid.<br />SOUTH: Announcer harmonizes with the crowd in the fight song, with a tear in his eye because he is so proud of his team.<br /></span></span></b></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" ><br />After the Game:<br /></span></span></b><b><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-weight: bold;color:black;" >NORTH: The stadium is empty way before the game ends.<br />SOUTH: Another rack of ribs goes on the smoker, while somebody goes to the nearest package store for more bourbon, and planning begins for next week's game.<br /><br />The essence of Southern football is impossible to duplicate!</span></span></b></span><b><span style=";font-size:130%;color:black;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:13;color:black;" ><br /></span></span></b>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-30825000825743416562009-09-09T12:35:00.000-07:002009-10-14T08:37:01.829-07:00Definition of a WriterThe other day I went with a girlfriend of mine to see the movie "Julie & Julia" based on the book by Julie Powell. Yes I'm guilty of seeing a movie prior to partaking in the movie's foundational page-flipping source. Yes, avid readers I am aware of the travesty. Books are in many cases superior to their movie prototypes and should always be enjoyed before running to the theater and purchasing an ever increasing priced ticket stub. It's like visiting the Grand Canyon, but instead of actually stopping to take in its beauty and magnitude with my own eyes, I ran straight into the gift shop and purchased a postcard of the canyon.<br /><br />But in my defense, I declare this: I enjoyed the "postcard" I purchased and you'll just have to accept my moment of literary rebellion. Deal with it :)<br /><br />Anyway, as I watched the pleasurably cute story of how one life deeply influenced the life of another, I found myself very caught up in both ladies' desire to be published- each for their own differentiating yet similar reasons. Yes I know, shocker, me caught up in a story line about people getting published. I know I'm a glutton for punishment by imagining the unrealistic (what proper writer doesn't imagine the unrealistic?) Sorry tangent...<br /><br />But there was one line in particular I found grating at the very essence of my being. At one point the character Julie states (in its essence) that "you're not a writer until you're published." Wait! Stop the film. My instincts instantly triggered in alarm. That's not true. I'm a writer and I'm not published. How dare they market such rubbish to an unassuming audience.<br /><br />Now at this point my enjoyment for the movie continued, but I wanted to see if they would correct such a tragic blunder. The movie progressed and I enjoyed the antics and sympathized with the characters as they sacrificed their lives (in practically every way) to reach the audience to whom they wrote and nurture the project they loved.<br /><br />In the end both characters found satisfaction and a sense of personal achievement- each eventually finding themselves published. I think in many ways their stories ring true in the pursuit to be came an "Author" - sacrifice, lots of hard work, more sacrifice, lots of rewriting, rejection by peers and people you don't know (and might never care to know), more rewriting, hard work again, did I mentioned rewriting and I think you get my drift. But even though I felt my $7.25 was well spent, I still felt the story lacked a clarified truth about being a writer.<br /><br />One does not become a writer, cook, actor, painter, etc only once you've been "discovered." By all means no! No I say! Do you hear me? As my writing journey approaches its 2nd unofficial year, if I had to start over with only one morsel of truth it would be this: <span style="font-style: italic;">Abby you are a writer because you write and because you love to write. </span><br /><br />Yes, that's it. It may seem simple but its the truth. I've been swept off my feet by the waves of pursuit compelling me to write something even better than the day before. I can promise you I'm far from being good at my craft, but here's the cool part - I know I can only improve the more I dedicate to it. It will be a life long learning experience like anything else we experience. Some people have strong natural affinities to do certain things, but if the heart beats strongly for those pursuing something they love then they are just as much a "insert title" as the other person. My title is Writer.<br /><br />So write on Writers...your day of fame may never come but never doubt who you are. A Writer with a capital W.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-38817597401538244722009-08-27T14:19:00.000-07:002009-08-27T15:10:39.987-07:00Query "Ding"Update: I've officially sent out my first query into the query abyss otherwise known as an agent's inbox. No I won't query and tell to whom my precious first query has gone, but I will say that I feel like a spelling bee contestant waiting to hear the dreaded "ding" of rejection.<br /><br />Maybe when I open my inbox again I'll see the oh so wonderful word of P-A-R-T-I-A-L or better yet F-U-L-L. Either way I've joined the ranks of agent-seeking <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">writer neophytes</span>. Onward I will spell Q-U-E-R-Y in the subject line until my inbox "dings" no more.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130315474092750106.post-56535577752423207902009-08-25T11:35:00.000-07:002009-08-25T11:38:25.306-07:00If only Editing Elves existed...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAHZ8the8DpVL35hR_F6Ben33ub_QSFh7XM5lx2vpAEVsXupSoGqcGULalB2KbYRns9MsTixRlETi_9yD15i_D9_igvH74NWMi-E8_Io8JeYeuY46aTMmb8Rtj8Ur8C92GlNRAO2bxllo/s1600-h/newyorkerplotpostpic5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 375px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAHZ8the8DpVL35hR_F6Ben33ub_QSFh7XM5lx2vpAEVsXupSoGqcGULalB2KbYRns9MsTixRlETi_9yD15i_D9_igvH74NWMi-E8_Io8JeYeuY46aTMmb8Rtj8Ur8C92GlNRAO2bxllo/s400/newyorkerplotpostpic5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373972341712779666" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06414046807341757882noreply@blogger.com0