Category Archives: personal

Leave Katy Perry Alone!

For today’s Friday Lame Post, I offer some half-baked philosophy about something I saw on Facebook recently. This meme (they’re called “memes,” right?) showed a quote from Katy Perry saying she was reminded about how the angels were helping her. A drawing of a superior-looking woman offered the tart comment that apparently angels were not concerned about starving children in Asia; they had their hands full helping wealthy, pampered celebrities. Oh, these narcissistic entertainers!

At first glance, one is inclined to say, “That’s right! Shame on you, Katy Perry for invoking the angels. YOU don’t need any help!” Then I thought about it and I have to ask, what is she supposed to say? If, for example, she had said, “I’m so talented and awesome, I did all this MYSELF!” no doubt some people would be saying, “Katy Perry, you egotistical slut. Admit you had help!”

Why shouldn’t angels have helped Katy Perry? May I remind you that financial backers of Broadway shows are often called angels. I understand angels come in all shapes and sizes. I really can’t say who any given angel might choose to help.

Let’s get back to the starving children in Asia. Oh, and children in this country with cancer, and homeless pets and people, and all the other truly deserving causes we could name (naming them would take a whole blog post by itself). It would be nice if some angels would help some of those, wouldn’t it?

Waaaaait a minute (in that voice I use when pointing up a plot hole in a cheesy movie)! If angels come in all shapes and sizes, could it be that WE are the angels? I’m betting that any number of my readers already are. We support causes, give to charity, and encourage others to do the same. I daresay most of us don’t do all that we COULD do. For heavens’ sake, I’m a blog-writing factory worker, not Mother Theresa.

Not to be too gooily uplifting, but writing this post has reminded me that sometimes we are the answers to each others prayers. I will continue to look for more ways in which I can help. In the meantime, let’s leave Katy Perry alone.

Better Words Are Not Forthcoming

I am having a Blog Crisis. I started this blog thinking to highlight the Mohawk Valley. I would write ABOUT things, it would not be just a silly diary kind of thing all about me. So why is it, I write a ridiculous thing about not being able to write anything and I get 11 Likes, then I write about the library book sale — a “real” post, so I thought — and one measly Like!

Oh dear, I did not mean “measly,” really. Each and every Like is near and dear to my heart.

But I’m just saying, what am I doing here? Do I really write so much better about not being able to write? Is that really much more interesting than my beloved Mohawk Valley? Oh no, does this mean I am so narcissistic that my writing purely about me is better than my writing about anything else?

SAY IT AIN’T SO!!!

Perhaps my problem is getting so caught up in the number of Likes I get on a given post. Oh, this is getting worse and worse. I’m not only narcissistic, I am dependent on the admiration of others. I must get my validation from outside, not from within!

Oh well, I guess I’m not a particularly valid person to begin with (and I don’t usually go to places where I need to get my parking validated) (sorry, couldn’t resist). But look, I’m over 200 words. We can postpone this existential crisis to another time, possible a Lame Post Friday.

OF COURSE We Need More Books!

I don’t know how well I will do with my writing for the foreseeable future. You see, Steven and I just returned from the Book Sale at Basloe Library in Herkimer, NY, and now I have some serious reading to attend to.

To be completely honest, our finances are not in the best shape these days, and our house is getting rather crowded with stuff. In other words, we don’t need to be running out and buying more books. Who am I kidding? Of course we do! Additionally, this is a library book sale. Good prices and a good cause, that’s a win/win to me.

So we took a drive to the library, parking in the Prospect Street parking lot and walking through the little park to the library on Main. The sale was in the little back room, where Guitar Group meets on Saturdays and Herkimer Now meets once a month. There were several tables covered with books. I was in my element.

At first I did not see anything I had to have, although I enjoyed browsing the variety of titles. Then I saw a Dominick Dunne book I haven’t read, People Like Us. I was delighted. Dominick Dunne is one of my all-time favorite writers. I continued to browse, feeling that if I left with only that book I would be happy.

After a while, Steven told me he had seen another Dominick Dunne book.

“I already have An Inconvenient Woman,” I said. He said it wasn’t that one, but he couldn’t remember which it was. “Oh, here, it is,” I said, spotting Dominick Dunne on a spine. “Too Much Money. I don’t have Too Much Money!”

