I've been getting a lot of SPAM promising me all kinds of drugs, but one came in that caught my eye. Two particular drugs (never mind which) were listed together. Junkies mix these two drugs into a kind of cocktail to bide them over when they can't get their regular fix, and the combo is extremely dangerous and often lethal.
I followed the links, did a little digging, and found a network of pharmaceutical providers who would be happy mail me hefty amounts of both drugs. All I had to do was fill out a questionnaire for a doctor, who gets a "consultation fee" for writing the prescription. No office visits, no checks and balances; I could lie through my teeth and no one would have any way of knowing. (You all may already know this; I'm always a little behind on the latest advancements of the drug culture.)
This scares the living daylights out of me. One of the drugs is extremely habit-forming just on its own; I've heard cases where people get addicted to it after only a week of use. For around $100 and some creative lies, I can get a two-month supply of it. And refills, too. Because the providers have doctors writing the prescriptions, or are physically located outside the U.S., it's totally legal.
Let me climb on my soapbox for a minute about drugs, because some people out there may be tempted by how easy and safe it is to get them through the internet. It's terrifying that it's so easy, but it's not safe. If you're in pain, don't resort to these internet drug dealers -- see a doctor, and look for healthy alternatives for pain management. I use herbal teas, meditation and aromatherapy to combat my aches and pains, and they really work.
Abuse of prescription drugs is no different than shooting up heroin -- it will ruin your health, destroy your life, and eventually kill you. Life is so precious -- don't wreck yours with these drugs.
Oh Boy, Got Gown:
The ten wedding dresses I won in an auction arrived today, in a seventy-five pound box. The auction description suggested that there would be enough material to salvage to make one king or two queen size quilts. That was wrong -- there's enough to make seven, maybe eight king size quilts. One of the gowns is literally covered from bodice to hem with pearl and crystal glass seed, oval and bugle beads:
Another is vintage ivory satin, the real kind with that wonderful heavy weightiness to it. A third came with a detachable embroidered train that stretches the full length of my livingroom. They're in much better shape than I expected, too; about half only need some minor repairs to be wearable again.
I can't use all of them unless I go into the quilt-making business full time, so I'm going to repair the good ones and donate them to another project which raises funds for children with AIDs. My seamstress skills will get a work out, but there's nothing more delightful to work on than someone's future wedding gown.
I was skimming through a Google search when I came across one of these little RWA motivational quotes: "Women with clean houses do not have finished books."
Let me get this straight: women novelists are incapable of keeping their houses clean and finishing manuscripts at the same time, or writing books actually prevents
women from cleaning their homes? All the other women in the world with busy, demanding jobs (and evidently men no matter what their profession) can keep ther homes tidy, but we poor scattered brained females writing books can't? Good thing I never tried to run that scam past my mother; she'd have smacked me in the head.
To me cleanliness is personal, and not at all a gender or a writer thing. Some people are naturally untidy, or care about things other than keeping the premises sparkling. Some people just like clutter, or hate housework. I think most writers can get distracted to the point where they often forget to do things, but not universally across the board. Lots of writers pay as much attention to their living conditions as they do their manuscripts, and gender has nothing to do with it.
I was raised to take pride in my home, but I'm naturally inclined to organize my living spaces (and everything else in my environment) to provide maximum efficiency and comfort anyway. That, and I hate germs. I really resent the fact that women writers are passing around this quote like it's gospel or a free hall pass. It may seem cute, but underneath the chuckle it's really just another bash at female writers.
Back from the kids' school art show/auction, where we raised almost $6000.00 for our new school via bids from parents and families of our students. That will buy new desks and chairs for nearly all our kids when they move into the new building next year.
My daughter just earned her yellow belt in karate tonight, on her first time testing. Not that I was worried; Katherine has been kicking butt since a boy in preschool threw dirt in her face.
Blast from the Past:
Nico, I think the post about "blue" synonyms you were looking for is here.
I was too busy to post a gloat today, but the manuscript revisions had to leave for New York this afternoon, and that deadline was quickly and efficiently slaughtered. I had a final read-through, decided I might have pushed just a little too far in two areas with the new stuff, thought about it, said "Eff it" and packed it up. My editor, as always, can Just Say No; nothing ventured etc. etc. Kids, class and knee therapy followed. Too late to finish the web site for May, so I'm crawling off to bed now. Mañana, people.
What's the Big Mystery?
You mystery writers out there should check out this article
over at Publishers Weekly, tons of great info on mystery authors, launching series and publisher lines. Some editor at PW has been really been doing a fantastic job with industry articles lately; pretty soon I'm going to have to break down and subscribe to the print version.
Down to the Wire:
I've been finishing the final revisions on Into the Fire; new major plot change, still qualmy over the voice shift, and a new contract riding on how well I do. Hardly any of the usual deadline pressure. :)
I can't think about any of that, though, my mind has to be on the story and nowhere else. It feels right but I want to be sure. Tomorrow it must leave the premises, no stopping at Go, no collecting $200, so -- back to nit-picking.
One of my very own recipes, Strawberry Popovers with Yoghurt Sauce, will be published in the back of my book, "Going to the Chapel." My character Jane actually makes the recipe as part of the story, and it's one of my all-time favorites.
I love my kids but they never let me crawl back into bed on a Monday morning. Why is that? Why are they so cheerful and move with such energy and purpose? It can't be the Rice Krispies, can it?
On a much funnier note, I found this blog
while cruising at random and nearly hurt myself laughing while reading the April 25th entry (which, for some reason, does not want me to link directly to it.) It has to be the quintessential Wal-Mart shopping experience.
A very interesting article
over at Publishers Weekly on new formats and schemes to cash in on media tie-ins; they're what I think will be a major slice of the publishing industry in the near future. I still don't see much difference between graphic novels and comic books, though, except that adult fans want to make reading them sound legit. I used to love comic books myself, but I got over the need to have pictures in my books when I was around ten. :)
I'm tired of looking at naked Dixie Chicks on my home page screen when I boot up the computer. I can't concentrate on this Natalie girl's politics, not with that strange facial structure of hers. Makes me want to count her chromosomes. Happily I hate 99% of all country music anyway, so it's not a buying issue for me.
I haven't brought up much about the war since it started, because like most of them this one is very real to me and mine. The Kellys don't talk about war, we fight them. However, I received good news today; all members and friends of the clan on active duty are in relatively safe positions now. The danger is not over but it's eased back quite a bit, as has the internal fist I've been lugging around in my stomach for the last month. Thank you God for watching over them, and over all the sons and daughters still so far from home.
Finally, I received a letter from my son today, with exotic stamps all over it. Two pages, carefully printed in block letters because his longhand is unreadable, mostly reassuring me that he's okay and that he might be home for Christmas. It's the second letter I've had from him this year, so I sat in the car and cried all over it. There is no pain equal to being separated from your child, and no joy greater than knowing he's all right. So now I count the days until Christmas.