“Neither do I,” Steven said. I had not realized till I said it how it sounded. I laughed loudly for about ten minutes.

I went on to find several more books. Steven found one book and a DVD of Good Night and Good Luck, about Edward R. Murrow and Joseph McCarthy. We were very happy with our purchases. The sale continues till Friday, so we may return. Or we may make our way to Frankfort Free Library, which is also having a book sale. So many books, so little time.

What I Can Write Right Now

It is a dreadful thing when one has made up one’s mind to write and the only thing one can find to write about is one’s apparent complete inability to write anything worth reading.

Um, you figured out that “one” is me, right?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, what’s a blogger to do? Today I’m going to do what has worked for me in the past: just write whatever I can write right now and trust that better words will be forthcoming. what I’m really hoping is that they will be forthcoming today, and I can type this into my Drafts section for use one day when I am really desperate (making a Full Disclosure, of course) (um, as it happens, I am using it today. Don’t judge).

Part of my problem is the weather. It is a sticky, icky day, conducive to lounging around near a fan and doing nothing. Of course I am not doing that; I’m at work (writing on a break, as usual). I remind myself that I have written on such days before but the memory does not seem to help.

My novel plods on. OK, it’s a hot mess. I can’t figure out what I want to happen or even how I would like it to end. I am reminded of a poster hanging in a guidance counselor’s office in my junior high school, “If you don’t know where you are going you will probably end up somewhere else.” I thought it a dire warning at the time. Now I think, “If you enjoy the trip, at least that’s something.” But now I’m making global statements and veering into half-baked philosophy. Leave that for Lame Post Friday, Cindy. We were talking about one novel, not Your Life.

I guess I’m not going to solve my novel problem by writing a blog post about now being able to write. Still, it felt pretty good to put some words on paper. One does what one can, after all.

It’s FICTION for Heavens’ Sake!

Full disclosure: I am writing this post for myself. I may not publish it (thus rendering the disclosure unnecessary; the irony is not lost on me). I am pondering my novel and I feel the need to talk about it. Of course, this is dangerous. Sometimes when you talk too much about a thing you no longer need to write it. Well, I’m not going to disclose the story. But I think if I talk about some problems I’m having WITH the story, I can come to some conclusions and/or make decisions. Here goes.

The fact is, my novel has come to something of a standstill. I must work on the plot, obviously. But I have some other questions first.

Ooh, as soon as I wrote that, I could hear a snotty voice chime in with, “Maybe you need to work on your CHARACTERS and let the plot come from THEM!” Yes, there is always someone to tell you how to write. I was about to say, “Thank you for your (quite useless) input,” but, in fact, I am not the least bit grateful (and my characters are actually pretty good, if I do say so).

Enough of this digression. I want to talk about setting. I like a small town setting. A village, in fact, although “village” has such a Middle Age sound (as in the Middle Ages, 1400-1600, not middle-aged like me. Sheesh!). I think of villagers chasing the monster to the old windmill or warning foreigners not to visit the Count that lives in the castle on the hill. But again, I digress.

I am talking about villages like Herkimer, NY, where I live now, or Norwood, NY, where I used to live. Many of your well-loved novels have memorable settings: Savannah in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, St. Mary’s Mead in the Miss Marple tales. I think it is time upstate New York had a memorable setting in a book.

Upstate New York, for the uninitiated, includes any part of New York state that is not New York City. Have you ever looked at a map of New York State? It is not a small state. The true crime shows I so delight in will occasionally cover a case that takes place in “a small town in Upstate New York.” Steven and I yell, “Where? What town?” I wonder if residents of other states feel the same way. Still, I’ve never heard anyone say anything like, “a town in Louisiana other than New Orleans,” as if that were the only point of reference. Oh dear, another digression.

Indignation aside, I thought I would place my novel in a specific spot in the state and fill it with background, atmosphere and, you know, setting. For this novel, I chose the Mohawk Valley.

And I’m running into problems. First I made up a big old house (as in over a hundred years old, not as in “big ol’ house”) with a large yard, a summerhouse and a stream nearby. A murder took place in the summerhouse and I wanted the stream to help the murderer dispose of evidence. I thought I might throw in a thunderstorm with torrential rain for good measure. This is an atmospheric murder mystery, not a police procedural.

So far so good. I saw some other ways to use both the summerhouse and the stream to further the main plot and add a couple of subplots. I started making notes.

And immediately began to second guess myself. Would this novel actually take place in Herkimer? There is a stream in Herkimer and any number of large, historic-looking mansions. I don’t know of any that are in close proximity to each other, but does that matter? Couldn’t I just pick a spot on the stream and pretend the house is there? For that matter, couldn’t I pretend the right spot is there? In short, how much could I get away with?

According to some sources, not much. If you make a street run north/south when it really runs east/west, these sources say, your reader will lose all confidence in you, reject your entire novel and all your hard work will be for naught. I think for some readers this is quite true. If you are not meticulous in your research and correct in every small detail which can be verified as fact, they will point the finger of shame at you and refuse to believe any of your fiction.

I can understand that point of view. I know how it is when watching television or a movie and it’s something I happen to know about, and they completely screw it up. You know, like the school play where they’re still blocking at dress rehearsal? And you really don’t expect that sort of thing in a book. Personally I am completely disgusted with historical novelists who play fast and loose with the facts, unless that’s kind of the point. For example, many time travel stories have our heroes helping history along. Or the “it COULD have been like this” story such as Ken Follett’s excellent Eye of the Needle.

But that is not the sort of thing I’m talking about, and I’m no Ken Follett.

Another school of thought says to go ahead and make everything up: it’s FICTION, for heavens’ sake. If your characters and plot are compelling enough, your reader will go along for the ride, even down a street that could not possibly exist.

I wondered if I should completely make up a town. Then I could decide if a street ran east to west and where the mansion was. I had a couple of choices in this direction. There’s the “thinly disguised” option. I could take the name of a Revolutionary War general who didn’t have a town named after him. Or a Native American tribe. Or a European city. But it would “really” be Herkimer. Or Mohawk. Or Ilion. Only with the creek behaving as needed and the historic mansions where I wanted them.

The other way I thought of was to place a made-up town directly in between, say, Herkimer and Mohawk. Anyone familiar with the area would know there is no such place or even any room for one. It would be like another dimension. A wrinkle in space and time. Yes, one of those suspension of disbelief things.

Well, for heavens’ sake isn’t all fiction an exercise in the suspension of disbelief? Am I not making it all up anyways? I think I’m right back where I started.

What I did was I just started writing, figuring these decisions would work themselves out as I went. That has not happened yet and I feel increasingly unable to go on until I decide these things.

I think my best bet is to just decide. And I’m going to decide on the easiest course for me. I say the novel takes place in Herkimer, and I’m just going to move things around as I see fit. I’ll put a building here, a creek there, and my climactic scene… ah ha! You didn’t think I was actually going to give away a plot point, did you? This is not cheesy movie write-up with a spoiler alert! You’ll just have to read the book.

As soon as I finish writing it.

The View from the Top

Having missed Saturday Running Commentary, I thought I would run today (Sunday). I further decided to quit pussy-footing around and go up my main challenge hill: the road to Herkimer County Community College (HCCC). There are not a whole lot of hills in Herkimer, NY, but this one is a really good one. It is steep, it is long, and one is rewarded with a beautiful view from the top. Additionally, it is very impressive to people when you tell them you run up the hill to HCCC. I have not run that hill in a while. It was time.

Of course I woke up NOT wanting to run. I didn’t even try to argue with myself; I just put on my stuff and went, a technique I have often found effective.

Right away it was not fun. My legs felt awful. I was sure this was because I went three days in a row without running. These things happen. I studiously ignored complaints and kept running. It was a nice cool temperature. In fact, my hands were a little cold. After a while my ears felt cold too, but I had remembered to wear a headband so was able to cover them up.

Was it really such a good idea to run that hill, I wondered. Then I thought, why not? I had nothing much to do for the rest of the day so it wouldn’t matter if I racked myself up. I really can’t keep running that little hill by Valley Health and build up for the DARE 5K in August. Finally I thought, just run up the hill for 15 minutes, then turn around and run back down. However far you get, that’s how far you go.

This, of course, was a psychological trick. I knew that by the time I was 15 minutes up the hill, I was going to keep going to the top. I ran by the spring. I thought about how I usually reward myself with a drink of spring water. My hands were too cold to want to do that. No matter. There was water waiting for me at home.

It seemed to take a long time to get to the actual hill. Why was I running so slowly anyways? But it was all I could do to continue. I saw a mother deer and her fawn in somebody’s front lawn. Then I saw another deer laying down, looking dignified. Then I thought I heard a shotgun. Good God, were there hunters in a residential area? But I suppose sound carries. Or maybe it wasn’t a gun after all. I kept running.

Oh it was not fun. What a lot of work to go uphill. I thought about how if I kept doing this I would get better at it. At the DARE 5K, I would breeze by young kids who felt they had to walk. I remembered with some bitterness one runner who I passed at least four times the last time I ran the DARE 5K. She walked, I passed her, she ran, she passed me. I want to build up to where if I pass someone, they stay passed.

I made it to the top of the hill. You knew I was going to, I hope. The view from the top was not so good, due to haziness. No matter. If I keep running the hill, I am sure to see a beautifully clear view sometimes. I just turned around and ran back down. I stopped at the spring for a drink. My hands did not feel so cold by then. Aah, good water.

I ran longer than I have yet, adding more than the recommended 10 percent to my last longest time. Perhaps that is not ideal, but I had to get all the way home and I was not yet ready to begin my cool-down walk. I save that to walk with Tabby.

I felt so pleased with my accomplishment that I posted a Facebook status about it. A gratifying number of my friends have Liked it. I like it too. I’m looking forward to the next time I run that hill.

What Exit?

I did not go running this morning, so I can’t have a Saturday Running Commentary. I did have something of an adventure, which in fact I said I was going to write a blog post about, but now as I sit here, typing, I hesitate.

NOOOOOoooo! screams the critic in my head (impersonating a hypothetical reader), not another post about Why I Can’t Write a Post! Nobody wants to read that!!! (Yes, the inner critic speaks using multiple exclamation points; I just calls it like I sees it). Oh, OK, I will just try to write the post.

I was due at my sister’s house in Marcy, NY at 8 a.m. I set out in plenty of time, putting a Roomful of Blues CD in my player and prescription sunglasses on my face. It was a beautiful morning for a drive: sunny but not too hot. This was going to be great.

And it wasn’t too bad. Traffic was light, I didn’t run into any construction, soon I was on Route 49 and breezing along at a good clip. I’ve driven down this road many times, going to Marcy or to Rome. It was and is still a mystery to me how I drove right by the exit I wanted.

I was not daydreaming or even singing along to the CD. I saw one exit and said to myself, “The next one is the better one.” Then I saw the next one and thought, “Oh, that’s not it.” Then I kept driving and not seeing the exit till I started thinking, “Was that the exit?”

Did I ever feel dumb! And now I was late! I hate to be late! This was terrible! I found a place where I could turn around. I hit the gas! Maybe I wouldn’t be too late. Then I remembered that this stretch of 49 is famous for cops. I slowed down, but rehearsed in my head what I would say to a cop if he stopped me.

“I understand you have to give me a ticket, but could I please just call my sister and tell her I’m delayed, because she is waiting for me?” Luckily no cop stopped me, because I’m pretty sure that little bit of reverse psychology would not have worked and I would have gotten a ticket.

I got to Marcy not too much later than expected. My sister was wondering where I was, because I am more often early than late. Alas! The adventure continued, but I think the most striking part is me driving right by an exit I have taken many times. Does this happen to other people? Or am I uniquely talented at doing dumb things? Oh well, it fits my new saying: It’s not easy being me, but at least it’s not dull.

Or has this been a dull post? Oh dear, it’s that inner critic again…

To Half and to Half Not

Well it’s Lame Post Friday and I’ve never felt lamer. I just said that in a reply to a comment somebody made on yesterday’s post, which was also no great shakes. I do love my Lame Post Friday, but I must confess today’s is less delightful, because it is the last day of my week off. Um, I still have the weekend, so it doesn’t totally suck. But vacation is, sadly, drawing to a close. Perhaps I could muster some half-baked philosophy to lighten my mental burden (as regular readers know, this is my traditional day for random observations and half-baked philosophy).

That was a long first paragraph. Is anybody still reading? No matter, I write for my own entertainment as well.

I have had a rather pleasant week. Last year at this time I was dealing with a flooded basement. It was good that I had the week off to deal with it; bad that I had to spend my precious week off dealing with it. So the glass was half-full and half-empty. Hmmm, lots of halves today.

Thinking of halves, when you were a little kid, did you ever divide something into three halves? Then you found out that “half” meant two parts, so you got all superior when some other little kid divided something into three halves.

And that’s over 200 words. Sufficiently lame, I trust. Happy Fourth of July, everyone.

Flying Saucers Over My House

Did I mention I’m on vacation this week? I seem to remember writing or typing it any number of times, but I may have crossed it out or erased it each time. It was not my idea to take vacation this week, but I do like to take a day off. Or a few days. And it seems I am taking some days off blogging as well. On the other hand, I just read the first paragraph of another blog that said people never read blogs during the summer (probably would be nice to credit that quote, wouldn’t it? I think it was Return of the Modern Philosopher).

Be all that as it may, today is Non-Sequitur Thursday and all I’m going to do is list the movies Steven and I have looked at this afternoon. We began with The Stranger (1946) with Orson Welles, Edward G. Robinson, Loretta Young and Richard Long. We like to have a connection from movie to movie, so after that we watched House on Haunted Hill (1958) which featured Richard Long. The movie starred the incomparable Vincent Price and was directed by the great William Castle.

We do not have another movie with Richard Long. In fact, the only other thing I know him from is a TV show from the early 1970s called Nanny and the Professor. So we went another way with Plan 9 From Outer Space. I could probably think of a good connection between this and the other two movies, but this is Non-Sequitur Thursday and, as I said, I’m on vacation. I’m listing and hitting publish. But I may indulge in some commentary on Lame Post Friday. As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

Don’t Sweat It

When I saw that the weather report today said 84 degrees instead of 90, it just sounded SO much cooler. Plus, it was prior to 7 a.m., well before it should reach 84. I could run. It would be great. As you may have guessed, it was not great, but I’m going to write about it anyways.

I woke up this morning NOT in the mood to run. Then I tricked myself. I said, “It would be a good idea if I went running.” You see, if I had said, “I should go running” or “I ought to go running,” I would have cleverly come up with any number of very good reasons NOT to run. But I had to acknowledge that, yes, it would be a good idea to run. I ran.

Right away I felt the humidity. I decided that it was good that I was running; I didn’t have to run fast. This would be a nice, steady, fat-burning run. I read a whole big thing once that when you run fast and hard, your body reaches for the high-octane fuel, provided by the protein and carbohydrates you consumed. When you run slow and easy, your body burns the low-octane stuff, the fat. I have since heard that this was not the case. However, I usually run at a slow rate and if I am running on a regular basis, I find that I am less fat. I spent a few blocks reflecting on this, mostly dwelling on the pleasing image of me not fat.

I soon became quite sweaty and realized I forgot my headband. Then my glasses fogged up. I tried to move them a little away from my face. I have some contact lenses I could wear to run in but I wonder if the sweat dripping into my eyes would be a problem. I’ll have to try it.

I ran in the opposite direction I had run on Monday, out German Street and around various residential streets, ending up on the path that used to be a hydraulic canal. I ran that path recently beginning out Main Street. Today I started at the other end and followed it to Main Street, detouring onto sidewalks when I had to.

I ended up doing 33 minutes, one minute longer than I had done Monday. I thought one minute extra was OK. As Tabby walked my cool-down with me I realized I had forgotten my bottle of water. I took a shorter cool-down walk than usual, and I’ve been hydrating ever since.

I’m afraid this hasn’t been a very amusing post about a run. As I was running I was thinking of any number of interesting things to say, but right now they elude me. Guess I’m not re-hydrated yet. On the other hand, it is Wuss-out Wednesday. I’ll try to be more entertaining tomorrow, on Non-Sequitur Thursday.